Marble Hornets OneShots

The Operator's Marionette (Alex angst)

Alex watched as his body wandered the woods aimlessly, as if looking for someone to torment. It probably was, considering how the operator was pulling the strings while his conscious was taking the back seat. As he followed his body, he could faintly feel the pull of his limbs, each breath he took. He could feel his body, but he was not in it.

He hadn't been in it since he shot Seth back in the earlier 2000s. What year was it again? Alex couldn't remember. He remembered the look in Seth's eyes as he pulled the trigger. He was content with it happening. He seemed resigned with the fact he was going to die by Alex's hands. He didn't know what to think of it.

He thought back to before his anger started to overwhelm him, to before he started to black out and wake up in the woods with blood covering him. Before he was recording his every move. However when his body tripped, he was brought back to reality. He pauses for a moment, feeling groggy as he readjusted to feeling inside of his body again. The strings had gone limp.

He moves to sit down, rubbing his neck as he tries to think of the last time he had truly felt in control of himself. When he struggled to think of a time he stopped however. He did, however, remember every time he wanted to be in control of his body. How he felt chasing after Jay, how he felt trying to save the others from himself.

When he hears footsteps behind him, he feels as if he had been punched out of his body. The strings tighten around his limbs and he shoots up, backing away as he glances around. He feels the fog fill his brain as the static overwhelms any coherent thought he may have had before. He panics when he sees Jay near him, he wants to yell out to his old friend, to say anything to help him away. His panic heightens when he sees Tim in tow with him.

He yearns for the ability to scream out, to stop himself from what he knows he will do. He hears himself yell at them, words he would never say of his own free will. He hears himself yell at Jay for the entire situation, and accuses Tim of something. He doesn't quite know about what. He doesn't understand "his" grudge against Tim, but he thinks it's tied to the masked man. He feels the blood drip from his nose as he gets angrier. He watches as Jay slowly backs away, with Tim in front of him. Protecting him. He smiles inwardly, knowing Jay is in good hands and being protected from.

Jay was never one to back down from anything, and he was reckless. That never changed over the years. It was one thing Alex admired about him. He thinks back to their teenage years, when he'd have to bail Jay out of jail, or talk his way out of the police dragging him away. Whenever Alex would tell Jay off for not looking both ways before crossing the road, or to tell him to get his feet off of the dashboard. Jay would always snicker and comply, mocking him as he did so. He mellowed out during college but old habits die hard he guesses.

He watches as Tim and Jay run off. He listens as the two yell out to each other. He feels as he's tackled by the hooded man. He watches himself fight against him. He fights against the recognition of the hoodie. He doesn't want to remember. He doesn't want to be right about the hooded figure. He doesn't want to know how much he fucked up him.

Alex shuts his eyes, not wanting to watch himself fight the hooded figure any longer. He breathes slowly, and opens his eyes. His location changed, probably due to the faceless one. He sighs and moves his hand experimentally. He could control himself. Perhaps not for long, but Alex internally thanks whatever god exists that he could. He wandered around the building for a moment, before leaning against a wall.

He watches as the sun goes down, and sits down on the ground. He leans his head against the wall as he breaths. He feels the emotions swarm him as he can't hold them in any longer. Alex feels as tears fall, and he tries to calm his breathing, to rebuild the dam. As he shakes, he soon abandons the attempts as he curls up into himself, letting all of it exit. He sobs freely, he sobs for the past, he sobs for the present.

He sobs for all the times he couldn't. He shakes for all the times the strings have pulled tight. He cries for all the ones who have fallen by his hands. He shivers for those who can't. He holds back whimpers as he remembers the faces. Of those he knew and those he didn't. He mourns, he grieves. He consistently feels the blood on his hands, even as they are clean. He remembers the screams, he remembers the cries. He remembers the dull look.

He remembers them all, despite never being in control of his actions.