Fuck All of You

Now that I am safely holed up for the moment, I have the time to give the full story here. As you may have figured out by the last post longer than a couple lines, I've been in Black Lake, where Moth and Picasso have been staying. That was completely by accident. I had no intention to show up on Fracture's doorstep, nor did I want to-it was just another random town I stopped over in one night. But I discovered that staying in town had the fantastic side effect of making both Writer and the tall fuck leave me the hell alone, so I stuck around.

I wouldn't have if I'd realized what a magnet for trouble this place is. The lucky thing is that I never wore a mask and don't have any easily identifiable scars or tattoos that would identify me to the proxies crawling all over this damn town. The downside is that I've seen some crazy damn shit during my stay there, not least of which was my conversation with Picasso, surrounded by mouse traps.

Despite all of the fucking batshit nuts crap going on in that stupid fucking town, when I heard the sounds of fighting from the roof of the hotel Picasso and Moth were staying in, I decided it would be a good idea to check it out. I'm still not sure whether that was a stupid fucking idea or the best idea I've had in a while.

I found Fracture perched on a fucking statue like a lame supervillain commanding five hollows and Sloth to attack Picasso and Moth. I... honestly wasn't sure if I was going to interfere. I mean, I like Picasso and Moth, but it wasn't my fight, and to make things worse, Sloth was involved and I didn't want to have to fight him. I like the guy, he knows how to treat a person with respect.

Fracture made the choice for me, though, commanding several of the hollows to attack me and pulling out a gun. Three hollows were easy to handle, and it was even easier once I realized that Fracture was deliberately shooting high, so he wouldn't kill anything. Cowardly fucking bitch is happy to make other people kill for him but doesn't have the stomach to do it himself.

It seemed like shit was going well when I'd dealt with the three that came at me, but then shit changed. Moth ditched Sloth and the kid hollow who'd been fighting him and went to help Picasso, leaving Sloth and the kid (Whose name I later found out was Maggot) standing alone for a moment. Fracture took the opportunity to issue a new order-ordering Maggot to run Sloth through.

At this point the battle rage makes things a bit hazy, and it doesn't help that everything went so fucking fast. I went after the kid, trying my damndest to kill it, but it, along with Fracture, got away. Picasso's yelling revealed that the hollow they'd been fighting was Duckie after all, and he bashed Moth's face in under his mask, then ran Picasso through. I went to try to help Sloth, and he instead tried to tackle Duckie off the roof.

They both ended up on the fire escape instead, Fracture picked up Duckie, and I retrieved Sloth. We detoured to my motel room just long enough to check the damage and stitch him up, then got the hell out of town.

The two of us are hidden somewhere as safe as it is difficult to find, and with any luck Sloth should be good as new in a few weeks.

You lose, Fracture. Fuck your shit.

Fuck You

Fracture, you failed. I have Sloth and he's still alive. With my help, he'll stay that way. More later when we're in a safe location.

Not a Fucking Team Player

Somebody seems to have gotten the impression that I fucking like working in a team. Again. This masked fuckwit knocked on my door without saying a fucking word. I assumed he was another hollow and attacked appropriately-which is to say at about half strength to give the motherfucker a chance to talk if he could to prove he wasn't a hollow.

He didn't say a word but he did roll his eyes at being called a zombie, which was enough to tell me he's sentient. So I stepped back and asked what he wanted. In response, the motherfucker pulled out a pen and paper! Fucking weirdo.

'Someone' told him that I might be a good ally for his attempts to take out Fracture and some random proxy attached to him. I wasn't horribly impressed by the masked bastard but if he and his friend were crazy enough to want to take Fracture down I thought they might be willing to help me take down David Banks, so I agreed to meet 'Picasso', the masked asshole's friend.

It turns out she's fucking batshit nuts, so I said my farewells and went on my way. I wish them the best of luck but I don't like their odds-or my odds of survival if I tried to help them.

You can see their side of the story over here, apparently. And I have no interest in attacking those motherfuckers. They seemed nice enough, for nutjobs

This Shit Is Fucking Nuts

Well, I'm back here, despite my best damn judgement. I can't say I've missed this place or any of you fuckers, but I guess in a strange way having someone know what's going on is encouraging, so I'm back. At least for now. I may regret this.

I wish I could say things were quiet, but they really haven't been. I still get the occasional hallow attack, though that's mostly an inconvenience. I still get the skinny fuck showing up to knock me around, which is dangerous. And worst of all, the redheaded fuckwits keep showing up. I keep killing them and they keep coming back. They all look exactly the same. I'm pretty sure I'm getting Looped and not actually killing anyone. I don't know what the point of all this is. They're not doing anything but being annoying and leaving a LOT of flowers.

So, I'm back.Whoop de fucking doo.

More Bullshit

Guys, the 'Smiling Man' is bullshit. I don't buy it and you shouldn't either. Seems to me like there's two more likely solutions here.

Either someone had a nasty run in with Writer and decided his likeness would make a fucking fantastic guise to scare people with under the premise of being one of the fucking 'Fears'  OR it's Writer himself getting tired of working for the tall fucker and trying to establish himself as something bigger. Either way, just a guy. Not a real Fear. At worst, a disgruntled Crafter off his fucking rocker.

