Road Trippin' With My Two Favorite Allies

Such a beautiful day for a drive in the country.


Mister Smiley had the window down, let the air blow through his long blonde hair. One hand resting lightly on the wheel, to keep the car steady on the completely straight road.


He glanced over at his companion in sulking in the passenger seat. Mister Frown was being his usual surly self. He'd gotten a spatter of blood on his new shirt, the one with the stenciled graphic of a hand giving the middle finger. You couldn't say it didn't suit him.


Smiley heard movement in the back seat, glanced in the rear view mirror. "Good morning, sleepy head!" beamed the blonde man. "So sorry about that nasty bump on the noggin my friend gave you! So, before we interrupted your little trip, where you headed?"

His question was greeted with silence.


Frown made a noise that was either a laugh or a growl. Probably the former. That massive brain injury he sustained back at the mansion had basically eliminated all sense of humor from the man. "God damned teenagers. No manners. Wild fucking beasts, the lot of them." He spoke with a thick accent, impossible to place. He twisted around in his seat, landed a blow to their new friends stomach, was rewarded with a muffled cry of pain.



Such a lovely day.



"Oh come on, Frowny. No need to be so rough!" He gave another sunny laugh. "That's all right my dear, you don't have to answer. Me and comrade here, we're on our way to a town out west. A mutual acquaintance of ours told us a tale of just the most amazing man!" Smiley turned back to look at their guest in the eye, giving his most winning grin. "They say the plants he grows are things out of myth, that they can give a single man the strength of ten! Plants that allow you to see in the dark! There's even rumor's... A plant that could extend you life indefinitely, no matter what sickness might ail you! The times we live in, eh?"


At the mention of the life-plant, Frown looked at the driver and, well, frowned. Talking to outsiders wasn't part of the plan. Not that the girl would give them any trouble. It'd be rather difficult for her to talk, seeing as he'd stitched her mouth shut with the wire he kept in his pocket. Rather sloppily. They were in a rush, after all.


Frown rooted around the young ladies collection of music, picking one with black and pink CD art. Always did like those colours. Slid it into the cars stereo, flipped to a song at random. Some mans soft voice came through the speakers...


"What if your heart rode a black wave?
Told you it'd never come back home
What if that wave turned into thunder?
Roared and crashed and left you all alone..."

They were passing an old cow pasture now. Some of the mindless creatures that were possibly the former owners of the land around here were wandering around, staring up at the sky, the majority of their clothes rotted off from age and exposure. Smiley was thinking about the task their boss had given them. Find that plant. Don't bother coming back without it. Thinking about his bosses methods of punishment was one of the very few things that could wipe the smile off of his face.

He glanced at his wristwatch. "Whelp! Looks like it's about time to hit the ol' dusty trail! Susanna, it's been a pleasure travelling with you, and I do hope you forgive my friends rough manner." As he said his goodbyes, Frown was reaching into the backpack he'd placed on the floor between his legs, pulled out a device, about the size of a soccer ball, looked to be a combination of random machinery and pulsing human organs.

He placed it on the dashboard, picked at random one of the cords emerging from the section that looked like brain, plugged it into the cars lighter jack. The device started pulsing faster, like it's heartbeat had started to pick up.

Such a fantastic day!

"We sincerely appreciate the use of your vehicle. Au revoir, l'amour!" The small two-door's engine erupted into flame, burned with the roar of a rocket taking off. In seconds the entire machine was enveloped with the flame, the furious conflagration soon turning it into a pile of ash in minutes.

"...What if that car turned into a fireball?
Across the sky she burned while you just smiled

What if that smile turned into tears?

You wiped away the broken dreams and more..."

Break in the Chain I

Viola had all the bartenders cleaning up the mess left behind those two strangers and that god damn Jon. One of the towns surgeons had been called to take care of Cheryl, the girl who'd been hit by the stray shot from the Asian guys hand-cannon. She stood at the railing of the loft that looked over the entirety of the main room of the Wheel, which also served as the front deck to her personal home. She did a survey of her business, doing some calculations in her head, determining how much this shit would cost to repair.

The sons of bitches who caused all this hadn't left quietly. After the watcher had taken out Jon, which how he did that who the fuck knows, the "lady" built like a shit brick house hefted his passed out body over her shoulder, while the other one sat on a chair and jerked the knife Jon'd thrown out of his leg without so much as a grimace. He grabbed an abandoned glass of vodka from one of the tables and poured it on the open wound.

