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Post by DM Catalyst on Dec 16, 2015 16:57:55 GMT
- - - - - - - - - Basic Information
Name: Zachary Strix
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Race: Caucasian - - - - - - - - - Physical Characteristics
Hair Color: Faded Black, With Some Graying
Eye Color: Hazel
Height: 5'9"
Skin: Naturally a light tan
Zach presents himself at least moderately welcoming, most of the time. He keeps an easygoing smirk settled onto his features, the ashy black hair falling to frame his slim features neatly. His hair is often kept tied back in a short ponytail behind him, with a few strands seemingly intentionally left to swing in his face. Hazel eyes peek from beneath the ashy locks, studiously watching over whatever most suits his attention for the time.
His physique is by no margin impressive, but he keeps himself in a fairly toned and well maintained shape. He is slim, light on his feet, and has a small bit of muscle built up on his arms. When his chest is bare, various smaller scars are faintly visible upon his skin. These scars have faded with time, and would present themselves to be from various minor cuts and wounds that just simply never healed properly. Upon his left shoulder, however, a dark patch of skin would reveal a dark burn scar that contrasts the rest of his body. The patch of skin seems horribly scarred, the wound having faded from time to some small extent. |
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Post by DM Catalyst on Dec 16, 2015 16:58:14 GMT
 ~A picture is tucked into the page, held to its top with a paperclip. It is worn out and faded, but still identifiable. The picture depicts an old, rickety ranch house on an open field. A mailbox sits out from of it, with the worn letters spelling out "STRIX" on its surface. On the back of the picture in red pen, the date and place of the picture is written in a crude handwriting.~
"Elm Springs, Arkansas
October 17th, 1996
Home."
Y'know, I once heard a fella tell me that ain't no man walks in the same river twice. Cause after some time he ain't the same man, and that ain't the same river. I pondered on it for a good long while, back in those days ah my youth. Figured the fucker was just babblin on in senility. Ramblin' on with whatever crap the old folk were tryin' to tell me about their gods an' this an' that. Shit, hell if I had any idea back then.
But as I got older, I had to really start thinkin' back on those words. Had to really get the true meanin' ah what the guy meant. An' even after all these years, I still ain't so sure I grasped the true scope of it all. Think it goes a hell of a lot deeper than I realize. But I can scratch the surface of it. An' thas really all that matters, now ain't it? Knowin' that it was all about growth. About change in our lives. Hell, did I experience a hell of a lot of that over time.
Back then, things was easy, really. Ya were a kid, ain't no one really bothered to put ya down or give ya too much shit. Ya woke up an did your chores, kept up with your schooling, and made it home midday to do what ya wanted to. 'Course for me that was always chasin' dad into the barn to work on that old damn truck. Sometimes ya would think the man cared more about that thing than his own flesh an' blood, though we new better than to say it.
Things were easy then. Just me, Annabelle, and Claire. Bein the oldest, I got the best of the lot too, for a while at least. Had two lil' sisters I had to watch out for. Had to be a man right quick back in those days. Maybe a bit quicker than I was really hopin for... |
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Post by DM Catalyst on Dec 16, 2015 16:58:29 GMT
~Two pictures adorn this page, taped carefully to the center with a careful hand. The first depicts a young boy carrying a much younger girl on his back. They appear to be running alongside a river in the background of the image. The other would be a picture of that same little girl, a bit older, and a much older girl hugging together in smiles. They sit together in this way, posed in front of an old, rickety looking ranch house.
Upon the backs of the pictures, small notes are made in red ink.~ "Zach (13)
Claire (3)
July 2nd, 2002
"I'll carry the weight of your world." Annabelle (10)
Claire (4)
August 17th, 2003
"Sisters." I never did get the chance to settle down, not properly anyways. Ain't gonna fool no one, I had me a few lady friends here and there, but....nothing was ever too solid. Drifters, lookin' for a home, more or less. Whether it was just to bum a few bucks and a place to stay off me, or some actual genuine concern before things turned south...who the hell really knows. One things fer sure though, no lady was ever gonna take the place in my heart from those two girls. An that ain't for a lack of a few tryin, too.
