Unlucky. Cursed. Despised. Sacred.
13 days.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
14 Days
My Target seems to be smarter than he let on. Today he was able to notice me before I had him Stopped, before I could get any closer than three yards from him. There was an obvious metal clip on the side of his jean pocket as well, rather carelessly informing me and anyone else who was looking that he was armed. Not that his little toothpick will do him much good, of course.
14 days remaining.
14 days remaining.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
My Target saw me. Contact should not occur until the fifteenth day. I am not pleased at all.
But it's no matter. He still fails to realize what danger he's in, and it shall be his downfall. I will get him in the end. No amount of caution on his part will make a difference. No interference will make a difference. He will die.
17 days until termination.
But it's no matter. He still fails to realize what danger he's in, and it shall be his downfall. I will get him in the end. No amount of caution on his part will make a difference. No interference will make a difference. He will die.
17 days until termination.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
The last target worthy of my blade was number 17.
Name: Scott Winters. Age: 28. Occupation: None. Came from a wealthy family, but wanted nothing to do with them. Fancied himself a philanthropist. His selfless and caring nature made his fall all the more satisfying.
He became aware of Father while studying abroad in Germany in early August of 2001. By the time Father deemed him dangerous enough for termination, it was late November of 2008. He had been on the run for seven years, dropping off the grid in late 2004; no cell phone, no credit card purchases, no contact whatsoever with his family. Tracking him was difficult, and while Father could have found him and shown me the Path, I much preferred to do the job myself. Father had more important things to do.
17 never kept a blog, so I couldn't hunt him via the internet. As stated above, he had no cell phone or credit cards to track. I suspect he paid for things by doing odd jobs; he was a resourceful and well-rounded young man. But in the end, he wasn't resourceful enough.
I found him by a stroke of luck, nothing more. We both found ourselves in a small-town bakery in a remote rural village. I exchanged a few brief words with him; without my mask on, I looked like just another traveler, but he was still wary of me. There was something about me that was setting off the red flags in his head, but I could tell he couldn't figure it out. After only a few minutes in my company, he beat a hasty retreat, forgetting a bag of donuts on the table. I now had an excuse to follow him.
When I caught up to him, he was already buckled into his car and about to start the engine. Poor fool had trapped himself without knowing it. All it took was one touch, disguised as a knock on his door, to drain the battery. Father's Blessings come with their perks; wreaking havoc on electronics is just one, and a minor one at that. The moment he opened his door to take the bag, it was over.
The Path carried us all the way Home. From there it should've been easy. Four others had died the way he would, though as I found out, he was more tenacious than I expected. I had taken him for a coward, albeit a resourceful one. Nothing I had seen of him so far, from his underwhelming physique to his almost timid movements, betrayed any experience as a fighter. And yet he fought.
My knife was knocked from my hand immediately, followed by a deceptively strong kick that broke the nose of my mask. I had fifteen other masks, but each one was, and still is, of great personal value to me. So I fought back. I drove my shoulder into his chest and put him through the wall, forgetting my strength for a moment. I was worried that I had finished the job prematurely, but he dove back through the hole and tackled me to the ground, sitting on my chest and throwing punch after punch into my face.
I felt nothing. Father had shown me true pain. I waited for him to tire before pushing up against him, throwing him to the floor. I pulled my backup weapon, a very small but still deadly knife, off of the clip around my ankle and plunged it into his neck. He bled out while I prepared for the next stage of my Process.
I do not expect the same challenge from my current Target, who will be number 36, but it will be just as satisfying to bring down someone who fancies himself such a White Knight.
22 days.
Name: Scott Winters. Age: 28. Occupation: None. Came from a wealthy family, but wanted nothing to do with them. Fancied himself a philanthropist. His selfless and caring nature made his fall all the more satisfying.
He became aware of Father while studying abroad in Germany in early August of 2001. By the time Father deemed him dangerous enough for termination, it was late November of 2008. He had been on the run for seven years, dropping off the grid in late 2004; no cell phone, no credit card purchases, no contact whatsoever with his family. Tracking him was difficult, and while Father could have found him and shown me the Path, I much preferred to do the job myself. Father had more important things to do.