As they moved towards the door, Sterling and the other four bouncers on call that night formed a circle around them, with Lennard, the huge guy who only came in on nights when business was booming, coming in from outside after hearing all the commotion. He had that glint in his eye that told you he was grinning, which was otherwise hard to tell considering that nasty scar the Merchants knife had given him several years ago. Lennard was rearin' for a brawl.

Unfortunately, Lennard, Sterling and the rest had never tumbled with a specimen like MATILDA. She took a slow gaze at the group of thugs gathering around them and tenderly placed Jon's still unconscious body in a nearby seat. You couldn't even see her move. You'd think someone that big would be slow, ponderous, almost muscle bound, and you would be wrong. You'd also probably be dead. In the space of about eight seconds four of the bouncers were on their backs, two of them with clearly broken necks. Sterling had made a move to reach for the thick, foot-long knife he kept strapped to his lower back and got a bullet in his shoulder for his trouble, courtesy of the guy in leather. 

Lennard, who was just as big as the she-hulk taking out Viola's toughest guards, moved to grab a nearby stool, spinning around and smashing it across the back of MATILDA's head. Might as well have been a god damn pillow for all the effect it had. The giant bitch whipped around, smashing a fist into Lennards gut, and Viola had been sure she heard his spine snap. It certainly did the trick, because the Wheels toughest bouncer was on the floor, Sterling was still in shock from the gaping wound in his shoulder, the other four were lying dead, and the three bastards were on their way out, Jon slung over a shoulder the size of his head.

"Jeee-sus. What did I miss?" Up the stairs came one of Viola's only friends, possibly the oldest man in the town, not that you could see it. Skin so black it was almost blue, his long, dread-locked hair was pulled back into a thick ponytail. White spiral tattoos covered his arms, starting just above his knuckles and stretching all the way up, peaking just above the collar of his rough cut vest. A pair of silver, rimless glasses were perched above his forehead, and the man had a ratty looking joint between his lips, half gone and spilling foul smelling smoke into a thick cloud that hovered around him.

"God damn it Daniel, what've I told you about smoking that shit up here?"

The old man gave a gravelly laugh, shook his head. "Vi, this 'shit' coulda saved yer boys' asses... had I... been present...," he trailed off rather sheepishly. Viola didn't know what the hell Daniel mixed with his personal batch of grow, but she knew he wasn't exaggerating. She'd seen the old man do some pretty outrageous things when the shit hit the fan, and each time he'd had one of his vicious looking joints clenched between his teeth.

"Some shifty looking characters were in here. Kicked the hell out of your friend Jon and took off with him." That got the old stoners attention. The sheepish grin disappeared, and the joint went out, tucked behind an ear for later attention. Daniel took another look over the recent battlefield. Viola had called in some workers from the morgue to haul off the four bodies; there had been some mishap over at another bar down the street, so they'd be another half hour or so.  Harding, the surgeon who'd come by to patch up Cheryl's shoulder, was checking out the other two casualties. Sterling would get away with nothing more than a flesh wound, but the only way Lennard would walk again is if he could pull together the cash to get his ass to the City, convince some medical factory to patch him up. Spinal injuries were way more than any of the towns surgeons could tackle.

Daniel and Viola headed down the stairs, and at the same time the door of one of the rented rooms opened, and the strange man that had paid for it slowly descended. Viola caught a quick glimpse of his eyes under that wide brim hat she'd always seen him wearing, flashing over her face. His money was real, so she'd given him the room. Still, she couldn't shake that feeling.....

The man reached the ground floor before them. He strolled out into the middle of the floor, staring at the four bodies, a small smile forming on his face. He wore some bizarre jacket, intricate designs of gold thread covering the entire thing, they made your eyes hurt if you looked at it for too long. Black pinstriped pants, which if you really noticed them seemed far too thin for a grown mans legs. Shiny black pointed leather boots clad his feet, though as he walked it seemed as if the steps he was taking were hardly long enough for the distance they took him. The man wasn't right, pure and simple, and after thirty something years of running the biggest bar outside of the City, Viola knew when something wasn't right.

The man reached the bodies and crouched down to one. His name was Thomas, wasn't it? Boy just started a few days ago... His gloved hand reached out to Thomas's face, sliding up the side and resting just over his ear. The mans eyes closed and seemed to flutter, and as Viola and Daniel approached him he stood. Turning to them, he reached into his eye-burning jacket, and Daniel moved in front of her, expecting him to pull out some manner of weapon. Instead he pulled out a slip of paper and walked towards them, holding it out.

