GOLDENEYE

GENESIS DOES WHAT YOUR GOD WON’T

It’s dark. Insanely dark. You can barely see a thing. Except for the big bulky TV in front of you.

You don’t know what time is it, what day it is, hell, you don’t even know where you are. Your eyes are drooping. It’s hot as hell, and you stink of Dorito dust. Makes sense considering you were playing on your Genesis for hours. Your mother already told you not to stay up so late, but who gives? She can’t tell you what to do, she’s just a grumpy old lady. And just like she said, you have absolutely no energy to do anything. Great.

As you yawn, your eyes wander to a game cartridge you've never seen before. It has a sticker on it, but it’s blank. You glance at it for a second. Odd. You pay no mind to the cartridge, and you go searching for the remote to turn off the TV. You’re crawling through the living room when you drop the flashlight you were using, and you freeze. You look at the stairs and wait for a moment. Nothing looks back. No noises invade the air. There’s no light anywhere. Thank god, your parents are definitely asleep. A perfect opportunity for another exploit.

Cautiously, you pick your flashlight up, but you see the blank cartridge again. But now, it has a barely visible symbol on it. You shine the light on it, and you barely decipher it as a golden eye. It's not yours, since you've kept good track of all your games since you got your console. It must be your friend's, and he did come over today after all. Naively. you decide to put the cartridge in The TV. Your Genesis sputters, but still boots up. You're met with static, but before you have half a mind to turn off the TV and go to bed, a symbol and a word flashes on the screen.

GOLDENEYE

Before you can even be confused, the TV goes dark. You press the reset button one, twice, to no avail. In fact, the TV’s gone off, and all of a sudden you’re stuck in the darkness, with nothing else but a small yellow flashlight. You dare not call out, for you like staying alive, and anyways, the night’s already over. And as soon you get up, oh so slowly, you hear a noise from the basement. You freeze. Another noise, creaky and closer to the door. Another, rubber boots on old wood stairs.

And it’s not until the final one where you realize you may not be alone.

An annoying little thing about old suburbia settlements is that everything in the whole house hears you, for there’s weak wood almost everywhere. And anything is now going straight for you, hiding in the darkness. You consider the situation: there might just be an intruder inside, very close to you, and you have no way out. Your not-so-silent steps to the stairs would immediately alert the invader, so not very intuitive… And anyways, if you can’t go up, might as well go even deeper. Slowly, you tip toe behind the couch, peeking through a cardboard box. But, for some reason, they don’t take a thing. Even the… er, larger one, hair braided in a band, looks straight at your Genesis, and even then they just ignore it. Are they stupid?

Then something happens. The one in front freezes. And looks straight at you.

You freeze, and as the masked person steps towards you, looking you dead in the eye, you pray that he spares you, spares you from the certain consequence that will happen if you’re caught_ oh, what are you saying he sees you already, you’re already caught, you’re dead now, you’re dead, you’re dead!

And then he turns around. And he goes back into the basement. Almost robotically, the other three follow him back into the darkness. Creepy. You watch the electronic clock above the TV. 1:33. You stay silent, shaking and whimpering. 1:34. A dog howls, and the leaves outside whip around in the wind. 1:35. The familiar sound of a car engine grumbles to life. You’re safe now. And as you step out, the room becomes ten times hotter than it was before, but it calms you down. And as you walk towards the stairs, ready to call it a night, you hear something being thrown.

You look behind you, and it’s the game cartridge, golden eye and all. Carefully, you crouch down to pick it back up, and as your hand grasps the plastic…

You fall down, not even able to get a cry out. A sick pain in the back of your head, freezes your body.

You see nothing but darkness.

You feel nothing but darkness.

You’re in the darkness, and there’s no way out.

PURGATORY AND THE MESS IT BRINGS

You’re awoken by the calls of animals and their irritating cries.

They tell you to get to the station in 15 minutes or it’s coming out of your paycheck.

You hurriedly put some cologne on, grab yesterday’s outfit, and grab your copper badge. You get through 2AM Saturday traffic on the interstate, and unsurprisingly, get there before your boss can give you a speech, now just an earful. But their annoyance isn’t out of anger, but of duty. A kid just went missing in the middle of the night. Their mother said they were playing on their game console, when they went to bed. She heard a strange noise downstairs, unlike anything she’s ever heard before, and when she went to investigate, she never found her son. And of course, you’re one of the lucky three who have to come investigate. Just perfect, right when you were about to ask for your two weeks. But the wicked stop for no mortal, so with that you drive 5 minutes to the neighborhood where they sell that one obscure snack at the 24hour convenience store

After that much more important and difficult derail (the dude was half-asleep and was trying to scan his ring finger,) you drive to the crime scene 20 minutes away, and investigate the scene with your peers. You all enter the living room and are all hit with a wave of Cheeto dust smell. Game discs and cartridges are scattered all over the room, and it honestly looks like a play considering how perfectly spread out the games are. Too perfect… Never mind that, you need to find out what happened to this kid with actual methods, not investigating the placement of Super Marios. And that’s turning out to be hard to do.

There were no fingerprints, no human fluids, no unopened chip bags, and no broken entrances. It was the perfect crime, almost as if he was consumed by the shadows itself. After twenty more minutes of searching the dwelling, you three come back outside. “Well,” the detective asks your group, “What did you find?” You clear your throat, recollecting everything. “Nothing, really. The only traces there are Cheeto bags and the boy’s room. He did have a pager though, but there isn’t anything useful there either.” The detective, hand on chin, murmurs, passing through the boy’s pager. But you were right, there wasn’t anything worth noting. Grumbling, the detective waves you away. You’re not going to be needed for a disappearance this complicated, and you’re pretty replaceable considering how many people like that new 1033 Act.

Before you leave, however, the mother of the child stops you. “Please, I’m begging you, find my son Jeremy— h-here, take a photo of him, I’m sure he’s alive!” You take it out of guilt and leave the premises. You drive back to the station to report back the happenings, moonlight inconveniently shining directly into your eyes, when you stop at a gas station. While the underpaid worker pumps gas into your car, you take one of the boy’s- Jeremy Collins- one of his game cartridges out of your back pocket. Part of you feels bad for stealing the cartridge, but you’ve naively taken it upon yourself to investigate it. While your companions searched upstairs, your eyes wandered over to a game cartridge that had a weird symbol when in direct light, like from a flashlight for example… Nobody noticed you had the cartridge when you left, so you want to investigate.

Obviously it probably won’t matter considering how unlikely it is that a video game leads to the disappearance of a ten year old boy.

