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.