A Room of Killers II

No one appeared to be aware that everybody else trapped in the mysteriously sealed mansion was a hardened murderer. 

Ah no, there was a mistake with that statement.

To be absolutely accurate, not everyone was an serial killer of some sort, and not everyone was totally ignorant of the criminal nature of the people in the room. I was the singular exception to both of these.

Others have often commented on my problematic interest in any crime news of the macabre sort. In hindsight, perhaps they were correct. My current circumstances might have been the result of my unique knowledge and interests, but this was only my speculation. However, was it possible that I was simply an unfortunate third party randomly inserted into this artificial situation?

The immediate question was, what was the purpose of this scenario? A set of rooms totally closed off to the outside, with barely sufficient supplies to last everyone for a week.

Even if those gathered consisted entirely of ordinary people, the desperate situation would eventually give birth to the conclusion that the solution is to kill. 

Of course, if one was already a murderer, and a serial killer at that, then the thought process would be accelerated many fold.

But everyone here was a murderer, only that they were currently unadvised of this fact. This was a tinderbox to be sparked by the first sign of violence.

Judging from the current state of relative calm, nobody had come to a similar conclusion yet. At the very least, nobody has acted suspiciously, or expressed any hints that they knew anyone else's identity.

A single pindrop might change all of this in an instant.

There was only one thought in my mind: How could I survive in this room of murderers?

In this game, I had only one advantage. It wasn't any physical attribute, such as strength or speed or agility. It wasn't even a mental advantage, a difference in intellect or cunning. From what I knew of these murderers, each of them surpassed me in either athleticism or intelligence. By raw stats alone, I knew I was outmatched. But that very statement hinted at the nature of my advantage.

I knew. 

Not that I was outmatched, though that knowledge was certainly helpful in informing my decisions. It was my very knowledge of all the participants that was my strongest hand.

True, perhaps I lacked the raw intellect or cunning to fully exploit this information. But even so, I could see a clear way to exploit the existing situation to my favor. To increase my chances of survival, I had to control the narrative.

"Good morning. I am the manager of this game. As you have verified, there is no means of escaping this chamber."

 

And We Shall Never Surrender

The slaughter was senseless, but slaughter always was. Privately I had sometimes suspected that things might have turned out better if we were a little more cowardly, or a little less determined. But we never surrendered, even in the face of utter defeat. We fought with our planes when they came from above. When the skies were lost, we fought on the ground with our tanks and our artillery. When our armies arrayed on the field were charred and ruined, we fought on in the streets with guns. To the very end, we found ourselves fighting in our homes with knives and bare hands.

Humanity never surrendered. But it was also that surrender was impossible. The aliens had no interest in anything we could offer that they could not simply just take. Their technology was boundlessly superior. Any surrender would be unconditional and entirely unfavorable. We simply had nothing to bargain with. So we fought.

As we grew more desperate, we pulled every trick we knew, even those which we had thought unthinkable to use. When nukes failed, we turned to chemical and biological weapons. But our inferior technologies offered us no advantage, and every attack was quickly neutralized. Therefore, some of us turned to mysticism, which the aliens did not know.

Necromancy, as it turned out, was always real. It was merely that the sacrifices were considered unthinkable.  We crossed that line weeks ago, and then some. For a price, an army was created to replace those we had lost. An army of the dead, manned with soldiers from wars long past. An army without number, to fight an enemy from beyond the stars.

We lost. In hindsight, was there any other outcome? The army of the dead was large, but at the same time the musket was considered advanced technology to half the army. It was at this point that we surrendered. There was nothing else we could conceivably do to win.

It was only later that I learned that necromancy saved us. We didn't win, but that was a foregone conclusion past the first few hours of the invasion. We simply didn't lose... everything. All we had fought for were some bargaining chips for a conditional surrender.

Did I mention that the aliens did not know about mysticism, in particular necromancy?

An Appraisal of Two Magical Artifacts

I was recently tasked to appraise two magical artifacts. In particular, I was requested to make the assessment purely on the economic benefits and effects of the items, without taking into consideration any innate value (for example, as a curiosity or object of study) the items could possess. In other words, I was asked whether these magical artifacts would serve as good investments capable of reaping decent monetary dividends.

