Well. It took longer than expected to get dear Seven to cough up the password to the blog, but I've got my ways. He'll be hurting for a while, but progress is progress.
It was too easy. He keeps a blog detailing his movements, lists his kills, and then over something as trivial as a mention that Jersey could use some help, off he goes, blowing the rest of his money on a first class ticket back home to NC.
The latter details, of course, were never posted here, but some basic detective work and a bit of torture got that info out well enough.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Seven has been a fool. He fancied himself some sort of avenger, even if he was unwilling to claim a formal title in writing. Driven by grief and anger [which I say was little more than your everyday insanity] he embraced the life of a murderer, killing my kind for the "greater good" or whatever justice he was after.
He dared to dream that he could even go as far as to cut down the Tree.
Pride comes before the fall, children. Don't worry; I'll take good care of dear Seven.
He is, after all, still useful. Until I get ever last bit of information out of that pretty little brain of his, he'll be allowed to live. Terrible pain... but life.