Roko Basil Isque's Journal

Cybernetic Log

Broken Arrow Goedendag
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Downtime

What the FUCK.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.


I wake up in Clarita's studio apartment and I look at my hands and shit and I don't know how to say this but I'm fucking METAL and shit. My skin is COLD and I'm just... I don't KNOW I don't know It's like... It's fucking CRAZY.

 

Clarita screamed when she saw me - not out of fear or disgust but just sheer shock. My face is all... it's more. My body it's... it's also more - I don't know how other to explain it that this is almost my dream? I feel one step closer to a goal which I have been chasing for so long and I genuinely have no clue how it's happened - after all the money I've spent and the time I've poured into my projects I just POOF, wake up with a cyber-body? Also- I now have THIS. It's a log that I just... it's in me?

This Buddhist shit is insane.

 

I still have no clue what's going on. I need to figure out myself, but more importantly what... how this is all happening. Nothing makes sense. Those prisoner guys, they may be the answer - I remember their faces and their names, they're like some insane serial killers or some shit. I haven't seen anything on the news about them regarding all of the gas station shit so... maybe I can look into visitation with them?

I have to figure this shit out.

Downtime

Finding out what the FUCK is going on.

So I did some research into that long hair guy in the prison jumpsuit. Turns out his name is Jackie Thorne and he was arrested for a WHOOOOLE bunch of shit. Shooting at people and some serious Grand Theft Auto - Guy is a real piece of work. Offbrand Daredevil Asshole or something. But anywho I figured out that he was actually put into Ely State Prison which works out A-1 fucking hunky dory since I'm at Clarita's in Las Vegas. And so I decided to make an appointment with Mr. Thorne.

 

When I arrived from the Las Vegas cab to this dump I tell you somebody MUST have shit their pants. That waiting room smelled like a skunk wrapped in roadkill, it was disgusting. After the fat fuck police officer let me through to the visitation area, I saw the Jackie dude hunched up next to one of those movie telephone prisoner talkie thingies. He was stuck behind that foggy glass and he honestly looked like shit, but I was glad that he decided to talk to me. I went on up to the cable telephone and cleared my throat into it before we began to speak.

 

However, before I even got the chance to talk he held up a finger and did some freaky lightshow shit with his eyes and hands - I think it might have been something to do with the cameras or something? After that short move I began to ask what was up with, well, everything. I'm not gonna lie a lot of the shit still didn't make any sense but here's what I grasped. There's these harbingers that select people as contractors - that's me - and they assign them missions like mercenaries in order to gain "gifts". What that constitutes is entirely up to the person; their greatest wants and desires. I suppose that makes sense for me then, all of this shit that happened to my body.

 

After I got everything explained to me I assume he had to go do whatever is people do in prison, but I appreciate him nonetheless. Perhaps I'll look into paying his bail - that is if that psycho has one for some reason. He seems helpful.

 

Time to book a flight back home, but in the meantime I spend another night at Clarita's. Fuck.

 

 

Downtime

Working the FUCK out.

On the plane ride back to San Jose I came to this revelation - If what Jackie was saying was true, then I needed to start working out or something. This new cybernetic body may be impressive, but if I don't know how to use it then I'm just gonna become a pin cushion in one of these "contracts" I'm assigned to.

 

SO I've decided to start going to the gym again, getting my cardio up and getting myself one of those hippy dippy instructors to help with breathing techniques and shit. I have to get into at least decent physical shape if I'm to survive all of this shit

 

 

Also - When I got home to my Manor, I came across this dumbass radio. It has a thousand-and-one fucking radio channels and it can't tune off of 216. If what Jackie said is true, then this probably has to do with all of... that as well.

 

Fucking ugly, though.

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