A rather lengthy and important author's note:

Well, here we are again. Or rather, here I am. Sitting in my room, listening to the rain and the sound of inevitable approaching death looming over me. But, of course, you guys don't really care, so let's get to business.

This next volume is going to be set up differently from the others because it covers such a large time-span, and to avoid confusion I'm going to lay out the rules here.

The title of each chapter, as viewed in emails is still going to be Chapter #: Narrator, as usual. However, when you get into the actual site the top of the chapter will look like this:

[Flicker number] Flicker title

Chapter #: Narrator

Date, time

Each flicker has a common theme based on the name, and as such the chapters are grouped into chunks that are similar in time and in theme. For instance Flicker number 15 is called "Axes." Makes no sense right now, but it will later.

This fic is going to be a little…how shall I say…heavy. Here is a list of things that this story will almost certainly feature that may or may not be classified as "Triggers:"

In order of appearance: Rape/sexual abuse, physical abuse, depression, abusive relationships, self-harm, alcohol/drug use, sexual content, suicide, and lots of foul language because it seems like Jeff might have gotten a tad sassy between fics. I will post a warning at the beginning of each chapter containing these things. If I forget yell at me.

Well, that's about all. I…uh…I hope that you don't get pissed and quit this after reading this first chapter, because I don't plan to go cutting people's heads off in this series. There's a pretty good ending to all of this, I promise you.

[Flicker 1] You're not supposed to remember

July 10th, 11:30 PM

Chapter 1: Lea (TW: Rape/sexual abuse)

There are ropes around my wrists and ankles; my wrists separate, tied to the arms of a chair, and my ankles together. The chair itself is metal and plastic, straight-backed and uncomfortable and terribly familiar. There's a glaring light from somewhere overhead, artificial and pounding. And there are voices nearby, talking low and fast.

All this I process as I rise out of the trance-state, groggy. My body feels heavy, and it's all too easy to just let it remain in the half bent-over position it's already in. There's going to be a crick in my neck later.

My mind backlashes with so much force my lungs stop taking in air. I'm sitting in the middle of an array. I can see about half of the circular drawing cut through with an X below me. It's not full-fledged, but it's serious enough that the only reason I'm not blinded right now is that Slender was—is—hunting and the mental connection is dimmed. He probably doesn't even know I'm gone.

I can still feel the phantom-warmth of his hand in mine; still hear the "goodnight." I feel tears start to form on my lower eyelids but blink them away. I'm going to get out of this. I'm going to be fine.

I force my body to remain still, despite the clawing pain in my chest and the aching in my wrists and ankles. They think I'm asleep.

I was trancing, I know that, and I only ever do that when there's something foreign in my system, something dangerous. Conclusion; they drugged me. They probably expect me to be out for several hours.

They won't kill me; they can't. There's always the chance I'll come back and they won't be able to stop me. Then again; maybe they will kill me. Maybe they'll make that mistake and alert Slender to my plight. Wouldn't that be nice of them.

I swallow, feeling the dry rasp of my throat. I feel sick, but otherwise stable. I realize the nausea is because my stomach is completely empty. Did they pump my stomach or something? That's a disgusting thought. I gag, but swallow back the bile. If I throw up now they'll know I'm awake.

The voices rise in volume as the speakers approach me. I close my eyes, letting my body go limp.

"This is going to keep the memories suppressed, and hopefully stop her from reconnecting with Undesignated indefinitely," They're saying, shoes clicking on the floor.

I dare to open my eyes a crack and see two sets of legs standing before me. They're wearing full-body white liquid-resistant suits; Doctors. I feel a sharp pang of terror stab up my spine at the thought. Oh no, please no.

"See," The man says his voice overly-loud. He flicks an object into the air and the cold light flashes off warm metal. The man catches the object again, "and it's such an elegant way to do it."

The other man seems unimpressed, "What time is he supposed to get here?" His voice is softer, more serpent than lion.

"He's two minutes late," The loud man says, "The Operator isn't famous for being on time."

"He's not famous for much, besides one of the publicity teams using his name."

"And they never shut up about it." The man turns towards me slightly, "While we wait we could have a little fun."

"Not a good idea."

He steps in front of me, and I close my eyes again. My heartbeat is thundering in my own ears. If he touches me I'm going to kill him.

I feel heavy hands tug at the hem of my shirt, untucking my tank-top from the waist of my jeans. I've had other people do this before, but I know that this is fundamentally different.

"Dammit; we tied her wrists down," He grunts, and I feel a knife tear the fabric of my shirt. The ice-cold tip digs into my skin, just below my ribcage, and a flame of cold pain makes my body tense slightly. The man grunts again, carefully cuts open the rest of my shirt.

