حلال Connor Bible - Everyone's Favorite Molly Ringwald loving, adoption hating, aspiring writer and bellybutton fucker

[The Knife]

When the first thing you write down on your profile is that you have some sort of autistic disorder, chances are that you should re-write.

Yeeeeeah, that's kind of a second-date topic.

 

[4Macie]

That's called Wiseau style.

Sidenote, can Connor see this thread and potentially enter it?

 

[The Knife]

Sidenote, can Connor see this thread and potentially enter it?

Yep! But we're okay, because he quit the forum 4evah.

 

[Dr. Meme]

Sorry if this has been posted already, but here's a masterpost of Redesigning Eva

Spoiler: Long and not worth your time

1. THE DREAM
   The dream was always the same.
   She would be lying on the grass in Hollenbeck Park, staring up with eyes wide at the clear blue sky. It would be a beautiful day, which was a rarity in her life. There was no one around to bother her, nothing that left a shadow over her. She would, for the first time in her life, experience an emotion that she couldn’t understand. Couldn’t describe with any real flavor. It was new, and it enveloped her. She embraced it, but the words couldn’t come to her as to what it was.
   The city of Los Angeles would be surprisingly quiet in that dream. It would be less hectic, less alien to her. She may have lived in the City of Angels for the longest time, but she never really felt a part of it. To live and die in L.A. was an experience she was dumbfounded by. This new emotion, this day, was not dumbfounding. Not in the slightest.
   The water at Hollenbeck, not far from where she would be lying, would be slick and serene, a giant puddle that seemed to live in symmetry with the wind of that perfect day. The water would rise up and slide down the edge of the grass as the wind whooshed and faded intermittently.
   Of all the dreams that she had had, one had never been this detailed or profound, and certainly not as lasting.
   All of a sudden, against the blue sky, there would be a butterfly beating its wings. It was a new addition to the combination of the water and the wind, but it seemed to be hitting the right notes. It was synchronized as well.
   The most interesting part of the dream was the fact that the butterfly came down to her. It would land in her open left palm, and stay there. She would exchange a gaze with the butterfly. It would be a moment of clarity, of sheer wonder. The nameless feeling she was experiencing had reached a critical point.
   Before she could fully realize what it was, the butterfly would take off from her palm, and flutter in the direction of the water.
   Another emotion begins to seep into her. Time, once running smoothly, begins to wind down.
   She gets up from the grass, and runs after the butterfly, in slow-motion.
   The weather begins to change. The sun disappeared, and the sky became charcoal.
   As soon as the tears begin to roll down her face, the rain comes.
   She dives into the water, and goes down after the butterfly.
   And down.
   And down.
   And down.
   Eva Elliot had this nightmare for the past three months.
   
   
2. ENTER EVA
   “Three months,” Holden Elliot replied. “Jesus…”
   Eva sat on the edge of her bed and faced the window. The sheets were soaked with the Arctic sweat that came with the nightmare. It was raining outside, and she heard very faintly the sounds of water drops hitting the roof. The nightmare that had ended was only a prelude to the long, dry opera that was her day. Holden was sitting next to her, hands on his knees. The sound of thunder beyond the walls was delicate, soft. The dim light from the lamp on Eva’s end table painted the wall with the shadows of her father and herself.
   “Why didn’t you tell me, Eva?” Holden asked.
   “I didn’t want to upset you,” Eva replied. “It’s not like everything that goes on in my head needs to be known.” Eva brushed her left cheek against her shoulder, and for the first time in the few minutes that she had been up, locked her eyes on the face of her father.
   Holden’s face was stubbled, rough. His graying hair was uncombed, and was still messy; like Eva, he had just woken up.
   “Just because I didn’t ask, it doesn’t mean I don’t care,” Holden said.
   “It’s not just that,” Eva said. “Another reason I didn’t tell is because of Catharsis.”
   Holden scoffed. “Eve, you know damned well I wouldn’t let you get too deeply involved.”
   “You wouldn’t?” Eva asked. “I’m pretty sure that the project’s meant to be hush-hush. Top priority for Prometheus, right?”
   “Right,” Holden answered. “We’ve already gotten the green light from the FDA, and that was in March. You know how influential the Corporation is here in L.A. All they need to do is call a school, ask for some poor kid’s psych-profile, and provided the parents give consent, they can go ahead with the redesign.”
   Eva hated that term. Redesign. For her, it implied a lack of value. Something she was most certainly guilty of.
   “Once the trials are done, the Corporation’s going to be raking in the dough,” Eva sighed. “No one in that place in Century City really cares about anything big, like ‘benefitting humanity’.”
   Holden asked, “What makes you say that?”
   “I don’t know. It’s a feeling.” Eva got up off the bed and walked towards the blind. She pushed one down with her index finger, and through the narrow slit, she could see her neighborhood. This was a relatively nice looking house in the suburb. Emphasis on “relatively”. Her father’s modest pay ensured that, over the past eighteen years, she would receive a good education and live in this relatively nice looking house. It could’ve been worse though; on the way to school, Eva had seen the occasional crack cocaine addict or prostitute in broad daylight.
   “Why me?”
   “Klaus Krieger thinks that you’re a viable candidate. He’s under the impression that your psychological profile is stable enough.” Krieger was, to Eva, a regular Keyser Soze. He had heard much about him, but what she heard was enough to bring apprehension into her. She was always apprehensive about people, especially ones that she had never met.
   “Do I have a choice in this?” Eva asked.
   “Of course you do,” Holden said. He stood up from the bed, and placed his hand on Eva’s shoulder.
   “You shouldn’t worry yourself to death over it. You’ll ruin your day.”
   “I’m not sure if my day’s already ruined or not,” Eva said.
   Holden frowned. “It’s been four years since what happened to your mother. You know you’re not alone in this.”
   Eva didn’t respond. Every time that her mother was mentioned, she found herself back at Hollenbeck Park, staring shivering at her mother’s corpse as paramedics took it out of the Chevy, which had become a makeshift aquarium. Cheryl Elliot had become a fish, her face and body bloated, drained. Her eyes were an abyss, staring into Eva’s. She’d never forget it for as long as she lived.
   Eva said, “I know that, Dad.”
   It was the City of Angels, but the angels were crying this morning. The tears were falling hard and fast beyond the blinds. Eva had already shed her tears for the day; she wiped them off in the darkness just as Holden had walked into her room.
   This was the beginning of another day at Los Angeles High. Another eight hours of fun and adventure, she thought.
   After getting dressed and helping herself to a hurried breakfast, Eva found herself standing in front of the mirror of the upstairs bathroom, staring at the strange girl which returned her gaze. It was human, but in a way, not quite. The girl facing her had short red hair, which contrasted the porcelain white skin. She was thin, grotesquely so. Eva asked the girl how long it’s been since she slept well, or eaten a complete meal. She could sense a heartbeat through the tiny, frowning smiley shirt she wore. The eyes were massive and brown, and underneath were bags, canyons really. Just looking at this thing, this creature in the mirror, Eva felt like vomiting into the nearby toilet. She gulped, holding it back.
   Eight hours, she thought.
   ###
   Holden’s car was a battered relic out of an old detective film from the forties, and the interior smelled of booze. On the way to L.A. High, Eva had noticed several steaming manhole covers. This didn’t really feel like Los Angeles anymore. It was more like Noir Angeles. The rain was still falling.
   Throughout the ride, nothing was spoken. This had become second nature to them. They got up, got ready, and went their separate ways.
   The car came to a stop at the main parking lot of the school. Beyond the windshield, Eva could vaguely see students running into the building to escape the rain. “I don’t have to go… Do I, Dad?” she asked.
   “‘Afraid so, darling.” Holden’s Dublin brogue was really showing.
   “I figured I didn’t have a choice,” Eva said. Almost immediately, she got out of the car, hood over her head. She stood on the sidewalk with her backpack slung over one arm, and she was holding the door open, looking at her father with slanted eyes.
   “By the way, the inside of this piece of shit stinks of you. Do a better job at hiding it.” Eva slammed the door, turned around, and never looked back.
   
