Anomalous Data

I wanted to try to tell this all nice and neat, but I can't.  I tried, I really tried to pretend this was no big deal, I've been dead.  This was nothing new. She.Took.My.Arm.  I can't finish writing this entry, so I'm going to leave it incomplete for now.  While I try to get my shit together.  Anything below in italics are my current thoughts.

This tower kept changing as I climbed up it. Spirally upwards endlessly. I think it was probably pretty wise of me not to open rando doors, because well...that's borrowing trouble, and I've done enough of that as it is. The floor changed again, to copper plates, with bronze pipes and marble.  The metal plates were cool against my feet, and numbed my feet a bit as I moved on. It got to the point where I wasn't sure i was moving at all.  I ended up leaving an empty can (Dr. Pepper, the nectar of whatever gods are left) on one of the steps, and continued upward. Again the flooring changed. First to wicker of all things, and then to...I shit you not...unfolded cardboard boxes.

Like, if you were to go to the post office, and get some boxes for transport.  No particular identifying marks on them, but yeah, cardboard. It seemed pretty thick, and really I had nowhere else to go. so I risked it.

Cardboard went to tightly packed fish netting about me. It seemed to be nylon or plastic, I'm not sure really. It just sufficed as stairs before I reached a ceiling. Thank a merciful god that there was a hatch on top, as I was not inclined to tread back down after all this invested time.

I thought about Twenty-Six, I thought about that pinchy machine I named 'Mr. Clicky' that I had found.

Even now it was an age ago.
not that ages have meanings anymore.
I don't know. I mean, am I back in the thick of things again? Am I just slowly dying now, letting a single moment play out over weeks or years?

What if I'm still on that fucking Path.
Always on that path
What if I just now finally snapped? I mean, I know I've exaggerated. I've talked about how 'hyuck hyuck, I must be loopy!  time to cackle into the darkness and fillet a tree stump with a knife, yuck yuck yuck."

But I mean, the classic line is 'If I were crazy, how would I know?' for a reason.

Why even bother, I guess? Why bother if I've crossed another line, or had a mental break? It doesn't get me any further on my current goal.  And that goal is to understand what happened to Matchbook.


Whatever, man, answers are needed.  Maybe I can do one good deed and finish this damn post.

The hatch opened up into another 'far too large room'  I didn't even give a shit about spacetime getting fucked in the ass anymore. Obviously the rules HERE were not the same as THERE, and I was okay with that as long as I could make reasonable assumptions.

The ground was worked stone, those big blocks that are reminiscent of castle stone. Which was fitting, because I climbed up into Frankenstein's lab.

No tesla coils, but there was a shitton of weird machinery, and glowing tubes that networked across the room. Giant gears slowly moved back and forth, chains on the ceiling. Hoses, and one of those spoked wheels you'd use on a ship to pump water.  It slowly turned on its own accord, rotating forward and back.

it was at this point that I just couldn't continue writing so casually.

I stared at the page before me, and I couldn't continue. I wrote piecemeal parts of it below.

I saw her.  The thing that Twenty Six called Dal Matia. This large, hunched over creature of metal and organs. It turned to me.  Its face was a hollow mask of metal. Inside I saw motion, but I was not sure what.  It rolled as its body turned, but it was this jerking strange motion. I heard the snap of what sounded like bone.  It was unperturbed.  But it was NBD to me.  Just another creature.  Twenty Six warned me.

What I didn't see was that Twenty Six was splayed out on a table, disemboweled to the point of cut in half.  Nope, that'd have been handy to see before I started mouthing off.

I threw that damn clacking mecha-organ onto the stone floor of her tower workshop. The thing skittered around on the ground, little prongs and levers actually causing it to crawl about six feet before it gave up. "You dropped this." I said in my level best. As always, she was engrossed in her work, using some sort of overhead machine to cause sparks, like she was soldering. It couldn't be that. That was understandable, and we can't have that in Undertown. Eventually, she turned her head towards me without her body turning. There was a sickening snap that came from within that armored frame of hers. I had heard that one before, when a deer broke its neck trying to commit suicide next to me. Yeah, I've lead an interesting and terrifying life. I repeated myself, with some clarity. "You put this thing INSIDE someone. He then went on a killing spree. I took his head off." The next words came out very crisp. "And. He. Got. Back. Up." She swiveled around, then curiously looked at the accusing evidence. Long spindly fingers picked it up. She regarded it as if it were the first time she had seen it. "Unfortunaete. It wuz meant fur a more pruper alighning."


The next sensation I felt was a coolness. I awoke to blurry vision, and a lightheaded feeling. I was floating, or perhaps laying down on the stonework. I must've still been in her lab. I noticed what had to be Dal Matia's face hovering over me as I lay there. I could barely move under my own power, my frame twitching just a bit. Whatever had happened to me, I had lost all ability to move, and most of my ability to feel.
I realized then, that she was talking to me as she peered down over me. Her words, dull and muted, took several seconds to tune in to. She was saying something about 'procedures' and 'upgrades'. Suffice it to say, I was suitably alarmed. A sputtering cough came from my mouth as I tried to wheeze out a 'no', anything to get her to stop her from whatever it was she was up to.
My ears kicked back on as I gasped for breath, staring more straight up than at her. She spoke in her standard matter-of-fact thoe, that metal mask of hers occasionally looking up at me. "...simply incogruitous with the rest uf your beeng, but there are risks an rewurds with every medicul praktise." There was a bright beaker in her hand, I had seen her mixing it when I spoke to her minutes ago. It glowed a sickly green in her metal hand. Unceremoniously, she dumped it on me, as she explained what she was doing. Ever the teacher, ever the mentor, ever the sadistic piece of monster. "Feel now pain, even now. Thees will not take too lung to repair. We just most make room for the new limb."

New limb? It was my worst fear, the same thing she had babbled about when I first met her. She was going to mutilate me, and there was nothing I could do to stop her. I managed to weakly rasp a scared "Don't", but she wouldn't listen. I was going to have to be awake as she operated on me, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I tried to will myself to pass out, even as I felt jostling and movement from my left shoulder, my heart raced, even as the rest of my body was in perfect contention. She spoke as she maimed me, "Hoomans are very frashile creetures overall, but thees is the nature of my wurk, to find yur truuth."  There was a noise, a noise that I could never have heard before, but I knew it had to deal with her ripping me apart. I prayed for death, I prayed for that death I so wanted, that I was denied repeatedly.
There was a tearing sound, and I knew I had heard that one before, at any time you are trying to cut up tough meat. My shoulder shifted again, as she placed something up on a metal pan of some sort. I saw fingers. I saw my own hand up there, just at the edge of my vision. She kept working, I tried to scream, tears welling up in my eyes, as I couldn't keep my terror in check. Impassively, Dal Matia looked up at me and had the nerve to chide me. "Stop skwurming, I weel make it better soon. You will see."


There was the sound of something light and rigid hitting the stone, like a stick. It had to be bone. It had to be what was left of my forearm being removed piece by piece. "This...this was bad surgery. Dead you really think yu could kill such an abknormalety like a Bleeding Three with your own arhm?"  She tsked at me, her fingers covered in my blood.


I could only whimper and beg for death.

she took my arm.

she took my arm

It was said

that the Slender Man appearing was just the excuse I needed to self-destruct.

That's true.  It took me a long time to admit it.  All the excuses, all the pain. I've hurt for so long just because I wanted to have some meaning in my life.

I don't know, alright?  I want to continue to write, I want to talk about all the weird shit that goes on.

but I JUST DON'T FUCKING CARE. I can't write, I can't just be nonchalant about going into weird space time shit.

it doesn't work like that.  I don't know where everybody's gone, and there's only like three people left that I know.  We were all together again, and yeah we suffered, but godddmaait its the only family i have

I cant fucking do thsi alone

Overcast

I have this umbrella you see.

Its small, but its just about enough circumference to cover me.  I can wish it was wider, but thats never going to happen.

The thing is, this little umbrella of mine, it protects me from all the negativity I've accrued from being a self-driven egomaniacal bastard who is hashtag desperately looking for a reason to live.

Its stupid I know, but I carry my little umbrella wherever I go. And above me, thats where all those negative thoughts and past crimes and worries.  That's where they all hang out, in this overwhelming sea of darkness, just shedding darkness down upon me from all directions.

But underneath the umbrella, its not dark, its just normal surrounded by dark.

Sometimes the umbrella grows, sometimes it shrinks, and on some very bad days, it nearly folds right up, leaving me almost entirely at those dark moments' mercy.

My words can't open my umbrella, only actions can. Yet other peoples words will do so. Compliments or praise, well I am still far too into such things, I know I shouldn't judge myself on the words of others.  You see, I have to do things to keep it open.  In the past, before all this, I'd give blood, I'd donate, I'd hand off sandwiches to the homeless.

I can't do most of that anymore. Blood's probably tainted. I've got no money, and I /am/ the homeless.

So I work, and I try, and I listen.

My entire life revolves around finding frickin side quests that I can solve, and doing them, so that umbrella opens up for a while.

Its my comfort and my shield against all my despair and woe. All those reminders of the things I've done...all those reminders that I should be dead again.

For a little bit longer, I'll stay under my umbrella, before that fateful day that it collapses entirely.

Going Next Door

I knew I came to a stop in the Path, because the Path stopped.

That's a rarity.  Usually the well-worn dirt path just wanders on forever, and while it may grow a bit more wild, it never just ends.

This time it did, ending very definitively among a small copse of trees. I just stood there for a few moments, letting the light wind and black leaves just swirl about, as I ruminated.

Was this what Twenty-Six did?  Did she leave a trail for me to find?  How the hell does anyone do that, anyway?

I've spent lifetimes on this damn plane and couldn't answer any of those questions. The more and more I look about me and listen, the more I realize that I don't know shit about anything.

Everything has rules now, everything goes deeper than it ever did before. The thin knife may draw blood, but when it puncture the flesh, you see so much beneath it. And so it goes for a weary soul such as I, whose entire life had only drawn blood until now.

I don't know how anyone else does it, but for myself, I simply put forth the thought that I wanted to be off the Path, and normally, here becomes there in a few moments. It was always an effort of will as they say, to just make the clear and conscious decision that I wanted to leave.

That was not the case this time. The biggest thing that happened, in response to my absolute and crushing intent to get out, was nothing at all.

My heart skipped a beat, and a pain rose in my chest. I could be trapped here again, it would all start again, being forever abandoned and lost. I was stupid to come here, stupid to trust.

It was about this time that I smelled something akin to vinegar in the air. Harsh and unnatural, the scent was but a whiff, as I kept thinking about how much I wanted out of here.  And as always, the ground just shifted beneath me as I moved, and everything rolled away.

