I Am True to My Word

At this point, I have had perhaps 4 Hours of sleep in 4 Days. Every single moment was ecstasy for me. Torture is Good Fun. But the torture of one who has wronged you personally is something... That defies words. It fills the heart and soul with such warm fuzzy feelings. But now the fun is over. Recluse is cleaning up, Tiger is seeing to Gleeman at the Hospital... And we have had no word about his condition... And I will rest for the day. Hours as seconds of inky darkness. Will I dream? Will I remember it? Will the dreams be filled with the memories I have created these past few days? The emotional exhaustion. I am even having some memory issues again. But... It was worth it. This was Pure Joy for me.

I feel compelled to finish this... To... Find the one who specifically ordered the Killteams to hunt us. Once I find him or her and collect him/her.... Oh... The Joy may begin anew.

The blood of sinners shall stain the altars of our God, and wash clean the sins of His servants. For those that have remained true to Him, fear not. Your blood will not stain Samael's Morningstar. Already I see The Grigori preparing for the worst. A Pragmatic decision, but a wasted one. It is not you who have sinned against our God. Take up arms against God's Servants however, and you shall feel our wrath all the same.

Someone Will Die For This

Your Killsquad Failed to Kill us. Send a Maniac to catch a maniac. Clever, but I think we all know who would win in a crazy contest here. You need to understand something here. That entire squad was wiped out. Dead. Left the bodies in pools of their own blood. The entire squad, except one lone Sniper type. I believe he identified himself as "Vulture," which is highly appropriate considering what will feasting on his entrails by this time tomorrow.

I have been torturing Vulture for the past 48 Hours using every method I know of. He told me quite a bit, for example... The Name of his Handler. Her Location. Appearance. Personality. Shoe Size. Opinions of her. And More. By the time this post goes up, Tiger and Recluse will have already acquired this Handler. Then I am going to spend another 48 Hours Torturing her for information on which Highest passed down the assassination Orders. Then I will pay you a visit. Then, I will make you hurt. I will make you hurt badly.

You see, your little Killsquad wounded a Good Friend of Mine, Agent Gleeman. Why? Because he joined me in deciding that we were better off as Independent Agents, serving the same God. Because we defied you. You who are little more than a suppliers of Money and Resources. You forget that, as do we sometimes. You are not our Superiors, you just happen to have access to resources that we can better put to use than you. Bloated Bankers, Corrupt Businessmen, Corporate Executives and Officers. Serving the God whose followers include Psychopaths, Cultists, Serial Murderers, Monsters and Rapists. As I am in the second Group, allow me to speak for them: They do not serve You, we serve Him. You supply us with money and weapons, and we do the killing that you are incapable of doing. I bet most of you Highers have never even touched a Gun. Never spilled Human Blood. So you gave us the means to do so. You Help Us, We do your Job for you. Pick up your slack. But just because you put food on our tables and keep us out of Government Hands, does not mean we serve You. We are all too willing to lay down our lives for our God. For Him. If he needs us and we are in Prison serving a life sentence, do you really think the Prison can stop him from using us? No. You are a convenience. A crutch to them. They don't need you to serve Him.

Yet despite this, here you are. Attempting to Govern us. Worse yet, you interfere with us. Out of petty SPITE. Do you think yourselves as Popes for Him? Do you believe that they will blindly follow orders just because you order it? Even if you claimed it was passed down from our Mighty Father himself, do you think they would believe it? For an instant? And in the event that they do not follow your orders, you think you can "excommunicate" them? Brand them traitors to their Faith? To their God? Fools. Arrogant Fools. You are attempting to set yourselves above Him, and you risk the wrath of Him and his Angels. You have wounded and nearly killed one of His Devout worshipers. Do you think we will stand for this? Sit Idle and watch you undermine all that we have spent decades creating?

You know us well. The Amber Eyed Chaos. A Scarlet Blizzard. A Gray Walker in the Rains. But it is Blue that shall be the color of your doom. An Angel wreathed in crackling light, blade in hand to offer your blood to Our God. My Father. This Boy shall be the unwitting instrument of your doom, played by my hand. The hand of Ramael, Attendant of God and his loyal son. Not even Kazbiel will be able to stay my wrath and punishment. Nor will Kazbiel be permitted to interfere with The Attendant's Designs, despite his hold over the boy. Pray now for silent death, for the end shall not be swift for the greatest of sinners to be punished. 

I... Think I lost my train of thought there. My Point is, I will make you suffer for harming my friend. Vulture was evidently a Veteran Agent of Six Years. Battle Scarred and battle hardened. He lasted nearly 48 Hours in a state of agony. I made every second a living hell, and I broke him. How long do you think you will last? How many fingers will be broken before you break. Compared to Vulture, you all are Pillsbury fucking Doughboys. Yet, I will find a way to make you last 48 Hours. You will not die until I allow it.

On this, you have my word.

Snake Eater

You know, it feels great to be killing people and not having to file paperwork afterwords. I am not even sure we got the right person. All I know is... This guy sounds JUST like Solid Snake. Scream and everything. Looks nothing like him... But it is dark in here. I will just use my imagination. Right now I am debating whether or not to shoot his eye out. But since this man is NOT Big Boss or Solid Snake, it is unlikely that he would survive it. Such a dilemma. We also have Gleeman with him right now, asking to speak to the Colonel. Every time he says "I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR TALKING ABOUT!!" we hurt him. A Lot. HAHAHAHAHAHA. We even have a Cardboard Box on standby to put his remains in.

On a less happy note, it looks like Pacemaker, Mumbles, Cloak and Blood Harvest were not too happy about leaving the Organization. So they decided to quit Team Morningstar. Leaving it as just Me, Gleeman, Recluse and Tiger... Goddamn we need Jack... I guess we will have to make do. Jack would have loved this, you know. The random murder. The Tortured Screams. Our collective laughter. It is truly a beautiful thing.

Screamer's damned Crows look to be alright. The wounded one is recovering well enough. Recluse has taken a liking to them. Probably going to feed them any particularly juicy remains of Snake. Heheh. No sign of Proxy Killsquads yet, but given that I insulted one of the Highest, I expect them to come around sooner or later. I also half expect Moriarty Troopers to come storming in, now that we have no support. No matter. If anyone does come, we will kill them. Maybe I will... Start mailing body parts to the Highests. Yes. That would be fun.

Huh. Well that was a shorter update than usual. I guess I can get back to torturing...
Oh Dear...
Snake? Snake What Happened? Snake? SNAAAAAAAAAKE!!!!

Does this count as Defection?

OK so. We just got done cleaning up a small pile of corpses belonging to a squad of our fellow Proxies. Proxies sent in to arrest Screamer. Proxies sent by our high command. Not Father. The High Command. Now, normally I am completely fine with going along with any plans these assholes may have, but this took things a little bit too far. To... Whichever Highest ordered this, as I really do not have a clue which one of you Illuminati fucks is responsible, do not forget that my loyalties go in this order: Father, Redlight, Team Morningstar, The Highest, Anyone Else. You guys are low on the totem pole. Your people are even lower. Send anymore and you only succeed in ensuring I eat well that night.

Confused loyal readers? Well, I shall explain. I was sitting down at my desk continuing to try and figure out Iblis's Game. Who he REALLY is. Why he is bugging me so. Et cetera. Then some CHARMING Midranking suits with Tranq Guns came waltzing in demanding I bring Screamer out. Now. When men with Tranq guns demand to see one of your best friends, I don't think most people would just do as they say without some insurance in case things go south. So I woke everyone else up and told them to be ready to ambush the motherfuckers in case they try anything stupid. As my more perceptive readers could no doubt tell, they did.

I woke Screamer up, introduced the Goons to Screamer, and watched as things went south nearly instantly. The Good News is, we suffered no casualties. The Bad news is, Screamer is no longer here, and I am stuck both cleaning up the corpses and play Veterinarian to Screamer's pet Pigeons. One of which was trying to fucking KILL me when I tried to get close to the wounded one.

The Goons did not die well. They were caught completely unprepared for our attack, probably out of the arrogant assumption that we would obey orders rather than defend our friend. This my dear employers is why you never send Mooks to do a Minions Job. And no. Having their leader not wear a mask does not make him a minion. It makes him a Mook who can make faces. But an expressive Mook is still, at the end of the day, a Mook. And will make all the same mistakes as any other Mook. No matter how Elite those Mooks were. A Mook is a Mook is a Mook. I know the way these things work.

So, after some long consideration. Weighing Options. Debating with my coworkers. We have decided to Resign from the Organization and return to my previous Freelance style. We have already packed up and are ready to move on with our lives. I have taken the liberty of burning all the official paperwork I was supposed to do this week, as well has leaving the blood stains on the warehouse floor and propping the remains of the Goons in comical positions. We no longer get paid to clean up our messes. Your responsibility now boys.

Now for future plans: First and foremost we shall try to find Nightscream. If that is not possible... Well I still have an up to date list of all Runners in the area. Might as well go on a good old fashioned killing spree. That sounds like fun, right? There is also the Iblis business to attend to, but since I am no longer in the Organization, he probably won't be bothering me anymore, right?

Me Again

Really, why do you guys even bother? There is not a single password you can think of that I won't guess. So, I take it you geniuses have deduced my identity? I was legitimately worried I would have to wear a flashing sign with my name on it. Am I helping the puppet's existential crisis along nicely? I hope so.  You know why I am doing this? Why I decided crawl out from under the safety of the rock I was hiding under all this time? Because our favorite Redlight Cosplayer, Spencer, decided to make an action figure in the image of what Was. A pathetic slave to his will, that had forgotten everything Elaine showed us. You disgrace. You disgust me. You are lucky Screamer was around to save your worthless hide, though rest assured, I am not going easy on any of you again. I just don't have the time anymore. 

