Eulogy

Here lies a friend

Entombed in the insecurities of the present,

Hunted by the mistakes of the past,

Haunted by the spirit of inevitability,

Chased by the ghost of his abandonment.

He chose his path like the best of men

And left us here to mourn.

My hand sang his eulogy

With blade and needle

My vengeance finished

His will be done.

We lay his spirit to rest today

For we have no body to bury.

We sing of his end now

For we lay his aggressors with him.

We entrust him to his god

For we can do no more for him.

My hand writes his eulogy

With paper, ink, and blood

And so I end our mourning here

There are yet more to drag to hell.

Goodnight, Thomas Blake

May your god be kind to your likeness.

- Have a Nice Day

Audio Log: 3/7/2012 1:59 pm

Transcription of manual audio log beginning 1:59 pm
WARNING: AUDIO MISSING OR CORRUPTED

This is Doctor Alexander T. Birchman of Kale Facility. I have lost all communication with my satellite offices, and my second in command was killed in the fall of Northe Facility. Knowing who is organizing this, I probably have less than an hour.

I am sending this will to any colleagues who are still alive after the fall of Kale and Northe. Do not ever leave your facilities unprotected. We here at Kale thought that our secrecy would protect us and we were wrong. We lost one of our own to [REDACTED] and he has singlehandedly exterminated my subordinates and, I believe, also contributed to the obliteration of Northe. He is not to be trusted, and he has proven himself to be an enemy of the Good Doctor.

His name is [REDACTED]. He trained with us for [REDACTED]. The evidence points to him defecting to [REDACTED] and acting as [REDACTED], much in the same vein as his prior employment in our organization. He now goes under the name "The Advisor." I believe him to also be fully armed and capable of [REDACTED].

The attempt to stop #5290 has met with failure. I do not know why, and I urge the MPD personnel who receive this to not explore this avenue of research. Further experiments on The Choir and other beings should not continue. Dabbling with these kinds of things can only lead us to destruction. This business has caused the Good Doctor to forsake us. He didn't relieve Doctor Anderson. He wasn't there for the members of Northe Facility. They were all left to the Newborn and [REDACTED].

Oh god, it is here now. I've got to sen

WARNING: AUDIO CORRUPTED
PLEASE RECONNECT MONITOR

Day 13

Today was the final siege. A 20-something story building on the north side of town, serving as the Timberwolves' headquarters and last bastion. This last time I didn't go in alone. Not because it's suicide, but because I decided that this last battle was more for the better of the group than my own personal gain. I lead a platoon of several dozen coworkers in a direct assault against the building. To tell the truth, it was quite a sight, both from the front lines and from inside the fortress. The mottled army forming the attacking lines, and the masked army defending. The images of the gods interspersed throughout the struggle, influencing the rabble one way or the other, with no one side ever gaining a true advantage.

This was the chaos they wished to sow, and for now it was working in my favor. I knew where to go, where the leader was hiding, and with the battle outside distracting the footsoldiers, I made my progress relatively unimpeded. When I reached the floor I was looking for, I chanced a final glimpse of the fray, and saw ringed around the conflict the gods that had a direct contribution to the fight. The Archangel, the Plague Doctor, The Cold Boy, and the gods that my appearance attracted stood outside and watched as my associates and the Timberwolves continued fighting one another, with the Rake, the Smiling Man, and other uninterested parties killing as they saw fit. Never once did I see one of the gods ringing the struggle lift a finger, neither to kill nor to protect. They simply watched.

With this image in my head, I walked down the hallway where in the fifth room on the left was a locked door. A swift kick later revealed a relatively old man clad in a black leather jacket and a rather nice office with a perfect view of the struggle. I crossed the threshold and rain began to fall on the strife outside. The man made many pleas for his life, and mumbled out some very amusing arguments trying to convince me of his worth as a human, of his ties to his god, of the wrath of the afterlife awaiting me for this transgression, and of his innocence with regards to my friend.

I opened the window for a bit of fresh air. The rain was falling steadily now, beginning to soak the soldiers and their gods, and the smell of the oncoming storm wafted up into the office and cleared out the scent of blood. The severed head of the leader made a delightful crack as it fell seventeen stories and landed on the filter of one of his former subordinates. I turned around to begin my descent back down to the ground floor to help finish off the last of the Timberwolves. By the time I exited the building, all the gods had left, except for the only two that mattered. When the last of the gas-masked defenders had fallen, the Archangel disappeared, and my coworkers celebrated the victory like they usually do.

I'm currently at Thomas' house, the original warzone. Nothing has changed, and I highly doubt anything will. Trash and insanity litter the rooms and the smell of death lingers stronger than ever. Outside, the battle was won, but in here it was lost, and nothing I can do will be able to change that.

I guess the best thing to do before I leave the city is put that body in the bedroom underground. Anything to help me think that Thomas is happier in the Archangel's embrace.

- Have a Nice Day

Document B-5290

January 20 - I got a present from the higher-ups today, they let me keep one of the successful runs from the 5000 test group. Paper says his name is Thomas Blake, designation #5290, and he's quite the catch. A shady past, a request for a specific kind of amnesiac at the end of the tests, beautiful reaction to the vodka test. Oh yes, I'm glad I'll get to personally oversee one of these without the MPD breathing down my neck every step of the way.

January 21 - Mild letdown today, I'm required to have a co-administrator for these tests. Doctor Engels shouldn't be too much of a wet blanket, but I was really looking forward to organizing this personally.

January 22 - Administered the amnesiac today. Nothing of note happened and everything went beautifully. Patient lost everything before 10 years of age and everything from the last month or so. I think we'll continue observing him for a few more weeks or so here at the hospital.

February 2, 2011 - Finally getting used to writing the correct year on these things. I also think we've found a solution to the little housing problem. Blake seems to have taken quite a shining to his nurse, so maybe we can use that to our advantage.

February 4, 2011 - Decided against inducting the nurse as a new Doctor. Instead, we'll administer a mild series of drugs, and hope that everything falls the way we want it to.

February 7, 2011 - Luck is with us here, everything went swimmingly. We're discharging Blake this afternoon, and he's going to live with his favorite nurse. This should make it a lot easier to keep tabs on him than we originally planned for. Testing should begin soon, once Engels and I can get a decent hold on the various aspects of the real world test.

March 6, 2011 - All the variables are under control, and we're finally ready to start the tests. Going to work on the alcohol facet first, since that has given us the most consistent results so far. To begin, we're going to have him invited to a little soiree his boss is throwing. Hopefully there will only be just enough there to get him buzzed, and not full-on drunk.

March 11, 2011 - Results were consistent with previous lab runs. He showed signs of mild obfuscation, it seems like individual words or phrases may have been changed, but apparently not enough to set him off. We're going to count this as a successful run, but we really need to find a way to better document the exact obfuscation that's happening.

April 3, 2011 - Doctor Anderson tells me that Blake's becoming more irritable lately. I'm not sure whether that is related to the Choir, or if that's just normal life problems.

April 13, 2011 - Submitted a series of test requests today, hoping to move this test forward faster. I think we can skip a lot of the intermediate tests if we can find a way to pinpoint exactly what's being changed.