The gas pumper finishes, and you put the cartridge into your front pocket. Driving off into the moonlight, your gut starts to tell you something’s off. Like you should get off the road right now or else. You just chalk it up to the chips you ate for breakfast. You can get a real breakfast in a couple hours. Whatever the source is, the feeling isn’t stopping, but you still ignore it. Stop ignoring it. Pull over. No, you need to get back to the station and do your job so you can get out of this miserable job.

You don’t give a shit. Pull over.

No.

In your argument, you haven’t realized the car’s sped up to over 100 miles per hour. You could’ve sworn that you were only just traveling at a smooth 6o miles per hour pace, but your mind has deceived you. Now, this would not be a problem, but considering that now there’s a truck right in front of you, you are just about screwed. You swerve to the right, but still hit the edge of the truck, and your car, now a metal prison, collapses in on itself, all the while flipping over half a dozen times. Glass is shattering all around you, and while your seatbelt has prevented you from becoming a splat on the 93, it’s not doing much protecting from the crunching tin and glass stabbing you any place it can.

It’s about thirty seconds when you regain consciousness. Grateful that you survived that freak accident, your fairytale hope is smothered when the reality of the world comes back to you. You have bruises everywhere, and insane cuts all over your hands. You hear a car door open, and you desperately yell out to the world for help. You look back and see the truck driver getting out of the car. But he’s wearing a golden-coloured mask. While odd, you pay little matter as he walk up to you. You hold your bloody hand out to your golden savior. He picks you up out of the car, silent in his words and grunts. You breath a heavy sigh of relief, and hold out to shake your hand.

He responds with a metal knife in your chest. It isn’t much time until you collapse from the blood loss and shock. The man drags your maimed body inside his own truck. Before he can drive off, he comes back outside to grab something. Your barely conscious body glanced back at the man’s hand..

The game cartridge.

SPECIAL REPORT

RPD

Date Of Report

4.5.1989
Topic: Recent Disappearances in Royalton

All senior officers shall personally appraise the situation at hand and announce this order at their own discretion.

The recent and suspicious disappearances of 9 year old Jeremy Collins and Sergeant Robert Peterson have become first priority of this police department. This has made it difficult to organize our resources, but above all we must find the source of these disappearances, and if they are linked.

It has been reported that Sergeant Peterson’s vehicle, a Ford LTD Crown Elizabeth, license plate number M0FP4, was found in a car wreckage on the Interstate 89. Blood was found at the scene, presumably from Peterson, but he has not been found, alive or deceased.

Furthermore, an officer who arrived on the scene with Peterson had mentioned spotting something looking similar to a game cartridge in Sergeant Peterson’s back pocket. However the child’s mother has reported nothing stolen from the household, which is extremely strange. The possibility that she hasn’t remembered how many games she bought for her son is not completely impossible.
Either way, these strange times will put in effect two new rules;

-Curfew at 9PM-5AM for all minors.

-Increased Police in School & Government Areas.

These rules are effective from today, Saturday, November 11, 1989, at 12AM, to midnight at Saturday, November 25, 1989 (Thanksgiving Day)

Similar info will be broadcast through local news sources. As of now, our main priority throughout the police department is to investigate the disappearances of Sergeant Robert Peterson and 9 year old Jeremy Collins.

Signed, Chief Charles Phillips.

PM>

“Did you hear about that police officer that disappeared? I heard he got into a huge, gory crash!” Your best friend asks, walking with you and your two besties. The four of you step out with your school lunches onto the metal bleachers. The sun’s bleaching the track paint, and the football team’s practicing for their away game in a week. “I heard that the Sergeant’s car got flattened by a truck behind him! I think it was… the brown girl from 4th period that told me.” She mentions. She slags her spaghetti around her tray, making a sauce tornado. It doesn’t really matter to you that much, considering the only sauce you need to know about is what’s going on in town.

“And I think there was some other kid who randomly disappeared. Thanks to them, we have a new curfew…” You grumble, chin in hand. “I mean it’s not so bad, just a couple weeks until Thanksgiving.” Your other friend does yesterday’s algebra homework before class. “Yeah, but that also includes the thanksgiving party at John’s house, and my birthday party. My life couldn’t get any worse…”

“Even worse than the Sergeant?” The other one, nose in her poetry book, asks you. She left her lunch at home, trying to get thinner by not eating. Because your group all knows how well that’s gonna work. “Well, I mean, no, but like I just don’t wanna sacrifice my social life because a kid went missing and some officer can’t drive!” You proclaim out loud, earning a couple looks from the football kids and other people on the bleachers. “Girl, shut up. You’ll get in trouble for sayin stuff like that…” the tornado girl whispered to you. As much as you want to voice your opinions, she’s right, considering you’d much rather keep your reputation up than be ostracized. With that, the mood continues on, albeit with less of your response.

The day goes by quickly (beside the pop quiz in history class), and before you know it, you’re already home. But you don’t have time to laze about all afternoon, since you got cheerleading practice in about two hours. After that drab of a practice, since nobody knew the plan except for you and the teacher, you head home at six to find a note on the nightstand in the living room.

“Dear daughter,

Me and your father have gone out for the night for a date. There are TV dinners in the freezer. We’ll be back by twelve. I know the kind of things kids your age want to get into, but don’t do anything we wouldn’t do. And whatever you do, don’t leave the house after you get back from cheerleading practice.

With lots of love, Jamie.”

Sweet.

Three hour later, you’re sat down on the popcorn-stuffed couch, TV dinner in hand and sleeping dog in lap, watching the 8:00 news. Strung out on the couch, knowing your parents would only get home at pitch-black time, you’ve decided to have a day to yourself. Around the living room, your pictures mirror yourself. Above the TV, a picture with your parents in North Hero Island, where you caught your first fish. It was your last one of the day too, a big fat Largemouth bass. Another one stands proudly on top of the coffee table. It’s your dad at his job, a train conductor, on a family vacation to the Catskills. That was an amazing trip, and you got to meet your grandparents, who owned a resort there. By all accounts, you’ve had a pretty good life. Shame it has to end.

All of a sudden, the TV channel turns off. Your ears are assaulted from the sudden static, and you look for the remote, but for some odd reason you can’t find it. The shock scares your dog off into the background, Without warning, the room goes dark, but the TV stays on. The static slows down as a man you’ve never seen before replaces the news broadcast. It seems somewhat barren, and the screen keeps zooming in and out. The man disappears for a few frames and comes back with a paper, presumably a script.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen, I’m —-.” His name is reversed, and you can’t decipher it into anything. “First on the hour, —— forces bombed a local dog named ‘Hero’. Here’s a live picture.”

