Episode 34 (Kodek’s diary)
At least, I think it’s 1998. One year after Snake apparently Escaped from New York.
Dark in here, but I’ve gotten pretty good at writing in the dark. And with my eyes. Closed.
I think about Anna a lot.
I don’t know if she thinks about me, or is thinking about me. I don’t think the last Anna I saw is. What I mean by that, is the last version of Anna. She’s he one not thinking about me. Or not with any sense of loss or yearning, anyway. She might be thinking “Thank Christ he’s off at the loony bin. Fuck.
There’s another Anna I remember, and not just the one who tried to blow me up with bazooka
I don’t know what night it is now. I haven’t written in at least four nights because I feel like there’s someone over my shoulder watching. And the nights blend, like the days. Hard to keep track.
A least they didn’t find my book when they came in. I thought that my senses had been dulled by the constant drugging and the fact I had been concentrating on my writing, but obviously something still works because I still have my book. Funny, all this writing, maybe I could have made a go of that newspaper job. What the hell had possessed me in the first place? Can’t think that everything about my life was designed by The Company because that’s when they come and
Thinking about Anna again. No the old Anna with he bazooka, o the new one who had me taken away to this place
(but did she? Was that her doing?)
There’s some kind of middle Anna, I know it, although I’m in a haze and can’t say now if I even really know her. Or her me, for that matter. Hell, I don’t even know me right now. I
Sometimes after talking to the doctors I have weird dreams. There’s one of them, he reminds me I someone else I used to call Brain. He looks like Brain, this new doctor, I mean, only he has a goatee and smokes. I’ll call him Evil Brain. In reality, I don’t think there’s any relation, the drugs they keep injecting me with are messing with me, blurring my vision of reality. Normally, I wouldn’t have it, but I hunk they’re injecting me in my sleep. To thwart them, I stayed awake for a while. But a man can only deprive himself for sleep for so long. I lasted six days, but in the end, that was worse for my mind than the drugs, so I let them do what they want. For now. At least I have Anna to think about.
Two days ago someone came to visit me. He must be working for The Corporation because they actually let him on I speak with me. He said his name was the Bear of Berlin, if you can believe that. Said that he made a special trip from Germany just to talk to me, which I actually felt kind of bad about, I’m sure in the mental state I’m in (they keep me in) he would’ve had a better conversation with the side of a barn. But I did tell him about the dreams.
I dream of a dirty soldier in a hole. And a long, long line of cars and some business man that I dispatched but the horrible thing (not the killing, I know who I am) was the sheer and utter unquestioning of which I followed through with the task. Surely I would never normally behave in such a way, not in the real world.
The dreams were for horror and for Anna, and mixed together, gave me a deep anxiety (mostly about Anna) that lasted far beyond dawn when I woke up. Wake up. At least there’s a window in my room so I can see the sun rise. One time, I thought it was the drugs. They let me show the Bear of Berlin my room and I asked him about the window and he said, yes, the sun was right outside. That helped with my confidence.
But the real reason Bear wanted to. Is it was to tell me things. He reminded me that we’d once met in a hotel room in Berlin (no coincidence) where he told me some things about space and time, which I was able to vaguely recall after a while. Well, vaguely recall the meeting, not what was actually said.
The night after Bear visited me I dreamt of San Francisco and had night terrors about ripping the hearts and lungs out of living human beings. It took two doctors to calm me down, who, oddly enough, I swear were already in my room, despite the booby trap I set up at the door. Crafty fuckers.
Gotta stop. They’re coming again. I can feel it. I can tell… I can think it.
Last night I dreamt Brain was laughing at me in the rain. He had a goatee and he was smoking. Crazy. He doesn’t even smoke.