The Twenty-Sixth Post

I'm no where near the writer that 2600 was, but I'll endeavor to continue with this the best I can. I started quite simply by observing the world around me as I traveled about Broken Arrow to see if I could identify what 2600 was seeing. We're dealing with a level of subtlety that is beyond what anyone that didn't know what to look for would ever notice. Who is in this little club and who isn't? Well, it's easier to tell who is in.

The most defining factor I've noticed (and granted, this is mostly conjecture) is observancy. These people tend to watch everything around them. I watched one person for quite some time, and he just stood in one place at the South Wal-Mart, watching. He occasionally acted like he was checking out the merchandise, but he primarily jsut stood there, watching. This was very early in the morning, and as coincidence would have it, someone actually ran past us both, clutching a TV. He was followed closely by a myriad of store personnel, though I suspect he got away.

When I glanced back at the man I'd been watching, he was speaking into something. Then he looked at me, and of all things, took a Rubik's Cube from his jacket and started working it as he walked away. Why would a man stand in a Wal-Mart for an hour only to walk away working a Rubik's Cube? Clearly, he thought I was one of his group, and was sending me a signal to follow if I understood. I clearly chose not to.

A similar incident occurred at the nearby Blockbuster. I watched a man walk along the new releases, back and forth, about a dozen times, barely even looking at the movies. He spotted me a few times, and I also pretended to look at the movies. He walked past me eventually, staring intently at me as he left.

I got the feeling that observing them was a bit too obvious, and I feel a bit foolish for doing so. It is possible they know who I am now, placing me in some kind of danger, but that could be paranoia. These men could have been no one. Just other citizens of this oversized little town, but their behavior was unusual. I must try observing them from more of a distance, and then maybe following them when they leave.

I have to admit, this is terribly interesting.

The Twenty-Fifth Post

How to begin… I got an email from “Atari 2600” stating something about sins and secret organizations, and can still scarcely believe this is anything less than an elaborate delusion on his part. However, given the desperate nature of his email, I decided to go see him. He wasn’t at home, and in fact, there was nothing at his home, which is an apartment he shared with the girl he mentioned in his blog entries.

According to his email, he was going to leave his laptop in some bushes outside the Mazzio’s he mentioned. I went there, and the laptop, one of the intriguing eee pc’s, was nestled in the bushes, so I retrieved it and brought it back to my home to have a look. These computers have a flash drive amounting to 4 gigabytes as opposed to a standard hard drive, and half of that space is used by the Linux operating system. But our friend 2600 had done some research through his travels, and not let out much of it through his blog.

He was honestly more interested in his confession than research. I’m not sure if his impending capture produced a change of heart or not, but sometimes, life or death situations can lead one to appreciate life just a little bit more. He had taken detailed notes on a great many things, and given me quite a bit to go on should I wish to research it myself.

I wondered why, of all the people could have chosen, why he chose to involve me. I can only guess he hoped my interest in all of the James Bond movies and books would lead me to check out this bizarre society right here in my hometown. I have to confess, myself, that I am completely intrigued by this whole story, and wonder how much truth there is to this, or if he had lost his mind to that extent.

This girl, whose name wasn’t Tara, did disappear without a trace in August. I check ed around and no one around where I knew her to go has seen anything of her since then, nor do they know anything about her. I pushed a little harder for anything anyone might know about her, and I was surprised to find that she had her life fairly secretive. Of course, they knew about her relationship with 2600, but again, little of her personal or family life.

There’s a lot more information he’s left me to go on, and I debated whether I should post anything on this blog of his to which he created a neatly closed, yet wide open ending. However, he asked me to continue the research and post what I could on here, so I will do so per his wishes, and one of my hopes is that I might find him alive at some point is case this group exists and did take him. So far, the evidence on the surface points to that end, but all of it could still have been engineered by him.

I know I am bound to find something that will prove this to me if I find something that does not exist in his notes yet can be verified by them. But if I am to post on this blog, what do I call myself? Based on his experiences, using my true name would be idiotic. I can appreciate his video game interest, and I think I will continue his tradition by using the next generation Atari console after the 2600 – the 5200.

