Friday, July 27, 2012


What drives a man to fight, even when there is no hope of victory?

What drives a man to follow a path that he knows will lead to his destruction?

Why, when faced with the inevitable truth of his own demise, does he still continue to press on?

Hello. It's me again. Judas. Today, we are going to talk about humanity.

Now, there are many degrees of humanity, even among my own kind. Surely you've noticed? The "Slender Man", he whom most of you are familiar with, is inhuman. And yet, there is just enough similarities that something approaching a comprehension can be made between it... and the mad.

Then you have beings like the "Archangel". It is utterly inhuman. Utterly beyond even the low threshold of humanity supplied by the "Slender Man". And yet, the "Archangel" has a mind that runs parallel to humanity, and so humans can interact with it fairly well, even if any true understanding is impossible, there are just enough coincidental similarities that mutually beneficial, symbiotic relationships can be forged with it.

Next, we will discuss the "Intrusion". It is not, in any way, shape, or form, human. It is not slightly human. It is not almost human. It is not even human-like. It is alien. Understanding of any kind cannot be forged between humans and the "Intrusion", and so its servants, the Drones, must relinquish their humanity. They do not give into madness, but remain fundamentally human like the "Slender Man"'s proxies. Nor do they attach some imaginary, divine concept to their lord like the "Archangel"'s cultists. No, the Drones, over time, lose the very essence of humanity. Their bodies become slowly more and more twisted, and as their physiology resembles humans less and less, so too do their minds. 

Sure, early stage Drones, such as the so-called Mad Ricky, maintain their humanity to an extent. And yes, it takes years of change for them to finally lose that human quality. But in the end, Drones become as the bees and the ants. They are individuals who none the less work together as a hive, with a singular purpose. Each has a task to fulfill, and nothing matters but the preservation of the colony. As the years pass, and they become more and more attached to the "Intrusion", the two intertwine, and the Drones become truly alien.

Finally, we have me. I am a fragment of the "Dying Man". Once, long ago, we were one being. It has been altogether too long since there was only one "Dying Man", instead of thousands of different pieces. One may wonder how such a shattering is possible.

I will tell you. As you have no doubt gleaned from my kind's use of speech and text, we are, out of all the beings you label as "Fears" or "Fossils" or "Gods" or what-have-you, the most human. It was our mind that humanity was most able to comprehend.

That was our weakness. That was our vulnerability. If we are ever to become one again, then we must shed those qualities. We must become as the "Intrusion". We must become alien, and only then may we remain strong. Only then may we remain One.

Matthias is a human. He is, simultaneously, weak and strong. He is weak because his mind is fragile. It can be shattered so easily. To cope with the world, he needs to create laws. He needs to look at the chaos of reality and find order in it. Long ago, this was the purpose of religion. Nowadays, religion still serves this purpose, but science is gaining way. As humans find evidence to support their illusion of a rational world, many are caught in the transition. Matthias believes in order and reason, and yet he also clings to his faith. This is the weakness of humanity. And this is also its strength. For these delusions are precisely what allow humans to keep fighting, even in the face of overwhelming adversity. Even when hope simply does not exist.

And make no mistake. No matter what you believe-- If you put your face in some deity, or believe only in cold, hard facts-- you are merely following an illusion. There is no grand set of rules and laws that the universe must follow. There is no such thing as order. There is only chaos.

The universe is chaos.

The universe is what we will it.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Jack of All

My right arm is in a sling. My shoulder is bound. That drone with the claw managed to break it.

Did you know that it takes 12 weeks for a broken shoulder to heal? I don't have that time. I have two months left before whatever it is that Ophilim and Mad Ricky are planning comes to pass, and I can't even move my dominant arm.

Can't afford the hospital. Instead, I ended up bedridden in a cheap-ass motel. As if that wasn't enough, a couple days ago, I started noticing that the skin around my shoulder was turning purple. And green. And there was a lot of yellow pus leaking out.

