It shouldn't be here.
I've studies central African history, back in college. Surely it can't be here.
This is Simone again. Talking about the temple... thing. It's slick and grimy, like no stone that I've ever seen. There's something really wrong in the air, in the forest, in every goddamn thing. I hoped that this'd all be a bit more Indiana Jones and a little less Bram Stoker. The trees are utterly silent. There are bugs, but the bugs don't make enough noise. Their buzzing is muted, as though it was really coming from far away. The boss hates Dande, I mean, Ibola does as well, but he's become totally obsessed with getting into the temple (it's not a pyramid, not here.) I mean, 'Bola has a goal in all this-- her son's probably in there, with whatever shape he has left, so she's got a reason to plunge into the dark, right? Boss' only reason is that there might be a clue left somewhere in there by Dande. They're both tight as knots. Ibola keeps staring at this big old blank bit of wall, glaring at it. The boss has been wandering around the sides and kicking it and talking to it. Like Lord of the Rings, kinda.
What we know is that the kids didn't get stopped by the door/wall thing. The blank space we think might be a door doesn't seem to have ever been moved, the footprints haven't been touched. There doesn't seem to be anything that indicates that the wall moves at all, down or in or out. The brush seems to taper right next to the blank bit of wall, and sortof grows into it, rather than touch the blank face.
Don and I've been thinking about it. I think one might be able to just kinda... move through the wall I guess? I'm definitely not sure whether anyone else'll go for my idea, because, well, it's a bit fantastic isn't it? Walls that don't really exist, or only exist if you think about them or something. But screw them, I guess. I'm not really certain about reality anymore, what with all these conspiracy theories and things. I don't know what to believe. So I guess I'm going to go try and walk through the wall and see what happens. I'll probably end up walking into a solid bit of rock, but whatever.
I just want to figure it out. I don't want to be here anymore. I hate this place.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
DROC: Discovery
We've been walking for about two weeks and the change was so gradual I didn't even notice it. Don and Ibola live here-ish and I think even Simone picked up on the sheer wrongness faster than I did. We walked long enough to get through the woods several times. Maybe we were going in circles, I honestly couldn't tell. The sounds of the forest kinda fill your head to the point where I started blanking things out. The noise left a lot of time for awkward silence, with Don and Simone occasionally bobbing into the distance. He turned to Simone as the most competent/masculine in the group, myself being "useless" and Ibola "overemotional". This only made things more awkward, as there are more layers of awkward between myself and Ibola than I dare contemplate. He and Simone walked ahead and whispered together in hushed tones.
I asked Simone what they'd been talking about. She told me that Don thought that it was "trop silent" (too quiet). I was dumbfounded by the statement at the time, not checking my privilege or my ignorance. The jungle at that time was one of the most alive places I'd ever been. She shook her head and said she thought the forest was changing too. The days went on, and I honestly didn't see anything changing. We were still covered in bugs by day and eaten alive by mosquitoes at night.
We were paused by Don for the first time last Tuesday. Don gestured to Simone and the pair of them walked ahead. Ibola and I sat in a clearing awkwardly, left dumb and deaf to the other one's thoughts. Ibola stood up suddenly and left me alone with the silence. The idea of the silence hit me as Ibola returned. She held a red flower in one hand and some kind of dead rodent in the other. I knew by her expression that she hadn't killed the rat. It was tied up with its own intestines and its eyes were bulging out of its hand. Ibola and I locked eyes.
He buried the rat and burnt the flower, finishing up just as Don and Simone returned. Simone told me that she thought "we found the kids. Or at least the place they might be." We followed Simone and Don down the path they made in the woods, and came to an overlook above a vast expanse of jungle. A massive, greasy black pyramid pushed its way through the matted jungle, covered in vines and plants. It looked like it had been abandoned for millenia. Lining its sides were grotesque statues of something that my mind slips away from like a scared child.
We spent another four or five days getting closer to the pyramid. This place buzzes, but it's not alive. Nothing but insects. The dead animals are getting larger, but most of the time we come across unidentifiable bits of bone and ichor. We've slept outside the wretched place for the last few nights, trying to find a way in. The footprints lead up to a blank slate of wall, and I have no clue how to get in. In any case, I doubt we'll have much internet if we get inside-- this is the first time I've been connected to a satellite in weeks.
Hopefully will be able to write again later.
I asked Simone what they'd been talking about. She told me that Don thought that it was "trop silent" (too quiet). I was dumbfounded by the statement at the time, not checking my privilege or my ignorance. The jungle at that time was one of the most alive places I'd ever been. She shook her head and said she thought the forest was changing too. The days went on, and I honestly didn't see anything changing. We were still covered in bugs by day and eaten alive by mosquitoes at night.
We were paused by Don for the first time last Tuesday. Don gestured to Simone and the pair of them walked ahead. Ibola and I sat in a clearing awkwardly, left dumb and deaf to the other one's thoughts. Ibola stood up suddenly and left me alone with the silence. The idea of the silence hit me as Ibola returned. She held a red flower in one hand and some kind of dead rodent in the other. I knew by her expression that she hadn't killed the rat. It was tied up with its own intestines and its eyes were bulging out of its hand. Ibola and I locked eyes.
He buried the rat and burnt the flower, finishing up just as Don and Simone returned. Simone told me that she thought "we found the kids. Or at least the place they might be." We followed Simone and Don down the path they made in the woods, and came to an overlook above a vast expanse of jungle. A massive, greasy black pyramid pushed its way through the matted jungle, covered in vines and plants. It looked like it had been abandoned for millenia. Lining its sides were grotesque statues of something that my mind slips away from like a scared child.
We spent another four or five days getting closer to the pyramid. This place buzzes, but it's not alive. Nothing but insects. The dead animals are getting larger, but most of the time we come across unidentifiable bits of bone and ichor. We've slept outside the wretched place for the last few nights, trying to find a way in. The footprints lead up to a blank slate of wall, and I have no clue how to get in. In any case, I doubt we'll have much internet if we get inside-- this is the first time I've been connected to a satellite in weeks.
