Tried to get away. Didn't take. -/|\- The Missing Hours: 14 - 7 -/|\- the Missing Hours: Final 6 hours

I tried to get away.

I'm not some hero, and I don't have a dog in this fight. When I started driving up to Buffalo to verify the leftover Missing Hour posts, I realized I wanted out. I wanted out right the hell now. Getting acquainted with "Nick" and his "Friends" (IE: You guys) and your blogs was possibly the creepiest thing I've dealt with in some time. Yes, I've heard stories of the "Fears" and similar entities. They're up there on the list of things you do not fuck with, and about 99.9% of people worldwide will never, ever have to worry about them. If you know about them, you don't even say their names out loud, in case doing so attracts their attention. Like I said though, for most people the Fears are purely academic.

Not for "Nick" though, and now I'm stuck in the middle of this.

I stopped for gas at the same gas station that the whole "Missing Hours" debacle began. I know this because when the guy was filling my tank, he said:

"I should go into Sticky Note delivery. More money well earned."

And he handed me the stack. The top sticky note said:

"You wouldn't happen to be thinking of running, would you?"

I reached into my glove box to pull out my lighter from when I smoked. On top of it was another sticky note that said:

"Read the damn stack."

That got my attention.

I said to the stack, "Well, I was thinking about it."

I tore off the top sticky, "Don't."

I said, "Look, it was nice to find out who he really was, but this is out of my league. I'm no hero."

I tore off the top sticky, "You want to watch Nick, me, and everyone else die? Go ahead."

"Fuck you."

"You are cute. I'll think about it."

"Go to hell you son of a bitch!"

I looked up at the guy who was pumping gas. He was giving me a weird look.

I said, "Haven't you ever seen someone talk to a bunch of sticky notes before?"

He shook his head slowly. I shut up, handed him his money, and tore off the top note to reveal the final message:

"Stay on the case. Or else."

I really hate Time Lord.

Incidentally, does anyone know what "-/|\-" means? "Nick" uses it for all his breaks between segments, and I still don't know what it means. In any case, here are the rest of the Missing Hours information, with edits where necessary. I did some poking about in Buffalo during the last week or so. Found a lot of things you wouldn't expect.

For those of you who need a refresher:

1st: 5 of the Missing 29 Hours
2nd: Hours 24 - 20
3rd: Hours 19 - 15

This took MUCH longer than I thought. There were complications. I'll explain later.

-/|\-



The Missing Hours: 14 - 7

Hours 14 to 7. I'd love to say some kind of action packed extravaganza occurred, but no. For the most part, me and Weaver spent that time trying to sleep. I was an arrogant fucker, wasn't I? We'd kicked Crouching Tiger the fuck out, I felt like I was some kind of badass. And I was tired and filled with the wrath of almost an entire day of migraine.

(Editor's note: Okay. Something is seriously wrong with this post, AND Hours 19 - 15. If this post was written during the time frame I had it in, then that would mean that Nick knew Crouching Tiger was referred to as Crouching Tiger. Crouching Tiger didn't actually appear on any of the blogs for at least two months after this incident. Maybe Nick just updated it when he reposted it? That seems unlike him somehow.)
I didn't sleep peacefully. I remember walking down the streets of Philadelphia with an old revolver and a leather duster with cowboy hat. The streets faded, and I was in The Desert again. The Desert faded, and I saw Tallsuit McMotherfucker. He faded, and I saw myself in the mirror. I looked like I did when my astral form was female briefly.

(Editor's note: This is obviously before he found out that it's always been Female. Except that it hasn't. That one is something of an odd story that you probably already are aware of.)

Me and this female me pointed our guns at each other. And suddenly I WAS her, and I shot the real me down. And now I was this woman walking along, and then I heard Weaver.

She said, "Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck...Wake up!"

I woke up, and felt Weaver rushing me away from the bed. I complied as best I could, banging my head against the bedpost on my way out of it.

Weaver said, "Guys with guns outside. Lots of them!"

I said blearily, "The Police?"

"The police don't wear suits and carry submachine guns!"

That woke me up. We grabbed our stuff and ran for it.

(Editor's Note: Finding the hotel they stayed in wasn't hard. I just had to find the only hotel in town with a manager who'd had his brain brutally fucked in. "Nick" might not tell you this, but he's always been something of a joke with the mental manipulation aspect of things. Me, not so much. I checked room 215, I checked local police records, and I checked with the staff. Apparently, the US Secret Service was looking for counterfeiters. I believe that about as much as I believe in Santa Claus.)

-/|\-

The Missing Hours: The Final 6 Hours



There comes a moment, when you realize how absolutely fucked you are. Me and Weaver were running through a hallway, trying to come up with a way out, we heard the door to the outside of our motel room quietly open as we tried to vacate the fuck out, and then had the joy to round the corner to the stair well, where I saw a guy slowly starting to look up to the top of it as we started to go down it. Weaver was more alert than me, and smart enough to pull me out of his sight. So we were standing at the top of this stairwell in a crappy motel, effectively surrounded on all sides, completely unarmed.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your hero, right before he decides to do something completely fucking stupid.

I whispered to Weaver, "Listen. I'll be back. TRUST me. Just remember to put some shell casings under your pillow. The Reinforcement Fairy comes to all little boys and little girls who have big fucking enemies that need a whuppin."

She had just enough time to say, "Whaaaaa-?"

Then I had leaped over the railing and onto the guy coming up the stairs. My weight, plus the impact of his head against the stairs, meant one unconscious gun-toting asshole. And then I was face-to-face with Mastermind.

(Editor's Note: The timing of this feels strange. The guy sits at the bottom of the stairwell looking up. Weaver pulls Nick out of his line of sight. WHY does stairwell guy wait so long? And how did he not hear any whispering? There's a Flatscreen TV near the Manager's Desk, which is near the Stairwell, which as near as I can tell the Manager watches pretty damn near all the time. It might have covered the noise? Distracted him while it was at it? That's my guess on the time lapse.)

He reached for his gun, I threw an elbow into his face and spun him around. Suddenly, we weren't fighting anymore. What was happening now was that I had a hostage in a chokehold as two other men in suits with guns in the lobby pointed them right at me. I don't even remember HOW I got him into that hold so quickly, but I did. I finished drawing Mastermind's gun from behind him, and jammed it into his side and said:

"One wrong move, and douchey gets it."

So. Picturing this scene: A bunch of suit wearing assholes with guns aiming at me and shouting for me to put my weapon down as I hold the key to this ENTIRE fucking thing hostage, as Weaver scampers down the stairs behind me.

I say to her, "You heard me. Get out of here."

She just gives me this look, taking a moment to marvel at the scene, and think about what action movie I had jumped out of. I have to admit, I was feeling nervous as hell, but pretty good about myself.

She started to say, "I'm not going to-"

I cut her off, "Shut up. Go."

