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.