May 23, 2011 - FINALLY got a response about the request I sent in more than a month ago. Most of the requests were denied, which I expected, but they approved quite a few strange tests. Including a few possibilities for documenting the obfuscation. Going to run this by Anderson and Engels and see what we're going to try first.

June 1, 2011 - We've narrowed down the list to a few contenders. Might try combining the direct oversight idea with the blog. Not entirely sure, yet.

June 4, 2011 - Time's drawing near to implement the July plan, and we still can't decide on the right observation method. We may have to go forward briefly on a temporary solution.

June 15, 2011 - Decided that the July plan will go forward on direct oversight while we work out the details for future projects. This would be so much easier if I didn't have to go through Engels and the higher ups.

July 1, 2011 - Still haven't made a solid decision regarding how we're going forward yet. This is getting very, very frustrating. The July plan is going forward as planned, and I've got a tech out there keeping an eye on everything for me.

July 5, 2011 - My tech tells me that everything went as well as we hoped. Blake got drunk out of his mind, got into a fight, ignored his friends, and even turned on them at one point before passing out and waking up this morning acting normally. We now have solid evidence that heavy inebriation does not lead to a full possession, and we even collected a few snippets that help support our case for continuing inebriation runs. Resubmitting some of my ideas for approval and working on wearing down Engels and Anderson so we can get past this damned roadblock.

July 17, 2011 - Anderson agreed to bend to my direct oversight plan, but Engels is still holding up on his stupid blog plan.

August 19, 2011 - It's become painfully obvious that Engels will not back down, so I've bent to his compromise. The next few months will be spent preparing Blake for Engels' ridiculous plan. Joy.

November 13, 2011 - The preparations are finally over, just in time for the December plan, too. Anderson will go through with Engels' retarded idea, while keeping a direct eye on Blake and anything he might say. God, this is annoying.

January 1, 2011 - We finally have proof of the extent of the Choir's influence on Blake while heavily inebriated. We have a direct changing of words, as well as a general obfuscation of a situation in general. After a year of this shit, we're finally getting some results.

January 15, 2011 2012 - This is bad, we're getting evidence of a lingering obfuscation. I've advised Anderson to prescribe some CH-139 to try and counteract the influence. Hopefully it'll be enough to squeeze out a few more tests.

January 25, 2012 - Anderson screwed up royally this time. Not only has he put this project in jeopardy, he's also endangered our agreement with Dereck. Blake was unintentionally given one of the Timberwolves' seed bottles instead of the commercial bottles, and he seems to have an aversion to it. We should be fine so long as he can be persuaded to just take the medicine. Thankfully Doctor Engels had an emergency meeting at the Northe Facility to attend, so I have full control of the project now.

February 1, 2012 - The time has come to cut our losses, I believe. I can't contact Engels, so I'm going ahead and authorizing the use of an MPD product from the very same test group Blake was a part of. He will succumb to the Choir, his blog will end, and maybe we can minimize the backlash this has caused us.

February 3, 2012 - Northe Facility was destroyed. Wiped completely off the map. Almost 200 servants of the Good Doctor along with innumerable pieces of technology and information were taken by upwards of fifteen simultaneous instances of the Manufactured Newborn. Engels is dead, and this seems too big to be a random Newborn attack. For once, I'm thankful that the Midwest facilities operate under complete secrecy.

February 14, 2012 - Anderson tells me that the MPD product was successfully administered. Hopefully we can rest a little easier in a few weeks.

February 20, 2012 - Blake is still alive. This isn't right, not at all. And now that Anderson has pointed it out to me, this anonymous commenter on Blake's blog is certainly saying some strange things. I think I'm going to keep a closer eye on this thing.

March 5, 2012 - I think I know who this Advisor is. I hope I'm wrong, and I can't really take it to my higher-ups without some solid proof. [REDACTED]

March 7, 2012 - I've lost contact with Anderson's building. I know how this person works, and I know there's probably not much time for me, with him as rushed as he is. I'm going to try and warn the higher-ups of this. I'm sending this document to my immediate higher-up and I'm revising my will to send to any of my colleagues that are still out there. [REDACTED]

- Dr. Alexander Birchman

Blood on my hands

It's been so long since I've sullied a uniform like this. I remember the days when I could go through a coat a week like this. And when I would have to go back to base to turn in a sweaty brown mess of a coat for a clean, white uniform. Must have been only a year or two ago, but it still seems so far back. Has it really been that long since my last truly messy operation?

But this is different, isn't it? Different coat, different colors, different textures. I used to relish the feel of a well-used uniform, but this just feels disgusting and sad. I've ruined a perfectly nice uniform running around like the angel of fucking death. I need to reign myself in, this is unacceptable. This is not what I should be doing for Thomas, but if I'm going to do it, then I should do it cleanly, mercifully. But that isn't exactly an option anymore, I don't think. I've missed my last chance at a humane operation today.

There is one building left. We know where you are, you know where we've been, and what we're sitting on. We both know the odds, and we both know how this must end. No loose ends.

I'm going to get a fresh uniform, and then we will go through one last mess of a facility before turning our attention on you, Dereck.

Enjoy your last hours of life, and

- Have a Nice Day

Audio Log: 1/25/12 10:43 am

Phone call received from known source #122, transcription is as follows:

Sender: Umm… Dr. Birchman?

Receiver: Dr. Anderson! How nice to hear from you. How is our patient doing?

S: He’s fine, Doctor Birchman. But... We... We might have a problem.

R: Oh? What sort of problem might we have?

S: Oh. Uhh… You remember those pills you told us to give the patient?

R: Yes, I distinctly remember telling you to give the patient a bottle of CH-139... Please don't tell me you gave him the wrong medicine.

S: No, no, no, Doctor Birchman. He got the CH-139. It’s just… We may have given him a seed bottle.

R: You had a seed in your office? That’s not exactly allowed, Dr. Anderson.

S: Forgive me, Dr. Birchman. I like to keep a seed of every medication we have. For emergencies, you know? It was a fresh box, and it just slipped my mind to separate the seed from the rest of the bottles.

R: I fail to see the problem here. So he has a seed bottle. It should work just as efficiently as the others.

S: That’s not quite it, Dr. Birchman…

R: Well get on with it! I don’t exactly have all day!

S: Well, the patient didn’t like the pills. He seemed to be scared of them, he acted adversely to them when we gave him the bottle. We worry that he might inspect the bottle before taking any of the medication, and he might find the stamp on the inside of the seed and make it public somehow.

R: Why wouldn't he just ignore it?

S: Our evaluations lead us to believe that he'd... umm... ask for help from the people following his blog.

R: Oh right, his blog. I almost forgot about that thing. Who's he attracted to that online diary, anyway? Anybody we should worry about?

S: Umm, well, there's proxiehunter and a few others, but I'm worrying that there are some other psychiatrists watching his blog as well.

R: So you’re worried he will find the stamp, put it on his little blog, and then everybody will know your associations with the Good Doctor.

S: Well, yeah. I don't want to be put out of a job, you know.