Wait a minute. That’s your dog. Instinctively you check for him, but you never find him and realize the scene on the channel is behind your house. They just bombed your dog. Somebody has bombed your dog. Your gut screams at you to call for help, but the shock of it freezes you in place. “In much more important news, we have an update on the missing Sergeant. He is being held by the cult known as GOLDENEYE.”

Through your grief-stricken mind you realize that they’re talking about Peterson, the cop who got into a car crash only a day ago. You also realize you’ve never heard of a “Goldeneye” beside the name of that one house in Jamaica. “Given the little information found, we have little doubt that this terrifying cult is also responsible for the disappearance of 9 year old Jeremy Collins. But a new child will have disappeared in less than a few minutes.”

“Her name, or rather your name, miss… hasn’t been disclosed currently for her endangerment. We do know that she is the owner of the pieces of dog scattered around her backyard right now, though. We’ll be seeing you.” The TV turns off, and with it the rest of the house.

You hear yourself shriek in fear, running upstairs, but the shadows are too fast, and they drag you down into the Underworld. You scream for help, scratching your nails into the staircase, but you don’t have the energy. Slowly, you’ve lost track of your body, and soon find yourself being carried in a bag, drifting….

drifting…

drifting away…

MURDER THEY WROTE, MURDER SHE SAW

You’ve woken up out of your slumber, and the first thing you see is the metal box you’re in. It’s humid, very humid, odd for this time of year. Are you in some kind of bank vault? No, vaults don’t move that quick. (Then again vaults don’t move at all…) You stand up, feeling the environment around, then get knocked into another metal wall to the right. Definitely inside a truck. But to where? And how the hell are you gonna get out?

Good points, overshadowed by the other person staring right at you. You barely noticed them, but now that they’re there, it’s impossible to lift your eyes off it. The dark wasn’t helping anyways, but you can barely make any features out of the figure. All you can observe is some kind of shadow person.

The truck slows down, and judging by the vehicle’s movement, you’re already at a truck stop. How long had you been unconscious? It might as well be Wednesday already, and the whole town’ll be on high alert. School’s most likely closed right now, probably for a couple days too. Nobody would be allowed to go outside right now, probably, so no walking your dog-

Hero.

The memories of last night hit you like a freight train. You melt & crumple, drowning yourself in tears as you sit back down, head in hands. You’ve never remembered so much grief like this before, and you offer no resistance against the earth-shattering lows of lost love. Only love could hurt like this.

And a worse revelation? That shadow-person in front of you that disappeared? Sergeant Peterson’s body is in its place. You crawl closer, inspecting the unconscious body for a sign of life. Your hand floats over the body, before hitting a stick coming out of Peterson. You pull out the stick, and hear the body squish against the SHINT of metal. Metal? Oh no, that body isn’t unconscious, that body’s no body at all, that’s a corpse!

You shriek at the thought, blasting away from what used to be a human being named Robert Peterson. Was he tortured? No, the car crash, remember? You can’t remember much of anything anymore. What have they done to you? What are they gonna do to you now? And what’s that noise outside?

The truck door SLAMS up, shocking you away. Not to your expectations, there is no sunlight to save you. All that appears is a tall man with a smart black suit, and for some reason, a golden Mardi Gras mask that covers his whole face. He stands there, unmoving and unemotional. His hands are behind his back, but you can steal glances at his blood-stained cuffs. No doubt from another corpse. So this is what being kidnapped is like. He drags the Sergeant’s blank body out, then looks at you, his black eyes drained of emotion, or of empathy at the very least.

“Follow me, if you don’t wish to share the same fate.”

You have no choice but to oblige, so you step out into the dark world— and run off. You’ve blasted off, and the man hasn’t even noticed, still walking off to some unknown destination. “What a dumbarse,” You mutter, looking back at the truck. “What kinda cultish serial killer lets his prey get away in the middle of the woods-“, and just as you finish your thoughts, you run straight into four-something people, dressed near identically in their jet-black silk and golden, menacing faces. You turn around to get away, but the truck man is somehow already behind you, corpse and all. Someone else grabs you by the back of your dirty T-Shirt. By all means, you’re trapped, penned, and cornered, with no hope of a daring escape.

Another person, this time a more effeminate figure came to the death circle, carrying a small child over their back. “The child is alive, soul’s intact, but he’s asleep right now.” She announced, voice dead as the rest of them.

“Put him down.”

“Yes sir.”

You watch in surprise as you remember what the man on the TV said last night. It’s the little boy that nearly cost you your reputation, Jeremy… something! But that lady has to be lying, the kid’s at least comatose or something. His pupils are completely gone, but he is still breathing. What the hell did they do to him?

These thoughts and more are interrupted by a gloved hand holding your left arm. Before you can react, you see a bloodied, golden knife slice the back of your left hand open.

You gape at your own liquid ruby, spilling out from the wound in surprise, and then the pain comes; unbearable, agonizing, excruciating pain. A piercing, fiery pain, something so overwhelming you might as well die right now from shock. But you don’t, and every second without an end is a torturous moment that will never end. You scream, begging for mercy, but your hand is covered by another masked madman, blocking off your mouth.

But this one is different. The new figure is different than the others, and (aside from the masks) has an all-white suit. If it’s any comfort to your pain-soaked self, the suit looks like something straight out of the Salvation Army. He walks with more confidence, and without a touch of remorse for what he’s just done. The canvas man walks over to the comatose child, and does the exact same thing. At least he’s spared of the pain that floods in your hand.

And at last, the figure does it to the dead sergeant. His body’s already tainted beyond repair, but you still feel sadness for what his fate brought. You used to know him when you were still an innocent child, since he was your dad’s best friend growing up. Everyone in the town spoke highly of the late officer, and it looked like he was going to continue his services to his country and town that he loved so very much, right? But for a fate like this?

Finally, you’re shoved into a spot marked on the leaf-covered ground. Four candles are lit around all of you, and the smartly-dressed man puts three droplets of the collected blood onto each of the candlesticks, around the flames. His knife glides gracefully around the light, so gracefully in fact, that a horrible thought came to you with such accuracy.

He’s done this before, hasn’t he…

He finishes his deed, and goes before you as your knees touch the ground. You’re history soon, and a terrible fate will meet you, no matter how much you wish it won’t. But the masked man comes over to you, smelling the fear in your eyes. In some twisted act of mercy, they hold your face up to his own. “Don’t cry, miss. You’ll be spared soon. Everybody will be. Now is,” he brandished the knife out again, running it between his fingers. “…just time for you to leave this mortal plane. That little boy’s already had his soul brought to the One Above, we just need to dispose of the body, is all.”

He walks back, muttering to himself. “Pesky authorities. Always getting in one’s ways. Everyone listen up!” He suddenly turned around, exclaiming to all. “Today starts a new golden era for humanity. While we must face hardships from those who oppose our ways, I promise you that we will all be saved by the One Above one day!” With those words, your fate is sealed as a figure steps behind you.

