Kelevra, pt 1: The Rift

So I was having a day of sorts. I got a fire going at one of the shrines and when I left, the proxies had been watching the whole time. I think now that they were baiting me. Seems like they finally got wise to what I was doing. It makes me wonder even further about the purpose of the shrines that they were so keen to defend them. Are they actually shrines? I mean, you get the odd fervent proxy, they're not unusual - but more often than not, they're not very religious. At least, not enough that desecrating a symbol alone would annoy them.

I haven't seen the tall one in months. I should be glad, but it's making me uneasy. Funny how this shit messes with you - you see it and you get paranoid, or you don't see it and you get paranoid. Anyway I get coughs, and the occasional nosebleed where the blood seems to have blackish streaks in it, so I don't think I'm "clean" by any means.

In the past few months I've been working on a weakness of mine. It's to a particular song. Which now I say it, sounds stupid, but those of you in the know . . . well, doesn't matter. After a lot of failed attempts, I came up with a solution to Pavlov my way out of this shit. Whenever I had nice food, I played music of a similar but not same genre. Then after a few sessions I switched to music more specific to the genre and era the song came from. It's taken a lot of getting used to, and more discomfort than I care to admit. Soon I need to try songs by the same artist. That will not be fun. Though it will be worth it. I doubt I'll ever be remotely OK hearing the song, but I need to be able to hold a gun steady.

Anyway. I picked a hideout a little too close to where I targeted. Meant I didn't have much opportunity to lose them, just to sweep up all my shit and go. When the sirens started, most of the proxies after me had to go back to base, presumably to help sweep up more of their shit before it became ashes or evidence. That still left quite a few after me though. I legged it deeper into the abandoned part of the industrial district.

Got pretty far, but carrying all my stuff, among them a rifle, was starting to tire me out. Worse still, under the thudding of pursuing feet I could hear the chamber of a revolver spinning. I glanced back over my shoulder - I needed a look at the gun. Glimpsed it. A Smith and Wesson probably - either way, always six shots on the revolvers that are that particular size. Dived into an alley just as he fired. That was one. Sprinted further along and dived behind a skip as he fired again. Two. That was when I noticed. Before he fired, his trainers made a distinctive crunch as he slowed to aim. Whether it was fleeing into another alley, stooping behind a skip or bin, that made it simpler to know when to take cover.

On the sixth shot I stepped out of cover and opened fire with my trusty Colt. Three shots and he was down. But different gunshot noise had alerted some of them, they came looking. Had to keep running. The scrap metal I kept seeing gave me an idea. I grabbed a sheet of what I think had been steel roofing and stood it in a narrower part up ahead as a barrier. As I put it into place I noticed a worn junction box up ahead with a frayed wires sticking out. That gave me another idea. I pulled a wire out of it by the safe part and tried to attach it to the metal. The bastard thing stopped just before it could touch the metal. I was determined this wasn't going to be a waste of precious running time though, so I took my water out my bag and filled in the remaining distance. It actually made the connection more secure than laying the wire on it alone. I didn't see exactly what happened after, but I did hear enough to know it worked. Have you ever heard someone try to scream but they can't open their mouths? And then another person, followed by another? Given the kinds of folk that read this, probably. But for the dilettanti - it's quite something.

I continued running until I got to an intersection of alleys. There was a glow of something in the corner of my eye. Two proxies lighting something up ahead of me. Molotovs. I fired, aiming for one of the bottles, the third shot hit. Flames and glass erupted on them both, and then again as the other bottle was dropped. They hit the floor, right onto the fire and shards. One way now blocked by fire, the way behind blocked by electricity, I tried for the left alley. A proxy was coming down it, grey hoodie. I went for the right, one that had set of fire exit stairs. Another proxy in a bandana. I fired a shot at Bandana and he hit the ground. I was about to charge past and away when both my legs were grabbed with a yell. I slammed against the floor hard. The breath shot straight out of me, and the gun fell from my grip. Very clever - Bandana dodging the shot and playing dead in one swift move. Watch out for that trick. I rolled onto my back and reached for the Colt. My fingertips just about brushed it before it was snatched up and I took the weight of Bandana to the chest. Not helped by the stench of body odour and Lynx. "Gotta thank her for whacking Ruby, now I can make captain!" 

I was trying to squirm out when the shadow of the grey hoodied proxy approached, then I had two people restraining me.

"Dead or alive?" asked Grey.

My pockets were turned inside out by Bandana fumbling for ammo, which he soon found, reloading. "Fucking dead."

Suddenly the dim from the flickering sodium streetlight was gone, eclipsed by a black shape. It was like an antimatter rift had opened up over us. With it came a loud, visceral tear - the aubade of something cutting insatiably through flesh and bone. Droplets of blood hit me. In the dark I could make out a spike sticking out of Bandana's mouth like a hook. It had been driven in savagely from the back of his head. Blood flowed over Bandana's dying lips in a closing red curtain. Grey could barely cry out.