Hopefully will be able to write again later.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
DROC: Follow
We woke up early in the morning to go over to Ibola’s sister’s house. Ibola met us outside our hovel with the guide she’d convinced to come along. His name is Don, or at least that’s what he calls himself, a tall athletic man and incredibly sarcastic, with quick eyes. The four of us made our way over to Ibola’s sister’s house, where we had breakfast. Ibola’s sister, Nyangoma, is a jolly, cheerful woman, who didn’t take Ibola’s warnings too seriously. Nevertheless, she was happy for us to follow the soldiers for safeties sake. Nyangoma has two young girls, twins, who are almost disturbingly angelic. We made and ate breakfast with them, and the entire affair was so distant and idyllic, it became utterly surreal. They were all chatting quite happily in French, and while Simone translated for me from time to time, mostly I let the conversation wash over me. It was all so damn normal-- jokes were being told and it was all playful and, to use a weak word, nice.
We heard the soldiers drive up outside. Suddenly the idyll was broken, at least for myself, Simone, Don and particularly Ibola. Nyangoma and her kids seemed as happy as ever. We crept round to the back, and hopped into the car, waiting for the soldier's jeep to ride on. Giving them a five minute head start, we followed them into the jungle.
It's been a longer trek than I'd anticipated at the beginning. There's still mud on the ground, though it hasn't rained in I don't know how long, which has aided in tracking the other car. The downside to this is that we've been slowed down considerably, and once we lost sight of the other vehicle Don had to stop the car several times to make sure we were going the right way. Every time night fell Ibola ordered us to bed, and even Don relinquished to her. We huddled in the back seat of the car, and waited through sleepless nights. Ibola was sure that the soldiers wouldn't risk going on through the night. My mind crept back to the MONSTER and I silently agreed. Wherever they're going, they want those children safe.
The first time I saw the monster was just a few days ago. I was popping back home during a lunch break, walking through central park. It was a fairly quiet part of the park, with not too many people around. I saw a little kid, about 3 or 4, toddle across the path I was taking towards the trees. He was clinging to a toy truck, staring at something I couldn't see, almost tripping over his untied sneakers. He reached a dense copse of trees and started talking to someone just out of my sight, so I moved to see better. And there it was.
Its blank face was about equal with the child's, its twisted, rake-thin body bent at the waist. It sported dozens of tentacles, two of which were gently stroking the child's face. Where the tentacles met the kid's skin splotchy red welts sprung up, and started to ooze pus. I must have made some noise, some dry choked sound at the back of my throat, as I was torn between running and intervening, because in response the monster's tendrils stiffened. It gripped the child's arms, pulling the boy apart. The child was screaming as blood stained his jacket.
It wouldn't stop. It just got worse and worse and worse, and I didn't do anything... The monster tilted its head and plied its limbs through the child's chest. But the child was somehow still alive, choking up blood. The child's eyes were still aware, even as the creature slowly broke his ribs out of his body and planted them like grotesque flowers in a circle around the base of the tree. He was still alive even as the monster drove his bones into the soft bark. He was still choking for breath even as his empty skin and organs were hung up on the tree as an almost decoration, his skin flourished over a branch like a sweater left out to dry. The child's head was buried, his eyes still open. The creature turned its head up to face me, cocked it, and moved off into the woods.
How I managed to get back home after that I still have no idea. The moment I got through the door I ran to the bathroom and vomited. My partner, a doctor, recognized something 'off' in me, but didn't pry, instead calling my workplace. I was in bed through most of the media circus surrounding the missing boy, and I missed the discovery of his grisly fate. I never told anyone what I saw-- who would believe me? I just tried to help the people who could be helped. But I did see the monster several times after that.
It's our 8th day of travel. I was spurred to make a post because of two things; a slightly strong signal from the phone of the sparse internet, and because we found the other car. There's nothing useful inside it, but there are footprints leading into the woods, broken branches, and knife prints in the trees, giving us a pretty clear path to follow. We've been walking for about a day. Nothing new. Just what I assume to be normal forest sounds, though nobody really tells me anything at this point. I'll try and keep this blog thing updated more often.
I feel paranoid at best right now. The trees, the humidity, the low hanging branches and the murky blotted-out-ness of the rest of the world. I keep expecting to see the MONSTER, or one of ITs Victims, or the kid I failed to save.
It's been a longer trek than I'd anticipated at the beginning. There's still mud on the ground, though it hasn't rained in I don't know how long, which has aided in tracking the other car. The downside to this is that we've been slowed down considerably, and once we lost sight of the other vehicle Don had to stop the car several times to make sure we were going the right way. Every time night fell Ibola ordered us to bed, and even Don relinquished to her. We huddled in the back seat of the car, and waited through sleepless nights. Ibola was sure that the soldiers wouldn't risk going on through the night. My mind crept back to the MONSTER and I silently agreed. Wherever they're going, they want those children safe.
The first time I saw the monster was just a few days ago. I was popping back home during a lunch break, walking through central park. It was a fairly quiet part of the park, with not too many people around. I saw a little kid, about 3 or 4, toddle across the path I was taking towards the trees. He was clinging to a toy truck, staring at something I couldn't see, almost tripping over his untied sneakers. He reached a dense copse of trees and started talking to someone just out of my sight, so I moved to see better. And there it was.
Its blank face was about equal with the child's, its twisted, rake-thin body bent at the waist. It sported dozens of tentacles, two of which were gently stroking the child's face. Where the tentacles met the kid's skin splotchy red welts sprung up, and started to ooze pus. I must have made some noise, some dry choked sound at the back of my throat, as I was torn between running and intervening, because in response the monster's tendrils stiffened. It gripped the child's arms, pulling the boy apart. The child was screaming as blood stained his jacket.
It wouldn't stop. It just got worse and worse and worse, and I didn't do anything... The monster tilted its head and plied its limbs through the child's chest. But the child was somehow still alive, choking up blood. The child's eyes were still aware, even as the creature slowly broke his ribs out of his body and planted them like grotesque flowers in a circle around the base of the tree. He was still alive even as the monster drove his bones into the soft bark. He was still choking for breath even as his empty skin and organs were hung up on the tree as an almost decoration, his skin flourished over a branch like a sweater left out to dry. The child's head was buried, his eyes still open. The creature turned its head up to face me, cocked it, and moved off into the woods.
