Nick apologized pretty heavily about the other day. He said a lot about how he was an insensitive prick. We're on speaking terms again.
He's been so lifeless since we found that building and that cage. I'm worried.
So! People trapped in this mess, lets recap: you have a new "Redlight". This is apparently a scary thing. He's putting together a new "network" like the one Nick destroyed a while back. A lot of good people are dying. There's a lot of dirty shit happening to you people.
It doesn't help that we've spent the last few months going around and finding old friends of his for a traditional suicide mission.
He's not sleeping. He doesn't want to do anything. Ennui is NOT effective for his combat training. I need him upright and operating. He has to go out there, and cause the proper kind of mayhem that we all know him for.
I need IDEAS people. How do I get his sorry ass motivated?
Showing posts with label Ellen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ellen. Show all posts
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
I hate your enemies.
Fucking people, with their eldritch abominations.
The last few days have been bad. We were trying to get the full scale of the scope of Mastermind's operation, and everything started clicking into place. We found some abandoned papers in the abandoned apartment which lead us to a gutted office building.
The office was a thin place. It had seen this kind of thing before. Someone had meddled too hard, and too fast, and a war had erupted. Burn marks from fire brought from beyond the veil, hacked walls from fists and blades that defied physics, it was all pretty standard to me.
Nick though? He'd been here before. He was the one who'd caused it. After years of not knowing whether or not what he'd seen and done was real, and having no way to prove it, he'd grown used to the idea that he'd never know the truth. He finally made peace with knowing he'd never see The Presence's physical body, that he'd never meet Mastermind in person, and that he'd never ever have proof that the conspiracy he thought had existed was real.
I pitied him. He could not die a warrior's death. Now he was trapped, knowing he could have fixed this and failed.
We explored the dark, bloodstained and devastated offices, finding scattered remains of papers throughout. While Nick was wandering around like an alcoholic, I was looking through progress reports, statistics, and casualty numbers. This was where Mastermind's organization was born. This was where it should have died.
Nick dropped to his knees when he found the cages. There was one that looked like it had been sheared in half. He stood there in front of it, and began crying.
I gave him some space. I never thought I'd be here either. He saw where his loved one turned into something else, something twisted and foul. I lost my loved ones long before he did, but I didn't think I'd ever see someone else doing what I did.
Maiden told you how I left my "family." Knowing I could never go back was like what Nick was going through in that building. It took me years of counseling and an honest-to-god decent father figure to get me back on track. Nick had so many years where he just had to pretend it never happened, it must have hit him like a train wreck.
Then I heard it.
Papers shuffling from the stairwell we arrived from. I couldn't see anything in that direction, but I felt it. The same thing I felt when people were dying at Hope.
I ran to Nick, and tried to pull him up off the floor. He wouldn't move.
I shouted, "Damn it Nick, The Slender thing is here, we've got to go!"
He whispered, "Leave me here. Let me die."
I slapped him. He was shocked, but not moving. I could feel it getting closer.
He said, "Even if I get all the allies I can find, and even if we survive long enough to kill the bastard, what's the point? If we destroy Mastermind, what's left protecting the world? I'm done. I've got nothing left, Ellen. I'm done."
I lifted him bodily off the floor and slammed him against one of the intact cages.
I have a Voice. It affects people when I use it just right.
I screamed in his face, "Maybe there IS something left. You won't fucking know unless you try, now MOVE. I know you can see him, and I know this isn't how you want me to die."
He stared, he didn't get it.
"Ellen, what...?"
I screamed in his face, "I will fucking die here with you, do you want me to be a corpse?"
For better or for worse, I said that. My old rival is the only thing I have left from my past. It's one last thing, and I just don't want to lose it yet.
He started moving. I could feel it after us, and the stories are true, you know? I don't think you can outrun it if it doesn't want you to. Except that I confused it. After all, I'm not afraid of the unknown. I've lived and trained to be as ready as possible for anything. It makes sense that I can't see it, I'm not it's food.
Nick though? Nick was plagued with fears and doubts about his lost love and a world that might just be in his imagination for the last few years. He's like a Slendy-buffet, if you believe in the whole "Fears can only target people who are susceptible to them thing."
Of course, The thing could probably tear me in half for being between him and it, and I know it's done that to people unrelated to all of this on several occasions. I've determined that the reason I pulled him along was that I was crazy. We'll leave it at that.
Down the stairs we went. I'm busy dropping wards and traps and the thing's plowing through they like they're paper. Well, they WERE paper, but spirits aren't supposed to be able to treat wards like that.
We hit the bottom of the stairs, and the doors were wide open...except for the massive brick wall.
That bastard. Fucking Barry. He'd bricked off our damn exit. We saw him wave to us, and put in the last brick at the height of his mask. So the THING is at the top of the stairs, and Nick is running like a madman, and I'm wondering "What the fuck is he thinking?!"
So then we jump into the brick wall, and I realized EXACTLY what he was thinking. He was thinking: "If Barry's setting the last brick in now, the cement can't possibly be dry yet."
