The past year, before Konaa found me, I'd been wandering around the United States alone, trying to figure out who I'm supposed to be. Unfortunately, I haven't had much to go by besides the name on this fake I.D. and an old webhandle, which I've since changed - as Atalanta seems to have noticed - and a black stone which could be jade. There isn't much I can say I truly remember, but I've done my research.
A long time ago, a kind man gave me a Role. My only desire was to help in any way I could. There's no record of it anywhere, but there are a few, like Konaa, who recall my invented Title. But do I have a place in this mess, really? Was it wise to give me the hope that I could help any of you? Only sixteen, then, with no fucking clue what I was doing, no weapon or talent or skill aside from a bleeding heart. Zero (may he rest in peace) may have been a Sage, but what did any of us know about defeating the GENTLEMAN?
No, I shouldn't doubt him. He was a good and patient man, no matter what madness took hold of him in the end.
I fear now that I've misunderstood his intentions. While I was on the run, I was trying my best to actually help. Predictably, I've done shit. I don't have a Hero for you after all this time. They all failed the test. I've failed.
What should I have done? Why didn't Redlight kill me?