The guy I had a run in with is dead. Now, if that was the bastard himself, he's dead. I dunno that even Writer could come back from that, and it definitely wasn't Writer. If that was a lackey, well then I guess I made my point because no more flowers have shown up.

More importantly, I'm fucking drowning in Hollows. None of them are good enough to do me any serious harm, but a few have gotten in lucky shots due to sheer overwhelming numbers. I can't simultaneously stop ten hollows from attacking-quickly in sequence, yes, but I'd have to be superhuman to never ever get hit. I've got so many fucking stitches right now I look like fucking Frankenstein. It's a good damn thing I picked up a lot of field medicine crap from the Boss.

I need to start getting shit done before I actually get hit hard enough to make a difference.

Fucking Jinxed It

Well, I asked for a fight, and that's just what I got.  The roof where I was intending to spend last night ended up being a bit more exciting than I'd planned. Somebody (probably fucking Fracture, the son of a bitch) had set a group of hollowed to attack me. Why, I'm not certain. You'd have to be completely fucking retarded to think five empty shells could possibly take me down. They went down easy, and I was already on the fire escape when the skinny fucker showed up to smack me around again. Didn't waste any time, just smacked me right off the fourth floor fire escape.

I was pretty sure I was going to die when I hit the ground. It felt like a long fucking time, too. Way longer than four floors should have lasted. It was like.. fucking Alice in Wonderland bullshit, where the bitch is falling down the rabbit hole. Except that instead of falling into a room with a teeny fucking door, I fell into some guy's arms.

I punched him out, squirmed out of his arms, and pulled a knife. He had a bouquet in his hands, he must be the motherfucker who's been leaving them for me. This time instead of roses, it was... some weird looking white flowers. Lilies, I think they're called. The scent of them was too strong, it filled the alley and made me want to throw up.

For one heartstopping moment I thought it was Writer. Certainly looked like him. The same crazy too-red hair, the same pale skin, the same too-wide smile, and with the scent of the lilies filling the alleyway it even smelled like his stupid fucking perfume.

But his eyes... Writer's were cartoonishly bright and inquisitive, whereas this motherfucker's were just... black. And not even just black. Like falling into a pit just by looking at him. I might've stared at them for hours in shock if he hadn't started laughing at me, that same laugh I'd heard too many times from our old handler when he was about to fuck us in the ass.

His voice was just like Writer's, too. "It's good to finally meet you."

I glared at him and got ready to attack. "What the fuck do you want?"

The motherfucker just laughed again at my attempts to look threatening. "I just wanted to give you a new bouquet. Did you not like the roses?"

"FUCK YOUR ROSES. I want you gone. Permanently."

"That's just not happening, mon chere." Fuck, he even uses French like Writer. What the hell is this guy's deal? "Take your bouquet, and I'll be on my way."

He handed it to me rather too forcefully and walked away. I threw a throwing knife and took him down... too easily. I checked him out, he's definitely dead, but I don't expect that to be the end of it. Who the hell IS this guy?

What the Fuck?

Don't trust Azrael. I know who he is now. He's not to be trusted, all he does is hurt people. And he likes it. Disgusting son of a bitch. The things I could tell you about him... but I won't. I still have respect for the dead, and they wouldn't want me to tell. So, Az, you're secret's safe with me. But I still hate you. And if I see you, you're dead.

As dead as Fracture will be if he ever shows his face here again. Shortly after my last post, the motherfucker showed up at the warehouse I'd chosen to spend the night, uninvited. He claimed he wanted to fucking help, but the arrogant son of a bitch doesn't seem to understand that it's only help if it's wanted. He's lucky I didn't kill him when I had the chance. The next time anyone approaches me looking to 'help' that doesn't ask first gets a knife in their eye.

And that goes double for whoever's leaving me fucking roses. I wasn't joking, last post, they keep fucking turning up wherever I am. I'm wondering if it's more of Fracture's brilliant recruiting strategy. If so, he's fucked up again. Leaving flowers is a disgustingly chauvinistic thing to do. I don't like flowers and I don't like men giving me feminine gifts. Or any gifts at all. Or men in general.

Fucking tall bastard at least treats me like a human being instead of like a WOMAN. Give me a good fight any day. This shit is disgusting.

Disgusting Bullshit

I worked for the Boss for a couple years without seeing the tall motherfucker. And now... well, I guess I see what the runners were all bitching about. The past couple weeks have fucking sucked. I never really got it before, it was just a job and I didn't really believe all this crap the runners spewed about the tall shit being super powerful and whatever, because it didn't make sense.

I knew what the Boss could do, and it was pretty fucking incredible. I knew what HIS boss could do, and it was downright fucking terrifying. But people like me live by our knives and don't pay attention to the bumps in the night because we ARE them.

This thing can't be cut, can't be killed... I always said I never met a man I couldn't kill, but this isn't exactly a man... The bruises are accumulating and I'm pretty sure I've got a couple broken ribs by now. What I don't understand is why, if the motherfucker is this vicious, it needed us in the first place.