Then the dark rift spoke - burning with excitement. "Fucking dead it is, then." The weight was lifted off me as Bandana was hauled up, up and away. The sodium light drifted back until the silhouette of Bandana's corpse was hurled into it, smashing the bulb. Complete darkness, followed by the rift laughing from indiscernible directions, then the gun hitting the floor of the alley. Figuring Grey was distracted, I kneed him in the balls, punched him across the face with all my might and rolled out from under him. He staggered, his jaw having been considerably loosened with a crack. Bandana's dead body fell down from the obscured heights.

I scrambled away, drawing my L1A1 and tucking myself behind the fire stairs. A relief that the light was gone. Darkness is a sanctuary. I heard some noises as Grey shuffled around. Then bright phone light glared at me. I fired. The bullet blew his skull apart in a red splatter.

Now I was starting to put it together. I picked up the phone and shone it up. The rift was gone. The laughter was familiar, the modus operandi, and one of the few monsters like that who would actually come to see me.

"Alright," I said, "come on out."

The fire escape stairs creaked. And then the voice reverberated through the alley, possibly from above. "My, my, so uncivilised . . ." Then a sliding sound. I could sense something traversing the darkness, now level with me. "But then again, looking at your handiwork, it's safe to say that civility is the last thing on your mind right now." When I turned around with the phone light, the admonisher was nowhere. Just the corpses still bleeding out. The source of the voice was now moving rapidly, shadows flittering. I looked right.

"In the four years of my absence . . ."

Left. Corpses.

". . . you've grown up . . ."

Right. Empty alley.

". . . become more vicious . . ."

Up. A vacant staircase.

". . . far more dangerous . . ."

Everywhere. The encroaching gloom.

". . . it's almost hard to believe it's you . . ."

I gotta keep moving, so I'll cut this post here. I'll tell you how our little meeting went soon enough though.

I'd been keeping watch

Specifically I returned to peek at my previous hideout. Why? Well, I knew they'd 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'd been keeping watch on it for a while. As predicted, there were two people combing the place over, maybe around 4:00am.

Being robbed a few months back turned out to be a slight blessing here. There really wasn't much for them to find except a few discarded energy bar wrappers, painkillers, a hair comb, an empty lighter, a whetstone, toilet roll and some newspaper. Still, they picked the stuff up, and to my surprise, put it in ziplock bags.

In trying to sniff out my tracks, they neglected to cover their own. As they left I tailed them. I was expecting a safehouse. Instead, they took a dirt lane into some fields, unkempt, with tall grass and dry vegetation, rusting barrels and farming equipment, and then I saw it. A husk of a house, probably built in the 60s or 70s, but long abandoned like the fields, boarded shut. They faltered approaching it, but ultimately went in. It was maybe an hour before they came out again. I stayed in place. I wasn't ready. There could have been anything, anyone in there, and it was a long way from help. 

But I took it as a place of interest, and started to scout it out. Returned to keep watch on it a lot. Eventually put together a rough map of the area and the places I'd be best hidden, the easiest escape routes, and of course a vague understanding of the comings and goings. It didn't seem like anyone lived there at all, I would simply see one or two people going into the house from anywhere to half an hour to two hours, then leaving. They'd enter by pulling one of the boards aside. Sometimes they'd have those little ziplock bags. Most of the time they'd have regular bags or bin-bags, but they'd leave with them far less full.

So, eventually I decided to see what was in there. It was obviously not being lived in, and for a while, with old flattened green carpet. But someone was keeping it relatively tidy - there wasn't the usual rubbish, graffiti or used needles you'd expect. There was a bunch of cheap retro furniture inside, dirty mattresses tossed on the floor. But it was pretty bare otherwise, and I checked in all the containers I found, nothing of consequence. Well, there was B&Q receipt from 1997, but that's only mildly interesting because that's the year I was born. The attic was full of spiders, asbestos and little else. If I can credit my life experience with one thing, it's ridding me of my fear of spiders. They're pretty nice beings compared to what's truly out there. Hell, they're pretty nice compared to asbestos.

I continued keeping watch. Again, I would see people go in with things, and leave without. Then I'd go back in and find the place exactly the fucking same. Empty drawers, nothing new. I thought I was going crazy... well, crazier. It was... fucking maddening. 

Uncomfortable story short, I ended up punching the wall and left a dent. On one (pretty strong) hand, my training was paying off. On the other, I had now damaged the place in a way that might rouse suspicion, so no time for long term plans now. I kicked over a bedside table and it hit the mattress, and that's when the carpet moved weirdly with it. I lifted up the mattress, and that's when I saw the hole underneath it, cut out of the carpet, floorboards underneath pulled out, and a ladder descending into the black. Used my phone's torch to take a look. It was a cavern of sorts, crudely plastered, supported by beams, with a slice of carpet taken from the house leading to a vague pile, immersed in darkness. Going down the ladder was a surprisingly easy choice. I was kind of buzzing with happiness that I wasn't crazy- crazier. Whatever. Amazing what the smugness of being right can make you do.

It was a shrine to the monster. There were carefully stacked bones, some human I think, but some definitely not. Some branches from various trees, arranged into humanoid, elongated shapes. Masks, knives and hoodies. Erratic drawings and notes, in different frenzied handwriting and papers. An assortment of symbol-etched cups of blood, at varying stages of congealment. And most bizarrely a collection of completely normal but used everyday items - pieces of paper, pens, hair brushes, tissues, condoms, T-shirts, deodorant, toothbrushes. Sifting through all the crap, I saw my hair comb that I'd left, and my whetstone.

