First thing's first, whoever keyed my Harley, I'm going to tie your ankle to a cinderblock and throw said cinderblock off a cliff. Doubt it was any of you chaps with a blog, in fact, I'm next to positive it's not because odds are before today you didn't even know I knew how to ride a motorcycle let alone owned one. But still, bad form (insert convenient link to Hyopcritical Humor on TV Tropes here, I guess).
Second order of business, I wasn't totally awake when I explained (badly) exactly why I'm not making any effort to break free of Big Blue. Trust has shit-all to do with it. It's pragmatism pure and simple. I'm gonna assume we've all read or heard the story of David and Goliath. Big, powerful warrior rolls into town with his homies, terrorizes the local populace, and God helps out some kid with a sling to kill him in one shot. Now, imagine that shot just served to piss Goliath off and Goliath ripped David's head off. A smart townsperson would either opt to run the hell away (only to get picked off by Goliath at a later date) or join Goliath's gang and get a good chance of not being his target so long as you do your job. I opted for the 'work with the guy that's winning' route. Do I expect you to like or appreciate, or even respect this decision? No, not really. On the other hand, I don't really care. I don't even like half of you, and the other half I like too much to care. But there you have it, for better or worse.
Third on the agenda, no, I'm still not planning on spending entire blog posts drooling on my shirt and going 'hurrdurr teh mastar gonna killz u.' If Big Blue decides to have one of us merry henchmen kill someone, then that's how it goes. Mostly, though, he's been getting more active. I guess the whole Orcus On His Throne spiel got boring. Can't blame him, if I were a general I'd lead from the front (though that might just be my flair for the dramatic talking).
And, no, I haven't been given any work recently, though word on the grapevine is something's gonna filter down soon.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Just a lazy Saturday
Spent most of it watching cheesy Kung Fu action flicks with Cheska and working on keeping my hand-to-hand skills sharp with her. Currently massaging a very sore shoulder, remind me to tap out next time she gets me in an armlock.
Friday, April 1, 2011
I've got good news, and bad news.
Good news first: Cheska's no longer in danger of being killed by Big Blue or a proxy.
Bad news: It's because she's my new right-hand girl. Well, actually, that's just bad news for you guys, I think. It's excellent news for me.
Cheska woke up tied down to a chair, with an IV plugged into her right forearm via needle. I made sure to wipe up any blood and I numbed that spot so she only felt minimal pain. I also made sure the first thing she saw was me.
“... Isabel?” she asked, groggy from whatever had knocked her out when some dude in a mask dumped her in the chair earlier that first day. Yes, first. She held out for two days. “What... where am I?” I tipped my hat to her,
“Glad to see a friendly face, kitten?" I asked, lounging back on the chair opposite her. Cheska just gave me a cold stare.
“What the hell is going on here, Fizzy?" A fair question. I decided she deserved to hear my take on things. Well, okay, I'll give her a choice. The way this drug works, it'll get harder for her to think the more brain activity goes on. From what the science types told me about it, it moves through the brain faster that way. I don't know, I'm not a fucking biologist.
"Well, do you want the answer that'll let you feel relieved, or do you want the answer that'll make you realize you're bound into a chair in the middle of nowhere with a powerful hypnotic drug dripping into your bloodstream?" I swept my hand around, and I could tell she was only then coming to realize we were in an abandoned airplane hangar.
“I'd prefer knowing why one of my old friends isn't dead, if you please."
"Alright, another choice, though pretty soon your poor head's gonna start feeling really foggy. Do you want the long version, or do you want the short one?”
She asked for the long version. I obliged. I told her everything about how I ended up like this. Something like pity dawned in her eyes. I told her about how I'd been ordered to kill her. That pity crumbled. I held up a finger, and started in on the real meat of the plan. I leaned against the back of her chair and hugged her from behind, telling her how I felt. I considered, and continue to consider her, a dear friend, and how if she stayed with me, she'll be safe. You know, from Big Blue, and his other merry henchmen. I explained why I stopped caring about most people—hell, look at the people who are being haunted these days. People who want to meth lab a cure, people who want to treat this like the sequel to The Expendables... Well, you get the gist of it. The people making the same mistakes I did, only, they're not learning from them.
“He loved you, you know. You were family to him. His cool big sister.” How do I explain what went on in that hangar to you all? Big Blue was there, you know. If I didn't get her to see things my way, I had to kill her. If I didn't do either, he'd kill her, then kill me. And I'm still not ready to die, and I can't stand to let Cheska get hurt if I can prevent it. And that's what I told her. I made sure the computer was still recording, and I spent hours talking to her in a soft, soothing voice. Reassuring her, as the drug kicked in full-force and Cheska started having trouble telling my words apart from her thoughts, that I was going to keep her safe from everything that would hurt her, I stood behind her and lightly massaged her temples.
