Sovereign

Entry 6: Sanders' Journal - 02/14

Hahaha!

The universe must be messing with me.

Today is Valentine's Day. I didn't even remember until I started writing this and checked my calendar to ensure I had the date right. Norman is going to kill me. Or maybe he already has and it's my ghost writing this. With how much I ache all over, I am not quite sure. Add that to the fact that I'm about halfway through my period and hormonal as hell, and you get a very pissed off, very-ready-for-this-investigation-to-be-over Zoe.

It's a good thing I have so much anger inside me, because anything is better than the things I felt yesterday. I feel like I need to express this in the clearest of terms for you future Zoe, so you understand how important this is. Just in case you forget or decide to skim through this without paying attention.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT I HAVE GOTTEN US INTO.

WE. ARE. IN. WAY. OVER. OUR. HEADS.

WE. ARE. FUCKED!

Yesterday marked my first break through in the investigation. Nothing to get particularly excited about, it's not a general breakthrough, or something I could have written in my reports to my superiors. I couldn't send it because the minute I stumbled upon it, I realised these superiors I'm supposed to be reporting to probably already knew. Not quite sure if Edwin knows, but I wouldn't put it past him. Or I would. I don't really trust anyone right now. I hope for his sake that he didn't know, because I would like to think he would never put me in danger of any kind when he could have fully prevented it. So my discovery is this: a lot of the Esoterics are not human.

Yeah, future Zoe, you read right. They are NOT HUMAN.

It's one thing to be like me and Norman and Edwin, higher up on the curve of natural evolution, and another thing to be another species entirely. And no, they aren't aliens. But they have none of our DNA. Or 50%, at most. Some of them are outright wearing skin suits so realistic, I've actually brushed past and not noticed a thing; and others are projecting some kind of illusion that keeps us from seeing what they really are. And some of them, (Raphael in particular) are nephilim. Can you imagine that? The actual nephilim that are written about in the book of Genesis (chapter 6, verse 4. I checked to make sure). Apparently, Nephilim is a broad term for the offspring of paranormal creatures and humans. Not to be confused with werewolves and vampires who are merely genetic mutations of the human DNA.

You won't believe how I stumbled upon this information, Zoe. Yeah, I think I'll drop the 'future'; makes me feel like a loony. I haven't lost our memory yet. No point being defeatist about it. Yeah, back to the story. I found this tidbit of information in an addenum to one of their early investigative reports. It was something about unit 11 and members of an 'entanglement' squad. There was a lot of jargon I didn't quite understand and a number of abbreviations as part of the narrative, but one in particular caught my eye in something that looked almost like a medical evaluation by somebody named Kojiro. There was something about a poison fog that Raphael entered and got really sick and had to be rescued. As I read further, it turned out to be a vat of perfume essences that spilled over, particularly synthetic orchid essence. There was also some reference about a need to investigate this new severe allergy and properly document it. And then I checked the footnote on the piece, where this was typed as an afterthought:

'Raphael might have adverse reactions to essence of Orchid flower. Unprecedented discovery debunking former assumption that angel-born nephilim are invulnerable. Must take sample of blood to properly test and document how many flowers can cause such adverse reaction for future precautions.'

I just couldn't believe my eyes. So I decided to check other footnotes and through some crazy page flipping, somehow ended up on some 'Probationary List' from the Department of Diplomacy. And there they were, names of supernatural beings littering the place. There was a Bean Sidhe named Illavala, Indian deity of Chaos, a few Orishas (with references to the polytheistic pantheons of West Africa) and a Kajju. These are the few I can remember. I thought it was some sort of joke, but then I realized from the other documents that these are actually current administrative employees in the Esoteric Division. And all these have been walking past me in the hallways of the bunker.

Jesus.

To make matters worse, I just found out that my petition to interview the members of Unit 11 (the unit the most involved in the Pine Street incident) have been approved. Please remember that I applied for this before I found that most of the people (should I still call them people?) are not actually human. I don't think they know that I know. A part of me is terrified by the prospect of sitting across from these...beings (who have probably lurked in the shadows for millennia and picked us humans for food or whatever else while we weren't looking) and pretending to get answers out of them. Everyone knows I have the worst poker face in the world, and I don't have the added advantage of being able to prompt them and pluck the right answers to my questions straight out of their subconscious.

Right now, I don't even want to imagine all the possible things that could go wrong. What if my powers decide start working then and I see something that scars me forever and breaks my mind? I have barely gone through twenty percent of the reports and I already have at least a hundred questions for each person involved. That means I will spend weeks (at least) interviewing them, sitting across from the sons and daughters of demons and angels and the monsters that used to hide under my bed as a kid. What the hell are you doing here, Zoe? How did you get yourself into this mess?

Sigh.

There is so much red tape around this pine incident, its mind boggling. Pine Street Incident, I need to capitalize it, maybe then the importance will finally sink in. I have seen dozens of Black Ops operations with less red tape. Hell, I have investigated sanctioned genocides with less red tape. Everywhere I turn, someone is passing me off to someone else. Every question I ask is parried or completely evaded. Information that should have been given to me from the word 'go' has been withheld and I have been left to stumble in ignorance. Even the files Raphael gave me are sketchy and filled with large holes and huge chunks blacked out. At this point, the only person I feel I can talk to is Edwin, and even his hands are tied. Raphael is a freaking Nephilim for God's sake. I don't think anyone can make him do anything he doesn't want to do. I know I should speak up, but I'm stuck in this dilemma where I need more information to be able to lodge a complaint properly, but the complaint I want to lodge is to get more information. The very definition of a Catch-22.

This is all just so frustrating.

To crown it all, everyone is getting in my way. Everyone! Even the receptionist who mans the bunkers outer gates took a good twenty three minutes to buzz me in yesterday, while I sat there in my sedan, pressing the buzzer and honking like a crazy person. Raphael agreed to give me the employee files, but forbade me from taking them out of his office or photocopying them and sat staring blankly at me the entire time I tried to work. And when I was ready to leave, someone had valeted my car to the far end of the bunker's parking lot, even though there were only four cars in the whole lot which is the size of a football field. Edwin called last night; Langley says I have had the files I wanted for more than a week now, and have sent in only one report. He said it as nicely as he could but it's obvious they aren't pleased with me. Why isn't anyone seeing what I'm going through?

Happy Valentine's Day Zoe.

I can't even call Norman because, as the universe is really having fun messing with me, I have had no signal all day, even after I left the bunker. I'll just chalk it up to the fact that today is also Monday, and every being in the universe knows this translates to instant suckiness. In case we ever get asked, I sent a present but the post office here messed things up. It's a Navajo pendant. It's somewhere in my purse. I'll send it once I catch a break.

Good luck Z, we're gonna need it.