His partner seems to draw the line here, because he says, "We aren't supposed to touch her."

"She's gonna be blocked. You got a stick up your ass today?"

I try to breathe normally, stop my muscles trembling. They're going to block me. Of course they are; might as well make me the most miserable they possibly can. If they take my memories I know what's going to happen, and it's not going to be pretty.

Those heavy hands are on my skin now, but I'm caught up in what seems a far more terrible fate. Some Slendermen can "remove" memories from someone's head. Very rarely they remove any and all memories from a subject's, usually a Proxy's, mind. Either of these procedures is called a "block."

I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel lips press against the skin on my chest. I grit my teeth together. Make it stop.

"Where do ya think she got that?" the soft-voiced man asks.

"Heck if I know. Must have been one hell of a cut though," His voice is heavy and short of breath. Listening to it is making me feel sick to my stomach. There's no way out of this situation.

"You think cutting through her bra would be going too far?" The loud man asks.

"I wouldn't. If she's too exposed the Slenderman might not be able to focus."

"Mmmm, You're probably right." He works one meaty finger beneath my bra, rubbing it over my breast, my nipple.

The fight to retain control over my body is a losing one, but I give it a shot. I can't let him see I'm awake; there's no telling what he'll do. I'd much rather be fighting off Jeff alone at two in the morning (again) than this.

There's a buzzing, sudden and loud and very welcome to my ears. The loud man winces, removing his hand from my chest hurriedly. I hear the rustle of cloth as he pulls his mask back on. Never before in my life have I been so relieved for a Slenderman other than my master to appear. This feels like one of the stronger Slendermen too. That's good. Now that I can focus I can do things.

I can get inside his head. I've done it before to others. It's easy, especially if I'm not connected to Slender. He's going to become my slave for a few minutes.

The Operator flashed into existence to my left, not directly in front of me. Just habits, programming. Even with my eyes closed I can track him, which is good. There's the mental presence; corrosive and vibrant. There's a faint flicker of surprise as he registers the state of my clothing and senses my mind, then a disdainful flick of disgust in regard to the two doctors.

I let my mind rest against his and begin digging into the energy of it, gulping down anger and hate. I like the fire it starts in my chest, chasing out the fear.

"Sir," Both doctors say, bowing slightly.

The Slenderman makes no response. I sense him look at them, then at me, "Is this the one?" His vice isn't deep, but it demands attention. He's definitely a puppet-master; this just keeps getting better.

I know he's aware of me taking energy; he can't be ignoring this. Maybe it's pity, maybe he just doesn't know what the sensation is. Whatever the case it's making him nervous. I can feel the uncertainty in his mind.

For a second I feel guilty that I'm doing this, partly because he's so much like Slender. He isn't Slend; I just have to remember that.

The pain in my chest returns at the thought of my master. I force in a breath against it, feeling the faint traces of saliva on my skin as I do so. My brain is releasing all kinds of chemicals that are not helping my concentration and I know I'm spinning off into a void but I can't stop myself. There's nothing to calm myself down with because that usually involves Slender.

I miss him already.

"Yes sir," the loud man replies to The Operator. He can't keep the slight tone of disappointment out of his voice.

The softer-spoken man is back to business, "Do you see the memories you are extracting?"

"Yes," The Operator replies. It sounds like a question.

"She has a rather interesting history. We're not sure what you'll find in her head."

"I have used this procedure on many people in the past. This will be no odder."

"Yes, sir," Comes the reply.

The Slenderman sighs, an audible dull huffing noise I know well, and says, "Let's get this over with."

He moves directly in front of me, half step half flash of teleportation. The intensity of the vibration increases, and I feel his focus narrow so I'm the only living creature inside his sphere of influence.

I send out a wordless keening plea as loudly as I can. The fear is beginning to fade into anger now, partly fuelled by the being's own rage, and I know what I want.

The Operator stops moving as I feel the thought impact. He looks towards the doctors and says, "What is this?"

"I-I don't know what you mean," The soft-spoken one stammers. My eyes are closed, but I can imagine him stepping backward slightly, away from the being.

"Are you trying to be funny?" He asks again, and this time his voice is tinged with anger. In the other half of my brain I pounce on the emotion, pulling it into myself, depriving the Slenderman of it.

"No," The doctor says.

The hum increases, making the two humans wince in pain. This apparently satisfies the Slenderman that they are being truthful and he no longer sounds angry when he says, "She has to be asleep for me to do this properly."

He's barely finished the sentence when I find his mind. The being twitches, unsure of what's happening.

"She is asleep," The loud man starts, "we gave her-"

I snap my head up into a sitting position. I can't move more than this physically, but I'm inside The Operator's mind and I just need him to hold still.

