Day 5 of the investigation

It all started a few days ago. Disappearances. People would go to sleep, and just disappear. Not only that, they would return but… different. Frozen. Tormented. Tortured. Yet it would never be that long – their suffering would be seemingly endless although they had only been gone for a few days. This is not the work of a serial killer, but a… well, there is no words for it. All I can do is write down any idea I have in this notebook in the hopes that somehow, I figure something out before the same fate befalls upon me. There is no rhyme or reason to these disappearances – men, women and everything in between just taken without a trace, and when they return, they cannot recall what happened.

Everyone is getting paranoid – by Fael, I am paranoid. Who isnt when random people keep disappearing. I should write down who I am, lest my sanity and mind be taken before this insanity is resolved. My name is Fae Fumewalker, and I am a captain from the plane of potential. I spent a long time in this peaceful world trying to reduce crime, although the more peace we felt, the more crime came about. The potential for evil was too great, but nevertheless, me and my guards always work hard and diligently to make this plane a place where people can survive and thrive. My promotion to captain was a hard-earned one, and one that I have been proud of. It is truly an honorary position, for when you don the captain’s clothing it matters not who you are, what your gender is, where you were born, what you look like; you are a captain and command the guards. Nothing else matters and it is the most wonderful feeling.

The captains from every plane came together for an emergency meeting when the poem whistled through the air five days ago, and while a few wanted to take action, there were many who wanted to see what would happen before acting. ‘No point in wasting valuable time and efforts if this is nothing but a strange occurrence.’, they said. After the first day, we were ordered by the higherups to stop the theories and tell everyone that there was nothing wrong. We did what we were told, and it seems that after the third day, nothing happened. Then people started going missing. Then started returning – it makes no sense.

There are only a few people who could know what is happening, so I traveled to the plane of pastures, where I am now, to discuss what is happening with an old and retired captain. They told me about an individual ex guard called Gan Galeweaver and gave me a file. Looking into it, he killed Fa Fumerunner with a dreg dagger and then was swiftly made to do Death rows march. An extreme reaction, but alas, I am sure there was an important reason. He then was forcefully discharged from the guards, people cited that he was weird, different, and his only use was to go into Death rows march when the time came. Yet it never came as the doors were all completely sealed for over 10 years. But now they are open and no matter how much I ask, no one knows where this Gan Galeweaver is.

I traveled to his house, a dreg house that was given as a thanks for his service to the guards. It was empty of most items, save for hundreds of full notebooks and empty pens. Reading them revealed the soul of a sad man who lost everything he cared about when Fa slaughtered his family, and then lost any drive he had after the entrances to Langnet’s road were closed and he was kicked out. Apparently, he got robbed but could not fathom why. Indeed, an interesting question. He was not put into the best neighborhood, so it was only a matter of time before something like this happened, huh? Nevertheless, he continued on and used his skills to… rob, threaten and extort people out of dreg so he could survive. Most of the pages are hard to read as it seems drops of water fell on almost every page. Large drops… tears. So many tears. What a poor, broken man – if only we could help – why was he even kicked out? He was weird? Who isn’t?! That’s not a real reason. No, something else must have happened.

I continue to read as my guards walk around, asking for Gan’s whereabouts to little success. He experienced nightmares – horrifying dreams of Fa Fumerunner as… a fire? Of ‘the Watcher and the knife burning in the endless black sky’? Strange… there are many notes about his time on Langnet’s road. He apparently could see the future, but this was a bad thing? I cannot help but wonder how such a thing would be considered a bad thing, or a ‘curse’ as he puts it. I pick up another book, one that, judging by the lack of dust, must be a newer one. Its filled with sad recollections of watching a diseased and sad world where people are slaves to their work, and their work is a slave trade run by one or two people at the very top. An endless cycle where everyone is pitted against one and another in order to forge the best possible outcome for those who get fat off the backs of workers. His view of this world is quite the dystopian one, but I suppose that makes sense in many regards – he was a broken man, unable to see the happiness of anything if these notebooks are anything to go by.

I read more and more, eventually just flicking through the pages until I found one with blank pages at the end – a rare notebook that wasn’t finished and the last one he must have written in. Here, he talks more about dreams. About wanting this cruel world to burn in flames, for at least flames bring passion and light. He calls this place a dull, emotionless world where everyone is forced into grueling endless work that grinds the very soul from their bodies. Finally, he wrote something interesting.

“Anyone who kills with dreg can be cursed. All they need to do is walk Langnet’s road. The entrance is open. The end is near. No guards want my aid, so I shall go alone and see what has happened. Fa, Savra, and the Watcher – I am coming back.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

The rest of the notebook is torn and covered in blood, making it completely illegible. This notebook was found by a group of friends in a park near a forest. Please give any information regarding Fae Fumewalker to the guards.

With these trying and scary times, there is only one way to keep you and your family safe.

Make sure to arm yourself with only the finest dreg weapons from the Dreg Weapons Corporation DWC. We are running a sale so everyone can afford a simple blade to keep you safe.

