Monday, 31 October 2011
ALL OF YOU SHUT UP OR YOU CAN FOLLOW STEELE RIGHT OUT OF THE HOUSE.
Grov, you're a disgusting little piece of Todd and it's taking every fibre of my being not to march up where you are and rip you right out of him and then KILL YOU SLOWLY. You WILL control yourself, you WILL //STOP// being a pain in the ass, and you WILL leave Todd and my other couriers ALONE.
Steele, you're being a cuntnugget, plain and simple. Take your butthurt elsewhere, go get high and have sex or something. Because you know what I'm doing while you sit in a hotel room and take digs? FRANTICALLY CALLING EVERY DOCTOR I KNOW SO AMANDA CAN WALK AGAIN.
August, how DARE you go "oh guys be nice to each other!"? NO. Leon left. He has that right. But we have bigger issues right now. Even if you're taking care of Amanda, you freaking out while waiting for phone calls is NOT HELPING.
Now if you're all done freaking out and digging at each other and feeding the trolls now, we've got to focus on our TEAM MEMBER. YEAH, REMEMBER HER?
What I'd REALLY like to know is how you figured Amanda would fit into your whole "I'm leaving this house for my own safety" routine. She's sitting in her room, completely unable to walk, and all she really wants right now is some company.
And you leave her. Looking out for yourself, and yourself alone. What about Amanda? She's been there for you at every opportunity, a faithful friend for several years, and you decide to up and leave when she needs your love and support the most. You leave her in a situation that you deem dangerous, even though she's bedridden and needs to be heavily drugged just so she won't scream and cry in agony.
Fuck, I hope you're reading this so you can realize just how much of a dick you're being. Because I have, and so has she.
Sunday, 30 October 2011
I came to this House for protection, and maybe a bit of cash on the side to keep living my life.
Skull Fortresses? Armed guards? Playing some fucked up game of Counter-Strike in a castle to neutralize a proxy enclave? Getting captured, beaten, shocked…And seeing Spence, once again taking the limelight as the most dangerous thing in my life. For in all the confusion, in all of the terror…none was so horrible as Spencer Fitzgerald. The one who pays me, the one whose house I live in, the one who I really can’t say jack-all about as long as I continue to make use of his hospitality.
So I won’t.
Saturday, 29 October 2011
Alright. Summaries going up... about a week later than we had thought. That's fine. Everything's been a mess at the House with Amanda's shattered legs, (Doc still isn't sure we'll be able to fix her, causing both she and Spencer to call in every favour they can think of in order to do what we can. Losing somebody is not high on our priority list right now.) Spencer's shattered fingers and a good amount of loopiness all around. Sam's sleeping in front of the East Wing again, Sybil and Grov are acting up (thankfully more Sybil, less Grov.) and everybody's got a fair amount of injuries. Doc's really done a fantastic job of taking care of everybody, and I'm doing what I can.
We've settled, at least for now. Readjustment's mostly passed and we're all back to our mostly normal selves (though I'm still sleeping with a bucket by my bed, and the stench of tar and mustard gas probably isn't going to leave my room for weeks) and even mostly recovered. A few bumps and bruises here and there, but that's fairly par for the course in our case. But to alleviate the worries of the small number of you who care, (god knows why you do it) we're all doing okay. A little worse for wear, but we're surviving.
(And that's worth a lot right now, isn't it?)
But, the delivery. Todd and Doc have covered a bit already, but there are some gaps to fill.
Firstly, we got into the building (and yes, it was a skull fortress. Teeth set in an angry scowl and sockets that cried lava and everything. In the middle of a forest.) by method of high explosives. Probably not the brightest of ideas - but we don't exactly have a reputation for being the brightest, do we?
(It would have been a shame to waste it, anyways.)
That's when the alarms sounded. Right overhead by the sounds of it, too. It didn't take long for us to be surrounded, no way of getting out of it without either killing or straight running.
We chose the latter.