Judas, doing what the Dying Man does best-- chemically wrecking my body, twisting it, malforming it.

But there are silver linings (aren't there always).

Firstly, my shoulder doesn't hurt. I think it may have something to do with the whole deformity thing. Maybe it's Judas' idea of helping?

Secondly, I finally met him.

In the end, Jack of All found me. I just woke up one morning, and there he was, standing at the foot of the bed, watching me.

He appeared as a man getting on in years, dressed in an old, tattered suit, with a long black coat. A strap hung over his shoulder, with a flask attached to it, hanging against his side.

When he saw I was awake, he waved at me. His hand was red. Literally. His skin was red, and his finger nails were overgrown, yellow, crusty.

"I hear you were looking for me."

I was quiet for a moment. "Yeah."


I would have shrugged if I could move my shoulder. "I gotta a Dying Man fragment that says I should, and an Apostle and Drone that are planning something big. Seemed like a good idea."

He smiled and took a drink of whatever was in his flask. "I see. Tell me, how much do you know about me?"

"You grant wishes. You make deals. And the people you do so with always regret it."

His smile got even wider. "If they live."

Jack walked over to the motel room's chair and at down on it. "I open up avenues of opportunity for people," he said. "Like say, if someone were to claim that he would sell his soul to make it in business, I'd offer him the chance. And then he would take it. He'd become so successful, so powerful, that an entire town would belong to his company. But every time an emissary of a god, no, a devil, came by, he'd have no choice but to accomadate him."

I stared at him as my mind slowly processed the information. "You mean... RossCorp?" I asked. "It's success... it depends on him making Them happy?" I didn't need to specify who I meant by "Them". We both understood. Call Them what you want. Gods, demons, Fears, PREs, Fossils, whatever. It's all the same in the end.

Jack just grinned at me in response. "You know, that shoulder of yours looks pretty bad."

I almost agreed with him, but then I realized the trap. "I don't need your help with it," I said, choosing my wording carefully.

His grin widened. And then... he was simply gone. No puff of smoke. No flash. Just... gone. Like he was never there at all.

Friday, July 13, 2012


Yesterday, I learned what a Drone is.

Not the president's personal kill-machines. I'm not talking about those kinds of drones. I mean like bees. Well... not really. I mean those who, for reasons I cannot quite fathom, have decided to throw their lot in with the Intrusion. I'm talking about the kind of thing that Mad Ricky is.

I was looking for this Jack character. I'm still looking for that Jack character. But my search took me into a tunnel. It was a passage through the mountains, for cars, but the road was old and disused. I don't think anyone used it. I from asking around the nearby town that there was a sort of homeless community in the tunnels, and that a well dressed old man with glove on one hand had been sighted there a number of times over the past month.

Sounded like our guy. So, naturally, I want to investigate.

It was... really, it was what you'd expect. It was a long, dark, wet, muddy tunnel. Trash and junk and broken things were scattered all about the place. As I walked, I didn't see any signs of actual people though... well, until I noticed the light in the distance. Orange glow. Flickering. It was a fire.

As I approached, I found it was one of those trash can fires. A woman was standing near it. She was dressed in rags and dirt, and her hair was clumped together and so full of filth I couldn't even tell what color it was. She had her hands stretched out toward the fire, warming.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

She gasped and jumped back, and looked at me with big, frightened eyes.

"I'm sorry," I told her. "I'm just looking for someone you see. His name's Jack. He usually has a glove over his right hand. Carries a flask of alcohol. Have you seen him?"

She didn't say anything. She just shook her head.

"Well, thank you anyway," I said. I began walking past her.

As enticing as the thought of possessing some mud for a few years is, you really should turn around, Judas' voice suddenly rang out in my head.

