Sympathy

Wahahahahaha.

…

Wahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha hahahahaha hahahahahaha… ha… ha… ha.

Okay. I think I’m done… hahaha. Sorry. I can’t help but laugh every time I see Duckie crying. It’s like watching a moose fly or listening to a stupid hard headed squirrel talk. It’s particularly funny because of how unmanly he considers the act to be. All that shame must be weighing a heavy burden on his soul. Makes me proud to climb on his back and laugh in his face.

But you know, metaphorically. That’s probably a good way to go about getting myself beaten to death with a shovel.  …He he, cry baby.

Of course this is something of a double edged sword. Decreased time spent blacked out and the emotional attachment to the moments he is blotting out in his mind are actually signs that his condition is improving. As stated in one my earlier reports on Duckie’s blog “Wrath is Eternal”, I believe Duckie’s blackouts are a result of a dissociative disorder in which he cannot remember the killing because he can no longer stomach them. The fact that the killing moment is all he can’t seem to remember now and that he cries after every kill now would seem to support this hypothesis. The most likely trigger for the psychosis would be Duckie’s own ‘death’ as it seemed to have started after he was cut down and apparently reemerged.

Duckie is showing signs of sympathy.
Measures will be taken to fix that.
Fracture out.

Black Blood

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

...

“Fracture, check on the kids. Trent, go get the car. I want to be ready to load the little shits up in five minutes. Firecracker, help me sort through their shit.”

With that, Trent left out of one of the basement windows. He’s quite the peculiar guy. Had he used the stairs like a normal person, the disaster might have been averted.

“Payback time.”

It was one of Kreeger’s men. Somebody fucked up and didn’t quite finish their mark. He was bruised, bleeding, and suffering from a bullet wound in his lung. Bruising and firearms are telltale signs that Firecracker had brought this one down. Later debriefing revealed she had left him in a survivable state for interrogation purposes which would have proven useful had the willful fuck not forced himself back to his feet after she had left him. Sets of handcuffs will be issued in future endeavors requiring we capture subjects.

Gun drawn, alone, and staring down a one to three fight ready to break, Kreeger’s flunky forced his aim steady at Firecracker hell-bent on taking one of his attackers with him if he was going to die.

“Firecracker, look out!”

I cried out for her and started moving. She was caught off guard and froze. What a terrible to time to lose your nerve. I shoved her out of the way and ended up taking her bullet. Duckie didn’t hesitate. He drew his gun and fired three shots. Blam, blam, blam. There went the bastard’s liver, heart, and head.

I was bleeding. Once I confirmed the bullet was not in me, I used a coagulant to stop the bleeding and forced myself to my feet. Duckie was staring. He was fixated on something. I thought he might have actually been concerned before he opened his stupid mouth.

“Fracture… your bleeding….”
“Ye-” “Black blood.”
“…Oh dear.”
“Why are y-” “Goodnight Duckie.” “-ou…”

And he passed out.

“What are you going to-” “I do believe you have your orders already dear. Get back to work. Leave this to me.”