Purgatory: A Horror Story of Redemption

Your bladder is threatening to betray you. But you start typing: "Apologies for not reminding you..." Your eye twitches imperceptibly. The phone rings. Your boss wants you in his office now. He likes to call you from there. You weigh your options: * [[The busy kitchen<-You get to the kitchen]] on your way to his office. * [[In his office<-You go straight to his office]], and bring a hard copy of the report.

You sit at your window desk—a hard-won perk after your colleague's resignation a few months ago. <span class="neon-flicker-1">A bright white neon light, only imperceptibly flickering,</span> illuminates your otherwise dimly lit workstation. You spot the notification of a new email from your boss. ''Subject: "Where is the report?"'' The deadline was yesterday, and the file has been waiting in his inbox for the past three days. He is too swamped with 'high-level meetings' to read emails. Your heart sinks. It's probably better to get back to him quickly. Your boss tolerates delays like he does small talk. * [[Answer the email<-Email back]] apologising for not sending him a reminder. * (if: ($nonviolentRun) is 0)[(link-goto: "Glance out of the window", "Out of the window.") at the street below.](if: ($nonviolentRun) >= 1)[//Glance out of the window at the street below. (You feel compelled to work instead.)//] * (if: ($nonviolentRun) is 0)[(link-goto: "Duck to the bathroom for a two-minute breather", "The bathroom"). Your bladder is begging you.](if: ($nonviolentRun) >= 1)[//Duck to the bathroom for a two-minute breather. (You feel strong. Your bladder can wait.)//]

<span style="position:fixed; top:10px; right:10px; z-index:9999;"> <button id="mute-btn" aria-label="Mute music" title="Mute music" onclick="window.purgAudio && window.purgAudio.toggleMute()" style="background:none; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,0.3); color:inherit; font-size:1.4em; cursor:pointer; padding:4px 8px; border-radius:4px;"> 🔊 </button> </span> <script> setTimeout(function() { var btn = document.getElementById('mute-btn'); if (btn && window.purgAudio) { var isMuted = window.purgAudio.muted; btn.textContent = isMuted ? '🔇' : '🔊'; btn.setAttribute( 'aria-label', isMuted ? 'Unmute music' : 'Mute music' ); btn.setAttribute( 'title', isMuted ? 'Unmute music' : 'Mute music' ); } }, 0); </script>

(transition: "fade")[The author would like to thank you, player. Wherever you are. For playing this game until the end. For sharing some of the pain and joy every life ultimately goes through. For being there when it mattered.] (after: 8s)[And for not giving up.] (after: 12s)[Good luck.] (after: 16s)[(link-goto: "Play again", "Your desk. Again.")?]

You return to your desk, shirt still reeking of vomit. Why was the cleaner smiling? You feel the sudden, shameful urge to get back and piss on the floor in front of her. You start typing: "Apologies for not reminding you..." Your eye twitches imperceptibly. The phone rings. Your boss wants you in his office immediately. He likes to call from there. You quickly stop by [[The empty kitchen<-the kitchen]] before heading to his office.

You reach the village and calmly enter the police station. You extract a folded sheet from your chinos and hand it to the first policeman you see. You sit on an ergonomic chair. It feels the same as the one in the office. (after: 5s)[(link-goto: "You zone out", "The return").]

(set: $policeSeen to it +1)\ You reach the town quickly and enter the police station. No one jumps at you—your Superman T-shirt must be deceiving. You extract a folded sheet from your chinos and hand it to the first policeman you see. You think about the <span class="neon-flicker-2">fucking office</span> while sitting on a plastic chair. (after: 5s)[(link-goto: "You zone out", "The return").]

You awaken on the floor of your studio flat with your skull splitting. You push yourself upright and grab the half-empty beer beside you. It may look like urine, but it tastes like shit. You swallow an aspirin with a mouthful of it. The TV drones in the background—the BBC is making the bombings sound like a football match, again. You can't take this anymore. You gently remove the TV from its stand (but not before turning it off). While weirdly hugging it on the balcony, you can hear the seagulls and the laughs of the pub patrons downstairs. You release it from the railing. Back inside, you close the balcony door. * [[The plan<-Make a plan]] to leave the city. * (if: $nonviolentRun >= 2)[(link-goto: "Pray", "Prayer").](if: $nonviolentRun is 1)[//Pray. (You do not feel ready.)//]

You jump on your bicycle. It feels suffocatingly hot, as if the building you're leaving behind were in flames. The steering feels a bit stiff. You should have lubricated the damn thing. The saddle is hard. But for the first time in a while, you almost have a flame in your eyes. "I should have brought a lighter," you think. Could be a few cold nights ahead. You [[The shitty village<-ride into the night]], until there is nothing left to see.

