Puppeteer's diary

From Wiki Panic Room

WARNING! Pages are shown here like they are found in game, in reverse chronological order.


I've limited them with rules, demanding playing one by one or in pairs, I've given them hints -- but instead of moving forward they bank and pod. No, everything is arranged so that even being busy with their trifles, they are moving to liberation. If only they didn't keep still.


Another "terrible secret plan" in the Underground. My word, they are so childish! Jack seriously takes me for the fool or couldn't invent anything better? I wouldn't have to interfere at all, the Followers - faithful guards of the house - will do everything themselves. It's just ridiculous. Even here the puppets have divided into two conflicting groups and one small match is needed to set this oil pool on fire. Oh, what irrational beings!


More and more puppets, I'm picking up new threads. They're inviting friends, communicating, wandering about the house, playing with each other and with me. They are... interested? What a load of bull, they understand nothing! It's time to cheer up this sleepy theatre!


"Though I've tried to pick the walls with sharpened spoon, too. Desire to escape from the cell is so strong, that you stop thinking. Then I was sent to segregation for the first time. How many times did I get there? Special conditions were brought in especially for me, bypassing all the rules. Darkness, silence, emptiness. As two centuries ago. Now I'm smiling - they simply didn't know what to do.

And I know what to do with you, puppet..."


They're ridiculous. Tangling the threads, interlacing, pulling with all their strength, hiding. They hope I won't notice, hope to tear off the gossamers stretching to me. The puppet has dug the sap again. For crying out loud! There are no counts of Monte Cristo among you, are you so silly indeed? You believe that I won't notice? You consider seriously, that the jailers haven't taken into account this experience?


How many times already - three, five? They don't learn on their mistakes! Have triggered off cold war in the house... Hmmm, it seems Jack wanted to find the weapon. What's he going to do with it? It may be amusing.


The brothers tried to talk again. Firewood - it speaks for itself. It's no more interesting, too predictable, no surprises. Gradually, Jack starts shouting. Jim, on the contrary, speaks more and more quietly, and, at last, becomes silent. When Jack stops to take breath, he notices that his brother doesn't listen. Doc shrugs shoulders, says "Suit yourself!". The younger turns round and leaves into the cellar, to break fists against the walls again. Jim keeps standing for a while, than slowly sits down on a sofa, with fingers in his hair. He lifts his eyes up to the camera, says something significant, evoking a grin - look who is talking!


Biped rats infested the cellar. Most of the time, they duly spoil wires and pinch small things. But I like the idea. Absolute freedom. "What does he try to learn us - common truths? Think out for yourself, keep acting in spite of everything, until a smallest drop of life remains in you, keep struggling!" Worth writing on the poster and hanging up in the living room. Jack is dying to break free. Laudable, but you have to live free, not die.


It seems that I'm running too slow, the cell - electric locks, all wide open! In such a fuss, who'll pay attention to skinny boy in security guard's suit? Now - back to segregation and further, it's the only way I know. Late evening, empty security box - he is gone to fix the blown out fuses. Run, run. No sirens, only silence. They'll notice, but not now.

I open my eyes. Blood flowing on my hands - I've pierced skin with my nails. I've escaped long time ago - but have I released?


I can't stand looking at the wall around the house, my hands shiver, finger-tips prick. I clench fists convulsively, I almost hear plastic splinters crunching in my hands. Sharp splinters. Blue walls are broken, white fluffy laces and wires stick out of them. The door will be opened soon, blood's flowing on my fingers - I've compressed my hands too tight. Rustle, a chink of light starts widening. I close my eyes. They pull a knife switch - a firework behind my back, shouting, fast thread, don't stop now. Abrupt movements aside, white splinters run into one's skin - alive or not, you've been preventing me from release for too long.


Autumn. And it's raining again. It's waking something forgotten, deeply hidden in me... I'm sitting in front of the monitors, eating perfect roast beef, but someone inside me is longing to get out from these walls, to run somewhere, to fall to knees into the dirt, to rest the forehead against the stone - "Am I doing everything correctly, Kate?"


The Fairwoods have met and nearly set the house to fire. I've separated them with the help of fire-prevention system, cold shower has cooled their heat, and in addition I had speak into loudspeaker. Put the room in order and dispersed into different corners, now don't talk with each other. Brothers. If one of you will suddenly die, what will feel the second? Hmm, Jim? What if your brother will loose his life in this house - you have invited him here yourself, haven't you?


I didn't search before, and now too many puppets are wandering about the house. We always store photos here, where old men have put them? I even can't look at your faces... I'm alive, but I can do nothing. I even had no time to apologize, kiddy. I don't think there's anything except emptiness after death. You are gone, and I will never ask your pardon.