His voice was like smoke, he spoke in a whisper and yet you  couldn't help but hear it, no matter how much you didn't want to. "This man. He lives in this town. Where might I find him?" Daniel, still standing in front of the Wheels matron, glanced at it.

"That'd be Jon, and I'm sorry but ye just missed him." The smile on the mans face turned into a grin, and he looked Daniel dead in the eyes.

"Where. Might I find him?"

Daniel felt a quick series of taps on his elbow; he knew it was Vi, and he knew she knew his old call signs. Danger. 'Weirdness'. He reached up, making sure to keep his hands in full view of the stranger, and took the half-smoked joint from behind his ear, sticking it between his lips. With his other hand he searched for his matches, took one out and struck it with a flick of his thumb. Lighting up, he let his body settle into a natural state, felt his muscles relaxing. "I told you, friend, ye just missed him. What might ya be needin' him for, might I ask?"

The man took a step back, as if to survey his surroundings. The grin on his face was getting wider, wider, til it stretched from ear to ear. There was a light in his eyes, quite literally a light, a dull blue glow that lit up from inside his eyeballs. The same glow faintly back-lit his teeth, making them seem to glow in the dark, despite the fierce fluorescent light bulbs strung up overhead.

He reached up, removed his hat with a gloved hand.

Danger. 'Weirdness.'

man in a box

I woke up about two hours ago, but I get the feeling my watch in't workin' quite as well as it should be. Last time I looked at it it read 10:13, now it's sayin' 14:900, which is especially strange seein' as it isn't a digital watch. 

Bare concrete cell, bout 15' square. Thick metal doorway, heavy bars. No window. Looks a lot like the room the Pastor used to lock me up in back in the Friendship.......

No point in dredgin' that shit up again. Only thing that was in here when I woke, sides myself, was a brand new lookin' notebook, fresh outta the factory, and a few black ink pens. 

Thought I'd start takin' down what's been happening. Seein' as I left my supply of medicine back at the cabin, and seein' as I have no idea when I'll get outta here, if ever, there's no tellin' when the Sickness will wipe me out, so I've gotta keep track of everything less I forget it all.

Gonna take a nap, build up my strength.

[I've counted this as part of the second journal entry, seeing as it's so short. I've also got Owens and Zavala working on tracking down where the hell these journals came from, but so far we've got nothing. 

When we discovered the identities of two of those stranger's from the second entry, I nearly shat a brick. I remember Vali-Smith from my days back on the force. That god damn gang took out more of my friends and comrades than I care to remember. Last I heard of him he was dead but if the date on the entry is anything to go by, that's far from the truth. As for MATILDA, I've only heard stories but..... Not someone I'd like to tangle with, even if was in my physical prime.


Whoever this "Jon" guy is, he sounds like a tough S.O.B.


12/7/[REMOVED]


T. Vasilakis]

The Wheel

I walked for bout half an hour through the woods, my eyes scanning the landscape for any signs of disturbance. Why the hell would someone steal a dog? They must have seen the other shit I had round my place. Not top quality things, but clearly more valuable than some eleven-year old dog. I hadn't taken much of a look but from what I could tell there wasn't anything missing. My beaten up old laptop was sittin' on the desk across from my cot. The hunting rifle I had been in the middle of repairing was on the table in the middle of the room, along with the big black book with the battered cover that I'd brought with me when I left my last home. Not the biggest haul for an eager house burglar. 


Right when I was about to turn back I spotted the second puppet. Girl one this time, same creepyass grin that looked too big for its face. Its' hands a feet looked all carved up, like someone got pissed off at the thing and went at it with a knife. The veins on my chest started itchin' so I turned round, pickin' up the trail I had left almost invisibly on my trek through the woods. I saw movement off to my right, caught the tail end of a tatter gray cloak disappearing behind a boulder. Didn't bother thinkin' anything of it; those god damn watchers were always doin' that.... just.... watching. Who knew what the hell they were thinkin'. 


Sun was just setting as my cabin came into view. The joint I'd been working on was barely more than a stub, even so I tapped out the last few embers at the end and stashed it in the old Spirits smoke tin I kept on me all the time. Honestly, I had no love for that green shit. The Sickness kept my body from enjoying any of the standard effects of marijuana, but it was the only thing that was able to keep those crippling attacks at bay. Not that anyone in town knew that. As far as they knew I was just a washed out stoner from the City. All except Daniel, who was the only one I'd bothered to tell.