I pondered the significance. I even thought of asking you guys, but I didn't have time, and couldn't risk them knowing I'd found this place.

Do they think the monster is some kind of sniffer dog?

Fuck, is the monster some kind of sniffer dog?

I don't know whether it was functional or merely ritualistic, but decided I couldn't risk it existing either way. Now I needed to get rid of it all as quickly as possible. 

First thing, tied my jumper over my nose and mouth and ripped out as much asbestos as I could from the attic, dragging it out into the field. Then started pulling up the dry, dead foliage from the field. It took a couple of trips, but eventually I gathered enough to distribute around the house. Tore the boards off the house plus some more out the floor to get the oxygen flowing all through. Got my lighter. Struck it up. Fled.

Ahh. This was honestly one of the few pleasures I've had this year. It put me in a relatively good mood. I love fire. I love fire as much as I reasonably can. I love its light. I love its heat on my face. It cleanses. Breaks and makes molecular bonds. Rends the flesh from the bone. The fire burned bright and beautiful and red like Mars, smoke ascending to the sky. 

But I won't get too carried away with the memory. Need to stay guarded.

I've still been trying to get stronger. Standard training. But one of the things I need to do is fill in my weaknesses. I can't get caught off guard when any prat with half a brain cell can hold up their phone and play... that song. Who knows what that would make me do?

I need to fix that. Somehow.

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.

Goodwill

This is awkward.

I think it's time I cleared the air on something. Something that I really should have told Kalika, and all of you, but I haven't heard from her in months, so I guess we've severed ties now.

That whole thing, with our shit being stolen. That wasn't just theft. It was repossession. And I knew pretty much as soon as I got my thoughts together. I'm still not sure how the culprit pulled it off, mind you. But I'm pretty sure it was him.

Here's the thing. I'm in, like a lot of debt. Is it the "kick down your door and fucking kill you" kind of debt, or the "repossess your house and have you slowly die in the cold" kind of debt? I wish I knew.

The only reason I'm telling you all now is because I'm in over my head on it either way. Maybe three years ago I met a fellow runner, called himself Goodwill. Well-connected. He seemed like a nice person. Frankly, too nice for someone in this shitpit of an existence. Literally had this smile all the damn time that didn't break. He made loans to other runners to get them on their feet. And I... may have decided I was going to take the money and go off the radar. He wasn't exactly poor to put it mildly, especially for a runner. So while I understand that what I did was wrong... fuck it, whatever, doesn't matter. While (actually, because) he was bizarrely congenial, I never took him for the loan shark type.

When I started a blog he tracked me back down pretty quickly (yeah, call me stupid, I fucking thrive on it.) So I pretended I was planning to pay him the money all along and just got caught up in life. That's where I was sneaking off to, to pay what I could.

And then I met Kalika. And I guess I wanted a friend. I know she's not my friend, and never was. But fuck, I haven't had company in so fucking long. She wanted to do her research, and suddenly I was funding the equipment and doing errands for her. Not only did I have company, but I had a purpose and something to focus on other than the constant fuckery of being on the run from a force you'll never understand. This is all pathetic as molten shit, I know, but I didn't want to be alone again. So I dug myself into this one pretty fucking aptly.

Anyway, Goodwill probably sussed it all pretty quickly. That radio song was requested by one of Goodwill's. Probably to let me know they were watching me, and knew about me.

I'm in and out of safehouses and hotels right now. The more I change location, the better.

Theft

Our shit went missing. Well, that's not the right phrase. Our shit was taken. Kalika is pissed off and blaming me. Hell, I think I blame me too, but I don't actually remember anything between our shit being there, and our shit being taken.

When Kalika goes out I stay up to guard the place. Usually we sleep in shifts, so when one of us isn't here, the other stays up. And as a system it works. It's never gone wrong. Well, not until I fucked up again.

I remember sitting on the floor near my Colt, whistling to keep awake. Must have been about midnight. The traffic outside was sparse and the room was as light as I could get it. Then there's a big time gap. A couple of hours, apparently. And I don't know what happened in that gap. I don't remember seeing the monster or anything, so I don't know if it was that or not. All I know is I sort of woke up in a serious sweat to Kalika shaking me, with a pounding fucking headache and feeling weak and sick. It was weird and cloudy, I remember the feeling and images but at the time I hadn't processed them at all. Eventually I came around and sat up. "What's . . .?"

"Are you a fucking koala?! How long were you asleep?"

". . .What . . .?"

She scrolled and tapped on her phone furiously, pacing. "I leave for one night. One night. One fucking night. You have one task and that is to defend this shithole. I return and everything worth something is fucking missing. My equipment. My notes. Your weapons. Our laptops. Everything valuable. And then there is you, not worth the shit off the bottom of my shoes, of course you're still here. How fortunate I am, sharing this place with a piece of shit. I set up here because I thought you had a shred of diligence. FUCK you!"