(after: 1s)[(transition: "fade")[Story, piano performance, coding, cover art: Lorenzo Cellier]] (after: 4s)[(transition: "fade")[Music: Frédéric Chopin, Robert Schumann; subtle adaptation by Lorenzo Cellier]] (after: 7s)[(transition: "fade")[The author is deeply thankful to rh, whose thorough testing materially improved this work.]] (after: 10s)[(link-goto: "A personal thank you", "Author note").]

But what if she doesn't want to see you? What if it has all been too much? Since your uncle passed, you have never heard from her. You haven't reached out either... Will you even manage to tell her just how much you missed them both? You [[Redemption<-reach her cottage]].

"You're fired." You don't even get to make your points. You feel the sudden warmth of your pee finally releasing down your left leg, and dripping on the Persian rug in front of his desk. "Get the fuck out of my office!" * (if: ($perditionSeen + $jumpSeen + $policeSeen) >= 2)[(link-goto: "You leave slamming the door", "Leaving").](if: ($perditionSeen + $jumpSeen + $policeSeen) is 1)[//You leave slamming the door. (Your legs still feel too heavy.)//](if: ($perditionSeen + $jumpSeen + $policeSeen) is 0)[//You leave slamming the door. (Your legs are anchored to the ground.)//] * [[The pen<-You grab the pen]] from his hand.

You didn't notice the snack was mouldy. You can't control a gag reflex; people are now staring at you; you hear a giggle as you make your way towards the office. "It took you a while," he says, smirking. "I was just—" He cuts you short. "I needed to talk to you." Something hot moves inside your chest. Simultaneously, you gag again; your nose and ears begin to itch at the same time. You desperately need to piss. "We missed the deadline with the client." He looks genuinely angry. Sitting at his large mahogany desk, he fiddles with an old-fashioned fountain pen, a gift from his in-law: '//The Whore//', as he always called her. His bald face is approximately the size and shape of the punchballs hanging at those funfair machines. You: * [[Fired<-Apologise for the misunderstanding]]. * [[Fired<-Stand your ground]]. You sent the report days ago.

"It took you a while," he says, smirking. "I was just—" He cuts you short. "I needed to talk to you." Something hot moves inside your chest. Your nose and ears begin to itch at the same time; you also desperately need to piss. "We missed the deadline with the client." He looks genuinely angry. Sitting at his large mahogany desk, he fiddles with an old-fashioned fountain pen, a gift from his in-law: '//The Whore//', as he always called her. His bald face vaguely reminds you of the punchballs hanging at those funfair machines. You: * [[Fired<-Apologise for the misunderstanding]]. * [[Fired<-Stand your ground]]. You sent the report days ago.

You cannot stop yourself from biting the energy bar on the counter—it's mouldy and makes you nearly choke. You cough and spit most of it into the kitchen sink. You then move slowly towards the cutlery drawer. You grab a knife. It's a short blade, but the point is sharp. You hide it by holding it behind your arm—you saw it in a James Bond movie. You then get to his office. "It took you a while," he says, smirking, as you enter. "I was just—" He cuts you short. "You smell like vomit. Anyway, I needed to talk to you." Something hot starts moving inside your chest. With your nose and ears now itching unbearably, you fantasize about scraping some of your skin off them with the knife. Your bladder is about to burst. "We missed the deadline with the client." He looks genuinely angry. Sitting at his large mahogany desk, he fiddles with an old-fashioned fountain pen, a gift from his in-law: '//The Whore//', as he always called her. His bald, fat face is the exact size and shape of the punchballs hanging at those funfair machines. * [[The pen<-Grab the pen]] from his hand. * [[Stabs<-Go around his desk]] and approach him.

''CONTENT WARNING:'' This work immerses you in a claustrophobic horror atmosphere. Players will experience graphic and implied violence, foul language, body horror, depression, and suicide. Some flickering text may affect sensitive players. This work includes music at key moments, originally performed at the piano by the author. For a fully immersive experience, headphones are recommended. If you are still here, go ahead. [[At your desk<-Push the button]]. It will call the lift. The glass doors will slide open. Then you can walk to the office and get to your desk. You have work to do.