17 never kept a blog, so I couldn't hunt him via the internet. As stated above, he had no cell phone or credit cards to track. I suspect he paid for things by doing odd jobs; he was a resourceful and well-rounded young man. But in the end, he wasn't resourceful enough.
I found him by a stroke of luck, nothing more. We both found ourselves in a small-town bakery in a remote rural village. I exchanged a few brief words with him; without my mask on, I looked like just another traveler, but he was still wary of me. There was something about me that was setting off the red flags in his head, but I could tell he couldn't figure it out. After only a few minutes in my company, he beat a hasty retreat, forgetting a bag of donuts on the table. I now had an excuse to follow him.
When I caught up to him, he was already buckled into his car and about to start the engine. Poor fool had trapped himself without knowing it. All it took was one touch, disguised as a knock on his door, to drain the battery. Father's Blessings come with their perks; wreaking havoc on electronics is just one, and a minor one at that. The moment he opened his door to take the bag, it was over.
The Path carried us all the way Home. From there it should've been easy. Four others had died the way he would, though as I found out, he was more tenacious than I expected. I had taken him for a coward, albeit a resourceful one. Nothing I had seen of him so far, from his underwhelming physique to his almost timid movements, betrayed any experience as a fighter. And yet he fought.
My knife was knocked from my hand immediately, followed by a deceptively strong kick that broke the nose of my mask. I had fifteen other masks, but each one was, and still is, of great personal value to me. So I fought back. I drove my shoulder into his chest and put him through the wall, forgetting my strength for a moment. I was worried that I had finished the job prematurely, but he dove back through the hole and tackled me to the ground, sitting on my chest and throwing punch after punch into my face.
I felt nothing. Father had shown me true pain. I waited for him to tire before pushing up against him, throwing him to the floor. I pulled my backup weapon, a very small but still deadly knife, off of the clip around my ankle and plunged it into his neck. He bled out while I prepared for the next stage of my Process.
I do not expect the same challenge from my current Target, who will be number 36, but it will be just as satisfying to bring down someone who fancies himself such a White Knight.
22 days.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
This will not do. My Target seems to have undergone a change, albeit a minor one. This changes my approach. I cannot simply lie in wait for the proper time, as I'd planned. Now I must be much more active, more aggressive.
My Target must be kept a coward. Weak, timid, afraid. This bolstered courage is unacceptable.
25 days now. He will not be allowed to escape his fate.
My Target must be kept a coward. Weak, timid, afraid. This bolstered courage is unacceptable.
25 days now. He will not be allowed to escape his fate.
Friday, May 18, 2012
My second kill was, to be frank, a sloppy mess of a job. I was all force, as I had been with my First; I lacked finesse. Father made it clear after my second kill that He would not clean every site. I was his child, but I was less 'Edgar' than 'Edmund.' A bastard son. One He would be ashamed of, were He able to feel emotions of that ilk. The vast majority of us are like that to Him, or at least, that is my understanding of how He works.
I apologize for veering slightly off-topic.
My second kill was another neophyte to our world. Unlike myself or my First, however, he had Father's interest from his youth, but had been left alone, allowed to mature so Father could see what kind of man he would become. Unfortunately, he was a disappointment. All the promise he'd shown at a young age, his inquisitiveness, his natural gift for sensing Father, was gone. He was as blind and content as the rest of the livestock, blissfully ignorant to His presence. So I was sent to 'remind' him.
He lasted a month before Father instructed me to move in for the kill. The poor child was losing his grip on reality. Or perhaps he was finally gaining it back? Regardless, I put my brand-new blade to work on him, and soon found myself in a mess: the parents showed up at the scene. His father was a large man, and relatively easy for me; he thought he could crush me with his bare hands, grind my skull to dust beneath his heel. He was a pathetic, overweight, sorry excuse for a man. I was armed, he was not.