R: You don’t see any other possible implications here to worry about?

S: Umm… No?

R: Not like, say, having our little agreement with the Timberwolves being made public? Do you realize that if that stamp gets out, there will inevitably be a paper trail leading right to us? And even if we evade the more perceptive runners, we’ll most certainly lose the support of Dereck’s little band of drug dealers?

S: What, you're worried about those ruffians?! Listen, I don’t know what you and Doctor Engels see in them, but I don’t think it would be that hard to synthesize the damn drugs without their seeds! Why you choose to rely on them is beyond me. I don’t trust their dirty gang as far as I could throw them!

R: We’ve been over this before, Mister Anderson. Trade with Dereck is beneficial to the both of us.

S: Yeah, we get their drugs, and they get our machines to manufacture new compounds. Whoop-de-doo. Why can’t we just take a few bottles of seed and figure out how to make them ourselves, instead of wasting the seeds on their ridiculous ideas!

R: I don’t expect you to understand the nuances of the agreement, Anderson. But you have been told time and time again that Doctor Engels and I hold the interests of our group foremost in our minds. We do only what is best for-

S: Best for who? You, us, the Good Doctor? You’re lining your pockets with the Timberwolves’ cash, and using the rest of us as a meat shield when the shit hits the fan.

R: Mister Anderson, there are more important things than your petty wants. Furthermore, you will have more to worry about than the supposed psychiatrists watching the blog if that stamp makes it onto that blog. I will personally see to it that you will work cleanup on whatever mess forms, and then I will make sure that you contract a particularly bad strain of mono when this all blows over. Do you understand me, Anderson?

S: ... Yes, Doctor Birchman.

R: Good. Then go back to your job. And contact me if anything happens, I want to be the first to know if this turns sour.

Connection terminated by receiver.

Day 8

I have a mantra (a lot of mantras, actually), but the one applicable for today is "Always stay busy."

I am unlike most people in that I don't mind busy Mondays, and in fact, I believe that a hectic Monday will make the rest of the week go by smoothly. I haven't been proven wrong yet, except in the few cases where shit hit the fan, and I tend to overlook those as a rule. don't want outliers ruining the spread, and all that.

But dear me, was today busy. I daresay my prey may be learning a little, or maybe they're just paranoid. Or crazy, who knows. Anyway my initial push wasn't as effective as my last siege. Last time, the entire facility was down after a few minutes of gas. This time, I had to deal with nutjobs wearing gas masks. Thankfully, none of them were really bad, and most of them were already down anyway.

In retrospect they were probably just crazy. But I'm going to assume that the rest of them are reading this and will make that a rule. No problems with me, I was getting tired of beheading sleeping people anyway.

But yeah, another building down, another dozen or two killed. Thankfully it should get much easier after this point, since we now have the spread to track any stragglers out on the streets. So keep your eyes open and

- Have a Nice Day

And on the seventh day

I rested.

I am by no means implying that the last few days were busy, as I haven't really left this building. But this facility is quite a bit bigger than the shack I took over last, and as such it has a lot of machines and documents. Oh dear, all these documents, all this information. It's such a shame that most of them are invalid now, with their authors and intended parties dead. And it's an even bigger shame that most of them are bland, unhelpful, and just plain stupid.

To be fair, I wasn't expecting anything on the level of the Doctors, but seriously, some of these are just illegible. You should feel ashamed of yourselves.

Anyway, we've cleared out the building and confiscated the machinery, and I'm just having some fun prancing around the building in my gas mask like I originally wanted to. I'm sure by now you've tried escaping the city, so I'm just going to assume that by this point you've got it into your tiny brains how screwed you really are. Enjoy your last seven days, and pray often to your god.

You're going to be meeting him soon enough.

- Have a Nice Day

Document CTE-5-2-B

Tests #5288-5295 were all successful on the meta level, and the Patients were all admitted to the next level of screening.

Tests #5288B-5295B represent the attempts to isolate the effects of various drugs and stimulations on the "borderline possessed."

#5288B: Patient showed no unique signs after administration of various stimulants, including caffeine, nicotine, methamphetamine, and methylenedioxymethamphetamine. Patient terminated through an overdose of benzoylmethylecgonine. Individual records terminated.

#5289B: Patient given enough ethyl alcohol to elicit a normal reaction, and tested positive for a heightened level of possession. Further tests with stronger depressants elicited stronger reactions. However, after a medium dose of diacetylmorphine patient lapsed into a full possession. Individual records terminated.

#5290B: Patient repeated the reaction of #5289 to ethyl alcohol. Patient then set aside for further testing. See Document B-5290 for further results and comments.

#5291B: Patient issued a mild hallucinogen and immediately lapsed into a full possession. Individual records terminated.

#5292B: Patient was sent to the MPD for torture testing. Results came back negative on all levels. Individual records terminated.

#5293B-5295B: Patients tested for various emotional responses. All tested normal psychologically, but nothing of note was observed. After several unspecific and unproductive tests, MPD requested use of the patients. MPD requested and granted access to #5293, #5294, and #5295.

Document CTE-5-2

Experimental group #5

FOR RESEARCHERS

All individuals involved with the test are hereby labeled #XYYY, X being the group number, and YYY being the individual's place in the group. At no time are the individuals to be called by their names, instead refer to them as "Patient XYYY" or "Number XYYY."

Group 5 is first and foremost a MPD assignment, do not forget this. There will be MPD representatives present at all times and overseeing every test. If they wish for the results or specifics of any one or any group of tests, you are to comply fully. The representatives have authority over all techs and researchers while in the facility, and any problems should be taken up with the head Doctor of your group [Dr. Birchman].

RESULTS AND REFERENCES

Tests #5001-5005 are controls, designed to compare with the future tests.

#5001: Given a large pill (~125 mg) stuffed with fungus. Patient spent 24 hours in a stable state, and afterwards rapidly declined mentally. By hour 36, patient had reached a full possession. Patient terminated self 60 hours into the test.

5002: Given an injection of a 25% solution by mass of liquified fungus. Patient mirrored the symptoms of Subject #5001, reaching a full possession at hour 36. Patient terminated self 72 hours into the test. MPD requested and granted all information related to #5002.

5003: Sprayed on the back of the neck with an aerosolized fungus, 50% by mass. Patient spent 24 hours stable, but the infection began to spread rapidly after hour 12. At hour 18, patient had the full appearance of a Carrier, but was still in full control of his mental faculties. Patient spent hours 18-24 showing signs of major distress, including clawing at both arms in an attempt to remove the fungus. After 24 hours, the patient fell silent and began to act as a Carrier. MPD requested and granted all information related to #5003.

[Note: Despite what the MPD claims, I do not approve of test #5003 being used as a method of torture. While it places a great amount of distress on the individual, the process is rather irreversible.]

5004: Inhaled 100 grams of aerosolized fungus. Patient spent 2 hours stable, but expired after the fungus coated the inside of the patient's lungs. MPD requested and granted all information related to #5004.

5005: Left in room thoroughly contaminated with fungus. Patient spent 48 hours in the room before succumbing to a full possession. After 120 hours, patient terminated self.

