In the Eyes of Insanity

I write this from the thoughts and actions of a desert wanderer who preys on passing aliens. Yup, he's a nutter butter. The Fallen prowl the desert. My desert. Look, a spider tank for the spider men! Aren't they creative? Then their Pike. It carries their heavy bags from their sore backs. They stumble about, no doubt from a nightly romp-stomp. The driver drinks from his water sack. His death is now known. Perch-top down, I take my darts to the red sands. They will feed many vultures, including me! I twinkle-toe past them. Which poison today? Rattlesnake? Cobra? Sidewinder? Let's try the dry blend. It's like rabies, only faster. No drink here and they dry out. Fall over. Perfect. Better than the guns that those Guardians use. I raise the tube and puff. The dart sticks out of the water sack for a second and falls, but the deed is done. He drinks again. He's done drinking. The poison numbs thirst. They move slow. Snowbacks sent to my desert. Everyone sane travels when the sun is low or sleeping itself. That excludes us. We move to the rust city. The old towers smiled with toothless grins. Giant gashes make buildings happy.Well known fact. Pikelot hasn't touched the water sack in 5 hours. The dozen footers walk in the city. Tank follows. But the pike driver pulls over, four hands on forehead. He slumps, but friends don't notice. I walk up, show him my Shiny, and clean it in his spine. A Pike? For me? You shouldn't have! I'll take it for a spin now! I sleep with the moon watching over me. Tomorrow I rise to collect the Fallen. The idiots stored their spare food and water on the Pike. Unless they drink oil they will go thirsty in the city. I turn on their radio. Despite all things they still play their music on it. The highs and low symphonies of mystery and action lull me to sleep. Sunshine Time! Shake the rags, check the bags, and go! Outside the rusts in a double timed rush, I wait for noon and have lunch. Fallen travel food is bland but filling. They also seem to have caught a fish somewhere. Crazy guys. Wonder where they are? Why not ask the circle birds? Hey circle birds! 'Circle' Where are the spiders? 'Circle' Oh, the circle? Okay. I'll walk. Perch-top in a tower I see my prey. Of the two tank dudes and dozen footies, 5 seem to have found the Pikelot's water tasty, two lost a fight, and six others dried out on their own. Snowbacks don't know enough about no water and too much about ice. Wait, 2+5=7, and 7+6=13, so... Capt. is down, so are the drivers. A footie. Dramatic pause and... spin! No one. Oh, he's down there. Waving away the vultures. Not even the toughest guy survived, so this one musta grab-snatched water and hid.Wandered back to see if anyone lived. Guardians may be a bit brutish in their ways, but they do stock up on the goodies. And Spider tanks do fetch the good stuff. But what about a Fallen? They are in it for the good stuffs, maybe this one will be worth catching. Time to go greet my guest! Duct tape fixes everything still. Them cavemen were smart. Fire went out? Duct tape. Wish I knew how. But I do know another thing it fixes: Spider arms. I walk up to the guy and he shoos me away like a vulture. Considering my relationship with circle birds this upsets me to the none. Tape the lefts, then the rights, then the two together. Don't be stingy and it's all good. Then I show him my water bag. Oh, you know what that is Mr. Grabby! Well, you can't grab because your hands are tied together, silly boy! Here, let me help you. Open wide and take nice, slow gulps. Empty? Well, it was full and I'm not stopping on the way home, so you'll just have to piss yourself. Here, we'll leave the radio with your friends for the other to find and take the tank home. I'll pick up the pike in the morning. Tally-ho! Adventure awaits! We go! It's a new record! 10 minutes of actually being able to control a Spider Tank! One may scoff at that, but that one usually has the four arms needed to drive in the proper. Well, the Pike be right there, just throw the snoozin' Mr. Grabby on the back and run on engines till they weep. Be back in a timely amount of time! Good plan, now where is Mr. Grabby? Oh, Mr. Grabby, why are you on the turret? I didn't flip it that much, just on it's side! At least you stopped screaming... The return is fast. Along with the Pike pushing down, the old road still peeks out of the sand. It gets used by everyone, because the alternative is rolling desert dunes. My tower, an ancient building with a half-buried warehouse filled with all sorts of junks, sits not too far away. Some caveman must have been a chemist, because he had a full library in some basement with directions to make the most amazing things. 'Course, I found a charred skeleton in the lab below with all the ingredients the books mention, so the books accuracy may be a bit dubious. But hey. Someone thought that this place was worth fighting in, and they forgot to pick up their pieces, so I got their stuff too! Trouble is, sand got in and filled in a lot of old tunnels, so I suspect that my shovel has job security. New things show up every day, the most recent being the first jail cell of many. Still occupied too. That is dedication right there, sentenced to life and sticking around for death! Well, he'll just have to move to another cell, 'cause Mr. Grabby is going in there! Just gotta drag Spiderman down three flights of stairs and take a left at the skeleton impaled by a Spider's zap-stab. Three days. Three days of peace and quiet. Nothing to chase, no one to trade with, just diggin' and chillin'. I've decided to give Mr. Grabby a full name: Franklin B. Grabby. Or Frank for the short. He seems to come down with a bad case of boredom. Writing on the walls with a rock, moping about his cell and messing in the sand. I was even nice enough to untie him while he slept! May as well give him something to do. Found empty old notebooks that don't crumble, plus a buttload o' writing sticks, so I'll give him those. It's not like he could use any of it to pick the lock, cause he can't reach it. He hasn't even tried to break out. He just watches me bucket out the rest of the room. At least he's potty trained and the toilet works, but who knows [i]that[/i] goes. Well, Frank seems to like my gift. He didn't quite know what to do with it at first, and waited for it to start walking around while he ate. Then he looked it over and figured out that it be writing stuffs. As much as I wanted to see him use it, something was setting off a mighty cloud of dust down the ol' black line. Perhaps some friends for Frank... [i]*Prisoner's Log, entry 1[/i] Wowzers! [url=http://destiny.bungie.org/galleries/gdc2013_concept_art/lg/48.jpg]They[/url] never been down this way before! Coming down from ze rustiness, too. And that is a big box with big wheels. I think they're compensating for something. But that is a good-godly amount of stuff they be hankering around! What are they named anywhos? Karaw, Narwhale, Balal, ohhh... I got it! Bob! AND THAT'S A LOT OF BOBS! Well, with a name like that, of course you'll have a lot. Ah, good. They got the Pikes too. But something doesn't seem right... Dots. The sky has dots. Didn't know that the sky could get sick-- oh, it's Guardian fly-a-mihjigs. Suppose I should hunker-bunker down. Guardians are messy. To be in the continuations.