This bitch

She's next.

The knife goes in the first time... and you know what, it's just like the first time. So many emotions on both sides. Fear. Pain. Excitement.

When it plunges in the second time, it's a bit less satisfying. Things get messy, and frankly you've lost a bit of confidence. Are you sure this is the right spot? Are you being as effective as you want to be?

Third stab. It's a real mess now. Frankly, you have no idea what you're looking at. Knife goes in, knife goes out. It's starting to become mechanical now. Just going through the motions.

Stab.
Stab.
Stab.
Stab.
Stop it.whatthefuck

Back

Well, the smarter among you have realized that the object we'd been looking for was Typer's Box.

We found it in a small shop by the Sea. I broke through the front door with little effort. There weren't any alarms, which certainly made things easier. The three of us scavenged through the store until I eventually found the Box.

Just as Typer said: Pure black, with the color and texture of obsidian, broken only by His mark in dark crimson. About the size of a toaster, but... it was enough to give me a headache just looking at it.

Which was when the owner walked in. Typer's father. Now I understand why Typer was so damnably insane before he died: it must have seemed like the world was conspiring against him.

The man had Typer's face. He... surprised me. I had already torn his arm off before realizing who he was. Breaking his neck sort of became a necessity after that. Gallows jumped around in glee at the blood, but...

After we left, I decided we should part ways. I attempted to... not teleport, I hate that word. I tried to displace myself. It did not work.

The sea: salty, calm, endless and, due to my arrival, boiling hot. The salt and the heat stung at my skin, and the Box glowed black. Its weight began to pull me under the surface, so it was all I could do to teleport again, which is how I arrived in Venezuela. fucking Venezuela

So that is when I decided to contact the Executor. I'm frankly surprised my phone worked (especially around the Box) but it did. I had a very specific demand: a carrying case made of jade, lined with anything but jade. If Typer's notes are to be believed, Jade can block the Box's weaker pulses, but direct exposure will cause it to, in Typer's words "react in a way roughly as destructive as an elephantine stampede, without the inherent weaknesses of such a movement". I'm not sure how he managed it, but by the next morning the Executor showed, case in hand.

"This is what you needed, yes?"
I willed all my hatred and murderous rage at him. He winced. Telepaths are fun.

I smiled, "I believe so. Thank you for your time."

I placed the Box inside the case, but before I could displace, the Executor coughed.

"Do not believe I was lending you the duo without reason. It wasn't out of charit; I expect when called you will answer a favor, like the favor I graced you."

I cocked my head, "As with anything, it depends on the favor. For now I'll say yes. We'll see when the time comes."

He stared at me for some time. I wish I could see his expression behind that mask.

"So be it." And he was gone.

And soon, so was I.

Uh... Oh god.

How is this thing still working?

Where the hell am I? Sounds like... Spanish. Okay. Not in Spain though. Mexico? South America? Eugh.

Executor, we need to talk. Right now.

Object secured. Kind of. Fuck you, Typer. This is bullshit.

Mission

As I've stated before, Gallows, Graves and I have been scouring Belgium for a certain Object.

Actually, scratch that. I've been searching for It. Gallows has been relentlessly slaughtering various passerbys and Graves has been burying them. So enough is enough. I'm going to corral them towards the objective, whether they like it or not. Of course, Gallows can still kill. I'm no monster, and it would be somewhat hypocritical considering I've been doing much of the same (albeit to a lesser extent).

So, what happened today? I murdered some Belgian waffles while Gallows murdered the Belgian chef; we tossed various hitchhikers in front of traffic while following the highway, I burnt down a school after hearing about Morningstar's death (fitting, I won't argue that, but nonetheless upsetting). Finally, we had Graves dig us a small pit, which we then filled with barbed wire. Man oh man did we put it to good use!

So we'll be moving onward along the coast, and when I find It, fun will be had.

On the Road

My oh my it is good to have a bit of freedom now! The open air, the road stretching in every direction, screams of the dying rising from the ditches. This is how I want to live. I do, regrettably, admit that I've been holding back. I'm on a mission, and if I get too caught up in my own affairs I could wind up as aimless as Gallows (no offense).

Oh yes, speaking of Gallows, there is much to say about him and his... dull companion. Gallows appears to be taking the Halloween costume route of murderous psychopathy (not that I criticize him for this), wearing a very well-fashioned skeleton jacket. The hood extends to a cloth mask that covers most of his face barring eye-holes (as for his eyes, not much can be said - I think he may be using black paint to obscure them). All of this leads to a really quite frightening spectacle. In fact, when we first met he greeted me by bursting out the front door while flailing a scythe and screaming like a demon. Fortunately, he calmed down when I gave him the finger. It does not at all surprise me that most of those we capture have shit in their pants before we even  begin to torment them.

As for Graves, she appears to have gone with a... cowboy motif. That is, if a cowboy was mixed with a gravedigger and a sociopath (not that the two are mutually exclusive). Dark blue jeans, suspenders, construction boots, shovel, rope, black cowboy hat... the works. Most interesting is her bandana, which also displays a skeleton motif. Is this coincidence or... imitation? I doubt I'll find out. It's hard to intimidate those black... black eyes.

Anyways, the journey! After our preliminary greetings (an ensemble of formalities and... less-than-formalities), Gallows invited me in for a drink and a meal. Though I partook in the drink, I declined the meal (cannibalism disagrees with my stomach, not my sense of morality). A few humorous anecdotes and methods of torture were exchanged, and then we were off!

The Slender Man has endowed me with certain... gifts. One of them is what many of you call teleportation (I personally hate the term; the experience is a lot more... organic than is implied). While many of my contemporaries can do so with little effort, I require a bit more time and focus. The upside?

When we arrived in the library, I grinned. Books, furniture and people instantly combusted, the tiny scream of fast-burning paper mixing with those of the dying. Gallows practically exploded with delight, falling upon them with such vigor I was surprised he did not take to the air. Graves, ever the silent companion, followed close behind. What a duo they make. As for me... I watched. I watched as it all burned. Blood crackled in the heat, bones snapped from the flames, and I stood... right in the center.



Oh yes, and Gallows, as much as I've been enjoying this trip, if you try anything, I will leave you in goddamn Belgium. Where all the signs are in French or Dutch.