Mike's Personal Blog
Entry #410
Charlotte called again. Charlotte is not her real name. It took a lot of walking, but eventually I found an archology Institution that knows that face and then was able to cross reference for the name and her data. Her actual name is Robin...I've stored her registration number and codes. Robin is set up as a member of Upper Level security Enforcement...she is actually a recruiter, though.
Robin used to scrape between paychecks. Since she started being my "friend" (I doubt the Agency has really hired anyone else to babysit any of the others like they have me), Robin now floats at least four figures between paychecks. Apparently, my friendship is a lucrative place to be.
This is just evidence to me that the Agency--I'm pretty sure whatever we're called is a blind, hello--may not know what actually happened to me, but has a real good guess. I'm pretty sure the others have been threatened to comply. I was more than happy to come on board and use the facillities for my research, and to try to do some good in the world. Those were the best lures you could use on me, and confirming the overly-friendly recruiter is being paid to worry about me supports that.
There are things I won't admit to myself; I know that. I also know there are parts of me I can't even access. I also know that a great deal of curiosity exists in the world about those parts of my brain. I'm fairly certain that at least one megacorp's profits for the next twenty years might hinge on what can be recovered. Although, if the Agency were working with the Corp, then I am pretty sure I wouldn't be walking around and free to stalk my recruiter.
But it does explain why I haven't been threatened. That would work for some people, and not so much for me. I have so little and, at the same time, so much to lose.
Anyway, Robin--well, I guess I could call her Charlotte--tried to reach me again. I screen my calls. So far I haven't answered her's. She wants to go out and do something "fun." Her voice goes up on the end of the word in what seems an unnatural way. I haven't mentioned my true fun, but I have dissapeared for a few days at a time pursuing the scroungers in the lower levels, which seems to make her really nervous.
Anyway. I'm going to have to return a call or she will show up at my place. She doesn't like my artifact collection nor my reading collection. She thinks its junk. We're probably both right. But its mine, and I like it. I don't like that she knows where I live, but that can't be avoided. I don't think her job is so much to watch me--that's way more Scratch's job at work, which he is happy to crow about to anyone who feels anything when he says it. It's more to make sure that I don't, you know, pull the fire alarm on the archology on a larger level. I'm certain the fact I spend so much time to myself has not gone unnoticed by the powers-that-be, and everyone is concerned what a mind like mine might do if not tempered with the influence of other now and again.
I think that's just evidence, more, really, of how little they know about me.
I think about people all the time. How what happened to me should never happen to anyone else. I like to make strangers smile. I like to make bad people stop hurting non bad people. It's a simplistic philosophy, but it works for me. I'm not as...developed...in certain ways as the rest of the team. So my philosophy isn't, either. But these people are so used to double blinds and fakes that when someone tries to be simple, they look for complex.
Entry #411
Figured out what to do with Charlotte. I waited until she dropped by the apartment. Then I dragged her under the scanner in the bathroom (I keep a scanner in the bathroom, ok?); mine is set up to scramble, which happens sometimes in poorly insulated areas like the one I've chosen as my home. Shoved her under the shower head where I indicated in a mock simulation of her voice "Let's have some fun!"
So there we are, both fully clothed, getting completely soaked. I have the water on cold because yeah, it bugs me, but it will bug her even more. Then I tell her I know her name, her address, her cred numbers...the works. She makes a small gasping noise. I don't smile because I'm not happy I've scared her, but since my face is expressionless I'm pretty sure she doesn't know how much I'm not enjoying this. Then I say that she needs to stop calling and stop visiting. She needs to tell her uppers that I am ok on my own, that the cop and the crazy guy can watch me just fine. That if I had wanted to do something catastrophic I would have done so by now, and that I prefer being alone to being with someone paid to be my friend. Also, that I will check out every single person every sent to me. No matter how good they are, I will be better. Because to be who I am, I have to be. To get the world I want with actual friendship, love, and attention, I have to at least believe it's possible that people befriend me because they aren't afraid of what I might do.
Then I let her go. She stammers a minute and I see pity. I know what pity looks like. My lips become a thin white line and she shuts up. I tell her if she says anything--tries to make me feel like she's doing this herself, or that she took the money as a bonus and being my friend is so gosh darned fun that she can't contain herself, that she should take the stairs for the rest of her life, which won't be long. Because I have access to food processors, vehicle controls, the works. I don't tell her I will kill her, because I am not sure that I will. I let her imagination drive her, though, and she turns white, shivering more now than she was when she noticed the cold water.
I call her a bitch, something that seems to piss women off when Scratch says it, and then I exit the bathroom. She slowly follows. She asks if I have a towel. I tell her no. It's my apartment. I turn up the heat normally when I'm done until things are dry or I use my blanket. I tell her she needn't stay to get dry, though, and, soaking, she walks out of my apartment with a curious look on her face.
I'm certain she's wondering if I always shower in my clothes.
