 The floor may not be a robot. The following took place between October 12th and 25th 2009. This story was a journal, kept by a widowed husband. He was found dead on the sidewalk next to a local grocery store. The only thing out of the ordinary was that his eyes were all black and he had burn marks, significantly on his chest. No evidence of the killer has been found. It has been exactly three months since Mary died. A heart failure. Out of the blue. Yeah right, fucking doctors think they know everything. Anyway, my counsellor said it would be a good idea to start a journal to keep my thoughts in. Fuck. October 14th. Fucking lady in the grocery store took forever. Damn, how many Trojans does one bitch need? It's a usual day. It smells like beer outside, or is that just me? Or, stupid ass boss thought he knew everything. Now we are down in the slums, the biz has no money, and he laid off half the workers. October 14th. Finally, UPS takes forever to deliver one simple laptop. Three fucking weeks. October 15th. A laptop is a piece of shit, but it's the only thing I can afford right now. Alright, I download all the usual files, now to have some fun, baby. Damn it, fucking virus. A freaking Trojan virus. October 16th. Stayed up all night playing World of Warcraft, not being online in a while hurts your social stats, dude. Looking for some games to go with my collection. Came across a first person shooter game called, Help Me, All Caps, No Spaces, and both ease replaced with the number three. The title is supposed to mean hacker life's personal massacre for T3. It was rated very well, so I downloaded it. It's alright, minor glitches, okay gameplay. It's pretty much a modern warfare to clone. October 17th. That fucking game. It freaking crashed my computer. I started it up, and it took me to the title, then strobe lights and crash. Fuck. Now gotta take that damn thing. The dude there took it to the back to look at it. He told me to come back tomorrow. Only thing I got now is to the... October 18th. I went back to that computer store. They told me nothing was wrong or out of the ordinary, and that it was working just fine when they used it. Really? 50 bucks out of my pocket for this shit. Well, I took it back, looked it up, and started it up. Everything was normal, although half my files had been wiped, including that game. Barry. If only you were here. I had to go to work today, on a Sunday of course. Boss fired another few. I had talked to him a long while about an account that needed attending to. Heck, that dumbass might a fraction of a brain after all. October 19th. Found out my boss, Jaren, had been found dead, his eyes, pitch black, and a burn mark on his chest. Piece of shit had it coming, too bad, though cause the company sent another agent down here for the time being. Fact is though, he is a whiny, irritating little thucker. Acts like he is better than us. The police were all over the place. A man pissed himself cause a cop scared him. That guy is always on the edge. October 20th. My house was broken into last night. My kitchen window had been opened. The thing was, nothing was stolen. Only a single picture of me had my face scratched out by something. Police didn't find anything. They took that picture for evidence. To have a serial killer or something in your house. Thought that. Well, tonight I'm staying at my bud's house. Barry, I love you. I hope to see you in my dreams. October 21st. I came home last night to find my house surprisingly kept. Everything is where it's supposed to be. A note on the counter said otherwise. Why did you leave? Are you scared? Do you hate me? Now I have a reason to be scared. I'm gonna try to stay up all night. What is going on? October 22nd. Stayed up all night. Heard nothing at all. Maybe it's a friend playing a trick on me. Well today, my friend who I stayed with a night or two ago, was found dead. Same as my boss, black eyes, and burn marks. I'm not a suspect, but a person of interest. They don't know what is causing it though. They think I could be a virus, but they haven't ruled out a murder yet. I turned in that note today. No fingerprints, no clues, nothing. I'm starting to doubt if I am even capable of doing anything without something happening. Everyone close to me is either missing or dead. If this guy wants me dead, why doesn't he just kill me now? October 23rd. I'm sorry about yesterday, someone's at the door, hold on. A UPS man had brought a box. I opened it up and there was a laptop, and there was a note inside. Dear Mr. Anderson. Please note our regret. The laptop you have ordered had been found in one of the offices in Chicago. Sincerely, UPS management. Where the fuck did that laptop come from? As a matter of fact, where did that game go? I searched online and all evidence of it being there was gone. It was no longer on the top of the list for high rated games. It's just gone. October 24th. I didn't write much yesterday because something came. Tall, dark Harry, with a growl of a devil or demon. It stayed outside by my bedroom. Clawing, scratching, I don't know what the fuck it wants. I called the police and told them there was a man in my house. They got here in around five minutes. Those minutes seemed like hours. They got to the door and asked if they could come in. When they got no response, they kicked down the door and saw the creature. Gunshots rang in the house. I heard growling, ripping and crunching sounds. The screaming. Oh god, the screaming. It was a horrid mix of helping, screaming and whimpering. It wants me, it will kill everyone to get me. I just want to be fucking happy. October 25th. I busted out of my window and ran down the street in broad daylight. It chased after me. I was running down the street. I saw a few febs in an alley. They came up to me and stalked me. They were gonna mug me. Then it flew at them and ripped them apart and slowly ate their souls. But it wasn't going to be satisfied until it had me. I stalked so I could write this. That fucking game helped me. It's a fucking death sentence, no worse. Mary, if you manage to read this journal, I love you. A blog. From my witness accounts, all they saw were a couple of febs just being torn apart by nothing. The man's final words were in an unknown language. They were, said Diabolus East, Diaz Mortus East. This roughly translates to, the devil is real, God is dead. The grocery store security cameras caught quite a sight. The footage showed the gangsters being ripped apart, then their chests bursting into flames, then quickly diminishing. The man just fell, chest burning. Then, in a bright flash, the footage cuts.