It's funny. I recognize my face more now than I did before it was ripped apart. Seeing the insides of it just seems to make more sense for some reason. I look over the various patches of dried blood that managed to hang on. My finger traces all the openings. Part of my forehead is exposed where a chunk of skin hangs from it at an improper angle. My left cheek is in tatters and has a chunk missing. The corner of my lips is separated from the rest and is almost unrecognizable. Looks more like little chunks of uncooked beef. This is going to take a bit. I decide to start at the forehead. Taking the fingers from my left hand I move the hanging flesh and hold it in its proper place over the exposed bone. My whole face throbs painfully as if crying out in impotent rage. With my other hand I carefully shove my needle through the patch and then throgh the proper mass of skin. Slowly I watch as the thread pulls through. I feel it all. The cold metal piercing the skin, the thread being dragged through...part of me likes it. I manage to get my forehead back to a facsimile of what it once was. It isn't easy. My left eye is swollen half shut making my visibility less than desirable.

I do my cheek next. It's times like this I wish I had more hands. So much to hold together. I'm not sure how long I've been in this bathroom putting myself back together. Sewing my breasts alone was a time-consuming task. I pause and look down at them for a moment. The home-done stitches, and the redness in the skin around them, contrasts with the paleness of my skin. The stitches overlap a scar I had received across the one in a past match. I just shrug and return my focus to what's left of my face. Most of the damage was to the left side. The right side just has one good cut across the cheek. I'll get to that last. It requires the least amount of attention. As the needle is worked through ragged pieces of flesh I try to stay focused on the here and now so that I can truly experience that which I'm doing now, but part of my mind wanders. So many things require my attention now. There's the Summer/Prophet situation. We're still trying to figure out where Ruen is being held so we can pretend to be heroes.

Prophet needs to stop using that term. Neither of us fits that bill. We just happen to have agendas that go along with his at the moment. Summer aint out to save anyone. She just wants blood. Me, I just want to repay a debt to Ruen. If the opportunity comes for me to inflict some pain on her enemies arises then so be it. Summer went to the liquor store. She decided not to wait for a call from Prophet. She said vodka was more important than listening to him ramble. I can't say I completely disagree with her. His ramblings do tend to get on my nerves, but I'm not going to answer the phone if it rings. I'm rather busy at the moment. Next time he calls he better have a location for me. I'm tired of siting still. I'm almost as impatient as the two monsters that created me.

Plague actually isn't on my mind. He gave me what I wanted. He brought me pain and an outlet for violence. I craved it. I needed it. All this waiting has been driving me nuts. I needed the release that our match provided. I needed something to hold my urges at bay. My hunger for violence and pain controls me more than I'd like to admit at times. I remember when I used to fight my darker nature. Pretend it wasn't there. I was a mess back then. Things became so much easier when I just gave into them. Still, sometimes I'm not completely honest with myself at how much those hungers and desires control me. I've got time to fully hone up to it though. Deep down I think I know how to separate free will from dark urges. Luckily most of the time they seem to have the same agenda. Lucky me. One less complication. It's only when they conflict that I feel like I'm losing what's left of my mind. In the end it doesn't matter. I'm just another creature of violence.

It's thoughts like these that make me feel close to my parents and yet more distant than normal. I wonder if they think about any of this. I've never come up with the answer to that. They both seem to revel in what they've become. Still, maybe I appear that way as well. I'm not sorry I ended up this way. I just accept it. Maybe they just do as well. It may be that way for my father, but my mother, who knows? I think it's more than just understanding and accepting what she is. I think there is a pure enjoyment to it all. I think she enjoys everything about what she's become...well, then again she is often a slave to her crazed obsessions. Obsessions I find myself being able to understand more each day. What does that say about what I've become? Do I care?

In the end I'm not sure it matters. I've enough on my fractured mind. In the backround of my brain I can still feel a lingering that's been there for months. Angel. Since he left he's disappeared. Before all this Prophet stuff came up I thought about tracking him down, but in the end I always had a question that stopped me...would try to repair things or would I take him from this world? It's a question that has hung over my head since he left me to rot in a government facility while he got out of jail and was free once more. He sent me a note saying he'd get me out. He never showed. My mother had to save me. I was surprised by that at the time. I thought she hated my existance because it reminded her of what she was before she became what she is now. Angel and I have a complicated relationship to say the least. Half the time I have the urge to bring him as much pain as possible and the other half I just want to be in his arms. Now he's gone and I can't act on either impulse, or both. I hope he saw what happened to his buddy Plague. I hope he was watching. I wanted so badly to torture Plague more because I knew that would get his attention, but I ended up letting it go. Stupid internal conflict. I should have just stuck with the plan. Hurt Plague so bad that Angel had to come out of hiding just to see if his friend was going to live. What I did is enough for now, but Angel better not make me wait too long or I'll have to destroy everything he cares about.

I finish putting the left side of my face together and move to what's left of the left side of my lips. My fingers probe the hunks of flesh in an attempt to make them resemble the parts of my lips they once were. This is more delicate work than the rest. Taking the end of my finger I shove the inside of the lips back where they belong. Searing pain shoots through my jaw and down my spine just from the prodding. I don't give into it. I just convert it to the ever present pit of anger welling up inside me. After a few minutes I start to recognize the pieces that used to be attached to my lips. Finally. I don't hesitate. The need is shoved through, fresh blood runs down my mouth. I taste it. The familiar iron taste fills me with thoughts of the past and the future. Mostly the future. The blood tastes like desire. Like anticipation. My mind moves to her. She's been thinking of me alot for awhile. My name has been on her mind and lips. She feels compelled to meet me in battle. I feel the call as well. Something is pulling us toward each other. Who are we to resist? I'm waiting for you Chase. When the time is right you'll get everything you've asked for and more. I won't deprive you of what you deserve. What we both deserve. The time is drawing near. It's our destiny.