Agent White

I met up with my contact today. He asked me to call him Agent White, or Mr. White if nothing else.
An odd name, I wonder if it is a codename, like mine. But he's a superior officer, I have no right or reason to question him about such irrelevant matters.
He gave me rations for four days. The blood bags are in my briefcase now, safe within the cooling system and airtight lock. Still, I have to be careful, I can't have them break.
Agent White had no new information to give me regarding G.R.A.E. and so our meeting was short. I wish I could have talked with him some more. He's my link to Inside. I don't have to pretend around him.
But then again. To him, I'm an agent too, a professional, and professionals don't ask to sit down and chat over a cup of coffee, or in my case, a glass of cooled blood.
I didn't study White's house. I remember no specific details, so I'll have to do that next time he and I meet. It's quite important that I remember details like that. It trains me, keeps me sharp.

I'm staying out tonight. Going to study some of the nightclubs in this area that young people seem to like.

I have to learn to move around in this world. Even if I hate it.

Lust

The alarm clock woke me this morning from a dreamless sleep. The best kind of sleep.
There's not really much to tell about my morning. I spent it reading a bit of G.R.A.E.s file. I need to memorize it. I'm supposed to make my lodgings look normal. What IS normal? A bunch of home accessory catalogues has dumped through the weird narrow opening in the door.
I looked through them. They’re so messy and full of colours. Humans are so chaotic.

As I'm writing this down in my journal, I'm in a train towards the capitol. My guts tell me this is where I'll find him.
"My guts tell me" My contact says this all the time. A weird thing to say. Guts don't tell anything, they make occasional sounds when you're hungry or digesting. Guts don't think or speak. I wonder who came up with such a remark?

There's no one sitting next to me or right in front of me, I have my own private space. Loud talk is disturbing my thoughts though. There's a couple sitting in the seats on the other side of the isle, by the window. Their feet inside their shoes, resting on the seat in front of them.
The woman is clearly under the influence of the stinking liquid in the bottle she drinks of so greedily. The man is laughing hoarsely, pushing his bag away a little, to lean closer to the woman, his careless movement making the bottles hidden in the bag ring.
Their smell is horrid, I can smell their lust for each other, their desperate attempt to be younger than they are.
She's kissing him, placing her painted sticky lips on his sacking cheek.
I know the other passengers has noticed the noisy couple and still they just ignore it, like some twisted idea of politeness.
I'm starring at them. I think the woman has noticed. Yes, she just smiled at me with that shiny mouth, revealing yellow teeth. I know her man hasn't noticed me. It's uncomfortable, I feel exposed, I'm not supposed to be noticed. But how can I not? I'm so clearly different from most Outsiders, with my white hair and gaunt features.
She... she thinks I'm a drug-addict... what is that? She finds me pretty?!
The train is slowing down, the couple is leaving the compartment. They're getting of at the next stop.
What a relief! I don't like it when people broadcast so clearly that I hear their thoughts.

I'm getting of at the next stop. I need air.

Smells

First day outside...
Trains are an odd invention. Odd, but convenient. They take you from point A to point B rather quickly. Much easier than if I had had to walk all the way. I'm not allowed to drive, but if I call my contact, he'll drive me to where I want.
But, back to trains.
The reason I find them odd, is in the sense that people sit or stand closely together, and yet they're able to ignore each other perfectly. I suspect they're unable to smell each other, to feel each other so strongly. Whereas I today felt like screaming, because the man sitting opposite me accidentally brushed his knee against mine. I can still feel the tingling sensation on my skin.
It's so late now, I waited at the station for several hours, not being able to force myself to walk down the stairs to the platform and get on the train. So many people! All pressed tightly against each other, all wanting to get on the train first, impatient and rough.
I can't stand all the smells! Women and their strange artificial smells, sweaty men, old people smelling of decay, and weird men smelling horribly and dressed in clothes so dirty and old that I can smell ten other people in it's stench.

Do people really live with all this touching and all these horrible smells??

I can't stand it! I feel ill when outside. I've bought a scarf to wrap across my nose and mouth. It protects me a bit against the smells, but not enough. Tomorrow I'm going to go use my credit card and buy some synthetic scent to spray into the scarf. I think it will protect me against the filthy air even better then.

I want to find G.R.A.E. quickly, I hate it out here... I want to go home. I want to get back Inside.

Outside

I have been set loose upon the World. They told me about the outlaw, how he escaped.
For weeks they have let me read through his files, to learn his habits. I expect there is more files, but they have not presented me with any, and I won‘t question my superiors.
They tell me he is out there, attacking people. Killing them. Killing innocents. They say he attacks at random, choosing his victims on a whim. They tell me he has given in to his animal instinct.

So for a month I've have been studying him on paper, trying to get to know him. They have sent me to retrieve him. No one else has the strength. There only reason for me to be out here. Outside. I have to find him and stop him.
Of course they want him back if they can. But I have been authorized to kill him if I see no other option.

My name is Ghost. At least that's as close to a name as I'll ever get. I guess it refers to my role in this mission. This hunt. I'm here to move unseen in public, to sniff him out.
I've been given ID-cards, credit cards, a place to stay and a contact who will provide me with food.
I need the blood just as much as my target does, but I am no animal.
Money will be placed in my account every month, for as long as it takes for me to track him down.
I'm not sure how I'm supposed to blend in. It seems there is no order or control in this "real world". Nothing inside was this chaotic.

I've decided to keep this logbook to keep track of my progress in finding my target, the outlaw G.R.A.E.