(Editor's note: "Nick" does a shitty job of describing how this must have worked. Then again, like everything else saved on this blogger, this appears to be a first draft. After examining the Motel where this happened, Here's how things probably worked. If "Nick" was standing in the doorway to the stairwell, there would be a partition that would have kept the gunmen from seeing Weaver behind him. There was a back door just a little ways from said partition. "Nick" tried his best to keep everyone who showed up on this blog anonymous, but if Weaver is who I think she is, she's short enough, and "Nick" with a hostage is big enough, that their bodies could screen her until the point that she was about to exit out this back door. The gunmen couldn't have threatened her until AFTER she was gone. And gods know they must have been focused on "Nick.")

The Assholes start to point their guns at Weaver for a brief moment as she headed out the door, and tried to fire off a shot at them. I pointed MY gun at them for long enough to distract them, and then back at Mastermind.

Mastermind said, "Well, this is a surprising turn of events."

And I had just enough time to realize EXACTLY who Mastermind was. Having experienced that revelation again recently, I can tell you, it sucks doing it twice. There is only ONE reason I did not immediately jam the gun into him and unload the clip in the most violent and brutal fashion that I could manage.

The safety was on.

Mastermind stomped on my foot, pulled it out of my hand, and kicked me in the face. For an old guy, he's an awfully spry motherfucker.

And this is where the story should end. I should be shot dead or executed in a backroom by Mastermind and his goons. I shouldn't be talking to you now. But that's when I got lucky as fuck all.

Between the Jersey Devil, the Slender Man, and everything else I've run into over the years, this was bound to happen sooner or later. But the next thing I know, we're knee deep in Giant Mantis trying to pierce the Veil and tear us all to shreds. Mastermind's a canny operator, and loves him some Necromancy I think, because the spirits of the dead started swarming them. Mastermind's men formed up around us, and pulled out salt packets. In seconds, we were in a circle of protection.

And with that, Green Lady entered the room. You don't know her, because I haven't talked about her. You see, Green Man has a sister. And she is a manipulative, nasty, murderous bitch when she wants to be.

Her exact words were: "I'm here for what I'm owed, (Mastermind.)"

And then the world was an explosion of pain and light.

(Editor's note: I've been held up for so long because I was the Green Lady's prisoner for a few days. I'll tell you all about that in a little while. For now...lets say that he's not lying about how much of a bitch she is and leave it at that. She ripped the veil, time, and space a new one. My bet as to how "Nick" ended up back at his apartment? Because Time Lord was watching, and pulled his friend out of trouble. Beyond that, I'm still investigating.

So far, there are three factions in all of this: The Proxies, Mastermind, and Green Lady. I'll have something more concrete for you soon. After I've healed up a little.)

Now I know the score

It took me a while to understand who exactly "Nick" is. When I did, I nearly peed my pants. After all these years, definite and obvious proof of his continued existence. To explain how I know him would take far too long for tonight. Lets stick to the basics however.

If you divided one year in seven, then one seventh of every year I've lived for the past eight odd years was spent trying to piece together who exactly this man was. He has listed in his fanciful passages such nicknames as "The War Without end", "The Weapon that Walks", and "The Man In Blue." Although, It was actually "The Woman In Blue", although that was what he was when I met him. This is my first real lead in a long time.

Allow me to add the following to the list: "The Blue Death", "The Abomination", and my personal favorite, "The End." On some occasions, he has been referred to as "Oh God, It's Her, Run!"

During the nine year period that "Nick" has been in operation, after year one there has been a one hundred mile area in which the vast majority of NEB (Negative Energy Beings) (AKA: "Demons") will not operate. No one has even been certain if "Nick" has been alive for the last 8 years (until very recently, a moment that was actually transcribed by "Nick".) In any case, he's sneakier than he'd admit, and no one could actually be sure if he was there. Nobody wanted to find out either. No one ever sat down and said, "Stay exactly one hundred miles from this place at all times", it just sort of happened. These are the precautions you have to take, even with the supposedly dead.

I watched him die. They broadcasted his death across time and space, to anyone who had the senses to feel it.

It didn't take.

This is the guy I injected full of drugs and tossed in a coffin. He'll get a kick out of it when he finds out who gave him the knockout drugs.

Now that I've got all that out of the way, I'm going to start editing and posting information he left behind. I don't think all of this makes sense. Then again, I have started receiving $100 a day, apparently to handle this stuff. I'm not a writer. I'm a detective. So I'm going to earn that pay by fact checking where I can, even if it's just my own experience I'm checking it by. There's always something you can do to verify information, and I'll find a way to make it happen.

My name is Ellen Noir. In this blog, I was referred to as The Samurai. I've shown up a few times on this blog prior to now in the "Past" sections. I never thought I'd see someone else right about that stuff. Now you get to read about it all from my perspective.

This is going to suck.

What Happened The Other Day

I think the first thing I should tell you is that I'm not "Nick". That out of the way, maybe the rest of this will get easier. Probably not though.

Lets start with the important things, shall we?

• I'm not a "Proxy."
• I'm not a Mortal Enemy of some kind of the writer taunting him.
• I'm not replacing "Nick" as the blogger. I'm supplementing him in this current situation.
• "Nick" is not dead.
• Do not come pouring out of the woodwork to declare that you will kill me, that you are superior to me, and that you represent some kind of god. I'm aware of the existence of the "Fears", and the Slender Man is just another one of them. They are not gods. Be insane somewhere else.
• I'm not a nice person. I apologize for everything I'm going to tell you.

That said, you're all wondering about where "Nick" is. On Saturday, someone named Spencer decided to make a deliver from Philadelphia to New Mexico. Your "Sage" Ryuu reported on what she thought happened, and what she learned from "Nick's" roommates.

I'm keeping "Nick's" habit of linking items of note. It's a good habit. Cuts down on confusion.

All of this said, I am not a writer. I'm an accountant. This isn't something I want to be doing, but I don't have a choice in the matter.

On Friday, I received a phone call. I am assuming it was from the man you call "Time Lord." He mentioned a number of illegal things I've done over the years, and that evidence of them was stored somewhere regarding them. He in fact, listed ALL of the illegal things I've done over the years. Then he told me what I needed to do for him to keep my life.

1: Go to the location of "Nick Dwyer." Inject him with my knockout drugs of choice, load him into a cheap, light, inexpensive coffin (conveniently located at a nearby Mortuary for pickup.) Do so within a VERY narrow period of time.

2: Transport said coffin to a specific street corner.

This is where a snag in the plan happened. Namely that whoever was attacking "Nick's" house. Unmarked cars, unmarked men in suits, lots of guns, and they tried to lock down the area. I made it through, I dropped off the coffin, I nearly killed two people, and I got out. This was problematic, but according to Time Lord, "An acceptable amount of Risk."

I am not happy.

3: Edit items currently on the blog "Records of an Impossibility", use a password that I'm not placing on the open internet, Present them after I have some kind of revelation (Gods only knew what he meant by that), and have fun. Oh, and edit them and add my own notes. Also: Apparently, the men in suits will not see these due to a perception filter. I hate perception filters.

If you have questions about me, I may answer them. I have familiarized myself with SOME of "Nick's" reading material, but not all of it. If you would like to know where "Nick" is, I can't tell you. What I can tell you is that he is very much alive, and if what Spencer said is true he is very capable of walking out of that coffin and continuing on with his life. I will point out however, that you people are NOT my responsibility, and that this isn't my problem. I'm just doing my time until this "Time Lord" says our deal is through. As per why I am not simply posting this as "AmalgamationSage", lets be honest with ourselves. It wouldn't be respectful, as I am not actually this "Nick Dwyer."

