Tuesday, 20 March 2012

It’s almost comical, my dears...

I thought that after all that had happened to you and yours, Fitzgerald, (though you hardly resemble that man anymore, do you~?) it would be the revenge-crazed drug addict or the murderous schizophrenic to find me and try and take a chunk or two out of my flesh. Imagine my surprise when it’s your doctor, mad as a hatter and brandishing a femur of all things, who manages to jump me. Now, while my shoulder might be out of commission for the next little while and I’ve ruined my favourite suit, (something which I will be billing you for, Teller, once you’re back by my side) rest assured that at least half of the blood that covers the good doctor’s coat is her own, by my hand.

But don’t worry, I’ve kept her alive. She still has a role to play, after all~

Did you really think we would have just left you alone?  I’m honestly beginning to feel like a broken record here, but when my superiors begin with their incessant Writer, we haven’t received a report from you in well over two weeks despite knowing I had been busy finding my dearest squad leader (and you’ll all be pleased to know we’ve finally managed to recover the man, albeit not in the greatest condition) to attend to such trivial matters. Your lot was hardly any effort at all, so I’d hardly call it an addendum to my usual business to keep your darling selves occupied while I worked.

Oh but of course I had plans, didn’t I~? Lori had many a question about those bones I was eager to answer, sir Leon Steele was in much need of a reality check, (though he has proven to be the most intelligent of the couriers, he seems to lack the ability to follow through on his plans) and I had managed to locate Samantha’s darling sister for a positively touching reunion.

However, I would very quickly find out I would have little need for the girl.

And why is that, you ask?

Did it occur to any of you that all it took was one murder? All I had to do was take one life - one measly, insignificant little life, and suddenly you found your lives turned on their heads? You didn't need my involvement to tear yourselves apart~ But that's just how it goes, isn't it? I can hardly blame you. You destroy the caretaker, the custodian, the martyr, the mother, and everything falls


I didn't even have to destroy him as much as I did  - a simple bullet in the head would have done, and indeed was the original plan before that mess of complications – but, what can I say~? I had some pent-up emotions to work out, and he provided the perfect canvas.

Still, I do regret having to mar such a perfect face~

Speaking of the boy, he seems to have amassed a simply beautiful collection of documents. Files on his Home, each of the couriers (not just the seven you know, mind you – there are at least eighty files here, each one at minimum ten pages in length), but most interesting was a password-protected text file labelled “HONESTY EDITION.”

Needless to say, it was in reference to this post.

Now, I can summarize the contents of this particular document rather quickly. It’s nothing but notes on my dear Teller, afterall, and who better to talk about him but me, the man who’s raised him since he was but a boy, competing for his life in his little Colorado home~?

He was always a very promising protégé, and the contest only brought out the best in him. I remember having to call him in at least once a week to monitor his progress and chide him about something; some act of brutality or betrayal that suggested that darling Teller (now, forget the fact that the boy didn’t have a name until he began to work with me) wasn’t exactly ordinary. It was quite charming, really, to see so much bloodlust and determination in somebody so young. I suppose some are just born different, yes~? And if his latest descent into insanity hasn’t served as a reminder to all of you that Teller is, at his most basic level, a murderous sociopath with a desire to kill and manipulate and control. Much like the first Crafter I met, incidentally, and the one I would end up gearing my entire life around. Why should I have paid attention to him when it was my duty to oversee the raising of our newest additions to the organization?

Oh, and you thought this was an isolated event?

Non, non, we’ve been doing this for generations. Even when I came into my position of power some thirty years ago we were doing it. The skills were passed down from the cream of the crop – a Crafter much like Teller, with dark hair and amber eyes, who seemed to have the whole world spinning in the palm of his hand. I supposed it was out of a sort of misplaced desire to live up to his standards that I took Teller in as my own when he had finally managed to place at the top of his class, and we did work on quite a few projects in our time before he went rogue.

Really, I admired the persona he had managed to put on when this blog first came to light. All of you, really; so fresh-faced and innocent, giving so many intimate details away with every keystroke and comment – it was like you hadn’t been doing this for years. But as things started to fall apart again and again (and it was only until it happened a third time did I realize that the death of St. Claire would lead to your untimely demise) you revealed more and more of your true colours; Spencer, nothing but a mask; Lori, a mad doctor being held together by parlor tricks and blue tarps; Steele, staying with your ‘family’ out of a backwards sort of pride; Todd, already too far gone to be saved, used as little more than an attack dog; Amanda, too bitter and introverted to be of any use once things began to fall apart; Sam, little more than cannon fodder; and August, the broken mother-figure who somehow managed to hold you all together.

He thanked me, you know~

But I suppose congratulations are in order. You’ve managed to outlive my original estimates by two whole weeks~! I admit, six months was quite optimistic of me, but it wasn’t as if you could have lasted much longer anyway. In hindsight, my only regret is spending weeks toiling over Trackers’ reports and delivery schedules and power bills only to realize that the simplest solution has, once again, proven to be the best~

The couriers are finished, Teller. Your charade is over. This is bordering on ridiculous, and you’re losing your mind.

You know where to find me when you’ve decided to come home.


  1. Rome wasn't built in a day.

    And neither will your body, when your scum friends have to bury you.

    They'll be able to see your bloodstain from space. Just a big coat of red slime across the continent.

    Much like your hair.

    1. Tell me, do you have a desire to murder the offending party every time you see a tilde as a result of this sort of shit?

      Just curious.

      Also, bad fucking luck.

  2. The clock counts down. Midnight draws near.

    Watch and pay heed, my dancing children, for my Prodigal Daughter returns to me.