Proxy Post 78/96 Chapter 13 part one

Before I could proceed through the street of groves, a woman walked up to me with something to say, trailed by five or so men of varying height and age (but all carrying the same expression: "listen to her").

"Hey young man, a word."

I said nothing but stopped in place and looked at her.

"Now I don't know what you're up and doing, but you just got out of a siren. You look like trouble." My face must have reacted, prompting her on: "Oh, you think this place is trouble, do you? I'm here to tell you, you are trouble greater than that. You know that?"

I raised my hand to speak. She was about to interrupt me but stopped herself, looking at me with worry. I said "I promise you, I only want to go through. I will not trouble you."

Her eyes passed, through suspicion, into an understanding beyond even my own. "Alright."

I said, "Is that okay?"

She nodded, mouth pressed shut. "But you've got to know."

I asked, "What?"

She said, "Grove Street is some blocks away from here."

"Oh. Then where am I?"

"This is the corner of 13th and Rhodes."

"Do I need to go through Grove Street to reach the Pentagon?"

"No. Just go through-- the Pentagon, you say?"

"That's right."

A pause. "..yeah, you're going to want to tread between the Crown and the Canoe for that."

"Thank you." I bowed my head lightly for her, which she acknowledged as polite, and then I walked on.

When I was farther down the street, one of the men behind her shouted out to me, "Aye aye! You'll run into Mister Everyblogger, say hey!"

I had no idea what that meant then, unlike now while writing this post, but I still raised a fist without turning around, to express my acknowledgement.

Proxy Post 77/96 Chapter 12 part seven

I Dove as They Drove on Grove Street

They shot the van. I took this as the signal to bust out of my mobile prison and breathe freedom anew. The seam created by their bullet holes, spilling fresh nighttime light into the interior of the van, is where I applied the full force of my foot to effect an exit.

The door opened. I dove out. The van was speeding, so when I hit the ground, I rolled to apply torque to my body and thus dilute the dizziness. The force of the ground (pull me under, othello) versus the forced self-sufficiency I was bringing manifest through my body (the spirit must carry on) erupted in a turf war of asphalt, concrete, tarmac, and granite. An alphabet of conflict within me, without me, jumbling before your very eyes.

Bang. Bang bang, bangarang. Here bangs the ways of crime, west to east coasts and north to south neighborhoods. Guns flying, fired from their bullets as the impoverished shoot themselves to stand their ground. The laws of the land, cause before sand, protest an inborn truth as they blackmail our urborne youth, black male, into the ways of vagabonds and aqualungs. I'm not erasist but. Inebriated, it's that or incarcerated, thy names are all the system promises for their future.

I think the cops in the van saw this in me, this urge to put truth to power, and so after I dove out of the van, they kept driving, afraid to face no blogger at all. Also, the gunfire.

Proxy Mobile Post 76/96 Chapter 12 part six (the escape)

The Runner Hospital

VII.

8:00 in the morning, Masky was due for transfer out of the hospital, out of the city, out of the country. I had no time for a conversation here. All I could do was bust him out.

I found him comatose on a gurney, surrounded by a doctor and several suited men. I punched the doctor, grabbed the gurney, and shoved it through the crowd, chased by mad footsteps and radio chatter.

Someone even fired their gun. A bullet pierced my leg, right behind the knee, but by then I had already gathered enough momentum that I could shift my weight onto the gurney and ride out in style.

Until we came to the stairs, anyway. That part didn't go as planned.

But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered. There was a crowd of people coming for my.. my... friend. And I needed him. I needed. Him. But I couldn't even lift my legs now, laying below a crashed stretcher with broken face at the bottom of a staircase.

So I reached deep inside, found the strength the Feared One must have sensed in me long ago, and...

..got arrested.

VIII.

In the back of a police van, handcuffed next to a Masky who had may as well have been dead, I realized no one would listen to my struggles and roars. I was in over my head. The cops didn't care that I was on a mission from my god.

All they cared about was getting our car past Grove Street without "hoodlums" shooting the van.

Grove Street... the next stop on my journey!

Did I have a chance?

Proxy Mobile Post 75/96 Chapter 12 part five (introducing the ghost)

The Runner Hospital

IV.

In through the window, out with my drive to leave. The hospital was a real hole of shit. A shithole for the sick ages, and here I was climbing into the second floor because a Runner told me that's where he'd be.

Masky...

As I sneaked through corridors, a stolen doctor's mask over my broken face to be my only disguise in this Hell, my mind tried to predict what the ultimate significance was of Masky's being here.

Was he here to kill me? Or perhaps something different?

It was around this time that a nurse stopped me. They thought I was a temp and asked me to go help some doctor at a surgery some rooms down. I said I'd see what I could do.

V.

Devon Finnerty ..... was the name on the sheet of paper handed to me. Autopsy report. Gender unknown, occupation of known, identity in a state of flux thanks to the black splotch of blood covering a last name.

"Fork," said the faceless doctor. I passed him a narrow thing that looked like a fork. He stuck it up the cadaver's nose. The cadaver twitched. I brought this up. The doctor told me not to worry. "They're not dead, is all."

"Are they at least unconscious?"

A shrug. "I don't know." The fork goes in deeper. Doctor reacts to something. "Ah, there's the brain." Slowly withdraws fork, a bit of gray matter on the end. "Now they're dead."

I didn't have the stomach for this, so I excused myself and left the room. I didn't care that this attracted the attention of some suited people. They asked what the problem was, and I had nothing to tell them. Instead I just kept going down the hallway, looking a little more desperately for he who I came here for.

