FIRST, LET US CLEAR UP A MISCONCEPTION.

Impressive how much aggrandizing dribble a chubbly little toucan like you can type out without even a hint of self-awareness.

The awareness of how pathetic you really are.



Sit down, cause I'm gonna tell you a story. It doesn't take a Sherlock to figure out that I didn't just wake up one morning a few years ago and decide that I wanted to be everyone's problem. Even when I was a pizza-faced teenager, I wasn't what you might consider a good Christian girl. Drug hits. Vandalism. All that "civil disobedience" horseshit. When it's been years since you slept on the same bed for more than three nights in a row, any semblance of dreams and aspirations get strung from a noose when you're living each day like the sun could go supernova at any time. Youth and homelessness are about as cozy of a mix as ammonia and bleach; lose your house as an adult, and you tend to wallow in your own filth and despair and pray that the cold snuffs you out before the liver disease does. Losing your house as a lil' tyke, though? Of fucking course I was going to be as much of a feral hellion as my youth allowed me, what adult was going to be around to stamp that all out by teaching me morals?

Apparently, the police of Mott Street thought they could be up to that task. Though "teaching" was a bit unfamiliar to them; they preferred to beat the morality into me. No shit, it didn't work, I wouldn't be standing here in this murder game otherwise. Sure, one could say that they were responding in kind at first. There wasn't a storeowner on that chaotic Chinatown corner who couldn't claim they were robbed by that "thieving Two-Hands bitch", like hell the boys in blue were going to take that lying down. But once it became clear how much of a disobedient dog I was, it wasn't long before I'd start spending nights behind bars just for breathing the wrong way. One day, I was rooting through a trash can, looking for a half-eaten bagel or anything that I could call a breakfast. To a certain officer doing his morning rounds that morning, that kind of putrid sight struck his last nerve. Most policemen would just go straight for the cuffs, but not this man of the law; he wanted to soften me up first. He started whaling his fists at me, intentionally going for the spots that would inflict the most pain. Even when I was on the ground, coughing up blood and painting the pure white blanket of snow with red, my punishment for being such a fuck-up wasn't done. He started to choke me, and as I was seeing double, I realized that there might not be a prison trip for me this time. I reached for the pistol I had in my pocket, a Smith & Wesson a runaway friend of mine nabbed for my sixteenth birthday. Before I could black out, I pressed the muzzle against his stomach....and let the shot ring true.



He wasn't the first person to drop dead from a gun of mine; if I could have etched that on my father's tombstone as his last accomplishment, I would have. But I could barely comprehend it then. This time, I had a much clearer picture. I should have felt vindicated, but I didn't. There I was, at the literal hands of my oppressor, and I finally turned the tables on him and sent a message that I was in charge now, at least in theory. Yeah, it felt good, but not for any Shakespearean revenge bullshit like that. No, I realized what it truly meant to kill. All my life, I prayed foolishly to a God who saw my shitsack of a life and responded by shoveling even more shit into the sack. But everything changed after that morning. I felt the most amount of control I ever had in my whole life up to that point, all from the pull of a trigger.

As long as I had a weapon by my side and the will to use it, I had a future.



I thought there was nothing a human gal like me and a roided-up chicken like you could possibly have in common. But now, I think I see a piece of myself in you, and you're too wrapped up in painting yourself as a self-righteous douchebag to see it yet. You think of yourself as a real defender of your kind, don't you? Someone who's seen the light and vowed to make everyone who's trampled on you and every other freak like you eat shit in return. But if you really believed in that to the bottom of your soul, you'd take the fight straight to the humans and become the new king of the food chain. But here you are, murdering other anomalies like yourself because they're, what was it you said, "imposters"? Fuck right off, Zazu. You know what I think? You're on the edge of the same kinda epiphany I had, that you're not really alive unless you're stealing the life of another. I couldn't give less of a shit about your motivations, because I don't think you give a shit about them either. You can go ahead and annihilate every knife-wielding maniac you see, for all I care, but nothing pisses me off more than someone who tries to back it up with empty half-assed principles, and until you realize that, you're never going to feel free. Not like I do. So are you going to keep lying to yourself? Or are you going to fire that bullet?

I'll be waiting.

Well, he left, but...








Yeah, look, I don't have a ton of sympathy for Ruby Rose either. But that's just the point about why people aren't mourning these Anomalies as much as they would otherwise. They're being judged on their actions, not their nature. I understand wanting to see them mourned them even so, but we're in the middle of a killing game! It takes a lot to have that kind of grace right now. That's why I can't begrudge anyone too much for it.








It's just a terrible situation for everyone.








Factually she was registered as an Anomaly the same as Momoyo or the journalist so yeah, that's what I have to go on. It's not like there aren't other non-human or Anomalous species that look not that dissimilar to humans either, like, say, miqo'te. He could use the exact same logic to backstab Nashu after she trusted him!








And the file he's citing as evidence for the Bureau's wrongdoing is just being taken out of context as far as I read it. The author is going behind the backs of their coworkers and he's worried about being found out. It's evidence of a conspiracy, sure, but far from anything saying the whole Bureau is bent on harming and exploiting Anomalies.

Hey, *Mute, wanna talk about who you were calling "Mistress" back there? What sorta relationship you hiding from us.

This post was last modified: Feb 14, 2024 at 4:07 AM by *Mute.

Huh?

Well, Nancy, of course. As far as my programming is concerned the Director would be my master, but since he's absent and Nancy is the highest ranking person here, she's my mistress effectively.








Wait, wait, do you mean like... Look, it's fine if you swing that way, it's totally your business, but.








Nope, no, not me. I mean, I'm a computer program, sure, not a real woman, but I'm straight!








I'm definitely straight, sorry. Look, can we just move on from this? Really not important or helpful right now.

Uh huh, I believe the AI doth protest too much, hehe

alexa turn off AI computer