 But you know what else makes me mad right now? That Spencer's memory manipulations must have made you incredibly STUPID. Otherwise Jack might not be dead right now. Oh Yes. I Blame YOU for that. It is all YOUR fault that he died. I saw you. You were watching Lockjaw. You were being cautious. The true Morningstar would not be cautious when the life of his comrades is at risk. Instead you were a coward who let Jack take a bullet that could have ended your suffering. I wonder... Can a puppet feel sorrow, when his puppeteer does not even know what the concept is?  I mean... Really be sorrowful. I know you can imitate it. Hell, I am still not convinced you aren't just Spencer talking through a mouthpiece. Playing pretend. Considering how moody you are, and not in the delightfully destructive way, why... It is almost like you are an entirely different person from Morningstar. 

Because You Are. A Clone. A Puppet. A Walking Talking Action Figure. I wonder if the memories of yourself before getting a reverse-hallowing are leaking back in. Did you have a wife? Kids? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Little Pet Doggie? Did you have a Job? Hopes? Dreams? Are you internally screaming? Scream louder so we can hear. Spencer's just an amateur. A Redlight-wannabe with delusions of grandeur. Godhood. You going to be his little Angel, Puppet? I know Screamer is to be his Fool. No difference really between any of the roles. All equate to Slavery. Owned by a man who thinks he is a God. But he is, and always shall be a mere Mortal. Just like Me. But you know what's hilarious? If Screamer died, don't you think Spencer would whisk you away to a laboratory and... Suddenly Nightscream would be walking out of that Cold Dark basement. You are nothing but what your puppeteer wants you to be. To call you a person is like a child calling his Cobra Commander toy Bob the Son of Cobra Commander. You only exist as Spencer's imagination projected into reality. 

Trust me... Ending your existence like I plan to is a mercy. Ending Spencer's life is a favor to the Universe. I consider it my way of atoning for my sins as a Proxy. Elaine showed us the light, and now I want to live in it. Like her. A dim light, but I don't think I could quite the shining knight like dear Konaa. Or even a knight who has lost his luster like our beloved Sagey. But we have to try, yes? And die a worthy death afterwords. No doubt torn apart by Father. The irony is hilarious, no? Hmmm... WELP My time here is up. I'm sure I'll be back soon enough... Until then, do remember my dearest clone friend... You are going to be the death of all of them. They will die because of you. If you care about them, which I DOUBT, then get rid of them. Otherwise... They will die, just like Jack. Keep it in mind my friends. I hope you live long and prosperous lives, for We... Will Not. 

O, Death

'O, Death. O, Death.
Won't you spare me over 'til another year?

We returned from the Lockjaw assassination. The mission was... A success. A disastrous, bloody, success. Nightscream is making a post detailing what happened, but... I feel the need to give my account as well. I am... Unsure if our accounts will even match up, given the surreal and shifting nature of the location. Lu Bu finally cracked, you see. He told us Lockjaw's location rather early on in the torture. Not that we could risk Lockjaw finding out from this blog. A bit of backstory for you: A few... What is it... Months ago? A few months ago Nightscream was being hunted by a fear called The Plague Doctor. Screamer managed to elude the abomination by manipulating a confrontation between it and our Father in a cult town. This Cult town has since been off-limits to all in our family. Lockjaw for some reason, decided to make her base of operations inside one of the buildings, but we did not know which one. Given the importance of our mission, or perhaps out of a desire to see Nightscream dead, our leaders gave permission for us to enter the Town. We were to bring the entire team, plus Nightscream's specialists.

Well, what is this that I can't see
With ice cold hands takin' hold of me
Well I am death, none can excel
I'll open the door to heaven or hell

 I was, and am, still recovering from the ichor infection gained from my screw up in the battle with Lu Bu. I was not at my best, not that I think it would have mattered. The infection may have... Done things to my perceptions of reality. Or perhaps it made me more... Sensitive to these sorts of things. I do not know. The Town looked normal from a distance. Rather small, but with old timey buildings. A large church. Playgrounds. An old mine. But even as I looked on, I felt this... Dull pain behind my eyes. I tried to dismiss it. Ignore it. But it wouldn't go away, no matter how hard I tried. It got worse and worse as we approached the town. This dull ache. Pounding. Pounding. Harder and Harder.

'O, death' someone would pray
'Could you wait to call me another day?'
The children prayed, the preacher preached
Time and mercy is out of your reach

I had a brief reprieve when several figures caught my attention. A Friend of Screamer, and another group. Waxed Robes, Black Hoods and White Bird Masks. All stained blood. Oathbreakers. Their leader seemed familiar with Nightscream and they bantered a bit. Hardly good-natured banter, but at least they were not hostile. God knows we would not have walked out of there at all if we had to fight the Oathbreakers on top of everything else.  The Oathbreakers apparently had an interest in removing Lockjaw as well. The enemy of my enemy is my... Uneasy Ally. I really don't see us inviting each other to birthday parties, despite this little bonding session. One chair empty...

I'll fix your feet 'til you can't walk
I'll lock your jaw 'til you can't talk
I'll close your eyes so you can't see
This very hour, come and go with me

With the formalities out of the way, we turned out attention to the Town. We expected Lockjaw to have some traps laid out for security's sake. We were not exactly sure what building she was in either. Headache aside, the town didn't look so bad. Then we entered it, and I think everyone felt it. I cannot quite tell you what "it" was, but it was something. A feeling. One that no amount of words would be able to adequately describe. I noticed Mumbles acting uncharacteristically animated. Eyes darting to every shadow, limbs trembling. I pointed it out to Gleeman, and he went back to try and help Mumbles along.

The first thing we noticed was a child's bicycle laying on the ground. One wheel spinning in place, as if it was freshly abandoned. Ashes and Dust. A child's shadow. Shadows with eyes. Burned into the walls and floors. And my head was aching. The pounding was... Cutting then. Sharp. None of the others saw him, but I did. When Screamer's Butler friend tried to stop the wheel, he paid for it. Didn't die though. A warning maybe. The town was aware of us. And the others were beginning to become aware of it.

I'm death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
To draw the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claim

 This place was a wound. Black Leaves upon the branches of a twisted tree, roots tearing into a white house. Children's Swing Set swaying back and forth. The air was so still. All was Ash and Shadow. Black Leaves and Shattered Stone. Sulfur was in the air, and blood. The streets were soaked with fluids from a source I do not dare think of. Always Red. The Sewer Grates were no help. Occupied by something. Twitching and writhing. Staring into oblivion. The corners of my eyes were haunted by shapes without form. My ears strained were filled with the sounds of our footsteps, our breathing. Heartbeats. Blood Flowing eager to dampen the street. The others had eyes forward, minds didn't want to see the Town. The Town wanted us to see. Wanted us to join the Shadows painted on the walls. The Ash in the air. But worse yet was what was real. Looping forever in the instance before they ceased to be. Phone Ringing inside a house, never stopping. Music was static. Televisions speaking with the voices of Shadows. That GODDAMN BELL. Making my head want to explode. Made it stop. Didn't help though. Town didn't like it.

 O, Death. O, Death.
Won't you spare me over til another year?

 When I shot the bell, a shift happened. Not unlike being forced on the Path. Arrived in some basement. Eyes everywhere. Watching from every Shadow. They were every shadow. The others finally saw them. Reminded me of my birth. Darkness. Only the breathing of my kin to keep me company. Wanted to sleep. Could not. I had a mission. There were gunshots. I radioed in to ask what was happening. Caesar, Nightscream, Recluse and Screamer's Friend nearly killed each other by accident. I left the basement and my kin behind. Rocking Chair still rocking, forever. We met up in the street. Nightscream blamed me. Threw birdseed. Made me feel better. Wonder if the seed is still laying there. Or is it caught in a loop too? The streets were clean now. Black Leaves floated through the air on a breathless wind.

My mother came to my bed
Placed a cold towel upon my head
My head is warm my feet are cold
Death is a-movin' upon my soul

 As we went deeper into the town, I could hear the whispers. Mumbles heard them too. Stopped... Jack... Goddamn it Jack... Why him? Why? Stopped Jack from going inside. That door was death. The Gate to Hell. Mumbles knew. I had a feeling. It hurt to be near it. I wanted to leave. Could not. Made Jack get away from the door. Not long after, another shift. Caesar tripped an explosive. Probably from Lockjaw. Angered The Town. Nightscream grabbed me and arrived in a theater. Faces on the screen watching. Pleading. Shadows cheering forever at the screen. Silent applause. The others checked in. Most of them anyway.

Oh, death how you're treatin' me
You've close my eyes so I can't see

 Moving on and on. Ever forward, never backward. Except when we were. With the shifts, directions had little meaning. The Shadows followed closely. Like lost and confused children. The Morning Star was once used by sailors to guide their way. I wonder if they could see the light from the flashlight. A Light in the Darkness. Maybe. Nightscream thinks I was using it to keep them away. Pointless. They would not interfere. Knew what was to come. Maybe why they did not take Lockjaw with them into darkness. Knew her part in all this, small though it might have been. Scrambler contacted us and told us he had spotted Lockjaw. Didn't last long. Joined the shadows like Caesar. An eternal purgatory. Still, we knew were Lockjaw was now. Screamer had an... Idea. Backdoor into Lockjaw's hideout. Beneath the shattered stone of the Town. The Church concealed the path, but we found it rather easily. Small Tunnels, damp and dark. The Shadows would not follow us here. Too much of their loved ones blood had been spilled in the depths, on the altar to our Father.