Thought I'd head back into town. Despite the backwoodsiness of the place, it never really slept. Viola's bar, which was really more of a readjusted old warehouse, was the real hub of all the activity around town, where all the citizens had been drawn too for one reason or another. 


The common factor was that at some point, someone in each of the families here had run afoul of the men and women that controlled the City. Not the mayor or any of his cronies, they were just a front. It was the freaks, the things that no one could look at, that really held all the power.


I gave a nod to the bouncer standing outside the big shed door that served as the entrance to the Wheel. It was the big black guy that was only there on especially busy nights, the one with the nasty scar on his cheek that pulled his upper lip up and back in a permanent sneer. Didn't know his name but we'd seen each other around. He held the chain link door open for me, givin' me a corny little bow as I passed through. I was right behind a group of teenagers, comin' to the Wheel for a bit of gamblin' and boozin'. Probably underage. Not that Viola gave much of a fuck.


Place was busy as always. We ran about the status of our town bein' in the middle of no where, but in truth we were just off of one of the main roads that connected the City to the rest of the country. The population here was just over a thousand, but the amount of temporary citizens boosted that number up quite a few notches.


I made a beeline to the huge bar that ran along the entire northern wall. Staffed by the majority of the towns good lookin' young ladies, it was probably the biggest attraction of the Wheel, other than the black market operation that had been goin' on since the old bitch had opened up the place. Stocked with absolutely every type of drink you could think of, it was Viola's pride and joy. I'd asked her once where she managed to find such obscure goods, after I spotted a bottle of vodka that had been made in one of the countries that got swept into the sea way back when; she just gave me that god damned grin of hers that just screamed Fuck You, That's Where I Got It. 


I spotted one of the bartenders I was familiar with, Sophia or Sally or some shit, and sat down in her section of the bar. Gave me a little smile, finished mixin' up some neon green glass of death for some kid who barely looked like his balls had dropped, and came over for a chat.


"Why hello there, stranger," she said with a grin. Despite me not remember her bloody name I knew this one. She tended to be the one that shook up my drinks for me. If she had been sending any signals my way, I'd missed 'em. 


"Hey there, sweetheart. How long you been on the clock?"


"Only about half an hour. Why, something exciting happen in town?"


"Didn't happen to see Omar wanderin' bout on yer way over, didja?" I might not be the most sociable man about town, but Omar'd been here since he was a spry young thing. The permanent citizens here knew him, all the kids loved him and he was the friendliest, furriest little fuck you'd ever meet. Shit, I'm about to tear up.


"Can't say I did hun. He finally ran off on your broodin' self?"


I gave a little smirk, pulled out the remainder of my joint and sparked it up. Already knew Viola didn't give a fuck. Sat there for a while, thinkin' things over. At some point I realized someone had their eyes locked on my back.


"You see those three guys over my left shoulder?" I asked her in a casual tone. Her expression didn't change but her eyes flicked up for a sec, came back to mine and she gave me a nod.


"Looks like one of them is a watcher... What the hell are those other two wearing?"


I'd seen them as I was finishing up a cigarette outside. Three figures who had clearly been tailin' me, though I hadn't noticed when they'd picked up my trail. One of them was certainly a watcher, one with an actual mask, shaped as a completely featureless human face with glass lenses over the eyes, as big and round as glass bottles. The other two weren't watchers, but were just as bizarre lookin'. One of 'em was huge, just shy of seven feet tall by my estimate, but with a face like a twelve year old kid. It was hard to tell but it was actually a woman, you could only tell because of the slight bulges on her chest. Looked like she could take down a chargin' ox with one swing of those huge, meaty paws.


The other one, probably the most dangerous lookin of the bunch. Five foot somethin', he had the facial features of someone from one of those Asian countries that no one had heard any news of for god knows how long. Not the ones that were born here, those folks had a slightly different look about em that was hard to pinpoint. This guy looked like one of those performers that had come through last spring, the ones with the sitars. 'Fresh off the boat', some of the old-timers at the factory would've said. Guy was clad head to toe in black leather, leather vest, leather duster, gloves, boots, the whole set up. Practically had the words BAD MOTHER FUCKER floating above his head, a vibe that was certainly not hurt by the massive gun strapped to his back.


I ask the bartender, whose name I remember now is Sam, I ask her "What are they doin' right now?"

"They just sat down at a table. The biker looking guy's ordering a drink. The huge one's looking around the place, and the watcher's staring right at you, far as I can tell."


"Gimme a sign if the make a move towards me, would ya?"


