Journal The Many Mishaps of Matalon

[Matalon]

So, for the those who don't want to read everything below... I died naked, cold, thirsty, and in an air duct of some random warehouse.



Well, probably.



My name's Rich Matalon. Yes, that's my real name. No, please don't call me Dick. If you do, I'm haunting you. Whoever you are that's reading this, that is. Don't think I can't, either.



I'm leaving this tablet here just in case I do buy it. There's a Filthy Hulk thing screaming about his grocery list and how my spleen is on it, all about ten feet below me. Luckily I'm hiding in this air duct. Say this about the standard Filthy creatures, they ain't too bright. Whatever the black goo is or does to people, seems to take the IQ down a few pegs, and install some creative insanities. Thank whatever Diety or demon you want.



As for how I got in the air duct, naked, well...



Bingo! Cola.



Fuck Bingo! Cola.



I've been in Tokyo off and on for maybe a week. Running and gunning, cleaning as much Filth out of Morninglight safehouses, or doing a couple of side jobs with the Oni. Except today. Today my handlers wanted me to try and do some tests with Bingo! Cola.



Seems the Filth adores the crap. Go figure.



Bosses back at the Eye wanted me to try and see if they can lure or guide Filthy humans around with Bingo. I found a vending machine, trashed out on the street. What's nice about the Filth and their psychoses is if there aren't any stimuli to make them come running over and gibber at you, they are usually pretty happy to scream, jack off, or put their thumbs in their eyes all by themselves. I'm pretty quiet, most of the time, and the street with the vending machine only had about twenty to thirty of the lunatics muttering to themselves.



I broke the glass of the vending machine, and none of the tentacle heads even noticed me. So I grabbed a couple of cans, stuffed them in my pack, and figured that will be that. Then the Eyes in the Sky said I should open a can right then and there, to see if it can lure the Filth immediately.



I figure someone's having fun with me, but I followed orders like the good little soldier that I am. Hah!



The soda exploded, spraying foam and syrupy cancer inducing sugar all over my flak jacket, my guns, and my pants.



I heard the laugh snorting of the Eyes In The Sky as they watched this from satellite. They busted up laughing, but as I wiped the foam from my goggles, those twenty to thirty gibbering Filthy maniacs all went silent, and are looking at me. The tentacles coming out of their faces weren't even twitching all that much.



I must have been a sight, tearing down the street, running for all I was worth from that mob. Ten tentacle heads I could take, sure. Thirty? Not a chance. And they yelled and screamed as I started tearing off my clothes and throwing them to the mob. Three to four abandoned the chase for a Bingo! Flavored jacket, but now they're just as amped up chasing something as they are about the cancer drink. I took one look back and then saw a big filthy hulk joining the chase. Dashed into what looked like an abandoned warehouse, and shimmied into an exposed air duct, climbing like my life depended on it. Which it probably did.



So here I am, in the 4th hour of being in an air duct, with far too many Filthy humans and a hulk thing wandering around below. I'm cold, naked, and thirsty. And cramped. I really hope they get distracted by something else soon.



I really hate Bingo! Cola.

 

[Matalon]

Hi, tablet. Me again, Rich. Surprise, surprise, I survived the Bingo! Cola fiasco. It was a long, involved, and frankly humiliating experience that I'd really rather not get into... again. But I'm writing in you again because I'm stuck in the bathroom for the next hour or so, praying to the porcelain altar.

All because I ate something.

Now you might be wondering, why is Rich vomiting up his guts because he ate something? What did he eat? Was it poisonous? Did you drink too much and not eat enough? No, sir, good tablet, those aren't right.

I'm a vampire.

The whole blood drinking, ow sunlight, fangs, damned soul kind of thing.

So when I eat normal, solid food, I either have to vomit it up as soon as possible, or get very very sick a few hours later. Today the latter happened because I couldn't get away from people who didn't know about me fast enough. Just had a small bite to make sure no one was too suspicious, but had to stick around to keep suspicion down. Suffering for a cover, it isn't the first time. It won't be the last.