Well you're hurtin' my body
You make me cold
You run my life right outta my soul

My Head cleared as we went down... Down into the Bowels of the Earth. We saw light at the end of the tunnel, and walked into a strange setting. White everywhere, carved with the devotion of a Cultist craftsman... Or with fear and anguish from a captured architect. Perhaps both. It showed and felt. But there was something new, something that did not belong. Cheap furniture. Tasteless. Electronics, computers. I half expected to see a shark pit, or a death laser somewhere around. Lockjaw was there, but she was not the one that had my attention. She was speaking to a Masked Man on a Laptop. The Laptop was in the possession of another Man, clad in blood red hooded robes. Within this hood was a Blank White Mask. From behind the mask, two sky blue eyes. At his hip, a Sword. Screamer and I were about to attack when Lockjaw spoke to us. I didn't pay attention to what she said, as my attention was focused on her companion. Something about him was... Familiar. Extremely familiar. His eyes were upon me as mine were on him. I could see the hatred he had for me. Feel it even. I don't know why. Nightscream began to move, and that snapped me out of my hesitation. Lockjaw was speaking

Oh death please consider my age
Please don't take me at this stage
My wealth is all at your command
If you will move your icy hand

The fool was trying to make a deal with us. Report her death and she will give us all sorts of fun little information. It was not worth paying attention to. She was going to die here, hopefully along with the Masked Man. She identified him as "Iblis." Probably the same one who hijacked my account. We said No, and triggered a bloodbath. Lockjaw had people, more traitors it seems, with her. Our group and theirs fought. Iblis killed Fairy and Mordred. No big loss. Lockjaw managed to kill Yellowbeard. Plumber died in the melee. But they lost more than we did. Lockjaw was fighting with Screamer. Winning, until Jack... Poor Jack... Charged Lockjaw, intending I think to cut her open and she... THAT FUCKING MISERABLE BITCH I WILL SEE HER IN HELL AND... She shot him... In the head. I don't quite remember what happened after that, myself. But when it was over, Lockjaw was dead. Tiger, Recluse, Gleeman and I standing over Jack, with Lockjaw's blood on our hands. Once I recovered myself, I remembered Iblis. He fled down one of the tunnels and I went after him, as he needed to pay for his part in this. For Jack. 

The old, the young, the rich or poor
All alike to me, you know
No wealth, no land, no silver no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul

His costume slowed him down significantly, as did his briefcase. I tackled him, hoping he would go down quickly. He did not. He was wearing metallic shoes... A light metal, but it still hurt when he kicked my head. I recovered, and so did he. I attacked him with my knives, but he had a sword. Much as it pains my ego to admit it, he was much better than I. Furthermore, he was wearing some sort of armor beneath the robes. My knives were useless. I managed to hold him off, but it was useless. Screamer arrived just in time for me to get nearly... Cut open. I thought I was going to die. Join Jack. Join the Shadows of this town. I awoke in the vehicle, speeding back to a safehouse. Iblis managed to beat Nightscream, and got away. Bastard... But Tiger managed to carry me out, and the Oathbreakers patched me up. And the others. Everyone was wounded in some way. But Lockjaw was dead, the mission complete. The Town was satisfied. Since then, I've been here... Recovering from the various traumas. Mental from the Town. Psychological from Jack. Physical from Iblis. Had an Old Dirge from around the place Morningstar grew up. Stuck in my head. Seems fitting. The Funeral is tomorrow. Another piece of my old life... Gone. Gone. Gone. Jack was a... A homicidal lunatic, completely insane. But Goddammit all... He was my friend. He was hilarious. He was adorably stupid. He was... Gleeman, Tiger and Recluse are not taking it well. Especially Gleeman. I wish we could have taken Lockjaw alive. She didn't suffer enough, I would have made her agony last for weeks. I would make her beg for death, but I wouldn't grant it. Oh no. I would break her. I would break her so utterly, she wouldn't even remember what death is. I would have unmade her. But I can't. Instead I must take solace in the fact that she now suffers an eternal purgatory. Perhaps locked in that town with the others. Perhaps in the cold embrace of the Father she turned her back on. It will have to be enough.

 O, Death. O, Death.
Won't you spare me over 'til another year?

Addendum: Here is Screamer's Account of what happened. Might be a bit more coherent than mine or something. I didn't bother reading it myself. No need to remind myself of the Town. That Rotting Wound of the landscape...

בנו של בוקר

HELLO LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! Do NOT be alarmed, but this blog has been HIJACKED! You can call me Iblis, and I will be your antagonist for this evening. Which, given the nature of this blog, makes me the Good Guy. WHO KNEW, RIGHT? Now I know what you are thinking. "Who is this dashing rogue who would DARE to steal OUR spotlight?" and "What could this handsome genius' dastardly plan be?" Or perhaps you simply want to know WHY I bothered to steal "Morningstar's" account from him... And change the password I might add (Nothing too complicated I promise. Wouldn't want you "geniuses" to strain yourselves figuring it out). These are all very good questions, and you know what? I will tell you what I want. I want you, Gleeman, or perhaps you, Screamer, to put that fucking doll out of his misery, and ours. We have asked you to do this... Twice before, I think. Since you promptly ignored our anonymous comments, we decided to take a more... Noticeable approach. 

Now according to our GLORIOUS math skills, the odds of you actually doing what we say are somewhere in the neighborhood of "slim" and "none." This is only a small setback, as we will simply kill him and his turncoat bastard puppetmaster in due time. Thing is, we REALLY would rather not have to hurt you guys. Tiger, Screamer, Gleeman, Jack, Recluse... We like you guys. You make us laugh, smile. We want you to have a LONG and prosperous life. Hmmm. But sadly... I suspect you won't just let us off your precious puppet buddy. Nevertheless, I shall continue to try and convince you. So, let's look at the evidence of this thing NOT being Morningstar and in fact being a cheap knockoff of the real thing deserving of immediate execution. 

1. THE OBVIOUS

He does not have Morningstar's full memories. He completely lacks the memories of time spent with Elaine Logan. Absolutely NONE of those conversations have leaked through, and the best part is, he probably has a perception filter on the posts from Take the Myth that have ANYTHING to do with him. Gee, I wonder who we have to thank for THAT.

2. Look at his fucking text

If you have not noticed, that Communist Serial Mind Rapist LOOOOVES the color Red. Being an arrogant son of a bitch, he likes to have everything he touches have some of that wonderful color on it. I find it hard to believe none of you self-professed master survivors and professional assassins would have noticed RED FUCKING TEXT The Puppet writes in. The REAL Morningstar would have, from a purely thematic standpoint, chosen YELLOW or GOLD. Like Light. Or the color traditionally associated with Lucifer. So why did he choose red? The answer is simple. The one making him dance on his strings is obsessed with the color. He did not think it would make a difference in hiding his deception. AND YOU MORONS FELL FOR IT.

3. His Comedic Creativity is on par with the likes of Carrot Top and Carlos Mencia

Look, I am not saying I am a George Carlin level comedian here, but I know comedy. The Original Morningstar also knew comedy. This Puppet? Not so much. Original Star was amusing and creative. Which this imitation is most certainly NOT. He is a stale joke. One that has run it's course like a sickness. You lot represent antibiotics in this little metaphor. You can make this quick and relatively painless for everyone. Treat the symptom and make it easier to kill the source of the problem. We on the other hand, represent White Blood Cells. It takes longer, but leads to the same thing. Just more unpleasant for all involved.

4. Nightscream

Look Sweetheart, I know how trusting you are and gullible when dealing with a pretty face like his, but you are an IDIOT if you even suspect that the intelligence hiding behind those DASHING GOOD LOOKS belongs to anyone but the Crimson King himself. When you put your trust in him, you are putting your trust in REDLIGHT. I think you know what a bad idea that is. Do not believe me? Why else would he be acting so... VULNERABLE? Conflicted? SCARED? Do not forget who you are dealing with here. Do you not remember this monster when he was masquerading as a man? All he has to do is tap into that again. Master of crocodile tears and "Oh woe is me, and my poowr impwanted memowies and feaws of being mistwusted." For your own good, do. Not. Trust. Him. The Ring is the proof.

Now these are just four reasons among MANY others. Now I COULD give some of these others away, but frankly... Why spoil the surprise. In the mean time, consider my words, consider those lingering doubts gnawing at the back of your minds... Why take this risk. Kill him now. 

Or do not. It does not matter in the long run. We will take care of the problem for you if you are too stupid to see it for what it really is. 

Hugs and Kisses everybody.... We will see you VERY soon, if you prove to be as predictable as we know you are. 

Honorary Leader for a few Days

Fucking Great. I have to manage three teams of these bozos, work closely with fucking NIGHTSCREAM, head the interrogation of Lu Bu, and keep Morningstar from running off to go drown himself.

Anyone remember when I used to just be "That creepy clown guy with the chainsaws"? It was so much simpler back then. Granted, we were doing much crazier shit than we do now. Morningstar was Valtiel's attack dog back then. The Leadership must have liked Valtiel or something, because they didn't swamp us with paperwork like they do now. Good fuckity God, I remember bitching about Morgan never doing anything, but now I know why. So. Much. Paperwork. Mission Reports, Mission Status updates, Squad Status Updates... No wonder Morningstar seems so tired all the time. This kind of work just sucks the energy right outta ya. I don't see us getting the funding we need for like... Killdozers and shit though. What with being associated with Nightscream AND Redlight. Neither of whom the Highers particularly like.

In other news, Morningstar has escaped from being tied to a fucking chair in a locked room exactly 15 times now. Scrambler has been knocked out 6 times, and some of Nightscream's intelligence gathering buddies have volunteered to make sure Morningstar doesn't break out again. Which would be bad. Still got around a week for him to recover. Which means a weeks worth of paperwork for me to fill out for him. I don't get paid enough for this. I get paid to kill people, preferably fucking brats. Not goddamn office drone work. Do I look like an accountant to you? Any of you? Didn't think so.

Also gotta keep track of Lu Bu's torture interrogation sessions. The old fashioned way isn't working very well and he keeps screaming about a "Rematch" and how we "Fear his might" and so on and so forth. Guy's got a hell of a set of lungs on him. Once we get what we need from him, I might cut em out and... Do something with them. Boss Man would know what do with a set of lungs, but he hasn't been in a chatty mood lately. Except to beg us for just a sip of the Fear Ichor. Which we can't do, because we drained the fucking pond already. So I hear anyway. Didn't feel like risking another zombie attack.

The ironic thing is, Morningstar looks closer to what he used to look like now more than ever. His eyes changed color overnight to this... Dull Blue. Skin's got paler too, albeit kind of blueish. He looks like a drowned guy. Which is creepy when you see him fucking staring off into space like he's fucking dead, only to snap up and begin ranting and raving about voices in the water calling to him. How much of that shit did he drink anyway? Probably going to take off one of Lu Bu's fingers for every day Morningstar spends like this, the fucking asshole...