We crashed through a pile of bricks and cement, and he drew his little bag from his side. I drew a knife from in my coat. We were ready for a fight.
I don't know if he's mentioned his little bag. It's black, and covered in old runes. I asked him what was in it once.
His exact response was: "There are things in this world man was not meant to know. Some of them are in this bag."
I knew it was behind us. And he turned around as he stood with that bag and...
Boom. I was blinded. Nick was thirty feet behind me in the street, and there was no sign the bricks or cement had ever been anywhere near the building. Nick slowly picked himself up. His knuckles were bleeding. Whenever I encounter this THING, I always find myself feeling inadequate. I can't see it, I don't know what magic works on it, and the magic that does is usually what I don't use. I need to find something that WORKS in this scenario.
I didn't feel it around us though. That was a start. Nick looked like he'd been put through the ringer though.
"Nick, are you okay?"
He said, "Nope! It's all real! All of it. I didn't save the day, I made it possible for Mastermind to take over the goddamn world. I'm the goddamn reason the world's going to hell in a handbasket-"
I cut in, "You AREN'T. You couldn't have-"
"-I COULD have just violently killed things and kept this from ever happening. But I didn't. And now here we are. TELL me that this could have been averted by me being a goody-two-shoes, I dare you."
"Honestly Nick, I would have killed all the sons of bitches I fought when this started. But that's me. You don't WANT to be me."
"Maybe I do, Ellen. Maybe that's exactly what I need to be. Maybe it's time to stop scaling up as the problem does, stop acting like a wonderful person, and start KILLING THE FUCK OUT OF EVERYTHING!"
That's when I punched him in the face. Nick rolled with it, and came back up in a defensive stance. He looked shocked.
I said, "And does killing the fuck out of everything actually FIX the fucking problem?"
Nick looked away. He rubbed the side of his face where I decked him.
"No. No it doesn't."
I said, "Good. Now lets get out of here before IT shows up again."
How did I become the voice of reason? In conclusion, I hate you all, and the faceless enemy you've made. He is a many-tentacled piece of invisible shit, and he's making our lives MUCH more complicated. Mastermind is a big enough problem as it is without THIS shit going on.
The last few days have been bad. We were trying to get the full scale of the scope of Mastermind's operation, and everything started clicking into place. We found some abandoned papers in the abandoned apartment which lead us to a gutted office building.
The office was a thin place. It had seen this kind of thing before. Someone had meddled too hard, and too fast, and a war had erupted. Burn marks from fire brought from beyond the veil, hacked walls from fists and blades that defied physics, it was all pretty standard to me.
Nick though? He'd been here before. He was the one who'd caused it. After years of not knowing whether or not what he'd seen and done was real, and having no way to prove it, he'd grown used to the idea that he'd never know the truth. He finally made peace with knowing he'd never see The Presence's physical body, that he'd never meet Mastermind in person, and that he'd never ever have proof that the conspiracy he thought had existed was real.
I pitied him. He could not die a warrior's death. Now he was trapped, knowing he could have fixed this and failed.
We explored the dark, bloodstained and devastated offices, finding scattered remains of papers throughout. While Nick was wandering around like an alcoholic, I was looking through progress reports, statistics, and casualty numbers. This was where Mastermind's organization was born. This was where it should have died.
Nick dropped to his knees when he found the cages. There was one that looked like it had been sheared in half. He stood there in front of it, and began crying.
I gave him some space. I never thought I'd be here either. He saw where his loved one turned into something else, something twisted and foul. I lost my loved ones long before he did, but I didn't think I'd ever see someone else doing what I did.
Maiden told you how I left my "family." Knowing I could never go back was like what Nick was going through in that building. It took me years of counseling and an honest-to-god decent father figure to get me back on track. Nick had so many years where he just had to pretend it never happened, it must have hit him like a train wreck.
Then I heard it.
Papers shuffling from the stairwell we arrived from. I couldn't see anything in that direction, but I felt it. The same thing I felt when people were dying at Hope.
I ran to Nick, and tried to pull him up off the floor. He wouldn't move.
I shouted, "Damn it Nick, The Slender thing is here, we've got to go!"
He whispered, "Leave me here. Let me die."
I slapped him. He was shocked, but not moving. I could feel it getting closer.
He said, "Even if I get all the allies I can find, and even if we survive long enough to kill the bastard, what's the point? If we destroy Mastermind, what's left protecting the world? I'm done. I've got nothing left, Ellen. I'm done."
I lifted him bodily off the floor and slammed him against one of the intact cages.
I have a Voice. It affects people when I use it just right.
I screamed in his face, "Maybe there IS something left. You won't fucking know unless you try, now MOVE. I know you can see him, and I know this isn't how you want me to die."
He stared, he didn't get it.
"Ellen, what...?"
I screamed in his face, "I will fucking die here with you, do you want me to be a corpse?"
For better or for worse, I said that. My old rival is the only thing I have left from my past. It's one last thing, and I just don't want to lose it yet.
