Mission GO!

A recession…nah. Can only bask in the appreciation that you recognize the term in this dark…this context. I’m not laughing; the joke of it is being pulled out of the stone one silver cloth at a time that no one notices. Guess how can you not? They’ll think the knots are Celtic Runes. The heart bleeds out either way. Better than this exists. Been there, through the burned-off fingertips, fine wine sips. The M. Night Twist is that they are no longer missed. Not regretted; who has the time in the trenches, but not some ham-fisted blame game reason the former operative’s flowing in perpetuity with the monsters and mine fields. You’d never know your forever was temporary…  Back from that, sir.

A lack of movement divergent of the e-brake J-spin snaked through the creeping traffic jam—see what I mean? No, because that’s always the answer. That attempt to pre-flee was not misinterpreted, which is why your extra effort has me looking for your backup agents, but you’re only asking why I won’t stop pacing in front of the TV. Flagrantly BASE, half waste, half planner for the inevitable car chase. No laces as the clue, got it, but every time I glimpse the soles, I miss 54 hours and am now stuck checking this prison’s dialect in some so-called holy, dead language. Trap, slap in the face isn’t the worst scenario on the docket. It’s seeing no need in your locket—selling it with the rest of the lent in my pocket. The Pawn Can operator will call it a steal.

A fair point…? Why bother otherwise? Nasty was to be, this. A spell, curse from the very hate it takes to conjure, extra spice of paradoxical paradise to keep the furnace hot. Flock of thoughts to handle in every blink, none for common sense; however, earns no cents until the likes of you jump the fence. The attack dogs operate from the training of juxtaposition; listen within the barks for the whistle; it’s not some master—hell, it’s the signaling of your bubbling intuition. No, I can’t keep going like this…Paralyzed by the agency I’m disguised as, lost from any bitter sweetness despite being THAT boxer with the reach. Sounds outside chamber—HELLO?! I’m not, well, trapped but—I’m the Nomad, can anyone hear me?!  

A real problem, is it? Ethereally speaking of avenues, guesses surrounding body ques, even a clever lever to relax field of vision. Smart, sure, but never quite as on the mission as the rest of you’ll…This party is wack, anyway. Plainly, the Heights East of Redding, Main Intelligence Tower could use a new long-term operative. Never dull, plenty of fieldwork in this roaming post. You’ll host voices from the villainous scenes, and never re-meet those fiends. Why cut cold turkey--

Fuck a self-destructing message—I woke up double wrapped in a plastic bag, gasping my way out. Note stappled to the forehead—whoever’s idea was that is dead. “You’re resourceful and start today; ignore the date, when the door passes your location at 03:33 on the d—” Shit! Which way was it heading…