February 2015


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Feb. 24th, 2015

Phil B
Age: 29
E-mail: red[undarscore]talon[undarscore]ragabash[at]hotmail[dot]com
Timezone: GMT

Rust Cohle
True Detective
Cannon Origin Point:
After being stabbed and falling unconscious in Carcosa
Neutral (I guess? He’s definitely A Force For Good, but I suspect the acknowledged existence of Higher Powers is going to grate on him, and any claims of morality from people who’re backing Heaven are going to be viewed sceptically)
A lifetime of drug abuse has left it’s mark of Rust’s Psyche, leaving him prone to hallucination, and not always entirely able to separate these from reality. It’s possible these are Visions he’s experiencing, or that it’s his subconscious filling in gaps, but he can occasion, make intuitive leaps from these, pointing him in directions he would not otherwise, and read people (specifically how to break them) better than he should.
But this might just be natural talent and brain damage.

Rust is defined by his compulsion. He’s a man who needs to be driven, and who knows that with no other drives, his compulsion will be his addiction. He is a man who needs to be consumed, and to a certain degree, knows this.
This leads to his great conflict. Rust was a Nihilist, a man who understood the darkness in every man’s soul, and in the inevitability of that darkness (because his has gotten so close to the surface) and in the ultimate futility of fighting against that – Time is a Flat Circle, it repeats over and over, and there’s nothing you can do to stop that. Bad men do bad things, and good people get hurt, and you can strive against it, but sooner or later, you’re going to lose. There’s far too many bad men, and far too few good.
Which begs the question why he doesn’t give up – why he fights so hard against the Dark, that he doesn’t believe he can stop. It’s because doesn’t try to work on that scale. He doesn’t look to stop the dark, just to keep a few lights burning for a little longer. To make what little difference he can – he knows he can’t change the world, but he can change a life, and if he can make a good life better, or a bad life worse, that’s something.
And on top of that, if he doesn’t fight he falls himself, and there’s enough bad men already, without becoming one himself.


Rust barely remembers his mother, she fell pregnant while his father was on shore-leave. When he came home from active service two years later, she gave him Rust and took off (a situation neither of them were particularly happy about, and they moved North, leaving South Texas to move to Alaska.

Rust's father wasn't a healthy man, a Vietnam Veteran, not all of him came back. He was a survivalist, and a conspiracy theorist and a drunk, who resented Rust for his existence – a risk and a burden, a liability when the time for revolution came.The first chance he had, Rust left. Fleeing south, back to Texas (Rust hated the cold, and Texas, if nothing else, was warm), this and his decision to enter the police force was something his father could never forgive.
The years passed quietly, Rust build a life for himself – a life on the force, and a wife and child. Rust dedicated himself whole-heartedly to his family, terrified in the traits in himself he recognised from his father, and fiercely fighting against slipping into the same habits, in passing some of his genetic trauma on to his daughter.
When she was hit by the car at 2, when she fell into a coma and died, Rust took solace in what he termed her Escape – that he would never damage her like his father did him, to disappoint and fail and he knew he would. In her brief life, he was a perfect father, and she was happy. Despite this, he took to drinking.
Horrified at his seeming lack of grief, and uncontrollable drunkenness, his wife left soon after, and Rust's life drifted completely out of control, throwing himself deeper into his undercover work, running with criminals and spiralling into drug addiction. He was allowed to continue doing this, by being able to promise upcoming results, and masking his degradation beneath the the pretence of a performance.
This ended when he shot a drug dealer after discovering he was injecting his infant daughter with Crystal Meth.

Forced to reprimand Rust for his actions, but reluctant to take him out of deep cover operations, the deal he made sent him back Undercover, being sent from state to state, where ever they needed a deep narcotics agent. At one point, in Texas, he took the name Crash, running with the motorbike gang Iron Crusaders. This ended four years later with a gunfight with three cartel men, resulting in him being shot three times; once healed, he spent four months in Northshore Psychiatric Hospital in Lubbock, Texas (as far as the Crusaders were concerned, he died there).