The first item was a small cloth purse with exotic runes woven into the fabric. It was not difficult to cross-reference the runes and thus to identify the artifact; this was a pouch of lesser reward, and it had the wondrous ability of conjuring a single silver coin, weighing about an ounce, each day.

The second item was a refined necromantic ritual which was capable of reanimating a skeleton from a corpse. The skeleton, once magically animated, would be able to execute simple commands autonomously without the need for food, drink, or rest. Based on the text of the tome, the skeleton would be free of decay without requiring further maintenance of any sort. Unfortunately, the ritual depended on several rare components, but it was possible to source for them. The question was simply whether it was economic to do so.

Both magical artifacts attracted much interest. Both promised to generate income forever, and thus seemed to be attractive investments. In particular, the necromantic ritual could potentially be used to replace all simple human labor! These seemed like no-brainers.

I remained unconvinced. The important consideration was the return on investment, which depended on the pricing of the magical items. While it was true that given enough time, both artifacts would generate a positive return, this ignored the opportunity cost of investment. In order words, it might be more profitable to invest in other financial instruments if the magic artifacts were simply too expensive. 

I proceeded to make an assessment on a fair pricing for both the items. First, to be competitive with other investments, the artifacts would have to yield at least an annual return of 3%, otherwise I would easily be better off parking my money in, for example, government securities. The next step would be to estimate the annual return each artifact would generate.

For the pouch of lesser reward, this calculation was simple. A single silver coin a day would fetch about 15 USD, give or take. Thus, over a year the pouch would generate 5475 USD. Based on this, the pouch could cost at most 182,500 USD; if it were any more expensive, it would be a poor investment.

For the necromantic ritual, the annual return would have to be based on the cost of simple labor which the skeleton would replace. A conservative estimate for a sweatshop worker's wages is 1 USD an hour. Compounded over a year, a skeleton would replace 8760 USD worth of wages. At this rate, each ritual could not cost more than 292,000 USD, otherwise foreign labor would be more competitive.

Two Heads are Better than One

Here's a little bit of wisdom for today- Two heads are better than one.

And here's another- there are no two-headed giants in the world. Not anywhere outside of natural history museums, anyway. Two-headedness simply did not provide any evolutionary advantage over one-headedness. What is interesting is that the adage originates from the village of Triskelion, where three-headed ogres reside.

Rather than describing the benefits of cooperating, the original meaning of the saying instead alludes to the unique advantages of three-headedness (and indirectly, why two-headedness does not). For those unfamiliar with three-headed ogres, three-headed ogres are large humanoids with three heads, but otherwise have one body (if oversized) and the same pairs of appendages as any other humanoid. Each head of the ogre sustains an individual mind thinking independently of the other two. The question everyone is asking is, with three heads and one body, what dictates how the body acts?

The answer is somewhat complicated, but it goes like this: Each day, two of the three heads are randomly selected to serve as proposers, where the selected heads would individually propose actions to undertake. The remaining head would act as an arbiter, and would choose which action to adopt at any point of time. In this fashion, the actions of the three-headed ogre evolve from a fused consensus of its three heads.

The advantage of this three-headed decision process is a moderation of excessive or reckless behaviors. Implicitly, any action must be supported by at least two heads. Indeed, two heads prove to be better than one.

What about our now extinct two-headed giants? We might speculate that with only two heads, it would be impossible to resolve disagreement between the two, or that one head would naturally be dominant. Without any surviving members of the species, it is difficult to make any supported conclusions.

A Story of Happily Ever After

However long ago it happened, we all know the ending, simply because we're living in it. Ever after is the strongest magic there is, casting an absolute ray of happiness onto all of posterity.

Their posterity, that is. Almost always is it "they" rather than "everyone", for the simple reason that it is almost impossible to satisfy everyone all at once. Of course, in some tales it does read "everyone" rather than "they", this being achieved by horrific means. Whether it is better to be rendered extinct or to be merely subject to eternal misery is, quite frankly, an academic question.

