Found some empty pages here. Figured that I should make use of em.

Let's see...

Some homes in Chilliwack were at risk of landslides and the government ended up devaluing the properties... $2 per lot. Insane. The folks were more than happy to sell for $100k total. Not too bad.

I got the necessary permits, hired some contractors (ha. ha.), and had Delph's cheesemen help me out with the renovations.

We got some library books, gardening supplies, clothing, and more things. My vision for the whole thing was a place where people can get shelter, training, aid, a chance to recover, and the support they needed.

S.T.A.R.S. has a nice ring to it. Lylith seems to like it, too.

Some high school students volunteered to help out around the shelter. Good kids, glad they had the time to spare.

Was going to spend some more time setting up some funding for residents' educations and connecting them with schools. I figured it'd be a good idea to employ people and help them acquire the work experience they might need on site, and also give them the chance to explore possible career paths.

I'm going to fly over to Lylith's to talk to her in a few days. I'll update this journal to describe the outcome of that.

I wonder how she's doing.

In this entry, you find that the words seem to be almost imprinted into the paper, and the words are messy, scratched on. Some overlap others, and the overall page seems to be a frantic mess.

Below is the most legible section.

Screams.

Running.

Terror.

Voices.

I can't forget.

So many people.

I killed.

So many.

God.

Oh... oh God.

...I hurt them.

I... wanted to hurt them.

Now that I have.

Uhm.

I tried to... I wanted to...

They were gone. I believed they were.

Condemned. They would have died regardless.

There was... I wanted to...

Walk.

Keep walking.

Look around you.

You can't stop this.

You can't...

I need to just.

Think.

Got on a plane.

Where did I.

Philippines. Walking. Got Mugged.

Talked to Pine.

I. I need to do something.

I feel like... I'm tearing myself apart.

I'm breaking at the seams.

I... I want to quit.

I just want to die.

If I don't die now, then I'm going to lash out and break.

Break things.

A vase. I'm cracking.

I was standing in a house, there were humanoid shapes crumpled around the floor, blood seeping from their wounds. I pressed my hand to their necks, unable to find a pulse on any of them. They were young, too young. I could hear voices and sirens from outside, someone was crying just beyond the door. 

There was a sound like rain. It started slowly, growing quicker and quicker. Little white flecks rose from the wooden floorboards and the children's open wounds, jittering around the room wildly like grasshoppers. A pleasant smell seemed to follow them, a strange contrast from the coppery smell of death. Popcorn, I realized.

The specks coalesced, building up a monstrous form as vines grew from the floor to support it. I thought of a bouquet of white and brown flowers, green stems holding up the spattering of burnt popcorn. The beast looked down at me, it had no eyes but it's gaping maw seeped with fury. It wasn't as large as the Great Husk, but still it towered over me, hunching to fit into this room.

"Foolish child," it said. Its voice was raspy yet guttural like a beast. The crackling of old joints followed its movements, blossoming from the still-popping corn.

"Now what's your problem, beast? You got something to do with that Husk fellow?"

"Rash, brazen, bold. You who have seen death should know better than to rush into it. Fslur."

"The fuck?"

"You Boppys, always the same. Shaking your fist at those above you, begging for a challenge as you sit dying on the floor, trying to keep your guts from spilling onto the floor," it hissed.

"You're being a real asshole right now, stranger. Is this about Babushka? She was a blind fool, trying to kill me instead of doing something that would help us actually fend off the wolves."

"Did you honestly think she was there to aid you?" The beast laughed. "You would do well to learn the bite of betrayal, to understand that you have no friends. To all, you are a tool, something to be used and tossed away when your purpose has been served. They will not speak for you, they will not fight on your behalf. Do you know how your uncle perished?"

"I don't," I confessed.

"By trusting someone else with his life. He fought for others, and he died when that favour was not repaid. The price for his survival was little more than words, yet still his accomplice refused to pay. There is no gift too small to be given freely to you. Bill found that out the hard way, be thankful that you have been given the chance to learn this lesson."

"Who even are you?"

"Fslur," it growled.

"Stop saying that, bitch."