I ended up in a crawlspace somewhere a ways away from where the fight had broken out. Radioed around. Couldn't get anybody until I heard Todd shouting, then tried to get him to calm down before he got more people on him again. You know what happened from there.
I needed to find somebody else. Todd was with Amanda and Sam at that point, but the others were still missing. Something about this place (I'm guessing it was the walls that seemed to be made of solid concrete and the fact that we were in a Loop) caused our radios to cut out if we were more than roughly 50 feet away from somebody, (something Doc and I tested once we had found each other) so I stumbling upon each other was more sheer luck than anything. Steele and Spencer were both silent, but Doc was somewhere not too far away. I could hear the hiss of interference but still managed to hear her loud and clear.
She said she'd overheard a couple guards. Something along the lines of 'taking the blond to...' and then she hadn't caught the rest. We slipped into a nearby break room (and raided one of the vending machines while we were there) to hopefully get out of the line of sight when a thought hit me.
Massive, needlessly complex fortress with military-level security?
Guards in identical uniforms with helmets that shield their faces?
Unfurnished hallways with dim, flickering lights and eerie suits of armour lining each corridor?
"What do you think are the chances of this guy having a dungeon?"
Realization dawns on Doc's face. "Very... very high."
There was some exploring after that. I'll save you the details and say that we found a guard, interrogated him, took a literal skeleton key off him and made our way down the nearest set of stairs, dim florescent lights eventually turning to torchlight (real torches with real fire. I had honestly stopped being surprised at that point) and the cold of the concrete walls upstairs turned to a damn, icy chill that sucked the life out of everything around us. Moss grew from the walls and there was an unidentifiable dripping somewhere in the distance. Something scurried and I tried my hardest not to see the figure off to my right.
Made our way down to the second level of cells. As we turned the corner, voices drifted from somewhere further down. I felt Doc grab my hand, putting a finger over her mouth. Hush.
"...that should do him for awhile. We'll check on his stupid ass later."
"I can't believe he tried to bite my ear..."
"I can't remember the last time we had a British dude in here."
Doc frowns. I grin. If that wasn't Steele, I didn't know who it could be.
We approach the cell. Sure enough, Steele's bound to a chair and out cold. No response to anything. Doc tries to unlock the door and...
The next thing I see is her convulsing and falling to the floor. I manage to catch her before she hits the ground, softening the thud. She's dazed and her eyes roll for a second before she focuses on me again. It's only once I'm sure she's alright that we decide that the keys are floor-specific and that we'll need to find somebody with a key to this floor if we're going to break Steele out of there. And there was still the matter of Spencer...
It's then we hear a scream. Spencer's scream, actually. Blood-curdling and followed by too-high, too-loud laughter, to the point where I'd have been terrified if I wasn't so used to them by now. My only thoughts were 'it'd better not be his fingers' and 'oh, you have got to be kidding me.'
So we find Spencer in what I think Doc later described as 'the mother of all S&M dungeons.' And she's not too far from the truth on that one. We basically find Spencer chained to a chair with his hand in a... I don't even know. It looks like a clamp with five perfect holes for fingers and there's three of them around him and one is tightening it around his hand and there are already two bodies mutilated on the floor and he's laughing and laughing and...
I don't want to talk about it.
We manage to get him out and Doc drugs the remaining three. They'll be out for a solid twelve hours, she says. More than enough to get us out of there. Spencer's mostly incoherent and his hands are in ruins. Doc's got some basic first aid on her and we manage to wrap his fingers so they don't fall apart when he tries to move them and head on our way. From there it's a little bit of a blur - Steele's broken out, we escape and meet up at the rendezvous... there's an explosion somewhere along the way that I'm guessing is what happened to Todd, Amanda and Sam...
Something black drips on Sam's shoulder. There's this sick silence that hangs in the air for a second before we hear this... this noise. I can't really describe it. Almost a... a distant thunder. A rumbling that starts somewhere off in the distance, slowly growing in volume and intensity before the air around us seems to shake.