"Sure thing, Jon. Get you a drink?"

I ordered a shot of whiskey and one of the shitty beers Viola imported in from the City and gave a bit of a smirk when she said my name. That was certainly part of the reason why I kept myself mostly to myself. I'd arrived here with nothin' but the clothes on my back and that tattered old book, not even a name to call my own....... That familiar feeling of fuzziness started swirling around my skull and a tossed the shot back, grimacing as it scorched its way down my throat. 


I grabbed the bottle of beer by its neck just as the huge scarred mitt clamped down on my shoulder. I let the huge woman spin me around and used the momentum to add a bit of power as I swung the thick glass bottle up at her face. It shattered and she fell back without even a shout of surprise, but her hand stayed gripping on my shoulder and I fell back with her. I shot my steel toed boot just up under her rib cage and was rewarded by gettin' my shoulder back, while she got every breath she'd taken that day knocked right the fuck out her lungs.


I saw the biker guy bring his hand up, holding probably the biggest god damn revolver I'd ever seen. That old training took over and I dipped to the side, heard one of the bartenders behind me start screamin' as she caught the round meant for me. Sure hope that wasn't Sam. Lunged forward from the crouch I'd fallen into, gritting my teeth as a web of fire fell over my legs and propelled me much farther than should've been possible. Right hand back in the inner pocket, grabbing the switchblade and hittin' the trigger, heard the blade go schwing! way more clearly than I should've, just as I heard the man shift his feet and take aim at my head. Ears on fire now.


I was to the left of him, about five meters away half hidden by a table toppled over in the panic, still in that slightly unnatural crouch. I rocketed towards him, throwing the knife with a flick of my wrist, completely missing my target but hitting him in the thigh none the less. Never was worth much when it came to knife throwing.


Just as the BAD MOTHER FUCKER fell to the ground, I felt another hand on my shoulder. The fire that was gripping my legs spread to the rest of my body. Oh god damn it the fucking watcher. I'd completely forgotten about that creepy fuck. Last thing I saw, as my vision was completely taken over by the blue, was a nasty lookin' grid of veins popping up all over my arm, pumping acid into my muscles.


[Second entry in the series of journals left to Vasilakis. The description of two the the three individuals matches the profile of James Vali-Smith, former member of the Seven Dogs gun runners gang, and the mercenary known only as MATILDA[sic], last seen working for [REMOVED] in Chicago.


12/7/[REMOVED]


T. Vasilakis]

Lost Dog, Answers to Omar

I just wanted my god damn dog back.


There'd been talk of bizarre happenings in the town I lived in. A stranger in outlandish clothing had rented a room at the Wheel; the curtains were pulled ever since he took the room but during the daylight hours we could all hear some kind of twangy string instrument bein' played, not unlike the sitars that group of travelling entertainers had brought with them last spring. 


All the plant life around the playground behind the schoolhouse was dying or dead. A few of the boys from the factory checked it out one night, told the rest of us that there weren't even bugs round there. The dirt's all dry, there's this stench comin' from the big hollow ladybug the kids used to play round... Heard a couple of the older workers talkin' about that kid that up and disappeared a couple of weeks ago. Johnny's brother, actually. Only seven years old. Don't know who could've gotten past the wall without someone noticin', but someone did and now we're down one. 


Didn't pay much mind to all this talk. I've kept myself to myself ever since I arrived in this town, smack in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. It's quiet, and the people leave you alone if that's what you want. The only company I ever kept was my dog Omar. He was a black Labrador, got him when he was just a pup. Cutest little bastard you ever saw. These days he was gettin' on, not as hyper as he used to be, but still the best company I could as for. 


The doctors back in the City had put me on more kinds of pills than I could remember, shit that would make me shiver and sweat, vomit and void, once there was some sorta combination that made my ears bleed every time I lay down. All to combat The Sickness. They had no idea what the hell it was I had picked up so they had no idea what would help, and by god did it show. And the whole time I was on them pills, The Sickness just got stronger and stronger, the weird blue haze creepin' in on the edges of my vision, and the bright red veins slowly raising along my chest but, wait, veins aren't ment to form in geometric patterns, are they, doctor?


Wasn't til my old workmate, wouldn't call him a friend but that comes close, asked if I wanted to smoke some marijuana he had just picked up. I was deep in the throes of The Sickness by then, had to throw on a jacket to cover up the squares and octagons poppin' up all over my arms, and the world was washed in a blue mist. But one hit on the crappy joint the kid rolled and it all just..... just washed away. The burning pain on the back of my neck that signified when  shit was gettin' quite bad vanished in minutes. It was around that time that I made the decision to abandon the City. Told my doctors to fuck off. Told the one or two people who'd want to know where I was goin'. Took right off.