   
3. CLASS WITHOUT CLASS
   “No, you can’t die from depression,” the school nurse grumbled.
   With her bifocals on, Eva could see the world with clarity, in more ways than one. Looking straight at the middle-aged nurse with ebony skin and tired looks, she held no doubt that she didn’t care in the slightest.
   “What about kids who die from killing themselves? I mean, I wouldn’t kill myself. Not at all, that’d be terrible.” Eva’s voice was like a silenced machine-gun going off, low and quick.
   “Look, bitch, you need to get laid,” the nurse blurted suddenly.
   “What?” Eva responded, obviously stunned by the nurse’s attitude.
   “You heard me, bitch. Get some dick, eat another girl out… you know what else?” The nurse moved her swivel chair towards a cabinet, opening it. “Smack or crack?”
   Eva didn’t respond.
   “Fuck you, Elliot. Get the fuck outta my crib.” The venomous syringe in the nurse’s hands ejaculated into the air under the flickering fluorescent light.
   Without a word, Eva stepped into back into the main office of Los Angeles Central High. Sometimes, it was an appropriate response to school life to get away from it all. She came for advice, and instead ran into the same ugliness that she had seemingly escaped from. A vicious cycle.
   THE MEEK SHALL NOT INHERIT was scribbled on the wall in blood-red aerosol, in addition to other cheerful phrases. This was the reality of an inner city school, and Eva was sickened by it. She had heard that the barrioswere much worse. She was uncertain of that. She had seen her fair share of sleaze in between class periods.
   Eva returned to the class that she had to step out of, which was Ms. Pickens’s. As soon as she stepped into the door, she was greeted by a thin-looking woman with blonde hair and a shark smile. That was Ms. Christine Pickens.
   “Ladies and gentlemen, our very own basket case has decided to come back.” Pickens’s voice was disgustingly self-assured, almost mocking. Eva resented that, but said nothing about it. She couldn’t do anything about the laughter of the students either.
   “Hello again,” Eva replied. “I had to step out. I was having a bit of a headache.” She didn’t.
   “Why don’t you have a seat, Ms. Elliot?” Pickens outstretched her hand and pointed towards an empty seat towards the end of the class. Pickens, from Eva’s knowledge and experience, had a habit of placing her least favorite students in front of the wall. Without a word, Eva walked and sat herself down into her desk.
   “So, students, where were we?” Pickens asked.
   Another student raised his hand. “Mr. Hicks,” Pickens replied.
   “I believe we were discussing the concept of schadenfreude, Ms. Pickens.” Brian Hicks peered out of the corner of his eye towards Eva as he said this. He was seated a couple of rows ahead, to the right. Eva gulped, and scratched her shoulder with her cheek. Her eyes were transfixed on the back of Brian’s head. It was slick and chocolate in color, and he gave his nape a scratch as Pickens returned to her lecture.
   “To recap what we’ve covered in Eva’s absence, schadenfreude can be described as the joy at the suffering of others--”
   Eva couldn’t believe it. Joy. From the moment she walked in here on the first day of senior year two months before, Eva felt as if she was a sitting duck, a walking bulls-eye for Pickens. In fact, I’m a target for a lot of people,she thought. Every day I come here, every day I walk down the hallways or even when I go to the bathroom, I’m moving on tip-toes. For every reason, for no reason, I’m a target. Maybe I deserve to be one. Maybe I’ve always deserved to be a target for other people because I didn’t do jackshit when my mom died in the water and this blonde bitch is getting on my fucking nerves
   Time seemed to dilate, slow down. Eva could almost hear the voice of her mind echo through her
   Ears I can’t get her complaining and moaning out of my ears I can’t get him out of my sight out of my sight and the laughter is still going on like a broken record
   Suddenly, the bell indicating it was time for lunch rang.
   The students began packing up and making their way towards the cafeteria. All of them, except Eva Elliot. Brian stopped for a moment at the doorway, looking at her before stepping out.
   He looked at me. He really fucking looked at me.
   At that moment, it was just Pickens and Eva. Eva was still seated. Pickens walked slowly over to her desk.
   “Why can’t you be more like your mother?” Pickens asked. “Don’t answer that. Let it sink in.”
   For Eva, it would sink in, alright. It would sink right down in the abyss that is me.
   “Goodbye, Mrs. Pickens,” Eva said as she rose from her desk.
   “Why are you even in my class? Answer me that, Elliot,” Pickens said.
   “I thought I could help myself out by coming here,” Eva said back.
   “Help yourself,” Pickens chuckled. “Shit, I figured.”
   “Do you have a problem?” Eva asked.
   “I have plenty,” Pickens said. “Your appearance, your performance, your intellect, everything… you’re not like her.”
   “She’s gone now.”
   “That I know, very well. And with her any shot at contributing anything good to the world.”
   “You know she killed herself, right?” Eva asked. She was choking up on the exterior, but burning inside.
   “Don’t take me for an idiot, Elliot. I don’t play your games.”
   Without a word, Eva walked out of the classroom with her bag.
   
   
4. LUNCH
   The bifocals were resting near the knobs of the sink as Eva scrubbed her face. Setting down the cheap paper towel, she found herself gazing at the girl in the mirror again. It was a filthy habit, she reminded herself. Simply looking at herself was enough to make her vomit. In fact, the first thing she did as she stepped into the girl’s bathroom was rush into a stall and fire away into the bowl. It was her only way of reacting, and it was visceral. What Pickens had said was cutting and vicious. But it’s true, Eva thought.
   Wiping the sweat from her brow, she left the bathroom, and suddenly there was a force pressing up against her moving body. Readjusting herself and her bifocals, she saw that it was Lilith Grant.
   Lilith Grant. Jesus Christ.
   “Are you alright, Eva?” Lilith asked.
   Eva’s reaction was a mixture of the quizzical and the alarmed. There she was, emotionally unkempt, physically unattractive, standing before the goddess of Los Angeles Central High.
   “Yeah, I’m fine, Lil. I’m fine. I was just taking a breather in the bathroom.” I was doing much more than that, she thought.
   “You look like shit,” Lilith said. Her voice had an element of concern for it. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Lilith Grant ignored or brushed aside students who didn’t come from money, simply examining her brown locks in a handheld mirror or texting her posse. The funny thing was, Eva never saw her in a group of other kids. Not once. “Rich” and “strange” were two things that came into her mind whenever she saw her walking down the hall in the red blazer that she always wore. Blood red, Eva noted.
   “Hey, what can you say? Shit happens,” Eva replied.
   Lilith laughed. Eva was scanning her from top to bottom through the bifocals, very rapidly. She felt awkward, a skeleton talking to a goddess, but she hid it with a quick smile that beamed from her bee-stung lips. Eva let out a forced giggle. She isn’t noticing. I think that’s a good thing.
   “Would you mind if you come to lunch with me?” Lilith asked.
   Come to lunch with Lilith Grant? That’s suicide.
   “Y-yeah, of course. I’ve got nothing better to do, and I’m all caught up on my assignments,” Eva responded. Eva, what the hell do you think you’re doing?
   “We can talk as we walk,” Lilith said. “I don’t bite.”
   ###
   Eva and Lilith came to a stop outside the cafeteria door. They both motioned towards the handle.
   “Let me open it,” Eva said.
   “Nah, allow me.” Lilith said back.
   “It’s okay, I’ll open it.”
   “I insist, Eva. I’ll open it.” Eva stepped back as Lilith open the door, and all of a sudden noise surrounded Eva. There was laughing, chatter, cell phones ringing. Stepping in behind Lilith, Eva took notice of some wealthy looking kids at one table eyeing her.
   “Now I see why I’m the caboose,” Eva said dryly.
   “You want anything from the kitchen?” Lilith asked.
   “No.”
   “Neither do I,” Lilith said. “Just between you and me, the food here tastes like road kill.”
   “I’ve eaten my share of that here,” Eva remarked. “I’ll wait for you over there,” she said as she gestured towards an empty table. Lilith nodded, and went on to get some road kill.
   Maybe having lunch with Lilith Grant isn’t going to be as bad as I thought.
   Taking a seat at the unoccupied table, Eva looked around her. Los Angeles Central High was a diverse school in many different ways. Of particular note to her were the cliques. To get anywhere in this school, Eva thought, you have to make a name for yourself, somehow, some way. Some people just don’t give a rat’s ass how they do it. They really don’t.
   The very notion of a popular girl like Lilith letting a mutant like her share a lunch was an oddity. Eva, in her cynicism, thought it was probably part of an elaborate con, a mind game. Lilith was good at those. She had to have stepped on quite a few toes to be the queen of the school.
   The true mystery was not in the act, but in the motivation. Cheryl had always told her that there was almost always a reason why people did the things that they did. Almost, Eva thought. The abyss had a habit of tainting the past. Looking through the glass windows, Eva saw that it was still raining heavily. The angels were still crying, and they were just getting started.
   “How are you feeling today, Eve?”
   Not too good, Mom.
   “Why?”
   I’d hate to say this, but I don’t feel good most of the time. Maybe even all the time. I wish I were happy.
   “The only person that can make you happy is yourself, Eva. I’m just a mother, and a guide.”
   I see.“Eva?” a voice asked.
   Eva turned to see that it was Brian Hicks again. Oh, shit.“Who are you talking to?” Brian had a look of worry come across his face.
   “Nobody, really. It’s a nasty habit of mine, talking to myself.” Eva let out a weak laugh.
   “I talk to myself, too.”
   “Really?” Eva was surprised. Her eyes widened behind the bifocals.
   “Yeah. To tell you the truth, I don’t have many friends either.”
   “How did you know I don’t have many friends?”
   “I guessed.”
   “You’re a very perceptive young man, Brian Hicks.”
   “And you’re a very studious young lady, Evangeline Elliot.”
   “Please,” Eva responded. “Call me Eva. I never did like Evangeline. I thought it was corny. Blame my mother.”
   Sorry, Mom.
   Lilith was walking away from the trough with her road kill.
   “Look, Brian, I’ll have to talk you later. That fine?”
   “Yes, definitely. I’ll see you some other time, then.”
   Brian left just as Lilith took a seat. For a second, Eva thought she saw the two eye each other. She wrote it off as coincidence.
   “Looks like you had a visitor,” Lilith said.
   “Yeah, but just for a bit.”
   “You know what I think? I think that a single moment can make a world of a difference. Not just moments, but choices, actions, things we say. That kind of matters. Wouldn’t you agree?”
   “I don’t know how to respond to that,” Eva said. “Actually, I kind of think that they don’t, most of the time.”
   “What makes you say that?” Lilith asked.
   “You know, I come here five days a week, looking for a way to improve myself. That’s what school is for, I think. Improving kids.”
   Lilith placed a cigarette between her lips, a lighter already in her hand. “It can be a fucking jungle, if you ask me.” Breathing smoke, she continued, “But yeah, it’s worth coming here.”
   “Yeah,” Eva said, adjusting her bifocals. “Can I ask you something?”
   “Shoot,” Lilith said as she took the cigarette out of her mouth.
   “Why did you invite me to lunch with you?”
   Lilith didn’t reply. Instead she was looking down at the gray of the table, with a coldness that was sudden and unexpected from a girl that was positively beaming in those photos in the school paper. This is straight out of a Twilight Zone or Outer Limits rerun. Under the table, Eva scratched her leg hard, and the sharpness proved her wrong: she was still in the real world.
   “I wanted to know what it was like to talk to you,” Lilith finally said, gesturing her head towards the table populated by the rich kids.
   “I figured,” Eva said. “Sometimes I want to get away from this.”
   “I know the feeling,” Lilith said.
   ###
   After lunch, Eva found herself staring at the clock of the following class. Time had slowed down to an almost unbearable level for her. Voices became muted by an inescapable aura of silence, even as mouths moved. Eva was within her own head, and she wanted to escape. Face down, eyes pointed upward, she scanned the room around her. There was a fly on the whiteboard, at the front of the class. It was an appropriate symbol of her life’s decay. Wherever there was light, there was darkness.
   The elongated hand on the clock’s face was edging closer to five. Two-thirty. The time for escape was nearing. That meant doors flying open, crowds. A recipe for disaster. I swear, one day, I’m going to be carried out of here on a stretcher. I really mean that.
   The oppressive atmosphere was edging her to a precipice. If she fell from it, she would be disposed to what her father and other shrinks called a breakdown, or in her words, going apeshit. There was no necessity in making a melodramatic scene right in her desk. She gulped every few seconds, and she had heard a muffled crack of thunder. There were no windows in the classroom, but she could tell that outside, the tears were probably carrying Noah’s ark.
   For Eva, simply existing was a struggle. She had yet to fine anything valuable, anything remotely salvageable among the ruin. She feared it was futile, but at the same time, dreaded the answer to her question: “Why?”
   Suddenly, the dismissal bell rang, and Eva got out of her chair with the other students like an automaton, something that teachers like Pickens would want her to be. Just a machine that does what its programmed to do.
   As she walked out, she noticed on the lockers the word EMPTY was written.
   Multiple times.
   