I look at him, seeing the being perfectly, and I sense the paralysis taking hold. My ears stop registering sound and my body seems to lose all feeling. The doctors must be frozen in shock.

"That one," I whisper, twisting my hold on his mind, "That one." I dig into the most painful spots I can, pulling up things he doesn't want to remember, ripping away hate.

"What is she doing?" The Operator asks, composed but nervous. He's gone perfectly still, and is starting to return the mental pressure. I'm so starved for mental contact it's helping me. He's trying to get into my memories, to immobilize me. I throw up a wall of sadness around his mind, holding back the power.

"Knock her out," The Operator says, "now!"

The two doctors jerk into movement, scrambling with sedatives in long needles. I can't move away or fight physically.

"That one," I whisper again, and forcefully snap his mind towards the loud doctor. Then I press the memories into his mind, the rage and the fear and the disgust. I feel him twitch in shock, emotions he hasn't felt before rushing in and around his head.

"Kill it for me,"

"What?" He asks, making the doctors pause.

"Kill it," I repeat, dig deeper. I hit a pressure-point in his head and feel tentacles emerge from his back, sinewy flesh twisting through the air. "Kill it."

And he whips out one of the limbs, completely of his own will, and snaps the man's neck. Quick and painless, instant. The sound of his neck bones breaking echoes through the empty room.

Then he seems to realize the action and focuses back on me, but I know I've won now. I've got him.

The Operator scrambles for a hold, slashing through my defenses into my memories. He starts unravelling them, pulling them out of my mind. It feels and sounds like a swarm of biting insects is coating every inch of my body.

I can't remember being sex, was I ever six? What's the name of my third grade teacher?

I slam his mind down with all of my strength, stunning him.

Then the second doctor finally acts. His hands jerk my head to the side, and I feel a needle jam into my neck, the contents coursing into my bloodstream. My eye contact breaks as my vision goes blurry, and The Operator begins tearing my memories away, destroying them.

I let out a long wail of agony as he consumes them. "No, please no, don't do this. Leave me alone!" I force the words out, but they decay into meaningless gibberish.

In desperation I start rocking back and forth only to discover the chair is bolted down. I try throwing my memories of torture at The Operator's mind, then memories of killing as he has no response. With a sob I throw my most recent memory of Slender at him, the one from a couple hours ago. It's so clear I can still hear the sounds of shifting fabric.

I hear a slight intake of breath, but he doesn't stop. Then The Operator slams into a real wall, full force; the day I met Slender. He runs into the fake memories my mind has constructed around the day, and bounces back, surprised.

If the shock is bad for him it's world-rending for me. No one is supposed to know those are fake. I didn't know those were fake. I can't defend when the attack resumes, only whimpering as my body is consumed by agony and the heavy creeping of sedatives. My mind spasms, trying to reject the unseen force, and not succeeding.

Finally, finally, finally the tearing stops. My memories are still fading out so I have enough sense to register the short exchange.

"What have you done?" Someone says.

"She told me to," A voice that makes my heart pound replies, "I couldn't refuse."

"How much did you remove?"

"Everything,"

"Everything?" Shocked, they're shocked.

"There wasn't one second without a trace of his presence," Voice heavy, exhausted, "This is the last time. I can't do this anymore."

"Everything," Slightly dumbfounded, disbelieving.

An ungodly screeching noise greets me as I waken. There's something cold underneath me, cold and hard and a bit damp. I can smell something, fresh and earthy, feel the chill on my back. A gust of air goes over my head.

I raise my head, arms pushing myself up just enough to see where I am. It's wide and flat, with boxes on either side. Huge boxes, with lights in them. Houses; yes, houses. And I'm laying in a…road. It's a road. Road, road, road…cars. Cars move-drive-on roads.

I try to get onto my hands and knees, but my muscles don't respond. I try again, and fail again. I can't move.

My head meets the pavement sharply as my arms give way and I feel my vision go blurry. Everything hurts; my chest and my arms and my legs, and my head. My head feels like it's cracked open.

Hesitant sounds approach me, each one soft but undeniably in existence. I open blurry eyes and gaze up at the source.

Pale hair, green eyes, prim nose, full lips. That is a beautiful creature. Human beautiful, not animal beautiful.

"Do you need help?" The beautiful thing asks, eyes darting uncomfortably.

"I think so," I reply, or think I reply. I might have said something else.

"What's your name?"

I blink hard, swallow hard, "Lea," at least I think so. I definitely got that one right. I decide to try something else, "I'm Lea and I need help."

AN: I'm gonna be honest; this was totally different in rough-draft form. And by that I mean there was a whole lot less creepy in it. Oh well.

Please review; feel free to yell at me. This is gonna be one of those things I write even when no one reads them.