When we arrived at the scene, there were a ton of cop cars outside the condominium. “He’s with me,” Tom said to the two officers in front of the door. They nodded their heads and Tom was the first to duck under the crime scene tape into the condo. I followed right behind him. 

We walked into the bedroom and saw the crime scene crew snapping pictures of the bedroom where Rick laid. A crime scene tech walked up and gave each of us a pair of gloves. “You guys are going to want to see this.” The technician said. We followed him into a room that looked like an office. On top of the table was a journal. “Agent Morningstar, you’re going to want to read this. The criminal must have felt guilty, and he kept his thoughts in a journal. You’ll be able to get an idea of his motive for reading the latest entry.” The technician said, flipping to the journal, and he read aloud.

 “I can’t believe this is the third quack therapist I’ve hired. I just want to find someone I can vent to about these feelings I have. But all these quacks do is give me pills and diagnoses. The whole therapy industry is a complete joke. Insurance won’t pay unless I get a diagnosis and it cost an arm and a leg to pay with cash. It’s a corrupt system. I feel so small and the only place I feel big is at my job. Sadly, it just the same cycle of you have this or that, and take this or that drug. But none of that junk works! But you know what does work, killing. That’s the only time I feel larger than life. When the players that choose to not show me mercy see the message come up and they realize their life is on the line. Nothing excites me more. Its pure ecstasy, watching them realize the odds are completely stacked against them. For a moment they step in my shoes and feel completely inferior and helpless to the fate in front of them. The ones I hate the most are the ones that show me mercy. They think there are so high and mighty. They think they're doing me a favor. No, they’re just pompous assholes taking pity on me. It’s sad I can’t lock them in the death match. Only those willing to take the killing blow should be killed. I may be fucked in the head, but I’m not evil. I realize I won’t be able to ride this high forever. I’m bound to get caught, eventually. I really need to find a doc that isn’t a quack like the others. Until then, I’ll just keep killing to suppress this feeling of inferiority.”

“Hmm, what a shame if one of those doctors could figure out what was actually wrong with him. Maybe all those people wouldn’t have died.” I said, looking at the ground.

“That’s true, but maybe that’s just the excuse he gave himself, so he didn’t feel as guilty. Those people that logged onto the game came to unwind and escape from their daily life's struggles. They weren't doing it out of malice or an intent to harm. They were just playing a game. Rick is not the only person ever to have an inferiority complex. He simply shifted the blame to his insecurities.” Tom said, scratching his head. He turned to the crime scene tech, “Wrap things up here and get all the information and evidence to me, then I’ll write the report and submit it to Kalina.”

“You got it, agent Morningstar.” The crime scene tech said as he put the journal in a crime scene bag, writing on it as he walked out of the room.

Tom turned back to me. “Looks like this case is closed. Should we grab dinner?” Tom walked out of the room.

“Yeah, but since the only thing I’m getting out of my cooperation is a raid in Nightmare Chasers, you’re paying for dinner.” I said, ducking underneath the crime scene tape.

“Oh, that’s right. Here’s the check for your help.” Tom reached into his inner coat pocket. “You didn’t think I would let you work for free now, did you? After all, you came up with that brilliant back-up plan.” Tom laughed.

I looked at the check, and my eyes grew wide. “Are you guys hiring?” I said.