   A FAMILY MAN
5. As the students ran out into the rain, Holden Elliot sat in the driver’s seat of his Oldsmobile. The weather had an effect on him. It always did when it rained in L.A. For him, it brought back the burden of fifty-five years, and it was clobbering him with reminders of misfortunes and screw-ups. Clobbering him like Gavin O’Rourke did a month before at Shamrock Pub, right before he returned to the Corporation. It was an incident that was at once funny, unusual, and almost cosmic.
   In his mind, he turned the knob of his memory bank back to that night. He was seated at the bar, the keeper going about doing whatever he was doing. The glass of whiskey he held in one hand was a dangling pocket watch. It had caught his eyes, and he noted in his mild stupor that in the liquid, he saw his reflection. He had lost count of the number of drinks he had, but he was certain that he wasn’t in Shamrock long. Time flies when you waste away, he thought. There was an old television set dangling from the ceiling in the corner, blaring the local news. The Grants still hadn’t lost their fifteen minutes, as they were essentially the face of the City of Angels.
   “The inside of this piece of shit stinks of you. Do a better job at hiding it.”
   Before Cheryl had left the two of them, he was what he called a “moderate”, only indulging himself at special occasions or in intimate moments with her. After what happened at Hollenbeck, particularly the first couple of years, he became an animal. So did Eva.
   Holden saw Eva stepping out of the main entrance of the school. What she had said to him this morning was a dagger that twisted muscle and flesh throughout the day. I shouldn’t talk to her about it. Even remotely mentioning or referencing this morning is enough to make her lock the door to her room for the rest of the night.As she drew closer to the Oldsmobile, he found himself in a state of stage fright, uncertain of what to say next. He took a deep breath, and subsequently coughed. Palm trees were crying near the sidewalk through the windshield. The wipers were on, shoving the sadness aside.
   Eva opened the passenger door without a word, and took a seat, slamming the door shut.
   “Let’s go,” she said.
   Without a word, Holden made his way out of the row of waiting cars, and onto the street.
   “So how was school today?” he asked.
   Eva response was immediate, almost automatic: “Fine.”
   Other than the booming of the outside thunder and the rumbling of the engine, there was silence. “Would you mind if I put some music on?” he asked.
   “I don’t mind,” she automatically replied.
   After he turned on the POS radio, the beats of Fleetwood Mac’s “Family Man” began to fill the Oldsmobile.
   Walk down this road… when the road gets rough…I fall down… I get up…The Prometheus Corporation couldn’t have got him back in the game at a better place than Shamrock. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place you’d find a man who made his way from Old Eire to do some good for the world with science, he thought. It was a month ago, but to him, it felt like it just happened. It had burned into his skull, along with the headaches. At that moment, as he drove the Oldsmobile, he could feel one beginning. Keep your mind on the road.
   “It’s a little corny, isn’t it?” Eva asked.
   “Huh?”
   “The music,” Eva continued. “It’s… never mind.”
   I am what I am, am what I am, am what I am… A family man…
   Trying to get through the thick armor that Eva had constructed was no small task. He had realized this over the past four years. Four years of short sentences, smart-ass remarks, and so on.
   Holden let out a low sigh, and kept his eyes on the road.
   ###
   They were distant, and yet in the same room. She was staring up at the ceiling from the couch, and he was in the recliner, eyes locked on her. This was their weekly father-daughter therapy session. As a man knowledgeable in the link between the physical and the psychological, Holden figured that he would someday put it to good use.
   “What am I doing on this couch, other than just taking up air?” Eva asked. Her tone of voice was gaunt, like her body.
   “You tell me,” Holden replied.
   “I don’t really see the point of talking to you when there’s nothing to talk about,” Eva said. Her eyes, once trained on the ceiling, shifted to him. The bags underneath them were canyons. “I wonder why I’m even doing this.”
   “Don’t you remember? This our time to let loose, to purge--”
   “I get it,” Eva said. “Expurgation, cleansing, exorcism… Catharsis.”
   “I take it you’ve let it consume your day,” Holden commented.
   “I have my reasons. A whole smorgasbord of reasons. Number one, the whole concept—a mish-mash of sessions like this and screwing with genes… It raises a lot of questions.”
   “What kind?” Holden asked.
   “Nothing pretty. What’s the point of fixing people that are FUBAR?”
   Holden didn’t respond.
   “Okay, then,” Eva said as she sat up on the couch. “Why me?”
   “I told you that I wouldn’t get you too deeply involved,” Holden said.
   Deeply involved were two words that Eva was not particularly fond of.
   “Well, you aren’t too deeply involved with me.” Eva’s reply was cutting in its cynicism. “You’ve thought of it, haven’t you? About taking me to Babel Plaza.” Babel Plaza was the nickname for the Prometheus Corporation building in Century City.
   Holden didn’t respond.
   “Well?” Eva’s voice was probing.
   “I’ve considered it.”
   “Considered what? Having me volunteer?” Her voice had sharpness to it.
   No response.
   “What the fuck do you think I am, Dad? Your daughter or a goddamn lab rat?” Her voice juxtaposed with the outside thunder in its loudness.
   “Eva!” Holden exclaimed, beginning to rise from his chair.
   “Get away from me!” Eva bolted from the couch and ran out of the living room. She was headed upstairs. Holden could tell from the footsteps. As he went after her, he cursed at himself in his mind. His mind went back to the Shamrock, and he could see himself bruised and wasted on the hard floor. As O’Rourke was being shoved out the door, he had heard the bartender tell him to get the fuck out. That was the last time he’d been at Shamrock.
   As he hit the stairs, he heard a door slam. The bathroom.
   Reaching the door, he turned the knob, but the door failed to open.
   “Eva, open the door!” He could hear the sound of water running in between his bangs.
   As he ran his fingers through his graying hair, a frightening possibility played out in his mind. No. Not again. I’ve got to stop this before it begins.
   He turned and ran down the stairs, into the kitchen. There, his head surveyed the room quickly. He needed something to bust the door open. Acting on instinct, he picked up the spare chair from the table, the same one that Cheryl had sat in. He went back up the stairs, the legs of the chair in both hands, his feet briskly touching the steps.
   jesuschristletherbefineletmybabybefine
   He was standing at just a few feet from the door, taking some deep breaths before heading into the potential carnage that lay ahead of him. He hesitated raising the chair, but went ahead and did it. He lurched ahead, banging the chair against the door
   pleasegoddon’thurtyourselflikebefore
   Bang… bang… bang… and then, finally, a breakthrough.
   Now there was a massive gaping hole. Through that hole, he saw his daughter, sitting naked in the bath tub, the shower nozzle spraying her skeletal form, whose back was facing him. He couldn’t tell the difference between the water and the tears rushing down her hollow cheeks. He was relieved, but at the same time, still shocked by what he had seen.
   “Eva…?”
   She said nothing, instead staring straight down into the drain. Holden put his hand through the hole, turning the knob on the other side.
   He sat himself down on the toilet, by the pile of Eva’s clothes. The frowning smiley t-shirt stood out the most. Tears began to form in his eyes. He had never seen his daughter like this. Not at all.
   “I... can’t… do it…” Eva’s voice was labored and low.
   “Do what?” Holden asked.
   “I can’t make myself be with Mom.”
   ###
   Eva found that she didn’t have the strength in her to walk, so Holden had no other option but to carry her to her bed. The rain outside had calmed down. Through a combination of luck and choice, another incident like what happened three years ago had been averted. As he held her now toweled form, he was bombarded with memories of that afternoon when he found his daughter unconscious on the floor from overdosing on pills. The images kept coming at him, even when she was resting in her bed now, with him at her side. Several minutes had passed, and Eva’s tears had subsided. She could bring herself to speak.
   “Krieger.” That was the first thing she had said.
   “Krieger? What about him?” Holden asked.
   “You do want me to consider volunteering for Catharsis, right? Tell me the truth. You owe me.”
   Holden let out a deep sigh, and said, “Yes. It’s your choice whether you want to join. I can’t influence you to make a decision. It’d be against the ethics of my job.”
   “How soon can I go to Babel?” Eva inquired.
   “Under the circumstances, I’d make arrangements for tomorrow.”
   “Is there anything I need?”
   “Yes,” Holden replied. “Your psych-profile, for starters. Medical records. Anything that could help them out should you accept.”
   “What about my drawings?”
   “Of what?”
   “I have this habit,” Eva said, “of doing sketches of myself. They’re not the best, but they could give you and the other docs insight. And another thing—what’s the deal with Klaus Krieger?”
   