The landscape was completely unfamiliar.  Purple skies with darker clouds, orange soil of a bright intensity, a flat, barren wasteland.

It looked flat.

Let me emphasize that, like 'no curvature of the Earth' flat. My gaze panned to the right, where distantly I could see a small craggy hill, or possibly mountain, with some features atop it.  Before it lay a sickly green haze. To my left, I saw another copse of trees, a little closer, and yet I could smell the natural scents of the wilderness, such as rotting logs, and the freshness of grass and leaves. I could smell it as if it were right next to me. It was as if distance itself was flexible here.

Safe to assume, I concluded, that either I was not in the States anymore.

Perhaps it was some other plane of existence, or some sub-plane.  Maybe it was just 'right next door' to Earth. Of all the strange and myriad thoughts, I kept hoping one thing specifically: That it wasn't another planet.

I just shook my head as I took in the angular metal tower straight ahead. Of all the strange things I've been a part of in my life, this was the strangest.  The wind picked up as I surveyed the tower, and reddish lightning clashed in the sky. There was a hint of rain already coming down, and the strange scent I had first smelled was from it. Ammonia, or something like it. It offended the eyes and nose even at this light volume, and soon the skies were bound to open up further.

Seeking shelter, I ran forward.  I doubted the treeline being able to do much to mask the scent, and the way to the right seemed far too far, that green mist that hovered over it all, reminded me far too much of chlorine.

So forward I went, attempting to beat the storm to what I could hope was safety. The land before me grew hazy as fumes rippled unseen, bending the light about it. I ran with an arm over my nose and mouth, just hauling ass.

I reached the tower to find a very old-fashioned door set into it. A plain wooden door, set for something about four times my size, adorned with a bronze or brass circular handle.  I rapped on the door urgently, sending a low ringing tone throughout the area.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noted movement upon the flat, featureless plane.  The ground rose and swelled in the distance, a bulge in the earth about the size of an elephant.  It rolled and moved at a fast pace, a semi-erratic pace. As it turned, I noticed how the ground receeded behind it.

Something was burrowing shallow to the surface, something large, fast, and most likely dangerous.

The clouds had started to open up, entirely muted lightning became visible in the sky, with no thunder accompanying it.  I banged on the door again, and in a sense of urgency, fled inside anyway. The door opened without much issue, the problem was the sheer mass of the door being put into motion. I shut it behind me then put my back against it.

From the outside, the tower was metal plates on metal plates, a haphazard series of them all slapped together to form the rudimentary shape of the tower, but inside, inside it was worked stone. A simple grey stone, smooth to the touch, was set in blocks as the flooring and walls, off to the east side, it formed the staircase upward, with a metal railing that seemed to have been bolted on.

Unsurprisingly, it also seemed to be a lot larger inside than it seemed.  I'm going to stop you right here though, if you start screaming about Time Lords or screwdrivers, I'm going to pack up my psychotic nightmare, and go home.

The tower was unfurnished, its only central furniture being the staircase itself, I made use of it. I couldn't imagine who was living here, or the scale at which they were living. I was taking a lot of chances, and hadn't much choice in the matter, but at least I could try to be practical about my actions.  I removed my shoes and padded up the large stairs. The cool stone was rough against my feet as I held my shoes in my arm. 

The first landing was simple, a wooden circular table with slatted boards on it, and three legs, a long series of pillows with backs on them, probably to substitute as a type of couch or bed...and three large cables that crackled with what couldn't be electricity.  Electricity wasn't green.

Or perhaps here it was, it certainly sparked and flashed like it, though there was no sound, much like how there was no thunder outside to accompany the lightning.  The cables ran upwards into the flooring above, I returned to the stairs.

Above that story, the walls changed to the same sort of iron panels I had seen outside. The workmanship was shoddy, and slapdash. I could smell the hint of whatever gases outside were raining on the area. The stairs shifted as well to metal plates, some of them at poor angles, causing me to constantly adjust how I walked, to avoid being put against the handrail or cut against the wall.

A large thumping sound moved above me, and as I circled upward, I noted mechanical...well, I don't know what they were, but the mechanisms were in motion. They weren't gears, nothing outright clockwork, they were large grooves that levers rolled up and down in, like perhaps, a manual transmission for a car, how the gearshifter maneuvers into different slots.

I noted doors on the side of the staircase. Naturally by this point I didn't really care that there were no side rooms denoted outside the tower, I had accepted the fact that I wasn't dealing with sweet Newtonian reality at this point. So long as everything had some reason to it, I figured I'd be fine, I just needed to keep flexible and adapt.

 Its been a rather....full set of days of late, I've got a lot of catching up to document, I'll continue from here next time.

The World That Never Was

That went better than expected.

I'm not sure WHAT I expected really, but as I've never entered a portal on the trail of a techno-necro cleric with a panache for downplaying and a Brooklyn accent before.

Jesus Christ, my life is weird.

I knew a bit about this Path of Black Leaves, starting back when a certain Robert Sagel spoke about it, and survived a trip there. Consider it a dimensonal shortcut between places if you will.  You step into it, you have a destination in mind, you walk a considerably shorter distance, you end up there.


Now, before you raise an eyebrow, I assure you this is actually a thing that several people have done in their lives. That's not to say its a /good/ thing to do. Hell, it can easily kill a person due to exposure to...something.

Surprise, surprise, I happen to be a bit more tolerant than most people. That is because I met a most unfortunate end, you see.... Let us take a step back, shall we?




There on that night, I knelt upon the roots of the Bleeding Tree, jamming bones into its eyes, screaming wildly that it has to die here, because I had to do /something/ worthwhile before I died. I sat there, just out of view of those giant head-sized eyes, as it thrummed and vibrated against me...like its own aura was capable of killing.  I had covered myself up to avoid skin to bark contact, to avoid whatever nastiness those root tendrils were hoping for.


And then I had a terrible thought. That if twelve ulnas wouldn't do the job, then perhaps thirteen /would/. I savaged myself with the broken blade of a piece of shit sword in order to fulfill what I considered to be a saving grace.


I had to share my success to the world, as I lay slumped there, dying of blood loss, and shock. I sat there, relived and willing to just...let it all go.


It is a funny feeling to feel so vindicated, so righteous into death. That you could simply ease into that sweet embrace of death, a smile on your face, and the knowledge that you did the right thing.


I didn't quite get that experience. No angels sang me to rest. My last moments were spent watching a giant branch shift and unfurl from the top of the tree, moving downward, bending down much like an arm. And this branch, unlike so many others, was empty.

In my catatonic bliss, I wondered why that could be, before I died.



As I understand it, others had spotted me in the tree later, the Messenger for one, if I recall. Jack herself had seen me, Konaa too, as I understand it.

I suppose in death, I served a warning of caution, of hubris, of reality crashing into damn fool idealistic dreams.


I woke up on the Path, completely disoriented and unable to think, to move. An inordinate amount of time later, I found myself able to move, and a compulsion to walk. Senses muted, my mind foggy, I walked, and walked, and walked.

Have you ever had a fever dream that was so realistic, that it may have well been reality? Picture yourself walking into an endless abyss, and just knowing that there was no hope ahead of you. Cast about the gloomy haze, there was nothing but the occasional corpse to remind you of the others that have gotten just as far as you...and died.


The Path was /my/ fever dream, my punishment. I expected things to go right back how they were, if I were to ever end up there again, that whatever power it had over me, it would exert it again, and I'd face another million years of hopelessness and misery, stuck on a quest that could never end.


So that night, after Twenty-Six left my side, and implied that she had a good amount of answers for me, I froze. For that was the place I could not tread.


And it wasn't a newfound spirit of courage that put me on my feet. It wasn't some drive to find answers, like a noir private eye who had the stuffings knocked out of him.



It was fucking grim acceptance.


I looked around that room, knowing the death on my hands, knowing that there was an investigation, knowing that Paperclip was no doubt involved with the Police by now.

I knew any chance I had at doing this thing 'right', was gone.

There are no rewind buttons on life, even when you manage to get an extra life.


So, Kelevra, This wasn't some angsty self-sacrificing play of mine, to 'finally win', whatever that means.

Thanks for that, by the way. The worst part about it is that you normally would've been right. So fuck you too.

Anyway.

I decided that if that was the fate that awaited me, a million years of endless anguish and despair, then maybe I deserved it. Maybe I deserved every damn punishment I've ever been given, every snide comment, every 'I hope you die' remark, every little ounce of hate.

Maybe I just fucking deserved it all, and that the world would be better off without me.

I entered that Path, having decided that if that was how it was going to go, then maybe I'd just let it roll, and spend the rest of time alone.

Where I couldn't hurt anyone else.

Fuck it.

I'm going in.  I'll miss you all if I don't return. It was fun to be back if for a moment. And its not even a damn Solstice or Equinox.


Do better than I did.

Find your way.

I should go.

What Holds Us Back

Cue a few days of me running through the woods, circuiting around town, trying to avoid several human investigators, and one decidedly not, so now we're up to today again.

In that off time where I'm taking a few moments to reflect on how nightmarish my life has become, I examine what I have officially deemed the 'clicky box', or Mr. Clicky for close friends.  Thing is still moving, and still clicky, those little levers and such on it, which I have to remind myself was INSIDE someone, is still active, so it must have some sort of internal power source.

It *also* has something that could be writing in a language I don't know. Then again, I've also seen what Russian cursive looks like, and that is indecipherable.

Still, its in my best interest to give it a go.  Problem is, is that I figure Paperclip has given my number out to the cops, which means I can't answer my phone, JACK, because I don't want them doing that telemetry thing to me.

I honestly don't know if that really is a thing, but I'm in no mood to take chances.

So I circle back to of all places, Paperclip's house.  Why? I knew he lived alone now, I know what car he drives, his basic work hours, and the fact that the back of his house is close to the woodline.

I've made it a habit to learn all the exits near me, and stuff like that. You would, too.

His computer's unlocked, lots of tabs up and music and stuff, I just make a new tab, because I don't want to leave any bigger a trail here than I have to. I set the Mr. Clicky down on its....back? and start looking up obscure languages. Its a shot in the dark here, vaguely googling languages, taking photos with the phone and running them through reverse image lookup.

I got nothing.  It really could've been scratches for all I knew, but the lead turned out to be dead.

Soon, I'd follow.

I decided to engage in one last creature comfort before I ran off into the darkness. I used the lavatory.

So imagine my surprise when I come back out into the computer room and I see Mr. Clicky wasn't there anymore.

I drew. Too much weird shit goes on the moment you turn your back, so I did something stupid and smart simultaneously. I closed my eyes and looked for that little telltale purple aura that it emanated.