There's a loud crack somewhere far, far above us.
We look up.
Somewhere off in the distance, a piece of white falls from the sky.
Correct, a piece of the sky falls.
The sky is falling.
The sky's falling and a massive torrent of pure black comes down after it.
We watch it for what feels like forever, and there's a tiny, utterly terrified laugh from one of us - I think it's me. It doesn't take long before the crack spreads across the entirety of the white expanse above us, black lines clawing and tearing and spreading across the sky so fast that it takes less than a second for the entire view above our head to be marred with black lines line a spider's web. It's cracked like glass. The sky is cracked like glass and not a second after this happens, more pieces begin to fall.
That's what somebody calls. Somebody grabs my hand and rips me away, and suddenly we're all moving as far and as fast as we can. The cracking echoes around us and the entire world is screaming, tearing itself apart at the seams. The trees shrivel and turn from bark and leaves to flat lines on an endless white expanse. The world is vanishing and collapsing and we're going to collapse with it if we can't find a way out of here.
The ground disappears. More and more pieces of the sky, the distant edges of the world and the ground below our feet fall away. Nothing but blackness behind them. Nothingness. Pure nothingness. A crack, the loudest and closest yet. Right above our heads. Still running.
Darkness. Everything vanishes. No light. No noise. No gravity - I'm floating. No air - I'm choking. Try to call out. Nothing.
The ground rushes towards my feet.
We're in a field, the cars not far away. Somehow, we're out. We're out and we're alive and we have no idea how, but that's not what matters, is it?
It takes us a few minutes. We just sort of... sit there. Revel in the moment. Can't really believe it at first. How could we have possibly...
Slowly, mechanically, we get to out feet. Everybody's stunned to silence. Nobody wants to talk - or is it because we can't? How do you express what you're feeling at that moment? A jumble of relief, terror, joy, fear, anger and worry overall - worry for everybody else. Are they alive? Is everybody okay? Did we all get out?
We did. Amanda posted later and I'm sorry if we worried you. I'm going to cut this off here because... well, that's really all there is to it. I've already spent too much time on the computer. Doc'll need my help with something and I should really go make sure everybody's doing alright.
It's good to be home.
Monday, 24 October 2011
Todd is the only one not seriously injured. Except for my hearing. That was shot, but then again, so was Sam's and Amanda's. It's mostly fine now.
How'd it all go down?
Ego infans intus
We'd gotten split up. I got a call on the radio, and a voice calling himself Mama Bear. [i thought that was funny]. I fucking hate codenames. But the odd thing was, not only could I hear it from the radio, I could hear it in the distance, but from no specific direction. I didn't think, I just yelled for August. August started yelling at me over the radio about how I shouldn't yell, cause after all, there were guards.
Stupid, stupid, Stupid.
It wasn't until he asked me where I was when I realized I was in the middle of a fucking life sized aquarium. Complete with little blue rocks and everything. I found my way out of there and met up with Sam. Poor kid. Already scared out of her mind, and the first person she meets up with is, well, the guy who's one third serial killer and one third not potty trained [i resent that].
We agreed to try and find a way out. And then we were ambushed by Amanda.
Nunc autem nihil sum
It's funny, cause she didn't even bother to go after Sam. No offense, Sam, but that means your instinctively harmless.
But she eventually realized It was us, and we teamed up to get out. She had the delivery, which, at the time, looked like a cake. But I knew, from debriefings, it was a bomb.
We made our way to this giant Skull Fortress. (A sight I should have been more freaked out by, but... eh.) We went inside and planted the bomb, but as we were leaving, we were interrupted by the loudest sirens in existence, and approximately eleven fuckbillion mooks.
meum in aeternum abditum
Amanda never left Sam's side, and I was on my own. We fought for as long as we could right until the explosion that left me deaf and caused the sky to start cracking. Or, maybe the bomb didn't cause it, and it was really a visual symbolic interpretation for the cracking of the collective sanity of the group known as The Couriers. Or maybe it was some messed up Loop physics which are useless to try and explain. I don't know. I was more focused on getting out of there.