So continuing Atari 2600’s research and blogs here, I will be Atari 5200, and I hope to do him some justice wherever he is.

The Twenty-Fourth Post

I finally got access, but I know I don't have long. I had gone into the 121st & Elm Wal-Mart momentarily earlier, and came out to find my car being towed away. I guess they did report it stolen, and the cops got it. No use chasing it and drawing attention to myself. I thought it would be unwise to use the McDonald's to post my final post when I'd just posted my last one quickly a few moments before while enjoying my sausage biscuit.

I dipped back into the Wal-Mart and walked out the opposite door and around the back of the building. They hadn't figured out that I'd seen them, so I went North across the service road, and crossed the bridge over the South Loop turnpike to get myself to the Mazzio's at 101st and Elm. I knew they had wi-fi, so I thought I'd make a final post before they figure out a) that I'm no longer in Wal-Mart, and b) start canvassing the area to locate me.

I did walk two miles so I imagine they've figure out I'm no longer at Wal-Mart. If they've checked the blog, they'll know I posted something else. This Mazzio's won't open for some time still, but I can get the signal sitting at the door. I've just got to be careful, though. I look nothing short of suspicious sitting out here.

It's ok, though. I've uploaded some files and emailed a friend of mine. I've decided this Mist group has too much power no matter how safe they keep the city. There must be some control, and while I know their secrecy allows them to break the law at will, there's no cause for it. Why should I disappear for knowing who they are? Sure, I deserve to be punished for breaking the law, but not disappear.

Heh, I should have gone to the police and turned myself in. I don't think they would have taken me, actually. I'm sure The Mist got Mack's body and never turned anything over to the police. I would be turning myself in for a crime that was never committed. Not according to them anyway. If I told them my story, they'd think I was off my nut. Oh, I could be committed. Nah, never work. The Mist would have me taken out and I would accompany their "doctor" to a "special facility."

it's weird sitting here at what amounts to the end of my life. The temperature's not bad out today, and just being out here in the morning air is very refreshing. I forgot to look at the gauge in my car earlier, but I think it was around 50 earlier. I wish I could just sit here forever. It's very nice.

You know, my life started out normally. Like any other. I went to school, did a little military, finished college, got a degree, got a job, but it was when I got a girl that everything went horribly wrong. And all the divorced 29-year olds said "Amen." Seriously, though, who woudl have thought only eight months ago that I'd go from a cushy programming job to sitting outside a Mazzio's hijacking their wi-fi for what my well be my last blog entry.

Life is just funny that way. Well, a car just passed, and I think it's turning around, so I'd best make my best run for it. I hope my frien is able to do something with what I sent him. The Mist will know this isn't over. They must be removed, and it will be up to him now to take them out.

I hope to write again someday. Good-bye.

The Twenty-Third Post

My cut and paste from Word...

Oh my God. I think the last post got their attention. I'm hiding at the moment typing this out in Word to cut and paste in the blog when I can get some access, which might be the last time I get it. They're everywhere. I'm actually going to end up back dating this post because it's the 4th when I'm typing it, but I don't know when I can get some Wi-fi access. The last couple places I hit had mysterious outages of their wi-fi service.

Now that you know everything, I don't have much else to say. After all, this was supposed to be me confessing my wrongs to the world who might listen to me, and I've done that. I killed a man named Mack Mulligan because he killed my girl. I don't feel any better. Since he was my father, I committed patricide. I learned that I committed incest. Yeah, that doesn't help. I didn't help my sister when she needed it and let her kill herself. Neither of these last two were done consciously, and I would never have done either of them had I known anything of what I know now. But ignorance is merely an excuse for wrongdoing, not an excusable reason.


What can I do to right any of these wrongs? I feel unpardonable and unforgivable since my crime of murder, while ultimately impassioned, was pre-meditated and based on revenge. It's easy to see it all clearly through the lens of hindsight.


I can still see his face staring blankly at the ceiling. He didn't look peaceful like Tara did. He looked surprised. Maybe he didn't expect his son to be the death of him. I sat next to him for some time taking it in. I half expected The Mist to spring from the shadows and apprehend me right there. I didn't care. For me, it was over. Or so I thought.