Vampires don't really have a very good reputation. Mara and her army of blood crazed psychopaths and super vampire soldier communist friends didn't help with that much.

But like humans, there are different vampire strains as well. Unfortunately, I don't know which strain I am. My sire, father, creator, whatever, didn't bother to really speak much on the subject when I was turned. Hold on, stomach.

Well. Feeling a little better, now. Right, when I was turned, I didn't, and don't know, what strain I am, or what he was. I do know that I'm something experimental, similar to the Red Hand steroid freaks. Unlike them, I can pass for human. Like them, I can handle daylight, though not much. Ten minutes or more in direct sunlight and I'll look like a baked lobster.

I can't eat solid food. I can drink almost anything, thank God for that. It doesn't always taste that good, but I can drink alcohol like there is no tomorrow. I can even get drunk, though it takes a bit. It is a saving grace and lets me blend in with people a bit better at bars. Ugh, one second.

Whew. Ow. I need someone to drink after this.

 

[Matalon]

Hey tablet, been a while. Some big news. Plus some unusual stuff.

.First, I got impaled with some rebar today. Today's a Tuesday, usually I only get impaled on a Monday. Something must be off with the universe's sense of humor. Through the meat only, no bone, so as soon as the surgeon I'm sitting with and a few other of the Company boys pull it out, I can fix it up with only some soreness. Typing this left handed, so excuse any spelling errors I might have. Thank goodness for auto-correct. But that's not the big deal.

I finally found something.

After three bloody, empty, years of absolutely nothing, nada, zero evidence of the only reason that I joined the Illuminati, still talk to my Grandfather, and shred my soul little by little....

I found something. Evidence that she might still be alive.

My wife. I've only told one other person, maybe two, that someone I knew was in Tokyo when the bomb went off. The Company knows, they know that's the reason I came willingly and threw in half of my grandfather's collection on Blood Magic.

She's the entire reason that I damned myself, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

All the pain and misery and suffering and insanity of these last three years was worth it.

I found her journal. It was burned and torn and a mess, but there are dates that are marked past the bomb. In her handwriting. The words are hard to read, but... she might still be alive.

I know you're reading this, you Company bastards. Help me find her.

Help me find her and I'll serve the Company with every breath in my body for the next century.

Help me save her and I'll do whatever you want. I don't care. The Company's given me clues, information, satellite images, and vague hints. I need more.

Three years of pain and suffering. I almost gave up. How wrong I was. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. She's worth Hell and more. But I'm going to need more help on this. I need people I can trust. I can count those on one hand.

I'm going to find you, hon.

 

[Matalon]

“Please sit down, Mr. Matalon.” The high class broad in front of me is rocking a Geary haircut, but with hair so black it almost looks blue. Pretty face, pretty hair, amazing legs, but those eyes. I'm a little spooked. She's got two large bruisers next to her, roid ragers from simple looks, but second look says experienced guys who have at least as many scars that I do and look like they're really wanting to give out some. Between them and myself is a small table, more like an interrogation table rather than the normal board room tables that the Illuminati have.

I take a seat, but my instincts are screaming trap at me. There are three piles of papers in front of me, in seven font. Standard Illuminati contract font and type. Oh crap. This isn't a Psych Eval. This is Contract Negotiation. I clench up a bit, and every hair on my neck is standing on end. The door is locked behind me, and I can now smell the anima coming from her bruisers. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb aren't just 'roided out, they're juiced on magic to the gills. Not even sure they'd feel a cinder block the face, if what I'm smelling from them is half as potent as I think it is.

She smiles at me, with all the compassion of an iceberg. “Mr. Matalon, Upper Management has found your work to be... satisfactory, until recent events.”

“Ma'am I as-” I don't even see the hit. Tweedle Dee is now standing over me with a clenched fist, and I'm being righted back up from my chair by Tweedle Dumb to look at Ms. Iceberg, who smiles as pleasantly as a shark does when looking at its next meal.

