The Eleventh Day of Dark: 3:00 AM: LOG 0010

Having gone nearly two weeks without much useful information to report back with on your first progress report, you've grown desperate. Once you were sure everyone was asleep, you crept from your room into Dave's. If there's one thing you can count on, it's that groggy people say a whole lot more than when they're actually awake. Besides that, you can get a better look at Dave's room. Honestly, the latter is preferable; trying to wake people when they're sleeping can end badly. For everyone.

Right now, you're hunched over the desk you'd tried to raid earlier. Having failed that time, you hope to succeed now. After all, Dave's asleep. The wheezing of the formidable tank of a machine by his bed is enough to keep anyone from hearing you. Hell, at this point, you could probably beat out a drum solo on his walls and he'd stay asleep. If he sleeps through that monstrosity, he'll sleep through anything, right?

Squinting at things in the light of a dim flashlight is clearly the most adrenaline-pumping activity you could ask for. This is exactly what you trained for. Looking at old, crumpled documents in the dark.

Wanted! Reward of $5,000,000 to be issued directly from the Great and Honorable Derse King!
To be returned dead.

Name: Dave Strider
Age: 20
Hair Color: Blond
Species: Human
Crime: Treasonous provocation of unlawful anti-government agencies

(Clearly, that bounty went swimmingly.)

You shove the crumpled page of weather-worn paper to the back of the desk drawer and unfold another page. This one looks newer, and it has a sloppily written message on it in bright red ink. The letters are tiny, cramped, and several spots on the page have been scratched through with enough vigor to rip through the paper.

To Whom it May Concern,

Due to recent developments, all Prospitian visits to the Tin Can are to be discontinued immediately, pending investigation of suspected dissidents certain individuals. Medical personnel, mail carriers, and publication distribution officials are permitted to enter after atwo dayforty-eight hour notification in advance. No one will be allowed on the premises without this notice.

Additional regulations are also taking effect as of today: The First Day of Dark in the Year of 67 of [obscured word] Glorious Rule.

1. All requests to visit with the Knight of Time have been suspended indefinitely due to recent health problems. From the Knight of Time's own hand, the Prospit leadership issues a sincere apology. Visitation will resume soon.

2. The Prospit leadership must respectfully request the immediate cessation of all fundraising efforts. Increased income is bringing undue attention to the movement, and most of the money seems to be going to unknown places.

3. Funerary arrangements, as usual, will be made at the end of the month for all reported deaths within the movement. Please forward the names of the deceased to the Tin Can. Mail carrier officials will deliver them.

(Jackpot.) After making sure Dave hasn't woken from his slumber, you pocket the notice. This is recent. It's relevant. Hell, you're sure you'll be getting a nice bonus for delivering something this juicy. As you do this, another page—presumably one that was somehow attached to your intended target—flutters onto the desk. Picking it up, you find yourself faced with a list of tiny names. Most of them have been smeared or scratched out. Some, however, are still legible. There's also a title on the page. (You guess Dave would need one, seeing how little he actually organizes things.)

List of Personnel Killed during the Year of 67 GR
1. [Obscured]
2. [Scratched out, then blotted out with what looks like an errant smear of old peanut butter.]
3. Sollux Captor, 27
4. Rufioh Nitram, 43
5. [Scratched out and illegible.]
6. [Blank, presumably waiting for someone to fill the space.]

(Shit.)

Though you don't want to take something like this, you know it's your occupational duty. If anyone found out that you passed over something this important, you'd be fired and back in another seedy galactic rest stop bar faster than you can say "shit". You quickly fold the paper, doing your best to push the third name out of your mind, and add it to your still-meager stash of evidence against Dave.

You suppose the evidence is also against John.

Thinking about that makes you feel uncomfortable. John seems like a nice enough guy. He's annoying, but he's got a good heart. If you were a guessing sort of troll—and you are—you'd say he's only in the movement because Dave is his best friend. He doesn't seem that much into the intricacies of the ideology. Hell, from what you've seen, he's too busy making godawful jokes and performing kitschy magic tricks to read any of Dave's lengthy pamphlets.

A long, drawn-out sigh escapes you.

You figure at this point that you've lingered too long, so, gathering your things, you depart.