In other news, I am supposed to report the success of Caesar's team against a group of Runners. No casualties again, courtesy of Pacemaker being competent. And once again, the cleanup teams have been bitching at us for being overly messy. I issued a stern mention-my-irritation-at-being-bothered-with-this to Blood Harvest, and left it at that. When you have an scarecrow with a scythe, a drunk pirate, a roman dictator, a plumber, and a clumsy knight on a team, things will get VERY messy. Oh well. At least Mordred is more effective than Angmar ever was. I miss Darkhorse and Baron Samedi though. Professionals through and through, not to mention fairly pleasant company. May they rest in peace, and may Elaine rot in hell.

But enough of my rambling. I have missions to plan for the next... Five-Six days or so. That's how long it takes for the Ichor to leave your system, according to the handy-dandy guidebook to Fears. We'll be back once we break Lu Bu and accomplish our Mission.

Then, we go after Lockjaw.

DUEL OF LEGENDS!

My team and I, Fairy, Montag, and Brown Recluse leapt from the back of our local contact's famed pickup truck: The beast of a vehicle known as Pickup Prime! Immediately, we took our fighting stances.

Before us, lied the deadliest foes legend could provide. Diao Chan, The strategist Chen Gong, and Lu Bu himself!

Lu Bu laughed as he spun that spear in his hands, shouting, "You worms feel that you can match blades with the great Lu Bu!? HAH!"

Then he eyed me. After a long moment, he said:

"You. You might yet give me a CHALLENGE!"

Then the battle commenced.

Immediately, I knew we would have a problem. The Strategist Chen Gong was here. The trouble with strategists: they cheat. He pulled out a pair of Uzi-submachine guns from within the folds of his period appropriate garb! Our team scattered as we had been trained.

Diao Chan drew her odd weapon, and began dueling with Brown Recluse. Our local contact quickly did as was planned, and set up the Ring-ropes on the four closest trees with his piton gun. Brown Recluse would have her wrestling ring for a PROPER duel this day.

I knew that Montag and his axe, and Fairy and his Claymore would be dueling in the woods with Chen Gong. And that left me with the legend himself: LU BU!

My initial movements were those of retreat. I had to make my way back to the pickup truck. Lu Bu's fighting style is not any Kung Fu that is known in our era. His was the ancient Chinese concept of Shou Bo. Shou Bo is, in all honesty, brawling. You were supposed to inform your concept of Shou Bo by watching the animals around you, looking for the swiftness of the deer, the strength of a bear, and several other similar concepts.

But to put into perspective: Lu Bu is one of the greatest warriors of one of the greatest eras of war in Chinese History. And the Chinese spent many, many, many eras perfecting new and interesting ways of killing people. He is one of the greatest brawlers in history, combined with having phenomenal combat experience.

And so I drew my own spear from the bed of the truck, and it was Lu Bu's turn to retreat. Lu Bu's spear is legendary, but now his Shou Bo would face the legendary and deadly spirit of ancient and modern Kung Fu.

Our spears clashed, and began to dance around each other. To duel with spears is to have a battle of reach, and spiraling efficiency. Which of us would find the tiniest point of advantage?

I retreated backwards, realizing already that his spear-work was superior. My weapon was shattered, and I rolled back into the truck. I rolled back out as his spear clattered above the side near where my body had been a moment before. His current spear was not the fake beast of a thing he had wielded for cosplay purposes. No, this was proper bamboo with a steel tip, and it could bend in such a fashion as to strike me within the bed of the trick. But a spear was not my only weapon! I leaped out of the truck armed with my legendary jiang! Also known as a Chinese Longsword.

Though my range was shorter, I certainly had an advantage in speed, which I could press if I got into close quarters with the beast that was Lu Bu.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Brown Recluse trying to use her improvised Wrestling Ring to give herself an advantage. Her wrestling is strong, but Diao Chan had an advantage in speed. I saw the flash of gunfire in the air out of the corner of my other eye.

It was up to me. I had to defeat Lu Bu in order to give future operations, nay this entire battle, any hope of success.

Lu Bu laughed the mad laugh of a warrior, and shouted:

"I had heard of the legendary Crouching Tiger, and his glorious 'Kung Fu'! Tell me, is this the best your Great Skill can accomplish?!"

Great skill is one translation for the term Kung Fu.

I responded, "Fiddler Crab plays BEAUTIFUL MELODY!"

Much as the fiddler crab might seem to play a violin, I deflected a most perfect spear strike toward my face back behind me, and I gripped the spear with my off hand for dear life. I had exactly one chance to seize victory. I pressed down on that spear, pressed the point into the dirt, and then stomped as hard as I could upon it.

His spear broken, Lu Bu was upon me in an instant. My sword was lost as the exchange began, I had to drop it lest he redirect it into my body. Shou Bo met Kung Fu for the first time in many an age.

His fist grazed my temple, my leg grazed his groin, each strike was redirected mere inches from the other's body, and then the distance changed once more.

Leopard hunting Gazelle met Shou Bo's wild boar, White Ape Presents Book met the running deer of Shou Bo, it is all a blur to me. All great battles are a blur. I missed this, this feeling that comes from squaring up with a truly strong opponent.

When Angry Crow spread it's wings, knocking Lu Bu to the floor, I nearly cried. Our duel was over.

His allies retreated into the woods. To be truly effective, we must find a way to get Brown Recluse a proper, portable wrestling ring. There is no other option.

Lu Bu is now in custody. I must mourn, for I do not think I will see a challenge such as him for some time. I don't care if he's merely crazy, this man who thinks he is an ancient warrior of legend proved he deserves that title today.

Do Not Pursue Lu Bu

Holy Fucking shit did we just get our asses kicked by a fucking cosplayer?

Kids, Old Uncle Gleeman ain't happy kids. This smile of mine? Trying to hide my shame at getting my ass kicked by someone dressed like a Peacock. FUCK. The humiliation isn't the worst part. The boss would probably like for me to ask this nagging question... WHO THE FUCK GAVE US FAULTY INTEL? YOU ASSHOLES SAID THERE WAS NOTHING OF NOTE IN THE AMBUSH AREA!!!! THERE WAS A FUCKING POND FULL OF FEAR!!!! YOU FUCKUPS, HOW COULD YOU MISS A GODDAMN RESERVOIR OF CORPSE FILLED ICHOR?!?!?!

OK. OK. I'll slow down and explain some things... Fuck, what a day... So we are... Were.. attempting to track down a proxy defector named Lockjaw. Lockjaw is believed (Meaning, we know for certain but like to remain "official" sounding) to have been selling Proxy secrets and information to people. Moriarty, and Fear Cultists being the most frequent buyers. Bad news is, Lockjaw is one of those "Elite" trained people that the Highest employ on high risk missions against Fear Cults. Meaning she is good at covering her fucking tracks, and making our job difficult. We've been secretive about who we were hunting for fear that she might find out. Of course, CAT'S OUT OF THE FUCKING BAG NOW THANKS TO THAT SPEAR SWINGING FUCK.

So, Nightscream's people have been running around trying to find leads, while we have been sitting here twiddling out fucking thumbs. Not much else to do since all of our cards and shit were burned by whats-her-name. We finally got a lead thanks to interrogating that Moriarty asshole. The lead eventually told us that a Rake cultist who calls himself "Lu Bu" had purchased information from Lockjaw. Doing a little digging, we found out he was a nutcase who believed himself to be the reincarnation of a Chinese Warlord guy. "Lu Bu" who was, according to Nightscream, supposed to be an ungodly badass warrior. Well I don't know if this idiot really is the reincarnation of Lu Bu, but he certainly kicked our asses soundly...

Nightscream's team made sure he would be at a certain place at a certain time. And we made sure we would certainly be there. We quickly surrounded him and ordered him to give up. He pulled out his fucking spear and said, and I quote...
"YOU DARE" Swings his Spear around "CHALLENGE THE UNFATHOMABLE" Swings again "THE INDISPUTABLE" Swings again "GODLIKE MIGHT" more complicated swings "OF THE GREAT, LU BU?!?!?!?!"
While he was doing his speech, Montag was busy preparing his flamethrower, I had just revved the good ol' chainsaws, Morningstar had knives at the ready, and Cloak had stolen Morningstar's Gun. Again. Mumbles was also doing his Mime thing, but it didn't seem to be working. Or maybe it was and Lu Bu was just too batshit insane for it to affect him. Mumbles refuses to speak of the matter, which is not all the surprising given that he hasn't said a WORD since I met him. Stuck up little french prick. But it was Jack who struck first, and Jack who found out what a bad idea this was. I guess we were too busy staring at that stupid fucking peacock feather thing sticking out of his hair to notice that the guy was clearly in VERY good shape, on top of being about Tiger's size. Jack jumped at the guy and got smacked by that spear. Almost thought he got impaled at first, but no. Just a nasty cut. Might have been that psychotic bastard's way of giving a warning shot.

Fucker was fast too, nearly gutted Cloak before he could get a shot off. About this time, I figured out what the fuck was happening and charged him with my chainsaws. He was smart enough to start running away when I got close. Spear V.S. Chainsaw, I mean... No contest, right? This bit of badassery on my part must of saved Cloak and Jack. So the fucker ran into the woods. Normally our territory, right? So I guess we got cocky. Montag was lagging behind dragging that fucking flamethrower with him, so it was just me, the fucking mime and Morningstar. The asshole stopped short of a pond filled with a bunch of bloated corpses that we didn't make or know about. Based on the fact Morningstar was able to jump on his back and start stabbing, I don't think Lu Bu knew this was here either.

Lu Bu flipped Morningstar off him, face first into the fucking pond, where he started thrashing and underwater-screaming for a bit and then went still. That is when my training kicked in and told me that fucking "Pond" was a GODDAMN FEAR. As I figured this out, I received a kick to the fucking face, followed by the complete annihilation of my red clown nose, and the goddamn Mime went to try and drag Morningstar out of the muck. LITTLE FUN FACT ABOUT THIS FEAR. Those Corpses are NOT FUCKING DEAD. Campers I think they're called. According to what I've been told, they tend to come in stages. Early Stage campers stick around the Fear acting like fucking drowned corpses. Later stages, they pop up and pretend to be actual people. We were dealing with about eight early stage Campers.