I glanced at his desk after I could move again. I noticed the Rubik's Cube charm sat on his desktop next to a cube I'd never seen in real life: a 7x7. I picked up the charm and looked at it briefly before pocketing it. It belonged to her, so I wanted to keep it to remember her should I decide to live much longer after that night.


I picked up the oversized cube and looked at it. It was almost completely worked except for two blocks on two of the top corners that were swapped. He had all the other side worked except for those two blocks. Imagine getting finished with the hardest of cubes except for two of them. Who knows how long he spent trying to get those last pieces in place, but as I said before, the cube reflects life, and it seems that he had most of his cubes in place, but lacked a couple.

As I set the cube back down, I considered that I should have asked a few more questions. There was a lot I didn't know, and even now, I can't help but wonder about these answers. Where is Cynthia Mulligan? I asked about Mack, but forgot about my mother. Is she still around? The reason I was givenup is that they both were in The Mist, but I never saw her...or rather, no attention was brought to her. Mack never said she had died when he talked about family, so now I've widowed my mother.

The way my life has gone recently, I'd better take a vow of celibacy before I end up like Oedipus Rex. I've murdered my father, and if my mother looks young for her age, I could end up putting my eyes out before I know it. Kind of scary.

That's the whole thing, though. I went to a hotel after that, and waited four days before writing about this whole experience. I do feel better about it, though the guilt is still weighing down on me. But where do I go from here? I can't exactly move on with my life; the Mist wants my head on a platter for killing one of their top guys (or I assume he's a top guy; he's been there long enough).

Do I let them take me in? I'm not sure what purpose that would serve, though I doubt I'll have a choice. I think I know what to do, but I don't want to tell it yet. You'll know is due time, but I need to be ready for the inevitable.

The Twenty-Second Post

I changed my sleeping tactics just a little. You see, with homes for sale, if they don't have one of those boxes hanging on the door knob, the keys to the house are usually hiding on the property somwhere to allow people to get in who need to. The same goes for new construction, whose doors usually aren't locked at all in the early stages of construction when there are walls, but not much else.

The plan was simple: find an open house, and stay there for the night. I was fortunate enough to find one that already had gas logs installed in the fireplace (very much like the ones I had seen only a few weeks ago in Mack's place), so I had heat, even. I pulled my car into the unfinished garage and stayed there last night. Granted, there was no net access in an unfinished house, but it served its purpose and I slept a little easier knowing that nobody knew where I was.

I'm finally up to the time where everything changed for me. I was angry at this Mack character for killing Tara. Even indirectly, he was guilty because whatever he said to her sent her into the spiral that made her take her own life. I wanted to know what he said to her, and then ... I was going to kill him. I was ready, too. I thought I was anyway.

After all, it had been a couple months since I first laid eyes on the man. I'd been following him ever since. Sometimes, he knew it, and other times I know he didn't. I had learned most of his movements; knew where he tended to stay; knew the majority of his schedule; and I was ready to take him down. All the grand injustices of the world were to be solved in this one deed. Yeah...

I had prepared too. Being a normal, law abiding citizen, getting a gun was very easy. I had no criminal record, and passed the background check with flying colors. I went to a firing range, and practised it until I could fire it consistently well. I keep it in the trunk of the car now.

It was December 13th. Only four days before my first post, but eight months after I'd first met Tara. Broken Arrow was dark. Most of the town had no power at all, and no firm time frame of it being fixed. I had been watching Mack's place the whole time, despite the cold weather. I had traced him to an actual house during one of the times when he wasn't paying attention, and this place wasn't the fortress I had expected. Then, I doubt he expected to be in any danger from anyone. After all, if your life is a secret, who would know where to find you?

Short answer: I would.

His house was dark, and had been for a couple of days. Apparently, this non-fortress of his wasn't outfitted with a generator or anything else, but I could see the fire burning within from those gas logs, so it may not have been a big issue for him. Some people don't need power as much as others, and he may have been fine without the juice on.