“Vampire, you will speak when I say you can speak. Yes, I have clearance to know that, and I do not give a FUCK what you think. You are here to listen to me, and then decide. Okay?”

I nod. My jaw is shooting messages of confused pain and all I think I can do is nod. Pretty sure Dee broke my jaw in three places. Dumb's sausage fingers are gripping the back of my chair like he's ready to strangle me if Iceberg even gives him the slightest possible go ahead.

She leans forward, and that smile grows wider. “We received your message about what you're willing to do for your pretty little wifey, if she's even still alive. Against my better judgment, the Management has decided to honor your request with an offer of Contract Renegotiation. But before we do that, we're going to review your latest transgressions.” She takes out a file folder.

“One, Use of Company Time for personal matters. Tsk tsk. You've been taking routes that go off mission to look for your wife, haven't you? That's what it looks like to me. And the management agrees with me.” She tsks, makes a little check mark in the folder. She then looks at me, as if waiting for me to speak. I stay silent. That sadistic smile scoot a little wider.

“Good, he can be taught,” she practically purrs.

“Two, Lack of Initiative in the Face of Opportunity.” At my confused look, she sighs. “You had a chance to possibly gain inside advantage on the Templars with one of their newer recruits. You failed to take hold of that opportunity. Tsk, tsk. And I imagine you would have enjoyed it, too.” She shakes her head. “That's just shameful. You're not even living up to your monstrous heritage, or even the new crap that's been put out about your kind.” She makes another mark in the folder.



“Three, Information Gathering failure. This Ealdwic incursion was the last straw. As soon as you saw the report, instead of going to the crime scene incognito, you simply ran to Agartha and headed back to Tokyo. We needed eyes on the ground, and you simply.... failed to perform. I imagine your wife knew all about that.” She sighs, and then looks at me. I'm pretty sure the expression on my face is downright murderous. She's not impressed at all. In fact, I'm willing to bet she wants me to try something. Dumb and Dee are the cards that are showing, but I'm certain she's got a hole card waiting.

“Fuck or be fucked, Mr. Matalon. Honestly I'd have you crucified and hung out to dry for the morning sun, but that's not my choice. Oh, right, you've already had that happen, didn't you?” That same smile is back, and I can't help the shiver that runs down my spine. She's right about that.

“But because of your previous service, Upper Management has decided to forgive you, and give you a choice.” She indicates the contracts, then points to the one on the left. “The first contract is what you signed before, plus some punishment work. You'll be my office bitch for a month or two, depending on how vengeful the Pyramidion is feeling when you sign it.”

She indicates the middle contract. “This is your century deal. You're my bitch for the month or two, and once the Eye finds your little wifey poo, for the rest of however long that century is. Of course, if she's dead or wounded horribly, who cares? We did find her. We held up our end of the contract. And Management guarantees me, eventually.”

She points to the contract on the right. “And this is our Millenium Contract. You're the Eye's workhorse for as long as your immortal life lasts. No suicides allowed, no optioning out. Its ironclad, not even our Djinni on contract could find any holes in it. You're mine for as long as I live, and the Eye's for the rest of the time, if we save her. Includes the century deal if we find her and she's dead, or can't save her.”

She lets out a little hum of pleasure as she pulls a pen out from between her cleavage, and places it on the table. “You can speak now.”

I pick up the pen, and rub my jaw, looking at Iceberg. “Ma'am... this feels a bit personal.” The look in her eyes becomes a cross between ecstatically sexual and insane hate. Her smile just keeps going, matching her perfect white teeth. “You're right, Mr. Matalon. But stew on that. Be confused and ignorant. Because I hate you more than anything in the world. Now sign.”

I'm stuck. No way out. The only thing that I can do is put ink to paper.... and I'll do just that.

 

[Matalon]

Hey tablet,

Me again, Rich. I've been in office work for half a month. I'm losing my mind. I've been consulting for some raids, maybe one or two. Some of our guys in the field. Just makes it worse, pretty sure the iceberg bitch is just toying with me.