"The only hands you can trust are your own, do not place your life into someone else's. Always have a way out. Always be the one to decide your survival. This world will not save you. Your allies will not save you. You were lucky today, but soon your luck will run dry. If you cannot guarantee your life, then consider yourself a dead man walking, Fslur."

"Fuck off. I don't need you to tell me that I fucked up."

The beast stared, its long head tilting as though to analyze me. It seemed to wheeze, blowing out ash from its mouth. An orange glow started to pulse from within, glowing brighter as the room grew hotter. The popcorn that made up its figure blackened, falling to the floor in blazing chunks. The fires spread to the floor. I stepped back, trying to avoid the inferno as it flared up around me.

"Fslur," it cawed from the fire, "your recklessness will only lead you to death and failure. You are weak, just as your uncle was. Your life is connected by a thread to the hands of the Great Husk, yet still you jostle the strings. You are not yet strong enough to own your continuance. You are at the mercy of us and those around you. If you cannot kill a god, cannot kill an elderly woman, then don't give them a reason to pull the trigger. Bill struck at gods, you strike at Russian grandmothers. In both of your attacks, you lacked the surety of an escape. You were lucky that a canine decided your life was worth the risk of the freezing water. Bill did not have that same luck. You will not have that same luck in the future." The beast's form was a black mass of coal now, yet still its words echoed around me. The flames began to consume the entire room, I struggled at the door while coughing from the smoke. Locked.

"Let this be a lesson, Fslur, if you cannot exit a room alone," it boomed, "then do not enter it in the first place." The fire grew closer, it snapped at my feet, crawling higher and higher up my leg. I screamed, I could feel the blistering heat melt away my skin. I punched at the door, calling for help. I begged to the voices I could still hear beyond. No response. I fell to my knees, clutching my stomach as my life began to wane. I begged to the burnt corpses, hoping they'd offer me a way out. Still no response. The burning light consumed me, eating away my entirety, and soon I found myself in complete darkness. It was cold, at first I assumed that I had died, only to sigh in relief as I realized I was back in bed. I let my head rest on my pillow and spent the rest of the night staring up at the old farmhouse's ceiling. I didn't want to go back to sleep.

The days passed by like a blur after this one. I remember ducking my head, hiding my face… trying not to draw attention. Keeping silent.

Old habits.

People tried to talk to me. I withdrew.

Checked my apartment every day. Swept it for bugs. Found a few. Stopped talking, used TOR for my searches, tried to… bide my time.

Old habits.

You never learn, Jacob.

You never do. You never change. No matter how much power you have, you never change.

You hide. You’re a coward. You’re weak. You let these thoughts fester and you don’t ever do anything about them. You deserve this.

Old habits.

Sometimes, you latch on to hope. You leech off of everyone around you. You are… this isn’t helping.

…old habits.

You hid. You laid low. You got scared. And you lived. You’re alive right now. You’re at the centre of it all now, whether you like it or not.

Don’t waste this opportunity.

There’s so much to do.

I had a job I needed to do…

Not a typical one. Went to Italy, met with a woman named Lylith. Very sweet, prepared pastries and tea and such… I think they were good. She asked me to help recover some guests that didn’t belong, as well as an Amaranth… and I saw… Zeph and HND-E. Zeph’s still down there… I’ll rescue you.

HND-E needs their parts back. Something abstract. Something that I can’t exactly describe in any physical sense. Need to learn more…

I stop by Lylith’s from time to time for… tea and pastries. I… I wish I could taste them… but they smell good.

Talked with Delph. They wanted me to help them with some corpses. Think they knew them… hm. Leslie Wexner museum… anyways, I still have to… display Gabriel, apparently. He said that was what he wanted… according to Delph. Fine. I’d get access to their lab from time to time if I help them with their Fiji thing.

I talked with Cass for a bit. Wanted to help her purchase some property in the Philippines. Now we have a pseudo safe-house there. She wanted to take up bartending, which sounds nice. I hope she has fun there.

I… what are you doing, man.

Had a talk with Pine too. They… Jesus. I just. I don’t understand anything anymore.

In my numerous attempts to sleep a thought entered my mind:

Wouldn't I be able to... retrieve their bodies? Joseph's and Gabriel's, I mean. They wouldn't have been consumed whole, would they? I don't know what exactly has come over me, for me to think of this now, and not all that time ago. Maybe it's fear, or just an inclination against thinking too hard about it. Learned helplessness, was it? 