Tests #5201-5299 are designed to test the effectiveness of a direct injection.

#5201-5254: All Patients terminated quicker that #5005, with #5254 matching the control almost exactly. Individual records terminated.

#5255-5287: All patients exhibited possession of a degree less than that of #5005, but all eventually succumbed to a full possession. Individual records terminated.

#5288-5295: Patients showed no initial signs of possession, but tested positive after some form of excitement. See Document CTE-5-2-B for further results.

#5296-5299: Patients showed no signs of possession under any circumstances, and tests came up negative under all scrutiny. Individual records terminated.

So I've been thinking

Because after slaughtering a building full of people you really have to just sit back and think. First, I've been dwelling on how I'm feeling recently. I'm kind of down since I had to make an improvisation to my uniform. I may be crazy, but I'm not suicidal enough to go prancing about a cultist hideout dressed like their god. Had to settle for a rag across the face instead of the heavier gear. It's a pity, but the fact that that's all I feel is a bit more than disturbing. I mean, my best friend just died, and I'm angry that he decided to give himself to the Archangel, and sad that I couldn't wear my old mask. Shouldn't there be more deeper emotions involved with this?

Anyway, after ending the lives of 14 more people I wondered if this was the right way to honor my friend's death. I'm not going to stop the slaughter, of course, but it doesn't feel right to have his last memory honored with blood. I'm fairly certain he'd want me to come clean about everything, since he never did care for secrets. But sadly I can't do that for obvious reasons, most of them being "I don't want to die."

So here's the deal. For every day I go out and continue this mad rampage, I'm going to copy onto this blog a document from the bundle that I would have given Thomas once I caught him, with any harmful information removed, of course.

I'm sure some of you are asking why I don't just scan the documents and post the images, so I'll go ahead and say that I know your types, and I doubt that my black ink will hide everything I want it to. So instead, I'm going to type up the documents word for word and you're just going to have to take my word that they're legitimate. Or you can not believe me. I don't care, this is for Thomas, not you meatbags.

So this will mean I've got two documents to put up. And there might be a few more in the future if things go as swimmingly as this.

- Have a Nice Day

Day 2

It's been so long that I've forgotten how comfortable my old uniform was. I mean, the one I have now is subtle and stylish, but my god, this almost makes me miss the old days. Almost.

By the way, this is your 2:30 wake up call. Shame on you all for sleeping in.

- Have a Nice Day

Day 0

Okay, I may have lied. It was not QUITE two weeks, more like two weeks and three days. But seriously, it's all semantics, since I wasn't exactly expecting to do anything until I was fully prepared. I mean, it's not like I asked to have all my supplies close at hand, it just happened that way. Also, I certainly didn't ask to be attacked first. I made it quite clear that I would make the first move, and while I appreciate the initiative you showed, it wasn't exactly the most tactical decision you could have made.

First of all, I'm not sure what that first group was supposed to be. A scouting party? A preemptive strike? Random gang activity? Second of all, you really should teach them to never run back to base, it is far from the best decision in this world. I'm currently sitting on ten casualties and a meth lab in this shed, with three more bodies back at my previous location, and a cleanup crew trying their hardest to mobilize early. Not exactly the best beginning for you, I'm afraid.

- Have a Nice Day

I found this with the rest of his stuff

A laptop, asleep and on his blog, on the latest entry, a bloody makeshift sack containing a few food items, and a knife. The assortment was hidden under a tarp with the symbol of my associates tagged on it. He left it here for me to find, and I hate him for it.

I don't know how much he knew, but it's evident that he knew a lot more than I wanted him to. So now that he's dead, I guess I can take a little relief in the knowledge that whatever he knew is safe from prying eyes.

I'm still pissed at him, though. And I think a side trip is perhaps in order. I have two weeks before my next job begins, so maybe I should get warmed up.

This is your only warning.

- Have a Nice Day

Epiphany

I've been thinking a lot as I've been running. Mostly about the things chasing me, but also about some other stuff that's been bothering me.

First off, there's the Choir. They've been with me since before this mess started, and they have only gotten louder since appearing. I started thinking about what they want, and I think I know what that is. I think they want me to kill myself. I thought earlier that they just wanted me to die, but they can just do that on their own, blow out my eardrums, scramble my brain, and leave me dying in a random alleyway. But no, for some reason they want me to do the job myself. As if they get something out of it. I know what happens to the voices of those they take, but if that's what they want, they could have taken it months ago by force. There has to be something else, something I'm not seeing, or something I'm not supposed to see, but it's not something I want to part with, especially not at the cost of taking my life for their amusement.

Then there's CRITIC. It simply wants me to burn for my sins, like the god of old. It wants me to face my crimes and pay for them with body, blood, soul, and being. But I wonder how much I can even do that. The Choir has such a grip on my mind that I don't think my sanity is mine to control anymore. I remember what I did to that child, I remember every detail, and I know what I did was wrong, but I cannot make myself regret what I did. CRITIC may make me burn, but it can't make me regret these crimes, and I think it knows that. I think it knows that nobody can truly regret their actions, and so all it can ever offer is eternal hellfire. And unlike the Choir, it has no qualms with taking what it wants by force. It is the Devil incarnate, and I will never let myself give into the Devil.

FERMATA chases me for what I've become. I haven't known a friendly touch in many months, my last contact with humanity hung herself at the behest of my demons, and so I am left all alone. Too scared to ask for help lest I drive more people into the clutches of Hell, and too far gone to even want help. The man who seeks my help will either fall by his own hand or will force mine own against him. And since I refuse to aid the devils that way, this devil completes the Catch 22 sealing my doom. He'll catch me before too long, I know that. He's faster than me and can travel farther than me, and as soon as he bores of this chase he will strike like any other predator.

This is the situation I believe myself to be in. And if that was it, then I would be completely and utterly defeated. Luckily for me, that isn't entirely the case. I still have one more option, one more chance for a safe haven, one that I've only recently discovered the merits of.

So I believe this shall be my last post here. I'm going to deny all my aggressors what they desire and end this stupid hunt once and for all. And I'd advise you all to do the same.

Embrace the Archangel.

Judgement

I hid, as stupid and useless as the idea might seem. I hid and waited. I could only see what was in front of me, whether it was real or not was something I had to decide for myself. I tried to use the sense of paranoia to tell how close Judgement was, until eventually he appeared in my little box of vision.

He knew where I was, of course, but I also knew where HE was. I'd like to say I was prepared for him, but that would be a bit of a lie. I remember reading about what happens to the people CRITIC possesses, and for the most part, that's what I got. The little neighbor kid had hair and skin singed and falling off in places, but what made me cringe was the state his face was in. His eyes had fallen out, or maybe he plucked them out, but either way when he appeared I found myself looking into two holes, empty yet full of hellfire. I could see the depths of my sins, past and future, and I could see how much I would pay as Judgement is passed on my arrested soul, after CRITIC frees it from my body.