I turned around, back toward the woman. She was standing right behind me. I hadn't even heard her move. Her mouth opened, and these two... things came out. They were vaguely golden and fleshy... their shape, like limbs. They came from her mouth and moved apart from one another, stretching out her cheeks and lips. It took me a moment before I realized what they were.

Mandibles. Like on a bug.

The woman hissed and rushed at me. I threw her aside and began to run back to the entrance.

It was at that point that I heard a buzzing noise above me. I looked up. There were three more people clinging to the ceiling. One wasn't wearing a shirt, and a pair of translucent wings had grown from his back. They were vibrating, quickly. Buzzing.

I rolled away just as they jumped from the ceiling.

The winged one fell closest to me, and some weird spear thing suddenly lunged out of his mouth at me. I jumped back, avoided its reach, and it receded back into his body. Another one, a woman, suddenly leaped from behind him. How could she jump so high? I didn't even get a chance to move before I felt something like a fucking boulder slam into my shoulder.

I fell down. Heard a crack. The woman was standing above me, holding her left arm out. It had... a claw. Like one a lobster or a scorpion or a crab or something. She reached down and tried to grab me with it.

I rolled away, and screamed as I felt pressure on my shoulder. OK. No more rolling then. I scrambled to my feet, trying to ignore the pain in my right shoulder.

I pulled out my gun and fired.

Five shots rang out in that tunnel. Two hit one of my assailants. The woman with the claw fell to the ground, blood and pus pouring from the wound in her throat. And then the winged man and the third ceiling drone-- a man with two extra arms-- rushed at me.

I fired again and again and again. Taking a step back with each pull of the trigger, screaming in pain and defiance and terror. I fired as the winged man fell. I fired as the woman with the mandibles rushed at me. I fired until I was empty, and the drones all lay dead in the tunnel.

I headed back to town. It was a hard journey on foot. My right arm could barely move without sending a jolt of pain through me. I eventually got back, hid my gun in my hotel and checked into the hospital. Told them I was hiking and a rock fell on me. I think they bought it. Not sure.

So those are what drones are. What they really are.

I hope, even if I realize it's a vain hope, that I never have to face things like that again.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

The Lost

First of all, I think I may have found Mad Ricky's old blog. Given his current state, I don't think I'm spoiling anything when I say that it doesn't have a happy ending. Basically, a bunch of terrible things happened, and at the peak of all these horrible things his roommate Jess got devoured by the Intrusion, and now he's crazy and thinks that she lives on through the bugs. Poor kid.

Secondly... I hate seeing homeless people.

The looks on their faces... they just... ugh. What's worse are the couples. The families. When you see a husband and wife, faces dirty, clothes ragged, just standing on the edge of the street, holding each other. That defeated look in their eyes. I can't stand it.

But worst of all is the knowledge that I can't help them. I'm currently funding my trip with my life savings. I can't spare a single cent. And even if I could... how much of a difference would it make? At least, that's the question I ask myself every time I refuse to give them a small donation. That's the justification I use to ease the guilt.

Look at me. I'm trying desperately to save lives. To stop madmen who worship monsters. And yet, I can't do something so simple as make a single person's life better. That's the grand irony of the universe, isn't it? The cruel joke God played when he imparted us with morality.

And yet I still keep going.

What else can I do?

Friday, July 6, 2012

How I Got Here

Now, clearly I haven't covered everything that's happened in the last month, but there's really only one more important event to explain.

You see, at the moment, I'm traveling. I have a very clear end goal in mind. Well, to be honest, it's more that Judas has a clear end goal and I have a kind of foggy one. Basically, we're going to see a guy named Jack.

Remember what I said about two posts ago? That I was fired due to pressure from someone influential? And do remember what I said even further back than that? That this town is basically controlled by RossCorp?

Alexander Reed, RossCorp's founder and CEO. That's the name that came up during my investigations. And by "investigations", I mean tailing Ophilim. I knew that he had to have had something to do with my being fired, so I hunted him down and kept watch. He's a hard man to keep track of. I lost him a few times. But I always found him again.

