(no subject)
Outta the fire and into the-well, you know how the old joke goes. Don't you? I hope so.
It's funny what can pass in the months in which you're locked away, left to believe that you're competent, able, together. That's how it is here. One second you're here and then bam, gone without a trace. You have all the gadgets and tools and everything lined up to make a difference and then they decide to make a difference for you.
Too vague? I thought so.
Heh, turns out I was never too much of a fan of riddles. Someone else took up that vocation when I was a kid. Annoying guy, too. I mean, seriously, what kind of neurosis leads you to leading everyone to the scene of crime?
But how do we put this. Criminal activity is varied. Some people get away with capturing a bunch of innocent people and reindoctrinating them for society. What I call this is a giant experiment. The wonderful American Liberals would have their heads off for it. Sure, some of us might be dangerous. Some of us might be capable of unspeakable things, but not everyone's that good. So maybe The Riddler wanted to just mix it up. Throw a little variation in. Serial killers are said to like their routines, their tendencies, what they always look for; sometimes you just really want to stand out. And that is, I'm sure, what the good old government wants us to do. To help them stand out. In fifty years, someone'll come across the papers for this project and wonder: Who the hell is Jason Todd? Miles Edgeworth? Nathan Young. And then they'll look and see, and maybe through some odd, mysterious chance, a face will be familiar. 'Cause that guy was his neighbor. Immortal or a lawyer one day, middle class white suburbia the next.
And then there'll be discussions. They seemed happy right, so is it truly a crime? Could they have been happy without going from Miles to Garret? From Nathan to Artie? There will be debates and conspiracies and worries, and you know what? All of us, except the immortal guy, will be so far gone it won't even matter. It'll be too late.
But it'll be the same. A ritual. An activity. Files upon files of names and their offshoots. Where the hell did they go? We'll never know.
But guess what. I'm back. Maybe I should play nice. Buy a nice pair of blue jeans and a plaid and walk around like everyone else around here. Or I can look to keep things interesting.
Because at the end of the day, I think the real question is: Should we create a new crime to thwart theirs? Or are we so damn comfortable that we don't care either way? Would it be smarter to keep things under wraps? 'Cause hell, who knows when I'll be dragged off kicking and screaming tomorrow. Then again, there's a reason why I'm here. Some things just don't stick.
That said, I'm glad to be back.
It's funny what can pass in the months in which you're locked away, left to believe that you're competent, able, together. That's how it is here. One second you're here and then bam, gone without a trace. You have all the gadgets and tools and everything lined up to make a difference and then they decide to make a difference for you.
Too vague? I thought so.
Heh, turns out I was never too much of a fan of riddles. Someone else took up that vocation when I was a kid. Annoying guy, too. I mean, seriously, what kind of neurosis leads you to leading everyone to the scene of crime?
But how do we put this. Criminal activity is varied. Some people get away with capturing a bunch of innocent people and reindoctrinating them for society. What I call this is a giant experiment. The wonderful American Liberals would have their heads off for it. Sure, some of us might be dangerous. Some of us might be capable of unspeakable things, but not everyone's that good. So maybe The Riddler wanted to just mix it up. Throw a little variation in. Serial killers are said to like their routines, their tendencies, what they always look for; sometimes you just really want to stand out. And that is, I'm sure, what the good old government wants us to do. To help them stand out. In fifty years, someone'll come across the papers for this project and wonder: Who the hell is Jason Todd? Miles Edgeworth? Nathan Young. And then they'll look and see, and maybe through some odd, mysterious chance, a face will be familiar. 'Cause that guy was his neighbor. Immortal or a lawyer one day, middle class white suburbia the next.
And then there'll be discussions. They seemed happy right, so is it truly a crime? Could they have been happy without going from Miles to Garret? From Nathan to Artie? There will be debates and conspiracies and worries, and you know what? All of us, except the immortal guy, will be so far gone it won't even matter. It'll be too late.
But it'll be the same. A ritual. An activity. Files upon files of names and their offshoots. Where the hell did they go? We'll never know.
But guess what. I'm back. Maybe I should play nice. Buy a nice pair of blue jeans and a plaid and walk around like everyone else around here. Or I can look to keep things interesting.
Because at the end of the day, I think the real question is: Should we create a new crime to thwart theirs? Or are we so damn comfortable that we don't care either way? Would it be smarter to keep things under wraps? 'Cause hell, who knows when I'll be dragged off kicking and screaming tomorrow. Then again, there's a reason why I'm here. Some things just don't stick.
That said, I'm glad to be back.