Blips

Dark Memoirs - Index

Wait.

The mushroom tattoo.

Was that not an earlier victim? I am not sure. I have had blips in the early days of my vocational work. Blips when sanity checks afterwards forced me to close systems that should never have been open circuits in the first place.

I am sure I have seen that mushroom tattoo before, but I am also not sure. My eyes feel a little strained and my limbs feel heavy.

Sleep has always been an issue, but it has become more and more erratic. Not anything I can’t deal with, though.

Staying on mission is the right thing to do.

If I had more power, beyond my cold, hard, emotionless pursuit of the perfect eradication of life—would that be any better?

The best thing about having people think you’re not real, or a phantom, is that they do all the myth-building for you. Any rumours of my existence on the wind, in the whispers between walls and cracks in doors—albeit small—give weight to the thought that I was some superhuman, supernatural force of evil.

What.

The bubble would burst for many if they realised the truth.

Unsatisfying and unsettling, when monsters are men.

“But these words people threw around—humans, monsters, heroes, villains—to Victor it was all just a matter of semantics. Someone could call themselves a hero and still walk around killing dozens. Someone else could be labeled a villain for trying to stop them. Plenty of humans were monstrous, and plenty of monsters knew how to play at being human.”

— V. E. Schwab, Vicious