One night, about five days after I'd started stalking him, I got brave. I followed him into a warehouse. It was one of RossCorp's. And old, big warehouse. It was filled to the brim with those metal boxes, you know? The big metal boxes, like you see on freight trains? Connex or something? It was like a damn maze in there, though luckily that made it easier for me to stay out of sight.

I followed Ophilim through the warehouse. He was alone. No Timberwolf guards for once. He was dressed in the same outfit he was always dressed in-- gas mask and long black hooded coat.

In the center of the warehouse, Ophilim stopped walking. I hid behind one of the crates and listened. Footsteps. Someone walking closer.

"She's impatient," I heard a voice say. "My sweet Jess is hungry!"

"Reed won't be finished for another three months," a deeper voice replied. Ophilim, I believe. "And even then, there may still be delays."

"You promised her a feast!"

"And your... patron... will get a feast. But it must wait just a little while longer."

The guy Ophilim was speaking to giggled. I think it was around that time I concluded it was Mad Ricky.

Gee, what tipped you off?

I felt something tickling my arm, and absentmindedly brushed at it. Another tickled. I looked down. In the dim light, I made out a centipede crawling up my arm. I took my other hand and flicked it off of me. Can't stand those things.

The weird thing was, as soon as I threw it off, I felt something shift inside me. Like Judas was holding his breath.

"Will there be more fun things?" Mad Ricky was asking. "I liked the hospital. It was fun. And that nurse? Oh, she loved the nurse. Filled her right up!" I barely stopped myself from gasping. So Mad Ricky was the one at the hospital. But who was this "her" he kept mentioning?

"If Mr. Stanford, or anyone else, for that matter, continues to pester us, then you may indeed get to indulge yourself again."

"Oh? Can I? Please, please, please?"

"Yes, I just said--"

"Not you! Jess! She saw him. She felt him. He hurt her!" And then I heard him running. Toward me.



I scrambled to my feet and tried to run, but I was only able to take a few steps before I felt something heavy slam into my head. I fell face down on the concrete floor. The impact sent a wave of pain rippling through my body-- particularly my nose.

"You hurt her! You hurt my Jess!"

I rolled over just in time to avoid Mad Ricky stomping on me. His cast was out of his sling, and I guess that's what he used to hit me with. I jumped to my feet, moving backwards away from the maniac as I did.

It wasn't until I was standing that I saw his eyes.

They were so... wrong. Pupils. So many pupils. At least six in each eye. And each one was focused on me. How was that possible? How could he see?

He's a drone, Judas said in my head. He belongs to those fucking bugs. And you just had to go and hurt one.

Bugs? I dodged Ricky's cast as he swung at me again, and then comprehension dawned. It was one of them. Another like the Archangel or the Slender Man or the Dying Man-- The Intrusion.

"You are too persistent," Ophilim said. I hadn't even seen him follow Ricky. "Alexander had insisted that the matter could be closed without bloodshed. Against my better judgment, I allowed him to try his way. I won't make that mistake again. He answers to our gods. We don't answer to his. That was the deal."

And then Ophilim shot me.

Well, he only grazed my arm. I managed to dodge the shot and break into a run out of the warehouse. Mad Ricky followed me.

My turn! Judas suddenly said.

I felt myself spin around and hold my palm out to Ricky, still running backward even as I did. "Let me in," I said in a voice that wasn't mine.

Mad Ricky stopped dead in his tracks. Whatever his insanity, he clearly wasn't crazy enough to risk a Dying Man infestation.

I ran. I'd had the foresight to leave my car unlocked, so getting in it wasn't problem. As I drove away, I breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Fuck!" I said. Mostly to help relieve the tension. "Were they talking about... Alexander Reed? RossCorp?"

Likely, Judas said. And he serves their gods, due to a deal that was made. Interesting...

"So, what, he became a successful business man because he made a deal with the Archangel."