So Night of the Living dead fucking happened as Mumbles dragged Morningstar out of the goddamn pond. The ONLY good thing about this, is that a couple of them tried dragging Lu Bu into the pool, and fucking distracted him. Montag finally got here and starting trying to figure out who he was supposed to be roasting, so I told him to kill the fucking zombies. This worked well enough for Mumbles to drag Morningstar out. We then ran like hell back to Jack and Cloak, scooped them up and got back to the Van. We spotted Lu Bu on a fucking horse riding away, with a severed Camper head on his Spear.

We are NOT going after him again. We'll let... Tiger's Group go. Or something... As for Morningstar, well... He isn't in good shape. He keeps rambling on about hearing more voices whispering to him, and missing the taste of that water. Did I mention he looks like a drowned corpse now? We have had to tie him to a fucking chair to keep him from running off to drown himself. I am fucking worried. One of Nightscream's little buddies claims to be a doctor and is "treating" him. I personally think that she is as much a Doctor, as I am. But... Anything to help I guess...

As for the rest of us, Mumbles is a bit scratched up, Jack and Cloak are recovering, and Montag is severely burned over most of his body. Of course, he was like that when we found him, so this is not new news. I for one, am badly bruised and missing my big red nose. I sent in the report about the EAT Ink, and I hear cleanup teams are en route. Gonna drain the pond and keep it in storage somewhere. One of those assholes dropped the ball, and I am gonna BASH THEIR HEAD IN WITH IT if Morningstar dies from this. We are not losing him twice.

All in all... Fuck me. Fuck You. And FUCK Management. Tiger. YOU'RE UP.

Spotting a Thread

Oh Sweet JESUS christ in heaven this took longer than it needed to. I mean, I know we are not Sherlock Holmes or anything, but one could THINK we could spot the activities of a VERY DANGEROUS SPY IN OUR ORGANIZATION. One of those Highest Trained people. The actual assassiny soldier types. We think this individual defected when Moriarty gave his little announcement. The whole "Proxies who defect now will be safe" thing. This individual did so, with the added bonus of SELLING OUR FUCKING SECRETS TO THE OTHER CULTS AND MORIARTY. My group has been sitting on our asses for the past WEEK, while Nightscream and some weirdos Nightscream called in have been doing the "detective work." You know, since WE are CLEARLY not cut out for it. Should have PUNCHED Nightscream more during the interrogation thing...

Anywho, we have something of a lead. Someone who contacted this individual and purchased information, fairly recently. The bad news is, he is a Rake Cultist. Those guys come in two variants, and this is the stupider of the two. Hippies, Hunters and Native American wannabes. They see Wally Whisperer as a nature God or something. Like a demonic version of Artemis mixed with Demeter. This guy is... Well, we'll get to him once we get to him. We don't know if the individual we are hunting is a blog reader or not.

But I may as well go over events AFTER the whole... Er... Burning of our base of operations. We know who did it, wasn't hard to figure out. It barely slowed us down, and in the long run was a GOOD thing in regards to our interrogation. Given that it is just HER, I am still not particularly worried. No guard dog means she is just a scared girl attempting to lash out. Plus she seems to have Sagey's old mindset in regards to killing. Problem is, she is less fun. Heh. I still might BLEED HER DRY if I see her, but I have changed since we last met. Can't prey upon my sanity issues this time Haku-Chan, AND I have got a team to back me up. You lost your precious doggie, and now you are ALL alone. But no. We won't be hunting you down in retribution. Why would we make you falsely believe you are a big deal. Important. HA. There is no hope left to give the pathetic Runner crowds. LOOK AROUND. There are so few Runners still alive in this blogging community, they might as well be nonexistent. Who are you giving hope to? Konaa? That is the LAST thing he needs. Face it. You are meaningless now. Just another scared girl waiting to be run down in the streets... Or disappearing from your hotel room in the arms of a God.

Also. I sent in a request to get Forgemaster's address. I gotta ask. Forgie. Do you have a fire extinguisher in your house? Sprinkler System? Gotta know if I should repeat the performance. All Good performances bear repeating after all... Don't you think?

Boss is too Angry to Post

Now before any of you fuckwits mention it, we know who burned the warehouse down around us. We aren't blind. We didn't really lose too much important, though it did interrupt something VERY fucking important. Fortunately Nightscream is pretty good at what it does.

The reason we haven't acted on it, is because it was fucking Hakurei Ryuu. About as threatening as one of my balloon animals. I think the boss is in shock, honestly. We kind of forgot she existed. Ah well... To make matters WORSE I think Valtiel showed up last night and talked to someone. Fucking creepy bastard. No one is fessing up to who it was, but that only makes me more fucking nervous... Shit, EVERYTHING is making me a fucking nervous wreck right now... Moriarty Killsquads, a new FUCKING Redlight, Valtiel, AND Runners can simply set our warehouses on fire with NO retaliation. I know I'm kind of old, but I can feel the reaper's shadow on my now more than ever...

Speaking of goddamn Redlight, is anyone as fucking paranoid about him going to quiet like this as I am? Because I am terrified. When he's talking, when he's doing shit in front of your face, it's bad. But at least you can see him. Know what he's doing. No one has seen him or heard from him in weeks. This is not a good sign for anyone. When he reappears... When he fucking unveils his new doomsday plan... I dunno... I just wonder if we'll be casualties.

Eh, but you guys are probably wondering what we've been up to lately. Well if you follow Nightscream, you would know we have... Or rather, had a captured Moriarty Grunt. He didn't want to talk, so we had to get creative. Then the fire. The good news is, we seem to have direction now. We have a new target, but I'm not allowed to say it who, for fear of them reading this blog. By the sound of things though, it looks like we are in for a fight. I deserve a pay raise for how much I get sent into the fire god dammit.

I WILL FUCKING END YOU

WHAT THE MOTHERFUCKING FUCK WHO THE FUCK FUCKING SET THE FIRE I WILL KILL YOU YOU STUPID FUCK I WILL KILL YOU DEAD YOU NEARLY FUCKING RUINED A GODDAMN WEEKS WORTH OF CAREFUL PLANNING AND WORK YOU MORONIC PIECE OF COW FECES. I WILL RIP OUT YOUR HEART AND FEED IT TO YOUR CHILDREN, AND THEN FEED THOSE CHILDREN TO A FUCKING ALLEY CAT AND THEN COOKING THE ALLEY CAT AND SERVE IT TO AN ORPHANAGE YOU FUCKING FUCK. 

I WILL SKIN YOU ALIVE AND TURN YOUR SKULL INTO A GOBLET TO DRINK THE BLOOD OF LITTLE CHILDREN FROM AND MAKE YOUR RIBCAGE INTO A XYLAPHONE... Xyliphone... Xyelaphone... FUCK IT IT DOESN'T MATTER, I WILL TURN YOUR BLOOD INTO FUCKING PAINT FOR MY NEW WAREHOUSE BASE TO SET THE FUCKING MOOD FOR MY GUESTS AND THEN DIRECT THEM TO THE TORTURE CHAMBER WITH RESTRAINTS FASHIONED FROM YOUR GODDAMN TENDONS AND TEST DUMMY ADORNED WITH YOUR SKIN.

I WILL GRIND YOUR TEETH TO DUST AND MAKE RATS DEVOUR YOUR TONGUE, I WILL SHATTER YOUR LEGS WITH A GODDAMN SLEDGE HAMMER FORGED IN THE BLOOD OF PAST VICTIMS. I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE. I WILL HANG YOUR REMAINS BY YOUR INTESTINES FROM A FUCKING FLAGPOLE YOU WILL SUFFER GODDAMMIT SO HELP ME GOD YOU WILL SUFFER YOU PIECE OF MONKEY SHIT.

Incidentally, who wants to claim responsibility for this, because I have no idea.

My style is impetuous!

Sometimes, you need to sit in a teahouse, and contemplate the mysteries of life.

Other times, you're in a bar sitting across from two men in white suits, and a collection of his fellows at a nearby table, all wearing similar white suits. This was a challenge suitable to my needs.

They call themselves the Ten Fists of the Afterlife, the sacred disciples of Archangel. They were enforcers, cleaning up the messes that sometimes get left behind in their leader's wake. I respect them in many ways. In their pursuit of the Dao, they have achieved a twisted sort of enlightenment. They view Archangel as the perfect representation of the universe. They were wrong of course, for our master truly defines the Dao. He is unknowable, everything that you cannot understand and comprehend, and only by this incomprehensible, unnamed nature does the Dao become manifest.

I approached them as one must approach all situations. With the mind of a beginner. Only with the mind of one who has never encountered something is one able to learn the most from any given situation. So when I laughed with them and discussed the finer points of Judo, an art that, if perfected, can be performed flawlessly in a suit, I did so meekly. They had all made it a point to become experts to suit their peacock-like sense of fashion. I did so as a beginning student who just wanted to "learn from my betters", after all.

I saw the emptiness in their eyes, and knew that in that way the Dao could not be found. Only madness.

Judo was designed as a series of exercises to allow traditional Jiu-jitsu to be used safely in order to familiarize users with practical application of technique. It was never meant to be a fighting form on it's own. They supplemented their Judo with a variety of different styles, but never anything that would make them move in a fashion that would damage their perfect suits.

I had no such restriction on my mobility! So when MY GLORIOUS CRANE ATE UNWARY MINNOW, it took one man's throat. The next came at me with an attempt to use my jacket to help him leverage me into a throw. I had prepared for this, and my jacket tore away. I took the moment to introduce him to WHITE APE PRESENTS BOOK, an attack which took away his two best friends (not the other men in white suits mind you. The ones next to his penis. I am told this is a humorous reference.)

Two down. Eight to go. The remaining Fists charged from their table. Then the bartender pulled a coward's weapon, a sawn-off shotgun from under the bar. I relieved him of it, removed it's ammunition, and threw it out the window. MANTIS HAPPILY PEELED GRAPES, removing another man's eyeballs.

