Oct. 5th, 2025

the_ferryman: (Default)
I really don't.

Someone found this blog, today. I was sent home on unpaid leave, pending a meeting with the higher-ups. Writing this thing goes against "strategic communications policy," whatever the fuck that is. I am fucking finished with all that bullshit. I don't think I'll come back even if they ask me. DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU COCKSUCKERS? YOU MADE ME SHOOT THAT GIRL.

...I don't even know if that's true, any more. It's funny, what slips away. Reality. Sometimes I look at this town and the whole thing seems fake, just layers of paint, not a real city but just a film set or an artist's rendering. A whole city with phantom limb syndrome. Sometimes I dream the gun in my hands. Often, in fact. I feel its vibrations. I know the other guys get a sexual thing out of the interviews and the searches and what not. Maybe I could have been like that, given enough of a chance. But it's different after you kill someone. It just is. Even if an automated profiler told you to. Even if someone else made the decision.

It's really no different if a computer does it or a commanding officer does it. That's what they said in the training. This is where all our money went. After the split. Phantom limb, like I said.

A goddamn machine told me to shoot that girl and I did it.


the_ferryman: (Default)

September 2017


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