Locking yourself in a lab after being stuck in an alien environment within an inch of your life does that, I guess.

Would their families even care? Do they have families? Joseph definitely does...

And he hates his father. 

He died hearing his loved one's voice, at least.

It's been... so long. How long do people mourn for? How much of a fuss did people make over it? A talk show host... surely they at least wondered---you know what, that's none of my business. 

If people could remember the word of some dead god out there but barely bat an eye at the death of their own, I want no part of it.

Joseph was a good kid.

I still don't know what drew him towards these jobs, nor why a Harbinger thought it would be a good idea, or whether he would've gotten out had I done something different---I didn't think to ask. I didn't want to ask. I didn't want to see. I didn't want to know. Maybe he needed some sort of escape.

I stared at the bullet hole in that one canvas for a long time. It didn't work inside the place. Maybe if I...

Took a knife...

Stuck it through the entry point...

And sliced straight downwards...

Jacob made some interesting additions to it too.

Did it feel cathartic at all? I wouldn't know.

I hope this is what you wanted, Joseph.

Rest in peace. I hope your father will not be meeting you in heaven.

Soo... what did I do before the uh... pizza thing.

I was thinking about ideas for trying to make some more cash to pay back those families.

Granted, I want to be rich as hell, but I've had some time to think about what I'd even do with all that money.

Hah. Asked the big questions.

Being shot in the chest point blank does that to a guy, I guess.

I guess I thought that I could get a nicer place? Maybe try to get a better car?

I don't know.

But what I really wanna do now is scam some scumbags. Casino owners, wealthy pricks, those kinds o' folks. Pull some Oceans 11 type shit.

Ough, I just think that sounds pretty fun.

What are you, some sort of Robin Hood?

Ugh. Maybe I can try something in a bit. Right now, I just need to try to get through the rest of this month.

Happy birthday, you little piece of shit.

Well, it's not exactly my birthday yet. Still got like... two weeks. But I decided, hey, might as well celebrate it silently while I still can. Luciole texted me a happy birthday note, like, four months ago? Apparently she wasn't sure if she'd still have data reception and Wi-Fi. ...Definitely doesn't concern me one bit, but what I can I do? We were just classmates---she didn't really talk about herself much.

Four weeks to see whether I live or die. Whether I stay or escape. Really, I just want to leave right away. Some guy called Boris wants to set up a distraction for me, but really, am I just going to sit around... waiting for things to happen? I feel myself getting restless. I can't think properly. I feel like tinkering with something. I want to. I need to. 

Knobs... Doorknobs... Doors... The only thing keeping me from getting outside is a few doors...

It's so close, just within reach...

Welp.

I'm in Alaska now.

I have a lot more time to myself nowadays...

This Fridge guy, massive homophobe by the way, is askin' me to help this one girl with her legal case.

Not gonna lie, she gives me the creeps.

She killed like 5 kids. Rich kid bastards, of course, but still an uphill battle...

Huh.

Looking into the evidence, seems like there's still 2 that haven't been found. They were reported to have shown up at the party by what Hezalea's told me... but nothin' in the evidence lines up with that.

Granted, they probably snuck outta the house and just went missing...

Hm.

She told me she was working with another guy, a Bill. Wait... I met that guy.

He's dead.

Damn.

No body, though...

There's the whole issue with her blood and... what she is...

But, I mean. The case against her isn't... tooooo solid?

The murder weapon wasn't found... I mean, she did have a knife when she was found, but it didn't appear to be... used.

Circumstantial evidence? Maybe. But the fact that there was... no DNA traces, no blood, et cetera that were found on her knife...

Could frame this as an unfortunate kidnapping committed by a mentally unstable farmer that ended with the deaths of 3 defenceless kids. Hezalea said she was on a protection job, so maybe she ended up getting overpowered by this guy and was helpless. A potential avenue... I'll tell her about it later...

Anyways. I started sketching a lil.

Kinda hard to find subject matter... so I started with some basic shapes and perspective.

...what I saw kinda bleeds into it a bit.

It's all good, tore that shit up. Easy to dispose of that stuff.