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Oct. 27th, 2017 09:50 pmMaybe I've been a little more embedded in my work than usual. It had started out a little thing, fluff piece in advance of The Purge, an assignment I'd resented about an event that horrifies me. "Just a quick list of events cropping up. There always are in advance, and then night of, well, with no regulations on noise or drugs for anything after midnight..." Louis had waved a hand, and then smirked. "You don't remember last time, do you, newbie?" I'd been forced to admit I didn't. "It'll be good for you."
Whether last time even actually happened seems to be a point of some contention if you ask the right people. But I'd gone about it, grumbly at even the whole concept of this thing. It'd started benign: a couple Purge Eve celebrations, some discount sales on weapons and "sports equipment". But the more I'd asked around, the stranger certain rumors had gotten, and I'd gotten myself intrigued and horrified. Like reading about serial killers, a bit, like watching a train wreck. I'd started digging. Getting online. Putting out feelers.
That's what I do. Investigate.
I'd told you about that much, about what I'm hearing, the strange sorts of gatherings that seem to be alluded to. I'd wanted to go out a little, to see what happened. To see who arrived, more. To prove to myself the names and bank accounts alluded to me by the few sources willing to email or DM or meet had something to them. There's this jittery feeling to it, more and more throughout the month, as though I might break something wide open and if I don't, if I don't say anything, what am I good for? Mad, maybe. But there.
I hadn't said anything about the other messages I'd gotten. Mostly anonymous, warning whatever identity I'd thought up to be a little less curious; and some not so gentle about it. It's unsettling, but it's just the internet.
Still, when the sirens start, I'm at home, whatever information I'm sitting on just that -- sat on. Even expecting it, it's an eerie sort of sound, like impending war, and I get up uneasily.
Whether last time even actually happened seems to be a point of some contention if you ask the right people. But I'd gone about it, grumbly at even the whole concept of this thing. It'd started benign: a couple Purge Eve celebrations, some discount sales on weapons and "sports equipment". But the more I'd asked around, the stranger certain rumors had gotten, and I'd gotten myself intrigued and horrified. Like reading about serial killers, a bit, like watching a train wreck. I'd started digging. Getting online. Putting out feelers.
That's what I do. Investigate.
I'd told you about that much, about what I'm hearing, the strange sorts of gatherings that seem to be alluded to. I'd wanted to go out a little, to see what happened. To see who arrived, more. To prove to myself the names and bank accounts alluded to me by the few sources willing to email or DM or meet had something to them. There's this jittery feeling to it, more and more throughout the month, as though I might break something wide open and if I don't, if I don't say anything, what am I good for? Mad, maybe. But there.
I hadn't said anything about the other messages I'd gotten. Mostly anonymous, warning whatever identity I'd thought up to be a little less curious; and some not so gentle about it. It's unsettling, but it's just the internet.
Still, when the sirens start, I'm at home, whatever information I'm sitting on just that -- sat on. Even expecting it, it's an eerie sort of sound, like impending war, and I get up uneasily.