His mother, however, was clearly the brains of the family. I had to chase her through the house and play a tedious game of hide-and-seek before finally putting her down in the bathroom, where she'd been trying to make her escape through a window.
I found myself with three bodies, two rooms bathed in red, and the police on their way after the mother had dialed 911 while I was busy with her husband. I wasn't afraid; I could feel Father's presence in the room where I had left the son and his father. He would soon come for the mother as well. Under His protection, I waltzed out of the house and strolled down the street, giving no indication I heard the sirens or saw the squad cars racing past.
Later, much later, I learned to control myself better. Victims three through seven were crude jobs, though cleaner than the second. It wasn't until number twelve that I finally developed a comfortable modus operandi.
26 days, and you will receive your special exclusive peek into that MO. Until then, sleep tight, and pray you're not my Target.
I apologize for veering slightly off-topic.
My second kill was another neophyte to our world. Unlike myself or my First, however, he had Father's interest from his youth, but had been left alone, allowed to mature so Father could see what kind of man he would become. Unfortunately, he was a disappointment. All the promise he'd shown at a young age, his inquisitiveness, his natural gift for sensing Father, was gone. He was as blind and content as the rest of the livestock, blissfully ignorant to His presence. So I was sent to 'remind' him.
He lasted a month before Father instructed me to move in for the kill. The poor child was losing his grip on reality. Or perhaps he was finally gaining it back? Regardless, I put my brand-new blade to work on him, and soon found myself in a mess: the parents showed up at the scene. His father was a large man, and relatively easy for me; he thought he could crush me with his bare hands, grind my skull to dust beneath his heel. He was a pathetic, overweight, sorry excuse for a man. I was armed, he was not.
His mother, however, was clearly the brains of the family. I had to chase her through the house and play a tedious game of hide-and-seek before finally putting her down in the bathroom, where she'd been trying to make her escape through a window.
I found myself with three bodies, two rooms bathed in red, and the police on their way after the mother had dialed 911 while I was busy with her husband. I wasn't afraid; I could feel Father's presence in the room where I had left the son and his father. He would soon come for the mother as well. Under His protection, I waltzed out of the house and strolled down the street, giving no indication I heard the sirens or saw the squad cars racing past.
Later, much later, I learned to control myself better. Victims three through seven were crude jobs, though cleaner than the second. It wasn't until number twelve that I finally developed a comfortable modus operandi.
26 days, and you will receive your special exclusive peek into that MO. Until then, sleep tight, and pray you're not my Target.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
I had always been her best friend- funny how I can't even remember her name at this point. We were very close, and always tried to get together for a movie night at least once a week, perhaps more if we felt it was necessary. The first dozen entries of Marble Hornets marked our final get-together. Within a week, we were both seeing things: a tall, spidery man watching us from across the street; slender tendrils snaking across the doorway out of the corner of our eyes; movement from the shadows just beyond the limits of our perception.
He came to me first. Gazing upon Him in all His glory for the first time, I began to remember. Bits and pieces of my childhood flooded back to me. A tall man watching me while I went down the slide. One of His arms knocking my ball back to me from the cover of the trees behind my old house. The screams of my nieghbor's daughter as He took her into His fold.
You see, Father knew I had exactly the quality he was looking for in a Pawn. I had felt it, too, over the years, but always pushed it away, uncomfortable with the thoughts and what my urges might make others think of me, especially my first. The instant He touched me, however, I felt all that uncertainty and discomfort fall away. I had an epiphany: this was who I was. Why should I be ashamed of myself, hide my glorious true self in the guise of some average, ordinary man? No, I had a purpose, a reason for existing, and He would help me discover it. With Father by my side, all my worries were gone, my irrational fears about the perceptions of others banished in an instant.
Then He gave me my mask and my first assignment. Even now, years after the fact, I will admit that I hesitated. Why would He make me kill my friend? Surely she would follow me into His many arms? Surely she would become His disciple with me? But He knew what was best, and who was I to argue with a being eons older and far more powerful than myself?