In the forest that night, there were reports of 3 dead bodies found by a group of campers. They wouldn’t know who they were until the morning dawned.

I DON’T DESERVE THIS

I’ve lived in this town for all my life, and let me tell you something. There’s never been something this horrifying that’s ever happened here.

I’ve heard of things happening in small towns in the Midwest like this, but out of all places I never guessed that this would happen to us. Apparently now there’s a death cult called Goldeneye or something, and they took these two kids and a cop and killed them in the woods? Some freaky shit man. When my dad heard, he went straight to the chief of police for the town, and I thought he might have a heart attack with how much sweat was running down his head. Atleast I was alone for the day. Again. For the seventh day in a row.

After that bloody murder with the candles and all, pretty much all of the schools around here got closed for a week. The only leads the police have is that there was gold dust on some of the corpses, like from a Mardi Gras mask. Kinda weird though, considering Mardi Gras was like nine-ish months ago, so that went nowhere.

I still remember where I was the day of that TV broadcast. Apparently the guy who usually does a local radio station here got kidnapped and was forced by them to read the script. And they bombed a dog! A dog for goodness’s sake, and showed the bloody little pieces on live video! Where I was though, I was just watching the news with a couple acquaintances when we saw it. They were talking about some bullshit, like their jobs and unions, silly unimportant things like that, when all of a sudden we hear something weird coming from the box. And an hour after the message went away, my dad calls me saying he’s been getting asked from like, everyone in town to see what the hell that was! He couldn’t even contact his friend who works for the TV station that got hacked.

Either way, when I woke up the next day, I brushed my teeth, smoked some pot, went downstairs to get my breakfast, (a perfectly fine Full English Breakfast with Orange Juice, I turn on the TV and a teenage girl’s gone missing from her house. What the fuck. And only a couple minutes later, I anticipated the worst.

“We have an unusually quick update to the missing case of the missing teenage girl, previously identified as A.S… she along with Sergeant Robert Peterson and Jeremy Collins were found dead in Mount Ascutney State Park this morning. Collins and Peterson went missing approximately three days ago, with A.S, or Amahia Scott, going missing last night.

“The cause of death for all three was murder, correlating with last night’s signal hijacking. Many houses in the Royalton area reported small blackouts for a few minutes. A dog named Hero owned by the Scott family was also bombed, something the hijackers announced last night. A statement from the governor of Vermont, Alan Moore, was given today.” That’s my dad, by the way. Now that I think about it, he did leave a note saying he was going somewhere to make a statement. Anyways, the TV switched over. As usual, he opened his spiel with a good morning, something he does when he’s not home to say it to me in person. He’s not very confident, I’ve known fourth graders with more bravado, and he looks like a giant terrified cat in a human suit.

“Good morning, people of Vermont. Im gonna cut straight to the point. This… GOLDENEYE, the name given by the hijackers, is an extremely dangerous group that should not be taken lightly. All schools across Vermont will be closed this week. Furthermore, many districts are imposing strict curfews to prevent any more kidnapping. Us at Town Hall strongly urge you to stay at home, and to keep together in groups if you can. If you live alone, stay at a relative or neighbor’s house.

“We are working with the Chief of Police & the FBI to get to the bottom of these murders, and I promise to the people of this State, that we will bring these madmen to justice.”

Anyways, I ignored basically everything he said. He’s not here to tell me what to do anyways. He never is.

I went over to Dad’s (a restaurant in the area, not mine!) and got an order there. I wanted to go last week, just like when I was a kid, but he had a press conference for the millionth time in a row, so I’m just gonna go now. I can’t wait another week just to be pushed over like nothing. When the cook, some new college kid working part time minimum wage (pitiful…) asked for my name, it was almost like I had forgotten it. Was last night really that eventful?

“Dude, I need your name for the order. You’re not the only redneck here who ignored the statement today.”

While that was true, there was a lot of fat people gettin food today, that insult of a name woke me back up. Me? A redneck? The son of the most powerful person for 80 miles round’, a redneck? Who does he think he is?!

“M-My name, is Dennis Moore. I’m not a redneck, I’m the son of the governor.” I stared at that insolent peasant, taking my receipt and walking away.

“No wonder he always orders so much here.. like father like son…” I heard him whisper behind my back. Whatever, he’s not worth it, he’s the one working minimum wage cuz he’s broke, and worthless, and stupid, and will never, ever amount to anything in his peasant life! I went home with my favorite cheeseburger, fries and mineral water that I picked up on the way, and went to an acquaintance’s garage. He owns a laundromat that he uses to scam money out of old people with really cheap machines he bought from some old dude fifty miles away. He also used it to help me launder some money, but that’s another story.

He’s left a note for me, and also left some robes. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Some rich kid with white silk robes, I know, but it’s not going to be used for any tea-drinking. Tea is the most vile and disgusting drink I’ve ever tasted. He left a note by the robes, scrawled with ink on a blank laundry receipt.

“lord moore, our recent accomplishments have been successful. we’ve picked up three new recruits, a couple and a former korean war vet. however, our link in the police dep said they found traces of golden dust. ive already recommended the others to hide their masks. we have spares in the van’s floor. the truck we rented has been burnt like you asked. if im not here, im gettin a cake 4 us.

love, jackal

p.s. if you aint lord & you’re reading this it’s too late!”

I smiled. Jackal isn’t his real name, but he’s never used his birth name for anything other than legal papers. A really nice dude to be around. And by the One Above is he handsome. I’m leaving my own note as I write this memoir. It’ll read:

“we don’t deserve all this, do we? i should know damn well more than anybody that i dont. i still got no clue how ive gotten this far. but he ll still save us all, if my plans work out. if i fail now, all is lost, and the world will be purged into total damnation. but i can do this. we can do this. all of us.

if you’re reading this, and you ain’t jackal or savior of all, dennis moore, i already know where you are, and you will not stop GOLDENEYE. cry about it.

-the great mortal appointed by he himself, the one above, lord dennis moore.

INTERMISSIONARY
PT. I

I watch as my father enters his study, a big room with books he almost never reads. Soundproof material lines the walls. Marble pillars sit in the corners, and stone statues adorn the area near his desk. An orange leather couch rests across the room, surprisingly dirty for such a rich man. He never did want to clean it. On the contrary, there’s also about 32 vinyl players in the room, all in boxes in a corner. According to him, it’s for a hobby me and Jackal do, fixing up old boomboxes and vinyl players and selling them for a profit. In reality, we’ve never sold a single player, and that’s for good reason. That we’ll see in a moment. We? Me and Jackal, of course.

