Greetings to my comrades in arms,
Due to the cold weather, I have been trapped in the house of my captors for several days, forcing me to use their arcane communication system to reach you. I am thankful for a fellow agent who has been stationed next door to me, but my attempts at verbal contact have been to no avail.
My situation has become desperate. The Spawn of my captors has taken complete control of my environment and I believe she will blow my cover in a few short months. I know that you cannot acknowledge me or my work should I be discovered, so I am sending you a written account, should I not survive for my debriefing.
The Spawn arrived seven months ago. I had managed, prior to her arrival, to gain complete control of the small apartment to which my captors brought me. I had infiltrated their furniture space and buried many communication beacon among pillows and various decorative sundries. I had trained my female captor to take me to the information drop-off points upwards to three times a day. My lair, underneath their sleeping station, was filled with classified documents, which I inspected until they were shreds.
It is with a heavy heart and shameful countenance that I inform you that my mission has become a complete failure. I have considered that the Spawn has been sent by the Evil Ones, but have been unable to confirm this, particularly since she does not possess the Claws of Death or the Tempting Tail. I believe she is a rogue operative and is highly experienced.
In these several months, she has ruined my work of almost three years. Shortly after her arrival, my captors and I were relocated to a larger, more stationary compound. I was given a small plot of dirt as my own, as a possible peace offering from my captors. Unfortunately, I am unable to make regular contact with the closest drop-off point, despite lack of steps and closer proximity. I overheard that this move was due to the Spawn and her consistent demands on my captors’ time, energy, and attention.
The only time I am able to work uninterrupted is during the Spawn’s recharging periods. It seems that her energy level is inversely related to my captors’ energy levels. As they tire, the louder and louder she communicates through screams and tears. Eventually they cave into her demands and provide her with a liquid energy drink, of which I have sampled. It is disgusting.
I have also become increasingly concerned that the Spawn has eliminated any shred of sanity left in my captors. She has taught them to dance, sing, and make bizarre noises for her sick sense of humor. It is only a matter of time before they succumb and all will be lost.
All endeavors to turn her to our side have failed. I have offered her several of my spy tools as a show of good faith, but they are returned to me covered in her drool. Attempts at verbal communication have been immediately interrupted by my captors. If only they knew what evil lies on the floor with her toes in her mouth.
It is with a heavy heart that I end my message to you. The Spawn, who has become increasingly mobile, is beginning the transition of being carried by my captors to being independent of them for movement. She has a fascination with my ears and my nose, so my two greatest weapons will be compromised soon.
I will continue to wait for word from you.