6. DOWN INTO THE ABYSS
   “He’s an animal,” Prometheus Corporation executive Jonathan Jordache said. “A pure psychopath. At least that’s what the therapists call him. He’s a tough nut to crack.” Jordache, to Eva, had a curious look about him. He was sharp-dressed, handsome for middle-aged guy, with hair that was obviously fixed up to hide the gray and straight pearly whites that flashed a flashy public relations smile.
   “What makes you say that, Mr. Jordache?” Eva asked. She had only been in his company for about a couple of minutes, and already there was something about him that was… well, off. Klaus Krieger had garnered a reputation in the scientific community akin to Keyser Soze, and Jordache spoke of him as though he were a sideshow attraction.
   “It’s his intelligence,” Holden said. “He always finds a way to outsmart us. He knows how we play.”
   “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Jordache said, still smiling. “Personally, I think he’s too brainy for his own good.” His tone of voice had an air of pompous superiority through the too-white teeth. I’m really beginning to dislike this guy, Eva thought.
   Eva couldn’t tell who she disliked more: her father for bringing her here, this snake-oil prick in front of her, or the certified sicko she came to meet. She clung to the folder under her right arm, which held the secrets of her mind and was protected by a rubber band. She had made sure that the band’s grip was tight. Foreigner’s “I’ve Been Waiting” softly played from the speakers throughout the room. It made her want to gulp.
   “There’s something I don’t get,” Eva asked. “If this Krieger kid has killed ten people, how come he’s the head honcho for the project? You just said he was too brainy for his own good.”
   “I admit it,” Jordache chuckled, raising his hands like he had nothing to hide. “Krieger has a beef with me. Thinks I’m out to screw him over. Still, it doesn’t hurt to have someone notorious backing up Catharsis. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.” He then added, “Sometimes.”
   “I read his article on shared psychosis last night,” Eva said, adjusting her bifocals.
   “I’m sure the good doctor would love to hear your thoughts,” Jordache said with ooze.
   “I think we have an appointment to get to,” Holden pressured.
   “Yes, right,” Jordache mumbled as he rose from his chair. Eva and Holden followed suit, and Jordache made sure to turn off Foreigner. “We keep him underneath the building, among the freaks.”
   Eva hated his usage of the word “freak”. It implied a lack of concern for those who didn’t share their name with a clothing label. “Do you really have to call them that?” Eva asked.
   “He has his reasons,” Holden said.
   “Let’s get this show on the road,” Jordache said as he opened the door, which led to a sterile white hallway that stretched to God knows where. When they reached the elevator, Eva moved ahead to call it up. Jordache brushed her aside, muttering “allow me” under his breath. Fuckhead, Eva thought.
   ###
   As the elevator began to creep down into the abyss, Eva was overcome with an aura of dread. She understood that her father’s work was strange, but she wasn’t expecting one of his colleagues to be both a convicted murderer and a child prodigy. Reading Krieger’s article, one would be hypothesize that he was an affable, if eccentric, wunderkind. How the author could maintain that normality, that friendliness, with the reality of his crimes was a concept that was both alien and morbid to her. A part of Eva wanted to lock hands with her father, but she was both willing to take the plunge, and was a big girl now.
   Sometimes, fire has to be fought with fire. To face sadness, one must face what one hates. Krieger might be a psycho, but I haven’t really met the guy, have I? Eva held her bifocals up to the light in the elevator, and noticed a minute crack in the bottom half of the right lens. Perhaps her nearsightedness had its benefits.
   The elevator came to a stop at sublevel six, as indicated by the LED display.
   “Sub-six, security,” a voice said over the intercom in the elevator. “Good morning, Mr. Jordache, Dr. Elliot,” the voice greeted. “Purpose of visit?”
   “Catharsis,” Eva said.
   “Hang on,” the voice replied. There was a silence in the elevator. Holden and Jordache gave Eva their respective glances. Holden’s was one of amusement, while Jordache’s held a look of annoyance. “Ah, yes,” the voice returned. “Here to see Dr. Krieger?”
   “Yes, sir,” Holden replied.
   The elevator doors slid open, revealing a concrete wall that suited an ancient prison rather than the hi-tech piece of work that the public saw. The lighting was dim, but decent.
   “Watch out for those puddles,” Jordache said as he began to lead Eva and Holden through the corridor.
   “This place is a dump.” Eva said under her breath. She wasn’t particularly happy with the scenery. It made L.A. Central High look like a resort for tax evaders. Jordache scoffed at her. He had keen ears to go with his silver tongue and charming personality.
   The steel door at the end of the corridor slid open, and as Eva stepped in after Holden and Jordache, it dawned upon her that this was a security office.
   “Hello there,” a deep voice went.
   Eva turned, and saw that it came from a silverback gorilla in white orderly outfit. What the hell? She was both startled and unnerved. Talking animals were something that normally belonged in old Hanna-Barbera shows.
   “I’m Abraham, but please, call me Abe.” He extended his long furry arm in an amicable gesture.
   “Eva,” she introduced herself, awkwardly shaking his hand. “I didn’t know the Corporation had animals that could speak.”
   “The miracles modern science can do,” Holden said. “We’re here to see Doctor Krieger, Abe, as you might know.”
   “Yuh-huh. I got two chairs already set up. He’s looked like he’s expectin’ you.” Abe knuckle-walked to the nearest console, and began pecking away at the keyboard with his webbed fingers. “I think I should let you in on some ground rules before I let cha’ll in. One, don’t approach the glass or touch the glass. When you give stuff to him through the food tray, make sure it ain’t anything sharp. That means paper clips or pens. If he’s got anything to be signing, he has felt-tip markers. If he starts acting up, there’s a door inside his cell so biguns like me can get in. Clear ‘nuff?”
   “Crystal,” Eva said.
   “One more thing before I let you go. Abraham, bring it up,” Jordache demanded.
   “If you say so,” Abraham complied. Punching more keys, he brought up surveillance camera footage. The time code showed it was from two years ago.
   “In his early days down here, security was lax, and Krieger was a model inmate. On August 12, 2012, he was bitching about migraines, so we had this poor schmuck, Dr. Getz, start up an EEG on him upstairs. As soon as the monitors went on…”
   There was a pause from Jordache as, onscreen, Klaus Krieger lunged towards Dr. Getz, who let out a silent scream as the boy wrestled him to the ground. Krieger had stuck his fingers in Getz’s mouth, pressing down on his lower jaw. The video closed, and then Abraham brought up a photo of Dr. Getz after the assault.
   “The docs were able to reattach the jaw, but it didn’t do Getz any good. He flatlined twenty minutes later,” Jordache said. He added, “What’s interesting about all of this is the readings from the EEG. Krieger’s line was stable. Even when he ripped out Getz’s throat.”
   Eva gulped, winced, and scratched her shoulder with her right cheek. Inside her mouth, teeth were grinding. “Can we just move along with the appointment?”
   “Seconded,” Holden said.
   “Very well,” Jordache replied. “I’ll stay back here and keep watch.”
   Abraham punched the keyboard once more, and the barred entrance to the cell block opened. Eva could hear, very faintly, the sounds of insanity. “Good luck, Ms. Elliot,” Abraham said.
   “Hey, Eva,” Jordache blurted as Eva began to walk to the entrance. “Enjoy the show.”
   “I hope you do too,” Eva replied.
   ###
   The barred entrance closed behind them, and now, they were on their own. Turning left and staying close to her father, Eva noted there were glass barriers, some wider than the others, on both walls. On some spots, there were simply steel doors with a closed rectangular slit, behind which was nothing pleasant.
   Eva kept her eyes forward. Don’t look at them. Don’t. What am I doing here? This is insane, just like the people in here…
   Eventually, they came to where the two chairs rested in the corridor, facing the widest glass barrier in the block. Eva and Holden both took a seat.
   
