Thursday, November 8, 2012

What is this, housework? ~Shift

So, yeah, it's Shift.  I ditched the stupid account - Rhodes just lets me use his anyway, and the less clunky switching between email addresses I have to do, the better.

Rhodes is gone.  Said he'd be gone for a while.  Told me that I'm in charge while he's not here!  Wow, thanks.  I'm in charge of a mute wrestler who just mopes in the corner all day, and a psychotic bitch who's obsessed with Heroboy and who tries to knife anyone who goes in her room.  Seriously.  Even Rhodes can't keep Jade under control 100% of the time.  It makes things...really difficult when he's not home.

Not that he cares.  Sure, dump me with the two people who only move at your command and who could both kill me without any problems.  Yeah, Obstruction won't, but that's probably just cause he hasn't had any thoughts of his own the whole time this "team" business started.

I never thought I'd say this, but I MISS Valkyrie.  She was just as crazy as everyone else here, but she kept order through her fear.  Jade was a lot more scared of her than she is of Rhodes, and maybe even a bit admiring.  With her in charge while the boss is away I never even got so much as stabbed.  These days, though, making me leader while he's gone is just another insult.

Man, why am I even bitching to you guys about this?  Whatever.  Rhodes wants me to update the blog while he's gone.  "With fucking what?"  I asked.  Then he went on and on about dramatic tension and how we'd "already spent way too much time keeping everyone in the dark!" with that faux cheerful smile on his face the whole time.  Or is it faux?  I can never tell with that guy.

Fuck this job.  But...It's better than being dead, that's for sure.  I have no clue why you idiots keep resisting.  It's just going to be more pain for you in the long run.

Monday, November 5, 2012

So I return from, frankly, a well earned vacation, and what do I find waiting for me?  A lovely little message on my blog.  Someone seems quite interested in including me in their little party, which I'm quite flattered by.

They even posed the same pawn/player question they gave June, but sufficed to say I wasn't fooled by a simple blank email address.  It's not so easy to hide from me, and I was able to find the person who's been typing this stuff out.  Sadly, not the greatest conversationalist I've ever met, rather like one of those dreadfully dull Hallowed folks.  But as I've got him with me right now, I figured I would send the lovely people organizing this event a little message.

Excuse me?  EXCUSE ME?  You are giving me a role?  You putrid sacks of FILTH!  The likes of YOU think that you determine MY destiny?  I don't think you understand how this works, here!  I'm not one of these blind idiots running around chasing whatever carrots you dangle in front of them.  I'm the man holding the cards, and I've got your number.

This little pawn of yours gave me a bit of entertainment, but there's only so many times you can smash a face against a desk before it gets dull.  So I figured I would take the time to address you before shutting down your connection to this world.

You think you're enigmatic?  It never changes with you.  You probably still think humans squat in wooden hovels and stone castles.  News flash: This whole cryptic disclosure bullshit is NOT working.  Not a single one of your "players" was impressed.  Even the ones following your bait aren't intimidated so much as annoyed at how unoriginal you are.

You think I don't know EXACTLY who you are, NEMESIS COUNTER!?  So you FINALLY decided to play your hand.  What's the matter, too SCARED of the man with the pale face?  Even now, you probably think everything's going according to your little schemes.  I'll bet you think that no matter what the outcome, nothing will change.

Well, this is a wake up call.  The gods themselves will not stop me.  If you ever, EVER, presume to command me again, the veils of time and space themselves will not shield you.  I will tear down your bastions, one by one, with fire, blood, rot, and decay, until every aspect of you lies before me, all illusions stripped.  And on that day, I will rip the beating hearts from your chests, one.  By.  One.

...Pffff...Hahahahahahahaha!  You know what?  Why not.  WHY THE HELL NOT!  You want me to play your little game so bad?  Wellll, I do feel a little bad, seeing as I make your doll here rack up quite the medical bill.  And it just so happens you've recruited a player or two that I'm most interested in.  So yeah!  Count me in!

Just don't expect me to play by your rules.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

My door is open.

It's no secret that these past few months have been...quiet.  This time last year we had houses burning down, killer trees, exploding weddings, oh my!

It seems as though the Powers That Be have granted us this time of respite.  But as I stir from my rest and prepare to get back into the swing of plotting and scheming, I notice that the silence does not stop at those tricksy twisty runners.  Reddie darling hasn't deemed to make an appearance in some time.  Other authority figures such as Valtiel or Writer have also seen fit to vanish from the blog world.

Could it be that we've finally decided to stop chronicling this invisible war on these inane public online journals?  Not bloody likely.

