Police, Proxies it seems as if all of them are coming after me 24/7. I can't relax for a second, they just keep coming and coming, I don't know how they locate me, but one thing I know for sure, they all have a death wish. The thing inside of me, I avoid using it, I'd rather stick to something I know and that's a side arm, however, when waves and waves of enemies comes pouring down on me, I have no choice but to use the substance that inhabits my body. I hate using it, it's a good weapons, kill efficiently, it's just that this thing is a part of IT, the thought alone makes me want to shoot myself. But I refuse to die, I refuse to even acknowledge the possibility, not that I have anyone around to acknowledge it to, There is no God, there are no souls, all that we are is meat and bone, these are certainties I learned long ago. My body is merely a tool, my body is a weapon I care for, I care for it like I care for my AR-15 or AA-12 assault shotgun. And that substance is merely a weapon as well, just like me.
I know why all the police is gunning after me, the local Oracle, according to Kelevra, his name is Dimir Volkov, didn't have time to do research on him, yet. Will do that once I have a few minutes of free time. Now, next tape Kelevra pointed me to.
"Dr. Karkof’s report #5, 1993, January 13th:
Last week, Tonny O’Malley was injured. You wouldn’t think a crayon could do much damage, but O’Malley lost his left eye. Roger, our self-mutilator and biblical scholar seemed to claim the responsibility.
Dr. Jennifer Hill, my colleague and dearest friend, after the incident, asked me what happened, if it had something to do with Ponomarenko. I told her that it was nothing conclusive, but I had a suspicion that Oleg was involved somehow. She agreed with me and agreed that Oleg should be moved to a separate room, she knew that Dr. Komarov was totally against the idea. I proposed to her, that if we went together and explained the situation to Dr. Komarov, he would actually consider it. She agreed to do it on one condition, that I take her out to dinner.
Once again we went to Komraov’s office, proposing the same suggestion, to move Oleg to a separate room. But just like last time, his dismissed it completely.
As the week passed, my daily sessions with Oleg grew increasingly frustrating. After the drawing episode he seemed to shut down completely. Not even talking about my own troubled childhood elicited the faintest response. Thinking about the death of my parents when I was eleven depressed me.
At least I found I had a friend in Dr. Hill. Like me, her politics were liberal, and we shared the same beliefs concerning psychotherapy: that “Insanity” was possibly the reaction of a sane mind to a sick society. As for Oleg, Jennifer agreed with me that the drawing indicated the murder of his family was a conscious, malicious act and that he wasn’t insane.
I’d never been close to anyone; I liked to keep my distance. My work was my life. But I realized she was special. Soon my life revolved around our developing friendship, and Oleg, always Oleg.
After O’Malley’s “accident” with the crayon the other patients kept their distance. A strange silence descended on the juvenile ward as if Oleg’s presence had a calming effect on their troubled minds. Perhaps it was fear.
The Juvenile ward was never so silent, it’s…disturbing. I’m used to insane remarks the patients always made, the insane yells. Now…just silence."