I don't remember everything she said word for word to be honest, but that's the gist of it. I feel like it went on a very long time. Then she slammed the door on the way out. I don't know where she's gone. Or if she'll even be back. She's been gone for maybe seven hours now.

They didn't take my phone or combat knife, probably because those were on my person. That's about the only respite I get here from the mindfucking piss show that is this life.

So that's the news. I'm a piece of shit and I have no idea what happened. I guess I better start thinking. When this god damn headache goes. And now I think about it I should probably leave, because logically someone knows I live here. Uh, still processing shit. If there's any common sense thing I've missed, drop it on me.

Botched

I should have known better. I haven't been out since Kelevra and some others were possibly back.

Kalika wanted some stuff from a warehouse on a five finger discount. Science shit. I don't even remember now. It was a number on a box I had to find. Test tubes? Distillation tubes? Serum tubes? Always with the tubes. What is she, a fucking hamster?

Security guard on his phone, was about to see me no matter what. Should have just darted out and ran. Some... fucking stupid part of my brain decided I should incapacitate him. But it went wrong. Something building up in me, it erupted. New language, new rules. Carefully incapacitate him to fucking hit him. I hit him. I hit him again. Hazy. Weird mist. I only stopped myself when my ears hurt from the screaming. Not his. Mine. Fear? But my hands weren't numb; my knuckles were sore and bleeding. My blood wasn't cold. It was scorching. He was bleeding, staggering. I didn't even realise how hard I hit him.

Rage. I was screaming in rage. 

Tried to call emergency services, ended up yelling incoherently at the operator, tearing the phone out the fucking wall and running. I dunno if they showed up.

I feel like I "woke up" just through the door of my safehouse. I didn't remember much of what I had actually done, I just remembered anger and screaming.

I didn't sleep for days. Then, I slept for days. With nightmares like I haven't known for a few years now. But they helped me piece together what happened. Even if I wish I could go on not knowing.

Kalika just goes off and lays out in the woods. She doesn't give a shit. Good for her, really. Why should she? Why should I?

Everybody leaves. Or dies. I hate them for leaving. I hate them for dying. I hate them for not staying. But then, why the hell should they stay? It's not like I have anything to offer anyone but pain and anger now. And it's not like I stay. I wish I was just nowhere. Not dead, not alive. Just nowhere.

And then I hate them for coming back.

Is he really back?

How would I know for sure?

What would I do about it?

I have a lot to think about.

Always have a plan, that’s what I was told.

Strange Behaviour

Kalika here. I have seen multiple instances of strange behaviour while running, in every party imaginable. Some speculate it is a result of the rakshasa's influence, and some speculate it is from the psychological strain that is present with feeling under constant threat. Perhaps these things are one in the same.

So, Min's brand of strange behaviour caused a slight ruckus. It was around 3 in the morning. She puts on the radio sometimes while cleaning out weapons. There is not much to be said for nighttime radio, even by radio standards, but it does fill the silence, so I don't mind. Even though she never puts BBC4 on.

"...clear skies. Unusual, we've just had a music request from an Aidan. You're up late. Enjoy this eighties classic..."

At the name, Min looked up, and checked her phone. Aidan, I had heard that name before, possibly when she was on the phone. (I'm not eavesdropping. I simply have excellent hearing and a tendency to sit near the door when she takes phone calls.) The opening chords of a song began. Her eyes widened.

"...Bad Medicine by Bon Jovi."

That's when she just crashed, sobbing hysterically. She fought for a deep breath. I stood to see what was happening. A surge of vomit smothered a would-be scream from her. She crawled through the putrid grit and snatched up the radio, trying to change the channel but accidentally breaking the dial off. So she pounded it against the wall. As the radio grew damaged, the song morphed into a horrifically distorted version until it finally stopped. Her muscles gave, she lay there for a few minutes. I went to see to her, but she pushed my hand way, pulled herself up and wiped the vomit off her mouth with her sleeve, breathing deeply still. Staggering, she grabbed her coat and her Colt.

"I'll be back. Don't follow me," she muttered, and slammed the door behind her.

I would have followed, but I felt it best to recount this first otherwise I fear the details of what was said on the radio would slip my mind. If I can gather more information, this will make an interesting addition to my notes on psychological effects of running.

Failed

I failed the mission. Fighting on CCTV is not my jam. I don't know why Kalika insisted. We don't need footage tying us to anything or any place. Or should I say, me. If a servant or whatever other abominations is prey on this chaos gets hold of this, it's my damn image. Which one of us the paranoid one? Can't really say.

I'll stop with the bullshit excuses.

Alright, what happened. Well, an area where security cameras that Kalika can hack and my target meet is an alleyway by a frequented bar. I chalked a Timberwolf logo near the entrance. I'll be honest, it was almost a little bit too easy to get the target into place. Everything else was an entirely fucking different matter, hence why I've been recovering for a month. Shooting would attract make too loud a sound. It was remote, sure, but you don't risk it. A combat knife was my next choice. Straight for the throat. Still, I braced myself in case it went wrong. You can't afford to underestimate anyone. Not when they're built like the proverbial brick shithouse they just walked out of.