He started moving. I could feel it after us, and the stories are true, you know? I don't think you can outrun it if it doesn't want you to. Except that I confused it. After all, I'm not afraid of the unknown. I've lived and trained to be as ready as possible for anything. It makes sense that I can't see it, I'm not it's food.
Nick though? Nick was plagued with fears and doubts about his lost love and a world that might just be in his imagination for the last few years. He's like a Slendy-buffet, if you believe in the whole "Fears can only target people who are susceptible to them thing."
Of course, The thing could probably tear me in half for being between him and it, and I know it's done that to people unrelated to all of this on several occasions. I've determined that the reason I pulled him along was that I was crazy. We'll leave it at that.
Down the stairs we went. I'm busy dropping wards and traps and the thing's plowing through they like they're paper. Well, they WERE paper, but spirits aren't supposed to be able to treat wards like that.
We hit the bottom of the stairs, and the doors were wide open...except for the massive brick wall.
That bastard. Fucking Barry. He'd bricked off our damn exit. We saw him wave to us, and put in the last brick at the height of his mask. So the THING is at the top of the stairs, and Nick is running like a madman, and I'm wondering "What the fuck is he thinking?!"
So then we jump into the brick wall, and I realized EXACTLY what he was thinking. He was thinking: "If Barry's setting the last brick in now, the cement can't possibly be dry yet."
We crashed through a pile of bricks and cement, and he drew his little bag from his side. I drew a knife from in my coat. We were ready for a fight.
I don't know if he's mentioned his little bag. It's black, and covered in old runes. I asked him what was in it once.
His exact response was: "There are things in this world man was not meant to know. Some of them are in this bag."
I knew it was behind us. And he turned around as he stood with that bag and...
Boom. I was blinded. Nick was thirty feet behind me in the street, and there was no sign the bricks or cement had ever been anywhere near the building. Nick slowly picked himself up. His knuckles were bleeding. Whenever I encounter this THING, I always find myself feeling inadequate. I can't see it, I don't know what magic works on it, and the magic that does is usually what I don't use. I need to find something that WORKS in this scenario.
I didn't feel it around us though. That was a start. Nick looked like he'd been put through the ringer though.
"Nick, are you okay?"
He said, "Nope! It's all real! All of it. I didn't save the day, I made it possible for Mastermind to take over the goddamn world. I'm the goddamn reason the world's going to hell in a handbasket-"
I cut in, "You AREN'T. You couldn't have-"
"-I COULD have just violently killed things and kept this from ever happening. But I didn't. And now here we are. TELL me that this could have been averted by me being a goody-two-shoes, I dare you."
"Honestly Nick, I would have killed all the sons of bitches I fought when this started. But that's me. You don't WANT to be me."
"Maybe I do, Ellen. Maybe that's exactly what I need to be. Maybe it's time to stop scaling up as the problem does, stop acting like a wonderful person, and start KILLING THE FUCK OUT OF EVERYTHING!"
That's when I punched him in the face. Nick rolled with it, and came back up in a defensive stance. He looked shocked.
I said, "And does killing the fuck out of everything actually FIX the fucking problem?"
Nick looked away. He rubbed the side of his face where I decked him.
"No. No it doesn't."
I said, "Good. Now lets get out of here before IT shows up again."
How did I become the voice of reason? In conclusion, I hate you all, and the faceless enemy you've made. He is a many-tentacled piece of invisible shit, and he's making our lives MUCH more complicated. Mastermind is a big enough problem as it is without THIS shit going on.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Who is Mastermind? Part two- The Fourth Side
Being in Philadelphia should be more fun.
I won't tell you why we're here. It's all part of our secret plan to take care of business. Nick is currently traumatized, and you bloggers aren't helping matters.
So why did Nick disappear? Why all the Stealth? Why is he being so quiet, and doing his best to not tell you anything at all about "Mastermind", and what his continued existence means?
Pay attention:
It began when we reached this apartment. I was in Philadelphia for some time when I was younger. You all know this already. Now, even after I left my home and escaped from my fellow spiritually demonic brethren, I still stayed in Philadelphia for a while and kept an eye on things.
Nick desperately wants to tell the world everything, but like anyone who's been traumatized, his emotions are a bottled up mess that he just won't let loose. Angry, bitter, confused, he's going through all the stages of his loss all over again.
There are stories. The historians will pick apart what happened in Philadelphia for years to come, but there is a reason why they fear Nick Dwyer: the lengths that he will go to protect someone he cares about would make the devil crap himself.
I can't say I liked "Maiden" very much. She and Nick are worried about telling you a lovely story for posterity, but how about I cut to the chase?
There were five rogues. Rogue Wizard (The Presence's Father, Our Original Villain), Rogue Nemesis (Mind fucker, considered Nick a rival), Rogue General, Rogue Assassin, and Rogue Duelist. Those weren't what I called them, but they're the labels Nick used.
Rogue Assassin and Rogue Duelist don't matter to us. Time Lord ended up dealing with them around New York. They're another story's problem.