Yes, yes, I know, some or all of you are gasping right now, pointing at me and calling me a bounder, a cad, a villain for brainwashing her. Here's the thing: I didn't use anything but that drug, and techniques you learn in a first-year psychology course. I kept appealing to the part of her that wanted to be protected and loved, and touched her in relaxing, reassuring ways. If she wanted, she could have fought it off long enough to pull the IV out of her arm, especially since I unbound her and re-bound only her wrists and ankles once she went limp, and her denials turned into soft, curious questions, and finally, acceptance. I held her there like that, for... I don't know how long. I'd long since pulled the IV out. She fell asleep smiling and snuggling up against me. I used the computer to edit the recording, replace all her denials early on with acceptance, cut out the extraneous parts, and put it on an endless loop after donning some earplugs. I wasn't tired, so I stayed up all night, hugging her close, listening to her start to whisper along with my played-back voice.
It was around noon when she woke up, so I stopped the recording and pulled the earplugs out. Big Blue wasn't near anymore. I didn't feel that tug in my head. Cheska just fixed her soft blue eyes on me and asked, in a heartbreakingly innocent tone, “What now?” I sighed. Now to see if she was going to be saved, or if I'd have to bury that last bit of me that's still sane and decent.
“Well... we're going to have to do some very bad things to some good people, Chessie,” I began. She knew exactly what I meant. I wasn't surprised, she's always been bright.
“Why can't we help them?”
“We... are, in a way. They won't be scared, they won't be hurt, they'll be free, Chessie. I promise, we'll make sure it doesn't hurt when we catch up to one and they'll be given a proper burial.” I looked at her, eye-to-eye, and cradled her cheek in my hand, “Trust me.” Cheska waged a short inner war, then nodded, resting against me, and before she fell asleep (putting us in our current situation), she managed to slurr out,
“I trust you.”
So, before anyone thinks about playing the hero, I need you to stop and really think. I can keep her safe from Big Blue, and the other proxies. I can make sure she's never hurt, that she's safe, protected, and loved. I can give her a *life.* Would you rather tear her away from that, leave her alone and terrified in a hostile world with an otherworldly creature hunting her down, leaving her dead in a ditch somewhere after spending the last days of her life terrified, lonely, hurting, and with her sanity in shreds?
Good news first: Cheska's no longer in danger of being killed by Big Blue or a proxy.
Bad news: It's because she's my new right-hand girl. Well, actually, that's just bad news for you guys, I think. It's excellent news for me.
Cheska woke up tied down to a chair, with an IV plugged into her right forearm via needle. I made sure to wipe up any blood and I numbed that spot so she only felt minimal pain. I also made sure the first thing she saw was me.
“... Isabel?” she asked, groggy from whatever had knocked her out when some dude in a mask dumped her in the chair earlier that first day. Yes, first. She held out for two days. “What... where am I?” I tipped my hat to her,
“Glad to see a friendly face, kitten?" I asked, lounging back on the chair opposite her. Cheska just gave me a cold stare.
“What the hell is going on here, Fizzy?" A fair question. I decided she deserved to hear my take on things. Well, okay, I'll give her a choice. The way this drug works, it'll get harder for her to think the more brain activity goes on. From what the science types told me about it, it moves through the brain faster that way. I don't know, I'm not a fucking biologist.
"Well, do you want the answer that'll let you feel relieved, or do you want the answer that'll make you realize you're bound into a chair in the middle of nowhere with a powerful hypnotic drug dripping into your bloodstream?" I swept my hand around, and I could tell she was only then coming to realize we were in an abandoned airplane hangar.
“I'd prefer knowing why one of my old friends isn't dead, if you please."
"Alright, another choice, though pretty soon your poor head's gonna start feeling really foggy. Do you want the long version, or do you want the short one?”
She asked for the long version. I obliged. I told her everything about how I ended up like this. Something like pity dawned in her eyes. I told her about how I'd been ordered to kill her. That pity crumbled. I held up a finger, and started in on the real meat of the plan. I leaned against the back of her chair and hugged her from behind, telling her how I felt. I considered, and continue to consider her, a dear friend, and how if she stayed with me, she'll be safe. You know, from Big Blue, and his other merry henchmen. I explained why I stopped caring about most people—hell, look at the people who are being haunted these days. People who want to meth lab a cure, people who want to treat this like the sequel to The Expendables... Well, you get the gist of it. The people making the same mistakes I did, only, they're not learning from them.
“He loved you, you know. You were family to him. His cool big sister.” How do I explain what went on in that hangar to you all? Big Blue was there, you know. If I didn't get her to see things my way, I had to kill her. If I didn't do either, he'd kill her, then kill me. And I'm still not ready to die, and I can't stand to let Cheska get hurt if I can prevent it. And that's what I told her. I made sure the computer was still recording, and I spent hours talking to her in a soft, soothing voice. Reassuring her, as the drug kicked in full-force and Cheska started having trouble telling my words apart from her thoughts, that I was going to keep her safe from everything that would hurt her, I stood behind her and lightly massaged her temples.
