Well, where even to begin? I’ve spent the best part of the past four months thinking I’ve been various degrees of mad. I’m still not 100% convinced I’m not locked up somewhere going out of my mind, the way psychics often do, but the evidence that I’m not is both strong and compelling.
I still don’t really understand what happened in London, we defeated a psychic threat which was poised to take over the city and who knows where from there. When I say we, I mean myself, the army and four of the strangest people I’ve ever met. They’re, I don’t know, is alien even the right word to use? They’re not from Earth, but a place called Amber, a place I hadn’t even heard of until the psychic force mentioned it to me. I was there, briefly, and everything seemed so real, the volume turned up to 11 I guess would be the best way to describe it.
Ella introduced me to Amber in a round about sort of way I guess and it seems she and these people are both nobility and some sort of relatives of mine? As I said, I still don’t understand it really and no one’s really explained it either.
Not that I gave them the chance. After London M granted me leave, so I took it and ran. Turks and Caicos to Lisbon to New York (no sign of Ella there, I know she said she was going, but…) to Iceland to Tahiti to Morocco and then back to London. I ran and ran and ran I guess you could say. I didn’t look back, didn’t settle, but couldn’t stop myself from looking for things that seemed other, seemed more somehow. Or is it just that London, everywhere, seemed not quite as bright as they had before? I finally decided I needed to know.
I went back I to the office yesterday when I got home, I wanted to see the lay of the land, whether there’d been any more reports of Weir activity. Thankfully there hasn’t been so far. M was his usual self, stoic, concerned. He didn’t question me too hard, but nor did he question my request to extend my leave.
I can’t remember much more about last night, 009, well, I guess I can call him Sean, since no one is actually going to read this, was also back in town. We started at some little dive bar in Shoreditch and it all gets a bit fuzzy from there. Last time I remember being that wankered was in New Orleans and that’s where all this really started. Maybe I was hoping to rewind it all? Doesn’t seem to have worked. I just have a snoring 00 in my bed and a raging hangover.
But I know what I need to do now. Spend the day tidying up a few loose ends, get together my kit and take out the cigarette box I’ve been ignoring. Lord knows what will happen, but I’m ready to ask some questions.