The Truth

... where am I?

You are in front of a computer.


I figured that out for myself. Why am I here? Why does the clock say that it's the twenty-sixth? I couldn't have slept for four days...

You are here because  you brought yourself here. You have not been sleeping for four days. You have been dreaming for far longer.


... it almost occurs to me that I did not ask the obvious. What are you?

I am a mirror into which you are looking. I am what I am; I am what you are.


How deep. What masterful machination of madness has beset me, I wonder? Some trick hidden in the Labyrinth? Something spurned by my killing of the Slender Man?

This is no trick. This is no Labyrinth. The being you call the Slender Man lives still, for whatever value of 'lives' one ascribes to it.


Shut up, you're wrong, whatever you are. Why is it that when I close my eyes, I suddenly find these words crossing my screen? How are you doing this?

And that doesn't matter anyway - I know that it's dead, I killed it with my own two hands. I see it's body burning before me.

That was not the Slender Man, then, obviously. What you called was nothing more then a mirage; enticing and welcoming, and yet so unreal.


Others saw it, too. It could not have been a lie, I know that I did it!

A shared delusion is a delusion still. An opiate to satisfy your tastes.


I notice that you still haven't answered the question. What are you? How are you doing this?

A better question would be this: what are you?


I am A. A purer being you will find nowhere.

Haha... are you so sure? Look in the mirror.


... what have you done to me? No, this must be another of these so-called mirages. That thing in the mirror is not me, that thing in the mirror is not human...

You, yourself, claimed that you were not human. This is true. The 'thing' in the mirror is what you are in your heart. A vile, ill-tempered, uncontrolled, ravaging, heartless, senseless beast, with not one ounce of compassion or altruism. You are a monster, plain and simple.


Shut up. For the last time: what are you?

Is it not obvious? I am you. I am the mirror to which you look in to see yourself. I am the apex of what it means to be human; to deny it would be to deny that I exist. One mustn't hide, not from oneself. And you are hiding from me, aren't you?


I'm not hiding from anyone, never mind some flight of madness like you.

I am not madness, A. I am what I am. I think that you would call me the Fear of Humanity.


I'm done with this. I'm done talking with you.

Victory

The deed is done, my war is won. Their fear and their love for me won the day. I must admit that I've been recovering from the sheer shock of this for quite some time, hence why I have yet not delved into this matter. But it's a small one; I am safe and sound.

It's... almost unbelievable. It was not some god-forged blade that did the deed, but a weapon crafted by mortal hands and later wielded by them. It goes to show that belief does matter, doesn't it? Ahaha...

I'll give a more in-depth update on what occurred tomorrow. For now, I am afraid, I'm going to retire and enjoy a sleep free of nightmares.

Showtime

It's time.

It's happening.

Now, people! This is it; the defining moment of a generation. Watch and witness the end of this world and the birth of a brand new one.

Cleaned Up

My blade is clean; newly sharpened. My gun is primed; disassembled and reassembled. There's no chance of a misfire. My clothes are cleaned, my hair washed. The make-up worn in the past removed; my scars are bare for all to see. My mind is ready, my body prepared. I am focused; I am at the peak of my abilities.

I feel restless energy binding in my muscle; this is the thrill of the hunt, I think. I'm just... ready. Totally ready. I've run through the moment a hundred times in my head; I know how this will go. Soon, my timeframe will converge with that of Cipher; once that has happened, I know that the Game is in the trap. Once that is done, it is only a matter of time before the trap is sprung and the beast caught and captured.

I can only make rough estimates as to how time works here, as ever. It seems that I chose well when I placed Cipher into a different timeframe; my convergence with him is also the time when the convergence with the 'real world' occurs - December twenty-first. Ah, a date filled with nostalgia... hahaha...

Approaching

My apologies, I do believe that I've left some of my thoughts unfinished.

When one exists in the Zone, it becomes apparent that the flow of time between the 'real world' and the Zone is somewhat convulsive. Different exits and entries lead to different points, although each exit/entry progresses through it's own timeflow...

This, in essence, means that you have no idea as to what sort of time you're working with when one goes between the 'real world' and the Zone. At times, days in the Zone has been seconds in reality; in others, seconds in reality have been months in the Zone. It's hard to explain.

Occasionally, I have found a pathway stable enough to put certain measures into plot; take Cipher, for example. I found a pathway that led to a point sufficiently far in my future that I could use it as a method of signalling for the Game's entry into the Zone. Despite this, it appears that his posts from what should be (and appears to be) far into the future have entered the past, which confused me greatly at first. It appears that A Realm of Emptiness is it's own pathway, with it's own instabilities and oddities. This must be one of them.

