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.