As per why I'm writing his name entirely in quotations, it's because that's about as appropriate a name for him as calling a toaster Clarice. I don't know WHAT it is that it reminded me of, besides a loaded gun, but his spiritual form is familiar to me. It's confusing.

Like I said before, I'll answer questions if you'd like. In the mean time, it appears there's a VAST stack of posts that I've been ordered to read through that "Nick" never posted. I've got a lot of reading to do.

Dear Redlight: An Open Letter

Dear Redlight,

We had an enlightening conversation last time. Meeting you in person showed me many things, about you, what you are, and how you operate. It also gave me incredibly useful information regarding The Tree. Don't worry, I still intend to destroy or eliminate that tree, the abomination that it is. After all, I'm one of the very few people equipped to do so, and there are those syringes to worry about.

That said, you've probably noticed something rather terrifying as of late. Namely the fact that you're out of bodies.. You see, people form sympathetic connections between each other over time. Love, hate, like, dislike, and everything inbetween. It is through connections like these that old sayings such as the "red string of fate" are formed, or the idea of a bond between two people that can cross all distances in time and space. You had developed several very special connections with a number of specific people. We will refer to these as your unfortunate "Redlit" proxies. As you well know, those connections have very quickly been disappearing as of late.

When I was out finding Nessa the other day, I did some cutting. When I was laying in bed trying to get to sleep, I did some cutting. And right now as I type this and think of how to properly state my feelings, I'm doing some cutting. In a very short period of time, you will be out of bodies. There are maybe one or two that I will not be able to cut at this point. I'm not particularly worried about this though. One more body just won't take you very far.

After all, beyond the people you've already worked with, thanks to the proper cuts, you will no longer be able to "Redlight" anyone else ever again. Savor the time you have in your next body, because it's your last. Your stale, static eternity is over.

Don't worry though. As I previously said, I will be taking care of that tree. And I would strongly suggest not giving people injections of the Tree Juice. The results may surprise you.

In short: Scissors beat Paper.

Sincerely Yours,
Nick Dwyer, Amalgamation Sage, The Crazy Beastmaster

Eternity vs. Immortality

Sometimes, I get to be the 10th Doctor. Or the 11th. Sometimes. I don't know, it just happens.

Yesterday was a long day. It was a long, long day. I've been running around all over the place for a while now. It was nice to be home.

There are currently five people living in the house when I'm not around. Green Man, Forgemaster, Spinner, Weaver, and Cutter. You'd think it'd feel crowded. Then again, I haven't spent more than two weeks here at any given time since March.

It was before I'd found out that Konaa had gotten himself into serious trouble. And that Nessa needed to be picked up.

I had no idea how crazy the night would get. Not until I'd gotten up to my room and spotted a neat stack of sticky notes on my door.

The first one said, "Prepare yourself. Remember your restraint."

I twitched. How the fuck did Time Lord get this stack of stickies into my house, and onto my door? I decided to save that question for later. I honestly didn't care. I was tired, I started to push open the door, and then I noticed another sticky note underneath the stack. It didn't come off with the rest of them.

"You should listen to the man. -r"

Redlight was sitting on one of the two chairs I keep in my room. Specifically, my damn comfy black padded office chair. I could sit in that damn thing for hours and feel comfortable the whole damn time, and there was Redlight sitting in it. He was in his trademark hoodie, and with only the desk lamp on, his face was wreathed in shadows. It didn't matter though. Lets face it, he could make his face look different every time if he wanted to. He brushed a single black leaf off his shoulder, which burned in blue fire on hitting the ground. He may have found a way into my house, but the billion odd defensive wards I'd placed around the building did not like him. A little trail of smoke rose between us from that black leaf, and I thought about what I should do.

Time Lord said I should be restrained. I really didn't want to do the whole "restraint" thing right about then. I wanted to pick his sorry ass up and throw it out the damn window. Especially after that conversation he had with Ryuu. As much as I preach nonlethal action in all things, I know a dog that needs to be put down when I see it. But at the end of the day, I couldn't kill him and keep him dead at this point. Not yet anyway.

He casually regarded me, making a little soundless 'quiet' motion, and pointed upstairs. I gave him a small nod. No sense bringing my five odd roommates into this.

I pulled my other chair from the door to put an even distance between me, the burning leaf, and him, and closed the door behind me. I sat down.

I said, "You're in my chair."

"I didn't think you'd mind."

We sat there for a long moment, until the leaf finished burning to nothing, leaving a little black spot on the floor. He picked up Nessa's old Jade Dragon figurine off the table. I'd spent some time purifying it on the road, and it had gone from black to a shade of very dark green. As he examined it, it started to grow darker.

"You know. I was asked not to kill you. The little message you added at the end was a nice touch."

He laughed softly, "You keep a lot of interesting friends."  Redlight motioned upstairs.

"I read about your little visit to Morningstar. Based on what I felt across the flow of energy in the world when that bastard took his shot, I'd say you're honestly passing out shit that gives the Tree a direct line into this world. You've got Apocalypse Juice. You do realize that, right?"

I spend a lot of time at night staying awake thinking about how the world will end. I've explained what happens if the Barrier, Veil, call it what you will, drops some day.  Read it again if you're curious. Long story short, the hole created whenever someone takes a shot from the case Morningstar got brings the world closer and closer to a shattered Veil. Eleven more people like that and it's lights out on planet Earth.

"Gee, a juice that spawns ungodly monster trees, that helps..." He emphasized the words with hand gestures, and they were shaking as he made them, "shimmer' reality to pieces, due to some sort of dimensional bleeding,  yes, I know."  He relaxes, "If I can't win, no one can. I'll go that route...if I have to."

 As he says this, I can't help but think: The end of the world is coming, and it'll be brought by a supervillain with Parkinson's.

"Don't act like you hadn't talked to your sage pal, Hakurei."  He gave me an exasperated gesture.  "I figured you might not be one to help rid me of the tree...but,"  He said with a bit of emphasis, "You ARE one to help get rid of the tree itself.  You know the danger this...loathesome and twisted thing can do."  He dropped his hands, "At least with your everyday horror stories, its smaller scale."

"Admittedly, it's not a demonic army trying to turn the world into their outpost, and It's not a rampaging god-thing. Incidentally, you never did get back to me when I asked you for a game of Gomoku."

He shrugged, "Been busy, we'll schedule it for next week...assuming you don't have 300 trees to try to purify by that point."  Redlight fumbled a little with Nessa's little jade dragon, "This stuff brings back old memories.  So why is it that jade sort of leeches a person's energy?  I always thought quartz was some purifying force."

This was not how I thought how this discussion would go. I laughed a little. Then I said:

"I honestly couldn't tell you. There were seven specific rocks that I researched, that don't exist in this world. Crystals and the new age folderol were never part of my bag. Well not THAT New Age Folderol specifically."
He shrugged, "Always more to learn.  Which brings it back to me, and us.  and about what this is really about."  Redlight leans in a bit, "Immortality."