The gym helps, but not much. I haven't killed anything in maybe two and a half weeks. Been drinking bottled blood. Tastes like someone old, and dying of cancer. Do you know what that tastes like? Think like a burned burger, no sauce, and no cheese, with a mashed bun. What's worse, I can't drink anymore coffee. Came across some Orochi studies with caffeine. Drove their vampiric subjects insane. Well, luckily for me their subjects were malnourished, already fucked up from Mara's subjugation, and random vampires. The caffeine was beginning a cascade effect that would have left me a drooling maniac in a year or two, as long as I kept being a well fed, relatively stable vampire. So, no more caffeine.

Angel, who's my best friend, haven't mentioned her yet, but will in later entry, says for me to think of it like Urban infiltration training. And that's helped. Plus a contract with the Toolbox, a happy band of murderers that I think I will sincerely enjoy working with.

That is if I can make it another sixteen days.

Training with a sword. Training with a hammer. Just gotta keep focused on surviving the next few days.

And not how delicious some young thing would taste right now. Especially not the blonde three cubes over.

I hate diets. And office work.

Lots of hate.

 

[Matalon]

Nov 1, time [Redacted]. Tokyo subway station.

Rich didn't like this. An emergency work order in Tokyo at the last minute. Clearing an Orochi Private lab that was hidden in the subway? The Eye said the intel checked out, but Rich hadn't seen a damned thing to indicate that the Orochi was here. The subway was abandoned. Well, except for the Filth leaking through the walls. The screaming that echoed up and down the tunnels. The gibbering insane maniacs running through, shouting.

Those that got too close, he cut down with the black blade that Angel had given him, quickly, so that their frenzy wouldn't alert others to his presence. It was quick work, quiet work. But he still felt nervous. More nervous. There was a tension in the air, that oily slick feeling. More than the usual Filth presence, more than what he'd noticed when in Tokyo before. It felt like something was just on the other side of his mind, trying to worm its way in. Waiting for something, a crack, a seam to weaken.

He shook his head, trying to shake the feeling. He had to concentrate. He had to find the lab, and then he had to steal the data and then torch the rest. But Rich kept getting turned around. The tunnels and doorways seemed to shift, change when wasn't looking. He bared his teeth in a growl, pissed off.

Then the pay phones started ringing. All of them. He jumped, and there was the sense of something hissing against the walls of his mind, black nails screeching down a chalkboard. The phones kept ringing.

He ignored them, and kept walking. The phones turned off, and each time he came closer to one of the few pay phones, that started ringing. Some mired in the physical oil living of filth, others clean as a whistle, he passed them, they started ringing.

Fine. Someone was playing games with him, he could play. He picked up the next phone, clean enough, no filth dripping down the receiver.

“I am the Truth Virus, let me in.”

Rich nearly dropped the phone in sheer terror. He'd seen the effects that John had on other people. On Tokyo. But something compelled him to listen. A tiny whisper on the side of his mind, caressing him with razor blades and rust.

He listened.

“Hiya, Chuck. It's John.

I'm going to huff and puff and blow your walls down, Chuck. You're not like the others, Chuck, not buzzing and humming. You're a different buzzing. You're a mosquito, a parasite, chug chug chug all the disease and poison into others. I love it, the parasite of humanity. Maybe I'll wear you someday.”

Rich tried to unclench his hand from the phone, but he couldn't let go. The rust razor inside his mind cut, cut hard. He tried, he couldn't move. Blood began pouring down his nose, as his body shook with the strain.

“As fun as this is, talking to you, Chuck, I've got a little gift for a possible future suit. I think you'll like it. Say hello, bitch.”

“... Rich? I d-don't know where I am... there's people and they're h-hurting me, the voices, its dark an-”

Rich stopped struggling. He stopped breathing. Her voice. He'd dreamed of her voice, prayed to hear it again, listened to the last voice mail over and over and over again desperately hoping and wishing to hear her say something, that she was all right. And that was her. She was there. She was alive.

