Tuesday, 15 November 2011

it is the unofficial force...

Which is becoming quite the official force, if you ask me.

Baker squad, this is your leader speaking. And considering that I'm ordered to update this infernal thing, I am going to function on the assumption that, if I carefully omit and edit what I say, I am allowed to make these orders public. Perhaps give you other lot a glimpse of what you're in for if you join the cause in certain districts.

Oh yes, Runners, discussing such matters makes me just as uncomfortable and cranky as it makes you, and yes, I'd much rather be testing the limits of my newfound (if not somewhat restricted) freedom, though if I am really going to be doing this (as it seems I will be), I figure it only polite to give my doomed readers a point of reference, perhaps an angle of context.

Proxy is a rather encapsulating term. While most districts and areas seem to involve very little organization, lone wolves, if you will, there are certain area where you will find yourself with a certain Tall Gentleman in your head and orders in your hand.

Squads. Squad leaders. Handlers. And then the mysterious "Higher Ups". And ranks and files and hierarchies within that progression, though I won't get too detailed with that.

So it all gets very complicated, very, very quickly, and because people like me aren't around to explain this, it's downright easy to make a wrong move.

Let me explain.

Squads have to fill their sometimes downright insane orders and fill their quotas while trying to not be murdered. Squad Leaders need to keep their Squad in line and avoid any sort of mutiny, their Handlers happy, and their i's dotted and t's crossed in their reports. And high heaven knows what Handlers do aside from handling some of the... more difficult assignments. Is it this way for everyone? No, but I'm hardly going to go around taking surveys while trying to avoid certain doom by beaurocracy.

There's something acutely depressing about that.


Within this hell-archy (see what I did there?), there's a whole smorgasbord of dealings and plans and things that I'd rather not even think about. And when you Runners finally get yourselves into situations that you see as favourable and we see as foolish? Well, you got no approach orders for no obvious reason, and you're expected to obey them.

See where I'm going with this?

Not to be confused with places that spell certain doom if you so much as go near them (such as The House or another Squad or in the same breathing space as this guy).

... and WHY am I bringing this up? Because Photo decided to go on an... unauthorized surveillance mission which ended up BURYING me in paperwork. He was disciplined, of course. Whoopdie doo. Happy now? All you folks at that rather ironically named stronghold, I personally wish you the best. Enjoy it while it lasts.

And the rest of you? I'd suggest you stay away from there unless you want someone way stronger than you on your ass for a stupid reason.

Okay? Okay.

So the last few days have been rather eventful, and, if you have half a brain and/ or the reading comprehension skills of a six year old, you would have noticed that I mentioned something about "freedom", which, again, if your amazing detective skills are up to par, would mean that you would say something to the effect of...

"Why, "Joseph", my good man and genius in his prime! How can this be? Were you not stuck in that infernal Cafe Loop?"

And I would answer with thus; I have managed to procure myself little field trips to at least assist with assignments. And all it involved was waiting in a tiny waiting room with a certain blue cloaked psychopath trying his very hardest to ignore me.

Valiant effort. Hard to tell if he succeeded, because our Handlers called us in soon after.

I'm not going to say much about them. This is because A), I'm not sure if I'm really at the liberty to and B), there isn't that much to tell. Aside from that downright wrong gleam in their eyes, Handlers look to be pretty... normal. We all do, for that matter.

Not that any of you would realize as you're busy mowing us down and slitting our throats, but hey, can't blame a guy for trying.

"We have a mission for you. One that will require Sherlock Holmes level investigative skills, I am sure..." 

That was Valtiel; the few descriptions I've read don't really give him justice. Eyes that dance like fire even out of the light, eyes that could burn you with a glare are really all I ever get of him. The rest is like a forgotten dream; gone as soon as you wake up.

And then a thin grin from MY Handler. Writer. The man who never stops smiling.

"You surely know about the recent rise of murders in our ranks, "Joseph"~? A man with so much time on his hands MUST be well informed..."

... Of course I knew, though it's been kept quiet for the past few weeks. Proxies showing up dead on easy assignments, with way too many bullet holes to be done by a rank amateur. Nothing good, but nothing to do with the Baker Squad.

"Simply put, we want you to investigate."

"And if possible, put a stop to the violence. We have faith in you."

Amber-eyes finishes his statement and I could feel myself shaking.

"Rubbish. There's better suited, and ever since you two started your little compitition, it's been a struggle to make your ridiculous quotas at all!"

He... put his hand on my shoulder then. Fuck, it burned. Burned like a lye kiss. Burned like the fucking desert did. But at least Writer piped up.

"Please, /"Joseph"/, this is a matter of the utmost importance. Your teams are, dare I say, the best shot we've got. Nobody wants more blood spilled than is necessary."

... After Writer was done talking, Valtiel took his hand off my shoulder.

The meeting ended soon after that.

From there, I went and completed an assignment by myself. Report on that will be up later. Baker Squad, be damn careful on this next set. We're in DIRECT LINE OF FIRE with the Knight squad. They want to fill quota just as much as we do and they'll kill to do it.

Don't be stupid, don't get caught.

I'll be seeing what I can find about these murders. Whoever this guy is, he's good, I certainly don't doubt that.

and yet...

I'm pretty sure I'm better.

Au revoir.


  1. Mindless zealots cannot compare to my blade.

    If they get in my way, they will die. None of you should show any mercy either.

  2. Your squad doesn't take orders particularly well, do they? Can't say I blame them, I prefer to stay out of the Hierarchy myself. But in the case of Hope, it would be very smart of them to stay away. I would hate to have to find you all at that cafe of yours.

    Actually, now that I think about it I probably wouldn't. Your coffee is to die for.

    The threat still stands, though.

  3. You're better? And this guy isn't a "rank amateur"?

    I think someone's overestimating themselves.

  4. Someone's killing off the other members of your little club? Oh how rude!


  5. ... nice pun there, Sir. Sincerest apologies. It will not happen again.

  6. Suggest that within the same breathing space as 1021 is not adequate for personal safety. Recommend avoiding a region of approximately 10 km radius of 1021, or the same state, if at all possible.

  7. Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
    And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells:
    Streets that follow like a tedious argument
    Of insidious intent
    To lead you to an overwhelming question...
    Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
    Let us go and make our visit.