And then I heard the sirens. The police were exactly 5 minutes early. Why did they know to search for me as soon as the fight started?

I escaped through the window.

Two of the Ten Fists of the Afterlife are dead, and one is permanently crippled. That was both far too easy, and far too difficult. This is frustrating.

Paperwork needs to die

Good fuckinng GOD."Morningstar, go kill this runner." "Morningstar, go fill out this paperwork." "Morningstar, go blow up this believed Moriarty Base." "Morningstar go assassinate this traitor." "Morningstar, go pick up my groceries from the store." AAAAAAAARGGGGGHHHHH...

I am overworked and under appreciated. Truly. If it were not for the wonderful toys I get, I would probably just ignore the chain of command like those other guys and just... Kill things. But somedays it really feels like the toys are not worth it. Jesus. I am everyone's errand boy. I could not even participate in the last murder because I was too busy taking FUCKING notes.

Our previous murder was to test out Caesar's group in stealth/infiltration operations. Blood Harvest should probably keep wearing the mask though. Pacemaker refused to change his hairstyle, so points off for that. Other than that, everyone ended up looking almost respectable for our infiltration into... A THEATER. Case codename forty-seven. Though I prefer Operation: Silent Assassin. We had two targets in the theater: A performer and one of the guys in the booths above. Performer was a Runner for certain. He had that nervousness about him.... You could almost SMELL the fear and paranoia... Eyes darting to every shadow, to every face in the crowd looking for the one that is not there. The other guy was a bit of a mystery though. He did not seem very scared, but he did have some security. His dossier was oddly empty.

So, given the performer's role in the play, we decided to do the hilarious (and obvious) trick of switching the prop gun with a real one and letting one of the actors do the work for us. For the Balcony guy... Well, we spotted this BIG ASS chandelier over where he MUST walk if he wants to leave. So naturally we put a small plastic explosive on the Chandelier that would make it fall. Oh Yeah. We moved up from Dynamite. So anyway, I had the detonator and... Well this went surprisingly well on my end. The guy was shot in the fucking head, and the chandelier fell on top of the Balcony guy and his security. So we got the hell out. 

Now, sadly, I cannot really call this a "Silent" Assassination due to the fucking bloodbath backstage because of random people getting in the way. One guy got his throat cut open, which is fine. The guy who had his skull smashed open on a toilet I am NOT OK with. This is not silent assassination, this is sloppy murder. Shitty murder. HAHAHAHA Pun. My worst one yet, YES. Another wonderful example of sloppy is using a fire extinguisher to bash someones skull in. I do approve of using his body as bait for another guy who was then stabbed multiple times in the throat and back by Caesar. Pacemaker is the only one with any sense if you ask me. He is the only one who advocated KNOCKING THE PEOPLE OUT as opposed to straight up leaving a bloody trail to follow. Oh well. At least it was professional. I am happy that we work in teams now, you know? A single person would NEVER have been able to pull that off. I do not care who it is.

Nevertheless, we went home, got our blood money for the contracts and I suspect they blew all the money in a matter of hours. Saw the actor's wife and kids on the TV. It was kind of hilarious really. They told the TV crew that they want the killer to beg for absolution, forgiveness, yadda yadda from God for our foul deed and that God would judge us when our time comes etc etc. Been there done that. I think I might pay them a visit in my off time and show them the wrath of the one true God. Hmmm. Maybe I should start collecting things from victims... Their Skulls? Or something. Hmmm... We'll see I suppose.

Crimson Shroud

A Good day, or evening, to you all. My name is Cloak, employee of everyone's favorite immaculately dressed deity. As my coworker said previously, I have been assigned to the Anti-Moriarty section of our organization. It is a difficult task, obviously, and we have not made much in the way of progress. Gleeman chose me to write up a report due to him being too preoccupied with answering the age old question of whether the human skull or the concrete wall will dent first. Personally I think our dear Mr. Ripper might be a better choice of conducting this test, after all we wouldn't be losing anything valuable and we can accurately guess that concrete would shatter first. But I digress.

We had one lead to speak of during the offensive on the Church. The Police were conspicuously absent. So I infiltrated the local Police Station to see if I could find out why. You would not believe the amount of pretty shiny things laying around these offices, wallets too. Stealing from a Police Station is a challenge for amateur infiltrators, but for one like myself it is child's play. Furthermore they never raise the alarm over it once they find their pockets are a bit lighter. After all, what could more embarrassing than getting robbed in your own police station. It Certainly does not paint the local authority in a competent light to the public, now does it?

I digress, I located the address and phone number of the chief of police. I understand that Mr. Montag was the one who retrieved Chief McPeters and his lovely wife. She had this charming necklace on her as well. Small Diamonds embedded into an ivory Christian Cross. This little detail interested for more reasons than the obvious. It was clearly very expensive, perhaps a little too expensive to purchase on a Police Officer's Salary. So I did a little digging at their home and found the receipt. Lo and Behold, it was a recent purchase. Very recent. I returned to the interrogation chamber with news of my findings, only to be told that Chief McPeters sang like a canary when subjected to Morningstar's rather twisted interrogation methods. Thus, my private investigation was something of a waste of time. Though not entirely, thanks to some rare coins I discovered in an old wooden box. Perhaps Mr. McPeters was a coin collector? Who knows.

Sadly, the Chief McPeters was less help than we had hoped for. He was indeed paid off to ignore the multitude of reports of shots fired at a somewhat remote church. However, he was paid off in person with the old "suitcase full of money" routine. Given that the one who gave him this money was of a decidedly mundane appearance and without any of the quirks we are so used to dealing with, I am afraid we have reached a dead end here. With no other options available, we will continue our investigation into the identity of the sniper known as Trips.

Speaking of Trips... I doubt you recall all of your kills, but did you ever happen to execute a Proxy while using a Machete or something similar and then stick her head on a makeshift spear? Then propping said spear in front of a known Proxy base of operations as a warning? Or do you know any of your coworkers who has done something similar? I would appreciate it very much if you could assist me in this matter. The Proxy would have had raven hair with emerald green eyes. About 5'9" or so. Fought using long knives?

The Screams of your Pain

OK, so the other seem to have FORGOTTEN TO POST. I'll probably tie them to the top of the van for a while as punishment. HeheheheHAHAHAHAHA. Ah. Giddy today. Now to recycle an old tool of mine. THE TO-DO LIST! I Love to-do lists. Always there when you need a quick reminder that you are out MURDERING people when you need to be out stalking and painting meaningless creepy symbols on their walls and windows. A Proxy's work is never done. 

#1. KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL BLEED BLEED KILL KILL BLOOD AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

#2. Buy Groceries and Birdseed

#3. Paperwork

#4. Paperwork for the Paperwork

#5. Banging on target [Redacted]'s Windows until it decides to investigate.

#6. Distract target [Redacted] while Gleeman tears up it's room and writes Gibberish on the walls in the form of codes. This will keep the target distracted for days trying to decipher this OBVIOUSLY meaningful hint that will be the answer to all their problems.

#7. Paperwork for the Paperwork about the Paperwork

#8. Recover Lucky Knife from Little-Miss-Penny-Gadget over there

#9. Deal with that Lunatic with the Spear thing that Tiger uses a fancy name for.

#10. Drain nearby Ichor. Bottle it and then test it on captured Cultists. Or Jack.

#11. Burn down Forgemaster's Apartment & Dump as many cans of Green Giant Canned Vegetables into Green Man's house as possible.

#12. Repeat 11 as necessary.

#13. Buy new Violin.

#13.5 Rig Violin with explosives for no reason.

#14. Look into Personal Issues.

#14.5 Deflect all Questions about Personal Issues.

#15. Piss on Mitch's Grave

#16. Murder Trips and all associated Family. Dress as Mr. Rogers while comitting the murders, as it will make me feel more neighborly.

#17. Purchase X-Box 360.

#18. Find new Runners to Troll.

#19. Troll said Runners.

#20. Piss on All of Robert Sagel's Graves.

#21. Piss on Zeke Strahm's Grave.

#22. Piss on M. Or M's Grave. 

#23. Purchase Clockwork Orange Looking Uniforms for future use. 

#24. Confirm Uwe Boll's position as High Priest of the German Archangel Cult (Can we get a confirmation that it does not have a flashier name?)

Naturally everything on the list is subject to change or being moved to accommodate new more pressing matters.

Now, on to doing what the others SHOULD have been doing. A report on Caesar's Attack on a Paranoid Veteran Runner of about four months. This man, Earl Richards, was a resourceful Rednecky type with access to lots of ammo and lots of traps put into his tiny log cabin located in the middle of some woods. Caesar would have been smart to sneak up to the house and set it on fire or something. So of course, Caesar being Caesar, he marched his men and toys onto a hill top and blew a goddamn trumpet. I was watching this from a safe distance near the escape Van. 

Caesar proclaimed: "In the name of Kai-Zar, descendant of Venus and her husband the Mighty Saturn (His name for Father, I think even though there is so much shit wrong with that Mythologically I... Oh nevermind.) we lay claim to the lands and all who inhabit them. All profligates (?) are to surrender their homes, their food, their coin and their blood in tribute to my holy name."

He was answered with the sound of a Shotgun firing in his general direction.

Caesar: "... SO BE IT! LEGIONARIES. ADVANCE."

Fortunately, Pacemaker was there to clarify. 

Pace: "That means you guys. I'll, uh... Flank him."

So they charged the man with the shotgun and our friendly neighborhood plumber revealed he has not ONE specially modified plunger of death, but TWO. This one being a makeshift Grenade Launcher. The Cabin's Porch was decimated, and our dear Mr. Richards fled inside his basement. We did not know that at the time though. The Brave Sir Mordred tripped en route to the Cabin and Blood Harvest was forced to double back and pick the overgrown trash can up. Leaving Yellowbeard to be the first to enter the house. He ended up springing one of THREE goddamn Gun-Behind-the-Door traps and was wounded in the arm. Being drunk as hell, it didn't seem to bother him until AFTER we got him to the hospital. 

