Not sure you did the right thing by letting his material through last time, but who am I to judge ...
Actually, it's vaguely interesting in a bizarre way, but the guy's a serious weirdo - I mean, what's up with that whole groupie thing? It didn't really happen, did it? Anyway, he's still sending me stuff. I'll keep forwarding it to you, but let me know if you want me to politely tell him to go away - he's a little intense, but he seems harmless. Apart from his finding my private email that is ... don't know how he worked that one out.
Evan
-----------------
Dear Messrs,
Contrary to my previous correspondence, you appear to have shared what was meant to remain confidential. Under the circumstances, however, I shall consider this a rather crass display of callous behaviour and calmly let it pass. My commitment to this being a considered, constructive relationship. Water under the bridge, and all that.
In the spirit of goodwill, I have enclosed the first part of my coverage of the current 'Controller' investigation. I trust this demonstrates my forgiving nature.
Yours in confidence,
John.
-----------------
The call came at 7:34 on Wednesday morning, a discordant rattling that interrupted my concentration. I'd been playing Geometry Wars: Galaxies for at least 70 hours straight, propped up by Red Bulls and Penguin Mints, and I'd become convinced that if I stopped I'd die.
"Have you seen the news?!" my attorney yelled down the line.
I cursed. "Quiet you fool! They're about to get me - I don't know how long I can hold on! There's a green diamond looking at me, and he wants my blood!"
"Enough of that," he yelled. "Put down the controller - I have a job for you! It's about truth, justice, and freedom. Are you interested?"
My interest piqued and attention distracted, I paused the game. "Maybe. How much does it pay?"
"Nothing, you cheapskate," he sighed, "isn't philanthropy a good enough reason for you?!"
I grimaced. "Tell me more, but be quick. I'm not sure how long these guys will stay paused. I can see them sneaking up on me out of the corner of my eye!"
"There's about to be a murder. Turn to Channel four - hurry!"
I changed channels just in time to see a provocatively dressed blonde harpy joyously masticating on other people's sorrow. Saliva dripping in long tendrils from her chin, she crowed, "That's right Al, we're broadcasting live from downtown where some freak is holding his friend hostage outside EB Games. The local enforcement aren't letting us any closer for our own safety, but we'll be back as soon as we know more!"
I threw down the controller and hung up the phone - if I was going to be close enough to smell the blood, I had to move quickly. That green diamond bastard would have to wait.
I arrived at the store too late - the party had been and gone, and all that was left was the confetti.
The harpy was there, caged under the glare of stagelights. Sinuously stroking her microphone, she crooned, "That's right Al, a tragedy. The accused, whom the media has dubbed 'the Controller', shot and killed his best friend during an altercation. According to various sources, he was an avid gamer - apparently unhappy with his inability to 'control' his friend like his mindless games, he snapped, shooting him twelve times in the head."
Teasing the camera with a seductive gaze, she panted, "We'll let you know more as things develop, but to be clear, it appears his actions were motivated by his experiences 'playing games', as he would have called it. In times like this, it really makes you wonder why someone won't think of the children and bring in stronger controls. We'll be back after these messages from our sponsors.'
The lights flicked off, and for a brief moment, she looked at me. Her eyes narrowed and the fear grabbed me - with a ravenous glare, her upper lip curled revealing cracked teeth and chapped gums, coated in blood and glistening in the dark. She started towards me, keening in hungry desperation, and as I stepped back, I slipped in the pools of gore. I fell to my knees, prostrate in front of this predator, praying for salvation but expecting none. She uttered a guttural growl, and as she crouched to pounce, the lights suddenly blinked back on, trapping her in her prismatic prison.
She straightened and her face abruptly fell back into place, hiding the rot. Without missing a beat, she continued to the camera, "We've managed to get a hold of his friends in an exclusive, off the record interview, and it appears he enjoyed death sims such as Call of Honour and Quaker. We have it on good record that he was allegedly here at this specific EB Games to pick up a copy of the latest game of mass destruction, Katamari Destructancy, a game designed to simulate the destruction of the Earth as we know it. He's been detained by the police, and is now being held at the station for processing. Back to you Al."
Before her captors could release her again, I scampered like the rat I was and fled for the doors. I had to get to the station before it was too late.
I burst into the police station and was immediately accosted by a horde of same-looking swine primed for a fight, raw adrenaline dripping from their pores. "Who are you, and what crime did you commit?" they cried as they bent my arms backwards and slapped me across the face.
"No one! I'm a reporter - I'm trying to track down the Controller for an interview!"
They released me, disappointment blossoming in their eyes. "Are you insane! We're under siege, you fool - how did you get past them alive?!"
I snuck a glimpse outside, witnessing a carpark empty apart from a lonely-looking individual quietly defending himself from his attackers in Patapon on his PSP.
"I pretended I was one of them," I said, "they didn't suspect a thing. Why are they here?"
"Who knows - who understands them! Miserable little misanthropes - they're trained to kill, you know! They practice every day with weapons we can't even get access to!" He trembled, tears welling in his eyes, groping at my collar like a drowning man. "I mean, what's a guy to do? We study them, you know - we have better information than the media. They have underground training camps called 'blams' where they all get together and practice their maneuvers. They listen to strange music and have their own codewords like 'pwned'. "
His eyes blurred and he cackled maniacally. "But, we're smarter than they think - we've already cracked half their dictionary - we know their leader goes by codename 'lolrus' and is looking for his 'bucket'. It's only a matter of time before we hunt him down and show him what we do to freaks like him!"
His eyes refocused and flicked over my shoulder, fear turning to crazed anger. "Look - there's more!" he hissed.
I turned to see the harpy back on television, quivering in near orgasmic pleasure. "In the latest news, five people have been confirmed dead, one of them a newborn. All were shot through the head in what is known as an 'execution style' kill, made all the more impressive by the distance 'the Controller' was able to murder them from. We'll be back with more as this story develops, Al."
"Bastards. There should be a law, you know. The only people worse are those freaks who play Dark Dungeons." He shuddered. "Thank God we don't have to deal with them and their mind bondage - Chick's on our side."
He blinked, realising I was still there and, more importantly, not swine. "Why are you here again?" he asked suspiciously.
I faced his glare head-on - the only way to deal with cowardly swine is to intimidate them. "For an interview. The Controller?" I slapped him across the face. "Don't waste my time - where is he?"
His face collapsed and he buckled, servitude again coming to the fore. Blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, he muttered, "We've already moved him on - the man's guilty. He's been charged and sent to the courts for arraignment. His hearing's in twenty minutes."
I heard a noise and turned to see a few hundred armour-clad pigs loading up with tasers, tear gas, and Colt AR-15s. Fear welling in my gut, I backed off, edging towards the rear doors - individually, swine are controllable, but in packs, they thirst for blood.
They kicked the front door open, and with a cry of, "let's stomp this freak", they were away. I left before things got out of control, but as I drove away, I could hear the rattle of automatic fire, punctuated briefly by a shriek and followed by terminal silence. It'd become clear to me that if I wanted to understand what drove this deranged individual to act, I'd have to get to the courthouse.
My foot firmly planted to the floor, I fishtailed down the highway. Pulse pounding in my ears, I felt the weight of impending doom - the world's an ugly place, and there's nothing uglier than a lynching.
Great read!
Loading...