While their descendants of royal stock wallow in unearned merry, an unfortunate few are cursed with bitter misfortune for the crime of having the wrong ancestors. The inequity of the situation is obvious.

Now, I ask you, my fellows of ill adversity, how can the situation be salvaged, if not reversed? Again, I repeat, ever after is the strongest magic there is. Greater forces have tried and succeeded only in adding to the ranks of the miserable. But perhaps the ending is not set in stone. Perhaps the threads of fate cannot be cut with brute force, but must instead rewoven with guile?

I offer this hypothesis: We know that magic cannot conjure something out of nothing. Thus, their happiness must come from somewhere- our misery. The exact amounts of each are perfectly balanced on some mystic scale invisible to us.

Now, there is a limit to how happy a person can be, and similarly a limit to how unhappy a person can be. Herein lies my proposal: to change the numbers on both sides of the scale. Of course, it will be difficult to limit their numbers. In any case, the other approach is more feasible.

Yes, I do not deny it. Misery loves company.

Not Just an Uncle

At the void deck, the old uncle sat with one leg propped on the stone stool. He wasn't playing chess nor checkers, and he wasn't eating winter melon seeds nor sipping kopi out of a plastic bag. He just sat there, almost motionlessly staring into the distance. I then caught a fleeting glint in his eyes-  then I knew. This was no mere old uncle that partook in the decadent activities typical of his generation. No, this was a supreme martial arts expert secretly practicing and honing his skills in public. 

The question was, whether he knew that I knew. I detected no killing aura on him, but true experts are known to be able to hide their auras.  Then again, perhaps he didn't mind being discovered, and that this was some sort of game to him.

As I walked past him, he flashed a toothy grin. "Walk carefully, the ground is slippery." he called out from behind me.  Was this a threat? I didn't know. I did the only thing I could- I walked faster. Stride by stride, I distanced myself from the void deck, yet I could still an immense pressure from behind me. 

A few seconds later, the old uncle flashed past me on his electric scooter, his few strands of hair flowing majestically against the wind.

An Investigation into a Missing Kingdom

Contained within this letter is a summary of my investigations into the missing kingdom; a more detailed report will follow upon my return to court. Regrettably, even after a search of several months, I have failed to discover any physical traces of the missing kingdom. All that remains is an almost impassable thicket of bramble and thorns. While the notion of magic is implausible, I cannot offer any other explanation as to how an entire realm and its people could have vanished overnight.

Though I did not manage to find anyone hailing from the lost kingdom, I did encounter a few merchants that claimed to have visited that land. Though traders have a tendency to spin a yarn and embellish their tales, I was eventually able to piece together an element common to their stories. In the years before the kingdom's sudden disappearance, there was a sudden and great increase in demand for thread and yarn of all types. At the same time, imports of spindles and spinning wheels were forbidden, and any such device found smuggled into the kingdom was immediately burned on sight.

I surmise that there was some element of madness to the rulers of the kingdom; what else would drive them to deprive their people? In the long run, this would certainly have driven their realm to ruin. But overnight? That requires a malice that is more intentional. Indeed, that suits the information that we already have on hand.

It was recorded in the log of our diplomats that sixteen years ago, a great banquet was held in the vanished kingdom to celebrate the christening of a newborn princess. The log notes that six seats were intentionally left empty at the banquet table, yet no noble or diplomat was absent. At first glance, this could simply be a contingency for the odd forgotten guest. Those more attuned to the customs of the other lands would quickly realize that there never was any forgotten guest; those six seats were reserved for six other pagan spirits.

My most educated speculation is that these pagan spirits are to blame of the disappearance of the kingdom. Perhaps they were spurred into action by some dark ritual of a maddening king. Whatever it is, the truth might never come to light. What is clear is that there seems to be little benefit to further investigations into this matter; my fear is that we would provoke the same forces if we are to continue with our inquiry. In any case, there is no urgent and pressing need to survey the area. While our own nation is always in need for more territory, at our current rates of expansion I expect it would take about a hundred years before such a survey is necessary.

