Surprisingly Not Dead

Still late, though. Sorry 'bout that. Look up and it's 6PM and realized I hadn't yet posted this.

AND THEN IT WAS TOMORROW.

Sooooo.

I'm a child of the modern, fear-mongering media. You know, the one that's happy to remind you, constantly, that not only are psychopaths real, but they look like anybody else, right up until they cut your skin off and wear it as a suit, all the while pretending to BE you.

At which point, they'll look kind of like YOU, not anybody else.

So, right, where was I going with this?

Ah, yes, the Mythos, because my brain has latched onto that like a starving man might latch onto a stripper covered in delicious cake.

Being, as I am, conditioned toward a certain level of mistrust for my fellow man (and wo-man), it should come as no surprise that the High Octane Nightmare and/or Paranoia Fuel that is the Slender Man has a special place in hell my heart, even if I dismiss the Man Himself as false.

Proxies.

Casual bystanders (read: the people who came here to find out how to leave Gilneas before the plot says you can (protip: you can't)) are probably going, "double-you-tea-eff, mate, what's a proxy?"

And I am an endless font of exposition.

Proxies are average (or not) people who've been brainwashed by Slendy to act for him - willingly or otherwise. In a sense, they are Slendy ... By proxy, hence the name.

See, even if there IS no Slender Man, that's terrifying to me.

For instance, say somebody takes the whole thing even a little bit more seriously than I do, and decides that not only are they being stalked, they're being Hallowed or whatever, and now they're brainwashed and crazy.

So of course the only logical thing to do is hunt down other Runners with a knife.

A) They succeed at the stabbing and the killing and the murder, and continue doing so until either they kill themselves or get arrested.

Or:

B) They fail, getting killed/injured by a Runner who takes it just as seriously as they do. Legal/moral/my god what have I done to follow. Same deal if it's just a prank getting out of hand, honestly, with even more "My God What Have I Done." Seasoned to taste, with just a hint of vanilla to cover up the stench. OF DEATH.

Horrifying, innit?

Hell, you could be a proxy.

I could be a proxy. I'm not, but you certainly don't know that.

Also I come off as creepy, I think.

Sometimes.