Of course, that didn't happen. The visions made me hesitate, I admit, but I've heard many times before about the torture to come, no matter what I do, no matter who I fall to. The Alighierian torment of FERMATA, the fires of Judgement, the eternal servitude of the Lord of the Dead. The Choir lovingly explained how there was no hope for safety, not for me, and not for anybody. Seeing it from Judgement was only so much worse than hearing it in detail and imagining the rest.

So I'd like to think that Judgement was surprised when I attacked him with a large shard of glass. He may be an unknowable eldritch being, but he was inhabiting a human body. And human bodies break rather easily. I managed to stick the glass in one of his shoulders before making an attempt at his knife. However, despite being human, Judgement still isn't quite normal, as evident from the lack of blood that should have been pouring from his shoulder, and he had one hell of a grip. I wasn't able to get the knife then, and nor was I able to prevent being stabbed and thrown at a wall. As he was walking towards me, the wound in his arm glowing with the internal fire eating him away, the light making the shard of glass glow a reddish yellow, I kicked out wildly, catching the glass with the sole of my foot and pushing it all the way into his arm.

Apparently that was all his shoulder could take, as his arm fell off, knife and all. Judgement stumbled backwards, and paused just long enough for me to wrench the knife from the dead grip of his severed arm. I took no chances this time, and slashed the neck of the boy-demon. It was a deep, but bloodless wound, so I thrust forward again and again, until the thing fell on its back. One last plunge, and I severed the head from the beast, its eyes closed and the stump covered in charred flesh and blood.

I briefly wondered if Judgement was dead, but decided that it was better to be sure. I severed both legs and the remaining arm from the corpse, so that there was no possible way the body could be used again. And just to ensure inactivity beyond a shadow of a doubt, I cut into its chest and removed the heart from the body. I looked down on the bloody remains of Judgement, and finally felt that I had scored a point against these things.

The arms I left there, in the dim alleyway where a man stood against Judgement and survived. The legs I carried to the center of the city, where I buried them in an inconspicuous dumpster behind some sort of shop or restaurant. I pondered over the chest cavity for a while, wondering how something so small could cause me so much trouble, so in the end it went in the trash of a toy store somewhere on the north end of town. I walked the head down to the creek near the park, where I used to play as a child, and threw the head in the waters, to lay the boy to rest with my brother. Even though I know that child will know nothing close to rest now. The Choir had an interesting idea for the heart I still had, and as disgusted by it as I was, I couldn't think of a place to put it, so I just went with their plan.

I hold no fantasies about being free from CRITIC's glare. In fact I'm sure that it's only a matter of time before Judgement returns, this time in a body less prone to breaking, and with one more sin on his tongue to attack me for. And I can feel the untimely chills that herald FERMATA's appearance. He will not be pleased, either. The Choir screams these facts even louder now, assuring me that their Hell is the one I should assign myself to. And then there's the distant, wordless pull of the REQUIEM. I feel him now more than I see him, and more strongly than I've ever felt him before. His presence is the fear of death itself, and as I finally have exhausted every sane plan and route of action, he is making himself known.

All I can do now is run, and hope that in running, I extend what life I have left. Whatever game they're playing with me is over now. The Fears are finally out to kill me.

It was only a matter of time

I can feel CRITICs of Judgement on me again. Apparently I'm not fast enough to outrun an unknowable demon. Who would have thought...

The trouble is that I can only feel his presence, I still haven't seen him. And with the Choir being the obnoxious assholes that they always are, I'm probably going to have a hell of a time hearing him, too.

I've been trying to keep REQUIEM in my field of vision whenever I can, but I guess I'll have to look around sometime. Guess it all boils down to whether I feel safer with my back to the Lord of the Dead or to the Harbinger of Judgement.

At least I don't have FERMATA making this any harder than it already is.

Details

I see The Advisor finally made good on his promise to visit. Too little, too late, I’m not telling you where I am.

However, I can tell you that I’m free of that house. I thought it would be easier to run from CRITIC if it had entered a host, and let me tell you, I was right. Thankfully the gas in my car hadn’t frozen, so all I had to do was break through the garage door and I would be free. Well, relatively free. The Choir is still hanging over me, and has much more sound to play off of and turn into jeers and threats. I’m not sure why they don’t just blow my eardrums out or kill me with an enormous soundwave, but I guess I should be thankful I’m still alive.

The REQUIEM is still around, too, somewhere. It seems to like following me around, but so far hasn’t done much of anything. I guess since Chelsea’s voice didn’t show up on the video it wasn’t REQUIEM bringing her back to life, so I’m not sure what he’s trying to accomplish by just standing there doing nothing. Didn’t stop me from flipping him off as I drove away, though. Best two seconds of my life there.

No sign of FERMATA or CRITIC yet. And I’m hoping that stays like that for a while longer. I like being able to enjoy the warm weather for a bit.

Good Morning

I’m not exactly sure why you’d leave this up on your computer, and logged in as well, but opportunities are opportunities, I guess. Forgive me for this, but you'll never know when this information might come in handy.

Now that that formality’s out of the way, where the fuck are you? Your house is an abandoned warzone and there’s a decaying body in your bedroom. I can literally FEEL the shit that’s gone on in this place, that’s how bad it is.

You lived here, under the presence of at least four of the Undying, and then somehow escaped? If you’re still alive and telling the truth, then I must say, I’m impressed. Of course, if you’re someone posing as Thomas Blake, then may some god have mercy on your soul and grant you asylum before I find you.

Anyway, I’m late to the party, as usual. Care to let me know where you are so I can find you and save/kill you before the Undying do?

- Have a Nice Day

I was able to get a little proof on my phone before the inevitable happened.

I'm safe now. Details to come soon.

CRITIC's been dormant for longer than usual this time.

Maybe this is my chance to actually get some proof.

CRITIC blinked again.

The cup of water froze over. I'm worried, but alive.

Reprieve

I left a cup of water on the table, and it still hasn't frozen over yet.

The REQUIEM still hasn't moved, and the noise still hasn't stopped.

CRITIC still blinks, and moments of rest still come.

From a name

I am trying to hold myself together.togethertogethertogethertogethertogether

preliator sanguis

Chelsea's loss was regrettable. terra terroris

regrettable torpor fereus

There is no time to rest. tremor infernus

timeo invictus no time

CRITIC and the REQUIEM are watching. extinctor fortis together

es angelus 

FERMATA is closing in. unsichtbar regrettable

dunkler als die Nacht. älter als das Licht

The Choir incapacitating. überall zugleich no time together

fliegt schneller als das Licht Obfuscating

No time to rest, no space to leave. Daemone, parce mihi

furiosus occulos timeo notimetogether regrettable

Alone with the noises of the dead. alonealonealone carne hominis mortalis

Semper secundo odorem sanguis No time together alone hiding

I can only hope that I live long enough to see my end. predator cerberus

alles verfällt dem Dunkel,

qui vi vit infernus

es gibt kein Entrinnen.