(set: $nonviolentRun to $nonviolentRun + 1)\ You close the heavy door behind you and make your way to your desk for the last time. The smell of urine follows you. As you grab your backpack, you can't stop looking outside. People are rushing. But the buildings loom. You feel like a powerless child. You keep your eyes down as you call the lift. It's only two floors but you cannot feel your legs. It takes ages. You feel your eyes closing and, for a moment, you [[Beer<-hope you won't wake up]].

You jump on your bicycle. It feels suffocatingly hot, as if the building you're leaving behind were in flames. The steering is stiff. You should have lubricated the fucking thing. The saddle is a rock. But for the first time in a while, you almost have a flame in your eyes. "I should have brought a lighter," you think. Could be a few cold nights ahead. [[The town<-You ride into the night]], until your legs are completely numb.

You take a brief moment at the window. Several grey clouds mass above. Have you ever dealt with anyone more difficult than your boss? You cannot remember. You look at a handful of people in the street, all walking very fast. You spot someone in a long charcoal raincoat, with a bagel in one hand and a coffee in the other, trying to hail a taxi; some coffee spills on the ground. Being on a low floor, you get a good view of the people walking around. You often catch yourself spending long minutes simply observing the hustle below. But today, the tall buildings seem to bend inwards—as if they could collapse on you. Effect of the new glasses, maybe? You take a deep breath and think what to do next: * [[Answer the email<-You respond to the email]]. Delaying could make it worse. * [[The bathroom<-You escape to the bathroom]]. You need it.

(set: $perditionSeen to it +1)\ <script> window.purgAudio.play('perdition', 'audio/perdition.mp3', { fadeIn: 1, volume: 0.8 }); </script>\ <span class="fade-out-8s">He is on the ground, and you have already kicked at his eyes countless times. All of a sudden, a shout pierces your eardrums: "POLICE!" <span class="mind-fracture">But you cannot stop. You start slamming the hammer into his jaw, holding his hair with your left hand.</span></span> You don't feel the pain as you drop to the ground. (after: 8s)[(transition: "fade")[You linger in a [[The return<-state of unconsciousness]]. ] ]

You pray until [[The sunny bench<-you lose consciousness]].

You circle his desk swiftly and <span class="guilt-fade-return">drive the blade into a thick layer of fat in his chest</span> as he turns towards you. You then repeatedly slash at his hand, face, and the rest of his large body—he squeals. But you can't hear a thing. Once you are done, you finally feel a warm river down your pants. The last thing you see as you close the door behind you is a pool of blood and urine expanding rapidly on the floor. [[The quick plan<-You rush home]].

(set: $perditionSeen to 0) (set: $jumpSeen to 0) (set: $policeSeen to 0) (set: $nonviolentRun to 0)

You realise you can't sit any longer. You make the short trip to the lavatory. You have barely opened the door when you notice the cleaning lady's trolley. You don't really want to relieve yourself with her there. You leave and make a quick decision: * [[The other bathroom<-You check out the smaller toilet]] on the other side of the floor. That one must be available. * You go back to your desk and [[Answer the email<-answer the email]].

You go for a full English. You never understood who goes for the half. The beans are awful. The sausage is charcoal. But the tomato has been nicely grilled and the hash browns, while oily, are tasty. You are so thirsty now. [[The river<-You stand and head towards the bridge]].

There are a few people in the kitchen. Heat floods your face; you notice heads turning as you approach the sink. * [[The water glass<-You pour yourself a glass of water]]. It may help you calm down. * [[Gag in his office<-You grab something to eat]] from the snack basket.

You reach the cabin with no effort and drop the bike on the grass outside. With the hammer, you smash open the wooden box where your uncle left a spare set of keys. The door opens with a screech. Same pitch as his voice. The air inside is cold and stale. You haven't been there in such a long time. You examine it: in the left corner, close to the entrance, a trunk; opposite, a thin, stained mattress on the floor; next to it, a desk with drawers; in front of you, a large stone fireplace, loaded with firewood. You think about [[The fireplace<-lighting a fire]].

You reach a bridge over one of the thousands of revolting canals in London. You are still in this fucking city. The water is brown but you are sure it's deep enough. How would it taste if you drank, like, a gallon of it? How much would be enough for your lungs and stomach? It's numbingly cold. You dry off naked and exhausted for a few minutes. You then wear your fresh 'Superman' T-shirt. It is still your favourite. And are you not an actual superhero? The muscles in your arms [[The minimarket<-twist uncontrollably]].