Speak of the angels, I feel my pocket rumble strongly. It’s my pager, a silver, plastic box with a slide-out keyboard and a small keyboard. I checked it, and as expected, it’s Jackal.

“BE THERE IN V. SET THE SCENE AND LOCK THE DOOR BEHIND YOU. GLORY TO THE ONE ABOVE.

I smile, giddy with excitement. Of course, I chose the person, but the method was Jackal’s idea. He worked at a chain tech store and fixed boomboxes and vinyl players, but got laid off like two months ago when the store lost a bunch of money. It might have been out of guilt of knowledge, but the manager took Jackal under his wing, teaching him how to work speakers, radio signals, and all of the sort. Thankfully, the poor manager’s knowledge won’t go to waste.

I walk in, putting my pager in my jeans pocket. “Yo dad, Jackal said he’s coming in a couple minutes.” He acknowledges my presence with a simple ‘Okay’ and goes back to doing paperwork. Paper and signatures, signatures and paper, the most basic job a human being can get. For such a lavish lifestyle, he doesn’t do much does he. Never mind that, I have a job to do. This has to go right. It will go right. I’ll make sure of it. After that non-interaction, I finished setting up all of the speakers, and inserted the same bootleg tape & disk in each. As I put the first one in, I looked back at the Governor. He’s still silent, stuck in his own tabloid world. I finished up quickly, and I heard the doorbell ring. Jackal. “I got it!” I rushed over to the door, but my dad stopped me on my way out.

“Den. I just wanna let you know that even though I can’t see you much these days, I still love you. You’re the best son I could ask for.” He smiled at me, a truly innocent smile. For a second I almost felt bad for the incompetent man. How could I do this to him? And what would my family say when they found out. I wouldn’t want anybody to see me like this. This has to be perfect. I hugged him. But it didn’t feel right. Did he know something? Was he in on it? Am I being watched? Are you watching me? Has someone betrayed me?

“Thanks dad. Love you too.” The empty words struggled their way out my mouth as I left him to be. I paged Jackal, fingers trembling. “HAVING DOUBTS. GIV ME SM ADVICE.” A thought struck me. If I didn’t do it right now, what happens later? The Governor’s death would cause chaos, and a scapegoat is great for marketing. This is my best chance. I took the keys I picked when I hugged him, and locked the door, hiding under the windows. I heard the first speaker turn on. No going back now. I shoved my doubts out and watched as the Governor went over to turn the speaker off. A second one turned on. Then a third. And fourth. It was already really loud out here, even with the sound proofing on the walls. I heard the doorknob shake wildly, getting pushed. That fat fuck won’t be able to get out of the room. He’s done.

“HELP! SOMEONE! DENNIS!” He yelled out in suffering, banging the door. More speakers turned on. I had to close my ears, and for a second I had a horrible thought— the glass! We forgot the glass! He could break the windows with a chair! But my anguish was answered by no-one else but Jackal. A pair of earmuffs slid across the floor. With no hesitation, I put it on, fumbling with the strap. “Jackal? You got a knife or sum’?” The muffs— scratch that, these are more like some pilot headsets or something— came with a microphone. “I got it! Can’t believe we forgot about the windows!” In his right, a metal blade hung tight, and in his left, a remote with a dial. He had fashioned together some kind of remote with a radio signal that gets stronger the more you tune the dial. Clever, even for his standards.

As we expected, the glass window splintered into shards from a wooden chair, and a fat figure, bleeding from the ears, vaulted out of the room. He rolled out, crawling my way, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at his face. I had to run. Why am I such a pussy? I can bomb a dog but I can’t kill my dad? What kind of leader am I? Jackal picked up the slack and I heard the sound of flesh, penetrated, before groans, before silence… Jackal looked at me, but I refused to show my face, and wrapped my eyes with a scarf. He came closer, his palm cupping my cheek. With delicate hands, he unraveled my scarf off my face. I looked into his soft, coffee brown eyes. His face was the one thing I needed to see. He’s my therapy, my best friend, and now… my partner in crime.

“Here’s some advice.”

“What”, I asked.

“It’s too late for doubts.”

PT II.

I have to do this. It’s my duty. For my country. For justice. For Governor Moore. For Amahia Scott. For Sergeant Peters. For Jeremy. For everyone.

Today is November 16th, 1989. My name is Douglas Collins. I am 47 years old. I am the police chief at the Vermont Police Department. The father of my boy, the late Jeremy Collins. And most of all, I will be the person who brings this madman to justice.

I don’t know who Goldeneye is. All we know is that it’s a murder cult who wears golden masks, and that we’ve lost four people to them. Four human beings, and their life was stripped away from them, violently and slowly. Besides that, I don’t know what they do, or how they do it.

But I will soon. I’ve found a link into the cult, through a young man, Toma Argent. (Despite the name, he is identified as a male.) Tomorrow, I will go be recruited by the group. Toma has formed an… intimate link with the leader over the last few months, however he refuses to tell who it is. He believes that we will directly arrest the leader, and while annoying… he is right.

If I die, I won’t let my life be wasted in vain. Justice will be brought. For my grieving wife. For all the grieving families.

And for my son, Jeremy.

THE GREAT IMMORTAL

November 17, 1989. Douglas Collins. GOLDENEYE.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I look down from the star-stocked darkness, Cancer glimmering overhead, a perfect shape over a background of darkness…down to two new battered and bloody victims. Well, plastic victims at least. Sitting next to us are Officer Janelle & Officer Benn, soaked with rainwater from hours ago . “I mean, I guess.” I can barely see out of this mask, and the smells of cheap silicone overpower the musk of Northeastern forest. Below my head, I have a black suit, a cheap costume from Spirit Halloween. I actually have the money for a real suit, but our informant advised me against it. “He’s coming in five minutes. You got your makeup ready?” Another necessary detail, I had to put on fake wrinkles, a white wig, and old people makeup. I also needed a cane and a camo hat. For something this kid considers an old person outfit, this isn’t half bad.

We waited for a couple minutes in the campground for him, and just when we thought we had been had, there he was, gray suit and all. I made sure to keep a mental note of his appearance: ‘About 5’5. Definitely a male. Circle head. Well-shaven beard. Surprisingly clean hair. Maybe hair gel? He smells rich. Rich in spirit. Rich in smell. Rich in money…’ I limped over to the well dressed sociopath, holding my hand out. He didn’t welcome me any warmer, and stood there, unmoving.