7. KLAUS THE KILLER
   The cell of Dr. Klaus Krieger was fairly large, and its interior was more polished and clean in comparison to the other tenants. At the far left of the room was a well-made bed. Ahead of it was a bookcase. Through her bifocals, Eva noted that the good doctor, who sat with his back facing them at a desk at the center of the room, was an avid reader. The shelf was predominantly philosophy, Darwin, and psychology. Smart fellow, she thought. There was also a small restroom that he could walk into, and a closet, possibly containing a wardrobe. Eva noted the door inside the cell. The rectangular slit was open, allowing any guards beyond it to peer in. Security cameras, possibly relics from a bygone age, were frozen and scattered about the corridor.
   The boy beyond the glass took a deep breath, inhaled and exhaled slowly.
   “You’ve been drinking again, Dr. Elliot,” Krieger said.
   “Yeah, well, shit happens. Doesn’t it?” Holden’s wit was there, but with it came a hint of caution.
   “Indeed.” Krieger’s accent was subtle, a far cry from the cast of Hogan’s Heroes. It had a mechanical rasp to it, possibly due to a combination of the glass barrier and something more alien. Something darker. Krieger spun around in his chair, and was now facing Eva and Holden. To Eva, Klaus Krieger was a rare creature. He had boyish blonde hair, akin to that Bieber kid who was surely in rehab by now. He was thin and delicate, but he nonetheless seemed to possess strength, as indicated by his sleek muscle tone. He was wearing, much to her surprise, a buttoned-down white shirt, and tan slacks. His feet, sans socks, were enveloped in slippers. Most of all, the face was the part of his body that caught the most attention. Underneath the blonde bangs were a pair of bifocals. On the other side of the right lens was an eyepatch, and through the left was a narrow gray eye that was looking ather. “You must be Evangeline.”
   “Call me Eva,” she said, adjusting her own bifocals.
   “There is a crack in one of those lenses.”
   “How could you--?” Eva was stunned. Despite having no depth perception, Krieger seemed to have really good eyesight. He smiled with closed lips. She put the glasses in her pocket. “You don’t mind if I take these off, do you? I’m nearsighted.”
   “Of course not. You are close enough, aren’t you?”
   “I guess,” Eva replied. “What are you reading?”
   “An old favorite, Shaw’s Pygmalion. I haven’t read it in ages, so I felt I should do myself a favor and reintroduce myself to its contents. I’m currently on the first act,” Krieger said.
   Eva said, “I never could get into plays, especially ones over at my high school.”
   “High school, yes… Los Angeles Central, I presume.”
   “It’s the best place she can go, with the money I make,” Holden said. “Adaptation is key to survival, as you know.”
   “My father here showed me your article on shared psychosis last night,” Eva said.
   “Annnnnd…?” Krieger inquired, fingers locked. His head was tilted slightly downward, his lone gray eye peeking over the top of his glasses.
   “I was just bringing it up,” Eva responded.
   “What is your opinion of it?”
   “I thought it was very insightful. You’re definitely wise beyond your years.”
   “Believe me, Ms. Elliot, when I say that I receive a lot of commendations. They are mostly from pretentious lads looking for a means of vindication in their studies. Speaking of pretentiousness, what is your impression of Jonathan Jordache? That smirk of his is pestilential, isn’t it?” His gray eye was wide open now, and his lips opened to reveal perfectly straight white teeth.
   Eva looked at Holden, and then surveyed her surroundings. Jordache was almost certainly watching all of this unfold. “Just between the three of us,” Eva said, “I think he’s an asshole.” She had put her hand over her mouth to prevent any savvy lip-reader from catching her in the act. Holden chuckled at her choice of words.
   “To be frank, I agree with you, Ms. Elliot.”
   “You understand why I’m here, right, Doctor Krieger?”
   “Yes. Catharsis.” Krieger slid a finger underneath his eyepatch, rubbing whatever was underneath. “Tell me, Ms. Elliot… what do you know about my little science project? Consider this a pop quiz. I assume you have done your homework.”
   “Well,” Eva said, “it’s a combination of genetic and psychological therapy, in layman’s terms. After a solid profile of the subject is made, they’re given a retrovirus somehow that alters their biology to their specifications. It’s kind of slow, so they’re usually placed in a chamber of liquid, maybe something rich with nutrients. While inside, the liquid is charged with a non-lethal electric current, just enough for the cell membranes to accept the new characteristics.”
   Krieger made an impressed hum sound. “Go on.”
   Eva continued. “After that, the subject moves on to the final stage. That’s where you come in. Unfortunately.”
   “Unfortunately? How so?”
   “You’re a psychopath.”
   “That’s a rather cynical perspective towards the situation, Eva.”
   “I have my reasons.”
   “What reasons?”
   “The things you’ve done,” Eva said.
   “Does that folder contain what I need?” Krieger asked, changing the subject.
   “More than enough,” Eva replied. “Psychiatric history, evaluations, you name it. There are some sketches of myself in there, too, if you’re interested.”
   “Artistic, aren’t you?”
   “Sort of.”
   “So am I, on occasion. I have gotten used to utilizing Sharpies during my internment here. Like your father said, adaptation is key. My art consists predominantly of recreations of historical events. Very recently, the staff did not particularly warm to my interpretation of Harris and Klebold walking about that Columbine cafeteria, ready for war. For up to a month, I’ve been desperate for a means of creativity. Without a means to create, there is nothingness, which is quite an ugly thing. Wouldn’t you agree, Eva?”
   “Wholeheartedly,” Eva said calmly.
   “Go on, Eva. Send it through.”
   “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Klaus,” Holden said. He began to rise from his seat.
   “Oh, n-n-n-n-n-noooooo… let the young lady do the honors, Dr. Elliot.” Rising from his chair, Krieger walked over to the tray, and gave it a quick tap, sending it shooting through to the other side. He crouched and smiled in anticipation.
   Reluctant, but not afraid, Eva rose from her seat, placing the dossier within the tray. The tray suddenly snapped back inside, startling Eva. She’d managed to get her hand out before it slammed.
   Eva noticed that Krieger’s face had spontaneously shifted in demeanor; he abandoned any trace of joviality, and it was replaced with a robotic stare. As he undid the rubber bands protecting the folder, she looked at her father, still sitting in the chair next to hers. His arms were crossed, his eyes focused on the freak of nature behind the glass. Holden had this look on his face that Eva liked to describe as his “magnifying glass stare”. It was a mixture of coldness, interest, and subdued curiosity.
   Eva sat back down, and saw that Krieger was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cell, flipping through the dossier as though it were part of his collection. He dampened the tips of his index and pointer fingers to provide for easier page-turning, and held the ones he had already glanced over down with his left thumb.
   Eva leaned to her right, towards Holden. “How can he take in all of that material in such a short amount of time?” Eva’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. She did not want to disturb Krieger’s reading. He seems courteous enough, she thought.
   “This isn’t anything new. When he was six, he memorized Othello, word for word. No joke,” Holden said. “It took him one reading.”
   One reading? The guy’s a goddamn machine...
   ###
   Moments passed, and eventually, Klaus Krieger came to the end of the dossier, where the sketches were. His eye immediately widened. “Oh, my, my, my…” He slid the three sheets out, holding them like playing cards. He turned them to Eva and Holden, and the former’s cheeks reddened when she found herself looking at a much better girl.
   Whenever Holden wasn’t looking, Eva had a habit of looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. On occasion, she would undress and do nothing but stare at the thing looking at her. It was a bad caricature of a girl that used to be better. She wasn’t the greatest artist, but something about the portraits appealed to Krieger, as evidenced by his satisfaction. She doubted it was the nude form of her ideal self. Krieger is a weirdo, but he isn’t that low, she thought.
   “Do you like the portraits?” Eva asked.
   “Definitely,” Krieger replied. He placed the sketches back into the folder. “From what I have accumulated from the documents, you appear to be a valid candidate. How I’d love to see you in that chair again and again.”
   “Nice of you to say,” Holden said. He hadn’t said much during the entire visit.
   “There’s some bonuses to all of this, Dr. Krieger,” Eva said. “I thought you’d enjoy the challenge. You strike me as a very intellectual young man. Also, I’m interested in Catharsis on its own merits.”
   “You walk over to my posh little cell here, giving me your sweeping saga of misfortune through that tray, and then you awkwardly segue into your cheap ‘bonuses’. I find that very tacky, Eva.”
   “I’m terribly sorry! I…” Eva began.
   “You’re very pale and thin, Eva. Your eyes are quite large. Your mask of normality, like your bifocals, has cracks. Your truly appalling fashion sense, reminiscent of a fifties school yet to ripen, indicates that you consider yourself distinct from your peers at L.A. Central, and yet, at the same time, you wish to blend in with the crowds; an old, broken vinyl record amongst MP3 players and social media addicts who spends her days mentally masturbating to delusions of a fairy godmother coming into your life and improving it. That fairy godmother, that opportunity, has now come, but with a catch: it is your choice, and still, you are hesitant to seize the moment. Hedgehog’s dilemma: to come out or not to come out. You are a hedgehog if I ever saw one, Eva. What a tragedy.” Krieger’s mouth bared its small, edgy white teeth when he finished, his left eye at its widest.
   Eva let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m impressed, Doctor. You possess a lot of insight. Reading psychology has done you good.” Eva had noticed that throughout the conversation, she had gradually begun to mimic the speech patterns of Krieger. Holy shit, it’s like looking in a mirror, Eva thought. “I’ll tell you what, Dr. Krieger. I’ll, uhm, take some time to consider the offer, and I’ll, uhm, let you know what I think.”
   Without a word, Krieger placed the folder inside the tray, and shoved it out. “You are a very resilient girl, Eva. I like that in a young woman. I do have one question that I am dreadfully tempted to ask.”
   “And that is?” Eva asked.
   Krieger tilted forward. “What does it feel like to be alone?”
   ###
   Eva and Holden stepped out of an elevator and into the parking garage of Babel Tower. The Oldsmobile was close by. She felt violated, used. She felt as though the password to her sense of security had been cracked, and the information within was now downloaded into Krieger’s brain. It wasn’t a spectacularly comforting concept.
   “Dad, I feel sick.”
   “Krieger’s the kind of lad you don’t want to get in your head. Just to hold a conversation with him, you have to play his games.”
   “If that’s the case, I fail to see the point in volunteering for this project.”
   The two reached the Oldsmobile, and got in.
   “You want me to be happy, don’t you?” Eva asked.
   Holden sighed. “Yes, Eve. I really do, and I mean that. I’m not fucking with you at all.”
   Eva made no response to her father’s sudden use of the f-bomb.
   “Sorry,” Holden said. He turned the key to the ignition, and the Oldsmobile left the parking garage.
   
