Thursday, 1 December 2011


You may note that I previously went to some lengths to explain why tormenting the proxies is a bad idea, as it is not a very productive way to spend one's time, when there are better things to do. But when one is doing nothing of importance in any case, there is always the possibility of an exception being made. And this is just such an occasion.

Before I begin my... ah, interview with dear Theta, allow me to describe the important parts of the room. The room in question is soundproofed, lest we have any interlopers who care to visit. The chair in which Theta was sitting in was adorned with ropes and chains holding him in place; while some may chortle and giggle at this, I take the safety of my property above all else. These people can be so very unpredictable.

Theta had been kept sedated for some time; I must admit, however, that I have little expertise in the field. Unlike some people, a lack of formal education in these fields means that... mistakes are occasional. However, I am pleased to say that I was successful this time. Ish.

Bloodshot eyes stared up at me from the chair; as if we'd been put into a dramatised version of our own lives, Theta had already dissolved into a wretched mess. Five o'clock shadow had already sprouted on his chin, which made them seem as if they'd aged by at least six years. As I looked into those reddening eyes, a thin river of dribble escaped from their mouth, and dripped past their chin.

Well, maybe I'd gotten the dosage a little wrong. By quite a bit. But if you think of it from a "proper" perspective, their brains are likely extraordinarily addled as it is; I don't think that I could have made things worse. Merely changed the ways in which it was bad. Whatever.

In any case, I sat down in a chair, myself; I set the hammer down on the table, placing it very visibly in their eyesight; they could see the thing at stake here. I smiled, and spoke: "so, you're Collector Theta?"

"Mmmrm..." Still groggy. Hopefully groggy. "Yes."

"Now, Theta, do you feel like having a chat?" I gently tapped the handle's hammer as I said this, as if my intent was not obvious enough at the first attempt.

"N-n..." their eyes drunkenly wandered over to the hammer; black handle. A hammerhead that had just the slightest hint of red on it. They widened, much to my amusement. "Yes." They tried to straighten up a little, bless them.

"Now, who are you? I expect total honesty, remember," I laughed. Of course, the syringes (which were now quietly assembled in an unassuming cardboard box in the corner) contained more then just sedatives... which may have been something of a problem, but whatever. A few little things to loosen up the inhibitions, you know.

"I'm... Theta. Collector Theta. I work for the Archive," he said; his eyes still fixed up my little instrument, as a dog watches the hand of it's master as it is raised over it.

"And what's the Archive?" I have some inkling as to what the Archive is, myself, of course. It pays to be aware.

"It's how we pay honour to the Grandfather," he said, proudly. He said some other things at this point, most of which were of such amazing drollness that I won't publish them here. For a small group of nutters, they do have great airs of aspiration. Although Grandfather is a name for the Greatest Game that I've not heard before, and is quite fitting; the beast is past it's prime, after all.

"And why were you following me, hmmm?"

Here, Theta hesitated; my eyes narrowed, and I gripped my instrument. Still nothing; perhaps he thought he was clever for calling my bluff. I hadn't intended to use it, really. But my hand was forced, really -- if I'd put it down, he'd have known it was no threat. I wouldn't get anything important out of him. So I used it; for our own goods, you know?

The howl of pain as the knuckle shattered was quite the sound to hear. Once he calmed down a little, Theta told me (in between sobs) why he did what he did; he followed me because I was thought to be an "unexplained phenomenon", or something like that.

And to be frank, I don't think much else of importance came up in our little meeting. His tearful realisation that his superiors were going to kill him for what he'd told me was amusing in it's own little way, but it wasn't anything that I can be bothered to recall. I, in my infinite mercy, put him out of his misery permanently; he'd have been begging for it, anyway.

Not that he matters. I have some bigger problems to deal with at the moment, frankly. I'm mainly posting this because I didn't want to leave y'all hanging, y'know? I'm tired of writing already, if only because I'll be back on the prowl again very shortly.

Keep your eyes peeled.


  1. Yes your infinite mercy, it's very heartwarming, practically messianic, that's what your going for, right? I'm rather dissapointed that you disposed of him so quickly, but I suppose there was some intresting information buried in that, so not a total loss I suppose.

    See you around

  2. Mighty good curiosity, mighty good.

    But I daresay you'll have to do better than that if you hope to win this thing, m'boy. That American chap will be competing too, you know. What IS his name? Bierce? Regardless, you will have to try harder next time m'boy, but you're on the right track, I feel most certain of that.