“Do you have the weapons?” An arms deal, very unexpected from the madman, but to be fair nothing can be expected from someone like this. I bowed and handed him two pistols, Beretta M1935s. “These were my grandfather’s. Use them wisely.” If anything was true, that was. Vintage weapons from World War 2, used by the Royal Italian Army, first my granddad’s, now mine, and most useful of all; rusted to the core. On the outside, it looks as if I traveled back to the past and stole it.

On the inside, it looks like a orange monster fucked it.

Behind me, the young couple brandish two pistols each, also rusted. “Thank you for these gifts. I understand how much these mean to you three, and I am forever grateful for your service. I am the connection to the One Above, his avatar in this realm, and your savior, The Great Immortal.” He spoke carefully and boldly, with a hint of malice in his voice. He led us through the woods, and we walked barely half a mile before we came across his cult camp. Fifteen-or-so candles were strung in a circle, all lit. “This is our refuge, in the damp, quiet, and brisk of the woods. Our manifesto, written by yours truly, sits atop a log there.”

“It is our lifeblood, our rules, our plan, and our connection to the One Above. Sir, have you ever felt betrayed by your country? After the Korean war, you veterans came home with many injuries…mental & physical, and what did you return to? An ungrateful country. Disrespected, all because of your country’s stupid behavior.” I nodded, but in my mind I scoffed. This man doesn’t know nothing about that War. Only those hippie communists did that, and our government is the smartest and most popular in the world. Traitor. Ignoring this, I asked him: “So what is your plan, sir?”

“…This country needs cleansing. A purging. On a nationwide scale, if this tragic government will continue to be a failure. That is our plan. Those who will join us will be spared when the One Above comes down to this realm. Those who oppose us… won’t.” He cleaned his machete with a white cloth, both brought over by another masked person. “Of course, we’ll try not to be too violent, but we still need to keep arms incase our movement is…well, attacked.” He flashed a grin, perfectly evil grin, and at that moment I realized just how insane that… monster was.

The informant behind me coughed, acquiring our attention from the mask madman in front of us. “Sir, can we introduce them to the others? We don’t have much time until the One Above’s declaration. “Declaration?” I scrunched my eyes in confusion, looking back at the young traitor. “Ah yes, thank you..” He turned back around, smiling warmly for the first time. The informant did mention he built an unusually good relationship with the leader, and it’s as obvious as can be.

Ten minutes later, I find myself standing in a circle of thirteen other masked mad men, all of us dressed in identical suits. We stand there, unmoving, soulless & blank. In the middle, an insignia starts to burn mildly in front of all of us. Nobody else has talked since we got here. I tried to make some small talk on the way to the other cult members, but they’ve already been indoctrinated. They said that the Great Immortal is the greatest leader of all time, that he’ll save the country, no, not just the country, the world, and how he’d fix all the problems this world’s corrupt leaders imposed on their people. Some leader. America has never done anything remotely wrong or corrupt, in its whole history, right?

Back in the present, (or rather a later past, I’m writing this a couple hours later) the cult leader came back around, holding a stick of fire. He had changed into a giant black robe, covering his whole body. Everybody bowed, and he did the same. “We gather here today to receive a message. A message from the One Above. He shall enter us into salvation, and will give us strength from faith. I come here tonight to be a messenger between this mortal realm, and the Realm of Salvation, where one day we shall rejoice, for we will have won!” The others cheered, stretching their right hand out to the leader, who had since stepped inside the giant symbol. They can’t be this… blind to what they’ve been saying and doing? How could one be so ignorant?

With that eerily Nazi-esque salute, the black blanket dropped the bundle of fire he carried, and for a second I was shocked. Did he just sacrifice himself? I must have underestimated him, because it was not screams I had heard;

It was laughter. Sick, joyous, glorious laughter, laughter from a maniac so sick that he would try to take over the country. I had to keep reminding myself that he was just another madman, that nothing would become of it…but I just couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t expect anything from him. We need to expect everything.

The burning soon stopped, quenched by rainfall. Rainfall? It’s been clear for hours, when did rain get here? For a second, I almost believed in this ‘One Above’, but I shook my head. I need to keep myself level. Through the smoke, the leader walked out, slightly more charred than before, but much more calm. “Our GOD has given us permission to expand, and to cleanse the world! We will have our salvation, and will save this world!” I looked over to my partners, and I was horrified. They were… smiling? They believed! They got poisoned too! What was happening?

“Everyone, rejoice with me!”

LETTER TO THE HEAVENS

November 19th, 1989. Douglas Collins. GOLDENEYE.

It’s sad, it really is. But more than that. It’s insane.

The two other cops that came with me undercover, Officer Janelle & Officer Benne haven’t appeared since yesterday. We radioed for them, checked cameras, but they haven’t been found for two days. I’m worried that they could have fully joined, or worse… but that’s the least of our issues. Goldeneye has grown a lot since the first murders, and I’m starting to worry that they’ll be able to take over Royalton- then Vermont.. and it’s almost inevitable. The leader uses propaganda in the form of words to turn people against the world, and into the hands of GOLDENEYE. We don’t have much time, so I’m proposing a plan today to the department. But I need to count our friends and our enemies. What isn’t there to say that they have an informant in the department either?

So here is my plan:

I will wait for another murder, but I’ll need to be recording with body cam footage. In the meantime, we gather all the evidence we can, including autopsies of the earlier victims. They all indicate death by bleeding, presumably due to knife wounds, so I will try to search for any knife, machete, hell even a butter knife, just anything sharp made of metal. If anybody sees the car belonging to officers Janelle & Benne, they need to immediately call the police, or contact me. If I need to prove my loyalty or anything like that.. I don’t know yet. Running away could prove difficult, and even if I escape I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. I could bring an anesthetic-laced weapon or something, but under no circumstances I should kill a man. As soon as someone is in danger of murder, we storm the area. Arrest the leader and find out who they are. Don’t let a single one get away. But under no circumstances do we kill the leader, because if we do, there’s always a chance that he’ll be martyred, which’ll only speed their movement up.

I’m leaving most of this paper at the station, and I need to make sure that the new Governor has a copy. Speaking of which, I need to send my condolences to that Moore kid, the son of the late Governor. He must feel horrible after the murder of his father. But the wicked never rest, so we still have a job to do, and justice will prevai

HOLD ON

NEW UPDATE:
NEW VICTIM WAS FOUND IN THE FOREST. IT WAS BENNE. JANELLE HASNT BEEN FOUND. WE MOVE NOW.

