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

thump

whether it was Nightscream or David or Morningstar

thump

but I had to be physically removed from the body

squish

I stabbed the hunter

squish

57 times.

drip

drip

drip



... 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...?