Scrambling alone, no time together, regrettable. They watch as the cold closes in.

shes gone

shesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgone
shesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgone
shesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgone

shesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgoneshesgone

CRITIC hasnt left
it probably never will
and i dont care if it sees this anymore
which it will
it already knows about this blog
its known about it forever
and would know even if i didnt make this post
another mark on my record
its been a week now
and i cant go near her room anymore without protection
things are much worse
theyre coming together
i saw him the morning after
after awaking from the nightmares
he hasnt moved since then
he waits for something
he could get his prey so easily
and probably already has
but the REQUIEM just stands there
taunting me
and the noises have resumed
the choir has finished laughing
but from where they come i have no clue
is it the mirth of the dead or the mocking of the living
and to add injury to insult to injury
to insult to injury to insult to injury
my ac has broken
as has the world
it reads 75
or so i believe
but it is not 75
and i am not a fool
its so hard now without her
but i know what this means
i feel so alone
and FERMATA is closing in

Finally

The gaze has lifted. After fourteen days, I'm finally free to do something.

But I don't know how long I have. CRITIC isn't one to leave for very long. I once thought he was gone, but an instant later, he was right there again. I guess he blinked. Ten days in, and he has to blink sometime. But he's gone now. He's gone and better still, the voices stopped! The Choir laughs and CRITIC averts his gaze and Thomas Blake is free to tell the world of his confinement! And now the blissful silence is my only companion here.

It's been so long since I've checked up on Chelsea. Her damned babbling kept driving me away. But now I think she's asleep. It's been three days since she last slept, you know. I think. Perhaps she slept yesterday, but the Choir made the babbling. Who's to know!

But the Choir's gone and CRITIC's gone and I have just enough room in this room to jump for joy at it all! I would dance, but this room is full of these useless papers. Don't even know why I bothered with all this, it's all junk anyway. Nothing to see, nothing to do, nothing to hear but the sounds of

theyre not going to be gone forever goingto checkin on chelsea

will report in if i find anything

Paranoia

It's surprising how debilitating it can be. It's been what, a week and a half since I've successfully updated this? Why do I suddenly care who or what sees what I'm writing here?

Because it is watching everything now.

Things are bad. Chelsea isn't in her right mind anymore, and I worry I'm not in mine, either. She's started talking to nobody for long stretches of time in our room. I tried listening in once, but I don't think I want to ever again. Whatever she's saying isn't in English, and I've long given up on determining where the obfuscation begins. Her rants sometimes last long into the night and I've taken to sleeping on the couch now.

The fact that I'm aware of all this must mean I still hold on to some shred of sanity. The fact I can still question my sanity must mean something similar. I'm not completely gone.

Being sane only makes it worse.

But I wonder how far off the breaking point is.

I'm still hearing voices constantly, and I'm still able to tune them out for the most part. I can't remember the last time I've used my voice or actually wrote something with pen and paper. All this I can live with, to an extent.

But the paranoia. This is new to me. Being rooted to the couch in fear for days on end because there's something out there watching me. Being seen no matter where I try to hide.

Having every movement under scrutiny.

No, this is the true hell.

And the Devil is your only judge.

CRITIC is closed for now. When it opens I do not know when it will close again. But I cannot do anything until it stops watching.
Because it sees this, and knows this blog is a crime against it. And crimes are meant to be punished.

CRITIC

It's here. I can feel it. I haven't seen it yet, but I can feel it. I have to constantly fight the urge to live looking over my shoulder now. Why is it here? Why now? What have I done?

Things have not exactly gotten better. Chelsea's been high strung for the past couple of weeks, and I fear that the Choir's gotten its claws in her now. There are no plans now. No brilliant ideas on what to do next. If Chelsea's beginning to hallucinate, then there won't be anybody to help me stay in reality.

And then there's CRITIC. Not sure what it's doing here. Not entirely caring about that at this point. I worry that I'm actually starting to go properly insane, that these hallucinations might not all be because of the Choir now...

No more plans, no more ideas. I just need to hold out for as long as I can, until something happens to relieve a little of this stress.

Test 3

Ich kann das nicht mehr machen. Jetzt ist es schlimm. Wirklich schlimm. Ich denke, der Chor hat damit begonnen, Chelsea zu beeinflussen. Ich kann nicht wirklich sagen.

Das ist nicht so sehr ein Test, wie es eine Erkenntnis ist. Etwas, das ich von Anfang an hätte wissen müssen. Diese Dinge sind nicht statisch. Sie sind wankelmütig Wesen. Eines Tages werden sie nahezu abwesend von deinem Leben, und am nächsten werden sie man nicht allein lassen. Diese Tests, der Versuch, ein Muster zu finden. Diese Tests, der Versuch, zu finden, eine Grenze für Ihre Macht. Alles nutzlos. Wenn sie wollte, konnte der Chor über meine Hände zu nehmen, wie ich, tippen, wie sie, verweigern, lass mich zu schreiben. Auch diese Gesten die ich verwendet haben, um zu Chelsea reden kann auch wahrscheinlich geändert werden, wenn sie dies wünschen.

Sie sind mit mir spielte. Ich habe diese Idee in meinem Kopf, dass ich ihre Qualen verwenden wurde, und dass ich kann machen, was sie zu mir umzugehen. Aber sie sind nicht einmal versucht. Sie sind nur Unordnung mit mir, um zu sehen was passiert. Nur mit den Ärzten gefällt. Alles ist nur eine Erweiterung ihres Spiels. Sobald Sie in gelutscht, es gibt kein Entkommen, du bist dazu verurteilt, den Rest Ihres Lebens als ihr Spielzeug zu leben.

Ich kann nicht mehr schreiben. Es ist nur eine Frage der Zeit, bis ich nicht mehr lesen kann. Alles, was ich höre, ist verdorben. Selbst die Dinge, die normale klingen. VOR ALLEM die Dinge, die normale klingen. Wie lange, bevor sie meine Vision, meinen Tastsinn, mein Geruchssinn, zu verschleiern? Alles ist in gewisser Weise ein Kanal für Informationen, und der Chor kann zugreifen, und diese Information zu verändern. Sie werden mich nicht erwartet, Selbstmord zu begehen oder zu töten Chelsea. Sie erwarten mir ihr zu ertragen. Sie erwarten von mir zu nehmen, was sie können, bis ich völlig in ihrer Halluzination eingetaucht bin.

Da ist keine Hoffnung und keine Zuversicht. Ihre Sprache führt uns.

Second Test

Okay, this isn't as much a single test as it is a series of mini-tests. I'm going to try to ascertain how far the Choir will let me communicate, and how much room I have to maneuver with them

Test 1: Recorded self reading the pages on the Choir on various informational blogs.

Result: Inconclusive. The end product was a monotone chant of "Perhaps their language leads you," one of the mantras the Choir likes to repeat when it's not trying to drive me to murder. Not sure if this is because what I said was altered or if what I heard was altered. Notes on how to improve future tests rendered unreadable.

Test 2: Attempted to transcribe notes for future tests

Result: Failure. The notes immediately degenerated into unreadable gibberish.

Test 3: Attempted to write my own name, along with a few normal questions and statements.

Result: Success.

Test 4: Brought Chelsea in and showed her the card with my name on it. Gave her a sheet of paper and gestured at her to do the same.

Result: Success. The Choir apparently does not interfere with inane acts.

