Sunday, September 2, 2012
Saturday, September 1, 2012
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
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
Thursday, August 30, 2012
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 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
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
Monday, August 27, 2012
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
Sunday, August 26, 2012
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
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
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
By the way, this is your 2:30 wake up call. Shame on you all for sleeping in.
- Have a Nice Day
Sunday, August 19, 2012
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
Friday, August 17, 2012
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
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.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
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.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
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.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
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
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
Friday, June 15, 2012
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
Friday, June 1, 2012
Because it sees this, and knows this blog is a crime against it. And crimes are meant to be punished.
Monday, May 21, 2012
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.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
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.
Monday, April 30, 2012
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.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Currently preparing the other tests. This is actually a bit harder than I thought it would be...
Friday, April 20, 2012
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.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
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...
Monday, April 2, 2012
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.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
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...