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The Grand Theft Games Revenge of the Lawman

I am the Lawman. Below is my creed. Like a religious creed, it is chanted, so I remember, in exacting detail, everything I believed. All my actions.

I once had two milliseconds of love. Then they were removed from me. I can most assuredly attest that it's not better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Love fueled my excruciating anger. And then anger's loyal bedfellow. Revenge. Love turned me into a hate-fueled monster. To the perpetrators, it was merely a game. Even if the authorities knew who the were, there were no lawmen to punish them. I was without hope, without retribution. I was strapped in a straitjacket with only memories to taunt my immobilized carcass. So I did what any brave soul would do. I went about the slow business of killing myself. Then as foretold by Edgar Allen Poe:

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping…

It wasn't a Raven. It was a hovering prophet from the past. It had a message for me:

"Son. She's buried alive. She's running out of time. Find her. She can do anything."

I found her grave deep in the Atlantic Ocean where I would live during her revival. If she could do anything, I knew what I wanted her to do. Remove the straitjacket that bound me. I brought her back to life. We created marionette ghouls that were inspired by unnatural genetic instinct. They avenged my lost love. I labeled myself the Lawman and lived a villainous comic book hero's quest for revenge. We killed every last one of them. Playing the puppet master, we tweaked the strings of my unnatural creatures. Our monsters escaped and mutated into viral, roaming death with a zombie's lack of empathy.

Revenge is not a cold meal. Revenge is a warm fillet cut with a butter knife; it's seasoned with blood for just the right amount of saltiness. The blood has to be fresh; it needs to be deoxygenated through the screams of its donor.

I am the Lawman. That is my creed. My confession.

--Charles Gautschy III

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