Hey Spacejerk,

Fine. I don't need you to tell me your stupid plan. I have other ways of finding out what you're doing and all the time in the world on my hands. And if you won't talk to me about what you're up to, then I'll just talk to you about what I'm up to.

Which amounts to very little. Maybe I can bore you to death with the details.

I get limited outdoor time, now. There's a tracker on my ankle. I wish I was surprised by this. I feel like there's something screwed up about the fact I take this as par for the course with Dad. I either have to be within half a mile of the house or within twenty feet of Gaz. I think she enjoys going into the city with me just so she can try to put too much distance between us. Apparently it's funny to see your brother get pumped full of sedatives by the tracker and even funnier to leave him lying there to get picked up by Dad's security. I stopped going out with her after that happened twice.

Dad says I should be grateful. That if he wasn't the well respected world-saving scientist that he is, I'd be in jail. "No, son, there's no point investigating the fire. It's quite obvious by your proximity to the source and the ash all over you that you were the arsonist." Yeah. Like I wasn't there trying to salvage the evidence I'd been hoarding. But whatever. All I have to do is sign up for Colledge and take pre-approved classes and get my life back on Dad's track so there's another Dad when Dad is gone. If he wants that so badly, why doesn't he just turn himself into a computer? Nobody would know the difference, and those who could tell wouldn't care.

Might even be an improvement. You can hack computers. Program them to leave you alone.

I started trying to gather some evidence again, but it's rough going without my equipment. All I've got right now is some barely audible recordings from the sad ghost in my walls. Sounds perfectly clear when I'm trying to sleep, but like a cat garbled underwater on tape. Weirder than that, though, is I can never remember what she said. As soon as she finishes talking it all starts to slip away. Next time I'll try transcribing as she speaks.

There isn't much in the way of the Swollen Eyeball network out here. Dad tried to block my calls out, but I've been getting around parental controls since I was five. Still, they don't really want to hear from me since I never brought conclusive evidence of your existence.

It gets way too quiet out here. Too much time to think. I don't want to think, I want to do things.

Haven't tested what happens if I try to take the tracker off. A little afraid to, actually, but if I don't get a little actual freedom like, I don't know, an adult… I might lose it.

-Dib

…..

Note: Really funny thing is this is the only fic I can write today. Finger home-splinted for pain. Short chapter format ideal. Sucks it happened during a high muse point though.