So the night Omar ran off on me, I was over at the backroom of Viola's, where all the less-than-strictly-legal shit went on. The old timer that grew the shit in his shack by the lake was already there, with my order all nicely wrapped up and ready for sale. No need to check the weight, Daniel was a good guy. One quarter pound of his finest kush.


On my walk back to my cabin at the edge of the woods, I passed by one of the watchers. These guys were everywhere, even back in the City, but far more common out here in the edge towns. Creepy bastards. There were always conflicting stories about them, where they came from, what the hell they did. Who they were. Who they used to be. I didn't think to much about them ever. They all looked about the same; fairly tall, short gray cloaks, thick, heavy lookin' boots and gloves. Each and every one of 'em liked to keep their faces hidden in some form or another, in fact that's where the idea they had some sort of hierarchy among themselves. Most of 'em used nothin' but tattered scarves and bandannas, always the cleanest white you ever seen. Then every now and then you'd see some with clearly defined masks, sometimes in the shape of some sorta animal, sometimes just blank white. I remember the watcher that hung about my old block back in the City, he always wore this nasty lookin' number with a long, thin birds beak. Yeah, there were quite some stories bout that one...


I passed one of the towns local watchers and I swear the creepy fucker looked right at me, and the small patch of Sickness veins on my chest that never quite disappeared just erupted. Never felt pain like that before and god willin' I never will again. I collapsed to my knees, clutchin' my chest like I was tryin' to keep my insides inside, my vision just completely blanked out with an impenetrable blue. It was over in a few seconds if my watch was anything to go by, but it felt like it lasted a lifetime. When it went it was like it never happened, but I was sweatin' bullets and could hardly stand. I struggled to my knees and my hand went to the pocket stitched into the inside of my hunting jacket, grippin' the handle of the old switchblade I'd kept on me, lookin' round for the masked bastard that I was sure was the cause of this flare up.


No one. Not a soul around me. In fact it was dead silent, normally there'd be birds or somethin' chirpin' about. Not a sound. 


This random attack had completely obliterated whatever defense the marijuana built for me against The Sickness, so there was the all-too-familiar blue haze at the edge of my eyeballs, I could feel the raised shapes of the veins on my chest... Shit. I had enough cash to get by, and Daniel was a fair man, but this medicine I smoked wasn't just pricey, it was necessary. I didn't like havin' to med up so soon, but I sat there in the dirt, pulled out my rollin' papers and whipped up a joint. Stood up on shaky legs, lighting it up as I walked along the dirt road that led to the woods. 


I could tell somethin' was off as soon as I unlocked the front door. Omar was far from the overly-active pup he used to be, actually the old bastard hardly made any noise of any sort these days, but he always had a presence to be felt in the house. I knew the place was empty. Called out to him as I walked in, no sound of nails clacking on the bare wood floors. 


Front door's been locked all day. No way the old bastard coulda jumped out one of the windows, they're all shut anyhow. The fuck... 


Joint clenched between my lips, think trickle of smoke creepin' out of my nose, I turn back around, do a quick survey of the land around my cabin. The old habits kicked in pretty quickly. No noticeable tracks in the dust that took up all the space where the grass shoulda been. The woods the grew out the back of my land looked the same as it always did, just on the verge of completely dying...


What's that.... hangin' from that tree.... Looks like a... body? I walk over to the tree just at the edge of the forest, giant old thing. Strung up on one of the lowest limbs was what looked like a body from the distance, looked like a kid actually. Just what I need. Another mark on my goddamn reputation around this fuckin' town. I got closer and saw the kids skin looked like...... wood? Someone had, for some hilarious reason, I'm sure, decided to string up an old puppet on the tree limb. Quite a joke. Thing looked creepy as all hell. Poorly painted facial features, mouth stuck in a permanent ear-to-ear grin. I stood right beneath it, seein' that even if I didn't get it, Omar goin' missing and some bullshit puppet hangin' round my cabin wasn't some coincidence. 


The old training had kicked in all the way at this point. I was gonna find my fuckin' dog.


[This is entry 1 of [REMOVED] in a series of journals received by Private Detective Vasilakis, stationed in the [REMOVED] Sector of Seattle. Further investigation pending.


12/6/[REMOVED]


T. Vasilakis]