Thursday, March 29, 2012


That. That didn't work out as I had hoped.

I found him. We spent the past week tracking Panopticon movements. Looking for him. Looking for Adam Krug.

We found him.

There was a facility. An abandoned theater. I went by myself. I found him. Duct taped to a chair.

I cut the tape holding him. I said I was there to help him. To help against the Panopticon. To help against the Slender Man.

I was too late. Always too late.

He grabbed my knife and

he stabbed and stabbed and

and said he knew the truth

and then he ran off.

I think I'm dying.


  1. Then call 911 dipshit. It sounds like the risk of immediate death is greater than the risk that you'll be found by Proxies or run into an Oathbreaker.

    1. Obviously informing us that he's dying is far more important then trying to stop himself from dying. Don't you know anything Proxie?

    2. He did call 911. We heard the sirens and figured something had gone wrong. We should have fucking gone with him instead of being on lookout.

      He's in the ER right now. He fucking typed out this post with a stupid fucking chest wound, stupid bastard.

    3. To dip shit, or not to dip shit, that is the question. I think.

      Actually, it's quite hard to think sometimes.

      Oh what outrageous fortune, I say.

    4. You should always be sure that a victim is who they say they are before you expose yourself to them. It is fortunate he has such a minor wound, single stabbing injuries are rarely fatal. Good luck to him, and to the two of you.

  2. ...Oh God...
    Shit's falling apart.
    How can we help?
    Yes Shade, if we can help, I'm dragging you with me.