Mack lived in a typical residential neighborhood containing a modest mix of one and two story houses of what appeared to be mostly 3 or 4 bedrooms. Mack's was neither the largest nor the smallest house on the block, so he was probably comfortable enough in there. I never saw anyone else enter the house other than the occasional suited male here and there, so I doubted he had anyone else actually living there, so the house was all to himself.

As there were no lights, I was able to get around the house without any problems. I tried the front door, and to my surprise, it was unlocked. The door swung open very easily. Mack's voice drifted from within.

"Come in, [Atari]. I've been expecting you."

While I didn't exactly expect to surprise him, I also didn't expect him to know it was me before I'd even entered the room. I closed the door behind me and locked it.

"And leave the gun by the door, would you? I don't think we need the company."

Ok, I thought. What doesn't he know? I didn't leave the gun by the door, mind you. I shoved it in the back of my pants under my jacket before moving in, hands showing.

"How did you know," I asked him. He looked up at me and smiled.

"It was only a matter of time," he said. "I knew you had been following me obsessively, and I assumed at some point you had found this place. Clearly, you want to talk about Tara, so let's talk."

He turned to face me. He was sitting at a desk in what appeared to be a den. The room was lit by candles, and there was a set of gas logs in the fireplace giving heat to the room. Overall, it was remarkably warm and cozy. It was hard to see the corners of the room in the darkness, but they appeared to be alone.

"Please, have a seat," he said. So I did. "Clearly, you are interested in something, or you would not have taken such an obsessive interest in me. You chose your time wisely, though. I'll have to hand it to you. This power outage has been very beneficial to us as well in getting rid of a lot of troublemakers. You were one who has managed to elude us though."

"What is your interest in me," I had to ask. I had a million questions, but that happened to be the first one out. I knew who he was; he was my father, but at the same time, I wasn't ready to let on how much I knew, so I figured I'd let him tell.

"You're an orphan," Mack began. I started to say something, but he stopped me. "That wasn't the whole answer. You really need to learn some patience. You're an orphan by the choice of your biological parents. I assume Tara did tell you that your parents worked for The Mist, correct?"

I nodded.

"Right, well, we wanted to make sure you were well taken care of, so we had people watch over you in addition to the fine people we chose as your adoptive parents. But we wanted to know how you were progressing as you grew, so we kept tabs on you throughout your life. As you made your choices, we wanted to ensure you made the right ones, so we put people in your life to help you. Sometimes, you followed our guidance; sometimes you didn't.

"We noted your mechanical abilities at a young age, and had someone recommend a computer to your parents. They got one. Your computer teacher in school was one of us. When you chose the military, we acted quickly to have the recruiter show you the computer jobs. We influenced your scholarships in college to get you through it. We even helped you get your current job -- or at least, the job you recently threw away to look for me.

"All of this we did so you would be successful. It was best your mother and I could do for you."

I wanted to know about Tara, but I figured I should build into it a little at a time, so I decided to get the answer to another of my life's questions.

"Who was Chanda?"

Mack sighed and shook his head. "Chanda was the person in Colorado Springs that we had to keep an eye on you there. She was never supposed to make contact. After watching you for six months, she became infatuated, and broke the barrier between you. We learned of it fairly quickly, and wanted the contact broken, but neither of you would have it, so we let it play out, knowing full well that once your tour was done there, you'd probably return here... and you did.

"We counted our blessings and assumed it could have gone much worse."

"Why give me up," I asked. It was a random question, but I wanted to know as much as I could before getting to the main question.

"We were busy. Your mother and I were wrapped up in this group and we had a lot of work to do. We weren't ready for kids right then, and didn't know what to do with you. We decided to give you to a family who wanted a child, so you would have a good life free from all this mess."

"What did you tell Tara," I blurted. Maybe if I'd let him finish his answer, I would have found out anyway, but the question was out there, and he looked at me for a long moment before he sat down and sighed. He stared at the ground for a long time as if trying to muster the words to tell me.

It was a hard answer. He did tell me what it was, and the fact that it took so long doesn't surprise me now. But I was less patient then. "Well," I said.

Mack looked at me. He smirked. "You have no idea, do you," he asked. "Secrets are how we have lived our lives, and secrets have destroyed them. We carry our burdens every day, and keep ourselves out of the public eye to keep everyone safe. We tried to give you everything you needed behind the scenes, and you never knew. No one ever knew."

