A Place Beyond Shame, Part 9: Knock, Knock

I keep having this recurring dream.

I'm screwing this old girlfriend of mine in my office. I mean, I am going to TOWN on this. Papers are flying all over the place and she's bent over the desk, moaning like a porn queen. Suddenly, the door bursts in and something flies at me and knocks me back in the chair. My eye is cut, and through a red haze I look up to see someone stab her clean through the shoulder, nailing her to the table. He drops his drawers and begins nailing her just like I was, although her screams are now very different. I grab his shoulder and he turns to me, grinning as he reaches around and cuts her throat. I stop, paralyzed.

Its Evan Powell.

Evan has been one of my masterpieces. He’s got quite a history. He was first created for a short story in 1990, and has made guest appearances in several games since. I pride myself on my villains, and of the bunch Evan Rutherford Powell still stands head and shoulders above any others I have ever even tried to create. An absolute nightmare, he’s caused more fear than anything else I’ve ever done. In college, it was formally requested that I attend counseling after a session in which he had made an appearance was described to one of the dorm monitors.

Why? Because he’s a human being. He has genuine feelings and ideals. He’s a sadist, a pedophile, and a rapist. He preys on the weak for pleasure. Evan isn't driven by hate or greed, but desire. He likes to hurt people, and he knows that his best weapon is between his legs. He has no excuse, he does these things because he wants to. Evan Powell is a study in anarchy--not bullshit comic-book anarchy, but real, honest-to-god child-humping-old-lady-killing no-goddamn-rules anarchy. And if you think he doesn't live next door you've got another thing coming.

So as I sit in the chair trying not to piss myself, he finishes up with my ex's corpse, then turns back to me with his best genial smile."It’s okay, Sean," He says, wiping his fingers off on my hair. "I can't stop you either."

And with that, he turns and leaves. I just sit, sweating and hating myself for not being able to act. I start to dial 911 but the phone just plays Christmas Carols at me. I feel very alone.

Then I wake up.

For almost a year, I made a point of keeping Evan OUT of The Last Exodus. I felt he was just too explicit to be detailed properly in a game context. I would make the Antichrists more implicit villains, and skip all of the really nasty bits of their cruelty and evil. I figured that that would be the best, safest thing to do. It wasn't until New Year's Day, 2000, that I came to my senses.

You see, no human being has ever died at the hands of an implicit villain. The Nazis were very much present at the deaths of the Gypsies, Jews, and other unfortunates. The Serbian Nationalists were RIGHT THERE for every second of every ethnic cleansing. The Khmer Rouge had men making a personal appearance behind every trigger. In your home town there is a child who can point out the face of the loved one who abuses him before bed at night. No victim is spared the atrocity, it's not left to the imagination.

It's easy to shrug and say it's just a game and no forum for such truths. On the other hand, the relative safety of the imagination seems to me to be the absolute best place to wake people up to the horrors of what goes on behind closed doors. I won't spare the reality of what happens here. I won't cut short my vision--I won't spare the pain and the blood and the hurt and what the victim sees. This is what's real. This is what's happening. Had this been a movie, nobody would blink. Had it been a newscast, nobody would even listen- but in a role-playing game you can react- you can do something. And maybe these actions can serve as a template for positive action out here in the real world.

Remember, every time Evan makes you shudder, every time Madison makes you wince, remember that these bastards are out there, and more often than not, they have authorization. They carry guns, badges, collars, and books. They have Harvard degrees and they live in dumpsters. They are our leaders and the men and women in the street. And they love the doors that keep them safe--that keep them implicit. The best possible thing you can do for them is keep your head down and not ask questions.An explicit villain is an implicit one dumb enough to leave the doors open.

They are all around us. They are in your hometown. They live right next door.

Knock knock.