Monday, October 29, 2012

The Seventh Body

One of the agents radioed us earlier. Said that he'd found the killer. That was trailing her.

Description: Caucasian, most likely 18-25, dirty blonde hair, female. Ragged appearance-- most likely living on the streets.

He gave us an address of where he was and then... nothing.

By the time we arrived, it was too late. It was a sight to behold. Me, with about three guys watching my every move, keeping their hands on their firearms at all times, standing over the twisted and mangled corpse of Agent Flynn. Christ, I'd just seen him this morning. We made small talk. He told me about his high-school sweetheart, how he'd seen her torn apart by the Slender Man... Fuck, he didn't deserve it.

Stone, I think, had the hardest time. I'd... sort of gotten the impression that she and him had a thing. She didn't say much. Just looked kind of sick. Said only what was absolutely necessary.

I'm going to catch this fucker.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

The New Rossfield Slasher

So there've been a string of deaths recently-- most of which happen to belong to the criminal element of the town. Contacts in the police force tell me that they suspect it's some kind of vigilante.

Well.... they may be right, I guess.

A couple agents have made a connection. Quite a few of the victims are Servants. There's the usual group of Timberwolves I've come to expect in this town, but it doesn't end there. Of the twelve deaths so far, only half have been Timberwolves. The others? Two confirmed as Dolls, one was a Drone (SMSC agents removed that one before the coroner could get to it), two were suspected Proxies, and as for the last... we don't know. He was identified as a man who had gone missing nearly fifteen years ago. He was also the most heavily armed and in the best shape of the bunch.

Every victim was found in an area where an ambush would be easy. Alleyway, parking lot in the middle of the night, the woods just outside town... They were also twisted. Broken bones, heads backwards, joints bending the wrong way. Each one was tortured to death.

Agent Stone made a crack earlier, when we examined the Drone's corpse, about how we should recruit this guy. I don't think so.

These people were just as much victims of Them. It's one thing to kill them in self defense. It's quite another to torture them to death. That's not someone who wants to make the world safer. That's just someone who gets off on it, and wants to assuage their own conscience by targeting Servants exclusively. You'd know all about assuaging guilt, wouldn't you?

There isn't a doubt in my mind. Whoever's doing this needs to be stopped.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Settling In

Back in New Rossfield. We've been setting up a base of operations here in an old apartment building that the SMSC apparently bought for us.

For some reason, this town is full of activity from Them, hence the government's interest in the area. My room is constantly guarded by armed guards, and I can't leave without an escort of armed agents.

Not much else to report yet. Well, not much else that I can report anyway.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012


It amuses me, sometimes, when people call me and my kind "monsters." I would like to remind you all that we are not bound by your petty and short-sided moral codes... and neither, it should be said, are you.

Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a young woman, around 14 years of age. Her mother had come down with a strange disease, and died, slowly and painfully, before her daughter's eyes. The grief-stricken girl was sent to live with her father, a man she had not seen for 5 years. A man who had walked out on her mother, though they had never actually been divorced.

Far from offering the estranged child comfort, the father pushed her away. He barely spoke to her, and they barely saw each other. Every night, she heard him on the phone, speaking with social services, trying to give her away.

And she cried. Her mother was dead, her father didn't want her. What could she do?

Oh, but she was wrong. You see, there is another person in the story. Someone I think you may recognize. He saw the look in the father's eyes when he looked at her. He knew. Her father did want her, very, very badly. And that was precisely why he pushed her away-- he was afraid that he might lose control. That he might hurt her.

So one night, the girl found her feet moving on their own. She found that, dressed in hardly anything, she was walking to her father's room, unable to stop herself. Unable to do anything but watch, panic and confusion bubbling just under the surface, as she entered his room, climbed into his bed, and spoke words that were not hers.

Mid-coitus, she died, leaving a man in terror and guilt, his own daughter's naked and defiled corpse in his bed. He didn't understand what had happened, but he knew that he was responsible, and so he turned himself in.

Nobody treated him with kindness and pity. They called him names. Rapist. Murderer. Child molester. And he allowed them. As he saw it, it was no less than he deserved.

Oddly enough, he died in interrogation. Strange thing. There was no torture involved after all.

And the detective who was in the room with him? He died two months later, having just gotten into a confrontation with members of some new gang. A gang with a heavy religious bent.

And one of those thugs who supposedly killed him died a month afterward, in a shootout with... well, you know the rest of this story don't you?

