A Direct Address

You're not going to want to read this if you hate whining. I would suggest skipping it. I have had a lot of warm showers and sleep in the past few days. Been making the most of it all. And it's given me time to think.

Why was I so angry that Kelevra was back? And Morningstar? I realise now, I had practically the same reaction finding out both were back. Denial. Anger. Breakdowns. And it never occurred to me to think of both of them at the same time, and what it means.

Why was I in the dark? Because Kelevra and Morningstar. Why was I let out of the dark? Because Kelevra and Morningstar. Why was I in the dark for that exact amount of time that I was? Because Kelevra and Morningstar. Kelevra even said so himself, he chose the moment I would be let out of the dark. Everything I went through, he wanted that to happen. Just as much as Morningstar.

As much as I want to believe it's all on Morningstar, that's just not true. It's on Kelevra too. And it's on everyone else who had the knowledge and power to stop it, but not the will. It's like they were baking a fucking cake. Stick it in searing heat just enough, slowly, but not too much. I was saved because I was a project. I wasn't saved because I was loyal, or friendly, or anything like that. I was a project. An interesting experiment.

But even though I'm singling them out today, for obvious reasons, they're hardly alone there. I had so many people telling me what to do. What code of ethics to adopt. I was a project for everyone. Those two were just a little more obvious about it.

And only now at 21, when I'm not reeling from hours of physical torture and hunger, do I realise what this all actually means, you know? Stupid, right? I'm sure you were a fucking genius at 16, too. Every nice thing anyone ever actually did for me back then was a means to an end. Except Incognito, maybe. Who knows. Maybe he wanted me to carry on his crusade. Doesn't matter. He left, like everyone else.

It's weird that I never said "fuck you" to Kelevra for letting me be tortured. It's REALLY fucking weird. That is exactly the kind of thing that warrants a "fuck you". And maybe I can't shift my ass until I say it. So...

Fuck you, Kelevra.

No, really, fuck you. I know you were upfront from the start. I know I should have been smarter. I should have listened to what you were really saying. Should have understood it, instead of blindly taking pride in being an exception to the many people you just kill. There's a million mistakes I made. I know that. But it feels good to say it now, because what you did just pisses me off. Fuck you.

At the same time, you made me realise a lot of shit. You were as clear as possible, clearer than anyone else. Made me realise I can't trust anyone but myself. Not you, not Kalika, not anyone. Everyone has an ulterior motive and abandons you eventually. So I have to get by on my own. There's strength in realising that. And that's why you're my friend.

Did you all know Incognito never really gave me a particularly tough time about my friendship with Kelevra? I mean he gave the perfunctory lectures about Kelevra, but he never ever refused to train me, or prevented me from talking to him. And now I wonder if he knew that on some level, Kelevra would boot me into reality. On why you should never trust. Again, who knows. Maybe he was just happy for me to keep Kelevra talking and busy.

Thank you, Kelevra.

And fuck you.

Into current events now. This all made me realise something else. When I borrowed that money, I don't think I ever had the intention of paying it back. I don't remember how much I even needed it in the first place. Maybe I just wanted to screw someone over. Maybe I was looking for a fight. Some catharsis that would be justified because they technically attacked first.

Anyway, after my little encounter with the three fucksticks, I decided to start on some recon. I knew Goodwill's entourage had found where I was, and I knew they'd be back to search it. If I were trying to find me, that's what I'd do. So I've been keeping watch on it for a while. I'll tell you how that went later on, since it got pretty weird, and even I'm sick my own whining for now.

Doing more training. No bad can come of being stronger. Open season on Goodwill. Open season on everyone. Enjoy.

I miss my Colt

Honestly? Honestly. I feel better walking at night. Dark is like a blanket. A hiding place. No one can see what you do. You can barely see what you do. No matter. Because you can see others. And I noticed them tailing me. Three people. Two women. A man. Backpacks. A few strategic turns and I was certain. Pretended not to notice.

Alright, I'm a little giddy. Should save and finish this post later. Hands are shaking and shit. Will fix grammar too.