A Tale from the Mirror

It is not unusual for those who are steeped in evil to lose perspective, and in the end, cause their own demise. Consider the recent scandal- yes, that of a witch, a murderer, a stepmother, and a queen- which has proved to be a popular study in certain circles. In several of these circles, the discussion focuses upon her means of murder, and on how she could have succeeded if she had employed more effective tools. Certainly, that is true, but it only proves my point- that those who are steeped in evil often lose perspective.

The first mistake is to presume a necessity for murder as a means of achieving one's goals. The Queen desired to remain the fairest in the land, and with her stepdaughter proving yet more beautiful, she saw the solution of murder. Admittedly, this would achieve her objective, but was disproportionately risky. It is a trivial exercise for those with vision to see more benign alternatives.

An early death is rather unnatural, and thus difficult to arrange. Good and willing help is problematic to find, and executing the deed personally only serves to increase the chance of failure, as well as to incriminate oneself. But if the crime was less severe, both of these issues could be circumvented. What if the Queen staged some sort of accident, but instead of causing death, merely caused disfigurement? And it needn't be a severe disfigurement, only a mild one- perhaps a small scar? It would achieve the same ends, which was to remove the stepdaughter as a candidate for the fairest.

But even this alternative demonstrates a lack of vision. It only modifies the means, but does not question the motive. Villains are villains not because they have the means, but because they are driven by the wrong motives. Now, why then did the Queen desire to be the fairest, a Sisyphic goal at best? Here I move to speculate: she valued herself by such a metric, and this was reinforced by her becoming Queen by virtue of her beauty. Under the circumstances, she saw her beauty as the cause, and the method, of her remaining Queen. Not an entirely unreasonable thought, for kings that once chose their wives on the basis of beauty are wont to do so again. Insecurity turned to madness, and tragedy followed.

It is here that I lament the loss of perspective that madness brings. She saw only one means to perpetuate her position, and she took it. But what if she had other means of proving herself invaluable to the king and kingdom? For instance, a tool that could scry and discern the truth? By using such a device to assist in the fair administration of the country, her assessment would not only no longer be reliant on her ultimately ephemeral beauty, but be based on her contributions and virtues.

But alas, that is not what happened.

Criminal Physiognomy

One's fate is not written in the stars, but instead in one's face.

For example, examine the photograph of subject A in your training docket. Consider his morbidly misshapen features. Does he not resemble a criminal? Indeed he is a villain of the most depraved kind! So self-evident is his malevolence that a single glance, boosted by our natural intuition, is sufficient for us to indict him. 

Of course, subject A is only a simple training example carefully selected to demonstrate the general principles of criminal physiognomy. In actual practice, criminal physiognomy employs a rigorous and scientific framework that must be strictly followed for full efficacy. If this framework is not adhered to, then one risks making the wrong arrests.

A mistake that is often made, sometimes even by experts, is to misattribute as a criminal a person who is merely ugly. The reason why this is wrong ought to be obvious. Remember this! A criminal is someone who has committed a crime! A person, however hideous, cannot be considered a criminal until he inevitably engages in his criminal activities. Regrettably, it is only after then that we can act to arrest the transgressor.

To Fight Crime

I'm not a religious man. I'm not a superstitious man. But why am I looking for you now? Sometimes we have to do what we have to do.

What I am is a simple man. I don't know any complicated theories, or possess any advanced thingamajigs. I only know what I know- my two fists, and on occasion a low kick. I just do what I can, whenever I can. That makes a difference.

I fight crime, or so I've always convinced myself. A quick jab to knockout a robber on Monday, a side swipe on a molester on Thursday- these are the results of my actions. Every day, every week. Small steps, but steps all the same. But deep within me I knew that it wouldn't work. Not today, not next week, and not in the end. 

You see, I wasn't fighting crime. I was fighting criminals, and there's a difference. Even if I could fight all the criminals in the city, or in the world, it wasn't the same thing. It isn't possible to fight crime, to punch it in the face, or to floor it with a kick. There's nothing to punch or kick. Crime isn't a thing, or a person. It's something else altogether.