Strange thing, guilt. I don't understand it, but it seems to infect mortals something fierce. If you are going to regret something later, why do you go through with it? It makes no sense.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

The Deal

The day after my conversation with the Mother of Snakes, they came for me.

They held assault rifles pointed at me, and stayed at least three paces from me at all times. They led me out, down a hall that seemed out of place compared to the room I had been kept. Or perhaps the room was what was out of place. It was a long, white, bare hallway, with lightbulbs hanging on wires from the ceiling, cracks all along the walls. Stains...

They brought me to an interrogation room, and stood there with their weapons aimed at me, their fingers actually resting on the triggers. Either they had never been taught basic gun safety, or they didn't particularly care if they slipped, or they didn't want to waste even the fraction of a second it would take to reposition their fingers if Judas made a move.

A woman in a black pantsuit sat at the table. Blonde hair-- short, coming just below her ears. Blue eyes locked on me. I tried to focus on those eyes instead of the ones on the wall behind her.

Papers were spread out on the table before her. I recognized some of them. A copy of my birth certificate. Copies of police reports I had filled out. There were photos, too. A burning building-- it took me a moment to recognize it as the concert hall. Stills from RossCorp's security tapes, showing my meeting with Reed. Surveillance photos of Ophilim and Mad Ricky.

The woman didn't speak until I had sat down.

"Matthias Stanford," she said. She was reading a paper in her hand. "Went to North-Lake High, from there you went to major in Psychology at Rossfield State. Involved in a car accident when you were twenty that took the life of one Amanda Tarsen; your girlfriend. Following the wreck you switched majors to Criminal Justice. Become a police officer shortly after college. Discharged from the force just a few months ago, after contracting a Dying Man shard during a shootout with the Timberwolves." She placed the paper on the table. "An interesting life," she continued. "Tell me, why did you decide to pursue a career in law enforcement?"

I was silent for a moment. "Who are you?" I asked finally.

"Agent Stone. SMSC. Answer my question, please."

It took me a moment to answer. "I killed Amanda," I said finally.

"I was under the impression that it was the--" she checked the paper "--impact of the shattering windshield and her head against the phone pole that killed her."

"We were intoxicated," I said. "I should never have gotten into that car. I should never have let her ride with me. I--"

"Drunk people aren't exactly known for making informed decisions," she interrupted. I frowned. Another eye had appeared in the table.

"I was underage--"

"Most people are the first time they get plastered."

"She died because of me."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

I stared at her.

Agent Stone smiled at me. "Catholics," she said. "You people and your guilt. Dedicating your life to enforcing the law is not going to right any wrongs you believe you committed. It's not going to bring back your old girlfriend. We've done a thorough background check on you, Matthias. It's been 6 years, and you still have never had another girlfriend-- haven't even had a one night stand. You haven't had even a drop of alcohol since that night neither. You blame yourself for what happened. I get that. But can you do me a favor? Stop.

"I've read your blog-- even your most recent posts. The reason we let you have access to the internet was so we could read it and learn any extra encounters you may have. You have tangled with the servants of the Archangel, a being that can take the form of the dead. You have a Dying Man shard inside you who wants to use you for his own gain, and will use any psychological weakness he can find to manipulate you. Yesterday you met the Mother of Snakes, a being who shows reflections, sometimes true, sometimes distorted. We also know that you've been seeing the Eye as well-- a creature who preys on guilty consciences. Your guilt is a weapon that they will use against you. I'm not going to sit here and lie to you and tell you that it wasn't your fault. You know that it was your fault. What I am going to tell you is that it was a mistake, and you need to get over it. Oh, and for what it's worth? The incident with the hostel, I can honestly say was not your fault. That was all Judas."

My eyes were wide, and felt stuck open. I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. I could feel them running down my face. When I spoke, my voice was choked. "People have died because of me."

"They have," she agreed. "And ever since your girlfriend died, you've tried desperately to make it right. I'm offering you that chance. The government is offering you that chance." She nearly laughed at that. "Given the political and economic climate lately, I don't think I need to tell you how lucky you are about that. So will take it Matthias? Will you take this opportunity to redeem yourself?"

I nodded. "Deal."

"Good. And Judas? If you try anything, we'll trap you in a box and drop you in the Marianas Trench. Capiche?"

"Duly noted."

She stood. "Then I look forward to working with you. Welcome to the SMSC."