Raine Sullivan's Questionnaire

Boston. It's as depressing and ordinary as any other big city in the US. Frigid, too. Though, nowadays, I tend to welcome the numbness... I was born here, and before the impostor's interference I expected to die here as well.

I used to live together with my... my fiancée, Elle, in the apartment we'd started to rent together after a while of saving and effort. Detective work brought in a decent amount of money on my end, and Elle enjoyed working in a cozy pastry shop down the street. After she, and everything, and everyone else were taken from me, though, I was kicked out from my old job. I turned private. The rent can be felt more keenly now, and I even considered finding a cheaper place than this, but it meant too much for the both of us to discard like that.

Currently, I'm a private investigator. The bastards in the local police force gave into the pressure of all those that were brainwashed by the news, all those demands to get the 'Sullivan Slasher' fired, so I was left without a job for a time. Rent was a thing, and it was quite insistent, so I decided not to let my skills go to waste and went private. Not many cases so far, but it's whatever. Better than zero, anyhow.

I already mentioned rent, so there isn't really much else that I spend my money on. Food, electricity, water. That's it, probably. I just haven't been feeling any desire to go out and throw some of my cash on something frivolous.

I was framed. I just know it. The judge dismissed my claims because there was no tangible evidence, but I remember myself and Elle getting shadowed by a man in shades and a leather jacket multiple times. At the time I only thought that it was a coincidence, but hindsight taught me otherwise. He had all the common visual cues of a member of the Sons of Salem. As someone who was a police detective for over half a decade, it's honestly embarrassing how late I put all the pieces together. The attack, the... slaughter was premeditated, there was no doubt about it, and the motive isn't hard to identify either: it was a hate crime.

The Sons of Salem are a large-scale cult spanning the whole country with extremist and religious beliefs. Meanwhile, Elle and I were unapologetically in a lesbian relationship, and Elle herself was also trans - though I'm still at a loss at how they might've found out about the latter. She moved to Boston already as herself, her tracks were seemingly covered. My current theory is that either she was tracked down by someone with a grudge who knew her back in Nevada, we were betrayed by one of the few people who lived here in Boston that also knew of her origins, or maybe it wasn't even a hate crime at all but instead revenge for my work putting someone particularly unsavory behind bars.

Either way, I will get to the bottom of this. I will make them pay; I will make them suffer. If I can get away with it, I'll slaughter them like they slaughtered her - and even if I do get caught, I don't have anything to lose anymore.

Fucking cults.

The massacre. Everything seemed so bright and happy the day before, hopeful. When I woke up, though, it was to a barrel of a gun aimed at my head by one of the many police officers already at the scene. I was tackled, and despite my flailing, cuffed. Once I beheld the absolute carnage all over the house on our way out, I simply shutdown. It was too much. I think they had to carry me from that point onwards.

I don't remember the trial, except for the sound of the final gavel and the statement that I was guilty. White-hot rage flooded into me, but it left just as quickly once we departed for the prison. Half a year went by before I was tried again and finally had the previous judgment overturned. Freedom felt hollow: I had nothing left.

My mother, Charlotte, was strict yet fair. She had a firm hand, but that didn't detract from her nurturing nature. She taught me so much - how to dance, how to cook, how to ice skate and more - but she now lays dead in the cold ground with everyone else.

I miss her.

Elle's grandfather, Robert, coaxed laughter out of most people with his stories. He was a warm presence; nobody could stay mad at him for long. My father, Oliver, also had a friendly rivalry with him when it came to fishing - every second weekend, like clockwork. Robert's head was found under the blood-stained couch.

I miss him too.

And my love, Eleanor. So kind, so cheerful. I loved to see her smile. She was adorable and elegant at the same time, had a great comedic timing, and was studying relentlessly to become an entomologist. She was my future, my everything. The day she accepted my proposal was the brightest I'd felt my whole life. But I won't mention what happened to her - the details will haunt me forever...

I miss her the most of all.

My childhood was... ordinary. Mother ran a tight ship - something which grated father at times - but things were otherwise as one would expect from the average family. I had some friends who used to be our neighbors until they moved, I went to the local school, I traveled with my family, and so on. I wasn't a loner, anyhow. College in particular contained my brightest memories, because that's where I met Elle for the first time.

My mother, like her mother before her, used to be an athlete. They even competed in the Olympics in the Acrobatics category. I still have all of their old trophies, but they're just gathering dust in a safe, away from prying eyes.

As for father, he was a financial analyst, and one could often hear him mentioning how he used to even work with 'the boys from Wall Street'. Of course, it's been multiple decades since he last lived in New York, but there was something about that city which evoked a sense of longing in him. I sometimes wonder if he wanted us to move there instead of staying in Boston, but I suppose I'll never know for sure.

I met her in my first year of college. Elle had only recently moved to Boston all the way from Nevada, wanting a fresh start on life. It was a soft, comfortable romance filled with awkward moments, plenty of blushes and tentative pleas for more. Really, it was a blessing, and I only wish it lasted longer.

I loved my Elle with all my heart, and she was taken from me. She didn't deserve what was done to her - none of them did. It pains me to still be alive when they are not, but, at the least, I might be able to enact some justice before I join them. Even if I feel so damn tired...

I have none at all. Why would I, when they were already realized? There is nothing left for me to care for, nothing to fear, nothing to dread. If I were to be taken right now and sent off to be tortured, I don't expect even that to phase me much - it might be painful, but I'd deserve it. I'd just welcome it in hopes it would all be over soon.