Jack's in the house. This boy has nearly crashed the room as he had listened to the tape. Glasses are bulletproof, and that's why he is still here. Jim has trapped him... Good big brother. Their first meeting is going to be an explosion.


Doc appeared to be very useful. Has taken management of the Followers in his hands, now they are really of benefit, thus continue moving to liberation. And Jim himself is interested in me. Have re-read his file - Doc had interest in psychiatry. How funny. No, doctor, I'm not your client, but it will be amusing to look at your fuss.


Doc appeared to be useful. For the first time. someone invited his friend into the house, the brother besides! The younger brother. Jack is young, but he has thirst for freedom. He hates rules, and watching him is promising to be amusing..


Had to throw out dead bodies again. Damn suicides, they always make loads of problems. In such moments I'm glad to have so-called "Followers". Owing to them I don't have to walk around the house by each accident, playing with the doors. Every sally is dangerous. Waiting for the moments, when the rooms are empty, cutting off the parts, walking the permanently changing labyrinth. It reliefs the monotony of running my theatre somehow, but I don't want to run into the dolls. As I'll have to kill them, and such death is senseless.


The Followers, silly brats. Instead of striving for freedom, they've made an idol and worship it. They want to be helpful to me, but not struggling for their freedom, doing nothing for it!


So, the first puppets are here. This time I gather everyone, regardless of job, sex, age. On advice of my pupils, the doctor is among the first ones. Jim Firewood, excellent marks, diploma, a surgeon somewhere back of beyond... Nothing remarkable, but the lifetime of the puppets should increase now.


I've found her at last. How could this girl turn into resigned puppet? I'll make her remember. She knows unfreedom, but she hasn't tried to break free yet - there was no need. I know her well, she wouldn't sit in one place, it would be many people here - she'd be eager to help them, if not to become free herself.


Well, it's time to begin. It's not so long till second act. The doors of this house will be shut up soon, my assistants remain outside, I and my puppets - inside. The first batch of the tools designed by my pupils is here, others will be brought as the need arises. At last! I am already tired of planning and waiting, I was to take thousand threads into my hands again. They'll get the freedom to know - or lose their lives.


They are so funny, my former puppets. Who are they to me now? Probably, they are really my pupils. I've taught them being free, as parents teach toddlers walk. Step by step, even if you've fallen down and it hurts - you have to rise and keep trying. Turned out strange - all or nothing. The majority hasn't reached the freedom, these three have made it center of their world.


The interval has turned into repair. The puppets have managed to break many things, the traps need improvement. I continue living the life if hermit, working in the house for the whole days. My assistants succeed in their front life, but gather in my place regularly. I still remain a voice from dynamics for them. Just in case. They have brought a terrific toy recently - laser pointer with radio management. They have loads of similar ideas - tools that are programmed and operated by me. They are trying to simplify the problem for second act - I don't interfere.


I've decided to take the risk. These three annoying people kept coming to the doors of the mansion, and today they will be opened. They want to find me so much, not the metaphor, but real person who became their Master. They combed the whole house, from cellar to attic, but couldn't find my small refuge. It's interesting to look at them now, as they are living behind the walls of my theatre.


First act is over, I need an interval now. The doors of the mansion are opened, but how many have crossed the threshold? Three of fifty! Am I doing anything wrong? Or unfreedom has taken its roots in people so deeply? Oh, damn, why are they just sitting on their places, not trying to do anything at all? But these three understood everything. They didn't go to the police. They write letters to me. They offer help, and they have many rather good ideas. I can't call them "puppets" any more - they have really become free. I'm doing what I have to. If the puppets are defective, it's not my fault that they get broken.


Red bricks look like bloody, I lift my head and tears of the sky are mixed with mine. I'm dragged by security guards, they think I'm crazy, but my blurred eyes notice everything necessary - bricks, lattice, barbed wire. So long ago... How many years have passed - eight? More. I'm loosing track of time. In my small world it passes by imperceptibly, the mirrors tell me nothing new. There have been no mirrors at all, and I haven't noticed my gray hair at once. The time kept going sluggishly and slowly as well. I'm in the solitary cell again - but now by my own will.


Rain... I can see it through the window of my chamber. My "guests" downstairs can hear just rustle of raindrops. Though, if anybody wants to, he can press himself to the kitchen window, and through the cracks in old shutters see the sky in clouds and the rain. And a high wall, so similar to the one I've spend six years behind. It's always damp in old England, and then it was raining, too. The memories are as scattered photos.


It's amusing, they differ from the very beginning. Someone infuriates, someone howls, and only few pass the tests calmly. The first and the second ones give in quickly, and I have to take them away from the house. It's upsetting, and I have already given tasks - to bring their bodies into separate rooms - to other, good puppets. Than it's easier. I go down and take all the bodies at a time. I have to leave the house and puppets without supervision to get rid of them. I have to acknowledge that I didn't expect such high death rate...