He opened my desk drawer and pulled out a pair of glasses and a bottle of scotch I've been saving.

"Immortality...as I have discovered is not as definite, nor as illustrious as I had dreamed once.  To be able to do limitless research, and explore the vast potential of life.  And yet, with my grasp weakened, returning to the natural order, I find myself in a place of shock, and daresay desperation." He sniffed at the liquor bottle, savoring the smell, before pouring himself a glass. He then continued, "It vexes me to have to come to such a cliche move as to ask one who sees me as an enemy, to ask for help. Well yes, of course you see me as evil, as a manipulator.  Indeed I am, but my goals and yours are not so very different. Well the difference between us then is that while I have attained my own, it is a bit...temporary, still.  For now.  I'm sure you could laud the 'proper methodology' for such things, or even praise death as part of the natural order.  Feel free to prattle on about it, I've heard it all before."

At times like these, it amazes me how little people actually know about me. Then again, there's a lot that I haven't had a chance to tell you all, so I guess it shouldn't surprise me. The first thing I did, was drink some of my scotch.

Then I responded, "Actually, I represent immortality for at LEAST two of the things that take up residence in my form. They sort of live on. I suppose through an exploration of my past lives, and they way I do remember them, I count as immortality for those past selves as well. They live on whenever I remember them, and can act through me as necessary. I call myself Amalgamation for a reason. A billion odd parts connected together working toward a common goal, living on forever so long as the cycle continues. I'd say my form of immortality is better. An eternity of evolutions toward something more, I suppose."

He shrugged, "Better, perhaps, but the idea of a 'past life' is an irritant.  It's a sign of loss, and even of weakness.  Though to be sure, having to hollow out another shell to live as a parasite is hardly one worthy of praise.  This is my problem with 'past lives'."  He took a drink as he leaned forward, "To have a past life, one must die, in some metaphorical way.  I believe myself too stubborn to relent in such a manner.  There is too much knowledge, too much to lose in death.  Not all of it could be recovered, even with a rebirth of any sort.   I've learned a many things, perhaps far later in life than you, I've learned the difference of a great many paths in life, and walked a path of leaves that is neither here nor there, yet connects to the world itself.  And I've seen the very chemicals of the mind, that produce love and hate.  And I've started to realize, that these things are far more connected than an average person might think."

I finished my drink as he spoke. I poured myself another, considering this.

Then I said, "In this, I am at a disadvantage. I'm young in this life, and though I've experienced many strange and unusual situations, I do not have the kind of understanding that I know I had in other lives about who I am and what I do. Still, to say that to die is a form of weakness is not correct. Where I learn the martial arts, they would call that believing in self above all things, whereas the way of progress as a martial artist involves denying self and thus acheiving more by forgetting your own frailties and strengths and thus surpassing both. In a way, it ends up acheiving a greater totality of self by denying it, grasping at true potential. In a way by allowing yourself to die and denying the idea of one self being better than any potential future self, you actually continue to strengthen yourself with limitless possible potential. And as you continue to draw on those past lives, the most current one becomes the strongest possible life. You call death weakness, I call it the strength that allows for the continued turning of the wheel of the universe...with each revolution picking up more speed and power and eventually burning hotter than the sun. Perhaps it's time to give up the ghost, and see how much more the next life will bring? I can't promise you'll be a Shaman every time, but every now and then you get something VERY special."

I sipped my scotch and smiled.

Redlight smirked softly, finished his own scotch. He raised a finger as I finished, "Surpassing yourself.  Yes I do believe that is exactly what I intend to do.  I'm not a seeker of godhood, or any of those trite faceless claims of those who simply garner power.  I want something far different.  And yet it seems, I shan't get another chance as it is, to 'try another go' in this kharmic wheel you believe in."  He sets the drink aside, drained.  "For even if I did have a soul left, I'm sure my current stalker will devour that as well."   He pauses, "So what then for those others I have contained as a host?  Will it stay its end with me, or will it develop a taste for more, hmm?  And what of the other unfortunates, doomed by a certain overzealous maniac who happened upon a briefcase of contagion..." He motions to himself, "That one fool sought to analyze and control something that exceeded his grasp."  He muses, "Hmm, so what then, what happens to those when I am devoured?"

"That's where people like me come into play. Sometimes, something tries to shift the balance. Somebody crosses the line, and plays with things they don't understand. I clean up messes for a living. Zero might have been a psychopathic manchild with a sword and a penchant for murder, but he was hard to kill, and he tried to do the right thing before the tree got him. Robert may have brought us all together like no one ever has before, but he was also a deranged lunatic who brought something into this world that was not meant to be here. Sadly, it becomes MY job to clean up their fuck ups. The tree is on my To-do list. So are you, incidentally. Really, it was Scott in Strepdeckstrasse that was the last straw for me."

We were silent for a while. I was smiling that little smile that everyone who's ever tried to kill me gets to see now and then. You know the one. The one I get right before something completely ridiculous happens. Redlight sat there and drank his scotch, keeping one hand stable with the other.

Then the moment was lost, and we both remembered what was at stake: a briefcase full of Planet-Kill, and who would control it.

He said, "So what I need, is this tree off my back. Literally. And what YOU need is to restore the balance by finding a way to kill it. Take that briefcase of mine completely out of the picture."

Don't you hate it when you forget that there's a reason why Dr. Doom STILL rules all of Latveria after all these years?

"I've been debating dropping back into that world Kay was forced to visit a while back, and testing the theory of 'wood is flammable' as being universal. I don't exactly want to do that until I know the connection between it and SlenderDouche."

Redlight sighed, adjusting himself in the chair, uncomfortable, "The only connection I've seen is that, he ripped me to pieces last time he saw me, after..." He pointed to his neck, showing me the vicious scar, "This.  So I suppose this means I'm a free agent." He laughed darkly, "So ..." he leaned in, "This is the part where you refuse to help me, and we both watch the world burn."

I leaned back in my chair, considering this. After some thought, I decided on Honesty:

"You know, this isn't the first time I've stared at the end of the world."

"And what did you do then?"  He seemed more amused than interested.

I said, "Totally fucked it up and turned it into someone else's problem the first time. Then I apparently fixed things the second time, except I don't actually remember doing anything, so SOMETHING screwy was going on.  Honestly, neither were great victories for science or civilization or anything in particular."

"Its talk like that that brings out the scientist in me, to evaluate exactly how much of what you say is what is real, and what you just 'remember' being real."  He leaned back, letting the words sink in,  "So what about all those unfortunates out there, caught in my web, just another body to be used?  The ones that live their lives, and experience blackouts, maybe wake up with injuries, maybe don't wake up at all."   He leans forward, a smug grin, "Like maybe some of your fellow bloggers?"

I decided to completely ignore the subtext of his statement. I said, "You know. I can actually feel the web your connected to. The sympathetic links you follow to travel into each body. It's fascinating. You're not so much a person a this point as you are an idea. An old, sickly idea that's losing it's touch. You really think that swapping into the 11 year old girl will fix everything?"