8. THE GIFT
   Monday. The first day of the school week, and unfortunately, for the case of many high school students, not the last. I know this from experience, guys. There was a time in my life when I was in the shoes of Evangeline Anthony Elliot of Los Angeles. The day I graduated back in 2012, the same year Klaus Krieger had earned his credentials as a certified psychopathic killer, I felt reborn. Redesigned, just as Eva shall be throughout the course of this fucked-up little thriller of mine. Just as my high school years were a prelude to me getting this story on paper, the last several pages were only a doorway to this moment. Eva Elliot walked into Los Angeles Central High the morning this moment occurred not knowing this.
   Oh, excuse me. I’m going off on a tangent. Let’s get back to the story, shall we?
   Eva despised Mondays, like many other boys and girls her age. At least this was her last year before going into the Great Beyond, where there was no higher power forcing her to get in a desk five days a week. She was in her frowning t-shirt and skirt, looking out the window from her seat in her English class. It was still raining. The room was silent, and the teacher, Mr. Yorkin, was sitting back, enjoying the latest issue of Hustler. This is what you get when teachers hit middle age and pop Viagra, Eva thought. They don’t know when to keep it in. Looking at the clock, she noted that it was a minute from dismissal. Yorkin’s breathing had become labored, and when the bell finally rang, he slipped into unconsciousness. It was his last hurrah, and the coroner wouldn’t come for another five hours. The way he was sitting, with his barely-dripping penis sticking out of his fly, his mouth and eyes wide open, Eva could tell that he was out of it. It was the last time she saw him.
   She stepped out of the class and into the crowd of kids, and noticed that the lenses of her glasses were dirty. Eva could still see out of them, but she could also see the world around her as what it was. Dirty, out of balance. It was moments like these where she was truly out of place, out of body, out of mind. Nonetheless, she began to walk towards her locker.
   “What does it feel like to be alone?”
   I hate crowds so much, Eva thought. I always have. They’re unavoidable, though. Her chicken legs shifted with haste in an effort to avoid being late for the next bell. Finally reaching her locker with her English textbook in hand, Eva dialed the combination on the locker. When she opened it she found, to her bewilderment, an apple.
   …the fuck?
   Eva Elliot was no stranger to the bizarreness of existence. The last few years in particular formed a menagerie of it. However, discovering an apple in her locker was a true oddity. She didn’t particularly care for apples; she was more of a blueberry and grape girl. Also inside the locker was a folded piece of torn out notebook paper. Eva grabbed it and opened it up.
   EVER CONSIDERED TRYING SOMETHING NEW?
   K.K.
   The initials and the message above it were neatly written, and certainly done with a Sharpie. There was no doubt in her mind; this was a gift from Klaus the Killer. Eva looked around as a surge of anxiety flickered throughout her.Why would he give me an apple? In fact, how’d he know the combination? How could anyone? Looking down at the apple in her hand, she then realized that it was no ordinary fruit. She gulped and scratched her shoulder with her cheek as she bit her lip. So this is the vector for the retrovirus. Evangeline Elliot, you’re at the intersection between the present and the future, and the wheel is right in front of you. Jesus. What if isn’t a retrovirus? What if he poisoned it? I might die the second I swallow a chunk. The guy’s a psycho, for crying out loud! There’s no telling what he’s capable of! But then again, my drunk-ass dad is playing a role in all of this. He really wants to help me; he said it himself. If I get sick from this…
   The crowd was beginning to dwindle in size. Time was running out. It was now or never.
   Without a word, Eva took a bite of the apple.
   ###
   Brian Hicks had his eyes trained on the door to the class. All the seats were occupied save for one: Eva’s. The students had yet to get settled down, and the air was thick with conversation. Brian was silent. Suddenly, he saw a figure through the looking glass of the door, moving without grace. He heard the knob turning. Then it came to a stop. Then, the knob turned once more, and the door was violently yanked open, hitting the column next to it. The figure revealed itself: it was Eva. The students and the teacher of the class were speechless. The room had become a void.
   “Eva?” Brian asked.
   Eva was a statue, her feet glued to the ground. She was paler than she had ever been; her skin, coupled with the emaciation, gave her an almost nightmarish look. She began, very slowly, to walk into the classroom. Mr. Bosley, the teacher of the class, asked Eva if she was alright. She was dead silent as she took a seat right next to Brian.
   Brian noticed that Eva had gulped. Her skull shifted towards him, eyes fixed on his. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” he asked.
   Eva’s lips moved very little, and he could hear the heavy-breathing.
   “c-c-commme… cloh-sir…”Brian bobbed his head forward.
   “Mom’s here,” Eva said.
   Brian felt Eva’s hand grasp the back of his head, and she turned it towards the whiteboard at the front of the class. Eva extended her bony arm out, and pointed.
   “No one’s there, Eva. Your mother’s not there.”
   Eva turned Brian’s head back to her and said, “SHE ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE.” She then made a gurgling noise, and all of a sudden, blood rushed out of her mouth like Niagara Falls. Students exclaimed in shock, and some screamed. Brian’s face and shirt got the worst of it.
   Holy fuck, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad
   Brian was speechless as the floor at his feet was stained with blood.
   Eva doubled over and hit the floor. Brian shouted, “Bosley! Call 911, dammit!”
   WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO, KIDDO? BE A HERO? DON’T BE A PUSSY!
   Reese! Don’t!
   SHUT UP, BITCH!
   It was Brian the little boy who helped his mother off the rug of his living room, and it was Brian, the school journalist who survived his father’s testosterone-induced rampages and a fierce custody battle, that picked Eva off the tiled floor of the class. It’s funny how life tosses reminders of the past right into your face. This wasn’t the first time he had a woman’s blood on him.
   “Can you walk? Eva!” She didn’t respond; instead her bloody lips were forming small and indecipherable movements. Her eyes rolled back into her head, but there was still life in the skeleton.
   Brian struggled to move fast with Eva in his arms as he made it out into the hallway. He was muttering under his labored breath, “Don’t die on me.”
   At the end of the hall, another teacher turned the corner, and shrieked at Brian and Eva.
   “This girl’s fuckin’ dying… I need help carrying her!” Brian lumbered toward the lady, who, without question, slung Eva’s left arm over her shoulder.
   The three made their way to the main office. The lady at the desk paid little attention, instead perusing a newspaper. Brian let the teacher hold Eva, and he began unbuttoning his shirt. You’ve got to get people’s attention somehow, he thought. Without a word, he removed his shirt and tossed it across the desk, blanketing the lady’s face. “What the hell?” she exclaimed, and then she saw the blood. Then she saw Brian shirtless. Then she saw the teacher holding the shell of a girl in her arms.
   “Call 911!” the teacher cried.
   The door behind them opened. “No need,” a voice said.
   Both turned around to see a paramedic, relatively young and tall for his job, holding the door open with one rubber-gloved hand. There were a couple of others beyond the door and looking in, setting up a stretcher. “Bosley called you, didn’t he?” Brian asked, catching his breath.
   No response. Instead, the young and tall paramedic used his foot to put down the doorstopper and stepped in so the other paramedics could walk through. “Thank God you’re here!” the teacher holding Eva said. Again, there was no response. The paramedics were like a single, well-oiled machine, performing their tasks almost automatically and unfettered. Brian, standing shirtless and blood-soaked by the main desk, watched in silence as this girl was put on the stretcher, barely alive. They strapped her in, and were ready to go as quickly as they had arrived. This was not normal.
   They wheeled her out into the main hall, slightly rusted wheels squeaking as they turned. Brian made a brisk walk after the paramedics. They were headed for the main entrance.
   “Who are you? What’s this all about?”
   He was right behind them now.
   “Answer me, motherf--”
   Suddenly, Brian felt a severe shock at his nape, and he collapsed hard on the tiled floor.
   “kids these days!” A chuckle.
   Eva…
   As the surge throughout his body was beginning to fade, Brian looked up to see a man in a nice suit standing above him with a flashy PR smile and graying hair.
   “Hope we don’t see each other again,” the sharp-dressed man sneered.
   Before Brian could respond, Jonathan Jordache kicked him in the ribs and walked off.
   ###
   