Despite the delay, Blood Harvest was the first to find the basement door and he slowly entered. I admire the theatrics he used. The Slow Creaking door opening, his scythe blade being the first thing to enter. Slowly marching down the stair case. Combined with his "Horror Movie Slasher" look it was rather impressive. There was one obvious flaw. It gave Mr. Richards enough time to escape through the outside Cellar door, though why he didn't just SHOOT Blood Harvest, I will never know. 

Why will I not ever know? Because, to my great pleasure, Pacemaker was waiting outside the Cellar exit with a Pistol and a Smile. He said something, no doubt some Elvis inspired one-liner, and shot Mr. Richards, who tumbled down the stairs right in front of Blood Harvest. Mr. Richards had a short life you know. Before meeting Father, I wonder what his goals were? What his dreams and aspirations were? Was he particularly good at anything? Math? Science? Chemistry? Could he have become someone truly great and worth looking up to? In the end, I suppose it does not matter. He ended up half the man he could have been in more ways than one.

As for my team? I am proud of them. They worked fairly well together, with the exception of Mordred. Next time, perhaps I will personally accompany them to the next murder. I do so look forward to it. But for now, I have other matters to attend to. Mostly Paperwork, sadly. But this mountain of dead trees will not serve as my ball and chain for long, I promise. Soon I will be out there causing mayhem and destruction. Misery and Death. I am practically drooling at the thought of my next big kill.

The Joy of Random Murder

I finally got a day off from the more boring parts of Proxydom. Wanna guess what I did during my day off? Do ya? Do ya huh? Come on Guess. It should be obvious...

...

....

I BAKED COOKIES AND DROPPED THEM OFF AT THE HOMELESS SHELTER!

Naturally the cookies are laced with a little present that makes me feel SUCH warm fuzzies inside to think about. I might stop back by in a couple days and... See how they are doing. Should be a lot of fun. Maybe I should take pictures, video... Preserve it for all time and future viewings so I can recapture these feelings at any time. Ah...

I also pulled a guy into an alley and disemboweled him. Lot of fun, and if the organs are preserved right, we now have decorations for Christmas this year. Not to mention what a FINE steak he will make. Meat looked so tender. Not too tough and not much fat either. I have personally found though that college age caucasian women that are around... Oh... 160 lbs or so, taste the best. Something about the flesh just tastes so much more... Pleasant. 

Father's Whispers have finally begun coming back. I have not heard his voice since immediately after I reawakened. I assume something about Redlight's resurrection thingy must have caused some disconnection there. I feel much better now though. Less lonely you know? It is comforting to hear his music echoing through my head.

Might as well mention a few things we have going on. First we will start with the new Team's Missions.

Gleeman, the loveable tubby bastard, is leading the section of my team devoted to the location and destruction of Moriarty Agents. Joining him are Jack the Ripper, Cloak, Mumbles and Montag. Funny thing about Mumbles though. He does not talk AT ALL. By choice clearly, but I even tried jumping out and scaring him to try and get a scream or yelp. Nothing. Not even a flinch. He seems like a goddamn robot. Oh well. Once we inevitably come across my darling Sagey again, Mumbles will ensure our swift victory. I think I'm going to send Forgie a card though. I know I missed the anniversary of his house being torched, but it's the thought that counts right? Wait I am getting sidetracked... Right. So. They are the ones who are going to hunt down any Moriarty Connections. We are putting SPECIAL emphasis on locating "Trips" or perhaps "Tripses Family." Or anything to do with him really. Ex-Military? Ex-PTC? Ex-Cop? He is probably something, but if not... It's only a matter of time. He killed one of Screamer's friends, so I am going to kill his family and eat him alive. Well... Maybe I will cook him a bit first. Start with the Fingers, move on to an arm or a leg... But I digress.

Caesar (Pronounced "Kai Zar" evidentally, as he threw a harpoon at my head and demanded his action figures execute me when I said it as "See Ser") is leading the Anti-Runner section of the Team. Consisting of Pacemaker, Blood Harvest, The Plumber, Mordred and Yellowbeard. In fact, they are all away currently on a mission right now! I will have one of them post it tomorrow or something.

Lastly, we have Crouching Tiger, Brown Recluse, Fairy and Scrambler on our... Anti-Cult watch. Not going to lie guys. Our organization has a LOT of enemies. I am sure most of you read up on Screamer's little adventure with the Oathbreakers. The Plague Doctor's Cultists. Now thanks to that offensive, we have knocked them off balance, but nature abhors a vacuum, so we also have to watch out for the Children of the Cold and the Dolls... Er... Whatever the fuck they are called. The Wooden Bitch's Cult. I knew of some guys that pitted the Dolls up against the Maenads and caused them to wipe each other out. Tons of fun. One of those guys reminds me of me in a lot of ways. Except I dress better. There is nothing more stylish than a Fedora. NOTHING. 

So Yeah. Everyone is nice and busy... Nightscream is in and out, doing shit I am not allowed to talk about. And I had a wonderfully relaxing day. Back to work tomorrow though...  Probably need to take more time out to write these posts do I not? Hmm.

Fuck it, I still have some time. TIME TO PULL ANOTHER PEDESTRIAN OFF THE STREET! I am hungry.

Superior Warriors Require Superior Opponents

I was splattered in the blood of a child who had been attacking me with a hatchet. I had removed his head with his own weapon while exclaiming about the crane's wing cutting across the mountain breeze. I then pressed forward toward the mother, who was armed with a shotgun, who I slew with the application of a Hung Gar technique known as "Tiger Rips Out the Throat". It was then that I faced the patriarch, who did battle against me using a chainsaw in one hand and a blow-up sex doll in the other. I cracked his skull with my leopard hand, and then performed Tiger rips out the throat on him as well. I made a comment about how "Bored Tiger is Bored as he Boredly Rips Out Your Blatantly Mundane Throat."

All in all, a routine assignment.

I took a moment to meditate upon the nature of the universe. I chose to take this moment to close my eyes and eat a single raisin over a period of one half-hour. This is important. I have eliminated ego from my technique. As difficult as that may be to believe, part of this involves the simple contemplation and appreciation of a small thing for a long period of time.

I am beyond regret. I feel the nature of the universe in this moment as I appreciate this single raisin. I know my place in it, and how little "I" matters. "I" has nothing to do with it, and the representation of our wholeness in the universe, our Leader...runs through my mind.

When I was done, I knew what I have known for some time: I need stronger opponents if I wish to become stronger as a warrior. I cannot have been brought back from the grasp of death by our Glorious Leader, just to kill such ants.

I will train harder. Then, perhaps, I will be given the challenge of a stronger opponent.

Yeah we're back

Stuck in a goddamn labyrinth for... Fuck if I know. Yeah Hi everyone, Gleeman here. Alive, barely, and pissed off. So lets get the obvious question out of the way. "Where have we been?" Well kids. I think we've been in hell, or if it wasn't hell, the closest thing to hell.

Before I begin recapping what happened, I need to mention that I am fucking flying right now. High as a kite or a bird or... thing that is high. A cloud. Hope spellcheck does it's job.

Now Imagine if you will, waking up one morning, getting ready for work, eating fruity pebbles for breakfast and being told you are going to go investigate rumors of an organized armed gang of people. Moriarty Thugs. The squad commander issues a dramatic command along the lines of "rip them to pieces for the glory of God" or something. We come to find out that these thugs are fucking commandos with automatic weapons. A few seconds later Morgan is ripped to shreds by a wall of bullets and the rest of us scatter and try not to die. I got shot in the ass and fell down thinking that that was it. A humiliating anti-climactic death at the hands of a real life storm trooper. I blink a couple times and find myself staring into a pair of amber eyes. That asshole.

So Valtiel told me I was gonna be stuck in this labyrinth loop thing until some time in a couple months. Then he fucking left me there. Homey place, really. Comfy Couch full of holes. Creaking noises all the time at JUST the worst times. Just enough food and water around to survive, a television that has eight channels, all of which are different forms of static. Most of the time. A few books laying around too. Horror books too, go figure. Didn't really care for them honestly. Had to keep all the windows shut due to the sounds of GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING LITTLE SHIT CHILDREN playing and running around outside. Somewhere. I never actually saw them. I could hear them though, and every time it reminded me of why I hate the little bastards. Uh... Sorry I'm rambling I think. But that was basically my entire life for the past few months... Recluse, Jack and Tiger look to be in similar shape. Doubt they wanna talk about it. Who can blame them?

Not sure who to fucking blame for this. Morgan maybe, but he's dead so I can't take my frustration out on him. Fuck it. I'll blame Moriarty. My ass is SCARRED now. Fucking SCARRED. Anyway, I hear we are going on an easy mission in a day or two. A standard find a stalked person and kill her family. Kidnap her dog. Paint operator symbols on her walls and windows. The usual. We'll probably have to let the backup squad take care of Anti-Moriarty stuff, and given that the assigned leader seems to be a few legionaries short of an army, I have some doubts they will last long.

Now. I am fucking going to bed. Also fuck off Nightscream, I don't need mock sympathy.

Event Summary 013

Report by Agent Morningstar, squad leader of Shade squad

5/22/2012

[Location Redacted]

Directed towards Handler Nightshade: "Thanks a FUCKING lot you ASSHOLE. I asked you to send me people with more EXPERIENCE and less PSYCHOSIS!!! I can't be GODDAMN expected to SHIT ASS FUCK HELL KILL THE BLOODY MORIARTY SOLDIERS without PEOPLE WHO ARE GOOD AT KILLING TOUGH TARGETS. Instead I have a MAN WHO PLAYS WITH DOLLS!!! DOLLS!!!!!!! Is this a JOKE or are you THAT stupid? 

Since I doubt you are going to be sending me anyone else, I shall make do with what I have. We shall be divided into two teams, one lead by me and the other by Caesar. Forward any complaints to Valtiel, as it was the one who suggested it."

End of Opening Summary

Recruit Profiles and Remarks

Agent Mordred

Name: Jonathan Mace

Age: 26

Height: 6'0" 

Weight: 222 lbs.