How I managed to get back home after that I still have no idea. The moment I got through the door I ran to the bathroom and vomited. My partner, a doctor, recognized something 'off' in me, but didn't pry, instead calling my workplace. I was in bed through most of the media circus surrounding the missing boy, and I missed the discovery of his grisly fate. I never told anyone what I saw-- who would believe me? I just tried to help the people who could be helped. But I did see the monster several times after that.
It's our 8th day of travel. I was spurred to make a post because of two things; a slightly strong signal from the phone of the sparse internet, and because we found the other car. There's nothing useful inside it, but there are footprints leading into the woods, broken branches, and knife prints in the trees, giving us a pretty clear path to follow. We've been walking for about a day. Nothing new. Just what I assume to be normal forest sounds, though nobody really tells me anything at this point. I'll try and keep this blog thing updated more often.
I feel paranoid at best right now. The trees, the humidity, the low hanging branches and the murky blotted-out-ness of the rest of the world. I keep expecting to see the MONSTER, or one of ITs Victims, or the kid I failed to save.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
DROC: Begin
Ibola told us this story, an old local folk tale about the MONSTER. She's got a lot of stories about It, all of them told to her through whispers. None of the local legends about the MONSTER were meant to be told, but older teens told their younger siblings and stories make a point of staying, so it was passed on. Ibola’s older sister told it to her when she was nine, which I suppose explains some of the stranger quirks in her personality.
The woman’s name was Red, and she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Ibola told me that all of the protagonists in stories about the monster have names related to colour, though she's not sure why. Anyway, Red lived in a village in the desert, and her lover (of course the strongest man in the world) lived in a village in the forest. Unfortunately for the budding romance, the two villages were at war with each other. The forest village worshipped the trees, and her village worshipped fire. Red and her lover knew that the villages were never going to stop warring, so they plotted to run away. Red sent her lover a message to meet her one night in the woods.
That night, Red packed up her meager belongings, and silently said goodbye to her family as she left the house. There was no moon, but the night world chattered around her so she did not feel afraid. She walked to the meeting place in the forest, and came to the clearing where she was to unite with her lover. He was standing in the middle of the clearing and wasn’t facing her. Red called out to him, but as he turned to her she realized something was wrong. It was like his skin was an ill-fitting garment that folded in the wrong places. Then his body was stretched as the demon inside stood to its full height, and his face was ripped in two to reveal the bone-white façade beneath.
The MONSTER grabbed Red with its colossal hands and carefully ripped her apart, ignoring her screams. The creature tore her organs out of her body and planted still slithering segments of her stomach and parts of her beating heart in the ground. Wherever her still living organs were planted red flowers grew. Ibola was taught that every one of the red flowers picked, Red would die a little bit more. Most kids refused to pick the flowers after hearing the story, but Ibola went out of her way to kill the flowers, wanting to put the woman out of her misery.
The plan goes into action tomorrow. Something is changing. Maybe we can beat this.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
DROC: Ow.
I am so tired right now.
The last few weeks were spent attempting to expand our smallish knowledge base. We had names and numbers, so spent a lot of time feeling creepy as we snooped for the backgrounds of the kids. Felt significantly less creepy looking for the beneficiaries of the money that Dande handed out like candy. Still, within this town, there aren't that many leads to pick up from. And though I am good at paperwork, I am less-good at being a detective. I'm good at presenting cases to groups, but not so much at talking to people-people. My roommate was a lot better at talking to normal people than I was, and would have probably hit me for using the phrase "normal people." But I digress. I am-- not bad at investigating, but incompetent in the field of detecting. Also, as it turns out, the field of subtlety.
We had information about the kids, and about the kinds of people being paid off by Diende. We had no idea what to do with it. We can't storm Dande because there are, well, two of us, we can't alert the police because they're corrupt and we can't contact allies because we don't have any. I had no clue what I was really doing and was retracting into my "It's hopeless" state of mind. Of course everything to do with the MONSTER is hopeless, I know that. But more hopeless than usual, if that makes sense. Then yesterday, as I was walking out of the door of the hovel we're staying in, a woman walked up to me and punched me in the face.
She yelled something in French. I yelled something in vulgarity. Simone ran out yelling something in Franglais. I think she went drinking somewhere last night.
Anyway, according to Simone, the conversation started with her asking what the hell the woman was doing. The woman replied that she was punching me. Simone asked why, and the woman said we were stalking her son, and that he'd disappeared, and it was all our fault. Eventually Simone managed to get the woman to stop being angry with us and told her that we were trying to help, and that even though I was a dick I didn't deserve to be punched. I was, of course, watching this in complete confusion. The confusion was intensified as the woman started laughing, slightly hysterically, and held out her hand to help me up. Somehow she and Simone and I ended up sitting on the carpet in our semi-permanent pit of a home, talking almost normally, with Simone acting as translator.
Her name's Ibola, and when asked why and how she found us, she said she asked for the people who were stalking her son. That's why she hit me-- her son went missing, and two foreigners were wandering around talking to people about him. I have no idea how Simone calmed her down and convinced her we weren't villainous so easily. A loved one of mine goes missing and it takes years to calm me down god-fucking-dammit. Sorry. Anyway, we talked to her for a bit. She thought it was us that'd kidnapped the kids but realized that there are only two of us and as I mentioned above, we can do nothing. So her suspicions snapped back to Dande. She's been insisting that the kids are kidnapped for a while, but nobody's believes her. She told us that she knows a guy in the town the kids were being taken to and he never saw them arrive. Nobody else thinks there's anything suspicious.
This day has been confusing. We have a plan now, though. Ibola's sister has two kids, and she's signed them both up for the medical thing. Ibola tried to dissuade her sister but they're not on good terms. At least now we have a lead.
Ibola swears that her kid is still alive. She'd know if he wasn't.
I wish there was some sort of psychic connection between one and ones loved ones.