-DC, Police Chief of Vermont

In another place…

You walk through the forest, its wonderful mist kissing the skin on your face. Dew drips down the pine leaves, and the soft midnight wind blows all around you. On your side, the wonderful Officer- er, well, now former Officer Benne, walking calmly next to you. The Great Immortal is a genius, connected directly to the One Above. He has given you priceless knowledge, but just as he says; “Everything has a price.” This just so happens to be yours. Your career. Your husband. Everything you’ve ever worked for. But it’ll all be worth it some day. One day…

Captain Collins is a fool, an idiot, and his plan wasn’t ever going to work. The Great Immortal already knew those guns were a fake, and your demonstration of belief has scared him off. They’ll be coming back with weaponry, but you don’t suspect that they know exactly how many arms we still have, supplied by the Great Immortal. And best of all, they have no leads on any new identities. Collins colleagues aren’t stupid, you know that much, but those pigs knowing any of our plans is highly detrimental, so your leader has an idea of their own. They will explain it tonight. After you prove yourself to him personally. They’ve already gone over all your records, your accomplishments, evaluating anything that could prove useful for them, but one thing they’re not sure of yet is your LOYALTY. But not to worry. This assignment will easily be successful. That asshole was never good at self-defense, let alone a good police officer. But those days are over. The future is now.

“Why did you want me to come here, by the lake? You having second thoughts about the mission?” That stupid man-child asked, slowly climbing above a boulder. “Yeah babe… there’s also something I need to show you.” You lift yourself effortlessly over the top. Above you, the waning moon stares at you two, silent in it’s yellow, judgmental, still & silent self. “Should you really waste your life for this? This is what you’ve worked years for? A future filled with murder & evil?” The moon taunts you, knowing you can’t do anything about it but answer.

“Yes.” You accidentally say aloud, prompting an odd look from your husband. “Y-yes, this is the place we went for your proposal, McIntosh Pond. I wanted to show you something about this… this career.” You blush, and you watch him do the same, glowing pink in the blanket of jet-black around you. “Oh shit, what’s up? Don’t say you wanna quit!” He cares so much about you, doesn’t he? He’s such a pushover, isn’t he? He’ll know what you’re about to do, won’t he?

Probably not. He still thinks that the earth is flat, he’s too stupid to know.

“No, no, it’s not that, I need to show you something important. You’ll love it.” You pull out three photos, somewhat blackened out by the lack of light. “Hold on, lemme get my flashlight.” He turns around, fingers stumbling across the bag. You slowly step closer, closer, closer… There! Right there! You watch yourself swiftly pull a potato sack over your partner, tightening the straw string around his neck. He struggles, crying out for help, but there’s only you and him. Him & you. You watch him struggle, but his writhing brings him to his doom. He hits his head on a rock with a bony, delicious CRACK, then sinks down to the bottom of the river. Few bubbles come up for the little amount of life he had left. For him, he deserved it, the worthless worm. For you…

It was destiny.

I NEVER LIKED YOU

“Do all of you know what we will be doing today?” I ask my fellow policemen over my radio. The sun shines bright, voice is strong, filled with bravery— but on the inside I’m a nervous wreck. This is the final chance we have to bring down GOLDENEYE, once and for all. If we fail here… I don’t even want to imagine it. So I don’t. It’s better that way.

“Yes sir!” A multitude of voices cry out from the speaker, all bunched up from the radio’s crackling. My fellow comrades, my best friends, and my team of police officers, fifteen against… I don’t even know. At this point, there could be fifty. Nothing— no, everything is to be expected, so we need to be prepared.

A large team of paramedics is on standby, waiting for any injuries, possibly casualties. A team of dispatchers back at HQ anticipate any calls. Maybe from scared civilians, maybe a bomb threat straight from the top. Either way, this attack will not be in vain, and it’ll work.

It has to work.

“What are your orders?” Our plan is foolproof, but there’s always a chance some idiot messes it up because they just had to forget everything that day. “Team Alpha will approach from the front, Team Beta will approach from the left and right sides, Team Gamma approaches from the back, and Team Delta is on backup sir!” One one voice speaks this time, but he’s at least right. “Affirmative. We move quietly, quickly, and try to keep the weapons down.” I remind them. Each team is comprised of about five people, so even if things go wrong and we gotta have a shootout, we’ll have the advantage.

After what felt like an hour, we arrive at the address given to us by our informant, Toma. He’s given us a map of the house, but he disappeared out of our sight a couple of hours ago, and I still have no idea how. He was there, sitting on a chair, eating a sandwich, and then he just disappeared, right in front of a security camera. Note to self: find his records. We all got out slowly, parking a couple of minutes away from the house. The other teams went their separate ways, leaving my team, Alpha, and Delta. My team traveled quickly, but quietly, watching out for any cameras, trip wires, stuff like that. Surprisingly, there was only a handful of em, and in really easy to see areas. My team chuckled, but I coulda sworn that I saw someone.

At the time, I said it was just an animal, but in hindsight that should’ve put all of us on high alert. It would’ve prepared us for what happened next.

All of a sudden, seven shots severed the air, and before we could check if they came for us, we heard shooting, far away! Team Delta was under attack, baited away from everyone else. Now, with a strong sense of danger in the air, we sprinted forward, doing our best to pray that our fellow policemen would survive the sudden strike. “Duck!” I cried out, but the man next to me hadn’t listened in time. A hail of gunfire erupted into the young man, and we watched in horror as his tainted body, the blood contrasting against his dirty, navy blue uniform, get gunned down in duty. And at that moment, hell came onto Earth.

Two huge explosions came from the back of the building, and even weeks later, I can still hear the piercing screams of policemen, people with lives, friends, families, ambitions, forced into hell’s gates. We froze for a moment, and then sprinted, pistols loaded. We covered our faces, and dived forward and shot. We crawled over to a log, and bullets rained over us, threatening to blow through at any moment. I looked over the log, hitting three targets in the shoulder, disarming them.

“We need paramedics & backup on the scene now!” I screamed into my radio, getting ready to run into the forest. A cult member ran forward, spraying bullets all around us, but someone behind me shot before he could hit anyone, and we ran towards his failing, falling body. I could hear their yells, shooting wildly, and it was a miracle that they didn’t accidentally hit us. We snuck into the side of the house, and before anyone could see us, we made it into the basement. Quietly, we stepped into a huge room, a ballroom to be exact, but it was like we stepped into the night. The doors bolted shut behind us, jolting our group into position. Lasers flickered on, around us, and I thought that they bought some kinda advanced laser beam security thing;

Until they all pointed at us.

i thought about killing you

i can’t believe it. i won’t believe it. they went for us, the fucking feds went for us. they have no right to do this. we didn’t leave any traces behind. atleast i know that i didn’t. if i find the person who brought them here, i will deal with them, one way or another, and i will make it slow and painful. but that’s an atrocity for later, now, now now now, i must find the people who did it.