“Going to let you go now, Chuck. Think about what I said. Do what you do best, Chuck. See ya.”

Rich dropped the phone. Rich screamed. The razor was gone, but the cut it had left was worse than anything.

 

[Matalon]

Hey tablet,

Rich again. In more ways than one. Lot of stuff has happened since I last wrote in here. Probably should update you.

First thing, I'm in Agartha right now. Got hurt like hell last night, and not sure if there might be any residual Filth running around in my veins. Agartha seems to manage to hold most of that back, except for that one entrance. No, I don't know how or why, as a vampire, I can enter Agartha and not explode or go crazy. Maybe my grandfather's efforts to keep Gaia's influence away from me wasn't as successful as he had hoped. I still don't think I'm technically a Bee, but I'm not really willing to try dying and coming back any time soon. Not intentionally, at least. Anyway, on to what has happened

Grandfather came back, pissed off at someone who had been interfering with his work, and had made it personal, by going after me. He made me his heir, and with a little help from him and some connections within the Eye, I managed to make that horrific bitch of a boss look bad, and then got to eat her. That was nice to have. Good ending, plus, I'm worth around 572 million dollars, US. New apartment. New threads. I hate to say it, but money opens doors, sometimes more than explosives, threats, or blackmail do. Revenge is delicious, and profitable.

Then... well, things happened between a certain person and I. (Intentionally being vague. Actually do some work, you goddamn Eye hackers) I'll be honest, I helped. Takes two, and all that. It was... nice. Felt good in a different way than revenge or combat. I guess I'd taken to heart what a certain prickly scientist had said about the chances of finding my wife, even after the journal I had found. I've seen filth infected humans write. I've seen them do a number of tasks that would seem normal for normal people, at least until they start screaming about how they'll eat your face with all the Purell in the world. It felt good. It felt like something was coming together, even though, you know, we played for different teams in the secret world. I liked her, she liked me. Crazy, right?

Then there was an emergency cleaning call. Intel was saying about a time sensitive Orochi experiment, in some abandoned subway station. Thinking back, I'm pretty sure I know what happened to that intel.

Instead of the lab, I found that freakin' terrifying bodiless monstrosity. John is way too banal for a creature like that, I swear. He called on the phone. Considering how infested that subway station was, I figured it was better to answer sooner rather than later, as he was pretty insistent, and the things in there were being attracted to the sound.

Yeah, that was a bad idea. I think he was trying to get inside my head while talking to me. I still feel like something is in the back of my mind, trying to worm its way in. Hence me being in Agartha right now.

But that's not the worst part. He put her on the phone. My wife. I'm writing it down now so that I don't ever forget her words. “Rich? I don't know where I am. There's people and they're hurting me. The voices. Its dark and-”

She got cut off there. But I would know here voice anywhere. I've been playing her last voicemail almost every day for the past three years. If she's sane, like she sounds, then I have to find her. She's probably in Orochi hands, the people hurting her. Experimenting on her, because she might be blessed by Gaia.

I don't really remember what happened for the next few hours. Found myself with a few texts from Angel, talking, and sitting in Ginpachi park. Pretty sure John sent as many angry infectees at me as he could. Also, the one with the telephone pole. I do remember that, because I remember landing near thirty feet away, and splinters in my side and stomach.

And here I sit, after talking with my new friend, ending it, and after talking with Angel, my best bud. I feel like a world class douchebag. Betrayer, leech, parasite, monster, oath breaker.

And you know what? I am all those things. Probably never going to change. I try, and I try, but I'm always going to hurt people. Its one of the things I'm good at. I enjoy it, when its people who deserve it. Maybe that's spilling over, to people I don't want to hurt.

Something to keep in mind. Once I find her. Once I find if she's sane or not.

Cross that bridge when we come to it. Just have to remember what I am, and why I do what I do. Get the first goal, then worry about the later, later.