I saw a shape of similar color, humanoid, in the kitchen.

I did NOT want another confrontation like this. I started to pray to whatever forgotten god that would listen to a wretch like me, that this wasn't Paperclip come home early, or possessed or infected now, so then I'd have to behead two men in his family.

God, what if it was Matchbook?

What if it were my shadow?

I moved quietly towards the kitchen, and held back at the wall nearby. I closed my eyes again, to look for the figure. It wasn't there.

I spun around as fast as I could, my weapon up.

I had the right instinct, but the wrong defense.

I eat drywall, take out part of the wall and stagger back into the computer room.

 

"Magic" sword or not, you can't interpose a weapon against a stronger foe without getting impacted by it, you've either got to deflect the energy coming at you, or not be in its path. A good parry can do one or the other if you're prepared for it. Just holding the sword between you and she only works if you can counter that strength.

I could not.

I cursed to myself as I got myself back up and readied. She came into the room slowly, with purpose. A, presumably female, figure wearing an elaborate outfit that would suit something retro-futuristic more than modern day wear. All in all, she looked like a techno-nun with a face that gave strong skull motifs.

"Shit." I muttered, "Proxy bullshit? In my investigation? Its more likely than you think." 

She tilts her head at me, I go on about it, trying to summon an inner badass that isn't showing. "And if you tell me your name is Rika, I'm just leaving right now. But otherwise..."  I point to her hand, where Mr. Clicky is being held. "THAT sucker is mine, and I'm going to need you to hand it over."

Without much regard for me, I heard a hum and was sent into a tumble.

I sprawled against the computer desk, and smashed against the keyboard. It didn't matter now who this strange woman was, or how she knew about the death I was looking into. She was going to kill me. So much for Mr man, Mr zero my hero, and all that unwarranted praise I got. 

 

 I was just a mortal, and she was something else. I stood back up, and readied myself, cursing the fact I still wore this stupid ass outfit of mine. I needed more peripheral vision to see her. I tore off the mask, the hood. And I waited, as she watched me. 

 

And then something stupid happened... 

 

I heard clapping coming from the computer

 

 

I had hit the keyboard, and apparently hit enter just at the right spot, to play music.

 

This Music.

 

Why the fuck was it that song?

Fate was continuing its mocking jig at my expense, but I found some solace in hearing the tune. I was reminded of who I was eight years ago, or at least who I wanted to be. I still wasn't that person, I was never going to be that /warrior/ that we all dreamt of. But as Santa Esmerelda played on in the background, I decided one thing, 

 

That I wasn't going to die here.

I'm a scrapper nowadays, and admittedly I can take a punch, knife, or death squeeze pretty well. But I haven't quite built up an immunity to it.

She moved again, and this time I saw what she was doing. Her hand came forward and for about a second and a half, she was armed with some sort of staff or polearm or such.  It just popped right in as she moved, and disappeared the moment she stopped.

Invisible weaponry. Good Times

 

 I'm on full defense. I see her move her free hand, I don't do anything funny I just hurl myself out of the way. The drywall to my side explodes as I tuck and tumble.

"Son of a bitch! I was trying to be discreet here!" I snap at her.  

She's unfazed.

I see her start to move again, and move again, I catch some of whatever the hell that hit was, and hit the ground hard. It felt concussive, not edged, which means I have a better chance of a broken rib than arterial spray. 

I suck wind with some effort. "Okay...fuck this. Morningstar sends his goon after me, and you don't even get snappy, no retorts."

I ready my stance and stare her down, I'm ready for her.

She strikes, I go to block.

I'm not ready for her. My hands nearly go numb as I interpose the blade, its like hitting pure steel at full power. It doesn't give, *I* give.

Sword goes down, I would LOVE to grasp my numb hand, but that's the only one I have, so I am very much in a predicament.

Don't extrapolate on the fact that I'm writing this, btw. You don't know.

 

(Side note: I've decided to italics when people are talking to me, I think it'll help conversations read better.)

She speaks, and I place her accent as possibly somewhere in New York.  "Morningstar?"

I figure I can buy some time to get my hand back working again, and say with every ounce of glibness I can muster.  "Yeah."

She gives me what I would assume would be a wry smile, if it weren't for the fact that I notice her eyes aren't blinking. The very personification of some sort of tech-death cultist, and she's just being casual with me.

She continues, "You think I'm with that clown?", the figure reels and lets out a snort. "Please!"

I pick up my blade, and regard her, standing back up. "Okay...so a different side of Team Evil or whatever it is now."

She grins at me as she turns off Santa Esmerelda, "Team Evil?  Nah, man, just a girl with a job." I squint at her, "Is the job to kill me?" "You? Get over yourself! I'm just here to snag the thing."

Mr. Clicky.

"So you know what it does, or at least who it belongs to?" She nods, "Yeah, Mang."  As I talk to her, she unwraps some chewing gum and chews it.

This situation just keeps getting weirder, but I've struck a lead, so I press it. "Okay, can I get your name at least before you go back to killing me?"

She answers with a mouthful of gum, must've eaten three strips. "Twenty Six" I was about to say that wasn't a name, but then my own handle came to the forefront. I swallowed my protest and nodded, "Noted. Okay, Can I see whomever made this...Mr. Clicky?" I gesture at that item again.

Twenty Six nearly chokes on her gum. Well there was one win condition I hadn't considered. "Mister Clicky? Nice."  She looks at it, then shakes it offhandedly, "I don't know what it does, but yeah, I guess. Ole Dee Emm doesn't deal with company much. Hop a ride."
She ran two fingers over the air, and split reality in twain. I've seen it before. Hell, I *did* it before, back in the day, and the monochrome area within sent a chill through my bones.

A black leaf came out of that portal.

I shook my head. "Oh no.  Not there. I can't do that."

Twenty Six shrugged, "Geeze, make up your mind. First you wanna fight, then you don't. You want answers, now you don't.  You're like the verbal equivalent of a cocktease, ain't ya?"
How the fuck could I tell her about that damn place, what it did to me?

What happens if I go back there and I can't come back?  What if its like it was before?

I wave her off, I can't even look at the damn thing. I start screaming at her to just go.  Not afraid to say that I was just sobbing like a four year old, and slumped in the corner.

"Geeze, what's with you?  Well okay then, but iffin you're wantin to meet Dee Emm, you'd better get on the horse. These things move about pretty fast like."  She shot me a finger gun, pulled her hood down a bit more, and disappeared into the night.

And I couldn't follow.

I *can't* follow.

What You Are In The Dark

I spent a lot of time thinking while on that path.

I mean, there was nothing else to do, but walk. So I thought *a lot*.

Sometimes between my rambling thoughts, I'd think back to my life.  What I did wrong, what I did right. How I'd change things.

I thought about how I'd approach people, or situations, try to use my head to analyze things further, use caution at all points, you know, a real layman's backseat analysis at solving problems.

Well that worked out real well, didn't it?

I cannot believe that it happened again, that shit spirals out of control so fast.  I mean, I get that its not my fault....well, okay maybe I should be to blame at least in part. Maybe I was being reckless when I looked at him.

I had no idea that would happen. I don't know if its something that I caused, or maybe he was programmed to do. I just don't know.

But I need to take responsibility for my part of this.

And now the area's got police and news copters about, talking about the 'wild killer' who killed an elderly man.

Never you mind that he chased me down four flights of stairs, took out drywall, and tore doors off their hinges to get at me. My only saving grace right now is that my face didn't pick up well on the hospital cameras.

Where the fuck is that perception filter that shows up conveniently, when /I/ need it?

Shit.

So now I'm hiding out in the woods, avoiding dogs and search parties.  Holy balls, I cannot believe how bad this mistake has gotten.

And you know what? I keep thinking about that stupid thing I pulled out of Matchbook. Its about the size of a cell phone, with little levers and stuff on it. The damn thing moves on its own accord a little, making whirring noises like those little wind-up cars from the 80s. I'm half tempted to let it go run free, so I can see where it leads, but right now, that's all I have.

Maybe when I get caught, I can offer it up as proof of what was (probably) making Matchbook do what he did.

Oh who the fuck am I kidding? I'm going to get shot dead if they find me.

Fuck me.

Misericorde

It was dark when we arrived at that hospital. I got out of the car, and started to reach back in for my stupid sword.

Seriously, why don't I just get a firearm or something?....okay, because I'm really rather likely to injure myself with one, more than do anything worthwhile for it.  Man, this entire life of mine has gotten real stupid, hasn't it?  Running around with a mask, a black hoodie with day-glo operator symbols, and a replica sword that got reforged by Amalgamation Sage, and is apparently 'magic'.

Magic.

Fuck me.

Anyway, as I cursed my life (and then promptly stopped, thinking about what my alternative was), I realized that I had to leave my gear behind.

Paperclip and I made our way inside. I had asked him about visiting hours. Paperclip raised a hand, leading me deeper into the hospital, "Private room, they only kick people out if they're in a semi-private spot."  I mused as we stepped into the elevator, "And he'd have to have a private room because he's got a cop on him."  I grimaced, "I feel really uncomfortable in here as it is, and now I gotta lie to a cop." He waved his hand, "Friend of the family. The guys I've seen, barely care as it is."

The doors opened, and he lead on, a bit of an impatience in his wide-stance steps. I just sort of plodded along behind him. What was I supposed to do? Snap my fingers and find an answer? Even if I did see him as being 'tainted' or whatever, that just tells me that there's truth to the claim. It doesn't give me an answer.

Paperclip was putting a lot of trust and hope into me, and I hated the fact that this was going to end poorly for him. Three rooms in, past the smell of antiseptic, and quietly hushed staff, we walked past a slouching officer of the law with barely a word, and into Matchbook's room.

An older man, mid-sixties, I'd guess. Hair had fully receded back, and what was left was growing long, stringy white. He was intubated, with a full breathing mask on. Physically, the man was pretty similar to his son. Stocky, short, and with a ruddy face, which looked pale in the hospital light. Meanwhile, Paperclip stares at me like this is it, like this is how things get fixed. I sigh and shut the door.

I look him over again, and check his arms and feet for signs of self-harm. Nobody likes to talk about it, but those of us in this sort of game, we end up...well, I won't say anything further on the subject actually. I can't comment on the struggles of another life.

I looked him over enough to vouch that the man was indeed stripped, as distasteful as that was to say. Paperclip just silently watched, his hands together in unease and expectation. I didn't see anything, but did I /see/ anything? I never knew what really triggered that old sight. I just knew.

