-Phase Two Complete-

Patterns, Management. Have you seen the pattern? But then, you weren’t there when the fire crept through my veins. You didn’t listen as I yelled for death. So maybe you don’t know the pattern. Maybe Ember didn’t write it in his observations, nor Spark in his reports. I can’t imagine Pyre sharing the seductions she whispered in my ears as she verified the science. So, it’s quite likely you don’t know. It’s a problem, but not for me. I don’t care that you can’t see the poetry of the killings. It’s already appreciated by its intended audience.

Yes, I know a pattern carries risks. The voices yell this from time to time, but I placate them with a mental wave. Patterns can be predicted, but only if the pattern you’ve analyzed is the pattern I keep. You see, patterns always have a hitch. A single value out of sequence. A variable that can’t be trusted. Can you handle a bit of randomness, Management?

Or maybe I’ve misjudged you, and you do know the pattern. Maybe you are thinking that if I use a pattern, I must have a secret desire for an audience? A tiny urge to have the brilliance of my plan laid bare before me. To be told how ingenious I’m as you snap the cuffs around my wrists and put a barrel to my forehead. Please don’t bluff yourself. Know that not even when my boot presses against your neck will I reveal my plan and its threads. Only when I’m safe, sure no retribution is heading my way, and the urge might overwhelm me, will I speak my plan out loud. And then only the wind. The walls have ears, but the wind is tone-deaf.

But even if you don’t know the pattern, surely you’ve seen hints of it? Have you seen the clues I’ve laid out before you? You need to look behind the deaths. Or maybe you can’t. You didn’t feel the fire cutting through my veins, the same fire Ember documented with a morbid curiosity. You didn’t feel the explosion every time Spark pressed the button. You didn’t hear the soft platitudes Blaze whispered while pretending to care.

But I do. I remember, as do the voices.

I wonder if she does. She knows the pattern, so she probably knows she’s next. Does she wonder whether I plan to give platitudes of my own as her breath leaves her body? I wonder what I will say to her. Maybe I’ll even hold her hand, as she did mine.

The voices are falling asleep. Sweet silence fills my head as we wait for the morning. It makes me wonder. Man, machine, we all have the same requirements. Energy to live, food to sustain us. Do you eat, Management? You don’t need to tell me, I know I’m rambling. The precious silence before sleep makes me philosophical, possibly even delusional. Don’t worry, I’m as sane as anybody you have ever met. Perhaps even more, all things considered. But, to prevent any embarrassment, I will rest. I wish you a pleasant night, Management. May your sleep be deep and your dreams be sweet. My mother used to say that every time before I went to bed. She also told me to keep my eyes open.

For it’s all in the pattern.