On second thought, I suppose there is one thing I might still fear, but it's a lukewarm type of fear - not the chilling terror over someone's upcoming death. No, it is the idea of me never dying at all that haunts me. It would mean I won't ever get to rejoin Elle and everyone else in whatever afterlife they now live in. I may be willing to play that Harbinger's games for now, hunt down some of the bastards that made my life a living nightmare, but I still long for a quiet rest at the end of it all. Expecting me to skitter around like some sort of insectile Superman for eternity would just be insulting - I am not an automaton.

This world doesn't deserve any saving anyway...

Elle's wedding ring, without a doubt. Originally, we were actually going to just settle for a pair of pre-made ones from a local jewelry store, but it just didn't sit well with me - they would be worn by us for our entire lives, after all. I would accept anything that Elle would give me, but she herself deserved the best depiction of my love for her. So, I was the one to eventually suggest that we make our rings custom-made instead. We'd saved up a decent nest egg by that point, so we could afford it. Elle, expectedly, was overjoyed, especially when I'd immediately agreed to the theme being 'insects' - a topic she was always fascinated by.

My ring to her was a butterfly. Her ring to me was a centipede.

And I'd imagine that most people would take the latter as an insult, but I knew better: centipedes were Elle's favorite insect. She knew practically everything about them, and given how talkative she was, so do I, now. After her death and my eventual release from federal prison, I asked the person who'd buried her to add my ring to her finger where it belonged. Her ring, meanwhile, as hauntingly beautiful as it was, I never stopped wearing even once.

...It's the only thing that's keeping me together.

Apart from the fact that my life isn't really much of a life anymore? The Sons of Salem. I'm certain that they were the ones to have slaughtered everyone I loved, and I'm also certain that they kept me on their radar after I was released from prison. I don't know for sure if they have surveillance on me 24/7, as opposed to the expected random check-ins, but I'll find out soon enough - I had recently gained a new understanding of the world around me, after all, which will certainly help here. As for what comes after...

I don't think it would be much of a shocker to hear that I want revenge. The Sons and all of those other hate groups are like a festering wound in our society, a cancer. I'm sure that there are people out there trying to counteract the symptoms, and for some it might even be enough - but it isn't for me. I plan to head for the source: find them, expose them, destroy them.

I drift out of unconsciousness at whatever hour of the day it might be. I don't get up immediately: I either try to go back to sleep, or, if that fails, just lay there while reminiscing of the past. When I do rise, I slowly head towards the bathroom for a shower. It is freezing cold. Once I'm done, I put on whatever clothes I feel like wearing that day and make myself a cup of shitty coffee.

There's usually a coinflip on whether I would skip breakfast or not. It doesn't matter much what time of day it currently is - it's simply random. If I do make myself something, I use what produce I still have in my fridge and in the cupboards. Either way, I go back to the bedroom eventually to re-read the case files for whatever mundane job I was in the middle of solving the day before.

That's about it.

Were this question asked of me before, I'd say that I would pick a dress - or suit - that matched whatever Elle chose for the occasion. We didn't get invited to 'special' outings too much, but it was always at least a little bit fun thanks to her humorous comments on the other attendees. Without Elle, though, I don't see much of a reason to put in even half as much effort into this. Is the event a gala? I'd go for one of my old outfits, just to feel that nostalgia again. Is it a more serious, business-oriented thing? I... Well, a suit might work here too, but I would also have a good chance to pick something else that's just as professional. I wouldn't go all-in on make-up and glamour - that was more so my love's thing than mine - yet it would depend on my mood at the time to know for sure. Though I may not have much motivation anymore, that doesn't mean I'd be a complete wreck. Not publicly.

I'm not even sure. I'd just be surprised I'm still alive by then, I guess. I didn't really expect myself getting to that point. Or, maybe, I still won't - though my recent contracts were fairly trivial, I could see how dangerous they could potentially be if approached incorrectly. I might die on one of them and that'd be it.

But if I do survive, I'll walk down to that pastry shop Elle worked at and savor the meal for old times' sake. I'll visit her headstone, speak to her there. Then, I'd probably just go back home from there, wishing for her to still be with me. I might read a book to pass the time, and hopefully dream of the past.

Not being diligent enough to take us being tailed several times by likely Sons of Salem members during those last few months more seriously. Had I listened to Elle's concerns - and my gut - and, perhaps, confronted the men about it, the slaughter that would soon take everything from me might've never had happened in the first place. And I find it ironic how now, as payment for my contractual obligations, I'd been granted greater awareness than humanly possible; something that would have helped me prevent that horrid nightmare. Even without mentioning the proprioception-like senses that let me detect electric currents and liquids around myself, I can feel how my normal sense of sight is enhanced while I'm Mirielle as well.

Unfortunately, I can't do anything about it anymore. Though I may now have powers, they cannot help me undo what had come to pass. Unless...

...I wonder if there's a way to, maybe, send myself back into the past. If portals can exist, why can't time travel?

I'm not sure. My powers all seem to stem from my Elle's wedding ring, but back when she'd originally given it to me I didn't notice any oddities or otherworldliness to it. So, realistically, given I was visited by a Harbinger during my suicide attempt, would it not make sense for them to be the reason for all this? Especially since they were the one to give me that offer of becoming a contractor? It feels like the Harbinger simply saw what was most precious to me and made that the source of my powers, metaphorically turning it into a seed that would be nourished by my successes on my missions. I serve whatever agendas they may have, and my ring rewards me for a job well done.

Alternatively, the face-thieving creature might be doing this manually, paying attention to every step I take. I wouldn't know for sure either way.