Redlight sighed, "We just went over this, didn't we?  We both postured about whose idea of immortality was best, that's done.....but the concept of becoming an Idea...well that, interests me greatly actually.  I've never really cared about 'ruling the world' or bloated villain talk like that, but maybe being an idea isn't quite as bad as you're considering it to be."

"I'm warning you Redlight. No good can come from the subjugation of a little girl's mind, and the rape of her soul. There are lines that even the lords of hell won't cross."

I can be pretty cheesy sometimes, can't I?

"Then why do they let monsters like 'him' and me live, hmm?   Let me tell you why...because there's not as much moral guidelines in the world as you'd like to think.  I can name fifty people who've done things as bad as me, and worse.  There IS NO KARMA, there is only choice."  He stood up, "Like this choice...I can leave now, and I can trust, you'll do what needs done.." He walked past me toward the door, then turned around, "Because you're a 'good guy' and you are the 'savior of time' or whatever."  He pauses at the doorknob, "Don't forget what I said, there's more than one blogger out there that I've gotten my hands on and taken,  'hollowed' or 'redlit' whatever you want to call it."

And that's about when the gears started turning in my head again. And that smile of mine returned to my face, "Oh yes. I think I can do what needs to be done. Although, I'm not sure which fortune cookie you got 'savior of time' out of.  Does this look like Legend of Zelda to you? Still. I need to look into that tree anyway. Why not?"

"You do that.  Play the hero, like you want to be.  I'll be watching."

"You think I'm trying to be a hero? Whatever."

And then I found out what happened to Konaa and Nessa. I ran off, picked Konaa's sorry ass off the Train tracks. After I got him to the hospital, I went and picked up Nessa.

I'm really not worried about any of this though. Because I saw all kinds of things when I met Redlight in person. I really did see the web of connections between him and his others. And I saw where he really is: Stuck inside the Tree somewhere in it's insane world, slowly being eaten away as he tries to escape, dodging from body to body. It's facts like that which help me sleep at night. So now I'm going to do exactly what I said I would do.

EDIT:

I looked at the Post-It Notes afterwards. The next one after the first said:

"That went well."

I asked, "How the hell did you get these in here?!"

The next one said, "I handed them to Redlight with a top sticky that said, 'Place this on Nick's Door.'"

I stared at them, I tore it off to reveal, "I guess he added one."

I wonder if Time Lord really is trying to kill me sometimes.

Of Obelisks and Order

I'm in a small, messy looking abandoned building on the outskirts of Philadelphia. I feel like I'm part of some big "How I spent my summer vacation" special. I've done more driving in the last year than in my entire life. I'm glad I have.

I sit here in this abandoned building, barred from hobos, but not from an industrious young man with a crowbar of his own, to pay my respects to the fallen. A gentleman by the name of Michael, also known as "Snore De Bliss." He and I have had our adventures. He's dead now, but a friendly spirit made a request.

It and I talked. I'm in a trance, in this abandoned building. The shadows are long and the day is short. Time has no meaning when you're in this kind of trance. You see my friends, Michael's dead, and an Abomination known as the "Obelisk" is running around on MY astral plane, causing trouble. The fact that it IS it's own plane of existence complicates things a little, but it's nothing I haven't seen before. Okay, scratch that, I haven't seen anything on this SCALE before, but otherwise it's nothing I haven't seen before.

I've got "King of the Rock/Sucka MCs" by No More Kings on loop as I sit here. My fingers roll off the keyboard of their own volition. I don't know what this will actually look like when I'm done, but I'm hoping that I'll wake up in a few hours with all my objectives complete.

-SPOILER ALERT!- YOUR HAUGHTY LITTLE HOUDINI IMITATOR ONCE AGAIN PULLS OUT A VICTORY AGAINST THE MOST LOATHSOME OF OMNIPOTENT COSMIC HORRORS THIS UNIVERSE CAN BEAR THE BRUNT OF SUSTAINING. UNFORTUNATELY FOR THE AUDIENCE, I HAVE RELINQUISHED THE WIND FROM HIS ASTRAL SAILS IN ONE FELL SWOOP, AND REALLY TAKEN THE DRAMATIC TENSION OUT OF THIS ENTIRE TRANSCRIPT, WITH THE ABOVE. HOWEVER, MY OPPORTUNITY TO WAX POETIC ONLY WIDENS IN REGARD TO THIS, AND I WILL NOW SHOW YOU THE FOLLY OF THE HUMAN RACE.
My objectives:
-Give Michael and Lucy a chance to go wherever they're heading in the next life.
-Give the Obelisk the fucking boot.

WHY, OH PENSIVE YOUNG NICK, WOULD I -EVER- LET YOUR NEAR YOUR FLITTING, PATHETIC ASSOCIATE HAD I A USE LEFT FOR HIM? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU ARE CAPABLE OF AN INCURSION INTO -MY- REALM VOID OF A GUARANTEE OF COMPLETE ANNIHILATION UNLESS I SO DESIRED TO PERMIT YOUR ENTRANCE? I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE TAKEN OFF THE DOOR HINGES, TORN OFF THE FOUNDATION AND BORED A HOLE IN THE ENTRANCE-WAY BIG ENOUGH FOR ONE OF YOUR TRACTOR TRAILERS TO ALLOW EVEN AN IOTA OF YOUR BEING TO CROSS THE THRESHOLD. BUT I- HMM. ANOTHER. WELL, HELLO THERE YOUNG LADY. MAY I ASK YOUR NAME?

Good plan, right? I know I like it. Time to go to work. I can feel the vast plane that is the Obelisk. It's a scary fucking thing, when your mind brushes against something like this. But it is what it is. I'm seeking out Michael's soul in all this morass. Wherever he goes, he doesn't deserve to be trapped in THIS shithole.

There was once a Maiden. She observed all the comings and goings with a critical eye. Confusion reigned as she viewed the newcomer, but she was getting more used to this. This world was a complicated thing, filled with complicated people. At least the Obelisk was something she could understand.

I think I've been sitting here for hours. I'm used to waiting. For spirits, for people, for the truth. Learning to be patient has been hard, but I've gotten used to it after a lifetime of waiting.

STEAMING IN A POOL OF YOUR OWN ARROGANCE, I SEE. AS USUAL. HOW -DIFFICULT- IT MUST BE TO SIT ABOUT ON YOUR BUPKUS! SUCH HALLUCINATIONS OF GRANDEUR ARE THE DETRIMENT OF A SPECIES PROPPED UP BY THE HOPE THAT THEIR PERSONAL STRENGTH CAN OVERCOME ALL OBSTACLES, AND THE CRUTCH SUCH CONSIDERATIONS PLACE UPON THE ACQUISITION OF POWER. THE HARANGUING OF YOUR PAL WAS NOT A SADISTIC ENDEAVOR. OH, NO - YOU SEE, MICHAEL HAD A PART IN HIM I REQUIRED TO ACCOMPLISH...PERSONAL GOALS.

The otherworldly entity is a world unto himself. The Maiden has observed such thing before, and is impressed.. It is a very rare thing for an entire world to become a living, thinking creature. The questions she could ask of it! But it is not to be.