This entry got off track a lot. Gist of it is, we might be able to save the kids. Yay.
The last few weeks were spent attempting to expand our smallish knowledge base. We had names and numbers, so spent a lot of time feeling creepy as we snooped for the backgrounds of the kids. Felt significantly less creepy looking for the beneficiaries of the money that Dande handed out like candy. Still, within this town, there aren't that many leads to pick up from. And though I am good at paperwork, I am less-good at being a detective. I'm good at presenting cases to groups, but not so much at talking to people-people. My roommate was a lot better at talking to normal people than I was, and would have probably hit me for using the phrase "normal people." But I digress. I am-- not bad at investigating, but incompetent in the field of detecting. Also, as it turns out, the field of subtlety.
We had information about the kids, and about the kinds of people being paid off by Diende. We had no idea what to do with it. We can't storm Dande because there are, well, two of us, we can't alert the police because they're corrupt and we can't contact allies because we don't have any. I had no clue what I was really doing and was retracting into my "It's hopeless" state of mind. Of course everything to do with the MONSTER is hopeless, I know that. But more hopeless than usual, if that makes sense. Then yesterday, as I was walking out of the door of the hovel we're staying in, a woman walked up to me and punched me in the face.
She yelled something in French. I yelled something in vulgarity. Simone ran out yelling something in Franglais. I think she went drinking somewhere last night.
Anyway, according to Simone, the conversation started with her asking what the hell the woman was doing. The woman replied that she was punching me. Simone asked why, and the woman said we were stalking her son, and that he'd disappeared, and it was all our fault. Eventually Simone managed to get the woman to stop being angry with us and told her that we were trying to help, and that even though I was a dick I didn't deserve to be punched. I was, of course, watching this in complete confusion. The confusion was intensified as the woman started laughing, slightly hysterically, and held out her hand to help me up. Somehow she and Simone and I ended up sitting on the carpet in our semi-permanent pit of a home, talking almost normally, with Simone acting as translator.
Her name's Ibola, and when asked why and how she found us, she said she asked for the people who were stalking her son. That's why she hit me-- her son went missing, and two foreigners were wandering around talking to people about him. I have no idea how Simone calmed her down and convinced her we weren't villainous so easily. A loved one of mine goes missing and it takes years to calm me down god-fucking-dammit. Sorry. Anyway, we talked to her for a bit. She thought it was us that'd kidnapped the kids but realized that there are only two of us and as I mentioned above, we can do nothing. So her suspicions snapped back to Dande. She's been insisting that the kids are kidnapped for a while, but nobody's believes her. She told us that she knows a guy in the town the kids were being taken to and he never saw them arrive. Nobody else thinks there's anything suspicious.
This day has been confusing. We have a plan now, though. Ibola's sister has two kids, and she's signed them both up for the medical thing. Ibola tried to dissuade her sister but they're not on good terms. At least now we have a lead.
Ibola swears that her kid is still alive. She'd know if he wasn't.
I wish there was some sort of psychic connection between one and ones loved ones.
This entry got off track a lot. Gist of it is, we might be able to save the kids. Yay.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
DROC: A Summary
I'm not sure how to start.
Blogger seemed like a good idea before. It was a way for me to keep track of Victims and Perpetrators, to gather news, to build up the Evidence. A way of checking in on the world beneath and making sure my investigations are grounded in the current, in reality. It's not just a tool anymore, not so much about the investigation but about sharing results. The world's like a wilderness full of people who can't tell that they're lost, and when you find the people who are lost you have to cling to them. Rambling start, but will update more often.
We asked around for more information about the papers we'd gathered from Dande. Nothing was forthcoming. The papers we had nicked were conglomerative, amalgamated, with no names, just statistics. There was a sheaf of financial papers as well, and that was a bit more useful. There was a money trail, there's always a money trail, even if it's covered up by blood and corruption. We found out that several doctors had been paid off in the area, and figured that it was our first clue. We went to visit the local doctor, Doctor Steven Williams, a guy shipped in by an aid org that stayed in the region because he could charge way too much money for his services.
We went to visit one of the doctors at his office. Simone went in for a chat with the man himself, while I went to go rifle through his financial records. After a bit of snooping I found out that 12 kids were checked in at the same time, but there fees were paid for from the same source, the same amount as had been paid in Dande's records. On his desk was an envelope with another cheque for about the same amount of money. I made some notes, put everything back where I found it, and went outside to wait for Simone.
She added some more pieces to the puzzle. Simone had posed as a business women interested in Dande and the money that could be made from them. Williams had been drinking and was in a talkative mood, more than happy to brag about the money to be made from the local aid organizations, particularly the corrupt ones. Dande's offer had been pitched to him as a quick moneymaking scheme. According to Williams, Dande was manufacturing a drug to a plague that didn't actually exist, and they needed people to be diagnosed with the disease to be able to market the drug. So William's was paid to diagnose twelve kids with the manufactured sickness that Dande could take them to the manufactured cure. The kids names were on his records, but we didn't have addresses.
We've asked around, and they're all gone. But there are other kids on the books.
I just have to wonder how they're going to keep people from finding out about this. 12 kids went missing-- even somewhere as distant as here, that's going to cause a fuss.
Blogger seemed like a good idea before. It was a way for me to keep track of Victims and Perpetrators, to gather news, to build up the Evidence. A way of checking in on the world beneath and making sure my investigations are grounded in the current, in reality. It's not just a tool anymore, not so much about the investigation but about sharing results. The world's like a wilderness full of people who can't tell that they're lost, and when you find the people who are lost you have to cling to them. Rambling start, but will update more often.
We asked around for more information about the papers we'd gathered from Dande. Nothing was forthcoming. The papers we had nicked were conglomerative, amalgamated, with no names, just statistics. There was a sheaf of financial papers as well, and that was a bit more useful. There was a money trail, there's always a money trail, even if it's covered up by blood and corruption. We found out that several doctors had been paid off in the area, and figured that it was our first clue. We went to visit the local doctor, Doctor Steven Williams, a guy shipped in by an aid org that stayed in the region because he could charge way too much money for his services.