No. His contract seems to be with both the Angel and the Bugs. And besides, neither of them are in the business of cutting deals with people not their followers. Especially the Bugs. Someone else made the deal. And I think I know who. Tell me, Matthias, in all your research, you ever hear of a man called Jack?

"Um. No?"

Jack of the Lantern. Jack the Red Handed. Spring Heeled Jack. Jack in Irons. Jack of All.

"OK. Some of those names are familiar."

Well they're all the same person. And I think we should pay him a visit.

And that was that. I left town just a few hours later, to search for this Jack guy. Hopefully he'll be able to provide me with answers, since I'm not suicidal enough to risk RossCorp's security.

And Judas says we're closing in on him. I need to hurry. Whatever it was that Ophilim, Mad Ricky, and Reed are planning, there's only two months left.

Hopefully, that's enough time to stop it.

Monday, July 2, 2012


Today I met a man whose skin was covered in blisters and warts. His eyes were crusted over and useless. His entire body shook. His clothes were stained with his own blood and pus.

My footsteps brought me to him of their own volition. He was sitting in an alley, resting against the wall, his life nearly gone. I saw my hand reach out and clasp his, and then the man died.

I felt someone else then. Somebody aside from myself and Judas, laying within my body. I felt chaotic and sick, and I realized that Judas was struggling with this new being. And then the chaos subsided, and the third was gone. Judas and I were all that were left, and Judas had grown stronger.

Long ago, the Dying Man was one.

Soon, I think, Judas wishes to be one again.

Sunday, July 1, 2012


Caught in an explosion with a child dead. Nobody envied us. We were questioned. We were ordered to see the department shrink.

The first day when I was scheduled for an appointment, I called in sick. I just... I couldn't do it. What could I have told him? That I was possessed an ancient spirit? That the local gang worshipped the afterlife? That they did this because they knew about me?

I became a police officer because I wanted to protect people, and now, simply because I was near him, a kid was killed. It was sickening. It was a betrayal of everything I had silently believed about the world. You want to believe in justice. You want to believe in fairness.

You want to believe in good.

Growing up, I heard stories about crises of faith. Priests liked to tell those stories to me, as if it was something special and world-shattering that even men of God sometimes have doubts. I'd never actually had such a crisis before, but that changed after the bombing.

I wanted to know how such a thing could be allowed to happen. How such cruelty could exist in the world. And what of God? Could a caring and just God exist in the same universe where such wretched things existed? Where gangers worship a being who possesses the bodies of the dead. Where a man can walk the streets with an ancient monster lurking inside him, slowly pushing his body into decay. If a loving and all-powerful God truly existed, how then, could He allow these beings to exist and spread such misery?

I wrestled with these questions. And when I was laid off a few days later, apparently under pressure from someone very influential, my world came crashing down. There is no reward, it seemed, or trying to do good. There only existed profit in evil.

I drank that night. It was the first time I'd even touched a bottle since college. Since that accident...

Can't remember much else. It was all a drunken haze. It's my mind recalls me picking up the first bottle, and then...

And then I'm walking down the sidewalk. It's night, and there people walking past me, going on with their lives, cheerfully oblivious to the evils lurking just around the corner, in every shadow, in every heart. I reach out to touch one of them, and I stop myself.

My side itched. I ran home, and checked my rash. It had grown. In the center of it a blister had formed. I cursed my weakness then. I had fallen to despair, and Judas had taken over.

I became a police officer because I wanted to protect people. Even without my badge, there was so much I could do. Whatever it was that Ophilim and the Timberwolves were planning, I resolved to stop it.

If there is no good in the world, then we must make that good. Even in the face of overwhelming evil, we must not succumb.

I don't believe in good, I don't believe in God, because I want to. I don't believe in such things because I am weak, or because it is simply how I was raised. No.

I believe in such things because I have to. Because without them there is only darkness, and there must be light.