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.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Friday, August 9, 2013
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
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
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, May 27, 2013
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?
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?
Monday, May 20, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
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.
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