Even I wasn't ready for how damn strong he was despite that. I was parried and bashed into a wall by my neck. Everything blurred and span. Jesus, my head burned. A blue-white glow approached. Initially it seemed like some kind of phone. I grabbed for it; he wasn't calling for help or I was screwed. He clung to it. While I was struggling for it, the details of the world crept back in. It wasn't a phone. When my ears stopped rushing, I could hear it too. A Taser. And like I said, he had way more muscle than me. There was no way I was going to just prise it from him. Plus, pulling an active Taser towards me could pretty easily go wrong and by wrong I mean impending fucking death. 

So, the key was to look for the weakness. He was more focused on the Taser and steering it than anything else. So I slammed the knife into his opposite shoulder and twisted it. He made a sound somewhere between pain and laughter. Which was kind of disturbing, but nothing new. Him dropping the Taser, that was the goal. I kicked it away from us but left myself open to several punches. When I started tasting blood, I went for him again, the neck, with the knife, trying to dodge and approach from the side. But in an alleyway there aren't many directions you can attack from. Everything started spinning again when my head was knocked against a wall again. Countless bruises, a few sprains and one broken rib later, I realised I was no longer in control of the fight. So I started sprinting away, swiping up the Taser on the way.

Yeah, I ran away. Those who hate me, say your piece about me being a coward, give me your worst. The slight plus side is that Kalika trusts me for trying, but that's the participation medal of the situation. I'm not sure I trust her for sending me after someone under circumstances that really weren't in my favour just to prove I'm not a traitor. The new Taser is sort of a bonus. As per training I'm discouraged to use any unknown weapon unless I'm out of options. Plus after the fight it got pretty battered and a faulty Taser has the potential to backfire just as badly as any gun. Maybe Kalika will fix it up for me. She owes me that much.

Mutated Maenads and Uncertain Loyalties

Kalika here.

The mutation of what I estimate is 30% of Maenads into grotesque humanoids is a relatively unexplored subject. I plan to spend some time studying this but I wanted to discuss something of interest: the eyes of Maenad that Min brought have tapeta lucida.

The tapetum lucidum is a reflective layer found in the eyes of many animals that operate in low-light conditions, such as cats, aye ayes and wolves. If you have ever seen a photograph of a cat or dog that was taken with flash, you will notice its eyes appear to be glowing. This the tapetum reflecting the light back. Light is reflected back through the retina, increasing visibility in dark conditions. The "pay-off" is usually a lower clarity of vision. In some creatures, mutated Maenads included, this can be negated by strategic distribution of rods and cones.

When I associated with my previous group, one member claimed he had fought mutated Maenads by shining a bright torch in their eyes. We never discussed it in great detail, but on the basis that mutated Maenad eyes might not adjust as quickly to light levels as humans, it is now worth consideration.

Min is due back soon from getting the Timberwolf. I sent her after a very specific one and got into the CCTV there. I needed to witness it for myself. Why? Well, to be honest, while it is partially true that I needed all these samples, I sent Min to do this primarily to test if she was a servant or not. I had good reason to suspect as such that I will detail in a moment.

Min, I have some questions about your loyalties, and if you try to silence me by deleting this then I will know you have something to hide.

-Why did you delete that file? I checked and the folder it was in was last edited just after you got a hold of it and I hadn't seen it. So I know you deleted it, now what's on it, and why did you deny it?

-Who are you hiding from when you walk down the street with the green neon sign?

-Why, like clockwork, are you going out every 4pm on a Friday?

Now, I am headed out on a field trip, so you have time to think about your answers, and I find out if it is bullshit.

Maenad

Next target was a Maenad. Kalika wanted its blood, and then later texted me saying she wanted its eyes. Its eyes. What the fuck, right? Good job I'm such a fucking giver.

The Maenad I found was on the bounty list for striking down a lot of Timberwolves. They didn't have a picture of it, but the grotesque description was enough that I decided to go at night. Its residence was an dark, overgrown garden stretching to a hospital, both must have been abandoned for quite some time. The ground was either way too dry or way too drenched. I didn't take the footpath to the hospital, it seemed too obvious. Instead I decided to go through the cover of the winding trees. always keeping an eye on anything that might come sprinting out the hospital. Maenads are fast, faster than you or I. Unfortunately that also applies to their intellect.

"Jesus shit!"

The ground gave beneath me. I fell down maybe three metres. Doesn't sound like much until you actually have to fall that distance. Plus, you know how it feels when you get all your gear and you end up in a pitfall Team Rocket could have fucking dug?

I had to use my combat knives to ice-pick my way up, which took a long fucking time. Or at least, like the fall, it feels pretty long when a Maenad might charge in any second. I swear, even the crows seemed to be laughing at me. Eventually I hauled my arse up onto ground level again and made my way to the hospital. I could already smell the Maenad.

"Jesus bollocks!"

I hit the dirt as something tackled me from the side (sans mercy - my shoulder is knackered.) Used the momentum to roll away and hit a disused, overturned lawn mower. This being a Maenad, or maybe me just being slow and making excuses, I didn't have long enough to move. That's when I was being choked by something. Garden hose pipe. Admittedly I wasn't thinking straight at that point; I pulled my Colt out and tried to fire it, of course I left the bastarding safety on. Still, the gun distracted the Maenad who kicked it away from us. I braced my foot against the lawn mower, hauled the rusted blade off and rammed it into the Maenad's carotid. Impaled it pretty good into the ground. Messy, but I was able to collect some blood easily.