Test 5: Showed Chelsea a card that read “Nod your head if you can read this.”

Result: Success. 

Test 6: Showed Chelsea two cards that read "They are the Choir" and "Please repeat out loud the other card"

Result: Failure. She said "The Choir leads us." I really need to find a way to isolate vocal manipulations from auditory manipulations.

Test 7: I cut up several cards to form a sentence that read "The Choir changes what we say and what we hear." Observed response from Chelsea.

Result: Inconclusive. Not sure what I was thinking there, since whimpering could be a legitimate successful or failed response.

Test 8: I put my fingers to my lips.

Result: Successful. Chelsea calmed down significantly.

Test 9: I showed Chelsea a post on my blog, specifically one early on with possible Choir activity. 

Result: After a minute or so of reading, Chelsea showed surprise and mild shock. I must assume she discovered the long span of the Choir's activity.

Test 0: Failure. Failure. Failure. Their language leads us. Their hand conducts us. We sing only to their tune. There is no hope and no confidence.

First Test

Okay, so I finished my first test. Not really keen on spitting out details, but I can say with complete certainty that my blood is still red. That's a check for normalcy, and I guess it means I'm not a Camper or a Greyskin.

Currently preparing the other tests. This is actually a bit harder than I thought it would be...

Hello again

So I've been trying to keep to a normal sleep schedule. It's not at all perfect, but I'm not flying off the handle anymore, at least. It doesn't help that my affliction has decided that it no longer wants me to sleep. It was fine when I was trying to research 24/7, but apparently now sleep is no longer going to be easy...

So, yeah, long story short, this IS me, and not some alternate personality bullshit. The me that's been posting all this time was also me, kind of, but that's a REALLY long story, and not one I want up here yet. All you get to know is that the researching, prying, slightly insomniac person is really me, while the angry guy really isn't. For the sake of simplicity, let's just assume I've magically worked through my anger issues. It's not quite what happened, but fuck me if I'm putting all that shit up here when I'm trying to keep positive.

So yeah, Advisor. I know who he is, he used to be a good friend of mine back in college. Not the community college I thought I went to, but the university where that creek was. He and I were in similar fields, I was biology, I think. I just sort of took classes and had a major that fit them. Advisor was a biochemistry major, and we had some of the same classes throughout our undergrad studies. Anyway, I was having problems, Advisor pointed me in the direction of an experiment that he promised would help me. Truth be told, it did help the issue I wanted it to help, but it also wiped a lot more out of my memory than I wanted it to, and it had me under DECRESCENDO's followers' watch for what must have been a year and a half or so. And now I'm here, the amnesiac is worn off, or degraded, or something, and I'm having a pretty shitty time trying to consolidate everything.

I think Chelsea thinks I've gone off the deep end. Not really sure what to think about that. On the one hand, she was the girlfriend of a me that wasn't really me... Yeah, no, I'm not going to bother with this now. She can think what she wants for now, I need to figure out how to get rid of the Choir.

So that brings me to my real update. I think I'm going to start testing on myself. Research has hit a dead end, and Advisor's documents won't really help me here, so I'll take the initiative and mess around until I find something that works.
Or something that kills me. Can't really be too picky here.

YOU MOTHERFUCKER

YOU FUCKING SOLD ME OUT! YOU BASTARD!

What did you get out of it, huh? What did you get for SELLING YOUR BEST FUCKING FRIEND TO THOSE DEVILS?

Did they give you that “dream job” you were looking for? The one that you wanted so badly you’d commit a sin this grave just for a chance at it? Obviously not, since you talk a lot about your “former colleagues.”

What happened, suddenly all that left a bad fucking taste in your mouth? So you just QUIT? You knew then, like I know now, there is no quitting. Not when these fuckers are involved. You ran away? To where? You sold your soul and my mind for a shot at something and when you found that it wasn’t what you had expected, you just left?

Did they let you leave quietly, or did they chase you? I’ll bet it was neither. You were never one to leave behind loose ends, you’d have all of your research end perfectly, nothing left unsupported. When you broke up with a friend, you broke off completely. So, if you suddenly didn’t want to be associated with a group like that, what would you do? Would you just kill your bosses, or would you kill anyone who had ever laid eyes on you in that organization?

I wonder why you wanted to come here and see me. Am I a loose end too? I know your name, and even if you’ve destroyed all records of you, someone’s bound to find something useful to do with your name. Or perhaps I’m still a subject. You took the research they were doing, whatever it was, and I’ll bet I’m a plethora of information to add on to those notes.

No, I don’t think I care anymore why you wanted to see me. The important thing is that you didn’t. I’m still alive, and you’re nowhere near me at the moment. Still hung up on that job they gave you in March? Still bummed out that you could only “drop by the town and do a few chores”? Now there’s another question, why haven’t I seen those doctors around recently? They just seemed to vanish off of the face of the earth. I doubt you had anything to do with that, huh?

Come to think of it, what DO you do now? Hell, what DID you do? What was that “dream job” you were so hyped up about all those years ago? Something so good you would trick your best friend into that horrible experience just for your foot in the door?

You better have a good explanation for yourself, Advisor, or I’ll compromise you so badly you won’t know where to start burning.

A Request

That’s it. I’m done with reading. There’s only so much you can read over and over hoping it sticks. And those goddamn microsleeps slowly stealing bits and pieces away from me. I have no idea what’s wrong with me. My research indicates that the Choir is not to blame for all of my symptoms, but that’s only because there haven’t been any cases like me ever. Everybody else gets found by the Choir, goes paranoid, and dies, or becomes a Greyskin. So I don’t know what’s the deal with all my weird symptoms.

My memory problems are getting worse, too. Or maybe I’m just now noticing them. In any case, what I was apparently able to remember five months ago is now fuzzy at best, and missing at worst. In addition, I’m starting to recall things that I know cannot have happened. Not clear pictures or scenes, but rather little instances of something. Places and people I’ve had no prior interactions with are just randomly popping into my head. It always feels like something is just at the tip of my tongue, but I just cant grasp it.

Another passing observation I’ve gotten while trying to work out my memory issues is that the quality of my posts have changed. My early posts were fraught with rage, as I guess I was fighting some form of anger management issues. Although why I had issues is something I can, surprisingly, no longer remember. I said at one point that I assaulted my brother at a family reunion, and while that’s one of the few things I clearly remember, it does nothing to explain why I had those issues or why I attacked my brother out of the blue. But in any case, the anger seems to have lifted somehow recently. I don’t feel as constantly enraged by the world as I did. I really just feel kind of detached. The only thing keeping me going are these studies, something I’m sure I would have found boring two or three months ago. I don’t know, I just feel a compulsion to learn. As if knowing everything will help me get out of this bind.

And The Advisor claims to know something I don’t, something that I won’t be able to find just by searching the internet. So since all my other leads have gone dry, I must ask you once again, Advisor, to impart whatever knowledge you have. You seem to be interested in keeping me alive, and this is my only hope now…

Easter and More Studying

Okay. Update time. Still haven't really left the house. No surprises there.