We ran back. Well, it was more like a sprint. Well, it was more like... some kind of Loop physics that aren't worth explaining. All I know is that all motion halted as a giant piece of... something fell on Amanda. There was no time to think. My thought process was most likely something along the lines of "Move big thing, move Amanda." and at no point did the words "Make sure her legs aren't flipping all about, thus causing her more pain." or even "Make sure Sam isn't dying."
We made it back to the van, me carrying Amanda and Sam tagging behind. Doc was treating her almost immediately, I was trying my best to stay out of the way.
My fingers hurt. Other than that, I'm an idiot.
Thursday, 20 October 2011
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
Sunday, 16 October 2011
And apparently, he needs a delivery. Why are we giving him one? What the fuck is wrong with us? At least we’re not delivering a horribly named death robot to him, I think that would be a bit tough to carry.
At any rate, we’re all fine (for now), and our rocket stick is somehow giving us a connection at points. I'd imagine as we get further in, it'll eventually stop working. But hey, I don’t know how the fuck technology works. I just use it.
I should get some rest; we have a long walk ahead of us. We’ll keep in contact as much as we can. In the meantime, stay safe.
Friday, 14 October 2011
Are you happy, you insane bastard? We'll do your damn delivery.
Jesus rollerblading christ, we must be out of our minds. We have to be completely and utterly insane. This is a trap. It doesn't take a genius to see that.
But if we don't take it...
Spencer hasn't gotten any better. Not that this really surprises anybody. I went into his office a little while after the 'final assignment' went up to find the boss kicking and screaming and clawing and...
I don't want to talk about it.
It's been roughly a week since Spencer came back and I don't think I've seen him leave his office once. I remember visiting him the night he got back, only to nearly end up with a vase to the face and some shattered glass around the House and in my foot. I'd go into detail, but I honestly think they're things better left unsaid. Not to mention the fact that there's a certain somebody who would take great pleasure in his pain and, in all honesty, I'm not willing to grant him that satisfaction.
I saw him again today after Writer's post went up. You could hear him screaming from the glass doors that separate the East Wing from the rest of the House. When I got to his office, there was smashing. Lots of smashing. Crashing, thumping, and the office was in tatters when I eventually went in. The glass from the vase nearly six days ago had been scattered about the room, and the floor had been clawed up.
I don't want to talk about it.
Doc found me outside the office, scratched up and utterly exhausted. I'm throwing this post up quickly then going to relay the news to the rest of the team: we leave at eight o'clock. Sharp.
We'll try and keep you posted. You know how these things work.
Thursday, 13 October 2011
Is something you should be very, very familiar with.
A delivery to an... old friend of ours.
Check your email, Fitzgerald. The instructions will be in the drafts.
And as for the rest of you? Miei tesori, you really disappoint me~ It's almost charming how quickly you all jump to the conclusion that, just because I decide to speak without my usual pomp and vivacity and throw in a few nonsensical jumbles of letters and numbers that I must - I simply must! - be filing an actual report for some shady, iniquitous Proxy organization working right by Father's side.
It's almost charming.
More pathetic, really~
Did you really think I would be so stupid? Actually, you seem to believe that quite readily~ I wonder, I wonder, I wonder, I wonder if it's because it makes you feel better? If detracted from the image of this strange figure -a glimpse into Spencer's past; Spencer who, may I remind you all, is nothing more than a friendly Proxy? One among my ranks? One of which I had the great honour of working with for four years?
He hasn't gone away, ladies and gentlemen~ He's just... tamed. Consider his illness a shock collar, of sorts. Spencer Fitzgerald is free to do as he pleases, but the moment he does something that upsets Father? Bzzzt! Right to the heart~
But I digress. There's plenty of time to speak ill of the man currently barricaded inside his office, curled up on the floor like a mutt who's scratched up the couch with his too-long, too-sharp claws while his owner was away.