You black out. (after: 3s)[(transition: "fade")+(transition-time: 5s)[You wake up on a short, cold bench. Your eyes open slowly, breaking a thin crust of sweat and tears. You don't see skyscrapers. You see a photograph: (text-colour:red)[brick-red] in the corners, a (text-colour:blue)[blue cross] in the middle.]] (after: 11s)[(transition: "fade")[Fuck. It's red-brick buildings. The blue cross is the fucking sky above an intersection. You crave a beer. The last time it came with an aspirin. The TV was droning in the background. Something about the bombings. You pack your sleeping bag and leave. * [[The canal<-You walk further, avoiding people]]. No one understands you. * [[Yesterday<-You think about yesterday]]. About your wasted life. You should be a hero. ] ]

The chair is a block of wood. And it's cold. You take pen and paper from the drawer and let the ink speak. You describe yesterday from the firing to the flat fire. What a day. It's done now. [[Back to the village.<-You ride back to the village]].

The air in the cabin is a mix of wood rot, human rot, and smoke. It is unbearably difficult to breathe while you move towards the desk. The chair is so fucking uncomfortable. You take pen and paper from the drawer and write. It's done now. * [[Jump.<-You leave the cabin on foot]]. It's time. * [[Back to town<-You ride back to town]].

You reach a bridge over one of the thousands of creeks in the damn country. It looks depressing. The water seems deep enough. How would it taste if you drank, like, a gallon of it? How much would be enough for your stomach and lungs? It's a numbingly cold shock. You dry off naked and exhausted for a few minutes. You then wear fresh clothes including your 'Superman' T-shirt. It is still your favourite. It just suits you. [[The rotten cabin<-You need to reach the cabin now]]. You are here for a reason.

The kitchen is empty. Someone left a half-eaten energy bar on the counter. * [[The water glass<-You pour yourself a glass of water]]. It may help you calm down. * (if: ($nonviolentRun) is 0)[(link-goto: "You open the cutlery drawer", "Knife in his office").](if: ($nonviolentRun) >= 1)[//You open the cutlery drawer. (Your body refuses to comply.)//]

You grip the pen—still in your hand—and swiftly <span class="guilt-fade-return">drive it into his left eye socket</span>. He squeals but you can't hear a thing. You notice a bloodstain on your right-hand cuff as you slam the door and [[The quick plan<-rush home]].

You double-check your backpack. A stroke of luck—you did pack the lighter! <span class="mind-fracture">You remember now. </span> You were born for this. The fire is burning in no time. You open [[The trunk<-the trunk]].

You double-check your backpack. A stroke of luck—you did pack the lighter! You remember now. The fireplace is lit in no time and your memories fuse with the dancing flame. You cannot look at it anymore. //What have you done?// * You [[The empty trunk<-open the trunk]]. * You [[The short prayer<-pray]].

The gym is full. Why the fuck is everyone so obsessed with suffering? Who cares. You [[The new office<-leave]] right after your shower.

He is still there. The stench of decomposition is unbearable. You close the trunk and kick it so hard you can barely walk afterwards. You need to do something about it. [[Fire<-You need a lighter]].

You really need to go and you'd rather not pee yourself at the desk. You reach the other toilet and get in. Your vision briefly blurs. The smell is atrocious. There is brown water flooding the corridor in front of the cubicles. You gag, and before you can leave, you gag again. A small, half-digested amount of the supermarket sandwich you had for lunch lands on your shirt. You rush back to the larger bathroom—at the sink, you notice several blobs of a thick, yellowish liquid on the basin surface. You rinse your mouth as thoroughly as the filth allows; you then rub your shirt helplessly under the running water. The cleaning lady watches you with a half-smile. You want to punch the mirror above the sink. But you really need to go back to your desk and [[Back to desk and email<-''respond to the email'']].

That bastard deserved it. You didn't think hitting him would be so easy. You thought you might lack the courage to actually do it. But the feeling is indescribable. Even better than last time. But you have a terrible doubt—what if you didn't penetrate deep enough? What if the paramedics arrived in time? Surely not. And in any case, he suffered. Maybe he is still somewhere in hospital. Looking at the void. Maybe his wife, friends, and the Company will finally realise what a disgusting individual he was. They'll see you for what you are: a hero. You were the only one to do it. To finally hit him. Not anyone else. Everyone wanted to kill him. No one, except ''//you//'', had the guts. Mary will be proud. You, standing up for yourself, '//doing something with your life//'. Something good. For the second or third time. Maybe you should pay her a visit soon. You shouldn't be ashamed anymore. But you cannot stop here—the city is as filthy as you are. You want to find some fucking river or something. And then, clean up the old mess too. You have more work to do. You [[The creek<-set off]].