So, here is my proposal to all you working class masked men and women, just trying to get through the day without the Tall Man deciding your entrails would look good nailed to the wall: Come to me.  If you are uncertain about what you should be doing, or how to proceed with a task that your superior has been frustratingly quiet about, then I shall endeavor to set you on the path to success.

We walkers in the night must stick together, after all, mustn't we?  Don't hesitate to approach me with any concerns you may have.

And think nothing of it.  Call it professional courtesy.

Monday, August 6, 2012

A friendly report from the Intelligence division

This post goes out to ALL the proxies in the field.  As Ridley might say, "keep it real, mah homies!"  Because apparently he likes typing words that aren't real.

The date: August 2nd, 2012.

The time: approximately 6:30 PM.

The location: Detriot, Michigan.

Summary: Intelligence operative "Zephyr" is due to meet five enforcers to provide information on a target, [REDACTED, due to believed irrelevance].  Enforcers are half hour late, Zephyr risks visiting their safehouse. (deemed necessary by Handler Rhodes)  Upon arrival, Zephyr discovers safehouse empty, door shows sign of forced entry.  Note on table indicates field outside of city as possible location.  Zephyr proceeds to location. (Note: Unwise, operative should have immediately called for backup, was "reprimanded" lightly for this mistake)  Bodies of enforcers discovered, tied to stakes.  Zephyr contacts superior and requests cleanup team.  Evidence removed without incident.

Autopsy: Not that we exactly had to cut em open to see what snuffed em out.  Poor fucks were burnt alive.   Somehow, somebody started a fire in an open field without attracting anyone all for the sake of executing a bunch of fuckin' blanks.  The team figured the fire wasn't too old, so we just missed the pyro.  Good thing too, cause daaayum that woulda freaked out the normies.  Fuckin' pussywipes would prolly blame it on religious terrorists or something stupid as shit like that.

Conclusion: This may be the act of a deranged runner, but it is a little too elaborate for that.  Somehow, the culprit(s) kidnapped all five of the enforcers, a feat that would be almost impossible for a single runner.  M.O. inconsistent with the "Siren."  Only time will tell if this is an isolated incident, or a sign of things to come.

Handler Rhodes, Intelligence Division

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Not my usual kind of dance.

So Konaa sorta left off on a cliffhanger, eh?  Leaving you all to wonder what had happened to the dashing knife nut in the suitcoat and hat.  What happened to the serial killer with the penchant for humming Irish ditties?

Well, I didn't stop to shoot some pool with 'im, lemme tell you.   He'd already gotten his mitts on those two blanks I had on loan from Reddie dearest, (he's so gonna bitch about it later, ugghhh) and he was looking to make it three with Shift.

Thing is, Shift is occasionally useful to me.  Good with computers, and that phasing move is a little unusual!  So as much as it seems out of character, I stepped forward into the fog to help the little bitch.

I heard im screaming, more sizzling, like this murderer had lit firecrackers in his pants or something.  Threw a knife, there was a clank, and Shift dropped to the ground, crawling out of the fog, his arm sporting one sick burn.

Here, I sort of lost my temper.

"LISTEN UP, SHITHEAD!  The only person who gets to torture and abuse that weedy pathetic keymonkey is YOURS TRULY!"

There was a muffled "Yeah, thanks a bunch, Boss." from the ground.

I strode forward, twirling two more knives in my hands, signaling my team to fall back.  Now, this fog certainly was unnatural - fog doesn't build up this quickly, and it certainly doesn't obscure this much with only a moderate downpour.  It was doing its job well, though - outlines were the only visible thing.

Maybe for someone as shortsighted as June, anyway.  One in my line of work has a penchant for seeing through fogs, though.  Just usually more metaphorically.

The singing killer, the "Siren," is around six feet tall, Caucasian, male, dressed in dark blue clothing, torn jeans, a frighteningly ragged mass purporting to be a coat, and a hood.  His hair is dark and wild.  More notably, he wears a strange gauntlet on his left hand, almost like a metal shell that encases the hand and about two feet up his arm.  In that hand, he is holding an iron, heated despite the lack of a plug.

"Come now, step forward.  Let's get a good look at you.  ...Ah, but now it all makes sense.  If my dress code was like yours, I'd probably be a maniacal killer too.  ...Oh WAIT!"  I laughed, just a little joke to lighten the mood.

No answer.

"Did you hear me?  I!"  I used hand signals to make sure we were communicating, although perhaps the middle finger is communicating the wrong message.  Oh well, what do I look like, a translator?