But that taint never fully goes away. Not if my dreams have anything to say about it. In my life, I've been double marked. Once by the Hollow Man, once by the Bleeding Tree. They both have a hold on me in the long run. I thought about that fevor I had back in the day (last blog), that sense of justice, and fury that came with it. It was who I was, who I had been reforged to be, a catspaw for the Tree.

It lead me nowhere. I sighed and sat down on one of those deep chairs they have in  private rooms. Wordlessly, I gave Paperclip a weak shrug. I didn't want to outright say it, that either I had no idea how to verify it all, or if maybe Matchbook was responsible for his own crimes.

I sat there, and shut my eyes, my head in my hands.

THAT is when I saw him.

I saw his body's faint outline, despite my eyes being closed, not too dissimilar to seeing light through closed eyes. It was as if he was viewed in thermal vision, no depth, just a glowing spot in a background of darkness.  I rubbed my eyes and stood up, testing it out again. It was a strange color, a purplish color. Far different from that red and orange I used to see for the Tree's victims.

Paperclip couldn't take it, and broke the silence. "What do you see?" I walked right up beside Matchbook and peered down at him. It was as if one spot of him was glowing more than the rest.

and THAT was when the outline moved.

I opened my eyes, to see Matchbook staring up at me, his eyes open wide like he had seen a ghoul. Instantly his hands came up to grab at me. The restraints on his hands kept him bound to the bed, and yet the whole bed shook under his force.

I gave the best advice I could have ever given in my sagely career.

"Run!" 

I took to the door immediately, as the bed clattered.  Paperclip was about five seconds behind me, just clearing the door apprehensively, when the bed must've tipped over. He said something, I just started to run.

He was up, and his eyes were straining solely towards my unlucky ass..

I found the fire exit, and just started to clear as many steps as I could.  Halfway down the first turn downstairs, the door above me explodes in force, and Matchbook, covered in hoses and still in his paper gown, puts himself into the dry wall in my wake.

He starts peeling himself out of the dust and crumbling wall, I took that as a good cue to resume my fleeing, and flee I did. I hit the ground floor, I hear panicked announcements over the PA, and lights flash.  Someone in uniform tries to interpose between myself and the exit. I take him to task, and bowl him over. Matchbook's back on my heels, I see him in the reflection of the exit doors, he's moving on all fours, tiles being torn up as he cuts a swath through the hospital.

I put my foot into what I hope is an alarm, and clear the two chambers of exit doors, heading for the car. I can't leave Matchbook like this so I can't just flee, but I also refuse to let him tear me to pieces barehanded. I kept thinking that maybe I could find another way out of this.

By the time I get my sword out, I look back. Matchbook was caught in the doors, actually bending them out of his way.

Holy shit.

I flee to the woods nearby, and I mean I am covering some serious ground towards it. There's no real plan in mind, other than my own personal survival. If I fight him, one of us dies, possibly both. The fevor he had for assaulting me, that wasn't going to allow for rational thought. So I had to run.

I hear the snap of branches behind me, and start to throw myself down, and a cannonball explodes into my back. He comes down partially atop me, and with enough momentum that both of us tumble in the high grass and dirt.

I start to regain my senses only to feel steely hands clawing at me. Matchbook's just grabbing at me, but it is with such a ferocity that he's about to dig furrows into my flesh. As he did before, it seems.

I put my hand into his eyes to try to dissuade him, but to no avail. This sixty-something year old balding man stares down at me with the absolute horror and intensity of someone who was born for a single moment.

My sword's partially underneath me, and I need every ounce of leverage I have to keep him as far off of me as I can manage. I roll him over, and catch him on part of a stump. The grip breaks, and I lunge for the blade. He recovers instantly, catching my leg. Pain roars up my calf as he squeezes.

He's not even trying to just kill me smart, he'd have gone for a choke or the head, as if this is his only form of assault. I put my other foot into him as he lets out a hoarse breath. Matchbook doesn't give, and I'm in agony. He starts to move his hands, and my mind goes back to those deep furrows that Paperclip mentioned.

I take the blade to his arm, and deliver a poorly aimed, but wounding strike, backed by sheer adrenaline.  I hack again, and a vein opens up. I curse this damn day and my damn job. He was going to bleed out here, his heart had to be racing a mile a minute.

Matchbook releases my leg and catches me again as I try to get up.  The bastard is strong, and not to sound like a broken record, but I've got one arm to work with. One hand grabs at my head, and the other enters my mouth.  He starts to squeeze again.  There's no soft tissue to work with here, only an agonizing pressure as he tries to break my jaw open, or crush my skull.

I didn't want to do it, but there's no choice now. I was going to die right here. It was literally him or me.  The blade thrust upwards into his chest, and it cut him good, it eased into him without much resistance. Writing this, I nearly threw up thinking about it.

 If it hurts him, it doesn't show, as I stare at this panicked, intent expression on his face, his eyes nearly bulging out.  I draw out the blade, coating my chest in blood.  I aim higher.

He was caught in the neck, and the son of a bitch turned his head INTO it, slitting his throat. Arterial spray trickles out of him, covering me further. I get my foot underneath me and kick him back, unsheathing as I do.

I can hear Paperclip off in the distance, or someone.  Someone's shouting, and I'm finally getting to my feet.

Matchbook slumps. I can't believe I nearly decapitated the poor soul.  He's laying there, like a disgusting Pez dispenser, and I'm in shock.

Gotta flee. I've gotta disappear into the dark, I sure as hell can't go back. I'm fucking done. I turn to leave.

And I heard motion behind me, a gurgling sound, and movement.

My eyes close instinctively as I whisper, "No way."

I turn. 

Matchbook's standing back up, his head lolling over his back, his blue gown gone.  So now I'm dealing with a naked old man who's clumsily getting to his feet.

"No. Fucking. Way."

And my eyes are still closed. I know what it has to be, and I don't want to see it, but i can't not see it.  There's that damn purple aura I see, and its so focused now, there's this intense glow of it right under his right arm.

He comes at me. I aim there with the blade, and say my prayers. 

Again we collide.  This time, I get back up.

Matchbook appears to be down this time.  I whisper a prayer for forgiveness, and clumsily try to say something about him, even while I come to grips with what I have to do.

I've got to find out what that aura is, what is causing that coloring, it had to be the cause of all this.

So yeah, I desecrate him further, and I find something there. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was some sort of cell phone.

Its covered in gore now, thanks to the fight.  Its my clue to the problem at hand, at least.

The only price was another life corrupted by evil.

I flee into the darkness, and run as fast as my legs can take me.

Some things never change.

Potions

I've been stalling because I have no answers, so how's your lives going?

Honestly, I know that there's nothing more to it than going to go check out Paperclip's father, Matchbook. I can't solve a problem without knowing what it is, and nothing that I've come across so far is a sure sign of problem. I sat down Paperclip and gave him the deal before anything else.

"Alright, man, first off, you have to understand that I don't have a lot of answers, I only have *some* answers." He leaned forward towards me, his expression somber and his face a bit ruddy due to the way his forehead was tilted towards me.  "Okay." He nodded after a moment's hesitation. He didn't want to hear that. Paperclip wanted to hear 'I can make everything better'. I pressed him before he could build up expectations again. "Not going to lie. A lot of people who end up proxied, or whatever it is we call it, they end up not coming back. That means they either end up having severe psychological issues, or just dead. We could go talk to him, and he or either of us could end up dead. You need to understand that too." That thought was a bit much for him, he rubbed his hands on his slacks, and nodded again. "Okay..." He drew out the word a bit, and then followed up before I could continue. "but he's in a coma, so that shouldn't happen, right?"

I shrugged in agreement, "Yeah, well, a lot of things happen that shouldn't, but I just want you to be aware that right now, there's a really high chance that your father, Matchbook..."  I wanted to phrase this better, but I couldn't sugarcoat it. "He's probably already gone, in one form or another. I think ideally, that you might want to let this sleeping dog lie. If he spends the rest of his life in a coma...well, that's probably for the better." I added as the thought hit me, "if he has good insurance."

I folded my hands together, "Now, I do not want to get your hopes up, but there has been some....marginal luck in, well I guess I can call it 'transferring a connection', from one person to another. Its one of those 'damn yourself to save another' things, I advise against it." He looked up at me then started shaking his finger at me, "You mean like that thing you did way back when? Listen, my father is a damn good soul, he needs better than this. You don't understand, Tim." He stood up and gestured with passion, "They think he killed his daughter."

I took to my feet as well, "He may have, PC, this won't change anything in that regard, it just means he might end up aware enough to realize what he did, isn't that worse?"

Paperclip fumed and said very clearly, "I brought you here to clear this up, Tim."  "And do what? Tell the police about the Hollow Man? You know that's not how this shit works! When we spread knowledge, it only gets worse. People get stupid, and curious, and things go bad. Do you really want me to go to a court with this? Tell a newspaper?  They'd laugh at me, and you KNOW what the headlines will do to your dad."

I said it slowly, "Older man found complicit in Hollow Man stabbings." I shook my head at him, and his fevor died. "They'd put him in the news. He'd hit the 24 hour news cycle, and we'd get to hear all these people who don't know the situation, talk about him about how he got suckered into a fad. Don't let that happen."

He sagged to the cushion and nodded again, a glum look in his eyes. We sat there for a moment before I wordlessly got up, we had gotten together to go to the hospital, he picked up on that. I let him process his thoughts on the road in that same silence.

About fifteen minutes out, he said, "So I could drink some sort of solution and turn the Hollow Man's gaze towards me? That was your idea?" I shook my head, "I dunno if its really some stupid tonic of ice water and...stuff. I think it might've been more the intent, the belief to go with it. Maybe that's something we've all been dancing around all this time. Maybe it really IS intent that puts things in motion, just like with everything else in reality."

He parked the car at the hospital. I didn't tell him the other part of that backup plan. I wasn't going to have him drink some silly 'potion'.

I was going to.

Treading Water With One Arm

I did my due diligence, even as I perused the blogs. Again, I can't say I understand this world of ours anymore, but it appears that Jack has either perished, went to sleep, stasis, or something else. On that subject, I informed the new head of Sanctuary that I owed a favor to the community, and that I'd pay it back if they need.

Having said that, NGL when someone starts referring to themselves as a god, I tend to take a few steps back.  A lot of things happen when one starts talking godhood, not the least of which is that you might feel your thoughts and believes trump others thoughts and beliefs.

The thing you may have noticed is that I am stalling, and that's because reading that notebook full of crazy gave me almost nothing to work with, as to whom I am dealing with.

I did see some multi-armed figures drawn in it, but for the most part it told me a story I was familiar with. A pre-lingual bit of artwork that showed groups of people, and some of them marked, others not so much.