"You're not answering the question," I said.

"I am," he told me, "but again, you're not being patient. Maybe it's a family trait. None of you will just wait." He sighed. "We sent Tara to get to know you."

"Well, she did. What's the problem? Why did she-"

"You need to stop interrupting," he said. "You need to be patie-"

"I'm tired of being patient," I said. I stood and pulled the gun out of my belt and pointed it at him. He looked at me without fear.

"You've never shot a person in your life," he said. "You have no idea what it means to pull that trigger."

"I will find out if you don't tell me what you told her," I said. "Whatever you said to her killed her. She came back to our apartment and was like a shell of a woman. She stared blankly into space. She refused to eat. She wouldn't touch me any more. What did you tell her?"

"Son," Mack said, "I sent Tara to meet you because I wanted you to know each other. I was hoping we could be something of a family."

I processed this for a moment. I didn't want to believe what it seemed to imply. I faltered, but I didn't move. Mack laughed softly.

"After we had given you up, your mother was miserable. We waited several years and had another child. This time, we kept the baby. That baby was a girl."

He looked at me, as if waiting for me to "get it." I was getting it. I wasn't accepting it, but I was getting it. My mind had already processed what he was telling me, but I was refusing to take what he was giving.

"You're lying," I insisted. Mack laughed again.

"I wish I were," he said. "When Tara came to me ranting about how Chanda had contacted you, I told her everything. She couldn't handle it."

"Oh my God," I said. I sat down and Mack looked at me, his eyes still smiling. Why did he think this was funny?

"I wanted you to be close," he said, "not that close." He laughed again. The man had gone hysterical, I thought. I watched him for a long moment. Then, without any warning, he snatched the gun from my hand.

"Now," he said quite seriously, "let's have no more of this gun pointing nonsense. You may well be my son, but you have created a lot of trouble in the organization and we don't take kindly to trouble."

He put the gun down on his desk. I looked at him.

"You let her die," I said.

"She made her own choices," he said. "He neither killed her, nor allowed her to live."

"Allowed her to live," I asked incredulously. How could he talk this way about his own daughter? Like she meant nothing to him. "Your daughter killed herself because you kept all your precious secrets to yourself. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Life goes on," he said. "There is no use in dwelling on the past."

"Her life didn't go on," I said. "You could have done something to help her."

"So could you," he said. "Why didn't you take her into a hospital? Why didn't you insist she eat? Why didn't you take care of her? You were supposed to be her lover, yet you did nothing to save her either."

I stared at him. He had a point. I had played as much a part in her death as he did. I was guilty too. I had slept with my sister and played a part in killing her. And this person who claimed to be our father didn't care. With two crimes under my belt, what the hell was one more. I jumped to my feet and snatched the gun from the desk again.

He looked at me and smiled. "Come now, we've gone over this," he said.

"Yes, we have," I said, "and I think I've heard what I needed to hear. I accept that I helped kill her. You secrets allowed me to commit incest. Why shouldn't I kill you?"

"Do you think it will help," he asked.

I pulled the trigger without giving him an answer.

The Twenty-First Post

Damn cold monrning to wake up in a car. I'm in a McDonald's defrosting, but on a morning this cold, I ask you about the genius of some of these places out there. I was driving down 91st passing the hospitals at Hwy 169, and much to my surprise, they have their sprinklers going in this 15 degree weather. It was creating ice patches on the street.

I suppose it's good for business.

Why was I waking in my car and not my cushy little hotel room in Bixby? The blasted Mist has contacts every-freakin-where, that's why. I'll bet when this organization was created, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, it's just mad with power is all. So desperate to keep themselves a big secret that they'll take out anyone who dares to let it out, which is why they want at me. I'm sure it completely pisses them off that they can't take down Google's blogger.

I have little doubt that once they get ahold of me, they'll torture me to get the password or make me delete it. I won't do it. Who knows? Maybe my refusal to delete it will keep me alive once they do get me...and they will. It's only a matter of time, and poor luck on my part.