You close the distance between you and the desk and grab the pen from his hand. He looks at you in disbelief. (if: ($nonviolentRun) is 0)[You notice his moustache is full of crumbs. Probably leftovers from a bag of chips shovelled down his throat. You would love to place rotten chips on his tongue right now, and slowly choke him by overflowing his mouth and nostrils with food.] You erupt uncontrollably: vomit and pee form a thick, barbaric mix on the floor. Your boss starts to shake in his chair, eyes wide open. * (if: ($perditionSeen + $jumpSeen + $policeSeen) >= 2)[(link-goto: "You pity yourself, and you pity him", "Leaving").](if: ($perditionSeen + $jumpSeen + $policeSeen) is 1)[//You pity him. (He still deserves to suffer.) //](if: ($perditionSeen + $jumpSeen + $policeSeen) is 0)[//You pity him. (How!?)//] * (if: ($nonviolentRun) is 0)[(link-goto: "You grip the pen", "The eye").](if: ($nonviolentRun) >= 1)[//You grip the pen. (Your body refuses to obey. He is just a very small human being.)//]

You need a plan. London is finished. You pack what you can into a large backpack: 1. Two bottles of water 2. Exactly 20 Cadbury Picnic bars—you always loved picnics 3. All your savings: £225 4. A hammer 5. A fresh set of clothes 6. A sleeping bag You then decide to: * (if: $nonviolentRun >= 2)[(link-goto: "Take a train north", "Train ride").](if: $nonviolentRun is 1)[//Take a train north. (You don't have the strength to face other people, for now.)//] * [[Bike ride<-Bike south]].

You arrive at your studio drenched in sweat, which adds itself to the rest. You need a plan. Now. London is over. You pack what you can into a large backpack: 1. Two bottles of water 2. Exactly 20 Cadbury Picnic bars—you always loved picnics 3. All your savings: £225 4. The hammer 5. A fresh 'Superman' T-shirt, and a pair of chinos 6. A sleeping bag You don't let yourself think about the hammer. * [[The run<-You run]] until you cannot remember why. * [[Mountain bike ride<-You jump on your bike]].

You reach a bridge over one of the thousands of creeks in the country. It is quiet and sad. The water seems deep enough. How would it taste if you drank, like, a gallon of it? How much would be enough for your stomach? From the bridge, you can already feel it's crisp. It's a numbingly cold shock. You dry off naked and exhausted for a few minutes. You then wear fresh clothes. You have been avoiding it long enough. [[The cabin<-You need to reach the cabin now]].

You reach a bridge over one of the nicer rivers in the country. You don't rationalise why it looks scary and calm at the same time. The water seems deep enough. How would it taste if you had some? Is it safe to drink? Without touching it, you can already feel it's really crisp. It's a numbingly cold shock. You dry off naked and exhausted for a few minutes. You then wear fresh clothes. Finally, you feel clean. [[The walk<-You go for a walk]]. You have been avoiding it long enough.

You reach the cabin with no effort and drop the bike on the grass outside. With the hammer, you smash open the wooden box where your uncle left a spare set of keys. The door opens with a deafening, unbearable screech. It's the same pitch as his voice. The air inside is cold and reeking of rot. It's a wooden hut after all. You examine it: in the left corner, close to the entrance, a hideous trunk; opposite, a thin, filthy mattress on the floor; next to it, a desk with drawers; in front of you, a large stone fireplace, loaded with firewood. * You think about [[The fire<-lighting a fire]]. * You open [[The open trunk<-the trunk]].

You don't have time to unlock the bike and you leave on foot. It feels suffocatingly hot, as if the building you're leaving behind were in flames. You start running. You ignore a faint protest of your nostrils while they swallow too much fetid air. But for the first time in a while, you almost have a flame in your eyes. "I should have brought a lighter," you think. Could be a few cold nights ahead. You [[The city<-run into the night]], until the skyscrapers don't look at you anymore.

You go for a full English. You never understood who goes for the half. The beans are awful. The sausage is charcoal. You [[The gym<-pay 10 quid]] for a pass at the gym next to the pub.