9. WELCOME TO THE MACHINE, MY GIRL
   Holden was undergoing a series of simultaneous, yet very different emotions by the time the fake ambulance rolled into his line of sight in the Prometheus Corporation parking garage. He was already decked out in the white scrubs, and his tucked shirt did a poor job of hiding the gut which hung over his groin. Fear, anticipation, worry, hope, and anxiety were all running through his veins. He feared that Eva wouldn’t make it. He anticipated the procedure, and had been dreading the thought that his own daughter would undergo this. Worry settled in, taking residence right next to fear. Anxiety was high. Now, he could only hope that everything worked out. Hope was one of the few things that kept him on his feet for the past four years, and it had long, bitter arguments with the ale.
   The rear doors of the faux ambulance popped out. Holden gasped at the sight of his girl, bloodied and barely moving, on the stretcher. He had to maintain composure. Don’t let it get in the way. You’re doing this for her.
   Jordache’s BMW slid into an adjacent spot. He opened the door and walked towards the stretcher. “Let’s get this show started,” he chuckled. He looked at Holden, who was gulping down his shock, holding it down. Holden saw his fists flooring that shark-smiling bastard, but instead went along with his program. It was the only sane way.
   Without a word, Holden and the phonies rushed Eva to the elevator. Jordache pressed the button for the thirteenth floor, and pulled out a radio. “Sublevel six, how’s our little psycho doing?” he asked. Holden knew that he was referring to Krieger. In any event that called for Krieger’s presence outside of his cell, several precautions were taken. Krieger, dressed for business, would be handcuffed and shackled at the ankles, and a muzzle would be placed over his mouth. He would be strapped onto the two-wheeled gurney and rolled out in the company of two doctors, two guards and the gorilla, Abe. The guards would be armed with high-voltage shock batons, the doctors with injection guns filled with a potent sedative that would knock the boy out for hours, and Abe’s arms would be enough to floor him.
   There was a silence over the radio. Jordache said, “Sublevel six?”
   “Hello, Jonathan. Tell me, has the lovely Ms. Elliot received my present?” The voice of Klaus Krieger, even over phone lines and radio frequencies, still had its peculiar quality.
   Holden lunged over at Jordache, snatching the radio from him. “Krieger, I swear to God, if she doesn’t make it through this…”
   “I insist that you relax, Dr. Elliot. The show has yet to begin.”
   There was another, shorter silence over the radio. “Ah’ight, Klaus, that’s enough. Abe here. Everythin’s A-OK. We on our way.”
   “Gotcha, Kong.” Jordache grabbed the radio from Holden.
   ###
   While the grownups were bitching above her, Eva Elliot was in a completely different realm. In between spurts of darkness, there were muddy glimpses of the real world, and edited in was a highlight reel containing only the good parts of her life up to this point. Her mother and father joined her to complete a trio. The Elliot family didn’t always dwell near the ghetto. There were times in the summer, Eva remembered, where they had their own world near the woods, outside the city. New Eden, her mother called it. The place hung over the ocean which shined in the rays of the sun, reflecting it back. The house itself was large, having been constructed sometime in the 1930s. Suddenly, Eva found herself back there. She was in the back seat of the Oldsmobile, going up the dirt trail which led to the front of the estate. She was nine years old, and this was her first time going there.
   It was strange, really. She could hear the wheels of the Oldmobile, as well as the wheels of the stretcher. Eva could see herself looking out of the passenger’s side window from where she sat, watching in awe as the POS car moved into a completely different realm. Her present self, the way she was now, sat next to the little girl on the driver’s side. The blood was still on her, but no one seemed to notice. Mommy and Daddy were talking about something
   Alright, let’s prep got to get these clothes off
   but Eva didn’t really pay attention. Something to do with work. Meeting somebody. She didn’t know. She was just watching out the window. It was noon, and the sun was at its highest in the sky. Beautiful. Just beautiful. That was the only word her little self could use to describe it. Her present self and past fused into one girl, became part of the moment.
   Lift on three.
   She felt something holding her. She was standing in front of a camera now. It was on a timer, and the trio were ready for their big close-up.
   One.
   She felt something holding her. She knew very much about the day she was born. Mommy always told her the story, about how her water broke for the first time in the Oldsmobile as they were on the way to Babel Tower. Daddy sped like Hell to the nearest hospital. About half an hour later, Evangeline Anthony Elliot’s umbilical cord was cut. Mommy always called her a miracle.
   Two.
   She felt something holding her. There were times where she would cuddle with Mommy and Daddy in their bed when they were at New Eden. They were a trio alright.
   THREE!
   She splashed into the water. It was night, now. Mom and Dad were asleep. She was fourteen years old, and there was an urge those days to break away. An urge to be a real girl. An urge to give one giant middle finger to restraint and seize life. Nude and alone on the beach, she baptized herself. She was free, with no umbilical cord or arms to hold her back. Moonlight shone through the water, a divine spotlight on her. She was diving down when another urge over took her. She tried to fight it, but it was too strong.
   There was a shock through her body. Suddenly, Eva found herself somewhere new. She could make out through her bloody, blurred vision the face of her father looking down, petting her hair with a rubber gloved hand. She was floating. She could sense that she was in a tub, and that she was in the goop she had dreaded ever since she volunteered. Daddy…
   “It’s alright, Evie. Everything’s going to be alright.”
   There was another shock.
   And another.
   And another.
   This continued for two days.
   ###
   Dr. Klaus Krieger sat at his desk in Sublevel Six. Pachelbel’s Canon in D was playing over the speakers, at his request and for his listening pleasure. That piece had a profound sentimental value to him. Even when Cheryl was existing, it was one of his favorites. He found Beethoven to be a hack. He was too bombastic, too vulgar. But, what do you expect from a deaf lad whose father beat him? A very bad boy whose father beat him deserves better than sound and fury. Neatly arranged before him was the art of Eva. She was high above, and him so low. Yet here she was before him. The cell was dark, save for the lamp which dangled over the sketches. Of particular interest was the butterfly. It was omnipresent, as was Eva’s dream self. Helping people achieve that was a specialty of his. He had a misfortune, which was certainly running about the city now, complicating matters for Jordache and the other Corporation dullards.
   I think I’ve found that special someone, he thought with a smile.
   
10. MISSING PIECES
    Brian Hicks sat at his Brother typewriter. Although today’s word processors were neat, he felt at home with something old school. He had bought it for a rock bottom of price of a hundred, and it worked like a charm, provided that he kept buying the parts on a regular basis. As a writer, it was his duty to keep his fingers pressing keys, no matter what came out. What came out displeased him. On the page, there were only two words, located at the top.
    Dear Eva,
    She had been in his mind ever since that day, which seemed more like a nightmare. He hid the feeling under his usually sunny veneer. It was selfish, he knew, and he beat himself up over it. The day Eva went away, he went home early. It was difficult to explain to his mother how his shirt was soaked in the blood of the girl he loved, and how some guy in a suit gave him an electric shock and kicked him in the balls. On the drive home, he cooked up a story about some kid having a complete mental breakdown and attacking people with a switchblade. One person got it bad, and there was splatter. It would explain the shirt. The shock he was still in sealed the deal. He hated lying to his mother, but in some cases, he found it a necessary evil. After that prick Reese left (no father of mine, Brian thought), Sandy Hicks revolved her entire world around her little Bri. She wanted him to be safe and sound, understandably, having had a barbarian as a father figure. What she didn’t realize was that Bri was now eighteen and desperate to fly from the nest.
    He had always enjoyed writing, especially fiction. When he was a sophomore, he wrote a novel that he had yet to publish he called The Girl from Across the Street. It was a coming of age detective story, with a smattering of hormonal sex and violence. There was even a chase scene between the hero and the killer on a freeway, he remembered. He thought, overall, that it was a little rough, both in content and quality, but those he showed it to felt he had done something special. One reader called it European in style. Another called it a “transgressive thriller”. Brian was flattered by the comparison, but simultaneously felt like they were saying those things to make him feel good about himself. He could tell that his weakness was evident to the naked eye.
    Eventually, the mental strain he was putting on himself to write got to the point where he needed a break. He got out of the chair he was in, and looked at the alarm clock near his bed. It was fifteen to one in the morning. He had been staring at the paper for quite some time, he noticed.
    Eva, Eva, Eva, Eva, and oh yes, Eva. His vocabulary, which was quite developed, seemed to devolve to that name in his head. He needed to shut down. Brian switched the light at the desk off, and slid under the covers of his bed.
    Where did you go, Eva?
    He closed his eyes, took a series of deep breaths. He slid his right hand down underneath the blanket, past his stomach. He came to a stop beneath his sweatpants and boxers, giving his crotch a squeeze. He felt the urge coming on, and gave in.
11. THE NIGHT DIGGER
    The old shell was gone now, as was the sun. The darkness welcomed her. It was her one, true companion. She was standing in front of the thing’s house. All of the other things were surely slumbering now. Hello darkness, my old friend, she speaks in her mind. The scarlet hoodie she wore, along with her rubber gloves and the leather pants, became part of her. This was her flesh. It would protect her. The instruments of her power were under her sleeves. Now was the time for her to demonstrate that power.
    She parked her car a block away, and on the walk over here, she noted a newspaper container. The Chronicle said in big black letters:
    NIGHT DIGGER BUTCHERS FOURTH VICTIM, LAPD BAFFLED
    The Night Digger. How degrading. Dear Dr. Krieger would agree. However, now was not the time to dwell on something so frivolous; the thing in that house will undergo her Test. It was safe to proceed.
    The lights were out in the house. That was perfect. The thing would most likely be asleep now, like the others. It wouldn’t know what struck. When it did, it would be too late. The Test would have begun.
    She came to a stop at the front door. Locked. She looked over her shoulder. It was a mistake, and she knew it. She noticed to the right of the yard were bushes, hedges. There may be a door to the side of the house. She crouched down, and moved around. She was right. It was a sliding glass door, locked from the inside. She would remedy that, but quickly and cleanly.
    The Instrument on her right forearm extended out into the night air, and very carefully, she cut a hole into the glass door big enough for her hand to fit through and unlock it. With the circle cut, she gave it a tap, and grabbed the piece before it hit the floor on the other side. She yanked it out through the hole, placed it in the grass beside her. She could make out the interior of the house in the moonlight. She was staring into the thing’s living room. A high-definition television on a shelf. Beside it on racks were books. I’m Okay, You’re Okay. DSM-IV and V. This thing was into psychology. Not that it mattered.
    She slid the door open, breathed in the air conditioning and scent of lemon from the freshener on the shelf. If only it could match her roses. She stepped in, and looked around. There was a couch to her right, facing the television. To her left was small table with a lamp. Next to that was a framed photo of a middle-aged thing with big blonde hair. The thing had obviously had work done to it. It was the only entity within the photo. Not a very social creature, she deduced. No one would miss it.
    Cautiously, she crept out of the living room and in to the front of the house. There was a stairway, going up. She could hear typing. The thing was up! It was up and aware, like the others! It would participate in her Test. It would be willing. She came to a stop at the first step, and took her boots off, setting them on the between the rails. She wore no socks. She began to walk up the stairs.
    When she got to the top, she turned the corner to see the thing sitting at its computer in the room at the end of the corridor, fingers pressing keys. By standing in the thing’s doorway, there would be no means of escape. She was at an advantage.
    The other blade slid out, alerting the creature before her.
    She would be the last person that Christine Pickens saw before her death.

 

[Golly]

When the first thing you write down on your profile is that you have some sort of autistic disorder, chances are that you should re-write.

Similarly, if you write something on a profile and then follow it up with how you would prefer to leave the subject behind, you would do better to not write it in the first place.

 

[The Knife]

View attachment 12952

That picture has always fucking baffled me. It's like he drew it, realized it was shit, scribbled over it, but then decided it was all he had and put it out there anyway. WHAT IS UP WITH THEIR FACES?

 

[Hat]

That picture has always fucking baffled me. It's like he drew it, realized it was shit, scribbled over it, but then decided it was all he had and put it out there anyway. WHAT IS UP WITH THEIR FACES?

You just don't get it; you need to be wise beyond your years like Connor to get something as deep as this piece.

 

[MerriedxReldnahc]

That picture has always fucking baffled me. It's like he drew it, realized it was shit, scribbled over it, but then decided it was all he had and put it out there anyway. WHAT IS UP WITH THEIR FACES?

I think the girl with the red hair is based on Molly Ringwald(or whatever her name is) you guys

 

[Johnny Bravo]

That picture has always fucking baffled me. It's like he drew it, realized it was shit, scribbled over it, but then decided it was all he had and put it out there anyway. WHAT IS UP WITH THEIR FACES?