Sayin those two were like my pride an joy would be puttin' it weak on such a level, that's fore damn sure. Annabelle and I grew up close like, though her bein a couple years younger always made things interestin'. She was always tryin' to be wit her older brother, doin what he does and hanging out with his friends. Got us into trouble more than one night when I would try to sneak out and find a little mouse followed me, making damn too much noise to boot. A real sweetheart despite the misgivings, definitely the smart one of us.
Claire though, she was a different case. That lil' girl was spirited, full of life. Always bouncin' around all hyperactive, tryin to be in yer business whenever she could. Always wanted to see the world, talkin about her dreams to travel all over. That girl had a real damn good imagination, too. She was a dreamer, and she never did stop dreamin' too. She always came up with all these fantastical stories 'bout the world, the people she meets, the things she wanted to do. When that lil' girl got her hands on you, she would hang on to ya fer hours on end just to talk ya ear off yer head. Could swear to myself that girl was destined to be an author one day. Gonna write up the next Lord ah the Rings or somethin with all the things she would bring up.
Hell, she used to have nightmares about the livin' dead, some bullshit like that. People comin' back to life, chasin' ya around with a hunger. They would come fer ya. If you were the lucky one, ya might survive a day, or a few, or many, she would say. But in the end, they would get ya. Some people were lucky to just die, but others...others joined the hunt. Wild crock of shit if ya ask me, but I ain't the type to dismiss a little girl like that.
After things went bad back south, I made it my purpose to give these two girls what they weren't gettin rightfully. Specially Claire, who was already stripped of the childhood she wasn't gettin to see right yet. Rounded them up and brought them up here to live with me. I may not have been doin' great, but its family, y'know? Gotta stick with family, no matter how hard things would get. Damn, did they ever get hard too. Dead end jobs and seasonal shifts just weren't cuttin the bills no more, and I had rent to pay. No way I was lettin Annabelle work in downtown, and Claire was too young to hit the job market jus' yet. Ended up droppin myself outta college to work more, all for the sake of what though?
In the end, I heard the call to arms. War is always a beggars game, and the opportunists are the ones who benefit from it the most. Maybe that was what I liked to think of myself as too, an opportunist. It was opportunity at my door with that rifle and those spit shined boots. It was opportunity that gone shaved my head and suited me up. Opportunity came knockin that day, and hells did they swing hard. A life in the marines wasn't the kind of life I was lookin to live, but it was something good. Could send the money back home, help Annabelle and Claire live. Hells, maybe if we got enough we could look into gettin' some of Claire's stories published too! I reckon she would absolutely love that.
If that smile was what I had to look forward to every day, I guess it was all alright then. |
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Post by DM Catalyst on Dec 16, 2015 16:58:45 GMT
~A crumpled picture is tucked into the page here, signs of age and wear having taken their toll on the old image. The picture has faded some from its storage, but is still clear enough to be made out. It depicts a platoon of United States Marine Corps trainees in full dress. The group stands at attention, though many of them seem lanky and untrained. Upon the back of the image, a note is made in red ink.~ April 15th, 2006
Parris Island, South Carolina
USMC Basic Training, Week Two
Training Platoon 98
"Duty." "Semper Fidelis." Definitely one of the things gettin drilled into my head durin' those weeks back in hell. Heh, hell certainly is a good way to put it too. Been through hell all my life, what with the day to day life of a kid back in Elm. But this....nah, this ain't compare to nothin' else in my life. Hell was gentle puttin' for it, really. Hell made it soun' easy, soun' like something I could jus' brush off and push through. Wit' hell, ya know what to be expectin'. No, this was somethin' worse. This was Purgatory.
Everyone there had their own reasons to be, o' course. High school dropouts, low lives, family lineage an' all that bullshit clouded in with one another, a sob story after another for some. Others did it for the pride, the respect, the honor and all that. A few of us were just there doin' our duty, though. Some of us kept askin' though, to who? A few of them kids seemed to have all the answers then, too. "My country, o' course. God bless 'merica." But the way that they said it....it was such a hollow lie. Nothin' but a vessel for some other bullshit drilled into their heads so clear and clean. Probably implanted by their god lovin' parents back home, or their military dads that gave em it all and expected tradition to hold up. Couldn't say I was the same way, though. I was there to do my duty, but it ain't to no country that's jes gonna make me a number. It was for those girls, Claire and Annabelle.