So at this point, you know of three sides in this war. The Rogues, who wanted to take control of the Upstairs, the Upstairs normal army, which was trying to deal with them and my people, and of course the Downstairs and demon-kind. Under normal circumstances, this would be considered extraordinary. Nothing like this has happened in hundreds of years.
There was a fourth side though. Nobody saw this coming. I didn't.
There were a lot of people like Nick and Time Lord in the world at one point, game pieces on the board, but what you might not realize is that there were a lot of game pieces on the board that were meant to "wake up" and support the Rogues. Nick was one of them, but he was made to forget that fact. There were pieces for my side, and for the Upstairs, and that was supposed to be the game. Then some other people put pieces on the board. And a whole bunch of pieces for all three sides decided to take a fourth option.
Nick believes that people are basically good. He believes that if Humanity understood the world around them, and knew the stakes and that they were being used as pawns by otherworldly forces, they could rise up and gain some kind of cosmic harmony. Maiden talked about that a little while ago.
That's exactly what humanity did. When they did, the first decision they made was to take care of the game pieces in play that they couldn't control. The Rogues were a threat to Humanity, the Higher Planes were a threat to Humanity, and the Lower Planes were a threat to Humanity. It was basic math really: subtract enough problems, and the world is your oyster.
When a young girl suplexes a wannabe combination murderer and rapist into the ground, cracking the concrete and breaking his skull, people take notice. "The Presence" had been on a hit list for a while. After all, Mastermind was one of Rogue Wizard's friends. They knew his daughter had some power to spare, and now they knew that she was one of those very rare people who could manifest it and affect the physical world. At least, that's what they THOUGHT happened. That made her a risk they couldn't afford to let run around.
So Nick, The Presence, and Time Lord began to deal with the next major threat: a group of "Celestials" as Time Lord called them hellbent on taking something in Philadelphia for their use.
I'll let Nick handle that particular white lie, but I want you to imagine dealing with that particular mess, and then waking up one morning to discover that the person you are connected to across space and time by an irrevocable bond of love is also waking up... handcuffed to a radiator in an abandoned apartment in Philadelphia.
Humanity rose up, and they faced all the monsters in the world, even if they were the kind, gentle, human loving and protecting monsters.
I hate you all. Humanity is a bunch of shortsighted, ignorant, hateful beasts on two legs that think they know honor. They name an entire trait after themselves, call it "humanity", and then proceed to ignore it. You're all bastards, and even now, Nick Dwyer will defend you.
These bastards let all three sides kill each other, and when nobody had anything left to give, they attacked with all the cunning and political bastardy they could put together on short notice.
You want to know why you've got the Slendershit breathing down your neck? Because humans like you destroyed all the great armies that kept the Fears and other great monsters in check. There are things popping up all across the world that used to play nice and clean, because they didn't want an angry demon or righteous angel to drop their asses for causing trouble on their turf.
Humanity's greatest heroes fought and earned their independence from the natural order. And now the world's coming closer and closer to destruction, and there's nothing left to hold it together, now is there?
But whatever, I'm not a historian. I'm a detective. And I detect the end of the fucking world. The barrier's collapsing, people are getting eaten, and an entire generation of shamans and mystics died trying to save you, or became the monsters that destroyed the fighting forces of heaven and hell. There are a couple independents, like that bunch that Nick keeps in contact with over the internet...but they're a bunch of amateurs.
Face it humanity. You fucked up. Nick and Maiden are probably going to spend weeks telling the whole story, but you know what? It's your imperfect, mortal choices that caused every bit of pain you're feeling right now.
Who is Mastermind? He's the hero that took control of the world for humanity, and doomed you all to being the victims of the Fears and the legendary monsters held back for centuries. Welcome to Earth, when the barrier breaks, it'll make hell look like a picnic.
I won't tell you why we're here. It's all part of our secret plan to take care of business. Nick is currently traumatized, and you bloggers aren't helping matters.
So why did Nick disappear? Why all the Stealth? Why is he being so quiet, and doing his best to not tell you anything at all about "Mastermind", and what his continued existence means?
Pay attention:
It began when we reached this apartment. I was in Philadelphia for some time when I was younger. You all know this already. Now, even after I left my home and escaped from my fellow spiritually demonic brethren, I still stayed in Philadelphia for a while and kept an eye on things.
Nick desperately wants to tell the world everything, but like anyone who's been traumatized, his emotions are a bottled up mess that he just won't let loose. Angry, bitter, confused, he's going through all the stages of his loss all over again.
There are stories. The historians will pick apart what happened in Philadelphia for years to come, but there is a reason why they fear Nick Dwyer: the lengths that he will go to protect someone he cares about would make the devil crap himself.
I can't say I liked "Maiden" very much. She and Nick are worried about telling you a lovely story for posterity, but how about I cut to the chase?
There were five rogues. Rogue Wizard (The Presence's Father, Our Original Villain), Rogue Nemesis (Mind fucker, considered Nick a rival), Rogue General, Rogue Assassin, and Rogue Duelist. Those weren't what I called them, but they're the labels Nick used.