We went to visit one of the doctors at his office. Simone went in for a chat with the man himself, while I went to go rifle through his financial records. After a bit of snooping I found out that 12 kids were checked in at the same time, but there fees were paid for from the same source, the same amount as had been paid in Dande's records. On his desk was an envelope with another cheque for about the same amount of money. I made some notes, put everything back where I found it, and went outside to wait for Simone.
She added some more pieces to the puzzle. Simone had posed as a business women interested in Dande and the money that could be made from them. Williams had been drinking and was in a talkative mood, more than happy to brag about the money to be made from the local aid organizations, particularly the corrupt ones. Dande's offer had been pitched to him as a quick moneymaking scheme. According to Williams, Dande was manufacturing a drug to a plague that didn't actually exist, and they needed people to be diagnosed with the disease to be able to market the drug. So William's was paid to diagnose twelve kids with the manufactured sickness that Dande could take them to the manufactured cure. The kids names were on his records, but we didn't have addresses.
We've asked around, and they're all gone. But there are other kids on the books.
I just have to wonder how they're going to keep people from finding out about this. 12 kids went missing-- even somewhere as distant as here, that's going to cause a fuss.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
I'll title this properly later or something
Too tired right now.
Notes To Self:
Do not piss of local law enforcement.
Dande is not good. Probably should investigate further.
Anyone who wears a suit in the jungle and does not seem to feel discomfort despite said conditions is probably not to be trusted. Outside of the obvious.
It's been a long week.
You never expect that you're going to get shot at when you visit a local charity. There's something in the word "charity" that makes you expect a helping hand, or assistance. Not a large man in a suit grinning at you with several heavily armed gunmen to each side. Luckily no tall men with no faces in suits. Just ones with gunmen. Actually, maybe not too lucky. Misfortune shouldn't be measured up to misfortune, it's all bad. It's a bit too hot to be typing but I gotta get this down on paper.
Simone and I broke into their building. I guess that was our first mistake-- my first mistake. There weren't any alarms, and at the time it wasn't well guarded. We were looking for some financial papers to corroborate what we learned about Dande's affiliation with the local and state governments. The headquarters seem to be the remains of a school that has been rebuilt for the purposes of a bureaucracy. After opening several locked doors we found a room filled with filing cabinets, assumed to be an office of some sort. I was looking through their returns and payments whilst Simone checked through the other papers that were in this desk area. We made several worrying discoveries. The papers being sent to the other aid agencies, NGO's, government agencies and the UN have been meddled with. The number of children in Dande's count doesn't match the information it has been sending to these organizations-- it says there are fewer children in the town than there actually are. This has been repeated within reports for several other townships. Unfortunately, after looking over these papers things went awry.
Okay, out of my lawyer voice. Who the fuck gave these bastards flamethrowers? Please. Someone tell me. Oh wait, I funded this entire goddamn system based on the trade of illegal weaponry in order to post on this blog that I keep incase I end up a corpse (likely due to the use of illegal weaponry.) Simone ran off, and I got set on fire (luckily just on the arm because I really don't think I could get good care for first degree burns out here). By the time managed to put out the fire I had been surrounded by the guards. I was taken by the boss. Picture one of those plastic dough bags squeezed into a suit, chewing a cigar. That's this boss. He looked like a melted snowman. The man told me "They'll be his by next month," and threw me out.
I've been trying to do something about it. But I have no idea what to do.
Notes To Self:
Do not piss of local law enforcement.
Dande is not good. Probably should investigate further.
Anyone who wears a suit in the jungle and does not seem to feel discomfort despite said conditions is probably not to be trusted. Outside of the obvious.
It's been a long week.
You never expect that you're going to get shot at when you visit a local charity. There's something in the word "charity" that makes you expect a helping hand, or assistance. Not a large man in a suit grinning at you with several heavily armed gunmen to each side. Luckily no tall men with no faces in suits. Just ones with gunmen. Actually, maybe not too lucky. Misfortune shouldn't be measured up to misfortune, it's all bad. It's a bit too hot to be typing but I gotta get this down on paper.
Simone and I broke into their building. I guess that was our first mistake-- my first mistake. There weren't any alarms, and at the time it wasn't well guarded. We were looking for some financial papers to corroborate what we learned about Dande's affiliation with the local and state governments. The headquarters seem to be the remains of a school that has been rebuilt for the purposes of a bureaucracy. After opening several locked doors we found a room filled with filing cabinets, assumed to be an office of some sort. I was looking through their returns and payments whilst Simone checked through the other papers that were in this desk area. We made several worrying discoveries. The papers being sent to the other aid agencies, NGO's, government agencies and the UN have been meddled with. The number of children in Dande's count doesn't match the information it has been sending to these organizations-- it says there are fewer children in the town than there actually are. This has been repeated within reports for several other townships. Unfortunately, after looking over these papers things went awry.
Okay, out of my lawyer voice. Who the fuck gave these bastards flamethrowers? Please. Someone tell me. Oh wait, I funded this entire goddamn system based on the trade of illegal weaponry in order to post on this blog that I keep incase I end up a corpse (likely due to the use of illegal weaponry.) Simone ran off, and I got set on fire (luckily just on the arm because I really don't think I could get good care for first degree burns out here). By the time managed to put out the fire I had been surrounded by the guards. I was taken by the boss. Picture one of those plastic dough bags squeezed into a suit, chewing a cigar. That's this boss. He looked like a melted snowman. The man told me "They'll be his by next month," and threw me out.
I've been trying to do something about it. But I have no idea what to do.
Friday, June 17, 2011
XXX, Democratic Republic of Congo, 3:20 PM
As you might be able to tell, I've survived my encounter with the border patrols. General checks, more money changing hands. Luckily dollars are worth quite a bit around here. I've stopped worrying about funding international crime, and at least I know faces and names for when I get back to my feet. Which may never happen, particularly when one glances at the number of people exposed to the MONSTER and survive for more than a couple of years.