I managed to escape capture before only by the skin of my teeth. With all eyes on me during this brief memorial, I had little choice but to say something. I stood up nervously and started to say something, but Mack stopped me and signaled to the podium, where he was.

"Oh please, sir, come up here. Someone who was so instrumental in her death must take center stage. After all, you stole her from us."

I had to try and set this straight. Yeah, abyssmally stupid, but I was dead set on setting this right. I walked to the podium and everyone allowed me to stand there. I suppose I wasn't going to say anything they didn't know already, but there I was, standing before a group of people, some of whom I recognized from a variety of shops around town. I wondered how many were true operatives, and how many simply were there because they knew Tara. I cleared my throat.

"I did not kill her," I began. "About a month ago, I had received an email from a former girlfriend who she let me know was an agent of this organization sent to watch me at that time. I don't know what I did to invite your scrutiny, but I learned that her job was the same as my former girlfriend. Whatever your rulers are, I can only guess that a romantic interest in a 'mark'" --I did finger quotes -- "is against these rules.

"She left the apartment for two days, and when she came back, she wasn't the same. I suppose she came to one of you and learned something that disturbed her so much that she killed herself over it. Yes, she killed herself."

Mack was shaking his head. "She would not have done that," he said, "she had too much going for her."

I glared at him. "Did you talk to her," I asked.

"As a matter of fact, I was the one to talk to her," he said. "I chastised her for getting involved. She should never have done it."

"What did you say," I demanded.

"None of your business," he said. "None of this was your place. You shouldn't even be here, but when we saw you sitting out on Hickory, we felt it would be necessary to lure you somewhere and see what you thought you knew."

I was shocked. Not only did they know I was watching, they were expecting me. This was a setup...and I fell right into it. So were these people actually with the organization? Probably. But it didn't matter. Mack stood up.

"Now, give me the charm she left for you," Mack said.

"No," I said, "it's all I have left."

"You don't know what you're getting into." I looked into Mack's eyes. There was a certain familiarity to them. I figured I'd seen him around town without knowing it. But behind the demand, there was a pain that I couldn't identify.

"You killed her, sir," I told him. "You told her something that sent her to her death. What was it?"

Mack shook his head. "That's classified. I can't tell you." I took a few steps back away from the podium. Mack stepped up. "You can't escape."

I looked around. He was right. This room was closed off except for the entrance. No windows. No back door. No other hallway. Nothing. "What do you want from me," I asked.

"Just the charm," he said, "give that to me, and you're free."

"Why have you all been watching me," I asked.

Mack shook his head again. "That's not for you to know," he said and held out his hand. "Now, the charm."

Of course, I wasn't going to let this go, but I also wasn't going get anything out of him today. I took the Rubik's Cube charm out of my pocket and looked at it. Clearly, it held some measure of importance to him. I handed it over. He took it gently from me and put it in his pocket.

"You're free to go," he said.

I looked and the path to the door was open. All eyes were on me, and the room was free of movement. I walked slowly through the seated crowd to the exit. With a glance behind me, the door guard who was in on the ruse ushered me out and closed the door behind me.

I stood on the street in downtown Broken Arrow looking up at the second floor room where I had just come from wondering what to do next. Since I knew what Mack looked like now, and that he was the one to talk to her, I thought I had something significant to go on. All I had to do was get out of their scrutiny and follow him to wherever I could get at him.

He was one hard guy to get on his own. I did manage to watch him several times over the next couple of months, but every time I either had someone on my tail or he disappeared. But it was nature that gave me my opportunity. On the evening of December 9th, 2007, the power in Broken Arrow and many other parts of Oklahoma went out.

While it cannot be said that chaos ensued, it created quite a problem for The Mist's intricate network of informants. Such a problem that after a few days, the batteries wore out, and I was free to move without being noticed. I guess a lot of them didn't have generators either.

I can't stay here for long. I'm almost warmed up enough to move on. I pulled the charm out just a moment ago and looked at it. It symbolizes so much for me now that I never would have guessed eight months ago. Yes, I have it now. It's all I have left of her.

I'm starting to get a little paranoid. Time to find a new place to warm up.