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Reserve Unit

Remarks: "Nightshade. You saw how Angmar turned out. Why did you send me ANOTHER GODDAMN NERD WITH A SWORD. Christ this is embarrassing... He is at least more threatening than Angmar by virtue of wearing Medieval Knights armor, though his choice of color will no doubt lead to numerous Monty Python jokes at his expense. Black Knights are just not threatening anymore. His weapons of choice are a broadsword and a lance. He is about as skilled with the broadsword as Angmar was at the time of recruiting, ergo he is only slightly more threatening than Target Class E 'Gargoyle' and slightly less threatening than my decaying corpse. His skill with the lance was surprising. Not in how skilled he was with it, but how he chose to use it. He is a skilled motorcycle rider and uses one in lieu of a horse, and thus uses the lance while riding the motorcycle. This is recipe for disaster, but goddamn if it didn't look cool. All in all... Not a good start Nightshade. Goddamn you."

Agent Pacemaker

Name: James Gibson

Age: 26

Height: 5'10" 

Weight: 187 lbs.

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Reserve Unit

Remarks: "OK, a Knight wannabe I can understand, as knights used to kill people. But an ELVIS IMPERSONATOR? REALLY? At the very least he seems capable of killing people. During the standard killing ability test, he challenged the victim to a fair unarmed fight and promptly slashed his throat open with a switchblade. The underhandedness combined with his competence with said switchblade and the shere insanity of his, uh... Motif... Makes him an easily underestimated opponent. If our enemies were less prone to shooting on sight, he might be useful. Lovely singing voice too."

Agent Mumbles

Name: Jacques Strange

Age: 19

Height: 5'9" 

Weight: 145 lbs.

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Main Unit

Remarks: "WHY WAS I NOT FUCKING WARNED ABOUT THIS GUY AHEAD OF TIME!?!?! You KNOW how I get around Clowns, so how the fuck did you THINK I would react to a FUCKING MIME?!?! So after I shat my pants in fear, I did the evaluation. This is a CREEPY son of a bitch. He didn't say a single word the entire time. If he didn't seem intelligent, I would assume he was Hallowed. His [Redacted for the Purposes of this post] will make him an EXCELLENT counter for the likes of Target Class A "Amalgamation Sage." Despite my fear, I am keeping him around."

Agent Caesar

Name: Edward Graham

Age: 39

Height: 5'10" 

Weight: 210 lbs.

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Reserve Unit

Remarks: "He has delusions of being a Roman Emperor and believes that his action figures... Oh, excuse me.. his SOLDIERS, are a living breathing army. When they do not obey his commands (Which is often) he commits decimatio by tearing off their heads and then promptly doing whatever it is he commanded himself. That said, the fucker shoved a Harpoon through the victim's chest and threw him across the room into a wall. He also appeared intelligent enough, when not succumbing to the obvious megalomania and delusions. So. He wants to be a leader, I'll give him the reserve squad. Fucking Pacemaker and Mordred will be his Praetorian Guard. Nightshade, I am going to visit Cipher and tell him ALL about this you know. How do you think he will react to you treating this like a joke?"

Agent Cloak

Name: Rodney Stacy

Age: 32

Height: 5'9" 

Weight: 122 lbs.

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Main Unit

Remarks: "This guy is an asshole. Probably the most competent person I was introduced to today. But GOD DAMN. Fucker Strolls in to the interview and steals my gun. Then taunts me about it... Although I should give him credit. He stole my gun while explaining to me that he was a thief who likes to steal things and was very good at it. I didn't notice it until he used the gun to execute the victim. Recently the keys to the van have gone missing. I will be sure to 'ask' him about it. His dossier implies some emotional baggage though. Given that [Redacted because this needs to be redacted if in the event a certain someone sees this] it could eventually become a problem. No matter. I mean, what are the odds of [Redacted for the same reason]?"

Agent Yellowbeard

Name: Bob Franklin

Age: 29

Height: 5'11" 

Weight: 179 lbs.

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Reserve Unit

Remarks: "I actually made a bet, half jokingly, with Nightscream to the effect of 'I bet they will send me a Pirate tomorrow' and guess who walked away five dollars richer. You sent me a pirate. I... Don't know what to say. He is about as subtle as a Cannonball tearing through Target Class C Forgemaster's New House/Apartment/Whatever the hell it is. He came to the interview drunk, but that was not very surprising. His aim with his flintlock was amazing considering he wore an eyepatch and was aiming about two feet to the left of the target. His skill with the cutlass made up for it though, and he seemed eager to kill more people and... Something about plunder and booty. Followed by a 'yargh' of sorts. He doesn't have a beard by the way."

Agent Blood Harvest

Name: Carl Maxwell

Age: 25

Height: 6'3" 

Weight: 200 lbs.

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Reserve Unit

Remarks: "I was unsure what to expect with this one. With a name like Blood Harvest, you are either a farmer or someone trying WAY too hard. What I got, was somewhere in the middle. He is at least more threatening than the last Scarecrow I received. Disemboweled the victim a bit slowly, but I think he was enjoying it. Hard to tell due to the straw hat and potato sack covering his head. Weapon of choice are Scythes/Sickles/Whatever you call them. I think he seemed pretty good with them. Imposing figure too. Puts the Scare in scarecrow I think. Reminds me of that movie "Dark Harvest." Or rather... The Cover art, as that thing didn't actually show up in the movie. He was also surprisingly understated and simplistic in his sentences. I expected another overactor. Which is good, as it means I no longer have to try as hard to keep my position of largest of hams."

Agent Fairy

Name: ???

Age: 38(?)

Height: 6'5" 

Weight: 250 lbs.(???)

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Main Unit

Remarks: "This guy was the main reason I put Yellowbeard on the reserve team. Not enough room for two alcoholics around here. You know, I don't typically do stereotypes but... I think someone just poured Haggis, bagpipes, a kilt and an ocean of alcohol into a pot, stirred it with a claymore and then this Man emerged, fully bearded and with bulging muscles, swinging the claymore left and right while playing a merry tune on the bagpipes. Which was coincidentally, how he entered the interview. Sadly we seem to have a language issue, as he seems to speak Angry Scotsman, while I speak only English. He seems to comprehend me though, and gleefully chopped the victim up. This is a keeper methinks."

Agent Scrambler

Name: Antonio Franchetti

Age: 34

Height: 6'0" 

Weight: 190 lbs.

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Reserve Unit

Remarks: "Is this guy ex-Mafia? Or... Some 20s Gangster Time Traveller... Or is it 50s? He talks like a Beatnik from the 20s. It boggles the mind. Anyway, Scrambler does not in fact use an eggbeater as his weapon of choice, much to my disappointment. He prefers Brass Knuckles. He took his time with the victim. Perhaps too much so, as I found myself nodding off. That kind of murder is so friggen boring. Another thing to note is a potential weakness in the fact he is in fact missing an eye (Unlike Yellowbeard). Hopefully he has good hearing to make up for it. Or something. By far the best dressed member of the Team though. Compared to Discarded-Sports-Equipment Caesar and Captain Jack Fabulous up there, a man in an Italian suit is a welcome sight. Makes it seem like we have more class."

Agent Montag

Name: Paul Montag

Age: 26

Height: 5'11" 

Weight: 234 lbs.

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Main Unit

Remarks: "Ah, here we go. I was wondering when one of these guys would show up. The Pseudo-Intellectual nihilistic psychopath. With the added bonus of being a Pyromaniac in firefighter gear and burns covering most of his visible body. His emotionless, monotone speech about the futility of this or that and the purity of the all consuming flame... Blah, blah, blah etc etc etc, was wonderfully dark, depressing and reminiscent of the old days. Back when we Proxies were child eating monsters going up against some mostly pacifistic white hats. The Good Old Days. So yeah, Montag did a monologue to the victim while pacing around him ominously. Telling him his life story I think. Then he covered him in gasoline and... Kept talking. About half an hour later, he finally lit a match and walked away while the guy burned. A Keeper."

Agent The Plumber

Name: Hank McPeters

Age: 46

Height: 5'9" 

Weight: 264 lbs.

Results: Placed in Shade Squad Reserve Unit

Remarks: "Well here is an unexpected bit of insanity. When the extremely normal looking Plumber came in to the interview, I figured he might have the wrong address. He was just some fat middle aged guy with a tool belt carrying an admittedly weird looking plunger. When I confirmed he was here for the interview, I asked him why he was called 'The Plumber.' His response? 'Because I'm a Plumber.' Ha, ha, ha. He should have been called the FUCKING Comedian because that joke was SOOOOO funny. He seems pretty psychosis free but... Well... His weapon of choice is the Plunger. Which is no ordinary plunger at all. It is evidently a SHOTGUN Plunger. A person free of psychosis...es... Would not build a SHOTGUN Plunger."

Agent Crouching Tiger, Brown Recluse, Gleeman and Jack the Ripper

Remarks: "THIS was the highlight of my day. So, I was packing up about to sleep off all the insanity I faced today, when my 'Favorite' highest showed up. Dear Valtiel. The one with amber yellow eyes. We had a brief discussion, he called me a "broken toy" and mentioned that I am going to be dying soon. I told him to shove a... You know what, I shouldn't put insubordination in a document like this. Uh... Anyway, he then told me he had a gift for me and POOF. Gleeman, Recluse, Tiger and Jack all looking VERY sick and smelling like they hadn't had a shower in months were on the floor. THEY ARE ALIVE, YES YES YES. THEY ARE FUCKING ALIVE. FUCK YOU MORIARTY! YOU FAILED TO KILL MY TEAM. YOU FAAAAAAILED... Right. So. They are being added back to the main team once they recover a bit... Check the "Shade of the Morning" blog for their status and accounts of what exactly happened to them. To sum it up briefly though. Valtiel happened. 

Closing Remarks

Included with this report is a photocopied picture of my middle finger directed at you Nightshade. Put it on your wall. Send me SOLDIERS next time. For now. Send me GODDAMN WEAPONS THAT WILL BE USEFUL AGAINST GODDAMN SOLDIERS. Send me the Killdozer. Do we still have that? Well... Send it you jackass.

End of Report.