Once he left, diagnosed with severe PTSD and addicted to Barbiturates and Alcohol he was told he could not return to undercover work. Offered retirement, he asked to be transferred (to Louisiana), and join homicide (entirely aware that left with nothing, he'd fall back into addiction and destruction).
During this time, he investigated the murder of Dora Lange, a young girl found naked, bound and mutilated beside a cornfield, a crown of antlers on her head. Working with his partner (Martin Hart) they found the men responsible, and killed them, rescuing a young child who were being held. (Doing so brought him back in contact with the Iron Crusaders, and lead to him betraying them, to find their Meth Dealing Source – the killer of Dora Lange).

Able to find a degree of peace in the rescue of the children and vengeance for the girl, Rust and Marty remained working in Louisina for the next seven years, Rust working as assist in cases, using his ability to work out how to make people break. He briefly dated a doctor, it fell apart.
After eight years, the case was brought back to Cohle – a suspect in a Armed Robbery case, referring to things that were never released. Sure that the two Meth Producers were involved, that they deserved what they got (and the strange wooden spiral built in the place Dora Lange was found), he began to investigate again, finding a number of missing girls who's cases were closed without proper investigation, and a cover-up of mass child abuse run by the Tuttle family (who run the church and government), but without support from his station, or Marty.
Things came to a head, when, furious at Marty's repeated infidelities, his wife turned up at Rust's home. The two slept together and when Marty found out, the two fought.
Rust took this opportunity to hand in his badge, and quit the force.

In 2010 he returned to Louisiana (after eight years working fishing-boats in Alaska), to close the Dora Lange case once and for all, following and investigating cases he suspected to be involved, before being picked up by detectives Gilbough and Papania. Marty was interviewed as well, and this caused Rust to reach out, to investigate together again.
The investigation eventually led to a farm deep in the woods, a brother and sister, Errol Childress and his wife. Childress lead Rust into Carcosa – a ruined, bone filled civil war fort, where the two fight. Stabbed in the stomach and lifted off his feet by the towering Childress, Rust headbutts the man until he lets Rust go, at which point he falls to the floor, and passes unconscious, knife still embedded in his gut.

Played By: Matthew McConaughey

3rd Person Intro
Rust doesn’t sit bolt upright when he wakes up, because that’s the kind of thing that gets you killed. Doesn’t even open his eyes at first, just concentrates on staying limp, listening. Straining his ears for the sound of sirens, or nearby voices.
The ground beneath him is dirt. Which means he’s not in hospital, which means he’s been unconscious for less time than he’d expect, or that Gilbough and Papania never came when they called. The warmth of the of blood that sticks his shirt to his bely, the fact that the pain in his stomach is a raw scream, suggests the first. That he’s still lying in the caves, caught in Childress' Carcosa, and that means Marty is too.
You don’t leave your partner to bleed out. Not if you can help it. Still unmoving, he opens his eyes.

It’s dark. And still. And if it’s Louisiana, it’s a part he’s never visited before. And six foot down a dirt hole. That’s not right. Marty wouldn’t leave him here, and if it was Childress, he’d be bound and tied, striped naked with a spiral carved into his back.
And then there's the knife in his gut. Long and sharp, and cutting deeper with every movement. He grits his teeth, wraps bloody hands around the slippery hilt, and pulls. The pain is incredible, and the blackness that follows it a welcome comfort.
When he wakes up again, the blood's colder, but covering a wider area (such a wide area, the ground beneath him almost muddy with blood, his white shirt a vibrant crimson. But he sits up, looks around. Not just a hole, a graveyard. He clambers to his feet, pulling a cigarette from a beaten pack in a back pocket, sodden and muddy and covered in his own blood but better than nothing, biting into the filter as his muscles pull against the hole in the side of his stomach.

If there’s no-one else here, there’s no point staying. Whoever left him here’s going to come back sooner or later to finish the job, and he’s in no fit state to deal with them. He doesn't get medical attention soon, he's going to bleed out, be no good to anyone.

Example Communication Post

Alright. If I'm not the first person this' happened to, it seems safe to assume you've got some kind of support-network set up already.

So I'd really appreciate it if someone could find me a car, painkiller or a doctor who's quick or doesn't mind traveling.
I need to get back to Louisiana fast as I can, but I'm bleeding something terrible right now, I remember what internal trauma feels like, and it feels a whole lot like how I'm feeling right now.

Anyone wants to tell me the time, that'd be real useful, too.