Y'see, I feel like I owed it all to em. They ain't get the same kinda shit I did back home, the same few breaks I got. That shit wasn't handed to me by any margin, I jes got lucky. I got out, I got on. May not have been the right way to do it, but I found my own way. None of that foster home bullshit and "praise be to god" temple shittery. Tried the prior once, and I learned my lesson. That's all I could see too for them, the same sufferin' I had to deal with in that house ah crazies. Nah, it was my duty to give these girls a good home. That's what I was tryin' to get done here, right?
My fourth week into basic, definitely the one to really make or break me they would say. By now we'd already gone through all the motions. Marchin in formation, learning parade rest, all the 3am bullshit wakeups. Learnin' how to fuck up properly, learnin to fuck up as a team. Then learnin' there ain't no room for fuck ups. If one of us fucks up, we all fuck up here. We're all liable, cause its our respons'bility to watch out for one another. We ain' just numbers, were brothers. We ain't soldiers yet, but were damn near on our way. Bottom of the barrel slime is what we are, but we might get graced to shape into somethin. Week four, we were just startin to take form. Same time as all that, we started seein' the pruning process. Who was gonna get cut? Who was gonna snap? Some of us handled this shit real well, an' still others jus' couldn't get their hands 'round it all.
Had a battle buddy back in basic. Met 'em a few days in, when we had to choose us one. Ya didn' pick, ya would get assigned one. Seein' as most of us didn't know for shit who one another was, it was no surprised we didn't get to pick shit. Some of us got paired with the guy who crossed streams wit em. A few weirdos, psychopaths, or just plain bitches that couldn't take life seriously for a change and man up. Guess I lucked out in a sense. Y'see, Derrick Carter, the man I got put wit...he definitely was no real hot shot, much as he fancied himself one. He was a straight talker, knowin what was right for him. He knew what he was doin, an why he was here. Figurin that's why we got on so well, too. Not cause we became best friends or any of that shit. We bonded cause we were both there for the same reasons. He had a wife and kids to care for, and I had my own family to handle. He was much older than me, but he damn well didn't always act it. Almost endearin' really. Made him bareable.
Every mornin we would wake up, run ten miles if we were lucky, and just damn possibly make it off to chow in time for some food. They'll make sure ya eat, just won't make sure it will be comfy for ya. Ya damn well didn't complain, either. Really, none of us ever did. All that shit was well enough for us, it was the least of our worries. Each week goin by, ya saw these kids turnin' into men. We all started bondin' like we really was soldiers. Ain' gonna let us forget were not, but it started feelin like it. About six weeks in though, I really had to start askin myself a lot of things. Anythin' from if I was a soldier, to if this is where I belonged. Really, those questions kinda went hand in hand, too. Derrick an' I shared that sentiment strong-like. We were no exceptional performers in Purgatory, but we ain't no slouches either. But was this the shit we saw ourselves livin' for?
Y'see, I wasn' so sure of myself by that seventh week. I wasn' so sure this was really the best thing for me. I mean hell, I wasn't nothin but a near 19 year old kid at the time. The hell did I think I was doin here? My life was jus' startin out right now. Sure, I had my duty to those girls back home, but...what kinda fuckin' justice would I be doin 'em from here? Whenever Annabelle would bring home a boy, I would always ask the lil shit if he was willin to die for her. Id kick the fucker out that said yes. I wasn't lookin for her to be around a boy that would die an' leave her all alone. So what the hell was I doin here, livin that same standard? I die in combat, I ain't doin these two girls any good. That's for sure.
End of the seventh week, I finally started sharin my thoughts about that with Carter. Turns out the fucker wasn't too far behind me. Kinda weird how we both were piecin' it together like that. Guess that battle buddy thing had a bit more too it than we realized. Next day, our shit was packed and we were on a busride home. Ain't nobody that was too proud about it, but we resigned honorably. The C.Os. were pissed, thas for sure. So close to the end and we just went and gave up. But somethin' SSGT Martinez understood well about it, was that we weren't givin up at all. We were doin our duty.
