Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Failure + Message

I believe I'm beginning to see why Father wants this child dead.

Today I went in for the kill.  My arm has finally completely healed, you see, 36's blasted wounds nothing but a memory, and I decided it would be the perfect time to begin tearing through assignments to show Father that despite my difficulties against 36, I was still a worthwhile pawn to play with.  So yes, Ahab, I do realize I am nothing but a toy for Father to play with for a while until He finds something better; perhaps your time would be better spent hunting a White Whale instead of attempting to taunt a Whitecrow?

She was all alone on the playground, waiting for her mother to pick her up after she'd met some of her little friends.  Mask on, knife out, I slowly approached her in full view, having already Stopped her in her tracks.  The red flags began to rise slowly in my mind as I saw she wasn't afraid, but merely staring back at me quizzically, as if trying to figure out what I thought I was doing.  I thought it hadn't occurred to her to run yet, so she hadn't realized she was paralyzed.

The moment I was within an arms reach of her, the fight went out of me.  I have no way of explaining it, but I simply didn't feel like killing her anymore.  I didn't feel like doing anything other than crouching down in front of her, for that matter.  I knew that I had to kill her.  I knew that I shouldn't have been sitting there, idly playing with one of her dolls, and yet I had an overwhelming urge to do so.  She had her own, and we sat there with the poor examples of the female figure for what felt like forever.

"You can't kill me, you know."

It was said matter-of-factly, not tauntingly.  She didn't even look up from her doll; she just kept messing with the velcro on the back of the miniature dress, trying to make it stick.  Finally, she made a little growling noise and threw it at me.  To my astonishment, I caught it and fixed it for her, pulling some stray red thread out of the hooks to free them up.  Why was this happening?  It wasn't as if she were controlling my body, but my feelings.  I felt as though I wanted to help her.  Like I wanted to play with her.

"I'm Her favorite," she continued, "and thanks to you and your daddy, she has a Knight to save me."

With that said, she saw her mom waiting for her in her van and picked up her dolls.  As far as I know, I was unseen by anyone but the little girl.  While we were playing with the dolls, a few other children had shown up to play on the equipment a few yards away from us.  I will be the first to admit that I am a very suspicious-looking person, and if I had been visible to any of the parents present, they would've undoubtedly been on me in moments.  As things were, I was left alone as my Target walked away, only pausing to turn around, look me in the eye, and say:

"And that mask looks stupid."

I still haven't the slightest clue what happened to me.  Clearly, something is protecting her, something that can directly affect the emotions and desires of others in close proximity to her (as soon as she'd stepped out of arm's reach, I was able to move again) to the point of bringing them directly under control.  Thoughts, however, cannot be altered, or at least were not in my case.  My Target spoke of a 'Her' and seemed to imply her protector was on the same level as Father; possibly another Fear.  However, I do not know of any Fears that specialize in emotion/desire control, though to be fair I only pay attention to Father.

What weighs heaviest on me is her mention of a 'knight' that is going to save her, apparently because of myself and Father.  Because of what I'm dealing with here, I will need to be more careful.  I cannot deal with something this without Father's direct intervention, a courtesy He has never offered.  Therefore, my only course of action is to exterminate possible 'knights' before they become a problem for me.  I do not want a difficult assignment made harder by a bodyguard.

It would make the most sense if the 'knight' were an associate or loved one of someone I've killed.  I can safely rule out the lives taken outside of my assignments, due to the inclusion of Father's name in the girl's gloating.  I am left with only one possible route.

Anyone involved with my prior 36 targets must be eliminated.

Saturday, June 23, 2012


I would like to officially put the following statement on the record:  I fucking hate people.

Today, the Target's family decided to go on a family outing to a car show.  A rather large car show, in fact.  Held at the State Fairgrounds of Minnesota (yes, I'm still stuck in this frigid hell; Father doesn't appear to trust me to travel very far yet, and has gone so far as to close the Path to me).  In other words, I was surrounded by hundreds of old, sweaty men parading around their 'rat rods' and middle-aged mothers suffering from empty nest syndrome who, no matter what they said, sounded as though they were trying to offer me a piece of fresh pie.  Or whatever the hell they cook up here.

I apologize if I seem to be more animated than usual; most of my energy is being diverted to recovery (I have 36 to thank), so I have less of a filter between my brain and my hands at the moment.  Like I give a fuck.  I expect to be fully healed within the next week or so.  By then I should have my full composure back.

At any rate, with the amount of people present, I soon lost my Target and her family.  With so many people around, my Sight was seriously messed up.  I suppose in order to give the full impression, I should explain what my 'Sight' is.

For those who are familiar with the graphic novel series Naruto and the video game series Assassin's Creed, this will be an easy explanation.  Imagine the predictive powers of the 'Sharingan/Mirror-Wheel Eye' coupled with the seeking powers of the Assassin's 'Eagle Vision.'  For those unfamiliar, I will have to try harder.