Rogue Assassin and Rogue Duelist don't matter to us. Time Lord ended up dealing with them around New York. They're another story's problem.
So at this point, you know of three sides in this war. The Rogues, who wanted to take control of the Upstairs, the Upstairs normal army, which was trying to deal with them and my people, and of course the Downstairs and demon-kind. Under normal circumstances, this would be considered extraordinary. Nothing like this has happened in hundreds of years.
There was a fourth side though. Nobody saw this coming. I didn't.
There were a lot of people like Nick and Time Lord in the world at one point, game pieces on the board, but what you might not realize is that there were a lot of game pieces on the board that were meant to "wake up" and support the Rogues. Nick was one of them, but he was made to forget that fact. There were pieces for my side, and for the Upstairs, and that was supposed to be the game. Then some other people put pieces on the board. And a whole bunch of pieces for all three sides decided to take a fourth option.
Nick believes that people are basically good. He believes that if Humanity understood the world around them, and knew the stakes and that they were being used as pawns by otherworldly forces, they could rise up and gain some kind of cosmic harmony. Maiden talked about that a little while ago.
That's exactly what humanity did. When they did, the first decision they made was to take care of the game pieces in play that they couldn't control. The Rogues were a threat to Humanity, the Higher Planes were a threat to Humanity, and the Lower Planes were a threat to Humanity. It was basic math really: subtract enough problems, and the world is your oyster.
When a young girl suplexes a wannabe combination murderer and rapist into the ground, cracking the concrete and breaking his skull, people take notice. "The Presence" had been on a hit list for a while. After all, Mastermind was one of Rogue Wizard's friends. They knew his daughter had some power to spare, and now they knew that she was one of those very rare people who could manifest it and affect the physical world. At least, that's what they THOUGHT happened. That made her a risk they couldn't afford to let run around.
So Nick, The Presence, and Time Lord began to deal with the next major threat: a group of "Celestials" as Time Lord called them hellbent on taking something in Philadelphia for their use.
I'll let Nick handle that particular white lie, but I want you to imagine dealing with that particular mess, and then waking up one morning to discover that the person you are connected to across space and time by an irrevocable bond of love is also waking up... handcuffed to a radiator in an abandoned apartment in Philadelphia.
Humanity rose up, and they faced all the monsters in the world, even if they were the kind, gentle, human loving and protecting monsters.
I hate you all. Humanity is a bunch of shortsighted, ignorant, hateful beasts on two legs that think they know honor. They name an entire trait after themselves, call it "humanity", and then proceed to ignore it. You're all bastards, and even now, Nick Dwyer will defend you.
These bastards let all three sides kill each other, and when nobody had anything left to give, they attacked with all the cunning and political bastardy they could put together on short notice.
You want to know why you've got the Slendershit breathing down your neck? Because humans like you destroyed all the great armies that kept the Fears and other great monsters in check. There are things popping up all across the world that used to play nice and clean, because they didn't want an angry demon or righteous angel to drop their asses for causing trouble on their turf.
Humanity's greatest heroes fought and earned their independence from the natural order. And now the world's coming closer and closer to destruction, and there's nothing left to hold it together, now is there?
But whatever, I'm not a historian. I'm a detective. And I detect the end of the fucking world. The barrier's collapsing, people are getting eaten, and an entire generation of shamans and mystics died trying to save you, or became the monsters that destroyed the fighting forces of heaven and hell. There are a couple independents, like that bunch that Nick keeps in contact with over the internet...but they're a bunch of amateurs.
Face it humanity. You fucked up. Nick and Maiden are probably going to spend weeks telling the whole story, but you know what? It's your imperfect, mortal choices that caused every bit of pain you're feeling right now.
Who is Mastermind? He's the hero that took control of the world for humanity, and doomed you all to being the victims of the Fears and the legendary monsters held back for centuries. Welcome to Earth, when the barrier breaks, it'll make hell look like a picnic.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Tuesday and Wednesday
I was reading through some of the financial documents for "Club Suspect", as Nick referred to it, the other day. I was sitting in my car, flipping through them as I took some quick notes. Yes, THAT Club Suspect. Figuring out exactly which club it was had been something of a headache, but at the end of the day I made a guess based on the simple question: "Which one looks like it'd gotten a massive amount of mystical restructuring as of late."
What I found was a classic case of Shell Companies used for a Shell Game. You've seen them before, that old game where you hide the little ball under one of three cups, and then start spinning them around. At the end, you guess which one it's under. Except that if the guy running the Shell Game knows what he's doing, it won't be under any of them.
Getting the full documentation had cost a lot of money and time, and someone wasn't all that happy about it. So as I was walking with these documents, I had the unfortunate realization that yes, I was being followed. That or the guy in the brown coat talking to someone on the phone had needed to walk in a full circle around the block with me bringing us back to our point of origin. Oh deary me, a young, frail lady like myself being pursued on the streets of Buffalo. How terrifying.
