Had two anniversaries today, sent a couple hours apart.
Happy 10th Anniversary, <NAME>. 10 years spent in this rotten city. The rain comes down in greasy streaks, pooling oil in the streets where blood flows like cheap champagne. The just and the unjust alike drown in the fetid, steaming gutters. There is no place for innocence in a town like this. Everything is gilded and neon but when you scratch the surface it’s all rotten underneath. I keep hoping the rains won’t stop. That they’ll wipe this place clean and let us start all over again, but a little dirty water won’t wash away these stains. Won’t clean the blood off my hands. Everything is all corruption and lies and decay. Hard times. Seedy people. Sometimes a man has to stand up. Sometimes he has to say “No more.” Sometimes that means dying for a cause. Sometimes it means killing for one. I guess that’s why they call this place Sin City. No one walks these streets untouched.
Happy 10th Anniversary, <NAME>. 10 years of booze and bullets and anti-psychotics. They keep telling me to slow down or I’m gonna wind up off the rails. Become the killer they always warned me I was. There ain’t no place in the world for fellas like us. Not no more. These hands were made to hurt things. They don’t do soft and gentle. But there are people out there that need protecting. People who can’t stand up to the politicians and the media and the professional cynics drowning us all in waves of their misery. Maybe that’s what I gotta do. Maybe I’m the instrument of vengeance in a world that don’t care about them no more. It’s about sending a message. I don’t care what happens to me anymore. I gotta be there for them, to do all they things they can’t do for themselves. This is where the line gets drawn. This is the hard goodbye.
Tonight’s kill count: 2. I thought the rains might drive more of you from your holes. These were the smallest of your ilk to date. Is this all? Children? You would send children against a butcher? Did you expect sympathy? That I might stay my hand? I am insulted. I thought my intentions were clear. My hatred writ large. I will drink the blood of your women. Your children. Your grandchildren. Their grandchildren. My thirst for vengeance cannot be slaked. I will never be sated, and consequently you shall never know peace. I will bring you ruin. You shall have a kingdom of hot ashes. Would you like a crown, your majesty? I have fashioned one from your DEAD.
Congratulations on your recent anniversary, <NAME>. You have been an important part of our success as an organization. Because your name is close enough to Alex Murphy for our purposes, we are excited to announce that we are turning you into a cybernetic law enforcement officer that we are tentatively calling CyberPoliceBotGuy, because the Robocop people are being total fascists about us using that name. Something about diluting the brand and trademarks and Robocop not even being real so we will probably just end up killing whoever we try turning into Robocop and we should really reconsider and just… whatever. I wasn’t really listening. Since Robocop is mostly machine we are dispatching “Flensing Specialists” to your location to strip away your soft and unnecessary flesh so that we can fit you into your new titanium shell. Mostly the useless bits like arms and legs and somewhere around 40% of your torso. You will know them by their hideous shrieking and because we have replaced all of their fingers with knives and saws of various sizes. They are half blind and all insane, and they scream in a language lost to humanity, but I am told it intones to long forgotten horrors that dwell deep beneath the earth that stir ever more wakefully each time their blasphemous names are spoken. One day they shall crack the shell of this planet asunder and spill forth in a tide of terror and death which will wash this world clean of the last humans. The sun will burn red and great pyres will dot the land. All of our works will be torn down. All this and more will come to pass in time. It has been written. It is known. Time is like a donut, it circles around an interminable empty void. But that isn’t important right now. You are going to be Roboc… I mean CyberPoliceBotGuy. Congratulations.
Also, “Bon Voyage” to <NAME>, which I assume is French for “Why are you abandoning me?” This is why I have trust issues. I hope you are successful in your new ventures, and at no point do you need to worry about us dispatching CyberPoliceBotGuy to track you down and bring you in. The idea had not even occurred to me, honestly. The two concepts are completely unrelated. Like, on a spectrum CyberPoliceBotGuy is on one end and you leaving is on the other.