"Try it"

Graham, the proxy boy, stopped outside my hideout. I got ready for a fight but he instead threw a Ziploc bag full of a weird substance at me. "Try it! Meet them!"

The stuff is weird, sort of crystals, orangey in colour. It smells sort of musty, maybe chemically? I wish I had a means of testing it. Without ingesting it in any way, I mean. That would be a bad idea. And I'm not even sure what he means by "try it". Smear it on the wall? Season food? Who the fuck knows.

Ambition

It's weird, you'll say this is weird, but my biggest issue right now is a fourteen year old boy. It's almost embarrassing that he could cause this much trouble for me. Here's what's happened so far:

-He went into my hideout and took all my ammo. All of it. Now I need new ammo, and a new hideout.

-He replaced my eye drops with diluted shampoo.

-I can't find my meds. I can only assume he took them.

-He used all my food to make intricate psychedelic paintings on the wall. Seriously, I'd be impressed if I wasn't pissed off. And if it wasn't starting to go off.

-He jumped me in a public bathroom and attacked me with a tennis racquet. At this point I realised he is also trying to kill me, if ineffectively.

He seems seriously out of it, like he's not himself, otherwise he seems hyperfocused. I haven't seen this in a proxy before. It makes me feel pretty uneasy.

Also, my country has foolishly voted to leave the EU. We are fucking screwed. And this won't make travel any easier. Maybe punk will be good again at least.

Not Family Matters

If you know what a proxy is, what a runner is, what a mysterious man in a suit is (not the men in black kind), then you can keep reading.

The purpose of this blog is to help me remember things and dates and figure out how to deal with a serious problem proxy visitor I've been receiving lately, and some other issues.

You can call me Min. It's not my name. Actually it's the first three letters of a nickname I had from someone important and bandaged, which I'll talk about in a minute. Maybe I like the ambiguity of calling myself Min; I mean it can be short for minimum and also names like Minerva and Wilhelmina. But yeah, it's not my name, my name is actually Alexandria.

My family isn't important right now. The closest thing I had to a real father was some ex-KGB guy. Even beyond my darkest moments, I thought about picking up where he left off. The whole vigilante routine. That's what he did. He even killed his brother after he caused the deaths of some innocent people. But I don't think that's what he would have wanted for me. I'm 99.9% sure he is dead, but he wouldn't have wanted me to have his life, do what he did. And he thought he didn't matter, but he did. He mattered to me and a lot of other people. What if I matter like he did? I can't throw this away. Very few people get this far, so very few.

I also looked up to his enemy. This bandaged fucker. He'd know I don't mean fucker as an insult. If you can call the ex-KGB guy my father figure, you can call the bandaged guy my crazy uncle or something. Not crazy actually, more like artistic, albeit in a weird way that I'll never understand. He's not dead, I don't think, but he's somewhere much higher that I can't reach. He taught me that bad people can do nice things sometimes.

There was another person I looked up to, who was finding what he called light. Not the conventional radiation kind of light. And he wouldn't have wanted that vigilante routine for me either. He was an example that things could change, that people could change. That bad people can do nice things, and then they become nicer people.

After travelling and learning a few things, I've come to a conclusion. Actually I've come to several, but here's the first one I want to make clear.

I don't want to end lives any more. 

Although by no means should you take that as an indication that I won't.