I was reminded of my own need to hunt down 'certain targets', though I never understood more than that. I assumed they were tainted, that they were exposed to the Hollow Man, and therefore were the proper quarry.  The way I figure it, a lot of issues in the world only touch you if you've already been a part of it. That old perception filter that most people didn't ever notice, that's a part of it. Think about how Sanctuary has all these wards up, but people leading mundane lives go through it all the time. Surely some of them are evil, or commit violence, and yet they aren't spontaneously combusted.

Holy shit, maybe that's why some people spontaneously combust, maybe there was some sort of spell or ward or whatever in an area that could only touch the life of one already tainted by the supernatural.

Wow.

Enough musing for now, back to work. I've got to find out something more about Matchbook's condition, but I admit I've hit something of a wall right now. The Hollow Man never really did anything that made his victims/proxies super strong.

Unless all that deal with Conduits was coming back into the light.

God, I hope not, but then again, with all the strangeness in the world, maybe it's just how its always been, we just refused to believe it.

I do believe I am in over my head.

That's just mean.

Yes, I saw the damn article, you can stop spamming my email with it.

Jesus Christ people, this isn't a thing to celebrate.

For the rest of you who have no idea what I'm referring to, I'll post a link here so you know what I am talking about..

http://www.iflscience.com/plants-and-animals/scientists-figure-out-which-bones-make-the-best-daggers/

Seeking Truth

My astute readers will notice that I've kept my mission secret, as well as my location. Well, there's no secret that Morningsatr has been trolling me, so why give him any ammunition to work with?

I received an email from a contact I will call Paperclip from this point forward. A few months ago, Paperclip had sent an email to my old yahoo account (zer0mbr is my handle there), because I had mentioned it, literally eight years ago. I've received all sorts of mail during my death, but most of it stopped five years ago. Paperclip wrote the most recent, and I felt that there was a chance that I might be able to help him. Though, what I could manage, remained to be seen.

Mike dropped me off in an urban setting, by this point, I had already texted Paperclip that I was finally in the area. I took an hour or two to buy some new secondhand clothes, and met up with yon client...is client the right word?  I'm not taking any money from him for my assistance, but 'quest giver' sounds pretty weak. Client it is.

PC was the sort of man I figured I'd have become when I was forty. Comfortably overweight, wearing business casual slacks and a polo. He was balding (which as I understand it, I will not suffer that particular fate, thank you Grandfather), and wore glasses. He had an affable, perhaps even harmless look to him. I awaited outside a Cracker Barrel, on one of those slat wood benches, as he approached, my small collection of gear, sans sword, on my lap.

He noticed me, and stopped about six feet away. He then adjusted his glasses and drew out a piece of paper. "Ah...'What do you do when the exterminator is late?'" He read the words off of the call and response I had given him in a very stilted delivery. My high school drama teacher would've held him over for extra lessons.  I gave out a cough, then replied, "Burn down the apartment complex." I was reminded that I had forgotten to call and respond to Mike earlier, and started to text a note to myself to remember to keep OpSec. He waited patiently for a few moments as I fumbled over this phone interface.

"So ah, you're ...you're him." I managed a curt nod, I didn't like discussing this in a public setting. "Can we talk in your car?" He gave a double nod, then gestured across the parking lot. I folded my clothes and backpack around my sword, leaving only the handle visible and joined him.

In retrospect, I should have had him turn out his pockets, just in case there was a firearm around. I glanced over his car, looking for anything out of the ordinary as he got in. I took the seat behind him. Naturally, he started to look over his shoulder, I politely asked him to stop. "Just talk. Tell me everything."  I needed this position of power over him, just in case for some reason this was a trap, or he was a plant. Hell, lost causes and troubled souls could be used as a honeypot trap for me, if I weren't careful.

He summarized what I had already known, that he felt his father, whom I will refer to as Matchbook, was under the influence of something supernatural. PC had noted erratic mood swings, a nagging cough, and occasional nose bleeds, but naturally there was more to it than this. He had also discovered what we in the /sage/ field refer to as a 'notebook full of crazy'.



Story checks out.

There are certain thoughts that the human mind just aren't meant to handle. Consider the eldritch nature of these creatures from afar that have scruples and morals completely foreign to us. Communication alone must be taxing, to even comprehend each other.  As a man to an ant, or a god to a man, as they say.

So imagine if I were to put a thought in an ant's head. Something simple, perhaps 'go eat an apple'. The ant has no point of reference for me. In its own terms, it'd understand the concepts of 'eat' and 'apple', but my use of terms for it would be completely alien. How would the ant communicate or follow an instruction it had no way of knowing? Most likely, its scent would change, and it would move in erratic patterns, then probably die.

Humans have something of a pre-lingual underbrain, one that can fathom some of these concepts better, I figure. And yet there are no words, so we do the one thing that can help express these thoughts.

We draw.

A notebook full of crazy is a prime way to ID someone who has lacked the rational capacity for proper digestion of mental knowledge. I thumbed through it as he continued, explaining the story I had already heard.

Paperclip's sister had been slain barehanded a few months back, in the family home. Deep furrows that could only have been impressed by something supernaturally strong, were ripped into her.  There wasn't much to go on, except that his father, Matchbook, was on site, slumped over a chair, in a coma.

"Was there any trace of blood on him?"  Paperclip shook his head from afar, "Nothing overt. That police chemical though...uh.."  I added the word for him, "Luminol."  (I had to google it to spell it correctly).  He nodded vigorously, "it showed that he had blood on him, but it was all cleaned up apparently."  I continued, "And the coma?"  "Well, the doctors have their theories, but there was no blunt trauma or anything, nobody really knows. Been that way since."

Honestly, I was well out of my element by this point. I could scheme, I could fight, but solving a murder was outside of my league. What did he expect me to do, just look at his father and tell if he...oh right. I *have* done that.

It was part of whatever brainfuckling happened with the Bleeding Tree. I had been able to see if someone was tainted with the supernatural, I didn't know if there were different 'flavors' of it all, but my time in Sanctuary showed me that it still worked, a strange, almost....infrared look of a person.

Unsettling as all hell.

As I thought to myself, he had continued talking, and snapped me out of my musings. "So do you think this could be something that that Hollow Man could do?"  I thought about it, and voiced my thoughts. "Yes, but as I've recently learned, there's so many more things out there than just /him/. All sorts of a myriad of nasties and unspeakables. But these violent mood swings, the attack...It could be."  I continued, after a breath, "But you have to understand two things, that this could have been the act of a perfectly rational and sane person, your father might have had something trigger inside him, whether it be PTSD or something else that went unnoticed. You may not just get some sort of answer that gives you someone to blame. You need to understand that."

"Secondly, my experience here is limited. I'm pretty good at a few things nowadays, staying on the move, fightin', and tracking."  When I put it that way, I'm a thug.  Great.  "I'm going to read this notebook and get back to you, I've seen a lot of strange symbols in my time, if I see anything I recognize, I'll understand a bit more about what I'm dealing with. That also means I need a lot of time to do online research."

Paperclip looked at me in the review mirror, "You can use my computer at home, anytime you need to."  I grimaced, "I will pass. In fact, you need to stay out of my sight until I contact you again. I will need to visit Matchbook, is he in long term care, or in a hospital?"  Paperclip dug through his wallet, "Hospital. He's got an armed watch on him. Nobody figures he's going to just spring up, but he's been called a 'person of interest' in the case...what little there is of it.

That was going to make it hard for me to bring my magic sword inside.

Also, who the fuck actually says 'magic sword' unironically? I suppose I shouldn't say that, I've got no proof that it is anything more than a piece of shit.

Though I've read that it was used to help kill a second Redlight...that alone says something.

For now, research.

Willie Nelson

edit: Apparently I had the wrong dude listed as the reference here. Whoops!

I got a ride from an old follower, which helped ease my travel time. I'll refrain from identifying him, but I'll give my thanks nevertheless. It was both heartwarming and humiliating to be picked up on the edge of the road, in desperate need of a shower, broke, and out of juice.

The vehicle pulled up on a stretch of road that had absolutely no other reasons to stop around. I got a text that simply said 'Here'.  I saw him from the treeline, and gave him a call-and-response. Bemused, perhaps, he agreed.

As I approached, the window rolled down. I tried to maintain a friendly disposition, and my driver grinned, "Call for an Uber?" I eyed him skeptically, "What?  I think I've got the wrong car."  He grinned harder and waved me over, "Nah, just messing with you, man, hop in, we'll get you on the move." Physically, he was just some random guy, reminded me of that Tom guy who always had to be your friend on MySpace...not that many people remember him now.

I got in the car, and gave a look around, your standard coupe. I mean, I don't know cars, but it, you know, was nice I guess. "Just so you know," I started, "I'm pretty much expecting you to try to kill me at any moment."  My contact, I'll call him Mike, after my recently passed and beloved Uncle, he reminded me just enough of him.

Mike laughed at me, and got us back on the road, that grin everpresent.  "Why would I do that?" I shrugged, eased into my seat and kept myself turned a bit towards him. I spoke quietly, enough that he had to turn down his music. "You know why." Again, I shrugged, "I don't want to sound like a broken records, but yeah..."  He laughed and kept his eyes forward, "Yeah well, we've all done some shit, I guess.  You need to charge your phone?" I nodded, he offered me a plugin, and followed up. "Man, I can't believe it. Meeting Zero Sage, You hungry?" Without a word, he patted a cooler behind him, "Dig in to something. Take what you want." I did. I was quiet as I ate, and he respected that. Finally, after I finished the Sprite in the cooler, I asked him, "So...why did you make the offer?"

Again, Mike let out a little laugh, "Come on, why wouldn't I? Read all your blogs, man, all that creepy pasta goodness. Used to be all afeared of the Sl..."  I cut him off, "We call it the Hollow Man now.  You probably know why."  His smile dropped a bit, and nodded, "Hollow Man, yeah, as good a thing as any. Man, I cannot tell you how many times those stories would scare me, Like, I thought he'd be in the bedroom with me. Like...I was twenty-four, and I was thinking about monsters again."

I nodded, then realized he couldn't see my reaction, "Well.." I hedged my words, "It was no picnic to write about."  He laughed again, "Hah, yeah,  'Dat Ass'"   I managed a weak smile, and felt the need to clear the air. "Rika...she wasn't really this figure I made her out to be. I should've tried to humanize her more when I talked about her. I was being an idiot, and trying to...I don't know, have power over her by sexualizing her. No wonder eRika was so vehement against me, I kinda deserved it."

He sort of shoulder bumped towards me, though the seat belt kept him from making contact, "did you ever meet the other writers? Like, did you plan things out together? Those stories were a lot of fun, I bet you had a ton of fun writing."