How much ether have I used up on them, though. But now everyone is here. My "guests". My toys, my puppets. Will you struggle for your freedom no matter what or sit in one place, railing at your fate? I'm eager to know the reaction of each one. Well, the theatre is built, the puppets are on their places, and the Puppeter is ready to begin the performance. So, let's begin the show!


There are some people, who appeared in these cases as potential suspects, there are even some that really look like suspected. Well, they are in my list. Together with some dishonest judges, distinguished and as well corrupted jurymen and a pair of lawyers. In total about fifty people - enough for the first act of the drama.


I can't detect the murderer precisely, and it annoys me. He has taken nothing valuable from the house, operated very skilfully, one can say professionally. But we've had no enemies, all the more - capable of employing the killer. Through bribing the police I've found some similar cases in their archives, but either there are no accused or the evidence is very precarious.


Home straight. Doors and windows are hammered in, barbed wire entangles the top of the fence, I have locked the gates and left convincingly enough... To come back at night. The cameras are installed in the rooms, the traps are waiting for losers. It remains to select the first party of "visitors"...


Inheritance problems are solved - add a pound here and there, and you are heir at law, sir! A construction gang repairs the house and builds the wall around it. As for the rest - I'll do it myself.


I've missed the funeral. "Grant eternal grant to them, O Lord, and let light perpetually shine upon them. Amen". Almost suicides. I don't want to see them being buried near Kate.


I'm sitting in a cafe not far from the mansion. Five days have already passed, and it seems that someone has pushed the panic button at last. Police are breaking the doors. "Oh, poor old men, what an awful death". They have chosen it themselves, so there is no need to be sorry for them. For police it is an accident, for newspaper readers - tragic case. For me it is a transition to the new phase of the plan.


It's enough, I'm leaving. They'll die within the day. I don't understand people, but I can do nothing. I need to find a place to observe the house safely - how soon will they notice that nobody takes the newspapers and milk from the threshold, I wonder?


The second day as they are locked downstairs is coming to its end. Sometimes I hear grinding and some noise, then it's silent again. They could easily demolish this blockage for five-seven hours, even if I make allowances for their age! I have given them a chance. I'll wait a bit longer and I'll leave. If they wouldn't start demolishing now, they would no longer have enough time and strength.


Have they listened to the tape-recording at least, I wonder? I hope so, otherwise it wouldn't be erased and I might have problems. If they hadn't listened, Victoria would have less reasons to whine. Oh, I imagine. "What a stinker! Don't believe him, Bill, he'll kill us as soon as we get out!" Even if I wanted to kill, death from a bullet is better than death from thirst.


I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed in your bedroom. I hear almost no noise, it doesn't seem that they are demolishing the blockage. It's a pity that I couldn't set camera in the cellar, nothing remains but to guess what's on there. Victoria is sitting and whining, Bill's listening to his wife. Just amazing foolishness, what an underestimation of freedom - yea, of their lives! And they don't even try to get out.


While they've left somewhere, I've got into my own house like a thief. Wanted to remember the past for a short while. And what can I see? Peeling off plaster, dust and desolation. If you could see it, you would be terrified. They occupy two rooms, and don't even look into the others. I didn't cross the threshold to avoid leaving traces on the perennial layer of dust. Home, poor home... These walls have much to remember. Mum... Father, brother, girl-friend... Where are you? I've remained alone. And those who are guilty of it are going to pay. But later. It's yet too early, I'm not quite prepared...


Legendary Swiss banks, grandma and grandpa couldn't cope with you. Great. I've got money now, and passers-by stopped looking askew at me after some shopping and a visit to the hairdresser. Small rented room on the other end of the town - it hurts me to look at the mansion. Especially at night, when the light is on just in one window... But even there, it goes out quickly. It seems that the house has died with you, Kate. It doesn't matter. I've promised to repair it one day - and I'll do it.


Habit is second nature. Hardly have I closed the first diary, as I'm starting the second. Now it's a ragged notebook I've bought for a couple of cents, but later it's going to be something more interesting. It is not easy to get to family accounts, but I have a plan. I have already "reinstated" the passport - I don't look like my three years' prescription photo, they couldn't recognize me. A passport-loss, a backwoodsman, name and surname of orphan missing two years ago. Tragic story. Then - "looking for" relatives for a while, finding a person who falsifies documents - and I'm a son of second cousin of my own. Farewell, John. Hello, Puppeteer.

Report typos and grammar errors you find in a website by marking it and pressing Ctrl + Enter.

Or you can click this link:
Send typo report