Now, I've said in the beginning that I am only a simple man. I only know what I know- my two fists, and on occasion a low kick. But if something can't be punched, and when kicking doesn't work either, what do I do? I don't know any complicated theories, or possess any advanced thingamajigs. I can only keep on jabbing my fists, and striking with my boot. 

That's why I need you. I know what you can do. You can speak with Gods, and dance with Devils. Maybe not on the same day, but that's none of my business. My plan is simple, and easy to handle. I need you to summon Crime, and make him real. I'll do the rest, with my left and my right.

It sounds ridiculous, but it might just work. And if it doesn't, I'll just have to finish Crime off with a low kick.

Something Bought at a Convenience Store

Nowadays, you can buy a name at any local convenience store. Fairly good ones too, certified auspicious according to the various nomancy guidelines. Those names are not customized, but they'll do fine in a pinch, and at their mass-market price point there's not much to complain about.

In fact, I just bought a name as I was buying breakfast on the way to work earlier this morning. Certainly, it's not something that's an absolute necessity- with this new addition, I have about seventeen names in total- but we can't always live on the basis of necessity, can we?  In any case, the new name happened to be a middle name, which could easily be inserted into my existing names. 

What a thoughtful product! It was certainly an improvement on earlier versions, where only first (or worse, last) names were offered, leading to complaints from confused customers.

While nobody was looking during work, I logged on to my favorite nomacy website and keyed in my updated name. Immediately, countless complex calculations were performed remotely and their results transferred and displayed onto my screen. The predictions on various types of luck were indicated in green and red, foretelling fortune and misfortune respectively. 

My new name, it seemed, did not affect my fortunes in a manner that I had hoped. There were some minor improvements in luck here and there, but on a whole the effect was marginal at best. It was well known that there were diminishing returns to adding further names. There were examples of people who benefited significantly from having thirty or even fifty names, but many of those people employed experts to design their names. I would just have to be happy with my convenience store-bought name.

The Importance of Regular Maintenance of Property

The president was waving an origami sword at me in a menacing fashion. Although he was left-handed, he was wielding the deadly weapon with his right hand; immediately, I understood that he was reserving his true power for a later moment, and that he was not yet being serious. There was still a chance for me to get out of here alive. 

"I will give you a chance to learn why you must die here," he said while moving his sword into an attack stance.

I could have performed a sudden sneak attack at this moment by flexing my legs and launching my shoes at the president, but it would most probably have failed. Because I had taken a shortcut through a muddy footpath on the way to the clubroom, my shoes were weighted with mud, and thus any attack made with my shoes, although more powerful due to the added weight, would also be too slow and easily blocked or deflected.

W-wait- did the president anticipate this, and chose this particular date and time to attack? But he could not have known that I would take the shortcut across the muddy footpath.

"You bastard!" the president spat, "It seems like you think you have done nothing wrong. It looks like there's simply no way we can coexist. I can't forgive anyone without a proper sense of time. "

I looked at my watch. What was he talking about? I had arrived five minutes in advance of my club meeting. Could my watch be wrong- oh no!

In the moment that I was glancing at my watch, he had started his attack sequence, and was now moving impossibly quickly towards me! I had made a fatal mistake! I tried to dodge, but it was too late to avoid his well-practiced strike!

The origami sword crumpled against my the pocket of my uniform, but the weapon had done its job and inflicted untold amounts of piercing damage to me. I collapsed to the floor. 

"There are only two times in life. Now, and too late. You can only blame yourself.

Time of death- 310pm. 310pm !?"

As my consciousness faded, my last thing I saw was the president staring at the clock mounted on the wall of the clubroom.

The Secrets of Heaven are Not to be Revealed

Every day, the fortune teller peddled his trade in the same corner of the park square, right beside the fountain. His tools were but a worn pack of playing cards packed in a paper box that had long since lost its cover, and a cardboard sign propped up against the fountain edge that announced in a loud marker red, "$5 for a fortune."