I sidestepped into an alleyway, and pressed my back against the wall. And I waited. He was bigger than me by about a foot, and thick. Not fat thick, mind you. Muscle. It was obvious he was a tough guy, used to tough fights, brawling, shooting, you name it. So imagine his surprise when the knife-edge of my hand impacted against the side of his throat. That wasn't intended to hurt him mind you, just to stun him. Completely off balance, his breathing off by a mile, he didn't resist as I gently tugged him in my direction and pulled him across my body for a hip-throw. The big man collapsed on the ground in front of me, his ass facing me as I maintained control of his arm, and I stomped on that unfortunate ass, finishing his collapse to the ground.
Then I tweaked his arm. Just a little, just enough to let him know that he had no way of unlocking it from the hold, and that I could break it any time I wanted to.
This was old-school Jiu-jitsu my dear readers. You don't see very much of it anymore. But I learned from the best. We were quiet for a moment, he and I.
Then I asked, "Who do you work for?"
He said, grunting as I tweaked his arm a bit more to let him know of my intense displeasure:
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."
I said, "So you're not going to tell me anything?"
He grunted in affirmation.
I stepped around his arm, careful not to break it by accident, and stomped on his head. He went limp. I stomped again with the same amount of force, just to be safe. Then I checked his pulse. He was fine. I checked his wallet. No identification at all, just a money clip flushed with fresh twenties. I took them, shoved them in my purse, and continued on my way. I continued down the dark, scary alleyway, confident that I was the meanest thing in there.
I exited out the other end of the alleyway, only to run into two other people that did not like me. And one of them had a gun pointed at me. I held up my hands, and the other one tasered me.
You know. Getting tasered is always something of a wakeup call. The lesson here: don't get cocky.
I spent the rest of Tuesday with a black bag over my head. I was thrown into a van, and bounced around like a sack of potatoes in the back of the damn thing. After that, standard procedure was followed. I was zip-tied to a bunch of piping in some kind of industrial area. I didn't know where I was, I couldn't see anything, the only reason I knew it was piping was because I could feel the cold metal on my wrists. I could feel it rising to the small of my back, and I knew that I had plastic zip-ties around my arms and legs on this pipe.
Finally, the bag on my head was pulled off.
I could see the golden rays of sunset out a door behind the person in front of me. That was a good detail to remember. Then my eyes met the old man in front of me. Here's a fact: you never want to go eye to eye with some practitioners. Seeing what lies behind their eyes is a terrifying thing. I saw conviction. I saw passion. I saw the aching void and the stars within. I felt it choking me, and I saw the thing that he desired most: to command and control each and every one of those burning stars that dared to shine in his night. I couldn't breathe.
I gasped for air and he pressed my head back against the piping, bringing his face closer.
And then I remembered who I was.
He recoiled as my eyes narrowed, and he saw that little smile that I'd had just before I'd clip an angel's wings. The one I'd have whenever I had a chance to go to war with the thing that Nick Dwyer used to be. My eyes bored into his, and I could feel my sword somewhere, in my heart, slicing into the depths of that void.
I sometimes dream of cutting infinity. The concept is a paradox. A wonderful, beautiful, awful paradox. He stumbled backwards, surprised.
And then I saw behind him. There was darkness in the doorway. I must have had my eyes locked with him for at least twenty minutes. He pulled out a tape recorder, and started speaking to it. He told the tape recorder my life story, from birth in this world, to living in an Apocalyptic Cult dedicated to the destruction of the reality that you know, to the moment that our eyes met.
And I knew his name as he told my story to the tape: This was Mastermind.
Mastermind said, "Nicely done. Some people never fight their way out of my eyes. Sad too. You know, I could use someone with your strength in the world I will create. We need people like you. Would you like to discuss salary arrangements, or are you set on...well, who are you working with?"
I could breathe again, and I took the chance to do so. I kept my eyes pointed on his neck. I didn't want to meet that gaze twice. How did he not know who I was working for? Oh right, Perception Filters. Gods above and below, it's getting hard to keep track of who can see what at this point. Wait a minute though. Didn't he just see my entire history?
He cut me off before I could say anything: "Oh right! You're working with my little blue friend, Mr. Dwyer! Fantastic to know... you're quite good at the whole detective thing, aren't you? You probably understand my operation quite well at this point. I'm wondering what you think you'll accomplish with this knowledge, however."
I managed to say, "I don't know. I just don't know. I was just supposed to gather it."
He nodded, like a kindly uncle. He smiled, and said, "I'm very sorry to have you all tied up like this, but for the moment I think I'd like to have you where I can see you. I'm going to give the old recruitment drive another shot when I get back though! Don't you worry about that. I think I have a use for you...but for now, try to relax. My men are going to keep an eye on you. Good job whipping Stephens, incidentally. That boy is far too confident for his own good, I almost wish you'd have broken his arm..."
He trailed off, and walked toward the door. Then he stopped and held up a single finger.