In the case of prediction, it is more a hyperattention to detail concerning the movements of my opponents or Targets added to an overactive imagination (for lack of a better term):  I can detect small muscle or position shifts and, based on even such a diminutive motion, visualize the next possible move.  With each subsequent shift or tensing of the Target's body, I can remove one or multiple possibilities.  Simple process of elimination, really.  Eventually, the next action is revealed, and I can react accordingly.

As for seeking, I have no real explanation.  It's not as simple as Eagle Vision, where everything appears in different colors.  If I had to guess, I would say it is a mental state where all my sensory input  (the scent of the Target's shampoo, the taste of perfume on the air, the sound of the footsteps of a child walking rapidly away, a gentle current of air in the wake of a person walking by, and so on) is combined to paint a map in my mind of where the Target is, accurate to roughly a meter on a bad day.  For all intensive purposes, we'll settle on hypersensitivity.  Therefore, my Sight boils down to hyperattention and hypersensitivity.

Until too many people are gathered in one place.  Then, the smells all coalesce into one nauseating stench, the air tastes like sweat, and I get a migraine from trying to listen for the small sounds in the maddening cacophony of polite housewives asking in their hint of a Norwegian accent if they can help me carry something, or hold a door.  And I can only pay attention to every little detail for so long when every other person is an eighty-year-old woman wearing a tube top because the sun is finally coming out for once.

But, I digress.  That's not a visual anyone needed.  Eventually, I had to trek across the city to find the Target's car, and waited there for three fucking hours until they showed up, got in, and drove off.  I followed in my own vehicle which, though not as fancy as those driven by the insects at the car show, gets me from point A to point B without drawing too much attention.  Even with a body in the trunk.

Just to be sure this wasn't a repeat of 36 and his apparent ability to slip past my Sight, I watched the Target another few hours until I was satisfied, all of her actions fitting my predictions and so on.  As a parting thought, as much as I hate people, I hate Minnesota more.  Everyone is too damn nice.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a body to bury.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Mask 36

Mask 36 - [Moral]

The paint has dried.  I present you with my 36th mask.  I am displeased with how it turned out.  It would seem my prowess in luring and killing and generally doing Father's Will is more than countered by my lack of artistic skill.  Of course, the plastic base I use has been cracking, and the conditions in my home are...less than ideal.  I also blame my still-recovering right arm for the warping on the left side of the mask, or the right side of this photo.  As I work with the mask facing me, I was trying to use my right hand to form hold that portion in place while putting the newspaper on, but as you can see, I failed miserably.

But that's enough of that.  I did reconnaissance on my Target today.  Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.  No special traits came to light.  Unlike 36, I could See her at all times.  She was not seen in the company of any of the other Fears.  All in all, she seems to be an ordinary ten-year-old girl.  Perhaps a bit precocious, but otherwise ordinary.  I do not see what Father finds threatening in her.

I suppose this is what I've been degraded to while I lick my wounds.  Assassinating children barely old enough to understand their own mortality.  This must be Father's way of punishing me for underestimating 36.  If that is His Will, then I have no choice but to comply.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Target Number 37

Father visited me late yesterday evening.

I had finished putting the 36th and final coat of paint on my newest mask when He appeared before me, not appearing abruptly but slowly sliding into my awareness.  He gazed at me for but a moment, and then showed me my next Target:  a young girl.  She couldn't have been much older than ten years old.  I was confused, and understandably so.

I am mostly called on to deal with people that Father deems both unnecessary to His plan and potentially dangerous.  Target 36 I could possibly have envisioned to be dangerous, given his willpower, but a child?  There is no way someone so young could possibly be anything more than a frail, weak, delectable morsel to Father.

Sensing my doubt, He hurled me against the wall and held me there with one of His Arms.  I could hear the plaster cracking behind me.  The message was very clear:  I was not to ask questions.  He would not be disobeyed.  A child she may be, but however old, she was my new Target.  Father released me and, with a final, feral growl to ensure that I understood my place, He disappeared.

Understand that I have no qualms about my current Target.  For Father, I would set fire to an orphanage.  In my earlier days, for that matter, I did, but that is a story for another time.  For Father, I would eliminate the entire population of a retirement home for the infirm.  The age of the Target matters little to me, as does physical or mental condition.  If it is Father's Will that they be eliminated, then I do so gladly.  I am simply disappointed that after the challenge provided by 36, I have been assigned the elimination of a child.

She has no connection to any runners that I have been able to discover.  There is no one in her life with any connections to Father.  She hasn't interacted with any of the runner's blogs, or the Proxy blogs, for that matter.  There are others in her school who have, believing it to be a game.  Yet she alone has been singled out as a Target.

But, I digress.  That is enough for now.  I had initially intend to discontinue this blog after the elimination of 36, but have since decided against that course of action.  There are too many interesting people, runners and Proxies alike.  If I were to leave now, I do believe I'd become terribly bored.

I am here to stay.

Sunday, June 17, 2012


The deed is done.

