Let me get something straight right now, before you guys twist my words so much I can't even understand what I meant. There will be the people who will find this one day and smear my words to make me look like the villain, the one who is responsible for all the pathetic shit in the world. I'll be the scapegoat, the undeniable scum of the world.

They might be onto something with that last one, but that's besides the point. This city is corrupt, run by the mobs and gangs that terrorize those too poor or too brave. My father was one of them. He was a brilliant speaker when he was alive. And every goddamn thing he said was true. The mayor was a huge bitch, making shit loads of cash from the bribes those fucking mobs and gangs gave her. Every fucking word out of her mouth is a lie, a whirlwind of the largest pile of bullshit you can imagine.

I hate her.

But my father. He was a new DA. I don't know how he got the job. I was too young to remember, but Kankri was older. He says that Dad was a smooth talker, and smart enough to be able to back all the stuff he said up. Sure, he was a hypocrite. Who isn't? He was old friends with Spades Slick, a 'clean' casino owner. That's code for he's a no good criminal, leader of the Midnight Crew. But as far as they go, they're a good mob. They get money off of gambling and drug trafficking, which Dad hated, but there were gangs out there that would kidnap teenage girls to make a quick buck off of child prostitution, or the hired murderers, or the thieves, or the privileged assholes who think they're punk because they beat a homeless guy to death. Those are the bad guys, Dad would say.

Those are the guys bribing the mayor.

She's the lady that had my dad killed.

You won't find that anywhere. No news reports said anything about his death other than how he was gone too soon, and left behind two sons. It didn't seem to be anything sketchy. Sure, some low life fuckass shot him, but he was DA. It wasn't surprising, the piece of shit guy had been thrown in jail and was bitter.

But I found something. And I need to write it somewhere. I need someone to find this, and tell everyone that I'm right, that she's evil, that I am not a liar. I am right! I'm fucking right! I led the rebellion of close to a hundred citizens! I didn't mean to be a hero! It just happened, but it's who I am! I tried to fucking save everybody! I honestly fucking did!

I am Karkat Vantas. And this is exactly what happened when I found out who killed my father.

Karkat groaned, setting his pen down and rubbing his eyes. It was too late. The dull glow of the morning sun was bleakly shining into his room, illuminating everything to a small degree. He had been up all night writing his letter. All night, and the product of his hard work was little more than a page full of bitter words. He was tired and young.

On his desk, right under his left arm, was a manila envelope. Inside was a manuscript that he had spent the last week compiling. It was shit writing, but it was the only record of events that was free of bias. He had kept this one as factual as possible. In truth, the letter was the most biased part.

Shoving the letter inside the manila envelope, he got up and moved to his bed, where he flopped down. He needed to sleep. As his eyes closed, there was a loud thud from downstairs. Motherfuckers.

He wouldn't be sleeping today.