We've been staying here for about a week, and already there are signs coming in through the edges that Africa isn't as free of the MONSTER as I'd wished. Mostly it's in the people, in the way they tell stories, the way they glance out of the corners of their eyes and in how they constantly look at the shadows. The way they warn you about the woods. I wonder how many thrill seeking tourists have wandered into the woods looking for a tiger and ended up finding a darker fate. Not that being eaten by a tiger isn't a dark fate.
Sorry about Simone's last post. She's not the most eloquent of translators. I guess I'm stuck with her. Bless. I don't think being shot did anything for her character, either. Also, well, she hates it here. I dunno what to do. I was never any good with girls. Or guys. Or people who aren't so embroiled in the legal process that they lose all humanity. First lawyer joke's out of the way, then.
Anyway, to business. We've been asking around about papers that I wish to have in my possession, mostly financial reports. This village is small by my standards, though I did live in New York so I may have a distorted perception of scale. It's a little over two thousand people, but it seems like less. There's a school set up, a relatively good market place, and a black market for illicit trading and information gathering. I've been incapable of finding too much about that. I have, however, come across some rather interesting facts about the aid agency stationed here. Mostly about the size of the donations they give to the local and state governments.
So I'm going to visit the aid organization's headquarters, this Dande group, tomorrow, and see if there's anything odd going on. I'll probably update soonish. Sooner than usual, in any case.
We've been staying here for about a week, and already there are signs coming in through the edges that Africa isn't as free of the MONSTER as I'd wished. Mostly it's in the people, in the way they tell stories, the way they glance out of the corners of their eyes and in how they constantly look at the shadows. The way they warn you about the woods. I wonder how many thrill seeking tourists have wandered into the woods looking for a tiger and ended up finding a darker fate. Not that being eaten by a tiger isn't a dark fate.
Sorry about Simone's last post. She's not the most eloquent of translators. I guess I'm stuck with her. Bless. I don't think being shot did anything for her character, either. Also, well, she hates it here. I dunno what to do. I was never any good with girls. Or guys. Or people who aren't so embroiled in the legal process that they lose all humanity. First lawyer joke's out of the way, then.
Anyway, to business. We've been asking around about papers that I wish to have in my possession, mostly financial reports. This village is small by my standards, though I did live in New York so I may have a distorted perception of scale. It's a little over two thousand people, but it seems like less. There's a school set up, a relatively good market place, and a black market for illicit trading and information gathering. I've been incapable of finding too much about that. I have, however, come across some rather interesting facts about the aid agency stationed here. Mostly about the size of the donations they give to the local and state governments.
So I'm going to visit the aid organization's headquarters, this Dande group, tomorrow, and see if there's anything odd going on. I'll probably update soonish. Sooner than usual, in any case.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Yo.
Heya internet, this is Simone. The boss (which is what some of you lot call the ~monster~ [bossmanAd makes me use that because he hates synonyms and thinks lots o' words sound silly, but I digress]) but anyway he told me to write on here. He's so fucking anal about his system, you know. Total fucking one track minded OCD. And I don't give a fuck about being PC or polite or accurate because it's a description and I have a bullet hole in my leg so you aren't allowed to argue. So Adam is a total neurotic but I guess I'm stuck with him, but whateva. Anyway, I'm in the back of this van somewhere in central Africa whilst Ad goes out to negotiate with the tough looking armed militants who stopped us. All the locals seem nervous, which is a good sign. Sarcasm. Forget you can't type it. But swear to god, he comes back full of bullet holes and I'm going to kill him. Our confused Armenian friend keeps asking me what's going on since his grasp of English is-- well, it's not bad for three years work, but not good enough to keep up with bossman's fast talk. I have no idea what's going on actually.
But anyways; I have to angst about my life or sommat. I'm not going to ramble too much because I am trying my best not to turn into the boss, who never stops talking. Ever. Lawyer magic, I think. There's not much to talk about that hasn't been said a million times before by much more eloquent people than me. Dad was killed in a mysterious fire when I was twoish, we lived in a house by the woods, I have memories of a tall, dark, faceless, be-tentacled imaginary friend. Forgot about him for a few years, grew up, got a life, good grades, un degré dans les longues, minoring in International Relations, got a dull temp job courtesy of my mom. Yeah, not very ethical, but I don't have half the ethics of the bossman. Who is worryingly straight edged. Bet he didn't even sip wine before he hit twenty one. T'was good right up to the point where some guy woke me up from a nap by handcuffing me and putting a bag over my head, which is a privilege reserved for my boyfriend and not some random black ops guy.
I'm kinda sick of being away from home. Yeah, it's cool to be in Africa, and yeah I wanted to be here after graduation anyway. But... why. And that's not a pretentious why either, it's a "so many better places to put ex-illegally collected prisoners" why. I want to go home. Now I'm sounding like a three year old and there are gunshots outside, so yes. Going to stop typing. Laters, internet.
But anyways; I have to angst about my life or sommat. I'm not going to ramble too much because I am trying my best not to turn into the boss, who never stops talking. Ever. Lawyer magic, I think. There's not much to talk about that hasn't been said a million times before by much more eloquent people than me. Dad was killed in a mysterious fire when I was twoish, we lived in a house by the woods, I have memories of a tall, dark, faceless, be-tentacled imaginary friend. Forgot about him for a few years, grew up, got a life, good grades, un degré dans les longues, minoring in International Relations, got a dull temp job courtesy of my mom. Yeah, not very ethical, but I don't have half the ethics of the bossman. Who is worryingly straight edged. Bet he didn't even sip wine before he hit twenty one. T'was good right up to the point where some guy woke me up from a nap by handcuffing me and putting a bag over my head, which is a privilege reserved for my boyfriend and not some random black ops guy.
I'm kinda sick of being away from home. Yeah, it's cool to be in Africa, and yeah I wanted to be here after graduation anyway. But... why. And that's not a pretentious why either, it's a "so many better places to put ex-illegally collected prisoners" why. I want to go home. Now I'm sounding like a three year old and there are gunshots outside, so yes. Going to stop typing. Laters, internet.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Victim/Perpetrator
xxxx, Angola, 9:29AM
Fuck.