Yes, yes, I know, some or all of you are gasping right now, pointing at me and calling me a bounder, a cad, a villain for brainwashing her. Here's the thing: I didn't use anything but that drug, and techniques you learn in a first-year psychology course. I kept appealing to the part of her that wanted to be protected and loved, and touched her in relaxing, reassuring ways. If she wanted, she could have fought it off long enough to pull the IV out of her arm, especially since I unbound her and re-bound only her wrists and ankles once she went limp, and her denials turned into soft, curious questions, and finally, acceptance. I held her there like that, for... I don't know how long. I'd long since pulled the IV out. She fell asleep smiling and snuggling up against me. I used the computer to edit the recording, replace all her denials early on with acceptance, cut out the extraneous parts, and put it on an endless loop after donning some earplugs. I wasn't tired, so I stayed up all night, hugging her close, listening to her start to whisper along with my played-back voice.
It was around noon when she woke up, so I stopped the recording and pulled the earplugs out. Big Blue wasn't near anymore. I didn't feel that tug in my head. Cheska just fixed her soft blue eyes on me and asked, in a heartbreakingly innocent tone, “What now?” I sighed. Now to see if she was going to be saved, or if I'd have to bury that last bit of me that's still sane and decent.
“Well... we're going to have to do some very bad things to some good people, Chessie,” I began. She knew exactly what I meant. I wasn't surprised, she's always been bright.
“Why can't we help them?”
“We... are, in a way. They won't be scared, they won't be hurt, they'll be free, Chessie. I promise, we'll make sure it doesn't hurt when we catch up to one and they'll be given a proper burial.” I looked at her, eye-to-eye, and cradled her cheek in my hand, “Trust me.” Cheska waged a short inner war, then nodded, resting against me, and before she fell asleep (putting us in our current situation), she managed to slurr out,
“I trust you.”
So, before anyone thinks about playing the hero, I need you to stop and really think. I can keep her safe from Big Blue, and the other proxies. I can make sure she's never hurt, that she's safe, protected, and loved. I can give her a *life.* Would you rather tear her away from that, leave her alone and terrified in a hostile world with an otherworldly creature hunting her down, leaving her dead in a ditch somewhere after spending the last days of her life terrified, lonely, hurting, and with her sanity in shreds?
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Are you people seriously this retarded?
"Cure" me? Help me? Have you all lost your fucking minds? Yeah, hi, I've been corrupted by a creature that shouldn't even exist, and you know what? You people are trying to find a cure for something with no basis in our reality. You know what that's called? You get to waste money and resources and time coming up with a big, fat, steaming pile of nothing.
Jesus, I actually stuck my neck out for some of you people. I don't know, maybe you all aren't smart enough to warrant a eulogy. I mean, really. The fuck do you people think this is, a Sylvester Stallone movie where all it takes is one big, climactic scene with a few turret-mounted 50.-cal machine guns and we get to walk into the horizon while the audience is treated to a sunrise?
News flash: We're on the highway to hell. Strap in and enjoy the ride, kids.
Jesus, I actually stuck my neck out for some of you people. I don't know, maybe you all aren't smart enough to warrant a eulogy. I mean, really. The fuck do you people think this is, a Sylvester Stallone movie where all it takes is one big, climactic scene with a few turret-mounted 50.-cal machine guns and we get to walk into the horizon while the audience is treated to a sunrise?
News flash: We're on the highway to hell. Strap in and enjoy the ride, kids.
Monday, March 28, 2011
The Other Side
I know what you're thinking. That wasn't my body Jeff found. I never died fighting Big Blue in some blaze of glory. Hell, halfway through saying goodbye to Jean I could already hear that voice in the back of my head. By the time I actually saw Big Blue, I was in Bumfuck Nowhere, Iowa, with orders to kill some poor kid who went on the run. The choice was out of my hands. Brained him, took his food and water, started headed back to my place via bus. No police tape, no potholes in the ground, the house itself was in perfect shape. I must've hallucinated pretty badly during that time. There's barely any trace Nessa was even there.
Look, this is pretty much how things are: He's got his claws in me, so to speak. No isn't an option anymore. So I'm going to memoralize the people I end up killing. They deserve better than what they're getting, at least this way part of my conscience will shut up.
Time to put my nose to the grindstone.
Look, this is pretty much how things are: He's got his claws in me, so to speak. No isn't an option anymore. So I'm going to memoralize the people I end up killing. They deserve better than what they're getting, at least this way part of my conscience will shut up.
Time to put my nose to the grindstone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)