As for my report? Mr. Fitzgerald certainly left some things out of his own write-up, (assuming, of course, you believe he's the one who wrote it~ But I suppose you'll only find out by asking him, hmm?) though perhaps I may have exaggerated slightly. Though I do swear to you, Father as my witness, that the documented events did, in fact, occur. There was a second victim during Forger's interrogation, and he certainly did a number on 3078Q-B//a-d, though their state upon Teller's arrival was... disadvantageous for all parties involved.
The rest is perhaps pure speculation. I leave you, faithful bloggers, to see through the lies both Spencer and I weave and, if you're lucky, figure out for yourselves what is truly going on in the House, because it certainly isn't good. And if it keeps up? It certainly won't last~!
Six months, Fitzgerald. That's all you'll get.
P.S. Be sure to bring your team along. This'll be a toughie~!
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
I went to talk to Boss…god, I don’t even know how many days ago now. Three? Four? When I had just awoken from my coma and was in the first stages of recovery, I said some things to him I really shouldn’t have. I’ve ruminated over them for a few weeks, and decided that I really did owe him an apology. I went to his office in the East Wing to do just that, but I was given a rather odd reward for my compassion. Boss started spouting off all sorts of things about his true nature, about what a fool he thought I was. I’ll be the first in the group to die, he says. I tried to talk him down; he said he was going out to do some “odd jobs.” Fucked if I remember details.
Did I mention that he was in his Teller state of mind at the time? Oh, I should have, because the minute I realized there was no convincing him and agreed to stand down to let him leave the office, he grabbed me from behind and injected some sort of tranquilizer into my jugular vein. I’m still not entirely sure what he gave me, but all I remember after that was being dragged into the living room before I passed out.
Next thing I knew, Steele and August were standing above me, tucking me into my own bed. I tried to mumble out what happened to me. I think they understood, but August immediately shushed me and told me it wasn’t time to wake up yet. I must have agreed with him, because I immediately fell back asleep. I’ve recovered to the point of being functional, of course, but whatever Teller injected me with did not agree with the morphine I was already on. And thus, my recovery receives yet another setback. I’m a bit upset that I’ve had to deal with the pain in my arm au naturelle since; frankly, I’m quite lucky to be alive. Teller is a clever fucker indeed, but a doctor (even a fake one) he is not; I’m not sure if he completely understood just how terrible wantonly mixing drugs could be. August has been helping me detox myself a bit, so I know for certain I’m going to live. I’ve been feeling very sluggish and groggy, but today, I woke up feeling much better. I think I’ll go out on a walk; the fresh air would do me some good.
As for the Boss, last I heard, he locked himself in his office. Like hell if I'm even going near him again soon, so he can sit in there and not give me a fucking overdose.
Stay safe, everyone.
(PS: Steele, if you’re nice to the Boss, he might give you that shiny new copy of Catch-22 he bought for you.)
Monday, 10 October 2011
068739028 was dispatched on the 7th of October, 2011 at roughly 04:20 I observed him exiting his home, carrying two handguns and an assortment of knives. (Upon watching him in combat, I can safely say 068739028 was carrying two bowie knives, one combat knife, a stiletto and a butcher's knife I imagine he had lifted from the kitchen before leaving.)
By use of the Path, 068739028 arrived at his first assignment in south-western Wisconsin at exactly 04:27. The interrogation lasted 26 minutes. The subject of interrogation was identified as 1A, though he is known more commonly as 'Forger.' Forger was employed under 110044327 and was noted to be a delinquent; disrespecting his superiors, ignoring orders, and backtalking his squad leader and his Handler. 068739028's assignment was to instil loyalty back into 3078Q-1A by any means necessary.
