Proxies

I'll make this pretty quick. Danny doesn't like it when I borrow his computer when he's napping, but I don't have much better to do at the moment.

Today we're going to learn about proxies. You know, those lovable little scamps who run around in Marilyn Manson masks and kill masses of innocent people? Those guys.

From what I can tell, Proxies are the final stage of the disease. So the miserable creatures who get to live until they're killed off by someone like me. They're people who've been emptied out, or twisted up by the Slender Man and find themselves carrying out his bizarre whims like little puppets.

In my experience I've found about five kinds of proxies.

First you have the Empty Proxies, who are basically just walking corpses. When alive they were probably those people who just decided to lay down and die. They don't talk or do much. They're just zombies for the most part, just doing whatever. In autopsies there brains are saturated with black liquid, as are their lungs, and arteries. From what I can tell, I don't think they need to eat or drink much, because they're stomachs are always empty. Then again I expect they'd be vomiting a lot so that may be the cause of it.

Next you have Manic Proxies. I'm not sure if these guys are really proxies are just plain crazy people. Their autopsies would say Proxy, but there's not too much logic to these guys. These guys can be in an especially good mood, cackling and rolling around in the blood of their enemies, and then before you can blink be screaming and shouting obscenities, crying over things that don't even make sense. A lot of children who become proxies wind up like these guys, as well as people who are kind of crazy to begin with. They're unpredictable, and there's really no rhyme or reason to how they work. They kill randomly and I've found that a good deal of them get arrested and put in jail as serial killers, (probably because they draw a lot of attention to themselves.) These are probably the most dangerous kind of proxy, simply because of how unpredictable they are. The strangest thing about their autopsy is that the concentration of the black liquid is located mostly in the Amygdala and really nowhere else (for those of you who don't know the Amygdala is a section of the brain that controls memory and emotional responses, make of that what you will.)

After that you have what I like to call, The Pain in the Ass Poets. I don't even really feel sorry for these whack jobs. Not only do they all seemed pleased as punch to be proxies, but man do these assholes love to monologue. They love to give you these shit eating grins, and tell you about how stupid, useless, and insignificant you are. It's just all, "blah, blah, blah, blah, I'm a fucking psycho and proud of it, and you should be kissing my feet." These idiots never really grasp that they are puppets. At least the Manic Proxies can be in denial about it, but for these fuckers it never even sinks in. They are all pretty pompous and love to spew prose at you. I'm guessing they were some self-righteous assholes before they turned, and they just never even realized how fucked up they became. Overall they're just annoying. They love to play mind games, but it's not like I have time for that so they're a pretty easy kill if you don't let em psyche you out. They're autopsies are pretty useless also. They have almost no black liquid. They're just twisted assholes.

After that you have the Sleeping Proxies, which are actually just people who are far gone. Right before you turn, there's an interval where you black out and start doing shit in your sleep, or you start behaving odd, or hearing voices in your head. It's the stage in-between. For obvious reasons I've never done an autopsy on this kind of proxy.

And the last type is the Passive Proxy, and these are the guys who just do not care. They have even less black liquid saturation in the brain than the Poet, (although there is a lot of build up in the lungs and arteries,) but they really just aren't all that active. They're dangerous yeah, but sometimes you'll find one who just doesn't care enough to kill you. I think these are the fighters who became proxies. Just sort of sad and resigned to their fate. I pity these guys, and a lot of the time they aren't all that upset to die. They don't make a big fuss over it. In fact I think a lot of proxies are happy to go.

That's the thing you have to remember about Proxies, they are gone. You can't save proxies. You can try, but it'll do more damage to you than anything else.

I used to be in the business of trying to bring proxies back. Back when I was still a newbie to all of this. I was probably about sixteen? Seventeen maybe? Hitchhiking around Texas with this guy named Rex and his posse of runners. They used to hide up in tree's and have me stand in the woods as bait, then if a proxy came a long they'd drop a brick or a bowling ball or something like that, set up traps, or knock em out, and then we'd make off with them; tie them up in warehouses and try to figure out how to fix them. Those were the days.

Rex had kind of a chip on his shoulder. I think his brother or something might of turned, but I'm not sure. He used to sit there and all but torture these proxies, trying to get something out of them. At the time I don't think many of us realized how hopeless it was. He tried everything he could think of, being nice, being threatening, provoking them, interviewing them about their lives. He'd switch us out and we'd do the good cop, bad cop routine.

Finally we found a proxy who seemed pretty unstable, and it was clear she'd just turned. Rex thought this was gonna be the one that would lead to the answer. That if we saved this one, we'd somehow be able to figure out how to save the rest. He worked on this proxy 24/7, non-stop, just doing everything he could to bring her back. After weeks of this, one day she just came back. She could remember things about her life again, and she got weepy and clingy with Rex. Couldn't be alone, always crying. Rex said it was because she was recovering from the shock, and that made sense. She was always apologizing. I spent a night watching her when Rex went out once, and she wound up all over me, just telling me how sorry she was and how she didn't mean it and that she was scared and please oh please don't leave me. The woman must've been twice my age, and it was just weird. But she was recovering, she was healing. She was getting healthier, and as time went on she became more stable and we thought for a one shining month that we had done it.

And then one night she snapped. She killed Rex and a few of the others in our group. Left me with a nasty scar on my neck. She ran off and to this day I have no idea what happened to her. She's probably dead by now. The woman was an entire laundry list of problems. That was when it became pretty clear that being brain wiped isn't something you can just come back from, and that sometimes there are some people who aren't worth saving.

Nowadays if you see a proxy it's best just to kill it while you can. They were people once, but letting them live is more detrimental than it is beneficial. They love mind games, and all it takes is dropping your guard once for them to get you. You do not want them within a thirty mile radius of you unless they have a bullet in their head. I've read a couple of miracle cases online, where a very strong person mentally can manage to come back, but relapses are more common than you'd think, and miracle cases are the exception and not the rule. If you want to stay alive, and you want to keep your sanity in tact, kill or at least avoid all proxies.