Seriously. I'd do that thing I see in a lot of the blogs, where people go "FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK" but honestly that's more a cry for attention. Since I just spent the last twenty minutes swearing at Simone, after which she spent twice as long speculating about the gender and profession of my mother, I think I'm done venting. It's not been a good couple of days. Nothing related to the MONSTER, the Perpetrators, the Victims, or the Victim/Perpetrators. Simple bureaucracy, mitigated with human error and issues with our criminal friends.
To elaborate, Jesus Godchrist too many guns. You may remember that Simone and I were last writing from a warehouse in Angola. You may also remember that we had plans to move from Angola to another country rather soon. Well, problems came up. Those problems being police, both military and civilian. Say what you will, the Angolans are getting rather adept at policing their criminal markets, proving my earlier analysis wrong. That or the criminals here are supernaturally incompetent, pathetic, or incapable of sight. The warehouse Simone and I had been staying in was a storehouse for drugs and illegal weaponry, and the night we were supposed to be traveling to Namibia with a shipment of various illegal things all hell broke loose. Never thought I'd hate the police, but I guess that's where we are.
We're currently inland, which is bad, and Simone's laid up with a gunshot wound, which is really very bad, and there's definitely a storm coming. I'm getting a bad feeling, like there are Victim/Perpetrators in this country just waiting to come out. So far, though, my preoccupation has been with renegotiating the terms of my informal contract with the underground-- and getting Simone the attention she needs for her shoulder. If that doesn't get enough attention, I hate to think what could happen. Okay, enough ominous foreshadowing.
I'd like to thank those who have commented so far. I think I might have to attempt to avoid the persecution of Refugees, since most of you have already had your lives ruined. The information about larger structures was intriguing, however, and I'll have to read more into it. Compiling evidence is of the utmost importance, and what I've been told and what I've read are leading to some very interesting conclusions indeed. Unfortunately I can't get the information I want, at least not in Angola. Maybe not even in Africa, which would suck. Maybe at one of the embassies...
But I digress. We're alive, and fairly safe. Simone is still cursing, as am I. No signs of the MONSTER, Victim/Perpetrators, regular Perpetrators, or other law enforcement officials. I just hope we can get out of this country before the storm hits.
Fuck.
Seriously. I'd do that thing I see in a lot of the blogs, where people go "FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK" but honestly that's more a cry for attention. Since I just spent the last twenty minutes swearing at Simone, after which she spent twice as long speculating about the gender and profession of my mother, I think I'm done venting. It's not been a good couple of days. Nothing related to the MONSTER, the Perpetrators, the Victims, or the Victim/Perpetrators. Simple bureaucracy, mitigated with human error and issues with our criminal friends.
To elaborate, Jesus Godchrist too many guns. You may remember that Simone and I were last writing from a warehouse in Angola. You may also remember that we had plans to move from Angola to another country rather soon. Well, problems came up. Those problems being police, both military and civilian. Say what you will, the Angolans are getting rather adept at policing their criminal markets, proving my earlier analysis wrong. That or the criminals here are supernaturally incompetent, pathetic, or incapable of sight. The warehouse Simone and I had been staying in was a storehouse for drugs and illegal weaponry, and the night we were supposed to be traveling to Namibia with a shipment of various illegal things all hell broke loose. Never thought I'd hate the police, but I guess that's where we are.
We're currently inland, which is bad, and Simone's laid up with a gunshot wound, which is really very bad, and there's definitely a storm coming. I'm getting a bad feeling, like there are Victim/Perpetrators in this country just waiting to come out. So far, though, my preoccupation has been with renegotiating the terms of my informal contract with the underground-- and getting Simone the attention she needs for her shoulder. If that doesn't get enough attention, I hate to think what could happen. Okay, enough ominous foreshadowing.
I'd like to thank those who have commented so far. I think I might have to attempt to avoid the persecution of Refugees, since most of you have already had your lives ruined. The information about larger structures was intriguing, however, and I'll have to read more into it. Compiling evidence is of the utmost importance, and what I've been told and what I've read are leading to some very interesting conclusions indeed. Unfortunately I can't get the information I want, at least not in Angola. Maybe not even in Africa, which would suck. Maybe at one of the embassies...
But I digress. We're alive, and fairly safe. Simone is still cursing, as am I. No signs of the MONSTER, Victim/Perpetrators, regular Perpetrators, or other law enforcement officials. I just hope we can get out of this country before the storm hits.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
XXXX, Angola, 11:03 PM
Angola is currently one of Africa's fastest growing economies. It's got a good oil market, it's recovering from a quarter century civil war, and it's started having proper elections again. It's also got a lot of ports, which makes the illicit and illegal trades much easier. Illegal markets also make transportation pretty simple for people like me. I don't need papers or identification and I can get almost anywhere I want. Currently it's warm, dark, and a little cloudy here, but the light's poking through. Hopefully I'll be out of the country by the end of the week. Angola has nothing to offer me except a quick ride to any continent I want, and at the moment I'm fine in Africa.
Simone's asleep already, but it's pretty damn late right now. Simone's my translator, nice kid with a degree in languages from Brown. She's smart and sarcastic as hell and willing to club the skull of anyone who does her wrong, so we get along well. We're staying in a warehouse with an internet connection, since I was willing to shell out for it. When you know the dynamics of illegal trade you can get what you want wherever you are.
You guys-- runners, bloggers, fighters, Victims-- have offered a lot of information to the internet. God, you're trusting. You don't expect anyone to be watching and taking notes. It's not just me doing it either. There are men out there, big men with big cheques and big armies to back them up, who are taking notes in bigger notebooks than I have. You haven't put the whole story in the blogs, though, have you. Most of you are smarter than that. You've all got things you haven't told anyone.
