Thursday, 19 April 2012

life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent

Alternatively, when Redlight tells you to do something, you bloody well do it.

Nightscream is recovering well, and David has been assisting for the past little while. Although one might expect conflicts in this sort of arrangement, there is something on all our minds that holds us back from daring to get into any sort of serious confrontation with one another. The uneasiness settles like a bloody blanket, gettting into corners you can't hope to reach.

The last Redlight tried to start the apocalypse. Why do I get the feeling that, this time, we can't stop what is already here...?

... It hardly matters. Life goes on, and orders are orders; of course, the revelation of former allies coming back from the dead and new leaders surfacing from nowhere hardly gets anyone a reprieve. With Writer being on some sort of "leave" (heaven forbid he TOLD his Squads what that meant, or told us that he was taking such a thing in general. Granted, Writer was never one to communicate reliably; though imagine my surprise when I found out about this, since I was left unawares that such a thing could be utilized even when the person ON said leave was not wrangling with near death. 

Then again, we all must keep in mind that Writer was not privy to the plan regarding the resurrection of the Devil himself. My apologies, was probably not privy; because I have in no way obtained information I wasn't supposed to have, no, of course not. That would be absolutely absurd. But let's speak in hypothetical. If I did have such information, it would most likely speak of a plan concocted by a certain classified rank that we all know as "Valtiel". It would also probably speak of a plan to result in the reclamation of a certain Storyteller, not the result that we got. The only conclusion I can make regarding this is that Storywriter was not aware of the real nature of the plot. Storywriter wasn't told about the outcome that we all saw coming. Storywriter was blindsided by his own allies. Storywriter is likely heartbroken at his lack of happy ending. Storywriter is very, very pissed off. But that's all on assumed  information. For all I know, Writer may be off on some sort of vacation, celebrating a job well done. 

But we all know that's doubtful. Call me a damned idiot, but I'm tossing worried. Just where exactly is he...?), we have Redlight giving us orders. And by "us" I mean David, Nightscream, and I, with Morningstar being a recent addition. The Cafe is full, but pleasantly so; I can handle the friendly ribbing, though how "friendly" this is, in context, is debatable.

The reason they're still present, however, is not because orders are being awaited, but rather because orders have been carried out. We are currently in possession of one of Moriarty's men; sans one tooth, which was containing a suicide pill. Cute, but I like to imagine we're better than that. The remaining four of the squad we were sent to exterminate did not last long. I suppose that when you have the right people for the job...

I, however, have been removed from the interrogation committee. And though I hardly consider it a loss, the method of my necessitous removal  is rather... concerning.

I'm choosing to note at this time that I cannot remember my second kill - as I was privileged enough to catch two of the Squad members unawares. And though I can clearly recall the first kill; a cleanly slit throat, which allows for the body armour to be ignored, the second kill is a blank in my memory.

I'm not sure who pulled me off first


whether it was Nightscream or David or Morningstar


but I had to be physically removed from the body


I stabbed the hunter


57 times.




... A while ago, I was ordered to go to counselling. I am acquainted with the good Doctor; Photo is one of his research subjects, so one can probably understand my hesitance; and yet, regardless, I think it's in my best interests to go.

Normal people do not black out and stab someone 52 times after they score a direct hit to the heart

Normal people do not have to be hauled off the corpse, as they're unresponsive to stimulus.

I'm disgusted with myself

I'm terrified of myself

What in hell's name is happening to me...?


  1. Post traumatic stress?? Fuck I don't know, you're working for something that realistically speaking shouldn't fucking exist... make that "two" things now... shit was bound to go awry with your psyche at some point.

    But hey, you're still lucid enough to recognize there's a problem! That's a good sign. Not quite a citizen of Crazy Town yet. Get that checked out and maybe you'll be alright.

    1. I'm intending to. Even if the Doctor is a bit... terrifying, it's better than nothing, I reckon.

      As for the Post traumatic stress...? It's a possibility, I'll give you that. I do wear dogtags for a reason, but perhaps that should be elaborated on in unto itself...

  2. Fifty Seven times.
    If it had been me,
    I would not have allowed them to pull me away.
    That said I do not envy you and your situation.

    As for your blacking out.
    I see you quoting Sherlock.
    So take a leaf out of his books.
    Follow everything through logically.