I paused, did he believe it was just stories? That we were just writing for fun? I remember a time way back when, when I was accused of just that. The event coloquially known as the 'Shitstorm'. I still feel bad about my part in that, lashing out at Frap of all people.

Good Times.

He suddenly started tapping on the steering wheel, and laughed again. "Had ya going there."  I nodded somberly, "Well, I wasn't going to correct you. I'd rather everyone think they were just stories."  Mike drove in silence for a bit, and the radio played. Four hours later, he dropped me off at a spot in which I could still be vague about my destination, and I thanked him. He offered me some money. I refused, and he offered again, then dropped a handful of twenties and drove away without giving me a chance to refuse.

I took the money. Phone was charged, belly was full, and a few bucks to my name. I was replenished.
Now on to the task at hand.

Something to leave behind

I've drastically overestimated myself. In my wish to hit the trail, get out there in the world and do something worth doing for once, I find myself lacking in food, water, and transport. That could've gone better. I suppose I could've begged some resources from Sanctuary, but most everyone there seemed to be barely scraping by as it was, so who was I to take more from them?

I've managed for the most part, though this cold snap isn't doing me any favors. I've got some of my gear on, inside out. I need to look into something more formidable for cold weather, it'll make do as a pillow as well when I need it. Right now, it is all about keeping this phone charged and putting miles under my belt.

Wounds are okay, I guess, but the bandages keep needing changed. No more antiseptic, so I've used Ivory soap and water when I can to help prevent infection. The pain's nothing too bad, and that worries me more than being stalked again. I feel like I'm in better shape than I was ever before, well, sans the bad arm that is. I just don't tire as fast as before, even a full day's travel isn't enough to set me on my ass. That's pretty unsettling, to think that I'm not /physically/ the same as I once was.

I mean, I keep hearing these terms now. Everything's so much more overt.  Reapers, devils, fears, agents, proxies... Everything has a label now. All those years of floundering about in the dark have either garnered a bit of information that helped define those things that have started to hunt in the night, or maybe, just maybe, those things really have always been there, and I'm just now...well, 'falling down the rabbit hole' as they say.

That or ole core theory's rearing its head again, and we're labeling everything in an attempt to understand, and in hopes of inflating our own position in things. I honestly don't know, but I can say that I've felt more lost now than ever before.

Then I hear this news from Sanctuary that Lilith had died in some mysterious means, of her own choosing apparently. Now, I didn't know her or Bael. Heck, I've spoken to her a grand total of once, and that was on an earlier entry. I hear people talk about this huge amount of bloodshed that was laid out, that so many people were killed (bad people, I hear), and I think to myself, 'Who has the right to do this?'...

I'm getting off topic. I'm not here to pass judgment on her. I don't know her story, and I can't possibly know her intent. I hear talk from (of all things) Proxy Incorporated (and I still don't understand how the hell that works, but that's a question for another time), that Lilith ended up dying in order to protect others. That's a noble pursuit, especially if a child is involved. Especially if it is /your/ child.

But is sacrifice and death the only way we win these sorts of things? How many people pull a noble sacrifice, and things just get worse? Hell, I tried it myself TWICE, and not only did it not take, but I made life worse for everyone as a result of both.

Sigh.  Again, this shouldn't be about me, this should be about them. I mean, I know Jack just a little, and as I understand it, despite what I assumed had to be animosity, she and Lilith were practically sisters...and being that they're ideally the same person from alternative dimensions, well, that must be akin to losing a twin. A break so impossible to console, so resistant to healing, that no words can do it justice, no wellspring can fill that void. A massive piece of a life, ripped and torn asunder.

"For they that remain, their wounds grow deeper and deeper, for they that remain, they grow weaker and weaker, an agony incomparable. Ceasing to live, frozen in time."

 And then there's Bael, someone I know nothing about, except that Morningstar seemed to take a step back from him, and Morningstar is.......something else now as well.

I hear that Proxy Inc. has speculated he's been put into the same sort of thrall that I had been. I'm not sure if that makes him more dangerous or less dangerous. The Tree entices, it lures those with powerful intentions, it twists your thoughts and convinces you that you are on the right path.

I wanted victory. I wanted to be famous, and the big hero.  Yeah, I'll admit it, I wanted to be that /Hero/ of Core Theory, even as I pretended that I wasn't able to fulfill that role. Of course, I proved that I was incapable of such things later, but again I digress.

Anyway, I guess what I am saying is that I can't judge anyone else's actions, but I can understand the lengths you'd go to for your own child. In the end, that is all we have, what we leave behind.

Rest easy, the dead of Sanctuary, you've left behind a small candle in the darkness. And with that candle, we can see so much.

Shoeleather

I awoke by the feel of fabric being pushed over my face.

I sleep in a cot currently, blankets upon blankets beneath me, on the second floor of a little wooden home. Six other people share the room with me. Which meant that my mind went to thoughts of murder immediately when someone covered my face forcefully, and leaned over me. I struggled, raising my hands up from under the large blanket. I pawed blindly at the figure above me, there was a weight at the assassin's arms as he pressed back down against me, fabric teared by my shoulder and heart as I did my best to block the knife.

I could barely manage a noise, but my legs kicked ferociously as I tried to grab some purchase. I felt the knife move again, and again, as the assailant used his entire body to keep atop me. That damn blanket kept me from being able to use my good arm against him, barely able to feebly shift.

The lights came on, and I was given a brief respite, just enough time to squirm partially out of my afghan. Admittedly, I was ready to kill the bastard that decided to take me out in my sleep. All this talk about everyone doing wrong, or making amends, or violence unable to happen here. Sanctuary had lied to me, and all I wanted was to leave. There were several screams of dismay.

What I did not expect was to see his eyes. It was like staring into space itself, an endless expanse of the cosmos itself. I felt myself drawn to them, like I could dive in and swim in a place beyond everything. I had felt that before, and pulled myself away. Only then did I see what the others had seen.

He stood tall and lean, a figure that was humanoid but not quite human. Humans don't fuzz in and out unless they're on a low-quality TV. From his hunched over look and faintly apparent clothes upon his frame, I knew my shadow when I saw it. In his hands, he clutched a broken blade, and lunged at me again.

I was stunned into disbelief as he came for me, pushing me back down to the bed, that blade pressed before him, piercing my chest lightly. My feet lashed out at him weakly, catching him in the shin. It was enough to make him lose some of his leverage, and I capitalized, sitting up and taking him to the floor with me.

There were no words between us, no witty remarks. That said, I shrieked like a little kid at the onlookers. "Get the fuck out of here! Run!" People in their undies bailed out of the room as fast as they could, as I struggled on. My one arm managed to grasp the hilt as I weighed down atop him. My balance was bad, but I had gained some strength, and put it to use. I pushed down with that shadowy broken blade, and pierced him. It sunk in as if he were intangible, before he threw me aside.

I landed against another cot, which upset atop me. Somewhere outside a baby cried, as he came at me again. I used the cot to trip him up, then made my way onto my feet. He capitalized, and slashed into my bad arm, cutting me to the bone. He had the advantage on me by so much, being armed and...well...two good arms. I threw myself at him again, trying to get inside his reach. Grappling was going to be tricky as injured as I was, but I didn't have the opportunity to get past him back to my cot.

The door burst open again, a young woman waved a gun forward, screaming. I couldn't hear her, my heart was thumping too loud. I yelled for her not to fire. He took advantage again, catching me in the hip, and drawing it across and out of my side. I landed a solid punch on him, that sent him sprawling. Gunfire ripped through the room as I scrambled across the mess of clothes, shoes, and such to get to my own blade. I sprawled onto the bed, right on my newly acquired wounds, and felt another sting just below my shoulderblade. I turned as hard as I could, fumbling for my sword with my arm.

He stared down at me, his form shimmering like black fire. That broken blade of his raised up again...
His eyes just seemed to grow bigger, like he were a black hole made flesh. His eyes became one eye, and then it expanded further, endless stars being sucked into that oblivion. His body was...eaten, by the void before me, and then it vanished into the ether.

I had no idea what happened, and was in awful pain from the multitude of wounds. The resident that fired at him, she was crying, I pulled myself up to my feet, armed myself, and just sat there.

It was back. My shadow, that long hunting shade that....well I never figured out WHY it pursues me, but it was able to reach me here, in a place of no violence. I was planning on leaving regardless, but now my timetable turned to the immediate.

I gathered up my items, a bit of food, and prepared to leave Sanctuary. Missouri was where that email was sent from, I was planning on going there regardless, but now...well, no time like the present. Nobody in the immediate area knew first aid, though most of the residents were awakened by the disturbance. I managed some antiseptic, cotton and tightly wrapped bandages, knowing that that'd have to do. I'd spend some time afterwards googling deep laceration wounds. Harris was up by now too, and didn't make any effort to stop me. He simply asked if he could drop me off somewhere.

I accepted.

That was a few days ago, and I've been doing little else but walking towards Missouri.

Anything to stay ahead of my shadow.

What Now?

To quote B.

It is a bit funny to say that, even funnier to reference B of all people. Does anyone else out there remember him? I certainly do. He's the one that drew me into being a /Sage/ and all that really. He was the one I thought I could help.

It was helping out B that I sort of got...well perhaps 'shanghaied' is the wrong term, but I didn't expect the repercussions of my actions. I think it is fair to say we all have had moments like that, especially of late.

I downed a 'mystery drink' that somehow saved his friend, by drawing her problems unto myself.

I understand exactly how weird and stupid that sounds. It did give me quite an interesting side effect. I could see it. I never could before, or perhaps it just never cared enough about me back then. Maybe getting tainted just meant that I drew its gaze upon me.

I think about what I need to do next, as I sit here in this little part of Sanctuary, using a community-owned laptop. There was a cold snap lately, but right now, its almost nice out. I can appreciate everything I've missed. That sense of appreciation has really made me think about things. I've just sat and listened as people talked. I've chopped wood one-handed to the enjoyment of a small crowd. I've listened to people sing or play ratty old instruments. I see people tell stories, and talk about their lives.

I see people unbroken.

I've heard it all. A young woman tells us about how she had to shoot her brother down because he came at her with a straight razor. It hurts her, but she's accepted that pain and moved on. I see another person admit what he had to do to survive, he had killed eight people over five years. I stare at him for a moment, seeing more behind the older man that I did laundry with just the other day.

I ask the crowd if anyone here hasn't had to kill another. There's a few that raise hands, but not many. The people of Sanctuary have had a hard life here, and have had to lose a lot of innocence to do so.

I ask if anyone had had to kill anyone while under the influence of a supernatural entity.