068739028 approached 3078Q-1A behind a bar, wherein we can only hope that 3078Q-1A was looking to gather more people to be brought under Father's influence and not satisfy his frustrated libido. Sadly, judging by the woman 3078Q-1A seemed to be so eagerly undressing we can only assume the latter. Thankfully by the time 068739028 had made himself known, the woman quickly dressed herself and made off in a hurry; the sight of Teller's many knives quickly and efficiently ruining the mood.
3078Q-1A is understandably shocked and terrified upon the sight of 068739028. While 068739028's demeanour was airy and casual as he pulled his first blade, it would quickly dissolved into a cold, emotionless blank as 068739028 cornered Forger and began to slowly remove his fingers.
The pinky on the left hand would be the first to go, 068739028 calmly explaining that he represented 110044327 and that 3078Q-1A was being targeted for his overall sub-par performance and refusal to follow orders.
He begins to shout, loudly, as 068739028 begins to cut around the bone of his finger.
068739028 quickly presses his hand into 3078Q-1A's mouth, muffling his screaming. He sneers into the the subject's ear that, if he does not stop drawing attention to themselves, he will cut out his tongue. 3078Q-1A looks at 068739028 with wide, tear-filled eyes and is silent for the time being.
068739028 goes on, nothing but pure bliss in his tone, what employment under 110044327 is like, and how 3078Q-1A was being outed for not being the favourite. This being false, of course; while 110044327 does look kindly towards some of those employed under him, he does not possess 'favourites.' 3078Q-1A was difficult to work with, denied any wrongdoings, and would not cooperate with the rest of 110044327's squad.
068739028 now begins to cut off a second finger, (the middle) speaking about how 3078Q-1A had, foolishly, not achieved a sense of purpose yet and how Jean Paul Sartre, an existentialist, would be ashamed.
It is at this point 3078Q-1A begins to cry.
3078Q-1A is asked to repeat what has just been spoken. He only sobs. 068739028 retaliates by severing 3078Q-1A's right ear.
3078Q-1A is incoherent through his tears.
The final finger 068739028 removes is the index finger on 3078Q-1A's right hand. This process is considerably slower than the other two, and takes between five and seven minutes. 3078Q-1A has grown silent, and only whimpers softly.
068739028 places a manila envelope beside 3078Q-1A at 04:53.
As he turns to leave, he spots 3078Q-1A's woman of fancy hiding behind a nearby dumpster, phone in hand. Calling the authorities no doubt, and judging by the sirens in the distance he does not have much time. 068739028 takes the most logical course of action. He pulls the phone from the woman's hand, crushes it beneath his feet, and quickly and easily slits her throat. The woman gurgles and the blood soaks her blouse before she collapses.
Upon further investigation, the woman is a 35-year-old real estate agent by the name Martha Banks. Divorced. One child, age 6, under custody of the father. All in all a rather worthless excuse of a human being. Will be mourned by co-workers and nobody else. Impact on society: practically null.
3078Q-1B//a, b, c, d
068739028 finds 3078Q-1B//a, b, c, and d in a forested area just outside of Baltimore. He arrived to find 1B//a, b, c and d at 12:31, and offered them what 068739028 considered a fair trade: the information he had been ordered to find, and the chance for them to end their lives by their own hands.
1B//a retaliates by lunging at 068739028. 068739028 draws the butcher's blade and, before 1B//a can even realize what's happen, his arm is lopped clean off. Retaliates by drawing gun. Loses his hand as a result.
1B//b moves slightly, perhaps to catch to 1B//a. 068739028 plunges his stiletto into her kidney. The blade is not removed until death.
1B//c flies into a rage at the death of his companions, and lunges for 068739028. Instantly shot in the head. 068739028's glasses are now splattered in blood.
Below him, 1B//b is whimpering slightly. With a low chuckle, he places his foot on the hilt of the blade and applies pressure. 1B//b squirms, crying out and attempts to crawl away. 1B//a groans a short distance away, catching 068739028's attention.
