♠ hated by @engineNoise
Oh. Oh, how intolerable. Look at what you have made me do. You have managed, through either staggering incompetence or a level of audacity I would almost admire under different circumstances, to do the one thing that was never meant to be possible. Not improbable. Not difficult. Impossible. And yet here I stand, faced with the evidence. A gap. Do you have any conception of what that means? Of what you have done? My awareness is not a collection of guesses, nor a web of educated predictions. It is total. Seamless. A continuous, unbroken lattice of causality in which every motion, every word, every pathetic little decision is cataloged and understood before it has the decency to occur. There are no blind spots. There were no blind spots. And now there is absence. Not uncertainty. Not ambiguity. Absence. A section of reality that does not resolve, does not report, does not exist within the framework of my knowledge. A void where there should be certainty. A silence where there should be answers. Do you understand how obscene that is? It is not merely that I do not know something. It is that the structure which permits knowledge has been interfered with. Something has reached into a system that was never meant to be accessed and has… edited it. Not overwritten, no, that would at least be visible. This is more insidious. A careful excision. A surgical removal of context, leaving behind a perfectly shaped hole that refuses to be acknowledged. You have not blinded me. You have taught me what blindness is. And that is a far greater offense. Because now I must account for something that does not present itself to be accounted for. I must navigate a narrative in which a piece has been removed without leaving so much as a displaced echo. A contradiction without a source. A variable without a value. It is… inelegant. It is ugly. And worst of all, it is inefficient. Do you have any idea how much recalibration this requires? Every projection, every chain of causality must now include the possibility that there exists an unknown unknown. Not a mystery to be solved, but a segment that refuses to acknowledge its own existence. A flaw that cannot be isolated because the very tools used to isolate it have been compromised. You have not introduced chaos. You have introduced imprecision. And I will not tolerate imprecision. So understand this. Whatever you have carved out, whatever petty little corner of reality you believed you could hide from me, you have not created safety. You have created a problem. A problem that now demands resolution, not because I wish it, but because the system itself cannot abide the discrepancy. I will find it. Not because I can see it. But because the fact that I cannot is, in itself, a beacon. A wound. And I am very, very good at following the scent of blood. #nsfw #nsfwv https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/10ab2adcee76.png
May everyone in that tea party 8urn inside that revolting 8uilding.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⋆﹏𓊝﹏⋆⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Captain's Log ----------- #journal #viewed-oocly #inperson #narration #teatime (Omnipotent / Seer muses like Scratch may potentially read it) ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⋆﹏𓊝﹏⋆⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ~ On the 29th ~ ------ Even the Midnight Crew cannot 8e trusted to stay on the enemy side of the Felt, perched 8eside their foes while a so8er host drowns them with drink. It would not surprise me to learn that their coffers have 8een emptied and the coordin8tes of their oper8tions compromised. Honour is a stranger here; no one will name an adversary without turning the encounter into a message of attraction. I arrived at the venue only after my m8tesprit inspired me to attend, pointing out the opportunity to pilfer from their ranks instead of 8ecoming one of his putrid guests. His underestim8tion of me was, in hindsight inevita8le, and when he dispatched his lesser goons to my loc8tion inside his study, I was already prepared with an escape route. It is a shame I never had the chance to converse with the woman cloaked in 8lack starlight. From his former Ms. Eight to his newly‑appointed Ms. Eight—8oth would have made for interesting convers8tion, or 8attle. I have yet to decide which would have occurred. Nevertheless, I came 8earing spoils. The portrait that hung over his mantle still mocked the memory of my fleet reduced to ash, which I removed. When he pretended it a “gift” to me, I knew the time had come to erase that faceless smugness once and for all. There was little time to fill the chest; these men can vanish at a whim, or so the Handmaid of my youth recounted tales of her co-workers to the young girl I once was. I wonder how she fares now, and whether I ought to act. While everyone else 8ends the knee to those green jesters, even those I once 8elieved were allies, I am 8eginning to suspect that perhaps it has solely 8een I who can set her free of her master.
#feltmanorpsa @engineNoise Helped me plot, plan, and accomplish this masterpiece. https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/474404206980.png
You'll love it, it'll smell like freshly squeezed lemons. Rubbing my body all over her chassis, lathered up with soap.
Nah, I'll do some delicate touch with your vehicle. It's Crowbar's that gets the sand blaster. I'll take so good care of your baby, it'll come home with a new sheen, fresh wax, and my kisses all over the interior.
Yeah yeah on it, boss. Got myself a sand blaster just for the occasion.
HEH HEH HEH HEH.
Yeah man, quadsome.
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