This is theoretical, though, although it appears to ring true. This also appears to work primarily with my advent to the Zone; I wonder, would the laws I observe in the Zone vanish if I were to cease to observe? Would it return to the pure chaos that I first observed, or would they remain constant?

Curious.

Faraway

You know, I've another story to tell; one of past tales.

Before I claimed the Zone for my own, there was another person within it. A young girl, if you'd believe it; she's connected to other events, but she's still a sign that the Zone could claim people before I entered it. I followed her for a while; she carried a laptop computer around, and occasionally stopped to write things. She did this hundreds of times, each time sending some report off to another place.

I think she inspired me, really; she gave me the idea of the people I could command and control, and gather reactions from via a single blog. But I digress.

I lost her now and again, but I always caught her in the end. Kept following, never allowed myself to be caught. I think the Zone may have caused her vanishings, but I cannot be sure. It was a chaotic place before I exerted my control over it, after all.

After a while, she reached a rooftop; on her blog, she typed that she was finished with life, and that she was going to jump off and end her life. She sent the message, closed the laptop, went up to the ledge. And then she stopped. She backed away.

That coward.

Let us say that I took the choice from her hands. I did what she wanted, but only because that was what she truly wanted.

And that girl, my friends? Why, it's dear Marisa; I've mentioned her before, I fancy. And that was my second motive for going for her; I knew that the "Marisa" I confronted in the 'real world' must have either been a fake of some sort, or that I was going to kill her in the future (but in my past). After confronting her, I reached the second conclusion; a mollycoddled lass, both of them. You can't fake that sort of nature.

And that's story time done for now, fellows.

Step #2

My thanks to the anonymous fellow in the crowd; I was almost worried that you braindead dolts had no intelligence with which to construct a solution, or even to attempt one. Thankfully, at least one among you holds enough brain to work out a very simple riddle. In any case, let us proceed; this is all basic stuff, of course.

I found my Closed Zone merely by the works of the fate, I must admit. It appears to have been a Labyrinth (or Loop) that was created at some point in the past, and then abandoned by it's master; the Greatest Game is fallible, it seems. Left to it's own devices, it merely twists and turns out of control, becoming disorder incarnate. My arrival seemed to herald a change in it's nature, though; it bows to my wishes in what sort of structure it takes, and forming paths through it is not such an issue.

Once the Zone was established to be controllable, I soon set about the second step: overpowering the innate belief that the Greatest Game holds. The Greatest Game is, in itself, sentient; this means that it may well (and almost certainly does) have it's own beliefs. It it does, this would interfere with the Tulpa Effect, resulting in the plan failing, should I simply bring it into the Zone in order to face it, if I was alone. Even my mighty intellect cannot trump it's.

Thus, I brought tools into the Zone, in order that they may grant me strength far exceeding that of the Game's.

Making use of the people accumulated inside the Zone was a simple task. I merely got under their skin, and brought them around to my side, although they know it not. Of them, I will create one who fears me; one who will worship me; one who sees me as God's voice; one who will see me as the bringer of their madness; and the warning beacon, who I shall use to light the way.

And that is the second step; to use the thoughts of humanity in order to overpower the thoughts of the Greatest Game. My thoughts alone would be... insufficient. But with others, in this isolated realm? I have a chance. I can overpower the Game's thoughts, and reduce it unto dust, while elevating myself to the highest point possible.

There are some slight matters of concern. However, for all of my searching, I've not found a single trace of the feral beast they mention. Is this the Game, come early? Of course, "early" is something of a confusing term, given that even the timeflow of the Labyrinth is sometimes questionable. Regardless, I can only hope that it is a nonfactor, or that I discover (and dispose) of this beast.

Betwixt

The city has provided me with my chains once more. Perhaps it would be best to call them "Chains"; they are things, after all. Everyone needs a friend. A powdered melange of my vices, ingested into my body, where it provides me with respite. A holy material, born from my Labyrinth.

Some would say that the Labyrinth's complexity is because it is less of something that I control, and more of what my mind would look like if it were not contained in my head. That the city is less of a construction project and more of a looking-glass. It merely reflects the mind of it's owner.

In this sense, I am going to bring the Game into my own mind, and then I am going to slay it. The Game will be caught between the four walls of my skull and it will meet it's end there, as the hunter catches the bear.

Something's in my head; something's in my memory. Memories of the moon and of towers, of mirrors and hanged men and of Death itself, standing tall. But is this truly a memory of mine, or a memory of future times?

I am free from the Chains; I've returned to lucidity. And time is ticking, my dear fellows; if you want to know what it to transpire, answer my riddle. Four days remain.