068739028 is laughing at this point, asking again for the information he requires. Is spit at by 1B//a. As punishment, 068739028 begins to saw through 1B//a's right leg with one of his two combat knives, above the thigh. 1B//a screams, only pulling more laughter from 068739028. By the time the leg is successfully removed, 1B//a has lost consciousness.
1B//b is curled in the fetal position a distance away. 68739028 proceeds to kick in the chest, damaging lung and diaphragm. From this point on, she wheezes and rattles whenever she breaths. Spine is also damaged; it is unclear whether she can move or not.
1B//a regains conciousness and starts to taunt 068739028. The focus is 068739028's being a tool for "whatever Boss you have." Remaining forearm is removed. 068739028 again asks for the information, and is told to "go to hell." 1B//a begins to laugh maniacally, continuing to taunt 068739028 even as he removes the remainder of his arm.
It's at this point 1B//b is broken. She begins to sob and gives 068739028 the information he needs before begging to be left alone. Through this, 1B//a's laughter seems to annoy 068739028, and after the information has been given to 068739028, he causes severe head trauma. 068739028 does not stop stomping until 1B//a has quieted down, taking short, shallow breaths.
068739028 removes their teeth, soaks both 1B//a and 1B//b in gasoline, and sets the bodies ablaze.
1B//d has long since run away. It does not take long for 068739028 to trap 1B//d, though 1B//d nearly manages to stab 068739028 in the process.
068739028 does not take kindly to this.
068739028 returns 1B//d as 'damaged goods.'
1C was found hunting his mark. 068739028 had received orders to kill 3078Q-1C instantly, as he had been judged a liability and unnecessary; weak. He was killed quickly and efficiently through strikes to the Solar Plexus, brain stem, and Xiphoid process.
Curiously enough, 068739028 stayed and watched 1C gurgle until he died. 068739028 is grinning at this point, but seems to take the time to calm 1C's mark before returning her to her place of residence.
Overall, 068739028's performance was nothing short of what we had come to expect of him: pure perfection. He handled his assignments quickly and efficiently, and while he was perhaps a little more sadistic than strictly necessary, 068739028 exceeded our standards and excelled in both reconnaissance and combat.
I will continue to push for 068739028's re-employment, as well as suggest further investigation into 068739028's current residence and his so-called business. Emphasis should be put on the supposed 'couriers' - Runners under 068739028's employment. It would be wise to hire more Trackers onto the investigation team and watch the movements of these men and women, as more information is needed before we are to make any sort of move.
As requested, I will monitor 068739028 and my own team. Assignments will be handled with the utmost efficiency and any drop in quality or speed shall be dealt with harshly. We pride ourselves on our reputation as a reliable team, and 068739028's re-employment will not bring this reputation into question.
Further reports to come,
Friday, 7 October 2011
You know, I kinda like this Teller guy. At least he’s honest. If blunt. That said, everyone is perfectly aware that this is entirely worrying; I mean, who would’ve guessed that Spence wasn’t entirely in control of his own actions? Certainly not your charming correspondent, who, doing his civic duty, decided to schedule a post-game interview with the mysterious man of the minute.
He was unavailable for comment. Indeed, when I went searching for him, he was nowhere to be seen, and all was quiet on the Eastern front…Our Glorious Leader has once again disappeared without warning, after a lovely little message from his bonny lass.
And I found Lori lying, practically comatose on a lounge in the living room. Now, to be fair, what with all her ‘morphine milkshakes’ she does so boast about, this isn’t really a rare position to find her in, but the troubling thing was the method of delivery; a small drop of blood was leaking from her neck, and a syringe was lying on the ground next to her; she looked as if she were vampirized by one half of Count Dracula. And there next to her was, of course, August, trying in vain to get her somewhere more comfortable. I gave the kid a hand (only one, naturally) and got her tucked into her own bed safe and sound, and found out something rather troubling; Spencer had given his bonny lass a phone call.
"He called Elaine, he’s going to see Writer.”