As far as I knew, his readings were uncannily accurate. There was, however, a catch to this prescience. Before he would tell a fortune, the fortune teller would begin with a well practiced warning.

"The secrets of the diving are not to be learned, not without cost. Each time that I would read into a future, your fortunes would be correspondingly reduced."

It was a chilling statement that undoubtedly increased the sense of mysticism to his practice, but I could not help but think that he would have been more successful if he had adopted a different pitch, especially one that did not discourage repeated business. Once, I did mention this poor marketing decision to him, but he only shrugged in response.

"More business would be good, but that sentence is not something that I can afford to change. It's something that's necessary in this line of work, you know? Without it, who would suffer the price of leaking Heaven's secrets? Me. Which does makes the profession impractical as a business, right? Well, historically it was so, and most prophets and seers did tend to meet unfortunate ends.

But if the risks were transferred- if you think of it as a sort of mystical contract, not unlike a transfer of liabilities- then it becomes possible to deal in fortunes."

The Guild to Save the World

At some point in history, humanity realized that there were too many threats to their continued survival. In a moment of collective enlightenment, an organization was formed, peopled by talents from each and every corner of the known world, and funded by all the human kingdoms in the realm.

Moved by such noble ideals, I entered The Guild to Save the World when I finally reached the minimum age for joining.

Unfortunately... I quickly learned that the number of humanity threatening crises that the Guild had resolved was... zero.

Surely you'll go, "What! This must be a mistake?", as I exclaimed many years ago when the Grand Custodian mentioned this fact.

With the impenetrably solid logic of a bath sponge, he explained that it was simply too difficult- impossible, in fact- to combat all crises at once. Attempting to do so was folly. Instead, by temporarily reassigning the least urgent threats to be addressed at a later date (and with more resources), all the resources could be focused to achieve greater results. In any case, it was impossible to predict the timing of world-threatening events, and each crises required a different set of measures to address. A demonic invasion could be fought off with an army, but would be useless against a magical plague. Simultaneously planning for all threats was logistically impossible.

The Grand Custodian then brilliantly extended this argument repeatedly, and by a clever process of induction, managed to save the Guild quite a bit of work.

He called it "the principle of maintaining maximum readiness and flexibility (soft mumble)by doing nothing(soft mumble)".

Wise Words of a Fee-losopher

You can do it. Not talking about me, I'm talking about you. Whatever you want to be, I believe you can do it.

It's true.

One caveat: You must choose to act.

Those were the words of wisdom taught to me by a fee-losopher. Unlike normal philosophers, fee-losophers charged dearly for their insights. You get what you pay for, and thus the advice of fee-losophers was held in higher regard than that of the amateurish philosophers. 

I did not initially believe the smooth-faced man before me. Belief alone was insufficient. I knew- I had tried many times believing, but no change was wrought. My goals were not being met. It was precisely this desperation that I had sought out the help of the fee-losophers.

"How do I become a ninja turtle?" I had asked the wise man. And he answered, though I was reluctant to trust him.

"Very well. I shall demonstrate," he spoke, sensing my hesitation. 

His preparations were meticulous, to say the least. Dabbing his face with generous globs of green camoflague cream, and then putting on a turtle shell costume, the fee-losopher quickly began to resemble a ninja turtle in appearance. 

"Now watch closely, as I will begin my demonstration."

It was a miracle. Before me no longer stood a human, but a ninja turtle performing all sorts of advanced martial acrobatics. 

And then he stopped, and once more became a green-faced man dressed in a funny suit.  

"H-how did you do this, MASTER!?"

He only grinned. 

"Did you not listen closely? One caveat: You must choose to act.

You must hone your acting skills!"

A Short Note on the Origin of Magic Power

Though exceptions exist, a person's attunement to magic appears to be largely inherited. The existence of the so-named mage families, not to mention the royal bloodlines, are strong proof that magic capacity is a factor inherently tied to blood.

At least, that is the understanding that is promulgated as absolute truth. I have my own doubts about the matter.