Right, I'm back, so, the people. I guessed they were Goodwill's. They'd tracked me to the industrial park, right near my hideout, which was an abandoned warehouse. The list of people who want to fuck with me is still pretty short despite recent developments. What I didn't expect was the handgun. People in this game are slightly less well equipped these days, as well as weapons being regulated pretty heavily here. I freely admit that was a mistake on my part. Expect the unexpected, right? That should have been a clue I was dealing with something more than your average servant, but my instincts kicked in. 

And so I punched the woman. She had a blue jacket so let's call her Blue, I guess. Then I tried a disarm. She had a fairly tight grip on the gun, probably should have tried it before hitting her. So I pushed the magazine release and the cartridge clattered to the ground. I released the gun and kicked the cartridge  away. Still, I was outnumbered. One of them could easily go fetch the cartridge like the bloody trained dogs they are. I needed a way to get everyone still. The other woman grabbed me, young woman, she was a lot weaker than the other, so I got my combat knife and twisted her arm until I was holding her at knifepoint, then yanked her back to create some distance. 

I put the blade on her throat, drew some blood. "I'm going to count down from five, alright? Kick the gun and cartridge over, and give me any money, put it all against that wall" - I nodded to That Wall - "and then leave. Five..."

The woman regarded me. "You should know - Poppy isn't a proxy." She said the name as if it were supposed to mean something to me.

"And you should know - four. Three..."

"You're not going to do it."

"Two."

"We know you're a sensitive soul. Cut the act, it's embarrassing."

"One."

I just stared at them.

Blue laughed. "Called it."

I think I'd lost track of my counting. It wasn't important. Honestly, the whole thing was fucking gruelling. Sitting around, waiting to die? It's boring. It's agitating as shit.

I plunged the knife into Poppy's shoulder. Until I felt it scrape a bone. And twisted it. Barely muffled the scream with my forearm. In fact, she bit me as she crumbled to the ground, but I didn't feel it at the time. Frankly, I felt fine. I stamped on Poppy's shoulder, her scream sounded weirdly distant. Hoiked her back up again by the hair.

Blue had called it, via almighty common sense. Why would you tell anyone when and where you were going to strike?

"You're sick," said Blue.

"No, I'm bored," I said. "If you want get her to a hospital in time, you know what to do."

"You're not getting shit, you psycho bitch," said the man. He didn't sound certain.

But neither did I. "You don't want to give in because it will make you seem weak and pathetic, right? Well, I'm weak and pathetic to begin with. So your secret is safe with me. Now give me the gun and the money, and you can fucking leave."

Blue and the man looked at each other. The sting of boredom was setting in again. Fortunately Blue put the gun on the ground and kicked it over. The man did the same with the cartridge. I should have asked them to do it one at a time; keeping an eye on two people is difficult, fortunately nothing came of my mistake there.

Now I think back on it, the way Blue said her name, how they were willing to give up their shit to get her out quick. I mean I don't think she'd have bled to death that fast. I was probably maybe 40% bluffing, because I was thinking of ways to speed up the bleeding.

Nonetheless I upheld my end of the bargain. I took my knife out of Poppy and pushed her over to them. They caught her, quickly carrying her away. Think I heard the man mutter "I told you Poppy wasn't allowed..." to Blue?

Now I think back on it, the details are jumping out at me.

Who the hell is Poppy? Other than "not a proxy". And does that mean Blue and the other man are proxies? Are they your average proxy? Working for Goodwill? Now I'm not sure. Still reeling from this. I don't think I can figure it out tonight.

But at least I have some cash and a gun. The gun's pretty nice too. It's not a Colt but it'll do. (Man, I really want a Colt. Would have saved me so much trouble. I could have dealt with everything in seconds. Baby steps though.) Swiped a room key at a hotel so hopefully I can get a few days in here before someone notices. I really need the sleep and water.

Maybe Blue had a point. Maybe I'm a sensitive soul. I mean, definitely. I cry a LOT. I'm a slave to my emotions. And today that emotion was boredom. I can't really be above it.