I awaken in this strange, strange world. It is an ashen wasteland. Even the skies are gray. The debris of long dead trees lie here and there. The only sign of any kind of civilization is a lone obelisk rising in the distance. That is where I must go. I walk for what feels like hours, before I remember that I'm a shaman visiting another world with my astral form. I picture this place being much closer in my mind, and feel my body shift to match the image. I'm right at the base of the Obelisk now.

I feel Michael's presence. His features are dull and complacent. His mind and soul are still intact, even if his body is gone. It's time to set him free. I can feel the Obelisk all around me. It sees through me, it knows me, but I know what it does not: The soul of man is always a million times stronger if even one person believes in it.
 

I realize that I'm smaller. My hands are smaller, my body is smaller, I'm in my other body again. I'm whoever I was in that past life that gave me this body. I can feel the weight of this entire world on me. It doesn't want me here. The Obelisk nearly burned me alive last time, this time it will want me to know and understand pain everlasting. I really, really want to get out of here.

But I always remember rule one: Keep laughing.

"Hey Mike! Why are you tied to a big freaking pillar? How about you come down here so I can take you to Lucy!"

Mike looks dazed and barely conscious.

"Ughh...oh...what? STOP FUCKING WITH MY HEAD, YOU WHITE PIECE OF SHIT!"

He's also delusional. Shit.

Observe the plight of the forgotten man. Lost within the realm of the damned. Tormented by thoughts of those long past. Pathetic, awful, yet one cannot look away.

MAN, YOU CAN SURE MAKE A NERVE-WRACKING SCENE DOUR. DOES THE HACK KEEP YOU AROUND TO KEEP HIM DOWN TO EARTH OR SOMETHING? BECAUSE YOU DO A HORRIFIC JOB AT THAT.

I shout, "Damn it! okay! I'm a woman right now, I get it! Can't your friendly neighborhood Shaman cross the divide between our world and this one and try to pull off an overly simplistic rescue??"

After a minute, Mike gets it.

He says, "Holy Jesus...Nick? Is that you, Nick?" He laughs madly, "Thank my lucky fuckin' stars! Help me out here!"

Chains start flying up at me. But I'm not where they land. I swapped places with a nice cloud. The chains are confused inside it for only a moment as I start falling downward. It's time to get tricky. Teleportation on the astral plane is easy if your head is on straight, and suddenly I'm on the ground again.

The 'Hack' has no bearing on The Maiden's existence. She is who decides if he lives or dies. The deadliest weapon is the one that is self-directed.

YOUR ASSURANCE IN YOUR LACK OF CONTROL IS AMUSING. I AM ALMOST POSITIVE THAT ONCE THE HERMAPHRODITE-HYBRID BEGINS THE HUNT WITH YOUR SCENT ON HIS MIND, YOUR TUNE WILL QUICKLY ALTER.

I start running in a long circle around the Obelisk. I'm hoping the chains will wrap around it and become useless. Instead, they stop and wait for me to come back around. When did evil attack chains start getting Genre Saavy?

The Obelisk speaks in jibes and threats. It does not understand. What it does not know, is that the Weapon will never act against the Maiden. The act of questioning why he would not seek me would be impossible for him. To address my existence would be to threaten his own. For all the ages it has lived, the Obelisk has not learned to understand.

A FAILURE TO ADDRESS CONTINGENCIES, TO ACCOMMODATE FOR UNCONTROLLABLE CIRCUMSTANCES, TO EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED, AND TO MISS CHANCES IN WHICH TO GLOAT OF SUPERIORITY. I'D HAZARD A GUESS THAT YOU ARE ANOTHER BIPEDAL, SENTIENT MEAT BAG FROM THE PLANET EARTH? MAY I REMIND YOU THAT, AS DEMONSTRATED ABOVE, I AM PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF THE HUMILITY NECESSARY TO ACHIEVE WHAT MUST BE WROUGHT, AND THAT IT IS QUITE DANGEROUS TO UNDERESTIMATE WHAT YOU PERSONALLY ESTEEM BELOW YOUR ABILITY.

   

 Mike shouts, "They burn, Nick! Don't let'm grab you!"

The chains fly high up to meet me, which is exactly where I want them. I explode down toward the ground, blue fire pulsing off me. I smash into the chains, continuing downward toward Mike. The chains MELT, the metal forming into a molten steel ball around me. Commanding molten steel to do what I ask? On the astral plane, it's easy as hell. I spin it, forming it into a big sheet of bladed steel, hack off a portion of the chains on Mike with it.

The Maiden considers this statement. She would hazard that she is in fact a bipedal, sentient meat bag. She is most certainly not from earth, and even more so not what you would refer to as "Human", if that is what bipedal sentient meat bag refers to. She is still technically a bipedal sentient meat bag. She is what she always was, a weapon bound to a machine like a thousand gears spinning in perfect unison. But she was the gear that chose to spin the other way. She finds this interview to be fascinating, however short-lived it might be. The maiden has so few chances to speak with someone on her history.

I yell, "The fire in my soul burns hotter than any chain!"

Mike attempts to free himself of the rest of the chains, but they only tighten their grasp and burn more marks onto his soul's skin.

SO CONTENT WITH YOUR STATUS AS A TOOL. IT IS STRANGE, YET AN ENLIGHTENING VISTA INTO THE SENTIENT CONDITION. YOU TREAD A PATH WALKED BY FEW BUT HARRIED WITH MANY FAULT LINES, AS DOES YOUR SUBORDINATE. SPEAKING OF OUR LITTLE SHAMAN, HOW RUDE OF YOU TO DELIVER THIS MENACE FROM HIS PENANCE! TSK, TSK. HIS ENTRAPMENT IS A KARMIC NECESSITY, NICHOLAS DWYER! YOU ONLY BURY YOURSELF IN THIS MEANINGLESS DISPLAY OF POWER!

I form the sheet of steel into a sword, and starts hacking away at the chains, shouting as I do:

"You know what Mike? I had a lot of things in the works for today. I was going to visit Ryuu, get drunk, Relax a bit. My Girlfriend broke up with me the other day. You DIED something like a month or two ago, and what a ridiculous way to go THAT was. Then some spirit goes, 'Hey Nick! Bail him out!' Jumping Jesus Christ on Crutches, Mike! HOW DID YOU MANAGE ALL OF THIS!"

Subordinate? she considers this concept. She takes another moment to contemplate if the weapon counts as a Him, a Her, or an It? She settles on Him as a general pronoun. If it was as simple as him being a subordinate, it would not be nearly so complicated. Sadly, it IS more complicated. One thing is certain however. The Maiden is no shaman. She is a killer.

"Long story, boss...man?"

Oh right. My astral form is Female. He throws off the last of the chains, and they retract into the Obelisk. The ashen world around us begins to rumble, and the ground below our feet starts to crumble and crack as a crevasse begins to tear itself into existence.

He says, "Uhh, Nick? I think it's time we HAULED ASS!"