Proxy Mobile Post 74/96 Chapter 12 part four

The Runner Hospital

I.

Off of the train, dripping blood from my face where I go, flashlight drawn in my hand like a sword, hood pulled over my face, I find the station awfully quiet. No one is there. No one is there but me. No one is there but me and Blind Man.

"Blind Man," I spoke.

"Billy. Or is it... noblogger?." He asked.

"We meet again," I noted.

"It's been a long time."

He stepped forward. I did not move.

"You know why I am here." He uttered.

"The Greatest Game," I whispered.

"Mhm," he nodded.

"Does it really exist? I heard it was a myth." I remarked.

"It will soon. And you're going to start it." He boomed.

"I've seen enough bloodshed. Why should I listen to you?" I inquired.

"Because I know what happened to Masky."

II.

Masky is being kept in the Runner Hospital. The Runners are experimenting on him, hoping to find out who he's a proxy for. The Runner leading the experiments is a name I recognize: Dr, Obama. The very same whose 1975 postulations caused massive governmental coverups. How far does this go? What is the role of the Obamas in this taunting masquerade?

Blind Man told me all of this that night. If I want, I can stop by the hospital on my way to the Pentagon. Whether I save Masky or kill him is up to me.

Masky...

III.

"Before you go..." Blind Man bellowed.

"What is it?" I sought, already on my way out of the subway station.

"You know as well as I do that I have been instructed to kill you." He implied.

"By whom?" I gestured.

"I swore never to tell," he moaned.

I turned to face him. "Look me in the eye and say that to my face," I threatened.

"Enough! We fight!" He shouted.

He threw a fist, and I grabbed it and turned it right back to him. Every punch he threw, I turned right back to him. I shined my flashlight in his face to startle him, and then I hit him in the head with it. Soon enough, he was lying on the ground, choking on his own blood.

"Who ordered you to kill me?!" I said.

"Heh... heh heh heh... who do you think?" He died, and I was alone again in the subway station.

"Curse you..." I shook my fist. I needed to calm down. These emotions were unlike me, I needed to be ready.

Ready... to find Masky...

(TO BE CONTINUED)

Proxy Mobile Post (73/96) Chapter 12 part three

Riding the subway, there's little to do but think and be pensive.

How many Slendermen will be waiting for me when I get off?
What trials from which underworlds in whose songs?

Steadily, I reach for my face. The woman across from me on the train glances at me.

What is the meaning of Masky's intrusions upon my web log?
The Feared One mentioned his name to me.

I grab my face. People are starting to stare.

The Feared One... he told me he was the Slenderman.
Have I been working for the Slenderman all this time?

My hands clench and I bypass the part of my brain that wants the pain to stop. I feel someone grab my shoulder.

But what about the Obamas?

Crunch. I break my face.
The people around me scream as I remove my hands-- my cheeks have gaping holes through which my teeth grit, my nose isn't where it should be, blood has blinded my eyes.

I say, to no one, "My transformation is complete."

And then I get off the train.

Proxy Mobile Post (72/96) Chapter 12 part two

The subway station, covered in all sorts of graffiti, had seen better days and far better nights. It was packed full of people. How was I ever going to make it through?

I tried pushing myself through the crowds. but I only made it to the turnstiles by blind luck. Now my time has come to find out just what kind of proxy I am, as there ready to check tickets is none other than The Constant Wanderer, an androgyne with eyepatch and all the other Slendermen on speed dial.

"Ticket, please" said they.

"Sure, here you go" I said, handing them the ticket, trying not to make eye contact.

"Hmmm...." they said, looking at me carefully.

"What's wrong? Don't hold up the line!" Shouted an angry man behind me.

The Constant Wanderer ignored them, reached into their pocket, and pulled out a radio. "Calling all Slendermen: I've got him."

So I leapfrogged over the turnstile and made a mad dash for the nearest train, The Constant Wanderer in hot pursuit. They nearly got me, but I dove to the floor and crawled under some crowds, confusing them. By the time they found me again, I was on a train and the doors were closing.

But they definitely clocked me. They called the other Slendermen. I'm a wanted man.

Proxy Mobile Post (71/96) Chapter 12 part one

If I wanted to kill alliterator, I had only one chance: Do it tonight, or don't do it at all. The Feared One would consider me an outcast, and I'd never see my friends in that apartment complex again. Such was fate, of course, should it come to that, but I had other plans.

I'm lost now in the undergrowth of Downtown. The sun left us behind an hour ago, now manmade light at night (which is very bright) illustrates the streets. America the Free, you are not while I am here. On my left, I watch a man and a woman climb into a taxi and drive off into the night. On my right, some kids in hoods walk out of a dim door and snort coke out of each others' hands. A police officer walks by them, oblivious, then sees me and points.

I run.

He gives chase.

I climb some stairs and duck into a store. I hear his footsteps run past the door. I think I'm safe. I look around the store and see, plastered along the walls like fairy trophies, the stuffed heads of various exotic animals. The man, presumably the one who owns the store, is there behind a counter looking at me. He expects me to buy something.

"Hey, what is this place?" I say to him.

"This is what we call Shady Cross Paths, son."

"Watch it, I sure am not your son!" I roar.

"Whoa" he said. I made things awkward, so I leave.

But right outside that door is the police officer, preparing his nightstick!

"Why were you running from me? This isn't a nightstick, this is a flashlight I have been instructed to give you. And those children weren't snorting coke, they were eating sugar!"

I took the flashlight, thanked him, and went on towards the subway station, confidence regained.