But that duty jus' wasn't here. |
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Post by DM Catalyst on Dec 16, 2015 16:59:00 GMT
~An old picture is folded up, clipped to the side of the page here. A newspaper clipping is tucked in with the folded picture, which falls out upon its removal. The image depicts a ranch house, still burning as its husk falls to the ground. The contents of the house seem to have been destroyed in the fire, with the landscape around it seeming to have suffered equally. One wall seems as if it was blown apart entirely. The back of the photo has a note on it in red ink.~ August 7th, 2007
Elm Springs, Arkansas
"Happy Birthday." Paradise Lost - Local Farm Burnt Down
Elm Springs, Arkansas - "Local farmhouse burnt to the ground in massive inferno. Authorities arrived on scene within moments, to find a scene of utter chaos. The inferno raging around the household, the walls shattered and torn apart from the inside out, the scene was nothing short of grizzly. Sources are stating that no survivors have been formally declared, although investigations are still ongoing. Known inhabitants were the Strix Family, consisting of Father and Mother, Jason and Emily Strix, as well as three children; Zachary, Annabelle, and Claire Strix, of ages 20, 17, and 9 respectively. Noth-"
*The newspaper clipping is torn off at this point.* Official story was always just a gas fire in the house. A bit of reckless livin', a few unattended household devices, an' a gas leak all just built up together before it all boiled over. A mighty great story for it all, too. Explained the blown out wall, explained the spreading flames, and the lack of survivors in the household. All of them killed on contact, or declared missing. No reason for investigation or care, whatsoever after all that. Didn't even hear about it on the news, either. Just another case of reckless home owning, and another argument for stricter protocols for houses. A push toward standardized buildin' an all that shit! Elm Springs would never hear the fuckin' end of it.
I went to visit, though. Told Claire and 'Belle that it was just a trip fer work. That I was just headin' south to pick up a few parts, an' that I would be back soon as I could for em. Wasn't lying to the girls either, since I really did have some shit to take care of there. But I figured I owed it to the rats asses that brought me into the world to at least show em I was alive and well for a while. Rolled into town and stopped for a coffee, snagged myself a newspaper, and caught a glimpse of the headline. Nearly knocked out an old man runnin' out that doorway. Pulled right up to see the remains, only a day after the accident. I knew what the paper said, but I knew that it was a real crock of shit too. May as well find out for myself though.
Picked 'round in the wreckage a bit, some of it still warm and burnin' from last night. Nothin' dangerous left, but it could cause a problem if left untouched. I wasn't there to make amends or any of that shit, I just wanted proof for my own eyes. Place was a shithole, through and through, but it was home. Well, home as much as I could fuckin' call it back then. Real home had real parents, a real family, and that wasn't any kinda shit we knew there. Guess this wasn't really home, much as just a place I lived. But it was some place.
After a lil' while, I found exactly what I figured. I knew my old man and his lady weren't nothin special, nothing great. They provided for us, if only the bare necessities. As the years went on though, that got less an' less, and they got more and more angry. Always dippin' in an' out of the hospitals, locking themselves in the room at the far side of the house, keepin to themselves often. Always we were gettin told to stay outta that room, keep our noses outta shit that we don't belong in. Claire an' Belle listened without question, 'course. But I was a little shit of a kid and pushed my nose where it didn't belong. Got beaten hard for that shit with a hot iron rod back then, makin' sure I never did it again. Lesson learned well, but their's definitely wasn't. Dear ol' ma an' pa weren't the sweet little farm couple that some fancied 'em to be. An' this wasn't no gas fire either.
Crystal Methamphetamine, a very, very potent drug used to treat those who had trouble focusin'. Addictive as all hell, which made it quite the little substance to get hooked on. They say a single hit could give ya highs that were nothin' like anything you ever experienced. But that same hit might change ya life forever, too. Shit was pricey, strong, and illegal. Dear ol' parents liked to cook the shit in our very own home, too. For how long, I ain't really sure, but they did it for a livin'. Never got caught for it all, either. They had a damn number of people hooked, and all people in the right places to cover their asses. They didn't care none neither about the kids in the house, bout the example they could be settin'. They didn't care none about the impressions it would be leavin' on us three, specially if Annabelle and Claire were to find out. Used to keep that shit goin for ages, too. Always burned out every day, addicted to the same shit they were cookin' up to sell. Shittin' where they sleep, in its purest form.