I think he was hoping to pass it off as good-bad art. You know, art that's intentionally childlike (or even drawn by a child), but presented in such a way that it's both pleasing to the eye and obviously intended. It's avant-garde or some shit. But more importantly...

is this guy wearing an eye patch?

 

[Meowthkip]

I think he was hoping to pass it off as good-bad art. You know, art that's intentionally childlike (or even drawn by a child), but presented in such a way that it's both pleasing to the eye and obviously intended. It's avant-garde or some shit. But more importantly...

View attachment 12954

is this guy wearing an eye patch?

The way he's drawn he almost looks like he's wearing two eye patches.

 

[Microlab]

I think he was hoping to pass it off as good-bad art. You know, art that's intentionally childlike (or even drawn by a child), but presented in such a way that it's both pleasing to the eye and obviously intended. It's avant-garde or some shit. But more importantly...

View attachment 12954

is this guy wearing an eye patch?

If he were trying to pass it as purposely bad, you'd think he'd at least purposely make some of it bad. That all seems genuinely terrible, and usually self-aware shitty artists who try to call "artistic choice" purposely FUBAR some aspect to make it believable.

...Unless he's really just that bad, or just that autistic. Which are possible, too.

 

[Cubanodun]

"it's sole purpose is to make fun of the less fortunate"

Since when we are the salvation army of trolling?

I think he was hoping to pass it off as good-bad art. You know, art that's intentionally childlike (or even drawn by a child), but presented in such a way that it's both pleasing to the eye and obviously intended. It's avant-garde or some shit. But more importantly...

View attachment 12954

is this guy wearing an eye patch?

It looks like sonichu version of Jason Howell

 

[Arkangel]

Well, I guess this thread was bound to happen eventually. Allow me to share my direct experience with Connor.

As The Knife was saying before, Connor does believe that I hacked him. I played a joke on him in chat once where I pretended to hack him using a fake code and he believed it. BrooklynBailiff saved the full exchange in "Line of The Day". A few months later, I guess he still believed it because he was having computer trouble and thought I had hacked his computer. He asked me multiple times and I told him I didn't (I'm a first year computer science student and don't even know how to hack).

Also, Connor's obsession with Molly Ringwald really does border on insanity. Me and a few others have skyped with him on multiple occasions and he would always try to bring up Molly. One time he said that he was legitimately worried that Molly would somehow end up homeless and that he was going to somehow rejuvenate her acting career with a starring film role that HE was gonna write. Also, he hung up Skype calls abruptly when he was the host.

Also, I am the original maker of the PedoGlassesGallery picture that Hellblazer posted before and I am so fucking proud of myself for making it.

I don't hate Connor in any way, nor do I think he's a bad person, but as Hank Hill would say "The boy ain't right I tell you hwhat."

Edit. HERE is the time I "hacked" Connor. I spelled his name wrong then, too.

 

[Watcher]

Our favorite sperg has been busy updating the blog on Connor
http://peppymccloud.tumblr.com/post/107974701587/since-christian-weston-chandler-has-been-arrested

I joined the website under the username “Connor” around December of 2013 out of curiosity. At first, I thought it was a decent place, but as I got to know the residents better, it quickly devolved into a cesspool. In addition to covering the antics of Christian Weston Chandler, the CWCki Forums is dedicated to the borderline-stalking and harassment of Internet denizens they dub ‘lolcows’ for their eccentricities and dysfunctions. While some of the ‘lolcows’ covered on the board are valid targets (Chris-Chan himself, Deeker, Nick Bate, et al.), most of the time, the members seem to actively pursue and bully individuals they deem unfit. I’m a witness to that, and a victim. Within months, I became a target of their vitriol.

Let me be clear: the site is a wretched hive of scum and villainy, if you excuse the Star Wars reference. I’m convinced a lot of the members are bona fide psychopaths looking for easy prey. If you want my advice, stay the hell away.

I've browsed the CWCki forums many times because I consider the CWCki itself to be an amazing achievement (I'm not kidding, it's the most comprehensive biography of any living human I've seen), but yes, the people involved all seem to be awful, not to mention they seem to be pretty ableist and make a lot of derogatory comments towards autism and autistic people in general.

So what you're saying is this: you participated on a board that had the purpose of making fun of people for their eccentricities, and now you're upset because the people on the board made fun of your eccentricities.

 

[José Mourinho]

I'm pretty sure there's lots of people who know more about Connor than me, but let me share some of my experiences with him:

Oh man, wasn't there a time when he thought the forum april fools joke was legit, and everyone who posted here was going to get in trouble?

Or am I thinking of another forum sperg?

That was the day! Connor saw the notice and freaked the fuck out because he thought it was legit and everyone was going to get busted.

Nope. Null posted that the forum was shutting down due to an investigation. Connor believed it.

Related: Connor's computer was having issues. As a joke, someone--I believe Ziltoid--said it was because he (Zilt) hacked it. Connor proceeded to ask Ziltoid about five or six times, in increasingly frantic tones, if he'd really hacked his computer.

Actually, during April Fool's Day, there's another thing that happened (Grain of salt required). It all happened when I was being way too ween in chat trying to have fun, posting that Chris has contacts with every single lolcow mentioned here (including Jace), and they are planning to take down the forums. I tried to make it as unbelieveable as possible just for shits and giggles (Such as how they got Kim Jong-un to get involved in this drama, fake chatlogs that involve PvtRichardCranium joining in to take down the forums, invisible ninjas trying to capture us, how they got access with every single IP address etc.) Other members joined in too such as one member posted that he detected a FBI Wi-Fi service, and only one legitimately believed the whole thing. And that person is unsurprisingly, Connor. Unfortunately, I don't have the chat log for this.

When Jace arrived, Connor posted in the thread begging to Jace for mercy, which leads to quotes such as:
https://kiwifarms.net/threads/https-www-youtube-com-watch-v-q67qcbznat8.3382/

Dude, I don't even know you. I'm just a twenty year old kid who joined the forums out of curiosity, not malice.

What have I done to harass or intimidate you, Jace?

Still, I don't know whether the chat incident caused him to get paranoid over Jace.

If Connor ever posts on /cuteboys/ I am killing myself.

lol he actually did. Whoops.

He once posted about his personal lolcow, "Fart Master" before too on the forums:
https://kiwifarms.net/threads/fart-master.4795/

Besides Redesigning Eva Connor also wrote some really bad self-insert Godzilla Fanfics if I remember. I think it was @Alan Pardew who showed me the one where Godzilla hate fucked the Earth into exploding

He did have an account on the Toho Kingdom Forums under the user account Gexistentialist, and here's one of his fanfics:
http://www.tohokingdom.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=359265&sid=17d5cf59ebb50c82e48b83e697132f06
Archive: http://peppymccloud.tumblr.com/post/98975684817/the-king-of-the-monsters-discussion-by-connor

 

[SpessCaptain]

I'm pretty sure there's lots of people who know more about Connor than me, but let me share some of my experiences with him:





Actually, during April Fool's Day, there's another thing that happened (Grain of salt required). It all happened when I was being way too ween in chat trying to have fun, posting that Chris has contacts with every single lolcow mentioned here (including Jace), and they are planning to take down the forums. I tried to make it as unbelieveable as possible just for shits and giggles (Such as how they got Kim Jong-un to get involved in this drama, fake chatlogs that involve PvtRichardCranium joining in to take down the forums, invisible ninjas trying to capture us, how they got access with every single IP address etc.) Other members joined in too such as one member posted that he detected a FBI Wi-Fi service, and only one legitimately believed the whole thing. And that person is unsurprisingly, Connor. Unfortunately, I don't have the chat log for this.

When Jace arrived, Connor posted in the thread begging to Jace for mercy, which leads to quotes such as:
https://kiwifarms.net/threads/https-www-youtube-com-watch-v-q67qcbznat8.3382/



Still, I don't know whether the chat incident caused him to get paranoid over Jace.

lol he actually did. Whoops.

He once posted about his personal lolcow, "Fart Master" before too on the forums:
https://kiwifarms.net/threads/fart-master.4795/


He did have an account on the Toho Kingdom Forums under the user account Gexistentialist, and here's one of his fanfics:
http://www.tohokingdom.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=359265&sid=17d5cf59ebb50c82e48b83e697132f06
Archive: http://peppymccloud.tumblr.com/post/98975684817/the-king-of-the-monsters-discussion-by-connor

Checked out that farting guy he wanted to troll, he's a professional flatulist who can suck in air into his ass.

 

[The Dude]

I only know a little about Connor, so I don't have a huge dog in this fight. My main gripe with him is his views on adoption. If it weren't for adoption I wouldn't have had a family and probably wouldn't be here because I'd have been aborted. I'm adopted. My Mom couldn't carry a child and every pregnancy she had ended in miscarriage. I'm grateful that I was able to be adopted when I was born so that I could know the love of my parents. If it weren't for adoption there would be so many people who are unable to conceive that would remain childless. I would even argue that adoption can bring about an even more loving family because everyone involved knows just how lucky they are to have each other.

So fuck Connor and his vile opinions on adoption. That's all I have to say on the matter.

 

[Randall Fragg]

Wait, fat, pretentious, prevented, greasy nerd who wants to be a writer and has hygiene and masterbation issues?
Is Connor really Harold Lauder from The Stand?
Ohmygod we're living in some autistic version of The Stand, and soon the world will be plunged into conflict between the forces of the Kiwi Farms and the dark forces of autism.
(Randall Flagg is really Sonic the Hedgehog. It all makes sense!)

 

[GREEDY FIREMAN]

The way he's drawn he almost looks like he's wearing two eye patches.

Spoiler

 

[drtoboggan]

He reminds me of that one criminal from Watchmen, the guy who begged to be punished for stupid shit. Then Rorshach dropped him down the elevator shaft.