A few hands raise.

I sit on an old box and I take a deep breath. I've been quiet for most of this time, barely introducing myself as Timothy. I tell them the story. I leave out the blogging interests, and the whole concept of the Core Theory.

I tell them that I was a fool, that I had a plan to kill the ...Hollow Man, on one dark night, and that I had some backers show up to help. I tell them that I wanted to die there, that I wanted to be remembered as someone who could fight back, someone who could be an example for others.

Only it didn't happen that way. It never showed, and in its stead I accidentally took the life of a dear friend. Whether or not that brought forth the Bleeding Tree or not, I couldn't tell you. I just remember staring into those massive eyes as I was engulfed by the void. It sensed my drive, my ambition; and tweaked things.

'Oh, you want to be a hero and slay the monster? Fine, you can do that, if you become the greatest traitor to the cause in the process.'

I tell them about Slice, about Jekyll, about Rika, and they sit and listen. I tell them who they know me as.

They don't respond. Harris, the older guy I had talked to, puts his hands on his knees and says simply, "Yeah, we know." The man's a bit grubby looking overall, but has something of a grandfatherly appeal to him. "We knew what you had done before you even woke up.  Its just another story of someone who got fucked up."

I just stared for several minutes forward into the little fire we made. I guess I wasn't fooling anyone with the arm in a sling and the stupid edgelord katana at my side. They shared a fire with me regardless.

I guess maybe everyone has their own horrible story to contend with, so maybe now I need to decide what to do about it in a more productive manner.

I open up my old yahoo account, just for old times sake. I have some old emails in here from the 2nd Sages and a few others. There was a time years ago when I gave out that email addy, asking people to drop me a line. I looked at it again after the Solstice Event, looking for people to....kill.

I found a few new emails. Even now, even eight years later, some people still wrote to me for help. Most of them are pretty old, years upon years old, but there's one I see here, was written recently.

The mouse hesitates over the message as I think of those words again.

"What now?"

Now, I think, now is when I start trying to fix some problems in the world.

No Easter Eggs here.

Today's a special day, or at least has been in the past. One of the first things I did after vomiting to an excessive amount, and angsting, was to check up on the others' blogs. I suppose its not much of a surprise that everyone's disappeared, one can only imagine what happened to them.

On today, I think about Maduin, and what became of him. I hear his voice in one of his old audio clips, as he muses drunkenly, and finally starts to succumb to it all. I cursed so much. He was the strongest out of all of us, he was smarter than any of us. While I chose to be rash, he chose to be insightful. His methodology was beyond my comprehension, all of the nonsense and pranks or tricks, I can't help but wonder was it all his defense mechanism at work? Or was that his own descent into madness?

And then there was that day that he actually put his mask upon the Hollow Man. Was that it? Was that what happened to him?

Whatever came of him, I feel its my duty to support whatever choices he made. He supported mine. In a way, we were all just idiots in the dark, but I always felt he knew more than I ever would about this world. How long had I told myself 'Maduin wouldn't have fallen into this sort of bullshit', or 'Maduin would have gone a different route'.

I'm not him, I'm not the Pied Jester, Rabbitface McGee, and even now in this entry, I allude to what he was most known for, that mask of his. And like I've done before, I make my own jest, because if that is what I focus on, I can water down who he was to 'a guy that pulled tricks', I even sketched out some pictures of him pieing me after the Solstice Event so long ago.

But that's not who he was really. I mean, Maduin was all about changing perceptions, I think. He was about reacting differently than you should, acting outside the norm. When I think about it, I wonder if he was on to something that I'll never understand.

I may never understand.

And I think about all those lost, and that its me that is left. I can't BE him. I can't even fathom what it would be like to work like he did, to learn like he did. I'm just me.

zero.

And that's all I can be. It just needs to be enough.

So lets not forget what Madiun was really about, guys.





That sweet ass coat!

Ha, ha, Rabbit Man, I miss you over here.

Sanctuary

My day started when Jack slapped down a bottle of yellow pills in front of me. I stared at them, blindly. She gave only a word response, "Anti-Psychotics". I tore open the bottle, and started dry swallowing them like it was air. "How many until it stops being FUCKED UP?!" I garbled through the self-medication.


"About seven." She answered, benignly.

She talked for a while. I didn't like what I heard, nor did I want to hear any more after a while. It didn't make any sense, no matter how much Jack tried to explain it.

You can talk until you're blue in the face about aether or heuristic connections or whatever. All I understood was 'Bring three items together to get this shitkicker back on his feet.'

I do not understand it, and I don't think I ever will, but lo and behold she had three items of mine. A jade elephant, a jade dragon, and...well, guess.

A piece of shit katana, good as new.

Skeptically, I looked over at her. "Someone took the time to actually forge a new blade for my piece of shit sword." I held it in my hand. It felt weird, like it was a different weight, or just...different. You ever pick something up and just get a sensation that something had changed? Back in the day, I could tell when someone had handled my dice in my absence. You could go on about how there's nothing to it, that its all just part of a misconception to assume such things as auras or willpower are real, and years ago I'd believe you. Today, given the fact that I am very much NOT a rotting husk, I might be inclined to disagree with you.

Jack sat straddling a chair, she was getting annoyed with me, or belabored. I didn't really care, either way. In an exhausted tone, she answered, "Fixed actually, by Amalgamation Sage." I looked back to her, then aside before I responded, "Oh I remember that name. Strange guy, did some shit with Redlight, said a lot of things I never understood."  And then my words took heat, "Third of the Three Sages." Why'd anyone ever listen to the idea of titles and roles? Why would they keep that up after what happened to me? It was all horse shit, the idea that anyone was destined for anything. Damn it, I had invested so much in the stupid idea that my life was something special, that I was bound for some great thing. Enough that I listened to a lot of people who I shouldn't have, things that took advantage of me.

I realized about now that she was still talking, and I wasn't paying attention. "What?" I said simply. She knew I trailed off, and she gave me a put-upon look. "He fixed it, magicked it up. Then it was handed off to Konaa, Konaa gave it up eventually..."  I waved my hand, interrupting, "Wait, so my sword's been passed around like a trophy? Why would you all do that?"

Jack sat up straighter, and there was a harder edge to her tone. "Yeah, yeah we did. Because once upon a time, there was a bit of hope out there, alright? We all knew what happened. And yeah I fucking get it, you did some shit. Well, we ALL did some shit, alright? Hell, I still do it. We used that sword as a reminder that we can believe in something." She stood up, and gestured at me, "You spend ten thousand years wallowing in your own guilt over what? Thirteen people? Ten Thousand years...and you're still pissed about being tricked?  Maybe you should just get the fuck over yourself already."

With that, she left me alone.

Was I really out of the loop for that long? Ten thousand years?  It felt like an eternity, several eternities to be sure.I walked, and I walked, and I walked. I know that time works different there. Here it was only eight years, but...ten thousand?  There's no way that's right, but this is all without context regardless. What does it matter if I was dead for a year or fifty thousand years? I knew that I had to put my past behind me finally, that I had another chance, and maybe this time I'd do some good.

I can't just say, 'I'm over it.', but maybe I can try to look forward a bit more, instead of looking behind. I needed to put myself back together, a task that you can't just will yourself into doing. So instead, I took a few steps in the right direction. I cleaned myself up. I took off my hoodie and managed a long look into the mirror.

I had lost weight. A lot of weight. I had always been a bit portly before all this, and I lost most of it during 'the incident'. Eight years after all that, and an infinity of miles under my feet...well, that did its part too.

Gingerly, I unslung my left arm, and braced myself to see what I had wrought. Entirely numb, I fumbled to get disrobed enough to see it. A long bloody scar on the outside of my arm was present. It wobbled a bit too much for my taste, making me nauseous.  I wrapped it up with some bandages for some support, more for my comfort than anything.

I cleaned up, and decided to step outside.

Before I did so, I looked out at Alabama. We were in some rural area, and I was comfortable with that. I grew up in rural Indiana myself, so there was bound to be some similarities. There were at least a dozen people within eyesight, a veritable, active community out there, sitting, chatting, working on laundry.

And I was sitting here with a black hoodie with neon 'Hollow Man' signs all over it, and a monster mask.

And yet it was so hard to take those things off. This was whom I was.

I slowly swapped my clothing with some cargo shorts and a simple blue tee that were left, and took to the street. The sword was strapped to my shorts, and probably made me look real stupid, but I wasn't about to give up everything just yet. It was weird not wearing the mask again. I felt like my identity was lost. Maduin always talked about that, said that masks were a layer of protection against the unnatural. I get the concept. If I wore the mask, then there was a second personality layer I had. Whatever decided it had to creep inside my skull would first have to go through that before it got to me. Honestly, I'm surprised I ever had to be told that.

There's so many times in life that we put on masks, or otherwise obscure our faces in order to tap into something else. There's always that primate brain just beneath the conscious surface, perhaps wearing masks help invoke that. Think about it. Halloween is just one example of drawing into that darker, primal nature that masks bring out in you. There's a reason Devil's Night is so dangerous, after all. It could just be that sense of anonymity that is in play, and with it, the liberation to do what you really want to do. The lack of repercussion, of punishment, of justice. Maybe thats what it is all about. I couldn't tell you, I'm no psychologist, I'm just a psycho with a list a mile long.

I stepped out into the sunshine, and onto a dirt road. Kids were running around, doing kid things. Which meant to say that they were looking at phones and trying not to hit anything as they seemed to migrate. Someone was playing The Who, and it was filling the air with "Eminence Front". That tune I remembered, I used to play Rock Band to it, back in the day.

I guess my career as a virtual rock star has ended. Ah well, never could stand those V-Groupies anyway.

My cluelessness must've been apparent, when an older man wearing suspenders came up to me, holding onto a big tub of laundry.  "You there." he huffed, "Help me with this." I wordlessly followed him. We did laundry. Old school laundry.  'Hang clothes up to dry' laundry. He talked and talked, telling stories about his life, telling jokes, and going on about places and people I've never heard of. I barely listened, I simply was losing myself in some work, most of which was a bit tricky with my bad wing, but I managed.

Occasionally he'd take a break and sit with some sun-brew tea. I didn't stop. I could zone out, I could do the objective. Do Laundry. It was so mundane, that I couldn't stop myself even if I wanted to. The music swapped out to some stuff I've never heard before, and it was a complementary backdrop to myself throwing sheets up on a new line.

The day had set as I did the entire community's wash, letting it dry in the wind. I suppose having it near a dirt road might not've been the best choice of location, but we managed.

It was foreign to think of a 'we' that wasn't just the bloggers and I. A community. I'm not saying that I suddenly decided to throw in my lot with them, or that they changed my life (though perhaps the meds did), but it was nice.