So I took my assignment. She woke as I entered her room and drew back in fear. She knew exactly what the mask meant. She knew who I represented. She knew what I was here for. She knew she was going to die. But she wasn't going to come quietly. From underneath her pillow, she drew her weapon: a pitiful little folding knife no bigger than my thumb. I met her challenge with the cleaver I had taken from her kitchen.
Looking back, I realize she was much like my current Target: though she painted herself as a White Knight, ready to meet any challenge in the name of what is 'Good' and 'Righteous,' she was pathetic. Weak. All talk, no action.
At some point in the struggle, my mask fell off, and the fight went right out of her. She was too shocked, too stricken with horror, to be much of a challenge. Fifty blows ended her and began my life as one of His children. I felt no remorse. Her luggage was hidden under her bed: she meant to leave without me. She was a coward. He appeared soon after I had finished to cleanse the place with His purifying Flames.
Only one article was saved: an unfinished painting she had started for me, depicting a crow in flight. The bird was unpainted, save for the red that had splattered the canvas. From this, I took my new name, and began my new life. Though there have been many bodies since, she will always remain special for being my first. My current Target may or may not be the challenge I desire, but one thing is certain: he will not be the last.
29 days.
He came to me first. Gazing upon Him in all His glory for the first time, I began to remember. Bits and pieces of my childhood flooded back to me. A tall man watching me while I went down the slide. One of His arms knocking my ball back to me from the cover of the trees behind my old house. The screams of my nieghbor's daughter as He took her into His fold.
You see, Father knew I had exactly the quality he was looking for in a Pawn. I had felt it, too, over the years, but always pushed it away, uncomfortable with the thoughts and what my urges might make others think of me, especially my first. The instant He touched me, however, I felt all that uncertainty and discomfort fall away. I had an epiphany: this was who I was. Why should I be ashamed of myself, hide my glorious true self in the guise of some average, ordinary man? No, I had a purpose, a reason for existing, and He would help me discover it. With Father by my side, all my worries were gone, my irrational fears about the perceptions of others banished in an instant.
Then He gave me my mask and my first assignment. Even now, years after the fact, I will admit that I hesitated. Why would He make me kill my friend? Surely she would follow me into His many arms? Surely she would become His disciple with me? But He knew what was best, and who was I to argue with a being eons older and far more powerful than myself?
So I took my assignment. She woke as I entered her room and drew back in fear. She knew exactly what the mask meant. She knew who I represented. She knew what I was here for. She knew she was going to die. But she wasn't going to come quietly. From underneath her pillow, she drew her weapon: a pitiful little folding knife no bigger than my thumb. I met her challenge with the cleaver I had taken from her kitchen.
Looking back, I realize she was much like my current Target: though she painted herself as a White Knight, ready to meet any challenge in the name of what is 'Good' and 'Righteous,' she was pathetic. Weak. All talk, no action.
At some point in the struggle, my mask fell off, and the fight went right out of her. She was too shocked, too stricken with horror, to be much of a challenge. Fifty blows ended her and began my life as one of His children. I felt no remorse. Her luggage was hidden under her bed: she meant to leave without me. She was a coward. He appeared soon after I had finished to cleanse the place with His purifying Flames.
Only one article was saved: an unfinished painting she had started for me, depicting a crow in flight. The bird was unpainted, save for the red that had splattered the canvas. From this, I took my new name, and began my new life. Though there have been many bodies since, she will always remain special for being my first. My current Target may or may not be the challenge I desire, but one thing is certain: he will not be the last.
29 days.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Ages without a worthwhile target. Countless drops of water, barely disturbing the surface as they slid down the edge of my blade into the pool. But now, finally, Father may have given me a target who will cause a ripple. My blade may finally quench her thirst with worthwhile blood. I may yet again feel 'alive.' I may yet again feel pride in my title: 'Proxy.'
30 days. Try to stop me.
30 days. Try to stop me.
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