    Maybe you will find your answers in deduction.

    1. I do get what you mean. Contextually, perhaps, you meant Doyle...?

      It doesn't take a genius to figure out what is going on, however. The questions to be answered are how far along it is, and if it's going to get any worse. With my experience, I'm banking on the answer to the latter to be "yes", though I'm hoping for the opposite.

      Tell me

      is it better to lose control

      or to find yourself with no control at all..?

    2. Doyle?
      Yes I do.

      I suppose the answer to yout question,
      is dependant upon if you had control
      in the first place.
      Do you believe in fate, "Joseph?"

  3. Edmund Fitzgerald, great disaster of our age, I'm hoping this reaches you. It should. you strike me as a man who keeps abreast of things.

    Leave the kid alone. Ryuu popped her head up RIGHT AFTER what he said, and would have done one of her usual rousing speeches to get me back on track. She's got a knack for that. All you accomplish by taking shots at him is making him less trustworthy, and me more of a bastard.

    And believe me, you wouldn't like me when I'm a bastard.

    So give the kid a break, and lets see how this plays out, shall we? It's not like he's not going to be a good soldier for you anytime soon. He's in too deep for that, isn't he?

    1. Not like you, my Capitan, to make such a mistake so early in the game! You like him, don't you? A proxy who respects you, who, despite the red tape all around him, plays for both sides... I suppose the concept does have some sort of appeal.

      So I wonder...

      What will happen if I push you a little more?

      I warned you, Mr. Dwyer. Almost a shame that someone else is going to pay the price for your ineptitude, but the stakes are obviously not high enough.



    2. I wonder, are you actually trying to challenge me?

      Think very carefully about your answer.

    3. I think we both know better than that, Mr. Dwyer,
      but the message still stands.

    4. You do like sending messages, don't you? Until this moment, I have been kind. You see, I have a larger and more terrifying arsenal than coffee and jibes. You're better prepared for me than you're predecessor was; but the truth of the matter is that I'm a lot better prepared for you than I was for your predecessor. We're going to cause all kinds of fireworks, you and I.

      It's a nice deadman's switch you've got built around your captives. I try to cut the network, and everyone dies. It's classic really. So many other fun bells and whistles attached. It's like a bright, shiny new toy to play with!

      Just remember Edmund Fitzgerald: I've walked across more worlds than you can count. I've stood in the place between life and death, and I speak for the dead. I've run the gauntlet of the mind and soul: I see what others cannot, and understand what others merely know.

      How many ghosts have you left in your loops? How many will I find if I choose to search? How long will you last when your every waking moment is spent bathing in their presence, their voices stuck in your eardrums, their touch on your skin, their taste in your mouth, their bodies in your sight, and their scent in the air? No reprieve, no end, no hope. That is what I promise.

      I've spent a lot of time considering my options. No more Mr. Nice Sage. Give Joseph a break, and a nice cup of tea.

      This is my message for you: It's Bastard Time. Are you sure you want this?

    5. It's rather amusing, my Captain, that you seem to think that your "threats" really mean much of anything to me. I suppose this shows that you've at least attempted to start taking this all a little more seriously.

      And yet we both know what you're doing right now is meaningless. Though I do appreciate your efforts, right now I have the upper hand. Frankly, Mr. Dwyer, you're embarrassing yourself. It's too early in the game to be making so many mistakes. For all your strengths, you wear your heart on your sleeve.

      All the more easy to crush it in one fell swoop.

      And though my employee managed to snap you out of your latest bout of uselessness, how long until you're within another such spot? Perhaps I should give you some time to collect yourself. An opportunity to not be such a weak opponent. And yet, regardless of what I choose to do, "Joseph"'s fate lies in my hands. I imagine that's quite frustrating for you currently.

      Though perhaps I'll consider letting him live if you beg~



    6. So this is what caused Redlight's ire. Nick, you need to learn when to pick your battles. Stop to gloat after the villains are dead, not when people you care about are caught in their grasp.

      Redlight, I have a proposition for you. That is, if you care to speak to me.

  4. What's happening to you?
    Something troubling and beautiful.

    It's beautiful that you stabbed him 57 times. It's troubling that it was not a decision you made.

    It is, however, comforting to find my fear of you was not just my paranoia. You are something terrifying.