We at DWC respect the written words of Fae Fumewalker, but do remember to take such words with a pinch of salt, for insanity is common these days and there is little proof that these are actually Fae Fumewalkers words. If it was not for a strangely specific section where they introduced themselves as Fae Fumewalker, there would be no other connection.

Stay vigilant, stay armed, stay with Dreg, and buy only the best quality dreg weapons with DWC.

“There, that should do it. What do you think, boss?”

“Hmm, not bad. Maybe we should add a percentage with the discount? This is a golden opportunity for everyone, old and young, to buy a dreg weapon. We need to capitalize on this.”

“Do we? Should we not just give them away or something?”

“Give them away?! Are you mad? That’s the type of lofty thinking which keeps you a broke man, Gan.”

Gan lets out a long sigh “Well, you don’t hire me to care about people, you hire me to write short articles to promote our goods and services.”

“Exactly, now let’s have less talking and more writing. I need the updated manuscript on my desk in 15 minutes. A minute over and your pay is docked again. Don’t disappoint me like last time.”

Last time, the time when my dad died and I went to his funeral on short notice. I don’t give a fuck if your dad is dead, give me that article or you’re gonna have to find another job. A pleasant response, but alas that is what you sign up for when you join a big corporation, huh?

50% off all your Dreg weapon needs.

Think Safety, think DWC.

There, that should do it. I briskly head to his office with a good 10 minutes to spare. Wait, let me go to the toilet real quick before I hand it in. I have time, just incase this turns into another two our journey as my work is picked apart and put back together in a beautiful moment of self-reflection where I question why I am even here and whether selling my soul to DWC was worth the slightly above average pay check.

With 3 minutes remaining, I arrive at the office door and knock. Nothing. Strange, I knock again and… nothing. Maybe the boss is talking to someone and cant hear me? I try to open the door but there is something pressed against it. I push hard and… blood. The once white carpet is completely stained red. The once perfectly maintained walls now covered in scratches and cuts. The dreg crossbow that normally rests under his desk is out and has fired, but there is no bolt. I walk forward – my foot hits something soft. Something fleshy. I look down. I scream and jump back. This… this is not a person, it is a pile of cut, twisted and sewn together flesh – sewn together with a pitch-black thread. With dreg. The eyes… the bosses eyes are still there. Blinking. Aware. In pain. In torture. Alive. There. Aware. In pain. I need to get out – I turn around and make a break for it – the door slams closed. I cannot leave. A warm breath rolls along the back of my neck – run. I need to run. I cannot run. FUCK LET ME OUT!

“Turn around.” It is a twisted, hollow voice. It speaks when breathing in, and exhales a warm breath.

My knees are shaking, my body is frozen – I feel hot yet cold – I cannot disobey the voice – I turn. I turn. A face. A perfect face. Perfect features, perfect look, perfect design yet too perfect. There is no flaw anywhere, not even a pore out of place and yet the eyes are… devoid. The eyes are – A large piece of blackened flesh rolls over the face. Blinking. Staring. Watching. Staring. Hungry. Haunting. Judging. Starving. Waiting. Salivating. Watching. Staring. Hungry. Haunting. Judging. Starving. Waiting. Salivating. Watching. Staring. Hungry. Haunting. Judging. Starving. Waiting. Salivating. Watching. Staring. Hungry. Haunting. Judging. Starving. Waiting. Salivating.

“You are not who I am after. Leave Gan. Leave.”

Something opens the door for me – fuck I don’t care what, I walk out calmly as I fucking sprint for my life. Whatever that is, thank fuck it doesn’t want me. I grab my backpack and keep sprinting. I can see people’s mouths moving, but there are no words. I can feel eyes on me, but any social shame I once has is completely gone. Someone grabs a dreg knife and stands up, looking at something behind me with sheer, horror. They hold the knife like it’s the only things stopping them from dying. A scream. Pandemonium. People are dragged towards an unseen force. I don’t look back. I run. I escape. I get home, lock the door and cry. My old family home, a rare house made from wood in these dreg rich times. I have no appetite, only nightmares about what I saw.

I wake up, my bed wet with piss and sweat. I open my door for some fresh air – the newspaper has been delivered. I pick it up. I drop it. How?!

With these trying and scary times, there is only one way to keep you and your family safe.

Make sure to arm yourself with only the finest dreg weapons from the Dreg Weapons Corporation DWC. We are running a sale so everyone can afford a simple blade to keep you safe.

We at DWC respect the written words of Fae Fumewalker, but do remember to take such words with a pinch of salt, for insanity is common these days and there is little proof that these are actually Fae Fumewalkers words. If it was not for a strangely specific section where they introduced themselves as Fae Fumewalker, there would be no other connection.

50% off all your Dreg weapon needs.

Think Safety, think DWC.

https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FJzI1nxw.png [https://i.imgur.com/JzI1nxw.png]