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Description
THIS LETTER WAS FOUND AT THE SCENE OF CASE 147B, STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL

The message inside is coded to take
Whatever sanity's left, for insanity's sake
And leave the fear to just be free
The birds to fly, across the sea

Humanities' reach has been rebuked
Signed Sincerely, The Crimson Duke

I looked up from the page. Fuck, this was going to be hard. I hated sociopaths. And psychopaths. But sociopaths more. They simply didn't care, and I hate that about them. At least psychopaths think they're doing good.
I actually wasn't supposed to be reading this. I wasn't supposed to know any of this. But I did, and I didn't really care all that much for those who would seek to keep it away from me. There was nothing that could ever jeopardize them more than someone like me on their case.
You see, I wasn't exactly an upstanding citizen, and some of my principles are a little bent. But I don't see why the fucking family of the fucking deceased can't fucking look into it, and at least try to help. Now I have to do it alone. And as a fucking outlaw, no less. I didn't care for jobs like this. They tire me. I don't want to do this alone, but it looks as if I will have to.
I don't mind that much. I work much faster alone. That is when I am at the height of my efficiency, when I am alone. I can make decisions quicker and easier, and everything that I do is magnified, because I don't have to worry about anyone else.
And, on the other hand, I am pretty antisocial. Scratch that, I am majorly antisocial. I don't talk to other people much, I don't care for physical contact, and I just don't like how stupid people are. If I am with someone that I care for, I don't as much act on these feelings.
A person is smart. But people, people are stupid. And they demonstrate it over and over again for us, with mobs and riots.
The case that I am looking into is very close to me. My mother, my father, my sisters, my older brother, and basically all of my family, save me, was murdered. On the news and everything. I wasn't. I wasn't close enough of a relation, it seems. My second cousin goes on and talks about how I was the only survivor. How it must be me. The police take me into custody, under obvious suspicions.
I was found innocent, but am not trusted for information, or any other kind of assistance to the case, because of a charge that was faulty in the first place.
So, being the person that I am, I broke in and stole all of the documents, and read over them. All of them were garbage, except for the queer little letter. The Crimson Duke was my target now, Him being the object of my pain. Everyone I ever loved is dead because of him, and no one was even looking into the case anymore. It had only been a month, and already, already they were giving up, on a person that had killed five people and probably left plenty of evidence.
And if there wasn't, why didn't they just get a criminal profiler. And if they didn't have enough money (which is bullshit), why didn't they appeal to the profiler, and ask him if he could do it for free, for the safety and wellbeing of the general populace. Or maybe to just ease someone who just lost all of his family, everyone he fucking knew, out of depression. I don't think that anyone could be so without compassion as to not do that.
But they would deny my claims, proposing the problem with every solution that I throw at them, avoiding my face, just ignoring it, not caring.
I have to do it alone now, and all that this letter has told me is that the killer cares. But not about people.

Description
THIS LETTER WAS FOUND AT THE SCENE OF CASE 147B, STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL

The message inside is coded to take
Whatever sanity's left, for insanity's sake
And leave the fear to just be free
The birds to fly, across the sea

Humanities' reach has been rebuked
Signed Sincerely, The Crimson Duke

I looked up from the page. Fuck, this was going to be hard. I hated sociopaths. And psychopaths. But sociopaths more. They simply didn't care, and I hate that about them. At least psychopaths think they're doing good.
I actually wasn't supposed to be reading this. I wasn't supposed to know any of this. But I did, and I didn't really care all that much for those who would seek to keep it away from me. There was nothing that could ever jeopardize them more than someone like me on their case.
You see, I wasn't exactly an upstanding citizen, and some of my principles are a little bent. But I don't see why the fucking family of the fucking deceased can't fucking look into it, and at least try to help. Now I have to do it alone. And as a fucking outlaw, no less. I didn't care for jobs like this. They tire me. I don't want to do this alone, but it looks as if I will have to.
I don't mind that much. I work much faster alone. That is when I am at the height of my efficiency, when I am alone. I can make decisions quicker and easier, and everything that I do is magnified, because I don't have to worry about anyone else.
And, on the other hand, I am pretty antisocial. Scratch that, I am majorly antisocial. I don't talk to other people much, I don't care for physical contact, and I just don't like how stupid people are. If I am with someone that I care for, I don't as much act on these feelings.
A person is smart. But people, people are stupid. And they demonstrate it over and over again for us, with mobs and riots.
The case that I am looking into is very close to me. My mother, my father, my sisters, my older brother, and basically all of my family, save me, was murdered. On the news and everything. I wasn't. I wasn't close enough of a relation, it seems. My second cousin goes on and talks about how I was the only survivor. How it must be me. The police take me into custody, under obvious suspicions.
I was found innocent, but am not trusted for information, or any other kind of assistance to the case, because of a charge that was faulty in the first place.
So, being the person that I am, I broke in and stole all of the documents, and read over them. All of them were garbage, except for the queer little letter. The Crimson Duke was my target now, Him being the object of my pain. Everyone I ever loved is dead because of him, and no one was even looking into the case anymore. It had only been a month, and already, already they were giving up, on a person that had killed five people and probably left plenty of evidence.
And if there wasn't, why didn't they just get a criminal profiler. And if they didn't have enough money (which is bullshit), why didn't they appeal to the profiler, and ask him if he could do it for free, for the safety and wellbeing of the general populace. Or maybe to just ease someone who just lost all of his family, everyone he fucking knew, out of depression. I don't think that anyone could be so without compassion as to not do that.
But they would deny my claims, proposing the problem with every solution that I throw at them, avoiding my face, just ignoring it, not caring.
I have to do it alone now, and all that this letter has told me is that the killer cares. But not about people.