all along the watchtower, i spotted a whole group of pigs rush towards my people in the south. my father the late mayor’s favorite, the AK-74, is an amazing weapon for picking pigs off. all i have to do is spot, then shoot. all those gun classes i took become especially useful, and it’s no better time than now, watching as the navy-clad demons collapse, one by one. but i am losing a great amount of soldiers, especially from my sides. it never occured to me that i should have done background checks on my people, see if they even knew how to shoot. but the serotonin i get when i see those blue bastards collapse is too overwhelming for me to get over, a high i never want to come down from. finally, everyone outside’s been saved, eternally grateful for my expertise. so beautiful. so handsome. so fucking hot, and here i go again, thinking about-

Jackal. Jackal. i drop the gun now. Jackal. Jackal. where is jackal. where is that beautiful fucking man. i need him. i need him. where is he. where is he. gotta run to the phone. i don’t care that i have a pager, i want to hear his rough, hot voice. i want to hear him. i need to hear him. now. now. now. i send a message out to the radio, his channel engrained, burned even in my mind, and wait for something, anything. one time. nothing. two times. nothing. on the third try im almost thinking of crying before i hear him. “where the hell are you?” and i immediately regret being so harsh, because I need him, badly. “Somewhere, but I can’t get to you right now, the- shit! The cops are on my tail.” the signal is bad, and i can barely understand him through the snow, while the other kind whips around my face. snow? when did snow come here? was there a blizzard coming today? no matter, my only concern is jackal. “alright, but please, please, please get outta there safe, i-i need you here.

“i need you.”

laughter. laughter. why was he laughing? why? “Dennis, you fool…” i didn’t have any time to answer before a barrage of bullets came from the doorway. “Dennis Moore, stand down!” “never!” i dive behind a desk, spraying my loads at the bastards. “Who do you think gave the cops your location?” jackal, jackal, jackal, how, why, why?? the cops retreated as i crawled into the bathroom. “jackal, how could you! i thought you were one of us! you were supposed to bring Him to the world, not destroy him! how could you?” i hear nothing but laughter, why laughter? how could he? how could he?

“It’s over, Dennis. Your delusions of grandeur end today.” what is he saying? i don’t want it to end. i don’t want it to end. i want to live in a world, a free world, with GOLDENEYE, with the One Above, with me as their leader. i want to rule. i want to lead. i want to live. and before i know it, i cry out as i feel the coursing pain of pistol spit, straight through my shoulder. i fire wildly, backing up into a ball. im going to die. im going to die. i want to live. but im going to die. i ask one more thing, one last time. “jackal…i thought we had something special. i… i thought you loved me.” silence starts to flood my head and my heart as the footsteps of those bastards came to me. but before i can faint… into… my sleep…

“Oh Dennis…”

“I never even liked you.”

THE LAST MANIFESTO

Snow falls upon the frozen grass. The wind whips around your face, threatening to blow you into the air. Birds chirp quietly in their nests, tending to their young as they wait for calm after the storm. Soft blankets of icy white line the streets of Royalton. And above all, my mug of coffee is done boiling, nice. I take out the pot and pour into my metal bottle, before heading out into the wild world. The radio in my car drones on, spewing its sounds out into the world. “Today, the Governor of Vermont, Nova Kofi, addressed her state in the wake of the recent GOLDENEYE events. She stated;

“As I, the new Governor of Vermont, address the state of Vermont, it has been exactly one month after the first murder connected to the GOLDENEYE cult. Lead by the former governor’s son, Dennis Moore, they inflicted havoc onto the town of Vermont, leading to the deaths of 15 people. People with families. People with lives. But thanks to the efforts of the Vermont Police Department, and the help of Police Chief Douglas Collins, who is currently recovering in Valley Regional Hospital. As a community, and as a state, we have grown together. We have supported each other together. And most of all, we survived together-“

I change the station to something more interesting, Top 40. The governor needs to hire better ghostwriters. At least I’m trying to write something meaningful.

So let’s try again.

As I, Toma Argent, write this note, it is one month, exactly one month after the GOLDENEYE incident. December 20th, 1989, nearly Christmas Day. I write this note as a proud traitor, an in announcement to all; that GOLDENEYE was doomed to fail.

Dennis, or, tHe OnE aBoVe as he calls himself, and probably still does— in prison, of course— is nothing more than a loon, nothing more than a bold bully with the power of propaganda. And for such a young man, he’s rather good at it. Planting people to lure his victims into the claws of death. So I wonder, how did he do it? How was he able to convince nearly thirty-fourty men of his sordid dreams and desire? Because humans are absolutely fucking stupid. Now, I know what you’re thinking, “Jackal, I know how much of a sad sod Dennis is, but how could his crimes against his kind represent the whole human race?”

Well, propaganda is the answer. The thing has empowered the rulers of the world since the days of ye old. To anyone outside of the organization- no, cult, it seems so… strange that they wouldn’t keep their humanity intact for the false ideals of a madman, I mean this is a redneck town after all… But if it’s anything that the uneducated masses love, it’s the temptation of power. Power is what brought those leaders up to their peaks, and down to the depths of darkness. Power is what turns the good of the world into greatness, and how bad becomes worse. Power, sweet, tempting, threatening to turn you into a rotten man filled with fickle fantasies that is pure power.

Moore took advantage of men who couldn’t keep up with this rapidly changing world, this ridiculously quick society, that instead of going along with the wave, they tried to be part of a dam. Of course, not all dams are designed to be so expensive, and I’m not talking about price. The policemen killed by the cultists may not be innocent, far from it, but they had families, with people who cared about them. The memory of the victims’ vigil is still a sight, fresh in my mind. Most of, maybe even the whole state of Vermont came, to be a sign of protest against the forces of evil, and a meeting of peace and love in a community, in a country. And oh, what would I give to see Moore’s face seeing all those people from his window. Meeting in the wake of his actions, but banded together.

But I am not innocent either, no better than any of the others, no better than Moore either. Even though my plan was always to betray GOLDENEYE in its most crucial moments, I was also the person who started it with him. I was the one who had the ideas for the fake game console, the station hijacking, and the sound bomb. I was the one who bombed that dog. I was the one who stabbed the governor. Do I regret it? I don’t know, those dogs had it coming. And why would I admit this? I 100% intend to send this letter to the police chief, after all the hell we put into this town. It’s because you will never see me again.

The deal was that I would get a reduced sentence, not to walk off scott free, since I knowingly contributed to actions that killed people. That’s how it’s supposed to work, and I’ve known that for a long time. But when the time comes, they won’t find me. They will never find me. I’m warning you, all of you, that I will be gone off the face of this earth forever.

But I won’t kill myself, for I will be ALIVE

ALIVE

ALIVE

ALIVE

ALIVE.

FIN.