It actually said something. It said, why are you doing this?

I didn't have a good answer for that, so I said nothing. Taking out the eyes was the gross bit. All the soap and scalding water in the world will never make me forget how it felt getting my fingers into the socket and prying them out.

Plus the crows will eat well this spring.

Oathbreaker

One of the things I like and despise about Kalika, she's very straightforward. No song and dance, she just came up to me and said, "I need some Oathbreaker blood, some Timberwolf blood and some Maenad blood. For analysis. ASAP."

"Why?"

"You can gather it in these test tubes." She put some capped test tubes into my bag followed by some paper, sellotape and a pen. "Use these to mark which blood is which."

I didn't appreciate not being told why, but I did appreciate not having to stand guard; sometimes going out in the field is a good thing. Being the hunter rather than the hunted, it's a good feeling. Anyway, before I left, I printed off all the bounty pages on the USB that were Oathbreakers, picked up my knife and my Colt. That's why there was a silence, I had to fully commit to the mission and gather intel on the target (good fucking god, I almost sound like Kalika or Incognito.)

The Oathbreaker I found worked as a chemist sort who was on there for experimentation that left a handful of Timberwolves dead or wishing they were dead, and for aiding proxies. She had the lowest bounty of all, so I figured she'd be less on guard compared to any Oathbreakers that know they're on the shitlist. I approached by foot; she lived on a farm, growing some freaking bizarre plants I've never seen before. There was an enclosed greenhouse with this huge dark plant growing. I couldn't determine much about the shape of it, but it seemed to breathe in and out. I was about to go in and look at it in more detail until I saw the human and animal bones on the floor.

Continuing to stare and try to work out the deal was my mistake. It distracted me from the mission until projectile hit the pane just centimetres from my head. I dived behind a tractor tyre to go over what I knew. From the angle it likely came somewhat from above, so whoever shot was up high.

Now by instinct, I slowed my breathing and held my Colt properly. It stopped my hands shaking. Freaking out helps nobody but your opponents. That's when I saw the ladder on the side of the large steel circular structure. A slurry pit. I poked my foot out to bait the shooter, they fired, it hit the sole of my boot. Charging the tank, I basically hurled myself up the ladder to find the Oathbreaker reloading a crossbow, of all weapons.

I grabbed her arm and plunged the blade into her wrist. Shaking the test tube out of my sleeve, I crushed blood out of her arm as fast as possible and got the sample. She managed to tackle me onto the slurry pit cover and got a shot on my leg with the crossbow. It scarcely hurt; I looked down in surprise, and then I saw it. Little syringe-like marks on the projectile. A tranquilliser dart. Now I was on borrowed time. If I ran, or freaked out, my heart would race and the tranquilliser would take effect faster.

Her foot powered into my chest suddenly. I fell back on the ladder platform, blade making a hole in the slurry pit cover. I got an idea. Tore into the slurry pit cover with my knife, following the circumference, then extended the tear much further with two bullets from the Colt. One for the edge, and one for towards the centre. Christ, it was fucking a putrid smell, one of those smells that has a force to it. The Oathbreaker dropped straight through the rip. Rapidly enough for her to be unable to stop it. I think I saw the fear on her face. She was going to drown in liquid shit. Nobody survives that. You can't swim in it or lie on top of it; it's worse than quicksand. Even if you could navigate it, the fumes knock you out. It was too dark to see her fall in. Still, I heard the grotesque slapping sound reverberating through the steel tank as her body hit the viscous manure.

I practically fell down the ladder and stumbled into a barn to pass out as safely as possible. As you know from the fact I'm writing this, I made it back OK. Although that was the longest shower I have ever had.

Bounty

Kalika retrieved new information on Graham, or "Source 1" as she is calling him.

She found files that were bounties. There's a bounty on Graham as part of a purging of the local proxy system that you've probably heard of or perhaps taken a bullet for. Now this is happening plenty, so it wasn't especially out of the ordinary until we saw the price being offered. It was £6,500, fucking absurdly high for his age and ability. Why is it so high? I can't get my head around it. There must be something we're missing here.

Wanna hear something crazier? The files I took from the Timberwolves have a near-identical bounty. I say near-identical, it was the same stuff but written into the Timberwolf bounty format. So I don't think they stole this file from proxies. There must have been some kind of shared knowledge or system...

(No, of course I'm not going to take the bounty. As much as I need the money, I have my limits, and Kalika has her research. And I don't help servant organisations, as a general rule.)

Kalika and I are approaching a difficult decision. People are going to be gunning for him. Maybe I should start tracking anyone who's hunting him and see what I can get.

Errands

I've become everything I feared: Kalika's errand girl.

Records of proxies have largely gone under here as a coherent organisation shattered into many loners and gangs. But there's one group that rushed in to fill the power and office work vacuum, and that's the Timberwolves.