Right here though, it was a sign loud and clear. All that shit they were doin' there, it all fuckin' caught up to them finally. What the town wrote off as a gas fire was much, bigger. The lab exploded, blowing out the wall to the outside, and sendin' the door out the other way. It was no small explosion, neither. Shit caused half the house to collapse in on itself 'fore the fire even started. Ain't no architect, but I could tell ya just where to hit if you wanted that place to go down. That lab was the epicenter of it all, too. Corpses of the two parents were buried under so much debris that they were just left there to be unburied later on. Looks like dear ol' dad was the one who fucked it up, too. His skin was right burnt straight from his bones, probably died damn near straight away. Momma was soon to follow in the wreckage. Maybe even suffered a little while too. Wonder which one was the lucky one. Wonder if I even care.
I didn't want anything from them two, anything from this shit hole that I was forced to call my home. But there are some things you just don't let go of. Half the shit was burnt to all hells, if it wasn't just blown to bits right out. Even their little safe took a toll, the one hidden beneath the carpet in the kitchen. Dug my way through the shit 'round it and popped it open easy. Didn't give much a damn about the money or the jewelry, shit was mostly worthless anyways. Fake gems, just like the idea of parental love. Dug down intot he bottom, takin' the beaten, slightly burnt up photo album from the bottom. Some of the photos were a bit shot, but most of em made their way out. Tossed it in my truck, and said my goodbyes to the hellhole. May have been shitty parents, but we owe everyone our respects in the end.
Never had a funeral. Never had no ceremony for it all. Drove the girls down to say their goodbyes in a private cremation, nothin' fancy at all. Didn't have the heart to break the image these girls had of their parents, not at all. Let them believe the papers for now, they could find out for themselves later.
Stopped for a few drinks on my way home. Twenty years old, now. May as well make the most of it. Start my life for real, from the dust.
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Post by DM Catalyst on Dec 16, 2015 16:59:15 GMT
~A crumpled picture is stapled to the bottom of the page. The borders of the photo are charred, burnt away by an ancient ember, as if there were once an attempt to destroy it. A man with long, black hair tucked inside a cap is crudely depicted, a length of cloth tied around his upper arm. A syringe is in his hand, being self induced into his upper arm. From the angle, it seems the picture was taken secretly, in a rush. On the back of the photo, a note is penned in red ink.~ March 16, 2008
Detroit, Michigan
"Salvation" "Life ain' always an easy pill to swallow. An' I had one hell of an experience with both, on more'n one occasion. Y'see, comin' home and explainin' why ya didn't follow through witht he toughtest of 'em ain't exactly a moment of pride for everyone. 'Course Claire was happy to see me home, but the look on Annabelle's face was just....well, it said it all. Ain't nothin but disappointment in them big blue eyes. Couldn't meet em from the moment I got home. We both knew why.
From the time each of those gals was born, I rarely was livin' for m'self. Always talked about bein' strong or tough, but I ain' never pursued it much. Sure, I did well enough with my body, but ya make some sacrifices in life for the sake of others sometimes. It's like I said, it was always jes duty. Some things are a bit more important, when ya put them in perspective. Thats when ya start focusin on those things, an' those people. But thats a hell of somethin' in itself.
Few weeks went by while I got accustomed to real life again. Shit really did a number on ya in such a short time back there in that fuckin' hell. The stress, fatigue, frustration, the nightmares, it all piles up right quick iffin ya don't face it head on. Thats jes' what I did, too. Wasn't letting a few harsh words, hard days, and bad experiences fuckin' hold me back. Took up work tendin' a bar in downtown after about a month just to show I was givin' a damn. Hell of a place to be, too. One of those skeevy bars tucked in the low roads, but its own lil' slice of heaven all the same. Wasn't the classiest place to be, but they were willin' to hire a dropout. That's all I needed to hear right there.