The greatest unresolved question in magic theory is that of the "unblooded prodigal"- a mage of exceptionally strong capability who does not have any ancestors of remotely notable magical power. The number of such individuals, while not large, is sufficient to hint at explanations of magic ability other than blood.

Allow me to indulge in a moment of heresy- perhaps it is that magic power is not actually inherited?

It is not a secret that the mage families are notoriously reticent. Most sons and daughters of famous mage bloodlines only attend magic academies after the age of 16 (if at all), at which point their magical abilities are already largely developed. Could it be that the key to their abilities is some method of special training during the formative years? If so, this would explain their reluctance to openly share the secrets to their fame and power.

Needless to say, these are dangerous speculations.

Decimation

The relic I was hunting down was an ancient one, with sparse records of its use dating as far back as Roman times. Of course, given the mythical origins of all relics, Humanity's first contact with this particular relic might have been even earlier, especially given the nature of this relic.

Its name was Decimation, so named after the ancient Roman punishment. In truth, the Roman practice was only a pale approximation of Decimation's abilities, which is rather chilling to consider. Whereas the practice of decimation was the removal of a tenth of a population, Decimation, when activated against a selected victim, erases the victim from history. And the victim's ancestors. Tenfold, back ten generations.

If observing from a point of view isolated from the time ripples resulting from Decimation's use, as allowed by certain other relics, then Decimation might be considered amongst the deadliest of relics. Entire races and civilizations have been erased from history by the removal of one or more key persons, or their ancestors.

The current owner of this relic was living in an utterly nondescript home in the suburbs, without any of the trappings of grandeur that most owners fall into. I might even have been convinced that he was unaware of the relic's magical nature, but the use of nondetection veils had already suggested otherwise.

Based on my research, he was simply a professor of history at a small university. I suppose he must have come across Decimation during one of his work trips overseas, several of which were apparently partly self-funded; it was possible that he was actively seeking out the relic through his travels in South America and Central Africa.

I waited until the professor had fallen asleep before breaking into his home. I did this with the help of a lesser relic, of course; teleporting in was the stealthiest option, though I lost the ability to make a quick escape. There was no choice. The relic had to be secured at all costs, as any use would be catastrophic.

My calculations proved to be incorrect. I did not manage to retrieve Decimation, as it was locked securely behind the steel walls of a safe. At the same time, the professor would not have been able to use the relic in defence. But he didn't need to; perhaps my overspecialization in fighting other relic owners blinded me.

I heard a distinct click in the darkness of the room. The cocking of a hammer. A human shadow against the cracks for the blinded window.

"I suppose you've come for the relic." the Professor spoke from across the room.

The distance was too far to bridge in an instant. Not all was lost, though; he seemed willing to speak. If I could drag things out, then there might be a moment of distraction sufficient for me to close in. Given the cover of darkness, he might even miss me.

"You don't know the power of what you have, do you?"

"I'm afraid you're incorrect. Regrettably, I do know."

Perhaps it was the silence of the night, or the tension of the situation, but I felt a chill down my spine. It was not possible- he couldn't have.

"D-did you-"

"Yes. But I'm not insane, you know, nor a monster. I just wanted to know whether it was all true. Whether relics indeed exist. But rest assured that I'm not insane; I'm not going to risk deleting myself and Western civilization just to learn something. That's why I'm wielding a gun, not Decimation. "

"But you did use Decimation?"

"Yes. If anything, the greatest difficultly was figuring out a scenario to apply it with minimal consequences to known history. Obviously, I couldn't use it anywhere in the modern world; people are too interconnected and interbred to take such a risk. Sure, I could be fairly confident that I wouldn't be erasing my ancestors, but I wouldn't want to accidentally eliminate, say, the inventor of the internet or some major historical figure. Any changes could easily have cascading aftereffects."

If he had used the weapon, then-

"The problem, then, was to find the least important and most isolated populations of people. Suffice to say that I've tested its effects to my satisfaction. And gladly, nothing has changed, except for a few footnotes here and there."

