falling like ashes to the ground hoping my feelings they would drown,
but they never did, ever lived, ebbing and flowing
inhibited, limited 'til it broke open and rained down. It rained down, like..."
"Sit down for a moment. Just shut up and let me talk and get my thoughts in order. I don't need you trying to talk over the voices in my bloodstream. You can't beat them in a contest and it'll just annoy the shit outta me."
But let's make it a game anyway.
"So I'm Wheezington. Lord Saint Wheezington to you. Not that you care. 'But Wheezy,' I hear you say in the most obnoxious voice possible. 'You're a Lord of what?' Property, Genius. Territory. Not land. No, nonono. My investments are on the microscopic level, much like your IQ, so this shouldn't be that difficult to understand. You think you are simply You, but you're not just You. You're You with a heaping helping of my territory. About two kilograms of it, to be exact, and every single fucking one of you snowflakes are exactly the same in this regard. Need a tissue?"
Heh heh heh heheheheheh.
"Yeah, coexistence is a bitch when survival comes into play suddenly. No, really, do you need a tissue? That sniffle could mean big trouble. In fact, it will if I have anything to say about it. So many of you jackasses are too stupid to live, anyway. Okay, seriously, you make my job so damn easy. Did you actually wash your hands after taking a shit earlier? You do know fecal residue seeps through up to six layers of paper, right? And these little bacteria go swimmy-swimmy-swim-swim and get spread all over your phone screen that you conveniently touch before doing everything. That's just the tip of the fatberg. I could go on about how you treat deadly plagues like major fucking inconveniences, too, but you're already well aware of that. Hilarity ensues. I mean, I dunno about you, but I'm laughing."
"So what does this mean, ultimately? It means you're going to fucking die a painful death but the odds were stacked against you from the beginning anyway. I'm the exterminator, see, and the planet has a few infestations that need cleaning out and my friend Dyspnea and I are just the ones to see to it. Hey, hey hey hey, maybe- Maybe if you try sucking up to me now I won't feel inclined to use you as a viral dirty bomb later. It probably won't work. But, it might."
Always ssssneaking, alwayssss shooting, always ssssibilant.
"Nothing's gonna fucking change. Everything stays the same until the party comes to an end, huh? What, feel inspired to make a difference for the better in the world only to feel too tired when you get home, distracted by streaming media and video games? Oh sure, the 'kind-hearted' want things to be better and they really would be more active in making that difference if they could, but, see, work is at five in the morning and they're barely scraping by with bills and all they can do is continue to be cogs in the Great Fucking Machine that chops everything up and glues it into place and calls it modern art. Clearly not the only thing that needs chopping up but that's what the skulkers are for. Oh. Who are they?"
Here it comes, here it comes.
"Glad you asked."
My life, my love, my drive, it came from...
- Tools and Talent
Scientific experimentation is grand, but it's better to have a supply of tools and materials that fit your trade. When your specialty is death blossoming over scores of people at a time, it pays to come prepared. With connections with Autumn Health Management Systems he can gain access to most health care facilities that fall underneath that umbrella and potential access to their supplies that come from Magadon Pharmaceuticals.
If you or a loved one plan on spending time in an Autumn controlled hospital or elder care facility, you just might meet up. If you're in the business of supplying black market medicines or even disease-causing agents, you just might meet up.
- Blood of the Rat
Director Gray. Or is it Grey? I always get that mixed up. Anybody that can appreciate liquid shite spewing from a firehose has got my attention. Do I have yours? You're letting me play with your fun little toys, so I bet that I do. It's okay. I don't mind a bit of exhibitionism. Pictures make the moment last longer, but video is easier to get off to.
My official Handler for Magadon. I think I have a bit too much élan for you to be comfortable with, but that's okay. A wise man once said: 'Round and round, with love we'll find a way. Just give it time.' And boy oh boy do we have quite a bit of time. Still waiting to hear back on that dinner date!
Murderdog. You seem universally loved. What that says and what it means might be a bit beyond you all, but do NOT startle me with what you choose to eat again. I'm a vindictive arsehole. Maybe we all are.
I have no idea who you are yet, but your office is left empty often and the temptation is eating me up inside. For fffffffuck's sake, man.
You do realize you kissed a fucking plague rat not once, but twice, yeah? I mean, hell, I'm not complaining, but maybe you should check to make sure your shots are all up to date now.
Hey, Trant! One hell of a singing voice, Trant. You look so damn clean, but, fuck! Anybody who can randomly join in and rock out to good music while we watch a disease exsanguinate some human's veins to death has gotta be okay in my book.
We use the tools we can to do what we must, as you seem to understand very well. Better that they remain in rat hands, anyway. The construction smell on you makes my nose twitch, but I bet I don't smell so great, either. Fire marries well to Pain and has a complicated relationship with Disease, but somehow I think you and I will get along just fine. Show me your flame, Great Balls of Fire. Make 'em burn.
You are a worm through time. The thunder song distorts you. Happiness comes. White pearls, but yellow and red in the eye. Through a mirror, inverted is made right. Leave your insides by the door. Push the fingers through the surface into the wet. You’ve always been the new you. You want this to be true. We stand around you while you dream. You can almost hear our words but you forget. This happens more and more now. You gave us the permission in your regulations. We wait in the stains. The word that describes this is redacted. Repeat the word.
Yeah, we're probably cut from the same mould-caked shite-stained water-logged nappy, but that just helps us understand one another a bit better. It's almost sappy. Eh, fuck that. Good luck, though, Reverend! Not that you need it. I'd still be an angel-for-hire if you want it. I've already got the word 'saint' in my name!
Date of Birth: 04/14/1990
Aspect: Plague Lord
Demeanor: Creep Show
Apparent Age: 40's