Hero's Diary: Day 1, Part 20
11/03/01 at 13:21 EST
I'm still alive, for what that's worth, and thank you for expressing your concern.
Forgive me if I sound distracted while recording this log. It's not as though I have a choice. It's the belt, I think - the belt, or maybe the helmet. It has a device that's hooked into my brain, and it's automatically recording my immediate and recent experiences. It takes these recordings and sends them as transmissions somewhere. I don't know where, and I don't know why, but in all likelihood, Etranger has the answers.
The reason I'm distracted is pretty simple: she and Pirohiko have sent me into another twisted dungeon on another wild goose chase for another insane target. This guy's a terrorist who wants to ruin everyone's day because he was teased in highschool. He's not some clock-tower college student, either. He's like, 45. And he happens to be working on his grand scheme in the basement floor of a hot, noisy, poorly-maintained mechanical factory full of - what else? - deranged creatures that want to make silly hats out of my innards.
You know what I consider to be the worst of this is? It's not the constant, alien tingling in my body from whatever the hell that kindergartner did to me while I was under the knife. It's not the fact that everything I meet wants me dead. It's not Etranger, and her bossy, spoiled attitude. It's not Pirohiko, and the fact that he's the reason why I'm involved in all of this. It's not Pirohiko, and the fact that his ineptitude is constantly worsening the situation. It's not Pirohiko, and the fact that he has done nothing to actually help. It's not the absolute impossibility of my wife and daughter. It's not the fact that, at the end of this ordeal, I'll be unceremoniously launched back to Earth where a gigantic lion-man in a suit of armour will rend me within an inch of my life, only to be sent back into Outer Space to embark on another wild goose chase in another deranged dungeon pursuing another dangerous individual. And it's not that these maniacs haven't even had the common courtesy to ask me for my name.
The worst part of this is that it is becoming routine. In all of its absurdity, in all of its implausibility, in all of its impossibility, this has become my life.
At least, for today.
Tagged under: ZHP
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