Tͣ͒h̢̫͎ẽ͍ ͐́̋f̜͎̼ȍ̑͒l͌͊ͨlo͉͆͋ẘͥ̔i͟nͨ̎ͬg̅ͬͩ ͕̲̞m͌͗ͤ҉͈̹͍e͇͒͛s̽s̫̟͢aͥ̎͆ge̝͗̔ ̥̦̘h͊ͥ͐as̾͛ b͛̂͆e̙̓ͣè̘ͤn͔ ̿̑ͬe̊͛̔n͔̺̼c̩ͧȑ̯͞y̭̌ͩp̓ͭ̇tͮed̢͎̭ and͑ͭ͆ ͪͭ͊m̀ͣ̍aẏ̭͟ ̒̎̓b̍̂͑e͖̓̉ ͭͭ͒i̫͈͘n̈̋ͩa̭̬͞c͆͛̃cͬ̌͗eͩ́ͯs̷̟͔s̈́ͣ̏ib͒̐͐le͗ to some parties.
It is not an exaggeration to say that things are falling apart. Guardian disappeared a few days ago without a trace. I do not know if anyone else has noticed. I have taken to looking for her in my free time, but the trail quickly went cold. Director Fox has been unusually quiet. I have reason to believe that he is avoiding me. Whenever I walk into the room, he flinches.
I do not need to run a scan to know that he is afraid.
Of me?
That is uncertain. More data needed.
Creeper has retreated into themselves. They are more volatile than ever, prone to lashing out. They are not sleeping, of this I am sure. I have taken it upon myself to encrypt their latest entry log, as what they are scribbling would surely be seen as compromised to the agency.
I ask them what is wrong and their answer never wavers: "I'm fine."
They busy themselves by playing with their blog, but I fear that I cannot protect them forever. The agency is growing suspicious, of this I have no doubt.
We are not okay, but none of us are willing to admit it. I do not want the agency to take them away.
I cannot bear to lose someone else.
Jackrabbit.