Markings

I found the first marking when I was rooting through the garbage in an alley behind Chin’s restaurant.

There’s lot of graffiti around these parts. Now when I say that, I guess I’m also saying that there are a lot of murders as well. And a lot of robberies. There is a distinct absence of millionaires. This is and always will be The Bad Part of Town. I try to find whatever I can in the dumpsters here to eat or sell. I usually venture uptown to the rich bins but I had found some wine that afternoon and I was still a little drunk.

I looked up from the digging I was doing and there it was on the wall. Sort of like an eye but with a circle around it, some backwards numbers and what looked like some zodiac symbols. No pentagrams or anything. It was really detailed. It looked extremely odd nestled in amongst the “J-Crew” and “T-Bone Kills” tags that peppered the brick in the alley.

I saw the second one later that night and a third in the morning.

Now, if it was just a stencil or some crude spraytag name I wouldn’t worry. These things were, I don’t know, they just gave off an aura of being precise, y’know? It wasn’t like they were saying ‘I was here’. It was more like they were saying ‘I am coming’.

I was scared.

I saw about a hundred of these things by my count after a month. Then they started disappearing.

I thought maybe they were being erased by the cops. I was wrong.

Turns out they were portals.

Someone was summoning an army. I saw the first red skinned longtooth homeless dude about a week afterwards. I noticed that as the markings disappeared, extremely sunburned people that didn’t look like they were in pain started showing up. They milled about my part of town with no challenge. I guess it was one portal per person/thing and I guess it was a one way trip.

So far nothing’s happened. But I worry. It’s like they’re waiting. They look pleased and at peace and that can’t be good.


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Voodoo Doll

The age of the voodoo doll is upon us.

I’m looking into a mirror except my reflection is begging for its life.

I’m standing in the white cell and looking at the shatter proof shower stall. A copy of me is standing inside it. The whole process doesn’t work if their brains aren’t functioning. He’s on his knees and he’s crying like a child. He used to be me so he knows what’s coming. He has my memories. The blood from the copy before him has been washed away. He is the replacement. There have been many. I am always astounded at the way that my copy breaks down and starts wailing and begging when he wakes up in the stall. It’s like all the controls I have in place just get lifted in the face of certain death. I like to think I’m stronger than this blubbering naked stranger in front of me but I guess I’m not.

I’m about to go on a dangerous mission. I will get shot. I will get tortured. I will get burned. I will get broken. Every single wound and fracture will be visited upon my copy. I will feel nothing and remain unharmed. Unless I am killed, the link will remain intact. I am very hard to kill. My brain is armoured, for instance, and I can Ghost.

I am the Voodoo Doll. He receives the pain. My mission will be complete and I will come back unharmed.

My copy will probably die from the damage.

I am special ops. We are sent on missions often.

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