3rd person writing entry: Fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, Raven sneered at the traffic before her. Rush hour was one of the many examples of human idiocy, and she simply didn’t have time to wallow in it for obscene stretches of the day. She was creeping closer and closer to the time when the worthless sack of flesh she was stuck in gave out. Life was now too short for her spend it stuck in the messes that morons with poor senses of direction created.

The car in front of her pulled up just enough for her to sneak around and into the other lane, and before long she was taking the next exit, cracking her back as she shifted gears and sped up. She was in a hurry. She was always in a hurry now, even when she didn’t have any particular place to get to. It all went back to time. When the future goes from being stretched out infinitely ahead of you to having a very finite, disgusting, shameful, humiliating , human end, time becomes more important than ever. She’d taken that for granted before she’d been turned but she couldn’t afford that luxury anymore.

Reaching for the radio, she switched it on in an attempt to drown out her own thoughts. She was on the road for a reason at that ungodly hour, and she wasn’t about to let her concerns over time get in the way of completing her task. Her current venture was nothing compared to the work she’d done before, but it was something. Beyond that, it sure as hell was fun, and she smiled coldly to herself as she took a particularly sharp turn, sending her cargo slamming hard into side of the trunk.

The car zipped through the city, stopping hard and turning fast, until she reached the warehouse district and pulled through the open doors of an abandoned building. She parked in one of the few bright spots, switched off the car, and reached for her bag. As she leaned back, she caught a glimpse of herself in the rear view mirror and a look of absolute contempt crossed her face for a fleeting moment. She hoisted the bag from the backseat and fished out one of her favorite guns, carefully avoiding eye contact with herself as she climbed out of the car and tucked it in the waistband of her pants.

Leaving the door ajar, she headed to the trunk and opened it, not bothering to hide her smile as the man squinted and squirmed against the bright sunlight suddenly hitting his eyes. His muffled protests had become boring back when she’d first bound and gagged him, and honestly he wasn’t doing much to keep her amused. Reaching down, she grabbed the ropes at his wrists and hauled him out of the trunk, ignoring his groan as he hit the floor hard and leaning instead to inspect the interior of the trunk for any damage or blood. Satisfied that there was nothing in there she couldn’t easily clean, she closed it and hovered over him, hand resting on the exposed butt of her gun.

“So,” she started, tilting her head to the side. “I believe we were in the middle of a conversation about those ’goddamned filthy muties.’ Please. Continue.” Smiling sweetly, she reached down to remove the gag. It was the part of the game where people generally screamed and begged the most. She loved that part.


Journal Entry: I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve put it off for too long. My thinking at first was that I needed the distance from it before taking any sort of action… I am at a distinct disadvantage now. Physically, of course. Mentally, nothing has changed. Rushing into any sort of attack would have been foolish and naïve – the sort of thing an angry child would do to get back at a parent who took away their favorite toy. He took much more than that.

As for the general housekeeping, it’s day two thousand one hundred and two. No noticeable physical change. The woman in the unit below mine has taken in another yapping mess of an animal, but what’s more disconcerting is my increasing interest in actually logging inane information such as the number of toy dogs living in my building. I continue to reek of humanity, and there still seems to be no way out.