At this moment, I didn't know whether a good opportunity had presented itself, but I found myself charging forward all the same.

A Room of Killers I

No one else appears to be aware that everyone in the mysteriously sealed mansion was an infamous murderer.

To be absolutely accurate, not everyone was an infamous serial killer of some sort, and not everyone was totally ignorant of the criminal natures of the people in the room. I was the singular exception to both of these.

People have always commented on my problematic interest in crime news of the macabre sort. In hindsight, perhaps they were correct. The cause of these unusual circumstances might have been the result of my unique knowledge and interests. This was certainly not tempered by the fact that I had on several occasions wished to observe the most heinous of criminals up close.

Then again, if I was only an innocent party randomly inserted into this artificial situation, then I can only shudder at the outcome if I lacked my special insights.

The immediate question was, what was the purpose of this scenario? A set of rooms totally closed off from the outside, with sufficient supplies to last everyone for a week at best.

Even without knowing that everyone else is a murderer, someone will eventually come to the conclusion that the solution is to kill. 

Of course, if one was already a murderer, and a serial killer at that, then the thought process would be accelerated many fold.

And if everyone knew that everyone else was a murderer...

Judging from the state of relative calm, nobody has come to a similar conclusion yet. At the very least, nobody has acted suspiciously, or expressed any hints that they knew anyone else's identity.

A single pindrop might change all of this in an instant.

There was only one thought in my mind: How could everyone be killed?

Physical Traces

We found the victim still breathing in the makeshift operating room, her body wrapped in bandages and hooked up to an assortment of life-sustaining apparatus. Whether she was actually alive in a useful sense was something that remained to be ascertained by our medics.

Without any doubt, this was yet another incident of bodyskinning. The culprit was nowhere to be seen, but from the state of the victim, there was still about two or three days before the process was completed. And if the criminal was smart (which for this particular crime they all were), she would only return when the bodyskinning was completed and ready for harvesting.

Two or three days meant that she could really be anywhere in the world, much less this country. Particularly if she was wearing a suit. After all, one of the key advantages granted by a suit was untraceability. Be someone somewhere for a day, and another for the next. That's why catching a criminal is so difficult nowadays- how many people do you need to keep a look out for?

Of course, thanks to this successful raid, we had already learned several facts about the criminal. This was one of the chief benefits of finding a victim still the midst of the bodyskinning process, the small prospect of rescue notwithstanding (most victims were braindead, as sentience was not a requirement for bodyskinning). Our new knowledge about the criminal were obtained not from physical evidence left behind on the scene, nor from circumstantial witness accounts, but from the simple fact that nobody makes a bodysuit for fun.

A bodysuit is made to be used.

With high certainty, the criminal, or at the very least someone involved in the transaction, was female. And thanks to the more identifiable nature of a female body, we also were able to narrow down the range of heights and bust-waist-hip statistics for the criminal.

A Career Advisory Form

I would have imagined that following the instructions of the career analysis computer that the government spent millions developing was the safest, if not the soundest decision of my life. The algorithms might not have suggested the most profitable profession, but were at least guaranteed to propose a career that would provide me with the most satisfaction. 

Unfortunately, I was apprehended almost immediately after committing my first murder.

My defence lawyers very quickly informed me that having "Serial Killer" on the career advisory form was not the same thing as having a license to kill. 

In other words, this was all a mistake.

I guess I should have realized it all along. After I committed the murder, I felt no satisfaction. I had initially attributed this to my swift arrest; since I had only killed a single person, I would not have qualified for the term "Serial", hence I would have not felt any satisfaction. After all, the career form did not say "Single murderer" or "Casual killer". 

Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, any person would have realized that "Serial Killer" wasn't a career. But how could I have known for sure? Some careers are notoriously unrewarding, especially in economic terms; perhaps this was merely one of them. If I were to bear any fault, it was that I had too much blind trust in the system.

How was I to know that I was supposed to work at a TV network boardroom, deciding upon the fate of shows and seasons? Nobody would have come to that conclusion! Sheer negligence on the programmer's part.

And that's the line my defence lawyers are taking.