At about this time, there was a big meal planned. Canned meats, and breads, some basic stew cooked in large quantities, as everyone sat on the stoops and let the night slowly take over the little commune.

That night, people turned in, and I stayed up with a little propane lantern. I didn't feel much like sleeping.

There was so much to do.

A History of Cryptic Answers

I just slept for what had to be twenty hours. I barely remember being awake before this. I can't even believe I remembered my passwords to two old blogs I wrote back in the day, but when the drive hits you to write, things find a way to focus.

I'm sitting on a bed in a room I've never been in. My legs are *sore*, I ache from stem to stern, and the world is too bright, too loud, and too saturated. I don't even know where I am. Google says Alabama. I've never been here.

How the hell did I get here?  I spend half an hour throwing up what is most definitely not food into a bucket, and after some time, I experimented with this thing called 'walking'. A few shaky steps were managed before I sat back down.

There was a nervousness to me as I sat there. My left arm wasn't working, and part of me really didn't want to look beneath my hoodie to see what had happened.  Which reminds me, I guess some of you don't know how all that turned out, so I suppose I should give some sort of brief explanation.

I cut my arm open with a piece of shit broken sword, and either entirely or partially amputated the outer arm bone from my left forearm before I bled out in front of a massive supernatural tree that I was desperately trying to kill.  Not sure if 'amputated' is the right word, perhaps mutilation.

Good times.

I look back to that blog, that post that I so eloquently named "gguhhjk" as I one handed thumbed on a stolen cell phone during my triumph over evil. My fucking manufactured legacy that I had wanted so badly, that all it took was a little nudge for me to get pushed over the edge.

Damn it. I was such a fool, and I had multiple forevers to think about it and myself...You see, when I was...well, I suppose I was dead, wasn't I? I was dead. God that is such a messed up sentence to write.  I was dead, without respite in my very own hell. It was there on that Path of Black Leaves that I had traveled back in the day.  I had learned the art, or perhaps I was shown it on that night of the Winter Solstice so many years ago when I laid a trap for a monster, and attempted to beat him using metafiction.

Jesus Christ, this is my life. I am looking back at my life, and I simply cannot fathom what the hell happened to me. I can't even believe myself.

I walked that damn Path for forever. I brooded, I remembered, and one thought was omnipresent with me, that I failed, that I fell. I thought about how I had killed...murdered other bloggers because I could TELL they were guilty of something. That they were the RIGHT ONES to kill to kill the Bleeding Tree. I can't even remember all of their names anymore. I had to go back to my last blog to read them. Even then there were people I never knew the names of. And I killed them, in a fit of desperation, a fit of mad aspirations. And it did no good.

I thought about how I was sexualizing Rika, and her scarily competent replacement. I sexualized them because that gave me power over them. If I could control the fiction of the conflict with her, then I could lionize myself, and make her seem like some stalker with a crush.

But that's not what I really am.

At the risk of sharing too much, if anything, I'm Ace. All that talk about anything else is just noise in the wind, that casual bravado that men are expected to throw out there, to establish their alpha male posturing nonsense.

However, times have changed, and so have I. And with that change brings grief. I checked old accounts, old blogs about people I knew. They're gone, save a scant few. These people that I struggled with, that I confessed to, that I *hunted*, they fell to the darkness, to those creatures in the night.

I took my mask off and stared at the end table. Fizzbomb, Thage, Chester and Vieve, Maduin, poor Nessa, the Delmonts (Glad to see Redlight finally got killed, that fucker can rot next to me), but god so many names, Battery Resistance, Shaun (of the first Sages), even Robert fucking Sagel and his own load of horseshit, Ava, Jeff, Jean, Celie, Basroil Squad and Nightcrawler, B, Liam, Amalgamation Sage, Haukrei.....Kay.

Kay, whom I did such wrong to.

Even Zeke Strahm was taken, and some son of a bitch had the AUDACITY to put it on film.

I'm alone.

I just stare. There are no tears left in me. I do some more searches, looking for new people afflicted. I don't see anything outright. Just some comments. Maybe its over.

Maybe its *over*.

Maybe when we died, the stories stopped spreading, and people never understood who it was that followed us, or maybe things became such a nonsensical meme that nobody took it seriously anymore. Maybe being *trivialized* killed the monster.

That was when there was a light knock at the door.

I tensed up. I hadn't any weapons, but the instinct was there. I remember fighting....things, made of shadow and leaves. Thoughts flood my head, as I relive those stressful times, and logic has to be forced in through all of the panic. If someone knows I am here, they wanted me alive at least.

I didn't respond, the door opened regardless.

My mask was back on before she entered. It was a safety net to me to wear that shitty monster mask, and I craved every bit of familiarity and comfort I could get. I must've looked ridiculous.

She was a pale one. Part of me wanted to describe her as you might see in a film noir introduction, you know the type, talking about 'midnight black hair that shimmered like nightfall in the rain', or 'a sleek willowy frame that had just enough curve to make a man interested'. But I'm not wearing a fedora and a rain slicker.

And I'm not that sort of asshole anymore. She DID have long black hair, and matching lipstick, her clothes were decidedly goth. I suppose that's the right term. A black blouse and cut off jacket with a bit of silver, and some sort of silver skull wrapped about her left leg on her leggings.

I met her gaze as she cautiously entered, her tone was a little husky or ragged, like she was sick. "Hey." Awkwardly, I just sat there on the bed while she entered. No weapons were visible on her, and the door shut behind her, so she wasn't bringing in a dozen cultists in robes to fuck shit up (yet). As a master thespian, I fell back on my role-playing background to put forth the presence I needed to portray, that I was not someone to mess with.

By that, I mean I started to say "Hey" back to her, then immediately threw up black stuff again. With whatever that was dripping down my chin, I said in apology, "I missed the bucket." and slumped against the wall.

She seemed okay with my problems and sat at the other end of the room. "I'm Jack." She said simply, favoring one arm over the other as she leaned. That drew my attention, "You're hurt."...Ever the knight in black shit armor, I betrayed concern, like a pretentious white knight piece of shit that I am.

But I'm not that guy anymore, remember?

Jack looked away, waving her hand absently, "Yeah." She let the silence fill the room, and waited for me to ask. That was what I needed, time to process things.

"Why?" I croaked out. I wanted to ask everything, I wanted to scream, to cry, to just get myself killed right then and there, I just...I wanted *peace*.  Why? was all I could say.

She didn't meet my gaze, as she leaned forward a little, her hands together.  "Because of the fears. We're all being manipulated by them. This is where its lead us."

I didn't understand and the look I gave her must've said so. "Fear brought me here? That doesn't make any sense."  "Fears." She corrected, putting more emphasis on it. "You know what I'm talking about, those things from beyond that stalk...from the shadows."  I understood, and started to speak its name, "The Sl.."  She interrupted, "We don't call it that anymore. Please don't.do it either. If you have to refer to that one, Hollow Man works as well as anything."

Later, I would understand why the name changed, and I'll say nothing more on that subject.

"Hollow Man. So there *are* more of them. I had heard of other things, something about an Obelisk, some nameless creatures that were made of water..." I didn't want to say its name, but it had to be said.  "The Bleeding Tree."  A lump filled my throat as I said the words, my mouth was dry.

She barely nodded, sullen and solemn on her own. "We're not sure what the Tree is, but there's other creatures out there, seem to project or create specific types of fear. Not sure if they adopted those motifs..." Her tone dropped, "Or if they created them, but they're out there. We just call them Fears.  There's more than too many."

I repeated the name, "Fears....okay so what does this have to do with me? Why am I here?"  My voice rose too fast, I practically shouted, "TELL ME..." I sucked in a breath as my control started to return, "tell me that you're not expecting me to save everyone."

A wan smile crossed Jack's face, "You're here because we need Sages." My eyerolling must've been visible from beneath the mask, I started shouting, she started shouting, I denied everything, letting her understand how much of an idiot I was. Eventually, she just let me rant. "Did you see what I did to people LAST TIME?! I am not to be trusted. I'm not your stinking /Hero/."

She took in a breath, then said softly, "Do you remember Jeff?"  Yeah I did. "Jeff...Keeper guy, never really knew what he was a part of.  Talked too damn much about having a hot wife proxy. Kept wanting to find a proxy cure. Turned out to be someone else."

Jack nodded as I overindulged with what I remembered, "He sort of put me in his stead." I frowned, "The real Jeff or the fake Jeff?" She looked a bit put upon as she continued. "Whichever. The point is I sorta got you out of things. You might remember seeing me there a few weeks ago?"  I didn't. Not a few weeks ago, weeks ago I was just...walking?

I offered her a vague shrug, so she continued, "You've been gone eight years realtime, probably somewhere a lot longer on the Path." I knew time could be strange out there, how could it only be eight years? "I actually know you, well other 'you's." Jack sat up trying to beat me to the punch, "There's this whole different timeline thing I am a part of. I know 'other you's, about 20 of them."

"I think if I could reach the door, I'd leave." I replied with a edge to my voice. She added, "You knew about just as many fucked up things as I have put down here, give me a fucking break."

I couldn't argue with that, a finger raised as I commented, "Reserving right to go back to this later." She nodded and continued, "Other timeline yous have been rather helpful, and well...you're the one left, so..."  Her words trailed off. I gave her a look of skepticism and anguish, I'm sure. "And I've died 21 times then, great, my death counter can buy alcohol."

In response, she tossed something up onto the bed. I recognized it instantly, and picked it up. It was a tiny jade dragon. The rope had frayed off of it, but I remembered this token. I gave it to Nessa a lifetime ago as a way to measure her...well, for lack of a better term, 'corruption'. My test about jade being an absorber for sin or evil worked at least. It was a bitter pill the more I looked at it. There was even a time when I stopped seeing color, and carried that and a jade pig with me. I like to think that those items helped clue me in on what was happening to me.

That and that deer that broke its own neck near me.

Good times.

My voice went hoarse as I thought about that past of mine, all those events, me standing there with my piece of shit sword, ready to rally against the darkness. To die nobly, and to have a name treasured forever.  Even afterwards, when I was doing what was needed to save everyone...my legacy, my treasured legacy. All I ever wanted...a reason to be, and a reason to be remembered.




This is exactly what I would've given someone as a memento, a token of wanting them to do better than I. Perhaps it was mine, perhaps it was some other version of mine, but I felt it in my hand. It had come back to me. I didn't know what to say, just this little token of eight long years past
"okay....I'm starting to believe you."

I had no tears to cry. I was cried out forever.

So why were my cheeks wet?

I wasn't that person anymore, remember?