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Director of The Circus and spy for
The Army of Purity
Another show done; another Calabria-rocking success for
The Circus. A few well chosen words to pluck the
heartstrings of the clueless audience, and as usual, they obediently follow my every word
like a flock of devout but predatory and bloodthirsty sheep, eyes aglow, fangs agleam and
tongues aloll. None of the 'breeds got seriously hurt, but despite that, everyone was
roaring out the hatred that comes from the fear, envy and insecurity that they all secretly
harbor.
Everything is going so damned much better than I ever dreamt of. So why can't I find any
satisfaction in my work? Why doesn't the small-minded, neurotic hatred I unleash give me the
feeling of divine power anymore? After all, I'm better at it than ever. I can mold their
minds, bend their beliefs, even coerce them to kill for me.
I know that this is the reason why the
Army of Purity
has sponsored and backed my entire career. They arranged my best contacts, they
got me into this game, and it's they who will be my death at last. I know it ever
since I spotted two of their spies trying to nestle in among my beloved band of erstwhile
entertainers. In the end, they are my enemy, but an unfathomable and invulnerable
enemy. I cannot fight them openly.
I could of course attempt to return the Circus to the paws of the
Volrath.
That clan would at least be the lesser of two evils. However, I fear that I wouldn't get
even halfway before the Army'd get me, or else, the Volrath might have me flayed in
sheer retribution. No, I'll have to fight the Army by counter-influencing
the wealthy, the politically influential and eccentrically depraved. There's always the
second show. Oh, I would so much love to have some of the Army's nobles mauled and brutally
mounted by the Spino. It's thoughts like these that help me sleep at night.
Perhaps I'm growing old at last. I am beginning to feel that the people trapped in the
madhouse I'm directing are the only ones who matter. They have suffered the cancellation of
their life dreams and ideals, hijacked by me and my unscrupulous sponsors. The 'breeds have
it even worse. I don't know whether they can fathom their predicament; I seriously hope that
they can't. They don't deserve this life, but then again, does anyone deserve anything? The
only thing I can do is to let some of them have a bit of revenge every now and then.
Why can't the world be simple like it was when I was young? Then it was all about ideals and
forging the world to your ideals. Now, It's all murky and complicated. Wherever I look, pain
and death stare back from the shadows of past decisions. I can't see any way out of this
deadly maze of politics and power.
Well, I'll have to figure something out, eventually. If Zambiro has done it before, Zambiro
can do it again...
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