The body is dismembered, the pieces burned, the ashes scattered across the countryside of several different states.  His mask has been made, the newspaper clippings all from the day he died.  White paint to cover the red tint left by the drops of his blood mixed into the papier mache paste.  Mask 35 was broken, but that isn't an issue; it would've taken its place on the wall of my trophy room, regardless, just as the thirty-four others have.

He fought and died admirably.  Engaged in hide-and-seek in my own house.  Shattered my arm with a heavy candlestick.  Nearly broke my neck with the same improvised weapon.  Stole my knife and planted it between my ribs, narrowly missing any organs.  I've spent the last few days recovering from my injuries.  My right arm is still useless.  I had to cut the body with one hand.  I thank Father for my ambidexterity.  Also for speak-to-type software.

I cannot shake a sense of utter disappointment, however.  He didn't scream.  Not once.  I slashed him, stabbed him, scalded him, and disemboweled him, but he didn't scream.  Chewed through his lip to stop himself from doing so.

No matter.  On to the next.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

3 Days

I'm still recovering from the wounds my Target inflicted on me.  As predicted, breakfast this morning was unpleasant.  Far more unpleasant for poor Moral, of course.

He's beside me at the moment, completely Bound as he was in our first meeting.  Standing with his back straight, his hands clasped in front of him, and his head bowed.  Eyes closed, of course.  He can hear and feel everything, but his vision is gone.  Of course, I could let him see, but on the off-chance he would recognize his surroundings before his termination, well...it would be remarkably foolish.

3 days remain.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

4 Days

I underestimated my Target once again, and Lucia will be happy to hear that I paid the price.

We met at his little park, as planned, and he was unaware of my true identity and true intent.  Kniferapist, indeed.  I am not petty enough to be offended by a nickname. 

Everything was proceeding well enough.  Exactly forty-five minutes in, I feigned an 'episode' and dashed for the woods.  I easily outpaced him, entering the cover of the trees well ahead of him.  From there, it should've been simple enough.

As before, I couldn't See him.  He managed to wander past me, knife in hand, and straight into Father.  Father wasn't to be there in the first place.  As of yet I have no answer as to why He meddled, but it cost me dearly. 

My Target noticed me.  I had no time to erect my Filter.  On some primal level, he knew.  He finally made the connection.  He finally realized I was the one who had been chasing him, who had tried killing him on several different occasions already.  I could see in his eyes he realized just how stupid he had been.

And then he ran.

I chased him through those damned trees, on and off the trails, across the river where Father couldn't follow, until the sun was long gone.  I would estimate the time to be between 10:30 and 11:30.  I lost him just after I lost the light.  I was running blind, praying for Father's guidance to bring my to my Target.

He found me first.  I was suddenly on the ground, something sharp in my lower back.  Just as suddenly, he was off, circling me warily, daring me to get up.  He hadn't even drawn his machete.  He was mocking me.  His challenge would not go unanswered.

I rose, ignoring the pain in my side, and took my own knife out.  Eight inches to his three.  I had the advantage of range, even if he hadn't been using a backhanded grip on his little toothpick.  I feinted to his left and slashed, but he danced out of the way.  Father's primary gift to me was useless against him.  If I couldn't See him, I couldn't subdue him with the ease I was accustomed to.  The encounter was swiftly moving out of my favor.

So I used Father's other gifts:  strength and speed.  I circled him quickly, grabbed him, and hurled him into a tree.  On impact, he dropped his knife, and lay stunned at the base of the tree for a few seconds.  I lunged once more, but he recovered quickly enough to dodge again.  This time, he finally drew the big blade, his machete.  Black in color, perfectly blending into the shadows.

He ran again.

I chased after, fully intending to tackle him and end it.  He stopped dead in his tracks when I was a few inches from him and stuck his weapon straight out underneath his arm, where I couldn't see it.  The impact carried him to the ground, but also rammed the entire length of the machete through me.

Breakfast tomorrow will be unpleasant.

He rose and began his escape, but Father finally made His appearance, stepping out of the shadows with all of His arms spread behind him like wings, a testament to His glorious power.  My Target crumpled to the ground, clutching his temples.  One blink, and Father was by my side, His arm tearing the machete from my stomach and casting it off into the darkness.

I rose and claimed my prize.  Checkmate, Moral.

4 days remain until termination.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

7 Days

No post yesterday, and I apologize.  I was otherwise occupied.  Even now, so close to the end, there are still preparations to make.  I'm cutting it a little close this time.

7 days remain.

Monday, June 4, 2012

9 Days

The final steps of the plan are being put into action.

9 days remain; the countdown has started in earnest.

Sunday, June 3, 2012

10 Days

He drew my blood.

Worthless, pathetic, helpless insect that he is, my Target drew my blood.

I couldn't See him.  Father gave me no warning.

I've never been more thrilled.

10 days to go.

Saturday, June 2, 2012

11 Days

Tomorrow is a big day indeed, both for my Target and for myself.

11 days.

Friday, June 1, 2012