Staff there was small, runnin' kinda barebones for the most part. Had only jes two bartenders, Me and a blonde gal named Krista. Fer the food serving, we has Jason, Tara, Steve, Darron, an' Jess workin' the tables intermitten'ly. Then, lordin' his lazy ass over us all was Clarke, the owner an' manager of the joint. Most've us were workin double damn near every day there, thanks to the short staffin'. Shit like that really did a number on you, but the money....nobody was passin that up. An' the best part was that there was always a bit more to be made. A few free drinks speakin themselves, a few missin things from the shelves, or a few of our regulars comin' by for some extra products made us a dream kinda number in cash to bring home. You just had to know how to keep up.
An' we all had our ways of hangin on, too. Everyone had their own little bullshit excuse, sayin that they slept all day after work, or they just were dieting on caffeine, an' others just proclaimin' it was pure natural talent. Thing was, shit all passed by right under the radar, if ya didn't try to look beneath the surface at least. Those twitchy movements, those bloodshot eyes, that calm, cool demeanor...all just a little ruse. Ya wouldn' think too much of it at first, but some things were a give away. The smells, the sluggish reflexes. Ya see, what really made ya keep up, was getting your fix.
I ain't talkin about energy drinks and caffeine neither. Shit like that ain't the kinda hard high ya needed to try an keep yerself goin' through all this. Started out simple, a few stolen drinks from the bar to knock ya senses, an some unnamed pills that would kick ya body into overdrive. Cloud the mind, keep the focus, and lose yerself to the feelin', thats all we would do. It was hard not to, the way it lit ya up to the world. Ya were on cloud nine, glidin' through the air like it wasn' nobodies business. But after a while, that shit lost its potency, ya know? We started easy, just prescriptions and painkillers. After a while, we started movin' up to the harder shit. Stronger painkillers, hardier drugs, ecstasy. Anything that would give ya world a new outlook to experience. The best part about it was that ya could hide it all easy. Ain' nobody knew, an ain' nobody really cared neither.
But that shit all lost its abuse quick. With how much we were sinking them in, it was a wonder we didn't just OD some days. An with the need for the feelin to keep going eatin at us, we started explorin. That's when Steve brought it in. A small case, containin nothin but some bandages and a few needles. Nobody had to ask, an' nobody had to guess. It was a world that we had not tapped, and some of us weren' sure we wanted to. I can tell ya straight that Jason, Darren, an Krista wanted no part of it. They even got scared of the shit, swearin off everythin' else in the process. They knew when they saw that shit that they were goin to far an' needed to get clean. Not th' rest of us though.
One hit. One hit is all it takes to become an addict. One drink, one pill, one injection. Just one taste will sink you into a new world, and there might just be no stopping it. This, this was the purest fucking high ya were ever gonna feel, too. That single needle sent me soaring away, to places I ain' never thought I could feel. It lasted for hours, too. Kept us going through the shift and then some, mixing it in with the liquor and the adrenaline. You just didn't know what to do, you felt so on top of the world. What was a once a week thing or so, became once a few days. Then it became a daily habit. It degraded from there, too.
Now, with all this goin on, I had to remember why I was at this job. I was workin to support Claire and Belle, so that they could live all the ways they wanted to live, an I could feel proud of myself for providin' fer them. But with all this going on, that shit was pushed into the depths of my mind. Coming home late nights, like a kite in the wind from the feelings I was reaching, I couldn't even think about any of that. As long as I got my fix. As long as there was a needle fitted the right way, the world stopped mattering. The hell, the purgatory, the sufferin' and pain that I had to deal with for-fucking-ever had finally just disappeared for me. In its place, I found my salvation.
Then it shattered.
Whats a habit but another part of ya daily day? Ya wake up, inject a needle, eat ya breakfast an brush ya teeth, maybe pop another. Wash it down with a drink an drive to work. Clock in an the needles already hittin the can. It just repeated, never ending, never disappearing. Soon enough though, it became a problem. Not to say it shouldn'a been already, but....things started to go missin'. First started with my patience. Got aggressive, got intolerant, got angry, all really damned easy. Figured it was the stress of work, so I took a few days off now an then. Then the money stopped comin in so much. I was still makin the same amount, but it was all just vanishin' somewhere else. Things started disappearing at home, nobody seen nor heard a thing about it. We ate a little less, drank a little less, but had to make do with what we had. I started passin' my meals by, lettin the girls eat instead.