He said, "Oh! Before I forget. There are at least six men with silenced submachine guns upstairs, and only one direction you can come out of this hole from. If you DID somehow got loose from your restraints, you'd find yourself being gunned down rather quickly. But if you relax and try to remain calm, I might upgrade you to a proper cell with a warm bed!"
He seemed happy with himself, and he started up the stairs.
-/|\-
Wednesday started, and I have to tell you, breaking the zip ties against the piping wasn't all that difficult. I was in some kind of substation for one utility or another, but the problem was exactly what Mastermind had said it would be: There were at least six men with guns looking in the direction of the only exit from the station the moment I tried to peek out the door.
One of them shouted at me, "Get back down there, damn it. Which shithead fucked up the ties?"
I didn't tell him that no one fucked up with the restraints and that I have a talent with that sort of thing. What I did was walk back down stairs and not get shot.
They tossed me a bagged lunch at some point during the day. It was quite nice of them. Tasty Drugged PB&J! I woke up later in the evening zip-tied to the piping again. There were twice as many zip ties. I was okay with this. I broke them, although it took much longer. This time, as I walked up the stairs to check on the guards, something unexpected happened.
The thick door to the substation opened, and one of the guards ran inside. He didn't even look at me. He just slammed the door shut and started trying to lock it. He looked horrified I took the opportunity to slam his face against the door twice and toss him down the stairs. Then I looked out the door. There was the figure of someone I drugged and tossed into a coffin not too long ago, holding a suitcase.
Nick waved, and said, "Sorry I'm late, I had to cause a bastard of a distraction."
I glanced at the briefcase. Then at his other hand, which was bleeding.
I asked, "Where'd the guards go?"
Nick said, "Four went to look into the reactivation of my cell phone in a strange house. One went to the bathroom where he was rudely ambushed. The last one was yours."
I said, "He looked terrified. What was he running from?"
Nick said, "You don't want to know."
I decided he was right.
It was strange being around him. Keep in mind, before this we'd only known each other as astral projections. In our minds, we were moving differently, reacting to the person we used to know. Except that we aren't those people anymore. Fate is a mysterious thing.
He drove me to where they were keeping my car. I'll write about that more tomorrow. It's been a very strange couple of days.
What I found was a classic case of Shell Companies used for a Shell Game. You've seen them before, that old game where you hide the little ball under one of three cups, and then start spinning them around. At the end, you guess which one it's under. Except that if the guy running the Shell Game knows what he's doing, it won't be under any of them.
Getting the full documentation had cost a lot of money and time, and someone wasn't all that happy about it. So as I was walking with these documents, I had the unfortunate realization that yes, I was being followed. That or the guy in the brown coat talking to someone on the phone had needed to walk in a full circle around the block with me bringing us back to our point of origin. Oh deary me, a young, frail lady like myself being pursued on the streets of Buffalo. How terrifying.
I sidestepped into an alleyway, and pressed my back against the wall. And I waited. He was bigger than me by about a foot, and thick. Not fat thick, mind you. Muscle. It was obvious he was a tough guy, used to tough fights, brawling, shooting, you name it. So imagine his surprise when the knife-edge of my hand impacted against the side of his throat. That wasn't intended to hurt him mind you, just to stun him. Completely off balance, his breathing off by a mile, he didn't resist as I gently tugged him in my direction and pulled him across my body for a hip-throw. The big man collapsed on the ground in front of me, his ass facing me as I maintained control of his arm, and I stomped on that unfortunate ass, finishing his collapse to the ground.
Then I tweaked his arm. Just a little, just enough to let him know that he had no way of unlocking it from the hold, and that I could break it any time I wanted to.
This was old-school Jiu-jitsu my dear readers. You don't see very much of it anymore. But I learned from the best. We were quiet for a moment, he and I.
Then I asked, "Who do you work for?"
He said, grunting as I tweaked his arm a bit more to let him know of my intense displeasure:
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."
I said, "So you're not going to tell me anything?"
He grunted in affirmation.
I stepped around his arm, careful not to break it by accident, and stomped on his head. He went limp. I stomped again with the same amount of force, just to be safe. Then I checked his pulse. He was fine. I checked his wallet. No identification at all, just a money clip flushed with fresh twenties. I took them, shoved them in my purse, and continued on my way. I continued down the dark, scary alleyway, confident that I was the meanest thing in there.
I exited out the other end of the alleyway, only to run into two other people that did not like me. And one of them had a gun pointed at me. I held up my hands, and the other one tasered me.
You know. Getting tasered is always something of a wakeup call. The lesson here: don't get cocky.
I spent the rest of Tuesday with a black bag over my head. I was thrown into a van, and bounced around like a sack of potatoes in the back of the damn thing. After that, standard procedure was followed. I was zip-tied to a bunch of piping in some kind of industrial area. I didn't know where I was, I couldn't see anything, the only reason I knew it was piping was because I could feel the cold metal on my wrists. I could feel it rising to the small of my back, and I knew that I had plastic zip-ties around my arms and legs on this pipe.
Finally, the bag on my head was pulled off.
