Magdalene's Questionnaire

Alright, picture this:

Just outside the fast-beating heart of Boston, tucked into the wrinkled hills and thick woods of Massachusetts, there's a forgotten rural town called Honeysuckle. It's the kind of place that doesn’t appear on modern maps—where the trees outnumber the people ten to one, and the wind whispers through half-collapsed barns like it's keeping secrets. The roads are cracked, the gas station hasn't worked since 1983, and the local diner serves pie and conspiracy theories in equal measure.

At the edge of town, past a rusted wrought-iron gate that groans like it's haunted, sits a once-majestic mansion, now a rotting carcass of its former self. The ivy has taken over, windows are broken, and it leans a little, like it's tired of pretending it’s still proud. This is home base. A compentent archaeologist, reluctant occultist, and possibly the last sane person in a world that has most definitely lost its mind—if you ask me.

Fueled by coffee, trauma, a strong hatred for bureaucracy, and a dilapidated mansion. It’s the only place where the ley lines converge, the wards still (mostly) work, and the basement is where all the remaining bioweapons are. You know how it is.

Hey, I wanted to be upfront—I can’t earn any money right now because I’m currently incarcerated. The reason? Let’s just say I took a strong stand against corruption and used some... unconventional scientific methods. Bioweapons were involved. Politicians were the target. Long story short, the system doesn’t appreciate justice delivered through petri dishes. So, yeah—no job, no income, and no access to Venmo behind bars. I know it’s a lot, but I figured you deserved the truth. Turns out the government doesn’t like it when you expose corruption and weaponize biology. Who knew? So yeah, prison life doesn’t exactly come with a paycheck. Maybe one day I’ll tell you the full story—if the guards aren’t listening.

I’m not in this for money, fame, or some hollow idea of glory. I’m in this because the world is broken—rotted through with corruption, greed, and cowards in suits calling it leadership. I’ve seen what the system protects, and I refused to look away. So I took action. Unconventional, sure. Illegal? Definitely. But necessary? Without a doubt.

I used science the way it was meant to be used—as a scalpel, to cut out the cancer. Bioweapons were just a tool. The targets? Deserving. Every last one of them.

Now I sit behind bars, not defeated, but waiting. Planning. Because this was never about revenge. It’s about evolution. Ascension. I’m going to become more than human—the ultimate demigod—and when I do, I will burn the rot out of this world from the inside out.

Would I kill for this? I already have. And I’d do it again, if it meant a future where justice isn’t for sale.

Would I die for it? I’ve danced with death more times than I can count. I've had my eye clawed out. I’d slit my own throat if it meant rising from the ashes with the power to rewrite the rules.

I don’t fear death—I fear dying before the mission’s done. Before the last lie crumbles, the last tyrant falls, and the world learns what justice really feels like when it’s not wrapped in red tape.

This isn’t ambition. This is relentlessness. 

I remember it too clearly. Not because it was dramatic or violent, but because it was quiet, and that silence was suffocating.

There was a case. A scandal. A cover-up. Pick one—they all blur together now. But this one was personal. A town poisoned by runoff from a government-backed corporate facility. Kids sick, water black, lungs filling with rot. I had evidence. Irrefutable. Hard data. I brought it forward, naïvely believing truth still mattered.

And they laughed. Not just ignored—laughed.

The officials, the media, the institutions I once believed in. They looked at my work, at the human lives it represented, and they shrugged. They said the cost of cleanup was “prohibitive.” Said settlements were cheaper than solutions. That the dying were statistically acceptable losses.

That was the day something snapped inside me. Not like a breakdown—more like a pivot. A cold, surgical click.

I realized that the system isn’t broken—it was built this way. Designed to protect power at any cost. And if the people entrusted to fix it didn’t care, then it would fall to someone who did.

Liam is the kind of person you love to hate. You can’t figure him out, and that’s exactly how he likes it. On the surface, he’s charming—too charming. He smiles like he’s always one step ahead, and in a way, he is. I should’ve never trusted him, but I did. I had to. He had the connections. The inside knowledge. The networks I needed to bring down the politicians, the ones who never even saw us coming.

Liam never plays for the same team as anyone else—except Liam. He’ll help you tear down the system, but only because he knows when the dust settles, he’ll have a seat at the table. He’s not here for justice. He’s here for leverage. I’m sure of it. But right now, I need him. He’s the reason I know exactly who I need to take down, and how to make sure they never rise again. But the moment I see him slipping a knife in our backs—well, that’s the moment I’ll be done with him. Until then, I keep him close. Too close. He knows too much to be left out in the cold.

Raze doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t have to. When things go to hell—and they always do—he’s the one you want at your side. His hands have blood on them, but that’s just the nature of his work. He’s seen enough wars to know that people like us don’t talk about justice; we make it happen, even if it’s ugly. That’s why he’s here—because he doesn’t ask questions.

He doesn’t care about the “why.” He cares about the “how” and the “when.” He’s cold, calculating, and utterly loyal when it comes to getting the job done. I don’t even need to say it—he knows. We trust each other in a way that feels more like an unspoken contract than friendship. He’s been my lifeline more than once, pulling me out of tight spots. I don’t ask how he does it, and he doesn’t ask what the endgame is. He’s just there, doing what needs to be done. And I’d be dead without him.

I met Evie when I was still naïve enough to think science could be used for the greater good. She’s the kind of person who talks about "saving the world" like it's something you can actually do if you just believe hard enough. At first, I couldn't stand her. Every time she opened her mouth, it was some lecture about ethics or morality—like those things mattered in a world already soaked in corruption. I used to roll my eyes so much I thought they’d get stuck. But there’s something about her I can’t ignore.

She’s the closest thing I have to a moral compass. And, I’ll admit, her passion for saving lives—especially the ones I’m willing to destroy—keeps me grounded. As much as I want to tear down the system, she’s the one who reminds me of why I started in the first place. She’s stubborn, too idealistic for her own good, and constantly trying to make me care more about the fallout than the result. But without her, this whole thing would be nothing more than a blood-soaked tantrum. I won’t tell her that, though. She’d never let me hear the end of it.

My childhood? Normal, if you consider a family of geniuses living in a tidy suburban home normal. My parents were brilliant—incredibly intelligent, logical, and moral to a fault. They taught me to think critically, to question everything, and to always pursue truth with unflinching honesty. But they were also emotionally distant. I never got the warm, fuzzy affection most kids crave. Instead, I learned to value precision, reason, and intellect. Feelings? Those were for the weak. If you couldn’t back your emotions with sound logic, they didn’t matter.

I went to school like anyone else—University of Maine—and I fit in well enough. I was a bit intense though, hyperfocused on my studies and driven to the point of obsession. People liked me, but I never quite felt like I belonged. I wasn’t like the others. While they were figuring out their social lives and partying on weekends, I was buried in research, solving problems, and pushing my limits.

I excelled, but my mind always wandered. I found it harder to relate to the “normal” college experience. They cared about grades, I cared about answers—about how the world worked beneath the surface. That’s where it started. That’s where I began to see the flaws in the system. And I knew, deep down, that I would never be content with just theory.

I loved her. Not in the way that makes you weak or desperate, but in the way that makes you want to be better. Evie—she was everything I wasn’t. Idealistic, pure, full of this light that I couldn’t touch, no matter how hard I tried. She believed in people, in kindness, in hope. I thought maybe if everyone were like her, the world could be something better. I never acted on it. She was too good for me, too... untouchable. I was too tangled in my own darkness to ever think I deserved someone like her. So, I watched.

But everything unraveled. The mission went as planned, but we got caught. Now we're here, locked away, and Evie. It's perhaps better this way.