Sunday, February 10, 2013
10:47pm EST
I can't quite seem to catch my breath. I've been running for the better part of the day, fleeing from figures and shadows I'm not certain even exist anymore. This time yesterday I was so sure, so steadfast in my beliefs. I knew what I knew, and no one could convince me otherwise. It was the Canadians and it was the Monsters, but more specifically it was my ex-partner Coal. I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I had evidence, intel. I thought I had facts. But it doesn't take much to see now that I didn't really have shit. Then again, I'm still running, aren't I? So I guess that means part of me still believes. Nevertheless, I'm starting to doubt everything I've come to know these past few days. Why would the Monsters bring this storm down? Why would they want to kill our operatives? What would that gain them?
Nothing, a voice whispers from the back of my mind. It would gain them nothing, I've been saying that for a while now. I can't help but agree, even as my feet continue to urge me forward.
I don't know where I'm running, though I do recall the sun setting at my back so I must be headed East. There's an old Ops safe house out by the Mohegan Sun Casino in Uncasville, somewhere below the main floor's security vault. There might be a weapons cache there. Not a bad idea, even if it's all in my head. Guess at least I have a plan now. -Nate
Monday, February 11, 2013
1:55am EST
I've made it to the casino safe house. I didn't have much trouble getting past security, as the requirements for entry in a place like this are often as simple as some identification and a few cryptic codewords. The place is deserted and looks like it has been for some time. Still, I can't help but feel like I'm being watch.
No, you're not being watched, relax. Everything's fine. You're safe here, just like you were safe in the last place. The words seem to echo in my mind.
Maybe I should lie down for a bit. -Nate
5:21am EST
My breath explodes from my lungs as I'm jolted awake by the impact. Immediately, I'm on my feet, circling my attacker. Coal. I never should've doubted myself. It was him, it was always him. Before I can think, he's on me, the soft padding of his paws smacking into my chest as he knocks me down to the ground.
Wait, paws? No, that isn't right... Yes it is, Nate...
His hot breath spills over me as he pants in my face, licking his chops excitedly as if he were ready to take a bite out of my face. I put up my hands to defend myself, pressing against his weight as best I can. I'm no match for his strength. Slowly, he pushes forward, and then...he licks me.
What the hell?
He licks me again, his rough dog tongue lapping playfully at my cheek.
Dog tongue? Lapping playfully? What is this? What the hell is happening? All too quickly, it becomes clear to me, courtesy of the quiet voice in the back of my mind: He's a dog, dude. He's your dog. He's live with you for years.
And the storm!? The conspiracy!? The Canadians!?
You live in New England; sack up. There isn't some grand conspiracy cooking every time it snows. That's just kinda how weather works here, so it's probably time you got used to it. As for your last question, I honestly have no idea where the Canadian thing came from...
When in doubt, blame Canada?
Fair enough.
Just like that, I break free from the spell and see myself as I really am: a guy bored during a snowstorm hanging out with his dog. Hammer and Holy weren't dead; they didn't exist. Neither did headquarters, neither did the safe house, and neither did the Monsters (super original name by the way, man). All that truly existed was the time passed by writing these entries. Oh, and this freak of nature:
 |
| The face of a killer. |
All in all? Worth it.
Signing out for good,
Nate
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