What I initially thought was going to a be a difficult task actually proved to be quite easy. Not because of any skill on my part, but because Kalika pointed out all we needed was access to a Timberwolf base computer. Since we figured the information would be shared between local divisions, all we had to do was find a smaller branch that wasn't as closely guarded.

So we found one, in Dover of all places. I was able to climb some bins and ease through a second floor window. I got in there, ducked by the computer, loaded the shit onto a USB. As I was leaving I think one of the security guards for an adjacent building saw me, but I must have got away fast enough.

The bad news is that the Timberwolves see this they'll have probably tightened security there. If they haven't already. No catching the ferry or taking the Eurotunnel to France for us. Wouldn't risk it. They don't shoot to stagger you.

Dream Diary #2: Storm

I see a hurricane turning, slowly shredding everything in its path.

My head says it is a hurricane. Everything I ever logically laid out in my life says hurricane.

My blood says it is a party.

I wake up with my head pounding.

Kalika here.

I wanted a chance to write out and explain this myself.

I called in some contacts and took the substance to a bigger lab with better equipment. With the small sample I wanted to go more in depth and prove my theory.

It was blood, but with fewer red blood cells, and therefore a bigger percentage of plasma. It appeared to have a crystallisation adjutant added, collectively this produced an orange substance. That is the basic oversight of it, but none of this is what stood out to me.

As soon as I knew it was blood, I began looking for azoth, which came out positive along with a similar grey material I couldn't identify. I then started testing for drugs, which was when I moved to the bigger lab. The emails sent do not make any kind of word or meaningful anagram. Rather, they match a chemical formula, which is C12H16N2. And as I suspected, there were abnormally high traces of this chemical - N,N-Dimethyltryptamine, or DMT. 

For the uninitiated, DMT is a powerful and fast-acting psychedelic, a rather uncommon street drug, and an active ingredient in ayahuasca. It induces feelings of extreme joy, terror, anxiety or spirituality. Users given high enough doses often report visual and auditory hallucinogenic experiences such as accessing a "higher plane of existence", meeting what is described as "intelligent beings" that they are able to communicate with. These beings are typically described as humanoid, but often supernatural in nature. So I initially suspected that this proxy was taking this substance recreationally. Min gave me a few more details about his behaviour and how he seemed to have different states of consciousness, and this matched the effects of DMT.

However, in the blood I found no evidence of the usual impurities that DMT or other drugs are cut with, and I find it hard to believe a teenage boy as unstable as Graham would be able to get hold of purified DMT, or be able to purify it himself - it is hard enough to test for, to the extent where I needed a lab. While I cannot conclusively rule out that it wasn't externally produced and ingested by someone, I wanted to discuss something else about this compound. It has been theorised DMT can be endogenic in mammals, a.k.a. naturally occurring in the body. In 2013 researchers found the compound in the pineal gland of rats. It has been put forward as a scientific explanation of alien abductions and spiritual experiences. A leading researcher on DMT has hypothesised that in near death, the pineal gland produces a significant amount of DMT that would cause near-death experiences.

I haven't identified the grey composite, and neither could anybody at the lab. It seemed, to us, quite comparable to azoth in structure and mystery. For now I'm calling it "gris", after the French word for grey.

This is based off one sample with an unreliable source. But if we were to assume everything about this was legitimate, I would say that as it seems to interfere with other chemicals in the brain, azoth, and/or perhaps that other grey substance, can somehow stimulate the pineal gland to produce DMT.

This is all very hypothetical. I plan to do further research on our source.

Kalika

Kalika

I have a room mate of sorts now, although I don't know how great that is if you both hold a gun at your sides when interacting.

She contacted me by email asking to study the substance. Since I've made no progress and she seems to have the know-how, I agreed. We settled on a meetup at an alley behind the bar and immediately pulled guns out on each other. I showed her the emails and let her go through my entire phone just to prove who I was. That basically set the tone for the ensuing hidden weapon checks and our tense walk to where I was staying. Things settled a bit after. At least, once a certain amount of time had gone by without anybody shooting or stabbing anything.

"You can call me Kalika." She set up a fold-out table and got out a micro burner and some test tubes.

"Kalika. OK. That's a pretty name."

"It's not my name. It's what you can call me." Kalika pulled out what looked like a small microscope, and held it up to show me. "I lived off nothing but one Pot Noodle a day for months to afford this, so if you break it, I break you. And for when you put this on your blog, the same goes for Graham and any of those other bumblefucks."

"I'll make sure I post about it. How long have you been running for?"

"From the rakshasa? Twelve years, maybe. Since I was ten."

"Ten? How did you survive?"

"I had a group I ran with who protected me, showed me the ropes and the guns," she said shortly, tossing a sealed bag of azoth on the table. "I was raised on bullets and wack theories on just about all the rakshasas you can think of. And my group ain't here now, so don't bother asking. We're not friends, and I don't need what happened publicised."

"Right."

"Anyway, I've got a pretty good idea of what this stuff might be based on those letter emails you got. It fits into a theory I had. I'd say those emails basically confirm it."

"What's the theory?"

"It can wait. Need to translate it anyway." She pulled out a notebook.

"What's that test tube thing with the stuff in it?"