It wasn't the flash of blue an red lights bustin into the bar that struck my world together. It wasn't the cops screaming, guns drawn at us. It wasn't the panic, the gunfire, the terror on people's faces, or the blood. None of that sank in to me. I walked away, scott free and just an innocent bystander, sneakin' out the back when it all went down. It wasn't even hearing about the drug bust on the news, knowin that I was out of a job, out of a life there. Knowing that everything was turning around on me again. None of that was what brought it all to me.
It was this damn picture. It was those sparkling blue eyes behind the camera. They weren't sparkling from love, neither. It was that same look of disgust I saw six months before. That wasn't joy, it was disgust. It was sadness. I stopped bein who I set out to be, I stopped bein anythin' other than a failure right in those moments. Meetin that gaze with a needle dug into my arm, scrounging the last of my stock for my fucking fix. It was seeing how pathetic I looked in that moment, and watching me destroy the life of a little girl. A life that wasn't even my own.
It was watching all hope for me, all the admiration, the reverence, the respect, and the thankfulness...all of that just being forgotten. It was seeing all the work, effort, and time given to them being destroyed. Watching them realize that I threw my life away, an' I didn't even realize it. That's what brought me crashing down. I wasn't anything anymore. Just a shell crumbling into dust, with nothing left to do right. It was the tears that made it the hardest. Not even just theirs. My own, stinging my putried, decaying body. Knowing I was killing myself a quick death.
I needed fucking help.
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Post by DM Catalyst on Dec 16, 2015 16:59:25 GMT
~The contents of the page seem to have been written very crudely, by a very shaken and unsteady hand. Much of the text is distorted and smudged, while other parts seem almost entirely illegible whatsoever. The same few words appear repeated, scatted around the page sporadically.~
I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRMINL. I M NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRMNL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRINAL. I AM NOT A CRIML. I AM NOT A CRIMINL. I AM NT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT CRIMINAL. I AM NT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CIMNAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT A CRIMINAL.
FREE IAMFREE IMFRE IAM FREE I AM FREE I AM FREE I AM NOT A CRIMINAL I AM NOT CRIMINAL I AM FREE NOT CRIMINAL I AM FREE NOT FREE CRIMINAL I AM NOT
I AM NOT FREE
~The text continues on illegibly, spread across the surface of several pages, all in the same manner. It ends abruptly.~ |
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Post by DM Catalyst on Dec 16, 2015 16:59:37 GMT
 ~A series of medical prescriptions, mental evaluations, and institutional documents decorate an array of the next few pages. All of these documents have been attatched to their locations in various manners, with some overlapping another. Various details have bene circled or have had additional commentary added to them. All of the documents are labelled accordingly, with the same header across them, a symbol following thereafter.~New Hope Rehabilitation & Re-education
"A directive for direction. Let us help you help yourself."PATIENT #06428100
PATIENT IDENTIFICATION: STRIX, ZACHARY LEE
DATE: JULY 1, 2008
PROCTOR: DR. MITCHELL CARTHEAU
OBSERVANT: DR. JAMES WESKER
The information contained within this file is protected by New Hope Rehabilitation and Re-education Asylum. The data contained within is sensitive, and under protection of the NHA Patient Confidentiality Agreement.
FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY TRANSCRIPT BEGIN ----- DR WESKER: We will now begin the thirty day evaluation of progress for PATIENT 06428100. This evaluation will be conducted by DOCTOR MITCHELL CARTHEAU, and transcribed by MISS JASMINE KRIS. I, DOCTOR JAMES WESKER will be monitoring for proper conduct during the procedure. You may begin (CARTHEAU). CARTHEAU: Please state your name. STRIX: Zach. C: Your full, legal name please Zach. We have gone through this every time, I swear. S: I ain' a fuckin' fan ah my given name, a'right? Some kiddy soun'n bullshit. C: Zach, please? We both know you want to be done here. S: Zachary Lee Strix, Doctor Cat Hose. C: The sarcasm was unnecessary, but thank you. Also, it's Doctor Cartheau. I told you you can just call me Mitchell. No need for formality. S: Whateva'. Jes' ge' on wit' it. C: Right. Do you remember why you were checked in to our facilities thirty days ago, Mister Strix? S: Cause ahm ah dirty fuckin' convict. C: Language. S: Fuck you. C: Care to try again? S: We both know ya jes want me tah act like it ain' true. C: No Mister Strix. YOu were initiated due to a dependence on Diacetylmorphine. S: Could jes say fuckin' heroin like tha res' of us. C: Would it please you if I did, Mister Strix? S: It'd paint me fuckin' sparkled. An' stop callin me -MISTER- Strix. -MISTER- Strix was my pa, an' I ain' nothin like that degenerate shitpile. Jes call me Zach. C: Language. S: Please? C: Alright then, Zach. You were brought in due to a heroin addiction. Want to tell me how it came about? S: What ya wanna know? C: Well, who fed it to you first? S: Fuckin' steve. C: Zach. S: Steven Rackers. C: Where did you meet Steven? S: Work. C: The dive bar you used to work at? S: Yep. Th' fu-....The guy was ah waitah at th' bah. C: You were the bartender, right? S: Yeah. An' I knew my way 'round tha tbah too. Like no one else. Shit came second nature to me. C: You miss working there? S: A bit. This got anythin' tah do with m' damn insanity? C: You're not crazy, Zach. This is the most you've opened up to us in the entire time you've been here. S: I guess. Can we jes move on Doctor Cartheau? C: Mitchell. Sure. So your addiction was introduced by Steven? Was it just you? S: Nah, it was' buncha us. Few of the others dipped out, but near everyone gave it a try. C: Why'd you stick to it? S: I don' know how to answer that... C: Try. S: I don't know. It jes felt....right? I'm not sure how tah explain it. Like mentally ownin th' world, bein in control. C: But the physicalities were much different, weren't they. S: Yeah...I guess. C: Moving on. Tell me about your sisters. Claire and Annabelle, right? S: Yeah, tha's right. C: Lovely names. S: Lovely gals. I would do anythin' I could for those two. C: You raised them, didn't you? S: To a degree. Can only do so much fer em. But I tried my hardest tah. C: I have no doubts they appreciate it. You didn't have to do that for them. S: I did. C: Why do you think that? S: I jes did. It was my responsibility to 'em. Ya always gotta look out fer family jes as much as yerself. I may be a degenerate, but I still got m'self values, y'know? C: I don't think you're a degenerate Zach. That's a pretty noble thing to say. You're giving selflessly for their sake. S: Ain' selfless if it ain' all for them. For my sake jes as much... C: What do you mean? S: I don' wanna talk about it. C: No problem. So did they know you were dependent on this drug? S: Nope. C: But they know now? S: Annabelle does. Claire don' need to know. That little girl's heart don' need breakin'. C: So where does she think you are? S: Vacation, helpin a friend fix his house that got burnted down. C: So you lied to her? S: She didn' need tah know. She's still a lil' girl. C: She could find out. What then? S:  that bridge when I come to it. C: Right. Do you regret your actions? S: ... C: Zach? S: ... C: Did you hear my question, Zach? S: Yeah I fuckin' heard ya fuckin' question! (Incoherent mumbling) C: Would you like a minute? S: No I don' need a fuckin' minute. I jes can't answer that. C: Why not? It's a simple yes or no, that's all. S: It ain' a simple as that though... C: Alright Zach. It's clear you're a bit too stressed for this right now. But you're making progress. How about you head back to your quarters and we can meet again in a few days, okay? S: Few hours is fine....jes need a few hours. C: I will see what I can do for you Zach. S: THanks, Dr. Mithcell. C: Have you anything to add, Dr Wesker? W: THe patient has shown cooperation, I see no further necessity to hound him. So no, your assessment can be delayed as decided upon. Convene again six o'clock tonight. C: Very well. Zach, you can join your escorts outside the room. Enjoy your evening. S: Dr Cartheau? C: Yes Zach? S: I'm sorry. C: For what? ----- END OF TRANSCRIPT PLEASE REVIEW NHPTS#037C FOR FOLLOWUP ~The document shows signs of being crumpled, stained with water and blood from its storage. It is faded with age, the ink running a small bit. It is clear this document was not supposed to be removed from its initial place of filing. It references a followup document that does not seem to be located among the pages of prescriptions and analysis.~ |
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that bridge when I come to it.