Some of you fuckwits would say this is payback, that this is what I get for working for the tall fuck and for not caring about who I killed.  I expect I'll die alone just like all of the shitheads I did for myself. I can't say I'm surprised.

But this fuckwad's got another thing coming if he thinks I'm coming back or giving up, so he can stop fucking leaving me flowers. This shit is disgusting.

Shit Has Hit the Fan

Well, looks like my life just got a LOT more interesting. And not in the good way. Things are starting to make a lot more sense now, and I really don't fucking like the sense they're trying to make.

I've been hauling ass for about a week now, way more than I have in a long time. It appears that whatever immunity or protection or whatever I had while working for the skinny fuck has now finally been broken. If I had to guess, I'd say turning down Fracture's offer is probably the cause. Must've been my last chance to play nice and join his side again.

I was set up in a park eating lunch and figuring out what the fuck to do next, pretty standard stuff for me, when the fucker showed up. Tall, dark, and faceless, watching me eat my lunch. Now, I've only seen the bastard once, from several blocks away. This time I could've reached out and touched him.

What I did next may not have been the smartest fucking move, but it was ridiculously fucking satisfying. I spat out the mouthful of sandwich I'd been chewing and hit him right in the face. He hadn't helped me, he didn't help the Boss, he didn't save Ronan, and we all worked for the bastard. I was perversely proud of finally getting a chance to 'tell' him how I felt. Fucking cocksucking son of a bitch.

And that was when he stopped just fucking staring. The first tentacle slapped me across the face, when I was reeling from that, the second picked me up into the air like something out of a bad fucking porno. That illusion ended when he threw me across the fucking park and started batting me around like a cat

I was pretty sure I was going to die, and for a minute I was pretty fucking happy with that. As I said before, I've been expecting to die for a while, and expecting it to be a relief. And then... something fucking changed. I was facing my own death, and I didn't want to die. So, of course, the best fucking thing to do was to do something even MORE suicidal. I pulled a knife and sliced at the tentacles throwing me about.

He threw me one more time, my head smacked against the pavement, and I passed out. When I woke up, my sandwich was soaked in black goo, I was covered in slenderburns, and had a horrible headache and a lot of bruises, but I was alive.

I want to live. I have to keep fighting the motherfucker that let down Ronan and the Boss.

What the Fuck?

I got approached a couple days ago. And by approached, I mean this dumbass followed me around until I led him into an alley and ambushed the fucker. He practically shit himself when he realized what had happened. Tried to greet me like a fucking friend, except he couldn't stop stammering. He definitely pissed himself when my knife went to his throat, I could smell it. Once I knew he knew my name, I knew he was dangerous, and not some idiot pickpocket or mugger.

Apparently some asshole named Fracture wants to offer me a new position as a proxy working for HIS organization.  This fucktard-Sloth, he said his name was- was sent to pitch it to me. And he offered me money, benefits, safety, anything he thought I wanted, just to get me to join. I didn't realize I was that desirable. Looking at Fracture's blog, looks like he's running crap like a business, no wonder he sent a headhunter to approach me.

Here's the thing, though. I'm not a business woman. I'm a street bitch, a cold fucking killer, and a woman wronged by the organization you fucks work for. You're lucky I didn't kill your little recruiter. I won't work for the organization that let the Boss be hurt and killed.

Not a Damn Thing

No response, no retaliation. I guess they're hanging back to see what I do next. At least I don't have a tail anymore.

Still don't know what to do next.

Still don't know what I'm writing this for.

Still no sign of anything that means anything.


Still nobody even paying the fuck attention to me or this.

Stupid Fucking Habits

I guess it's kind of a fucking habit to come to the blog when something happens or when I want something to happen. Boss always said it was a waste of time, but he got us all going anyway, and whether he admitted it or not, the blog was important to him, in the end. He liked people. Liked getting in touch with them, learning their stories, making friends. Ronan did too, though the blog was at least his idea.

I went ahead and killed the proxy that I'm pretty sure has been tailing me the past few days. He was just a kid, a few years younger than me, but if it's a choice between me and them, my choice is always going to be me. And the stupid fucking moron tried to strike first, and clearly didn't know what he was doing. If I didn't do it, some overly self righteous runner would've.

Your move, assholes.

More Bullshit

I still don't really know what to say. They're still dead. I'm still hidden and alone. I'm half tempted to start killing again to leave a trail. Fuck knows I could use the stress relief anyway. I used to do beautiful work, once upon a time. Shit was way the fuck simpler before I got involved with the organization. Proxies ruin everything.

Not that I won't deny there were good times. That's how I met the Boss, after all. And there was that time in the kitchen supply store...

But then they destroyed him. Both of them.

Fuck proxies. And fuck me for almost thinking it was a good idea to spill my guts on a blog.

I Shouldn't Fucking Be Here

Let me lay this out. The only two people I actually gave a fuck about are dead. I'm being hunted down by what's left of a gigantic organization built around killing people.

I don't know what the fuck to do anymore. So I started this blog, because shit always happens when you start a blog. And I don't really care if they find me anymore.

Fuck all of you.