"It's not a test tube. It's a gas chromatograph."

Not knowing what any of the fuck that was, I decided to leave her to it. Now she's hard at work, and I'm typing this up while guarding the door. Hopefully this gets somewhere.

Dream Diary #1: Faces

I dream I'm running. Black leaves crunch under my feet. I fall. I get up. But there's a crowd.

I see in it faces, faces I used to know. Faces of the dead. But one of them is missing. Then I realise two are missing. One wears a camouflage coat. The other is obscured with a blinding light.

I can't stare at the light. It knows what I did.

I woke up with bruises on my arms and dirt on my hands.

The latest Graham threat? "DON'T BE NEAR RADIOS". These are getting weirder and weirder.

Running - What You'll Need

It's come to my attention we may or may not have a new runner on their own, or possibly with another runner. Since the appropriate authority has not stepped up, I will. Consider this your official Runner shopping list.

Items

1) A water bottle. You can fill it up at public buildings with bathrooms, restaurants, whatever. Don't try to conserve your water - you'll be better at tearing them a new one while fully hydrated.

2) A flask. Sometimes water isn't going to cut it, and you want caffeine, soup or generally something more substantial. A warm drink is good for morale, and morale is good for survival. Flasks are heavy so they also make a pretty good improvised blunt weapon. And pouring scalding hot coffee on someone never gets old.

3) A scarf, preferably a thick one. It's multipurpose. You can use it for warmth, anonymity, wrap it around wounds, fold it into a makeshift pillow.

4) A roll of toilet paper. Whether it's for clearing your nose on cold nights, wiping tears or just plain wiping your ass with and stuffing it into an attacker's mouth.

5) A plastic jug. We all piss and unfortunately there aren't toilets everywhere, particularly not in hiding places. After use, throwing it also deters attackers quite effectively, even more so than the conventional weapon brandishing and yelling creative threats.

6) Toiletries. Soap, baby wipes, hand sanitiser, toothpaste, roll-on deodorant, just some things to keep you clean and blend in with the general populace, or sanitise wounds. Also, dry shampoo. Period pads, if applicable. Cheaper than tampons.

7) Cereal bars. If you're travelling and can't get to anywhere with food, these will keep you going.

8) Warm clothes. I can't stress this enough. Get a lot of layers, and don't forget gloves and socks. A waterproof is also a godsend.

9) Access to at least one thing of sentimental value. A picture on your phone, or a teddy, a necklace of your mother's, or anything like that. Whatever it takes to keep your head and remember who you are, is worth having.

Good Places To Know

1) Bakeries. OK, you're probably wondering what the fuck this is, but seriously. Bakeries make food on the day and then they throw it out in the evening when they close. Just find a side or back alley around the bakery and loot. It's relatively fresh and clean food, and free.

2) Petrol stations. You can get food here, they've always got toilets and these are usually open 24 hours with at least someone staffing it. If you feel unsafe, this is a good last resort refuge.

3) Public swimming pools. These places have showers with hot water. Good for the soul. 

4) Public libraries. A roof over your head, computer access, and relatively enough to keep you entertained. If it's not too busy and you're sneaky enough, you can get away with sleeping there. There are plenty of shelves and storerooms to hide in and get some shut-eye.

5) Food banks. Obviously. You get free food here.

6) Shelters. You can use a search engine to find one close by.

Things To Know

1) Not all the threats you face will be monsters or their servants. The weather is sometimes a bitch and the people are bitches too. Just keep that in mind.

2) When someone hurts you or makes you feel unsafe, derail all pleasantries. Exercise your bitch-slapping hand. Don't give into the social conditioning to be polite and not make a fuss. You scream and fight, you run, you do whatever it takes to get out alive.

3) If it comes to a fight, remember this isn't a Victorian gentlemen's boxing match. There are no rules, no etiquette in real fighting. Go straight for the weak spots - eyes, balls, neck, solar plexus, stamp on their jaw when they're down. You might not get a chance to land too many hits, so make every strike count in both placement and strength. This is one of the first things I was taught by my mentor and I promise you, it has never steered me wrong.

4) Running away is underrated. Adrenaline is just as much for running away as it is punching predators to a pulp. Not every fight has to end in someone dying or being knocked out. Not every fight even has to start at all. There's no shame in running like hell. People totally win medals for running like hell.

5) Carrying a weapon can be a *sunglasses* double-edged sword depending on police and security. Laws vary so I can't really give a blanket statement on this. If you do get hold of something like a gun or a knife, don't wave it around too much, have a damn good hiding place (or a fucking immaculate excuse) and as soon as you get the chance, have someone teach you how to use it.

6) Wherever possible, get a decent night's sleep. Or day's. If you dream, that's a good sign. Even if you have nightmares, that's a good sign. You're processing what's going on and your brain is preparing you to handle threats. Servants count on you being sleepless, being unfed, being dehydrated, being scared. So, if they pick on you, give them something to think about in hospital.

This is by no means comprehensive, but I hope it's a good starting point. Stay hydrated, stay fed, get sleep, and when someone attacks, you bring your A-game. And then you strangle them with it and throw them into a river. Whatever works.