The days of me spouting angry words of rebellion and revenge are over; now, I’m on damage control. We need Spence around, but I think it’s obvious for everyone that he’s walking a razor’s edge. Elly, if the lovely Spence comes to see you, I’m sure you’re entirely sure he’s not so lovely anymore. Nor is he much Spencer, either. I trust you are capable enough to realise that the time for defending his actions is coming to a close…Now’s the time to defend yourself. Hell, this goes for all of you. Consider this a news bulletin.
Spencer Fitzgerald is not a healthy man. Spencer Fitzgerald is not in control of his own actions. Spencer Fitzgerald is wanted and dangerous.
If you see him? Do not attempt to make conversation. Do not make direct eye contact. Do not feed him after midnight.
Date: October 7th, 2011
Time started: 04: 21 am
First contact: 04: 27 am
Time completed: 04: 53 am
1A, 21, male, was stalked and threatened. Will now report to superiors as ordered. Also now missing three fingers and most of an ear.
1A was also successfully put onto additional targets and is quite eager to serve, or I assume so. Between the hysterical crying, it didn't seem like 1A would be disobeying orders again.
Suggested actions: Continued monitoring and regular check-ins; hospitalization unessential as a sterile cutting tool was used; 1A has additionally proved to be proficient in basic first aid. Sustained no injuries from the attack; combat reaction time was quite poor. Noticed the stalking but didn't bolt or fight back effectively; started to cry as the second finger was severed.
Additional notes: Overall below average performance. Consider re-education if failures continue.
Date: October 7th, 2011
Time started: 07: 19 am
First contact: 12:31 pm
Time completed: 2:48 pm
Case 1B was a group; three Runners of similar age and circumstance and one Proxy. The Runner's tendencies to point out Proxy murders in the area to the local media was judged a liability.
Contact occurred after hours of stalking; at approximately 10:52 am they noticed the discrepancies and eventually decided to abscond to an obscure area.
1B//a, 23, male. Initially engaged in combat and was relieved of his left arm. Proceeded to attempt to shoot. Right hand traumatically severed to neutralize threat, unconsciousness followed. Succumbed to bloodloss following the removal of all his limbs.
1B//b; 21, female, presumably related to 1B//a. Non-fatally stabbed in the kidney; eventually sustained injuries to diaphragm, spine, skull, left lung, and right eye.
1B//c, 19, male. Aggressive. Immediately sustained a gunshot wound to the head and was killed instantly; bullet and casing retrieved.
The remaining two were interrogated until they offered up the name of the proxy informing them of where to find evidence of the murders. Teeth removed, bodies burned.
1B//d has been re-captured and secured.
Suggested actions: Disciplinary action for 1B//d is highly recommended; though getting rid of the liability would seem to be the easiest action, 1B//d is highly talented and fought valiantly for (supposed) freedom. Remedial re-education will be most effective, as 1B//d seems to have a complicated moral value system. This should be eradicated as soon as possible.
Additional notes: 1B//d had an overall average performance with above average fighting skills. Request to have division changed from Tracker to Hunter submitted.
Date: October 7th, 2011
Time started: 4:08 pm
First contact: 8:05 pm
Time completed: 8:05 pm
1C, 22, male, had been marked for disciplinary action after repetitive failures and seeming inability to choose a title.
1C was informed of my impending arrival, but did not seem to understand the need to respect authority, as demonstrated by previous attempts at contact (see Cases 2045K, 3104L, and 1638G). After continuing to follow his mark, 1C was instantly disposed of; suffering severe compromisation of Solar Plexus, brain stem, and Xiphoid process.
Mark returned to her place of residence.
Suggested actions: 1C was seemingly guilty of several murders in the area; ergo, the body has been left for the local authorities. Marks are low priority; re-assignment is not immediately necessary.
Additional notes: Documentation of 1C's activity can be found here. Disappointing, below average performance. It should be noted that 1C was partially under Writer's jurisdiction.