Murdoch Fenn [Gamemaker, Done]

AUTOBIOGROPHY THING I HAVE TO DO
by me murdoch church fenn

And when they said that I was just dirt on the bottom of their boots, I cut their feet off. Then they can't wear boots, you see. Man's gotta be thinking like he's top of the food chain, even if he's a million miles away from it. Bottom, that's where I was, but that's where I was born, not my mistakes that put me there. You start at the bottom. The base, the very foundation of this upside down pyramid. No, no, you don't get it. No, the corrupt people are at the top, and all the decent people are trapped at the bottom, crushed by the weight of it. Mmm, it's a big pyramid, and you can't climb a reflex angle. Oh, well that's what they said. They said a lot of things, that was one of them. Fuck it all, because you shouldn't listen to anyone. If you want to climb, then climb.

Climb to the top, then you can see the sun.

Time flies, they say. Oh, how it flies. Wrong, wrong. Time's fixed. It sits on it's hands whilst we rush by. We are the ones that move. We choose what pace, how fast, the way in which we go through life. Wiiiiiiiiind the clock back, say ten years. Where was I? District Twelve. Home of the shitheads. That was me though, oh, absolutely. Top shithead. Best damn shithead in the District. They'd shout asshole at me as I stumbled out of taverns, a drunken frown on my chubby face. Not that I cared. I was twenty two, no parents, no siblings, no kids, no friends. I didn't care. I was simple. I liked working, and eating, and reading, and getting drunk off my fucking face. There wasn't much I cared about.

Oh the white, blinding white came. Summer, I remember. It was really fucking hot. People were sweating out their asses, crammed into tiny elevator shafts and forced underground in the black and the soot and the coal. Suffocating, sweating, moaning like they were having really great sex, but they actually weren't, they were being oppressed. The white men, the Peacekeepers, who did anything but keep the Peace. Bastards. Fucking pigs. No, literally. No, you don't understand. I got mad. I mean, I'd been in the mines all day and some Peacekeeper tried to repossess my house (He said I hadn't paid my taxes or something, whoops). Anyway, long story short, I took off his pants and forced him to fuck a pig. It was fucking classic, I wish I had filmed it.

So they sent half a dozen Peacekeepers to the house to put me down. HAH! Half a fucking dozen, yeah right. Okay. So a bunch of poncey bastards are gonna take down me? Got them into close quarters and laid them out, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. Knock out. Here's your winner, the undisputed champion of the world, Murdoch Fenn! Well, for five minutes or so, when another bastard squad burst in and held me at gunpoint. Where's the fun in that? I might be a bit mad, but I know when I'm outmatched. I know when to put my hands up and say: Alright you pricks, you got me.

Aye, so the Head Peacekeeper walks in. I remember the dickhead. Harsh features, dark eyes, everything you'd expect from your resident oppressor. Real stereotypical man. Dressed all in white, but I could smell the death on him. I'm a bloodhound. Maybe he saw the madness in my eyes. Maybe he saw the Peacekeeper dead on the floor next to me, the six unconscious Peacekeepers, and one very distressed pig. Either way, they didn't arrest me. In fact, they gave me a fucking job. Become a Peacekeeper. Leave Twelve today and train in our elite camps. Join now, or face a lifetime in the Detention Center.

No choice there.

I've always seen death as an inevibility. I left Twelve and became a Peacekeeper. Maybe they saw something in me that day. Maybe I got lucky. It was the best thing that ever happened to me, as it happens. Training was tough. Got pissed on because I'm from Twelve, and most of the guys training to be Peacekeepers are from Career Districts.
"Hey look! It's the pig guy!" Jeers and snide remarks, and my deadpan face staring back at the prettyboys. Fingers pointing, and patting their friends on the back and way to go, you're a funny guy. I remember laughing with them, walking up to the hysterical fucker who made the joke and punching him so hard in the stomach that he vomited all over his sparkly white uniform.

Murdoch was top dog in no time. No one fucked with me, NO ONE! I made people my bitch. I didn't have to do shit. And as for my training, well that went pretty good too. I graduated in six months and was set my first outpost in District Three straight off the bat. Spent a year or two beating the shit out of rebels in Three. I no longer cared for what side I fought for, just where the money was. I guess destiny drew me to be a Peacekeeper. I could easily have been locked up for forcing that guy's penis inside a pig's anus, but there you go. Upside down pyramid, you have to expect upside down outcomes.

Remember I said I cut their legs off? Of the people who called me dirt. You- Look, it's at the fucking top of the page, read up. Yeah, so there I was, cutting a guy's leg off in the middle of the street. He was some District Three businessman with more ego than sense, who saw me as a thug and not a Peacekeeper. Cut his leg clean off with a knife. Not a particularly sharp knife, at that. My head of section came over and said I was being unprofessional. Like, what the fuck? They sent the footage to headquarters, saying I was out of line and fucking insane?

I don't see the problem.

Anyway, as it happens, I get another fine slice of luck. Tasty. The guy looks at the video and says I should be training kids for the Hunger Games, as a joke mind you. His superior only takes him seriously and offers me a job training kids for the Hunger Games. So, I start training kids for the Hunger Games. Me. Training kids for the Hunger Games. Fucking delicious.

A couple of years down the line, and life is good. As I recall, people no longer called me the pig man. Infamous as that was. District Twelve was long behind me, but I hadn't really changed. I was still "unstable" according to my employers. That said, they were really impressed with me. I was good at teaching people how to use weapons. I dunno, I guess it all just comes naturally to me. I improved my professionalism, and met some great people. My bestest friend in the whole wide world mine works in self defense. Tetchy fucker, black and blonde hair, half-and-half. I went up in the world. Heck, I even got to meet President Snow, that was great. He asked me what my name was and I told him he had blood on his lip. He got angry and walked off. I got put on two weeks enforced leave after that.

Anyway, by the age of twenty eight they were sending me to work with Muttations. Training 'em, feeding 'em. Heck, I even got to design a few. I was good at that, so they gave me a job at that. I tried designing parts of Arenas. I was good at that, so they gave me a job at that. You can probably see where this is going. Despite my reckless nature, fucked up imagination, and lack of personal hygine, by the age of thirty-one, I was a Gamemaker. By the age of thirty-five, I was a Head Gamemaker.

Backwards upside pyramid thing. Me on top. Still got shit on my boots, but at least I can see the sun now, right? Eh?

word count: 1351, graphics: rook
theme: who needs a fucking theme i'm unstable