I hate this world.
No, that's hardly it, I have no reason to hate the world.
I'm sure mother earth and father sky did their very best,
it's us that took it all and grinned it into shit.
I sit here, in the 50th floor of the Tamikasha building,
separated from the rest of the world by a Psy-Barrier, and
trying to figure out where it all went sour.
 About 20 years ago Oniopath industries, the parent company
of Tamikasha Real Estates decided their security was hardly
at level with that in the rest of the world. They paid a
bloke named Aaron Jedlenk - who was, as it turned out,
entirely out of his mind - to build them the strongest, most
sophisticated security system on the face of the earth.
Namely - the Psy-Barrier. And he did so, gladly.
 Somewhere in this city, in a moldy little underground
room, sits a group of about 50 men and women that were
diagnosed as psychopaths. They're held there against their
will, because our society chewed them up and spit them out
to the streets and every day we walk over them and feel
sorry for them for just a second because we think it makes
us better people. It doesn't - it makes us liars and
sociopaths. Those poor bastards are hooked up to a machine
named The Extractor, a huge chunk of reeking metal that
absorbs their thought patterns, all that insanity and
psychosis and horror is translated into an energy wall given
the name Psy-Barrier. That was the simple part.
 The Horror of it all is this: When an unauthorized person
walks across this Psy-Barrier all those thought patters are
inserted into his mind through energy vibrations in the air
around the wall, and the sane mind cannot handle that
baggage. The outcome is, as always these days, the stuff
nightmares are made of - the very capability of thought in
the victim, his mind and his consciousness are shredded into
millions of little pieces that are scattered into the air,
leaving a dead, soulless husk of a man.
 And that's what we do. That's what I do.
 I write a column in the best selling newspaper in the
continent, there are more people who want me dead then there
are hairs on the pulp's arse. So my editor put me behind
this horrible Psy-Barrier, fifty floors up in the air, where
the only thing I can smell is the rutting corpse of the men
who got caught in the barrier being eaten my mice and rats
and all the rest of the horrors that crawl in our gutters.
 It's people like my editor who think we're better than
those who live on the streets instead of acknowledging they
wouldn't even be on the streets if us bastards wouldn't spit
on them and expect them to look up to us and smile and lick
the mod off our shoes. We are the worst arseholes this
pathetic excuse for a race ever produced, we're the cream of
a society so unworthy of existing that we don't even bother
to go and protect it.
  So no, I have no hate for this world, but for the people
which it spawned.