...right. Second. I
On my way home from work (I'm thinking of quitting, seeing as how shit always seems to go down as I'm leaving the library), I came to the same intersection where the Blank killed and puppeteered a guy into a car crash oh so many moons ago. Tonight, of course, it was bright. No stars, no streetlights. Actual sunlight. Hooray for summer.
As I'm crossing, taking care not to step in any day-old horseshit (parade; don't ask), I came down with a minor headache. Oh, and paralysis. Nothing says 'fucked' like a headache and paralysis. I swear, if I don't get my ass killed before I'm out of my house, I will buy as much aspirin as I can on my meager budget, just in case things get all 'Slendery' at college (which they probably will).
So I was standing still, in the middle of the intersection, waiting for a car to come down the street at thirty miles an hour and hit me, when I heard footsteps coming up behind me. Heavy, crunching footsteps. By the sound of him, he was twelve feet tall, six hundred pounds, and wearing Army boots. Either that, or his footsteps were amplified. I find that unlikely, as they would've had to been louder than a jet engine for me to hear them over the sound of my own heartbeat and the overwhelming cacophony of 'ohshitohshitohshitohshit' tearing through my mind.
That's about when I feel the razor-thin edge of a blade tickling my throat, right at that little dip in the collarbone (probably a technical name for it, but I don't care; I'm not a friggin' doctor) and a gloved hand at the back of my head. Slowly, this guy circles around me, tracing my neck with the blade in a way that felt just plain wrong. He certainly seemed to be getting his jollies off of it. He gets in front of me, and cups my cheek with his hand. And he was fucking grinning.
"Peek-a-boo, Little Lion."
And then he was gone. Just like that. Creepy-ass paralysis, creepy-ass knife-rape, creepy-ass grin, and creepy-ass whisper, all in one creepy-ass Proxy package. Now you're thinking "Moral, he could've been any creepy-ass, knife-crazy spook out to get you. That doesn't make him a Proxy!"
...I can't remember his face. I looked straight at him, right into his eyes, and I can't remember a second of it. The grin stuck with me because it was so...hollow. Like he was wearing a mask, but I know he wasn't. I don't know how I know; I just know, y'know?
Sorry, couldn't resist. Tend to resort to stupid 'humor' when confronted with a creepy-ass kniferaper Proxy. ...I think I just found his name. Kniferaper. Let me know if that name pops up on any Proxy circuits, alright?
The best evidence is what he said. 'Little Lion' is what the Proxy 'asmodeus' (yeah, without the capital 'a'; lord, I was a dork) called 'Nobody' in my fake blog, the one I'm pretty sure got me into this whole mess. Numerous people must've read that blog, but for one of them to not only have found me and go through the trouble to put up a Perception Filter around his face?
Ladies and gents, it would seem I have my own personal Proxy.