I could see the golden rays of sunset out a door behind the person in front of me. That was a good detail to remember. Then my eyes met the old man in front of me. Here's a fact: you never want to go eye to eye with some practitioners. Seeing what lies behind their eyes is a terrifying thing. I saw conviction. I saw passion. I saw the aching void and the stars within. I felt it choking me, and I saw the thing that he desired most: to command and control each and every one of those burning stars that dared to shine in his night. I couldn't breathe.
I gasped for air and he pressed my head back against the piping, bringing his face closer.
And then I remembered who I was.
He recoiled as my eyes narrowed, and he saw that little smile that I'd had just before I'd clip an angel's wings. The one I'd have whenever I had a chance to go to war with the thing that Nick Dwyer used to be. My eyes bored into his, and I could feel my sword somewhere, in my heart, slicing into the depths of that void.
I sometimes dream of cutting infinity. The concept is a paradox. A wonderful, beautiful, awful paradox. He stumbled backwards, surprised.
And then I saw behind him. There was darkness in the doorway. I must have had my eyes locked with him for at least twenty minutes. He pulled out a tape recorder, and started speaking to it. He told the tape recorder my life story, from birth in this world, to living in an Apocalyptic Cult dedicated to the destruction of the reality that you know, to the moment that our eyes met.
And I knew his name as he told my story to the tape: This was Mastermind.
Mastermind said, "Nicely done. Some people never fight their way out of my eyes. Sad too. You know, I could use someone with your strength in the world I will create. We need people like you. Would you like to discuss salary arrangements, or are you set on...well, who are you working with?"
I could breathe again, and I took the chance to do so. I kept my eyes pointed on his neck. I didn't want to meet that gaze twice. How did he not know who I was working for? Oh right, Perception Filters. Gods above and below, it's getting hard to keep track of who can see what at this point. Wait a minute though. Didn't he just see my entire history?
He cut me off before I could say anything: "Oh right! You're working with my little blue friend, Mr. Dwyer! Fantastic to know... you're quite good at the whole detective thing, aren't you? You probably understand my operation quite well at this point. I'm wondering what you think you'll accomplish with this knowledge, however."
I managed to say, "I don't know. I just don't know. I was just supposed to gather it."
He nodded, like a kindly uncle. He smiled, and said, "I'm very sorry to have you all tied up like this, but for the moment I think I'd like to have you where I can see you. I'm going to give the old recruitment drive another shot when I get back though! Don't you worry about that. I think I have a use for you...but for now, try to relax. My men are going to keep an eye on you. Good job whipping Stephens, incidentally. That boy is far too confident for his own good, I almost wish you'd have broken his arm..."
He trailed off, and walked toward the door. Then he stopped and held up a single finger.
He said, "Oh! Before I forget. There are at least six men with silenced submachine guns upstairs, and only one direction you can come out of this hole from. If you DID somehow got loose from your restraints, you'd find yourself being gunned down rather quickly. But if you relax and try to remain calm, I might upgrade you to a proper cell with a warm bed!"
He seemed happy with himself, and he started up the stairs.
-/|\-
Wednesday started, and I have to tell you, breaking the zip ties against the piping wasn't all that difficult. I was in some kind of substation for one utility or another, but the problem was exactly what Mastermind had said it would be: There were at least six men with guns looking in the direction of the only exit from the station the moment I tried to peek out the door.
One of them shouted at me, "Get back down there, damn it. Which shithead fucked up the ties?"
I didn't tell him that no one fucked up with the restraints and that I have a talent with that sort of thing. What I did was walk back down stairs and not get shot.
They tossed me a bagged lunch at some point during the day. It was quite nice of them. Tasty Drugged PB&J! I woke up later in the evening zip-tied to the piping again. There were twice as many zip ties. I was okay with this. I broke them, although it took much longer. This time, as I walked up the stairs to check on the guards, something unexpected happened.
The thick door to the substation opened, and one of the guards ran inside. He didn't even look at me. He just slammed the door shut and started trying to lock it. He looked horrified I took the opportunity to slam his face against the door twice and toss him down the stairs. Then I looked out the door. There was the figure of someone I drugged and tossed into a coffin not too long ago, holding a suitcase.
Nick waved, and said, "Sorry I'm late, I had to cause a bastard of a distraction."
I glanced at the briefcase. Then at his other hand, which was bleeding.
I asked, "Where'd the guards go?"
Nick said, "Four went to look into the reactivation of my cell phone in a strange house. One went to the bathroom where he was rudely ambushed. The last one was yours."
I said, "He looked terrified. What was he running from?"
Nick said, "You don't want to know."
I decided he was right.
It was strange being around him. Keep in mind, before this we'd only known each other as astral projections. In our minds, we were moving differently, reacting to the person we used to know. Except that we aren't those people anymore. Fate is a mysterious thing.
He drove me to where they were keeping my car. I'll write about that more tomorrow. It's been a very strange couple of days.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
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.)
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.)
Thursday, August 25, 2011
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.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
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?
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)