All I'm asking for is information. I wouldn't expect anyone to give me information without knowing anything about me, though, but I'm not willing to give up all my information until I have all the gaps filled in. I'm a lawyer, with a Harvard degree would you believe it, and my focus has always been international and corporate law. I moved to New York a few years ago, and that's when I started seeing the MONSTER. My partner never saw it, but I did. The MONSTER never came close, though, too busy preying on feral inner New York kids. I thought I was going crazy, and tried to ignore it. Everything would have been fine if it weren't for what happened on April 24th. I was abducted from my bed by a group of government spooks and locked up in a small room with a bunch of other people. We had some pretty specific things in common-- we all had a loved one who'd been kidnapped as well, we'd all done various degrees of nothing wrong, and we'd all seen the MONSTER. And we were all there for three years. Then, at the end of April of this year, we were tossed out onto the shores of an unknown country, and told we weren't welcome back in the states. Ever again.
I'm an outlaw, now, and I can use their networks. The group of prisoners mostly went their separate ways, though we're all staying in touch. I want to know what happened to the loved ones that got abducted. I want to know why we were arrested illegally from our beds in the middle of the night. I want to know what's going to happen next, and I want to know what the MONSTER has to do with any of this. We're all Victims, you see. Victims of the MONSTER, but also of a system that works against our efforts to survive and is only interested in information about the MONSTER. That's why I'm appealing to you, the bloggers, the Victims. Because I want to know the crimes. I want to know the Perpetrators. I want to bundle all this information together as tight as possible to put forth in front of the worlds courts, and I want to show the world the truth. I want to find the truth. And I want justice.
I'm your lawyer, so tell me the crimes.
Simone's asleep already, but it's pretty damn late right now. Simone's my translator, nice kid with a degree in languages from Brown. She's smart and sarcastic as hell and willing to club the skull of anyone who does her wrong, so we get along well. We're staying in a warehouse with an internet connection, since I was willing to shell out for it. When you know the dynamics of illegal trade you can get what you want wherever you are.
You guys-- runners, bloggers, fighters, Victims-- have offered a lot of information to the internet. God, you're trusting. You don't expect anyone to be watching and taking notes. It's not just me doing it either. There are men out there, big men with big cheques and big armies to back them up, who are taking notes in bigger notebooks than I have. You haven't put the whole story in the blogs, though, have you. Most of you are smarter than that. You've all got things you haven't told anyone.
All I'm asking for is information. I wouldn't expect anyone to give me information without knowing anything about me, though, but I'm not willing to give up all my information until I have all the gaps filled in. I'm a lawyer, with a Harvard degree would you believe it, and my focus has always been international and corporate law. I moved to New York a few years ago, and that's when I started seeing the MONSTER. My partner never saw it, but I did. The MONSTER never came close, though, too busy preying on feral inner New York kids. I thought I was going crazy, and tried to ignore it. Everything would have been fine if it weren't for what happened on April 24th. I was abducted from my bed by a group of government spooks and locked up in a small room with a bunch of other people. We had some pretty specific things in common-- we all had a loved one who'd been kidnapped as well, we'd all done various degrees of nothing wrong, and we'd all seen the MONSTER. And we were all there for three years. Then, at the end of April of this year, we were tossed out onto the shores of an unknown country, and told we weren't welcome back in the states. Ever again.
I'm an outlaw, now, and I can use their networks. The group of prisoners mostly went their separate ways, though we're all staying in touch. I want to know what happened to the loved ones that got abducted. I want to know why we were arrested illegally from our beds in the middle of the night. I want to know what's going to happen next, and I want to know what the MONSTER has to do with any of this. We're all Victims, you see. Victims of the MONSTER, but also of a system that works against our efforts to survive and is only interested in information about the MONSTER. That's why I'm appealing to you, the bloggers, the Victims. Because I want to know the crimes. I want to know the Perpetrators. I want to bundle all this information together as tight as possible to put forth in front of the worlds courts, and I want to show the world the truth. I want to find the truth. And I want justice.
I'm your lawyer, so tell me the crimes.
Friday, May 20, 2011
This is
It's about them. The ones who aren't protecting us, who are working against us, who are helping the monsters, being the monsters. The corporations, the firms, the governments, the churches, the policemen, the armies, the organizations that were supposed to build upon one another to fight back and help us, to do the right thing and aid us in our times of need. This is about them, the groups that let us down and failed at every duty they were created to succeed at. We are supposed to be able to trust our government to come out with the answers or at least pursue the answers, but that's not what has happened here. Not in this case, not in this lifetime, not ever. People are dying all around us, and the states of the world are not only hindering the efforts of the people trying to survive for their own vile interests, but are occasionally actively aiding the MONSTER in its efforts to destroy the Refugees. It's about the governments, corporations and NGO's who believe that the continuation of their own interests instead of the survival of people. It's about them.
It's about them. The ones who aren't being protected, who are dying all around us, who are being killed because nobody is helping, not even the people who are supposed to help. This isn't just about the individuals, but it is about the individuals. It's about getting them, those who have been tortured, and killed, and hounded and unjustly arrested and embittered, all of them, Victims, justice. These ambivalent government agents, these Perpetrators, have not only allowed the MONSTER to get away time and time again, but they've aided him, whether they are aware of it or not. You know them, if you're reading this, you know who I am speaking of. The corrupt cop, the politician who is just a little too happy to give to that new children's home, the army unit who goes about their destruction just a little too gleefully, the church that washes the blood from their hands before a fundraiser, the government that experiments on the helpless and mad. The Perpetrators are everywhere, they're staining everything, and they need to be brought to justice. It's about them.
This isn't about cowboy cop vigilante tit for tat. These people broke promises and contracts and the law, and that's what needs to be in the spotlight. It's not a mission of vengeance, it's not a vendetta. This is about coldly, calmly and carefully bringing down those who have brought us down. This is about the law, and using the law as a tool, to break the ice around us and free us from lies and hatred and heresy and pain. This is about truth, and bringing to light what is happening and has happened and will happen with cold, hard facts, each case utterly airtight, ready to be brought before a court of law. This is about reconciliation, about allowing those who run back into the society that rejected them, and about forcing those who serve the MONSTER out into his arms, or wherever their foul thoughts take them. This is about the truth, and you have it, whether you know it or not. It's about reconciliation, and you need it, whether you know it or not. It's about justice, and that is needed, and everyone knows it. It's not about revenge.
It's not about me.
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