OH, FOR CERTAIN. THE AIR, THE ATTITUDE, THE UNCARING CONFIDENCE. A BEING WHO RADIATES DEATH AND DECIMATION, TO BE SURE. BUT THE AUDIENCE! I MUST APOLOGIZE PROFUSELY FOR LOSING TRACK OF MY MAIN POINT. AS YOU WATCH THIS SPECTACLE UNFOLD, A BEAUTIFUL CACOPHONOUS CLIMAX TO A TALE WHOSE COURSE HAS RUN OUT AS WOULD A SHRIVELING RIVER'S ESSENCE, WHAT DO YOU TAKE AWAY? WHAT DO THEY, THE ACTORS, TAKE AWAY AS WELL? A SOUL, A MEASLY SPIRIT? THE REAFFIRMATION OF A MAD WITCH DOCTOR'S ARROGANT ATTITUDE? INDEED, NOTHING COMES OF THIS FACADE BUT A MINOR MIGRAINE AND A NOSEBLEED IN THE TRUE REALITY WITHIN WHICH OUR PROTAGONIST DESPERATELY ATTEMPTS TO ESCAPE. WHAT IS HE THERE, MIGHT YOU ASK? HE AMOUNTS NOW IN THAT DESPICABLE PLACE TO WHAT MICHAEL BLIGHTWELL DID UNDER MY UNWAVERING POWER - ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

I grabs Snore's hand, and give the air around us a gentle push. This world is like the astral plane, and that means I can do all manner of fun things. We go blasting across the landscape, the land crumbling underneath us.

Sometimes, for want of a nail, a kingdom is lost. Sometimes, the only battles that matter are those in the world of dreams and nightmares. The Maiden observes, and she notes: he's still holding the metal he formed into a sword. Why?

The rest of the ashen waste falls away in a moment, and darkness descends on us. Where are we? A bountiful forest springs up around us. The trees are enormous and gorgeous, spiraling miles into the turquoise sky, polka-dotted by suns and stars all over. Mike's face is overcome with horror as we see it all.

Mike wailed, "No, no, fuck no! Not here again, jesus christ not here again!"

From the bushes descend a terrifying swarm of animal limbs - doe legs, goat heads, wolf bodies and tails, lopping and skittering and prancing across the forest in pursuit of us. They're weird pseudo-animals, made of an amalgamation of a different parts from different animals, a weird Frankenstein's Monster style parade of a mad doctor's wet dream. At its head, there stands a monstrosity with the torso of a man, the head of a wolf, and the legs and horn of an enormous goat.

AHH, YES. MY MOST FAVORITE ALLIES! FOR WHEN THE ANKHALANKHS RANGE FREE, NOT EVEN MAGIC IS SAFE TO KEEP ONE'S MIND IN PLACE!

The trees begin to shift around the tide in impossible ways, joining with the beasts in one moment, at the next being dragged across their surface as an enormous log would be buffeted by the ocean. I wasn't in the mood. I hand the giant sword I formed from the chains to Michael.

I say, "Don't be confused by the weight. It weighs nothing because this is magic. You don't need to explain it, it just is."

Then I draw my sword.

Then I say, "And I don't care HOW terrifying this place is, TREES BURN."

With that, I feel the energy in the world around us. With a snap of my wrist, I propel both of us forward at the horde. We swing our swords as we go, blue fire arcing through the air around us as we charge.

That one with the goat head looks particularly delicious. Mmmm. You find many odd morsels when hunting on the trail.

The horde parts way as we scythe their way through, the magical fire scaring the primitive beasts back. Around us, reality becomes hazardous. I can see universes where we are both massacred, skewered and torn piece by piece in awful spectacles of gore and chaos. In a moment, as the last bit of the horde falls away, burnt or slashed, melted or vivisected, we burst into a clearing, and there it is - the Obelisk, ascending high into the sky, shaded only by the enormous canopy above.

WELL, THEY AREN'T THE SMARTEST OF CREATURES, TO BE SURE. ALTHOUGH I EXPECTED THEM TO KEEP THIS DUO DELAYED A BIT LONGER, THIS WILL HAVE TO DO. WELCOME, NICOLAS DWYER AND MICHAEL BLIGHTWELL! OUR AUDIENCE IS DUTIFULLY WAITING FOR THE COUP DE GRACE. WITH BAITED BREATH, THEY HAVE FOLLOWED YOUR RECKLESS ADVENTURES, PENNING THEIR HOPES ON THE RESOLUTION OF AN ULTIMATE FINALE, A FANTASTIC CLIMAX, THE ORGASMIC RELEASE OF EMOTIONAL TENSION THAT SO PERMEATES THE THEATRICAL ATMOSPHERE UPON WHICH WE PLAY! OH, I CAN TASTE THE INTENSITY! IT BURNS ME NOW, SO CLOSE TO THAT INIMITABLE PRECIPICE OF FREEDOM!

The Maiden considers the nature of the Obelisk. She determines that perhaps he needed to get out more? Paradoxically, there is no way that he can. He's a giant building within a world of his own creation, after all.

    I say, "You've GOT to be shitting me. Mike, we've got to go through it to get back to the exit, don't we?"

    Mike says, "Seems like the perfect way to round this off." He glances over to me, and grins hopefully. "Well, Mr. Sage-man, you ready to head home?"

I RESENT THAT LITTLE JAB, MISSY. I MANAGE MY HEALTH PERFECTLY IN RELATION TO MY PERSONAL NECESSITIES. BUT I SHALL NOT BE DISTRACTED! YES, THIS IS THE TRUE FINALE. MY PARTING EPILOGUE FOR THE VIEWERS AT HOME, SITTING ON THEIR COMFORTABLE CHAIRS, PERUSING THIS MASTERPIECE AS IT DRAWS TO A CLOSE. I PROMISED YOU A TWIST BEFORE, AND ALTHOUGH I AM NOT THE MOST MORAL OF INDIVIDUALS, IT WOULD PAIN MY CONSCIOUS TO BREAK A PROMISE OF SUCH CALIBER. YOU ARE ALL SUCH WELL BEHAVED PARTICIPANTS, TOO, WATCHING WITH SHOCK AS THE TRAGIC FIGURE OF SNORE-DE-BLISS STRUGGLED FOR PEACE, GASPED IN SOLITUDE, AND PASSED AWAY. YOU OBSERVED WITH AWE AS HE AND MARLEY ESCAPED MY GRASP IN CALIFORNIA. BUT WHAT DOES THE NIGHTMARISH MONSTER CHASING HIM HAVE IN STORE THAT WOULD SO THOROUGHLY RATTLE THE FOUNDATIONS OF THIS ENDEAVOR? NAUGHT BUT THIS ONE FACT: I -AM- THE STUPDENOUS MENACE HIMSELF, SNORE-DE-BLISS, ALSO KNOWN AS MICHAEL BLIGHTWELL, AND I EMERGE VICTORIOUS, EVEN THROUGH DEFEAT. GOOD NIGHT, DEAR FRIENDS IN REALITY. GOOD NIGHT, DEAR MAIDEN. I HOPE WE GET TO CHAT AGAIN. UNTIL THEN, STAY  NOSTALGICALLY DREAMING!

Time moves in mysterious ways. And so the case of Michael Blightwell flows onward. Saving a soul today causes chaos in the past, as well as the future, while having no affect on the present. One circle is complete. Now on to the next.

And suddenly, I find myself awake, staring up at Mike.

I say, "Time to go find your girl in the afterlife." 

