A Little Grey Journal (Kai Wallace)

6 August, 1983

Hello, old friend. I haven't used you in a long time. It's been ages, I've grown. I'm not a child anymore, my years of innocence are long gone. I'm an adult now, and there is blood on my hands. I have murdered, butchered, and tormented men and women. They dared to lay a finger on my sister, so they bled.

I ran away from that, old friend. I was becoming something awful- a monster. Perhaps I am already a monster. My family- they'll miss me. Search for me. I can't go back old friend- that life will kill me. Will warp me into something that isn't human. So, here we are old friend. A new world. Freedom.

Vi står emot det grymma ljuset.
Vi väntar på återgången av de kalla stormarna.
Långt bor Collins.
Långt leva våra arv i världen.

We stand against the harsh light.
We hail the arrival of the frigid storms.
Long live the Collins.
Long live our legacy.

So we wait.

9 August, 1983

The roses in the courtyard had long since died, relics of a forgotten age and a forgotten life. They were paid no heed, there was little time for memories.

Seems there was little time for anything, anymore.

Wisps of winter air swirled around the spec of grey lost in a wonderland of white, a smudge on a near perfect painting that refused to be removed. They clawed at him, howling the tale of his failures in a perfect harmony with how the thorns of dead roses sunk into raw flesh as he progressed. The stems twisted together, crossing the path and catching on the stains shirt as if begging for him to go no further. He pressed on, a trail of color pooling with every step he took.

Heels could be heard on the balcony, a soft click on hard stone that made the symphony of failure seem as impactful as a muted choir.

He couldn’t stop.

It wasn’t much farther to the exit, but the dried out stems continued to reach for him. Twisting and curling around one another as if it could save them from the frosts wrath, the rose vines continued to catch the stains person. His clothes, his flesh, and his limbs. They found his chest. They found his legs, and he collapsed.

It hurt, but pain was natural. Pain was as natural as the trail of color that was now pooling below him, right?

He laid there, splayed out amongst the briars. It hurt, small cuts and punctures all over his body felt as if they were leaking fire while the cold loomed over him. The pool grew, and grew.

The growing numbness in his limbs started to mask the fire in his injuries, but he was already waving goodbye to the world. The snow was drifting down gently, dusting the mistakes dying body as it was framed against a crimson background. The pool grew, as did the emptiness that bubbled up from his bones to fill his screaming sinews. There was no greater bliss.

I don't want to be here.

I miss my family- and it's getting harder to justify what I've done. Only cowards run, Nathan says. I hate that he's right. I hate that I ran. I hate that I can barely justify this anymore and it's barely been four months. They were selfish, but isn't everyone? They still loved me. They were still my family.

"Who teaches a seventeen year old to kill?" Someone concerned that if they don't, their child will die. Nessy can fight, too. Sure she uses different tools but they taught her to fend for herself just like me. It was my idea to accompany her. I can't blame anyone but myself.

I ran away on some vague notion of moral high ground- yet I can sit there and brush off Joshua's hatred of the Knights as narrowly justified 'moral high ground' horseshit uttered by a man who works for a force dedicated to locking anomalies up for their entire lives because they're different. If I looked up 'hypocrite'- I think I would see my own name.

Maybe I should go home. Maybe I should stop this stupid game before it goes any further.


10 August, 1983

It seems like I've earned the name "muffin man"… It's better than gunner or von-von.

It's actually nice, I have a reputation and it's positive. People see me and think "Muffin man! He's nice and makes delicious baked goods!" That's far better than seeing fear in peoples eyes when you come into view. It gives me an excuse to bake, as well. That's lovely as well- I love baking. I wasn't able to do it before because of… We won't go there.

I'm happy here. I hate that I've told some lies, though. Lying about who I am- but that's more protection rather than a desire to deceive. All they need to know is that I am Kai Wallace, a security guard with a knack for baking and a friendly demeanor. I'm nothing special and no one notable. One person knows, but they understand why.

I'm not new to the anomalous world. I'm not a supposed innocent hired for the slaughter. I am Vaughn Collins, secondary head of the Collins bloodline and guardian of Vanessa Collins. …I was, at least. Times change.

16 August, 1983

I sing to the wind as if it could hear the lullaby…

If the world could pray, would it save the day? Would we burn to cinders anyway…

I hope one day that I could give you the sky-

It's just too bad that we as men have very little say…

So hold me tight and say goodnight to the dark and lonely road.

Because there is just no telling where we could ever go…

As the fire rises we have yet to slowly burn…

So in the haze and flames we'll blaze a path to our own way.

18 August, 1983

Not quite sure who this Scott fellow is- sans a thief and a worthless scrap in combat. The man will probably expire on a mission due to his… lacking prowess. I'm not particularly concerned about him as I am about the chance of his folly hurting someone like Nathan or Stephen.

If his folly hurts someone I care for I can promise him it won't be pretty. The verbal beating he'll receive… Not a physical beating- a verbal one. For failure. For compromising a mission. For causing harm to fellow agents.

I will not allow failure.

God damn it just stop!

27 August, 1983

He… He won't shut up. He won't leave me alone. I'll be standing there, and dare I say something out of line there'll be claws in my skull and-

Then it isn't me anymore. It's him and barely anyone sees it. Barely anyone sees when it's him and I don't know what to do.

He could replace me and almost no one would notice. Nova would, maybe Nathan. That's it.

28 August, 1983

There's a man that follows me, and he should be dead.

He's not, because I can't kill him.

I hardly notice when he's there anymore.

I can hardly tell when he's in my head, whispering thoughts and sick jokes to me. I can hardly tell when he's moving my hands and smiling with my mouth. Sometimes, when it isn't gradual, my head hurts. He tries to take over, and it hurts me.

At least I can fight him off. He isn't real.

Vaughn isn't real. I am real.

Someone help me

** Authors Note: Some entries may conflict opinion-wise with another. Shit happens, Kai/Vaughn is a conflicted dude.

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