No cover letter this time - just what's below. I'll be honest - this guy's starting to disturb me somewhat. He seems to be in a rather dark place, and if even half of what he wrote before is true, I despair for humanity. I mean, what makes someone commit such a callous murder? And to kill a newborn in cold blood ... it leaves me speechless. Maybe they're right about games and violence. Maybe we really should reconsider what role games have to play in society.
Maybe it's time for a change.
Evan
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I pulled up in front of the courthouse to see a pack of rabid dogs baying and howling, snapping at each other and screaming for blood - my old friend Luigi had foolishly decided to wander past and was now swinging from the old Oak tree in front of the building, a victim of being the wrong character in the wrong place at the wrong time. His lively green suit presented an attractive argument against the ochre of the dying leaves, but the mob had already played judge, jury, and executioner.
One of the beasts flew into my car, pushed by the sheer pulsating ferocity of the crowd. I slapped him, spraying his slobber across my dash, ruining the upholstery in the process. "What are you doing in my car?! Why are you here?" I cursed at him. "Who's going to pay for that mess!"
He looked balefully at me, incomprehension dulling the pain of my blows. "I didn't mean to!" he cried. "It seemed like a good idea! Thompson told me to do it! The newborn ... he did it! It was his fault - he played! Oh God ... please, forgive me!" He pawed at me, pleading the entire time, tears flowing down his cheeks. "What have I become!"
I pushed him away, wiping my palms on the legs of my jeans, trying to get the drool off my hands. "Fool! You've made your choice, now deal with it!"
He curled in the footwell of the passenger seat, rocking, weeping and clawing at his eyes. I turned away in disgust, intent on finding out what had really happened - the truth is a fickle creature, and scum can't stand it.
Luigi's moustache flapped in the wind, dripping blood and mucous on the cackling faces of the crowd below, winding them into a frenzied bloodlust. Grabbing my nightstick from the glovebox, I leaped from the car, taking random swings at fiends as I went - I had to get there in enough time, and the case was moving so fast, I could barely keep up. I cracked one across the leg making him cry in pain and stumble to the ground, but before he could get up, he was set upon by his friends. They tore him limb from limb, gore-stained faces giggling gleefully the entire time - the favourite pastime of beasts is picking on the poor, the pathetic, and the different, and their only sense of fairness is that they don't discriminate in their distaste for all things not them.
I kicked open the tomb-like ebony doors, gasping in exhaustion, nightstick raised over my head like a warrior's crest. "Where is he? I have to find out why he did it! It's a matter of principle!" I demanded of a slack-faced bailiff, shaking him by his lapels hard enough to make his eyes roll. The fat pooled around his neck like a scarf, the rolls trapping the streams of sweat that flowed from his greasy forehead.
He pulled away from me and eyed me nervously. "That guilty freak? He's already been charged. Good riddance, too - he was apparently a sex fiend as well. Channel four just searched his house and found a bunch of games designed to let him build sex partners. He'd then commit lewd acts against them in any way he wanted to." His pupils dilated and he started to salivate, hand unconsciously moving to his cheek and stroking it. "It's true, you know, I watched part of the game on YouTube. Several times. They even had an expert who talked about the research - she was really smart."
I spat on the floor, disgusted at his sycophancy. "Enough of that! Which courtroom is he in?"
The bailiff raised a hand and pointed to a door down the hall. I burst through, crashing into a decrepit old man, bent in two at the hip with dust deeply ingrained in the ravines of his face. A cancerous liver spot extended down the right side of his face, stretching from eye to chin, scattered with cracking, weeping pustules. He eyed me warily with cataract-glazed fish eyes, confusion and delusion clearly running rampant across his nauseating visage.
"Are you the bailiff?" he croaked, breathing the stench of his death on me.
"That blowhard? I'm a professional!" I yelled at him, backing away. "Who are you and what are you doing here?!"
"I'm here for the trial," he creaked. "Jury duty."
My jaw dropped, and I looked over his shoulder to see a room filled with aging men in various stages of decay, bumping into each other in mindless disarray. The dust being thrown from their Parkinsons-powered jittering was so thick that I started coughing, choking on the foul aroma of death and incontinence. They'd formed a line of sorts and were gradually filtering into the courtroom proper, each waiting for their opportunity to dance with Iustitia. Falling to my knees, I gasped and asked, "But you won't even make it through the trial! Never mind that - if you're to judge him, what experience do you have about gaming? How will you know what's reasonable or real?"
He looked at me curiously. "Experience?"
Before I could consider this any further, the dust finally overpowered me. The black crept at the edges of my vision, and as I wheezed, the walking corpse became all I could see, a small beacon in a sea of dark. As I prepared myself for death, killed by the noxious emissions of an aging beast, the bailiff reappeared in a crashing cacophony, escorted by two muscle-bound thugs. The force of the doors flying open created small whirlwinds of dust throughout the room, picking up a number of the wizened beasts and throwing them into the walls, breaking limbs and sending teeth flying. The murderous goons picked me up and cast me on the floor outside, kicking me in the forehead for the fun of it and making me black out yet again.
I woke to the taste of blood, dust, and decay - the room was empty, and the building silent. I had missed it. Desperate, I ran to the bookshop to get the transcript of the trial. I opened it randomly and started reading.
Judge: Guilty, is it? Excellent - case closed! What's for dinner?
Bailiff: Your honour, we really should have the trial first.
Judge: Eh? What's that? But the man's clearly guilty - look at his beady eye! There's a criminal if I've ever seen one! I'm a judge, you know! This is what I do!
Bailiff: Your honour, that's the courtroom camera. The accused isn't yet in the room.
Judge: Enough of that! What do you take me for, a fool?! Let's begin then. What's this thing here?
Bailiff: That's your keyboard, your honour. You type on it. With your hands.
Judge: What are you implying! Of course I know that's a keyboard! I'm an expert in all things technical - just the other day I managed to punch an ape and win a music player! I gave them my platinum card details so they could see how important and knowledgeable I am - it's being delivered from their warehouse in Nigeria next week!
I flipped feverishly through the document, looking for anything that might make sense of this madhouse. As I read further, my stomach dropped.
Def: Tell me son, when did you first become a gamer?
Pros: Objection! He's a liar - he'll never tell you the truth!
Judge: Sustained.
Def: And why were you there with your friend?
Pros: Objection! He's a freak - he never had any friends!
Judge: Sustained,
Def: What made you decide to commit the crime?
Pros: Objection! He's criminally insane - if you let him speak, he'll kill us all!
Judge: Sustained. Case adjourned for deliberation.
I dropped the transcript and fell against the wall in dismay - I was too late, my chance had come and gone yet again. If I wanted the truth, there was only one thing left to do. I had to see what happened for myself. I had to see the tape.
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