Martha.
That's right, we know you're not dead, we knew from the start.
It was a good plan, because we didn't know what you look like, there was no way to be sure that was really you that tried to suicide bomb us in the mansion. But you weren't clever enough to ask yourself, if Franky was there, why didn't we just use him to Path out of the mansion, or ask him to send some Denizens our way to help us out, instead deciding to fight it out ourselves?
Because by the time that the explosion went off, him and some of his Denizens were crawling all over the forest, looking over every entrance of the Mansion, making sure to watch out for anything suspicious. So when one of the vans that was parked at the front entrance of the mansion took off just as the explosion happened, it didn't take a genius to figure out that you were never inside of that mansion. That the mansion was just a decoy, just like the young woman that blew herself up to protect you. I actually feel bad for her, to throw her life away thinking that she is doing so in the service of your Tall Master, I still remember the words she spoke to me right before she detonated the bomb that was on her lap: "There is only Father and I am my Father's tool."
Poor, naïve idiot. I wonder how she would feel right now, when she would find out that she wasn't her "Father's" tool, but yours. What kind of lies did you feed her to convince her into thinking that her throwing her life away in order to allow you to get away, was in the service of the Tall Bastard? I'm sure I'll find out when we have our conversation. For you see, once Franky saw the Van pulling away from the mansion, him and his pets followed it.
I must applaud your caution, for a whole month you were hopping from one hideout to the other every 3 days, occasionally changing your appearance along the way, a haircut there, a slight tan here. On some level, it was enjoyable to find out that the "Higher ups" are plagued by the same level of paranoia that every regular proxy, or runner go through. Until eventually you stopped at this house, you've been here for a whole week now, I guess my and the idiots little charade of pretending that you're dead worked, it's funny how easy it is to weaponize these blogs against people, but I would know all about that now wouldn't it, after all, I am an ex-proxy.
You won't see this post, like I said, we will be having our own conversation. There will be no time for your people to warn you, because this post will go up as soon as I hear the lock on your door clicking. That's right, all three of us are in your house right now, we were very careful to not touch anything as we were sneaking in, wouldn't want you noticing anything out of place. So why exactly am I writing this post then if you won't see it?
A message to your subordinates. Don't bother trying to warn her, this post has been pre-written, all I have to do to publish it, is press the 'publish' button on my phone and like I said, I will do so only when I hear her coming back into her house. There is nothing you can do to save her, which leads me to my message...
How does it feel? Feeling helpless? Useless? Welcome to the world of all the poor fuckers you torment, all the runners and fellow proxies that you torture on the orders of some "higher up" just because they claim they have a "special" connection with the Faceless Cunt. I hope that when you find her body, on some level your dread will sink in, as the realization of how absolutely pointless you are washes over you. You are not "Father's" tools, not you, not Martha, nobody is. That thing has no need of any of us, nothing you do progresses it's goals, because none of us know if it even has the concept of a "goal". Whatever reason you use to justify your servitude is just that, an excuse, a lie that you tell yourself in order to convince yourself that you are a some kind of stepping stone for a grander purpose. All of it is bullshit and it's bad for you, so hopefully once this "Higher up" is dead, maybe the truth will click in place. But who am I kidding, you will still try to ring her up to warn her of her upcoming demise.
Go right ahead, like I said, futile.