Still no response!  How infuriating.   It was time for a more hands on test.  Another knife flew his way, he raised the gauntlet and with another clank, it fell to the ground.  Lurching towards me slowly, he raised the iron.  And then with surprising speed, he suddenly lunged, trapping my arm against the wall and holding the iron towards my face.

NO manners here, no siree.  And nothing pisses me off more than a rude asshole with a heater.  I gave him my most winning smile and then cackled at his little toy.  "You wanna light ME up?"

And suddenly!  Gasp!  His hand is free!  Always keep a tight grip if you want to hold onto a snake, folks.  They're more slippery than they first appear~

I brought out a hook and chain, swung it upwards, cracked the asshole in the face.  But it didn't seem to do nothin!  He just kept coming forward, blood seeping down his cheeks.  Well it's a pain in the fucking ass, but I had to admit I had no clue what the hell this idiot's deal was.

So I gave the chain a spirited heft and threw it, wrapping it around his legs.  THAT made him stumble a little, and gave me just the opening - a flashbang grenade, already primed and ready.  Wrapping an arm around his shoulder, I pushed his head forward and smashed it into his face.  "Temperature today!  Rainy, with intermediate bursts of sunlight!"  Bang.

And god damn if he didn't make the weirdest fuckin noise I ever heard.  Some sort of groggly moan.  If that wasn't the oddest thing about it, he showed me he's pretty slippery himself - one second I had him, and the next he was gone.  Footsteps receding, and then silence, leaving only Shift's burnt arm as a parting gift.

Take it for a freebie, folks.  This fellow doesn't seem to care WHO he's got his hands on so long as they're squishy and burn nice.  Show him the light, sit him down, talk about your parents.

It's funny cause most of your parents are DEAD!  Hahaha, ah man, never gets old.  Later.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Dear me where DOES the time go.

I'm practically becoming your typical blogger at this rate, most of my posts seem to address the sparsity of updates.  I do apologize for having better things to do than log all my actions for the public to behold.

But!  I'm here now, and I have a friend!  He's a little drowsy right now, blood loss does that.  Let me try to wake him.

Oh my.  I don't think he liked that at all.  Christ, but this fucker has a set of lungs.  Hey, watch it!  Don't bleed on the fucking suit!  ...Whew, you dodged a bullet there, pal.  You awake?  Great!  Here, just like we practiced, you're gonna talk to our friends here!

I'm Robert Loans, FBI.  I was trying to spy on Rhodes, who, incidentally, is infinitely dashing in his style of wardrobe, when he heroically intercepted me.  He is currently threatening me with death unless I reveal agency secrets to you all.  He has cut me with his knives fourteen tiairgnkij  FIFTEEN TIMES NOW! :D

I am part of a division of the FBI that does not officially exist.  It monitors paranormal activity, mainly that of "Slender Man" and those associated with.  Rhodes has instructed me to reveal that we are tracking as many known individuals who have come into contact with the Slender Man in any way.  If you have a blog, it is quite possible you have an agent assigned to trace you.


Rhodes just removed some of the teeth frrrgehlp six teeth exactly from my mouth because I was a little bitch who strayed from the script.  I was supposed to tell you that in some cases, the agent assigned to the individual has termination orders if the individual takes any action that may cause public awareness of Slender Man to rise.  He wants me to tell you that you are all being watched and that we know everything, but refuse to help you.  And that you're just as likely to be killed by us as you are them

what did I DO - Come now, what sort of sentence begins with "And?"

Politics these days!  How about em, Robbie?  ...Robbie?  Dear me, he's not moving.  Odd place to take a nap, but, I suppose I'll allow it, since he did what I asked.

Why did I want him to tell you all about those charming government suits and their nefarious plans?   Couldn't it simply be because I care for you all?

Perhaps not.  The first reason is simple.  They've been hunting me as if I were just another adolescent in a hoodie.  I wanted to be sporting, and show them exactly who they are dealing with.  When professionals are involved, I do not play games. You have been warned- I will not tolerate another such insult.

Of course, there's a second reason for just about everything.  I wanted this charming young man to explain the government policy to all of you out there who think they can escape, or fight back.

It's like this, runners.  You're not just being watched by one man in a suit.  It's many.  Our elected officials have apparently decided that you are a liability.  Let's face it, they're not far off.  You imbecilic little insects haven't even the slightest inkling of the game you are pieces in.  It's quite amusing, actually, like watching blind lab rats in a labyrinth.  Only instead of cheese, it's horrible mental trauma.

Now that you have the slightest idea...Let's see some fear.  Don't be shy.  Show me the look of a mouse as the trap closes around it.