Times Long Since Gone

Now, my little children, let me tell you a story; a fascinating glimpse into that which was, as opposed to what will be.

The date was, oh, sometime in November of twenty-ten; don't ask me the exact day, but remember the month. Over a year ago now; the British islands were trapped within the icy grasp of almost-winter, preparing for snowstorms that would descend upon them in the next few months, as had happened the previous year. In November, there was only frost on the cars of the people, every morning.

In the darkness of the evening, a young man scurried throughout the alleyways of London. What part escapes my recollection, but this young man was going home; he'd come back from his first day on the job, see, and he was going home to his new flatmate. He'd moved; from the north of England to it's south, running from something.

But the hunter does not allowed the hunted to escape easily; that is true for the two hunts ongoing on that fine evening. I was both hunter and hunted; hunted by the Game, hunting the game. The Game had two targets in it's sight on that night; I, myself, had only one. I had not yet learned that I could fight the blight, so I ran. My cowardice is lamentable; if only I'd pressed the chance sooner, I could have caused the suffering to cease all the more earlier. The innocent human beings on this planet would have not needed to suffer.

You subhuman trash, of course, deserve exactly what's coming to you.

With the Game figuratively breathing down my neck, I increased my pace; I turned through alleyways to escape, hoping to not be drawn into a twisted city-scape that the Slender Man so-often conjures up to ensnare his prey.

My luck held out in two fashions; I was not caught in one of the Game's infernal torture-engines, and by pure coincidence, stumbled upon my target. Upon seeing me turn to face him, his eyes opened wide, as if he'd soon a ghost. My face broke open into a grin, and I raced forward to meet him again.

"Dear, dear!" I laughed. "You can't run forever, you know? Time's up for you, you know. Hahaha..." I gabbled the words to bolster my own confidence; my knife had come from my belt and was born at his face. And yet he gave no reaction, and only stared at me.

My hairs stood on their ends as I felt the cold, icy wind. He must be there; there was no other alternative. Despite his protests (which have long since been lost to my fickle memory), I grabbed his hair and forced him to look upon that faceless visage.

"You can't hide from it! He's there; he's always been there! You can't hide from the truth," I gloated, happy to see that he couldn't hide from it now. He was going to see the truth.

But when I relaxed the tensions on his head (to look upon the Game myself, of course - the familiar lack of features was there and, even in my state of cowardice, I felt I could face it), he simply turned to me. "Who's there?"

Taunting me. How could that smug bastard taunt me? I must admit, my temper flew off the handle. The knife sliced him into pieces; slit, slit, slit. So many pretty red ribbons; his screams of protest muffled by my hand, his attempts to bite thwarted by rapid blinding. It was almost like painting a work of art; my hands were covered in the paint which I had used to create my masterpiece, and my brush blunted and worthless. A shame, really; it had been a faithful companion to me in the early years.

But it was a tool, just as the canvas upon which my artwork had been painted was. A tool which had outlived it's usefulness, and it was thus discarded.

And that was the end of the Lexiconical. Just like that.

Searching

Ah, my apologies, dear viewers. A handful of events have forced me to greatly advance my plans, such that I must return to the Labyrinth post-haste.

Allow me to put it bluntly: the world is turning, and I must turn with it. A thought occurred to me; something very interesting approaches. I must attend to many matters in preparation for the jubilation that is to come. As such, it is time for the unveiling of the second step in the Plan.

But, of course, there is something to solve. Is there not always something to solve?

And thus, here is my challenge to you; in the next seven days, solve the riddle that lies below.

J wjajs zdv, oc grcgey qv dg,

Iivj yegcrg riiw gd, qv wjajs,

Bhw xynqq kp wkh mtujx qh doo xlex jcnxy,

Yxinr wnjmy pk gd wjajs oo'l exw.

Alex co J?

The clock is ticking. 11/12/11 is the deadline.

Piece of Mind

This city... is truly my own. It's walls provide me with what I need the most.


Why is it that only when I absorb this melange that my mind is filled with the clarity that I need? Why is it that only this thing to which I am bound allows me to look inside? Or, rather, why are my shackles the things that give me freedom?


I can't leave this place forever. I'd... break down. I'd stop.


Even in my realm, there are things that I am not aware of -- elements beyond my control. These must be purged, if I am to ever succeed in my desperation. This is all a game of chance now; time is ticking. This space may exist between the gears of clockwork that drive time, but it cannot stop that He is coming. I can delay; I can put it off. But I have decided on my course and I must reach the goal.


I cannot fail. Failure means that everything I have done will have been for nothing.

Theta

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.