(after: 3s)[(transition: "fade")[You wake up in a bunk bed when the guy on top of you starts shaking violently. Is he having a fucking seizure? You see (text-colour:(hsl:0,0.8039,0.5,0.75))[copious blood-stained foam] at his mouth. You rush up the ladder to check on him. "Fuck off—" he shouts while you shake him. That guy is definitely nuts. But what the fuck was that blood? You spent 20 quid for the night but you wonder if you would have been better served by a cold bench. Your nostrils catch up with you now—your stench is unbearable. You get the hell out of there. You have £141 and 12 Picnics left (you had a lot). You don't remember spending the rest. Your stomach feels like it's about to give out and take you with it, unless you have something substantial. Like right now. * You stop for [[The shitty breakfast<-breakfast]]. * You [[The quiet creek<-search for a river]] or something. You should have taken a fucking shower while you were at the hostel.] ]

You pray. You are sad, cold, and suddenly scared. It's time. You [[The cold desk<-go to the desk]].

(after: 1.5s)[(transition: "fade")+(transition-time: 3s)[You are sitting on a warm bench. As your eyes open slowly, you can still hear the birds chirping, but the pictures of faces and rivers and flowers slowly dissipate. You see a new photograph: (text-colour:red)[brick-red] in the corners, a (text-colour:blue)[blue cross] in the middle.] ] (after: 4.5s)[(transition: "fade")+(transition-time: 1s)[It's the elegant red-brick buildings of the square, and the sky-blue cross above the park you spent the night in. You crave water and silence. You pack and [[The quiet woods<-leave towards the woods]].] ]

(after: 2s)[(transition: "fade")+(transition-time: 4s)[You wake up on a bench. Did you get three hours' sleep, maybe? Your eyes open slowly. Finally you don't see skyscrapers. You see a photograph: (text-colour:red)[brick-red] in the corners, a (text-colour:blue)[blue cross] in the middle.]] (after: 10s)[(transition: "fade")[Fuck. It's red-brick buildings. The blue cross is the damn sky above an intersection. You crave a beer. The last time it came with an aspirin. The TV was droning in the background. Something about the bombings. You pack your sleeping bag and leave. * [[The creek<-You ride further]], avoiding people. They cannot understand. * You [[The past<-think about the past]]. You have finally accomplished something. ] ]

(after: 3s)[(transition: "fade")[You wake up in a bunk bed when the guy on top of you starts shaking. Is he having a seizure? You see white foam at his mouth. "Fuck off—" he says angrily while you shake him. That guy is definitely nuts. Still, 20 quid for the night. You can't complain. Your nostrils catch up with you now—your stench is unbearable. You take a quick shower but there is no soap. You have £141 and 12 Picnics left (yes, you had a lot). Your stomach feels like it's about to give out and take you with it, unless you have something substantial. Like right now. * You stop for [[The breakfast<-breakfast]]. * You head towards the [[The quiet woods<-beautiful, terrible woods]] outside the village. You deserve peace.] ]

As you return to the village, you suppress thoughts of the office and your boss easily. But the guilt is still deafening. How long has it been since you visited Mary? How many years have passed since you wrote that letter? You have to go now. You [[Doubt<-have avoided it]] long enough.

You take a sip. The glass is chipped, with sharp edges, and your lip quickly bleeds. The water immediately turns a faint red. You spit it the moment you realise, but you can taste your own blood now. [[In his office<-You curse]] on your way to his office.

You have enough money to afford a train. About three days' pay, in fact. The station is bustling with commuters. Are you one? Why does everyone look so sad? You [[The village<-fall asleep]] the moment your hair touches the greasy backrest.

That filthy bastard deserved it. You didn't think hitting him would be so easy. You thought you might lack the courage to actually do it. But the feeling is indescribable. Even better than last time. But you have a terrible doubt—what if you didn't penetrate deep enough? What if the paramedics arrived in time? Surely not. And in any case, he suffered. Maybe he is still suffering, somewhere in hospital. Looking at the void. You would love to get to his bedside, and slowly suffocate him with a pillow. It would be so easy to win. Maybe even too easy. You could perhaps inject some adrenaline into him first. He would hopefully be able to put up a hopeless fight. Maybe then his wife, friends, and the Company will finally realise what a rotten, disgusting individual he was. They'll see you for what you are: a true hero. You were the only one to do it. To finally hit him. Not anyone else. Everyone wanted to kill him. No one, except ''//you//'', had the guts. Mary will be proud. You, standing up for yourself, '//doing something with your life//'. Something good. For the second or third time. You will pay her a visit soon. You shouldn't be ashamed anymore. But you cannot stop here—the city is as filthy as you are. You want to find some fucking river or something. And then, clean up the city a bit more too. You have more work to do. [[The canal<-You set off]].

(forget-undos:-1) (replace:?sidebar)[]