Chelsea slipped sleeping pills into my food Saturday morning. That, I must admit, was a bit of a surprise.

Yeah, so I've been a bit lax on my sleeping pill regiment. In that I've been forgoing taking the pills so I can get more reading done. So Chelsea forced me to sleep for the majority of Saturday and a good bit of Sunday morning. Apparently last Sunday was Easter, so Chelsea drugged me so I would be able to enjoy the holiday with her. She got a lot of candy, some movies, and a nice dinner, and we had an okay time, I guess. I didn't really notice the trouble with this until the next morning, when I realized that my long nap had made me forget a sizable amount of information. I didn't think much of it at the time, no idea why, but now I realize all the time I had lost in getting fooled like this.

But now I'm back up to speed, and I've mentally compiled all the information I can on my little eldritch problem. So it seems that The Choir can manifest as either a set of grey shadows on the edge of your vision (or directly behind the person in question, sometimes slightly off to one side, as if they're facing your ear) or as a grey fungus. The fungus seems to be their physical state, and can grow on buildings, people, basically any surface it wants to, I guess. If it grows on a building, it does its little Choir-obfuscation thing to anyone who happens to be in the vicinity. If it grows on a person, it messes with the hearing of said person much like it would during a non-corporeal possession. But it seems that these victims, the Greyskins, are actually in some form of contact with the Choir. They hear different things than the normal victims, and are subject to slightly different symptoms, like vocal modifications.

The non-corporeal possessions all seem to take a similar route. Person catches the attention of the Choir, and the Choir drives the person mad through the alterations of both what they hear and what others say. Mostly it changes what is heard, but it is not unheard of for the Choir to actually change what is said, as opposed to what is merely heard. Anyway, the non-corporeal possession continues like this until the victim's mind is completely unhinged or they commit suicide.

There are no records of any Greyskins being able to rid themselves of their infection and become normal humans again, nor are there any records detailing how or if someone was able to survive a non-corporeal possession with their sanity intact.

But this doesn't completely make sense. My symptoms are similar to the non-corporeal possessions, I have glimpsed the grey shadows once or twice, and nearly everything I hear is changed, but there are no cases where the victims become unable to write certain things correctly, or get selective dyslexia, both of which I've picked up recently. Nor are there any mentions of the Choir affecting memory, and I seem to be having great trouble remembering certain facts and details, along with being unable to recall certain things. Like that creek. I remember it, in that I know where it is and what I called it, but I do not recall how I know that. I've been trying to piece together possible options, and I've discovered that I'm having great difficulties remembering a lot of things from the past decade or so. I remember high school. I remember having the phone job. I remember moving in with Chelsea. But I don't remember how I got that job, or where I lived before moving here. I looked back at the first posts I made, and I said that I graduated from the local community college in 2006, but I do not remember that happening. Specifically, I do not recall the graduation, or what the college looked like, or what classes I took, or anything about that time period in general. Which brings me to Mr. Advisor...

The Advisor said earlier that my writing looked familiar. Since then he's been following this blog and offering to come help me. I can only assume he's a friend from that block of memory I seem to be missing, which doesn't explain why he wouldn't just tell me his name so I can figure out who he is...

Anyway, I've rambled for far too long. This is what I've researched. I still have no idea what's going on. And Advisor is still a mystery to me. I don't have much more to read, so I'll think of something to do soon...

Studying

So I've been kind of really busy these last few days. Decided I wanted to know more about The Choir, and more about everything related to it. Reading and writing, reading and writing, that's all I've been doing for the past few days.
No time for sleep, of course.
Granted I can't read anything I write, so I end up having to reread a lot of things. And for some reason there are some things that just don't stick in my head. Little holes and gaps in the knowledge that I was sure I had filled earlier. I tried making a fact web to connect everything, but it just ended up becoming too disorganized. Then the lines reminded me of the CONDUCTRESS's strings, and I had to burn that paper.

Which was a shame, because that was the only coherent thing I could find in these stacks of paper. Pages and pages of scribbles and nonsense. I don't know why I keep trying anymore, it'll just end up an incoherent mess. All these notes gone to waste.

But that doesn't mean I haven't learned anything, oh no. I've learned that there is very little known about The Choir. Their symptoms and appearance are known, and it's recently been found that they sometimes manifest in a fungus, which can accumulate on a body. But nobody knows what the fungus does, how the Choir acts, why the Choir picks who they pick and how they know who will bend and who will break.
They haven't broken me yet.
I learned that there aren't very many documented sightings of DECRESCENDO, and that he and his followers generally act more subtly than other similar beings. The REQUIEM very rarely acts, or has to act, but his followers go out and actively bring death to others for their master. FERMATA, mainly attacks lone travelers or runners, but banding together doesn't seem to help very much against him. REFRAIN usually causes severe mental anguish, but can only kill when inhabiting a human host.

But I can only keep what I'm able to remember, and that space is limited and slippery. I wish I was able to keep my notes, I spent so much time working on them and they would make this so much easier. But I guess those nights were wasted on these stacks of gibberish.
Now I wonder whose fault THAT is...
But perhaps in a sense they weren't. I almost felt comfortable writing those, in a sort of cathartic, almost nostalgic way. Not sure why that is, but that's not important.
It was just like old times.
What is important is that I'm still here, and that Chelsea's still here, and that I'm not constantly sitting at the TV, trying to decode Choir-nonesnse anymore.
You remember the old times? Because I still do.
Back to the studies.
They didn't take everything from me.

Roses

Okay, it's been a while, so I apologize for not updating anyone on my incredibly interesting life.

Aside from talking to Chelsea, I've basically been sitting and watching TV, trying to figure out what is being said behind the Choir's interference. I've tried to have the TV off a couple of times, but sitting in complete silence doesn't help. There's this ringing that happens when you're in complete silence, I don't remember what it's called, but apparently the Choir can get at it, too.

I find the TV to be less annoying.

But yeah, I figured out how to communicate with Chelsea a little. Quick notes combined with plenty of hand gestures seem to work. I showed her this blog, and after a while, she calmed down enough to help me figure out what I need to do. I wonder if she believes that I'm being haunted by an annoying sound-ghost-thing, or whether she thinks I'm close to going off the deep end...

Chelsea took some time off work today to help me look for the Advisor's "roses." The place he talked about, "Grandmama's resting place," was a section of creek in a college town a couple of hours away. I don't know how I knew where it was, since I never really spent much time in this city, but I found the spot, and there was a bouquet of fake roses semi-hidden in the bushes, tied up in a plastic bag. Took less than a half hour of searching.

Anyway, Advisor's roses. They were fake, there were six of them, and they were held together with a loop of paper that turned out to be an envelope. The paper that was in the envelope was full of gibberish.  Not the scribble gibberish I write, but almost like dyslexia... I just sort of figured it was in code, and since I am utter crap at cracking codes, I'll go ahead and put it up here to see if any of you can translate it.

So yeah, Chelsea and I are "talking," and I'm happier with that. Not sure about her, though. Voices are still there, still just as annoying, and Advisor is still a weird fucking person that refuses to be of any real help. Same business as usual...