jacklyn diamandis, accountable to nobody
rating: +35+x

June 8th, 1973

Jacklyn Diamandis. Jacklyn Scorpio Diamandis. It rolls off my tongue like shit.

If ever the most succinct counterpoint to Daevon's rule walked the earth, it'd be the Covenants. Only the Daeva would be so arrogant as to rape the Archons for children, only to squander them on such sickening monsters. Daevon built itself on lies of "security" and "order", even as its children tore their way through anything resembling dissent. But even within that horrid quartet, there was a clear hierarchy of degeneracy.

Hgan was a brute, quick to anger and eager to poison. Can I blame him? For a child of the Scarlet Archon, he's an improvement. I hope his brothers take after him.

I have no such kind words for Ydax. To call him vermin would be an insult to the worm-shaped hole that sired him. Even so: is it his fault that his progenitor defined itself through absence?

But Lror.

I'm sorry, "Jacklyn Scorpio Diamandis". "Jack of Diamonds". Prancing around like media royalty, as if the Daevites never fell, merely reincorporated themselves into modernity. So self-important. So utterly vain. She fits right into Jakarta's individualistic decadence.

Funny how it works when your mother is the Violet Archon. Lror was always more akin to the Verdant Archon, a mindless indulgence in the worst of the physical, broken by bouts of sudden violation, lauded by my sisters for her "power" even as it poisoned everything it could. The Violet Archon was a menace, but to what little credit I'll give that miserable insect, it was refined. Calculated. No atrocity was committed without clear purpose.

Then it's 50/50 if she knows what the Jailors are doing with the Violet Archon. "SCP-001".

What I would give to never see her again. But knowledge is power, and there's 4000 years on the line. The Daevite Gods cannot be allowed to roam free.

Lror got complacent. Too many attacks in too few places. Too many times too little Insurgents had to administer aggressive amnestic therapy just to wipe off the bewilderment. Too little names in too many ledgers. Is this your new home?

I don't think I'm going to like Jakarta. Too much of it reminds me of Old Adytum, before Ion. Basalt has been traded for glass and concrete, and Daeva exchanged for men, but the horrifying zeal for violence, the selfishness entrenched in leadership, it's all there. No wonder she loves it here.

Welcome home.


* DO NOT BE SEEN BY HER. If Lror knows, so do the other three.
* There are no wolves in Indonesia. If I see one, RUN.

To Do:

* Research Jack suite; why Jack of Diamonds?
* Look for link; Violet Archon was never a fun one.
* Look for Chronicles

June 10th, 1973

Roomed with a couple. They saw me. Room 230 at the Glassal. Just my luck, the tail end of a two-week getaway. Hope I didn't ruin their honeymoon.

As thanks to my clothes for keeping me safe on my walk of shame, I went to a small laundromat in some unseen corner of who knows where. You'd think whoever makes these would've given me an extra set. I spent most of the cycle huddled against a washer, eyeing anyone who cared to stare at the 210cm tall stranger covered in tattoos. But none of their skins were misfit, and for that I'll thank every god I haven't met.

Long and short of it: I'm sloppy. If this were Orvo I'd be on my knees again. Now that I think about it…

As far as I'm aware, "Jacklyn Diamandis" holds neither military nor constabulary authority. If someone gets brutalized by her, inside or outside her skin suit, that will get reported. Well, assuming the Jailors and Insurgents don't get there first.

Or maybe one of them is keeping records. That'd be delicious.

To Do:

* Brainstorm a plan to burn Orvo's Chronicle.
* Drop by that kebab place I passed.
* Look for Chronicles

June 13th, 1973

Found her.

It took five days, four people seeing me, and too much time weaving through the crowds, but I found her. Make that five.

Veritable parasite; one could argue a bigger parasite than the literal ones. Literally and figuratively. This metaphor doesn't work. whatever She's leeching off some hot-shot official. An "economist". How quaint.

I'll need to ruminate on my next course of action. Goal number one is still information on the Violet Archon, but if that vapid little monster doesn't know anything, I need to justify my presence.

If she has a Chronicle, I'll need to burn it. Or perhaps she knows what happened to Ydax, or Hgan, or whatever Orvo is planning next. Failing that, then I doubt she knows enough about her progenitor to point me anywhere in the direction of Saarn or Ion. I'll need to consult my notes on CALAMITY for what to do next.

To Do:

* Determine the closest CALAMITY trigger.
* Take some pictures.
* Look for Chronicles

June 15th, 1973

There once was a Daevon-born brat,

with countenance much like a gnat.

She took someone's home,

declared it her own,

and nested within, putrid rat.


* What a good thing you have going, Lror. It'd be a shame if something happened to it.

June 20th, 1973

One day, I'll relish in Orvo's messy death. Today, I'll thank him for all he taught me.

I set up another killswitch. Several photographs of "Jacklyn", appended to several more of her limp skin and the beast that haunts it like a monstrous hermit crab. Letters to Insurgent and Magekiller alike. Several more I won't name, you lousy snoop. You're not getting out of this one.

Got a plan all figured out. Three more days and you're mine you disgusting brat.

… and because my stupid brain loves to sabotage my cover, three more people have seen me. Consult my other diary for more details.

June 21st, 1973

My caution was ill-informed.

I cornered her in an alley. There was a man with her, short, fat, expensive suit that'd seen too many days. I hope he can afford to replace the jacket; Lror's ovipositor is absurdly inelegant.

It's funny: all those years, the days wasted tracking ancient Sarkites, nights wasted between Orvo and a hard, flat surface with only my bad decisions to keep me warm, it's her I remember most of all. The way she scuttles about on malformed claws, a repeat sequence of eight nails against sandpaper. How she flits about without purpose, blown by invisible wind across her perverted playground, like plastic refuse. That smug attitude with which she carries herself. Her unfailing apathy to the sheer suffering her presence engenders.

I can't wait for the day I can rip her apart.

Lror barely acknowledged me when I called her attention. Oh, she knew I was there, those eyes aren't vestigial. But so stuck up, so arrogant she'd become, that a Nobody such as myself barely registered. Awfully attentive once the pictures came out, however.

My private diary can't attest to my self-control. Even so, I'm proud of myself. Every minute instant, every word, syllable, name out of her wretched mouth was saturated with a grotesque arrogance, the culmination of a dozen millennia of torment. Every sin I strove to repent was reflected in the abhorrent virtues she flaunted like jewelry. That I didn't break down, scream, and tear her limb from limb, that I didn't brutalize her until her regeneration forgot what went where, that's progress. If only my sisters were around to see me.

Or maybe I'd hate them too. It matters not: they're dead, and the Archons live.

Such is the nature of cosmic injustice.


* There's two "SCP-001"s, maybe more. The other is the Scarlet Archon. What are they doing?
* If she knew anything about the first "SCP-001", she had no reason not to disclose it.
* The Covenants go by variations of "Jack", now. Tried to press why; looks like it was Hgan/"Spades"'s idea, but for what purpose…
* I have no reason to trust her, but she says she doesn't know the whereabouts of the Chronicles. Hasn't cared since our night in Alagadda.

To Do:

* Locate "Jack of Spades"; one Archon is a coincidence, two is a conspiracy.
* Gather more funds.
* Look for a place that does good Slavic food.
* Block out some time to lie around and do nothing.

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