We were out of Obelisk land and back in something like reality. Michael was floating around me, and ready to go on to a real afterlife. 

"What...Lucy? Oh jesus christ this is going to be strange. But...I can hear her. Hee hee, I can hear her now. She's serenading me, in that lovely voice of hers. Nick, can I talk to you for a second before I leave? I need to clear the air about some things."

I manage to say, "Fire away. I'm not just a taxi service to the great beyond. I take the spiritual guide thing pretty seriously."

The air around us is covered in a fine mist, and two doors can be seen on either side of me. Just like always, one white, and one black.

Mike says, "Well, I gotta say thank you for all the help you've given me in this ridiculous bullshit. Although I'm let down that my normal life's completely over now...to be frank, the fear that death equated to nonexistance lingered over me almost every day of my adult life. So I did things that I really shouldn't have done in the past, and really mired myself up in some events I could have avoided, because I thought I needed to see it all before I became meaningless. But now I have this second chance, and I'm not intent on wasting it. So thank you for that opportunity."

"Not a Problem. incidentally, you'll notice a door to the right of me, and a door to the left of me. One white, one black. The black one doesn't lead to hell, and the white one doesn't lead to heaven. Where they go I can't tell you...as I have no idea. But I know that the dead go through one or the other at the end. Go through the one that you feel is right."

"The right one, huh?" Mike grasps his chin for a moment, deep in contemplation. "Well, I'm not a man to choose based on whimsy."

Reaching into the back of his pocket, he pulls out a spiritual quarter. It's amazing the things people bring into the land of the dead.

He says, "Heads, we go to Olympus. Tails, into the Land of the Dead."

With a ting, the coin goes sailing into the air, and after a few rotations comes sailing down into Mike's outstretched palm. He flips the coin onto the back of his other hand, and reveals the face of George Washington, emblazoned upon soul-colored silver.

"Well, shit. Heard her voice coming from there anyway." A smile graces his face as he walks up to me and gives me a firm handshake. "I'm just sorry we couldn't knock some booze down together. Promise you'll visit?" 

He pauses, watching the White Door nervously. I don't blame him. Nobody wants to admit when it's time to go. Not at first anyway.

I shake his hand, breaking him out of his reverie, and say, "I'll stop by some time. Although...it always looks weird. Keep in mind, it's a place for the Soul, wherever it is. The living can't really comprehend it."

"Hey, whatever works best for you, holmes." Striding over to the door, Mike reaches for the handle before remembering something and turning back to me: "How's Slim Jim treating you?"

"No better, no worse. It is what it is. Goodbye Mike. I wish you luck. You deserved better."

"Terrible thing, isn't it? You get chased by a fat guy, or you get chased by a skinny fuck. Bulemia or anorexia, and you can't even take your pick!" He laughs, although it sounds insincere. "See you too. And hey, I'm not out of it completely! I still got Lucy to deal with. You keep safe, alright? And stop by for a round if needed."

The door closes swiftly behind him.

------


I woke up five minutes ago to the vast supply of What The Fuck that is this post. I don't really understand any of it, and when I look at anything "Maiden" wrote, I get a massive headache.Michael is off to the afterlife, and that's what counts.


And Redlight is playing with Tree Juice that cuts holes in the Veil or Barrier or whatever the fuck have you between this world and the astral plane. Fuck.

Fuckedy Fuck Fuckerson. Son of Anal Sex. There are no words to describe how bad this is. I've got MORE work to do.

Waking Up

Texas isn't a place that you want to be stuck in. Nothing beats waking up one morning and feeling the Migraine of your life. I recalled peering onto the Astral plane, and seeing at least twenty odd people in shining green armor. Each of them sat on top of a pissed off looking unicorn. That was about when I knew I was in trouble.

Their leader said to me, "Now, at last, I will have vengeance for what you did to my father!"

I was confused by this. I sat up and said, "Who was your father, exactly?"

He shouted, "Do you not recognize my Heraldry? My armor?!"

I observed him with my senses. His Heraldry was covered in vines with a shield and a sword crossed with a trident. I didn't remember it at all.

I said, "Well...uh...Work with me here. Where did I kill him? Are you sure you have the right guy?"

This made him madder, "I know it was done by the War Without End, the woman whose death never comes, the Beast in Blue, who has suddenly awaken from her slumber!"

And now I felt like a serious asshole:

"Look, I'm sorry. I really don't remember. I mean...I killed a LOT of people during my career. I never wanted it to go that way, but that's how it happened. I'm very, very sorry."

He shouted, "No! It's not acceptable! You don't even remember his name?! His face!?"

It terrifies me that I can actually say "But for me, It was Tuesday", and not be joking around. The sheer number of bodies I stacked up when things were at their worst, and the sheer amount of psychic weight I endured, well, I honestly only remember maybe a quarter of it on the good days.

I said, "I'm really, really sorry."

"THAT ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!"

Then the pain started. Getting impaled through a wall by multiple lances was never a good way to start your day. I remember Elaine staring over at me with concern, as the physical world and the astral plane wrapped around each other. I recall being at dinner with her and August and Spencer, but only bits and pieces. Did they even notice how quiet I was?

I recall cutting three of the unicorn riding knights in half with lasers I fired from my eyes. It gave me room to maneuver, and then I had my sword out. Nets, and vast waves of power were flung in my direction. That was okay. I was used to nets. When entities find an astral form that is much, much more potent than theirs, and all they have is numbers on their side, they tend to go with some kind of astral weapon like a net to bring their target down. When the net was burning with a blue flame and these bastard started running their unicorns the fuck out of the way, I began to go to work. Astral combat is a fluid, strange thing, but I could feel the unicorns projecting something toward me. I was barely conscious during all this, because of whatever they were hitting me with.

I have a thing about killing unicorns. The correct answer is to not fight them at all. They're magnificent, wonderful creatures that mostly live on the Higher Planes, and occasionally visit the astral plane. Fast, deadly, powerful, and friendly. No unicorn I've ever seen starts a fight with someone who doesn't have it coming to them. I wonder what that says about me? So when I drop a lightning bolt on one that frags the unicorn and it's rider, I try to feel bad. It doesn't take. I can't say I feel all that charitable toward people that are trying to kill me.

I could spend a few hours describing an epic conflict, but it's not worth it. At the end of the day, surrounded by a pile of bodies, feeling dozens of weapons in my side, I stood amidst my ambushers and they fell down in a bloody mess. The Knight who'd started all of this stared at me. It looked like he was about to cry.

And all I could say was, "I am Sinistar. Beware, I live. Run, Run, Run. Beware, Coward. Run Coward."

He started bawling tears, and rather than running like hell as he should have, his Unicorn intensified that beam that was doing SOMETHING to me, and he charged me. He was screaming something about glory and honor.

I roared. As his body fell to the ground, I found myself saying:

"I hunger."

Even half dead and covered with wounds, insane and facing yet another side effect of the things I've wrought, I can still make bad videogame references.

Hours passed. I woke up on a hotel bed, staring up at Elaine. She looked worried.

She asked me: "Are you alright?"

I said, "I am now.."

Nobody's killing me yet. I still have work to do.