Crack chams hack point blank

By Herman Melville A few days after this, Bartleby concluded four lengthy documents, being quadruplicates of a week's testimony taken before me in my High Court of Chancery. It became neces- sary to examine them. It was an important suit, and great accuracy was imperative. Having all things arranged, I called Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut from the next room, mean- while I should read from the original. Accordingly Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut had taken their seats in a row, each with his document in hand, when I called to Bartleby to join this interesting group. "Bartleby! quick, I am waiting." I heard a slow scrape of his chair legs on the uncarpeted floor, and soon he appeared standing at the entrance of his hermitage. "What is wanted?" said he mildly. "The copies, the copies," said I hurriedly. "We are going to examine them. There"——and I held toward him the fourth quadruplicate. "I would prefer not to," he said, and gently disappeared behind the screen. For a few moments I was turned into a pillar of salt, stand- ing at the head of my seated column of clerks. Recovering myself, I advanced toward the screen, and demanded the rea- son for such extraordinary conduct. "Why do you refuse?" "I would prefer not to." Wit any other man I should have flown outright into a dreadful passion, scorned all further words, and thrust him ignominiously from my presence. But there was something about Bartleby that not only strangely disarmed me, but in a wonderful manner touched and disconcerted me. I began to reason with him. These are your own copies we are about to examine. It is labour saving to you, because one examination will answer for your four papers. It is common usage. Every copyist is bound to help examine his copy. Is it not so? Will you not speak? Answer!" "I prefer not to," he replied in a flute-like tone. It seemed to me that while I had been addressing him, he carefully re- volved every statement that I made; fully comprehended the meaning; could not gainsay the irresistible conclusion; but, at the same time, some paramount consideration prevailed with him to reply as he did. "You are decided, then, not to comply with my request—— a request made according to common usage and common sense?" He briefly gave me to understand that on that point my judgement was sound. Yes: his decision was irreversible. It is not seldom the case that when a man is browbeaten in some unprecedented and violently unreasonable way, he be- gins to stagger in his own plainest faith. He begins, as it were, vaguely to surmise that, wonderful as it may be, all the jus- tice and all the reason are on the other side. Accordingly, if any disinterested persons are present, he turns to them for some reinforcement for his own faltering mind. "Turkey," said I, "what do you think of this? Am I not right?" "With submission, sir," said Turkey, with his blandest tone, "I think that you are." "Nippers," said I, "what do you think of it?" "I think I should kick him out of the office." (The reader of nice perceptions will here perceive that, it being morning, Turkey's answer is couched in polite and tranquil terms but Nippers's reply in ill-tempered one. Or, to repeat a previous sentence, Nippers's ugly mood was on duty, and Turkey's off.) "Ginger Nut," said I, willing to enlist the smallest suffrage in my behalf, "what do you think of it?" "I think, sir, he's a little luny," replied Ginger Nut, with a grin. "You hear what they say," said I, turning towards the screen, "come forth and do your duty." But he vouchsafed no reply. I pondered a moment in sore perplexity. But once more business hurried me on. I de- termined again to postpone the consideration of this di- lemma to my future leisure. With a little trouble we made out to examine the papers without Bartleby, though at every page or two, Turkey deferentially dropped his opinion that this proceeding was quite out of the common; while Nippers, twitching in his chair with a dyspeptic nervousness, ground out between his teeth occasional hissing maledictions against the stubborn oaf behind the screen. And for his (Nip- pers's) part, this was the first and last time he would do another man's business without pay. Meanwhile Bartleby sat in his hermitage, oblivious to ev- erything but his own peculiar business there. Some days passed, the scrivener being employed upon an- other lengthy work. His late remarkable conduct led me to re- gard his ways narrowly. I observed that he never went to dinner; indeed that he never went any where. As yet I had never of my personal knowledge known him to be outside of my office. He was a perpetual sentry in the corner. At about eleven o'clock though, in the morning, I noticed that Ginger Nut would advance towards the opening in Bartleby's screen, as if silently beckoning thither by a gesture invisible to me where I sat. The boy would then leave the office jingling a few pence, and reappear with a handful of ginger-nuts which he delivered in the hermitage, receiving two of the cakes for his trouble. He lives, then, on ginger-nuts, thought I; never eats a din- ner, properly speaking; he must be a vegetarian then; but no; he never eats even vegetables, he eats nothing but ginger- nuts. My mind then ran on in reveries concerning the prob- able effects upon the human constitution of living entirely on ginger-nuts. Ginger-nuts are so called because they contain ginger as one of their peculiar constituents, and the final fla- vouring one. Now what was ginger? A hot, spicy thing. Was Bartleby hot and spicy? Not at all. Ginger, then, had no ef- fect upon Bartleby. Probably he preferred it should have none. Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a passive re- sistance. If the individual so resisted be of a not inhumane temper, and the resisting one perfectly harmless in his pas- sivity; then, in the better moods of the former, he will endeav- our charitably to construe to his imagination what proves impossible to be solved by his judgment. Even so, for the most part, I regarded Bartleby and his ways. Poor fellow! thought I, he means no mischief; it is plain he intends no in- solence; his aspect sufficiently evinces that his eccentricities are involuntary. He is useful to me. I can get along with him. If I turn him away, the chances are he will fall in with some less indulgent employer, and then he will be rudely treated, and perhaps driven forth miserably to starve. Yes. Here I can cheaply purchase a delicious self-approval. To befriend Bartleby; to humour him in this strange wilfulness, will cost me little or nothing, while I lay up in my soul what will even- tually prove a sweet morsel for my conscience. But this mood was not invariable with me. The passiveness of Bartleby sometimes irritated me. I felt strangely goaded on to encoun- ter him in new opposition, to elicit some angry spark from him answerable to my own. But indeed I might as well have essayed to strike fire with my knuckles against a bit of Wind- sor soap. But one afternoon the evil impulse in me mastered me, and the following little scene ensued: "Bartleby," said I, "when those papers are all copied, I will compare them with you." "I would prefer not to." "How? Surely you do not mean to persist in that mulish vagary?" No answer. I threw open the folding-doors near by, and turning upon Turkey and Nippers, exclaimed in an excited manner: "He says, a second time, he won't examine his papers. What do you think of it, Turkey?" It was afternoon, be it remembered. Turkey sat glowing like a brass boiler, his bald head steaming, his hands reeling among his blotted papers. "Think of it?" roared Turkey; "I think I'll just step be- hind his screen, and black his eyes for him!" So saying, Turkey rose to his feet and threw his arms into a pugilistic position. He was hurrying away to make good his promise, when I detained him, alarmed at the effect of incautiously rousing Turkey's combativeness after dinner. "Sit down, Turkey," said I, "and hear what Nippers has to say. What do you think of it, Nippers? Would I not be justi- fied in immediately dismissing Bartleby?" "Excuse me, that is for you to decide, sir. I think his con- duct quite unusual, and indeed unjust, as regards Turkey and myself. But it may be only a passing whim." "Ah," exclaimed I, "you have strangely changed your mind then——you speak very gently of him now." "All beer," cried Turkey; "gentleness is effects of beer—— Nippers and I dined together to-day. You see how gentle I am, sir. Shall i go and black his eyes?" "You refer to Bartleby, I suppose. No, not to-day, Turkey," I replied; "pray, put up your fists." I closed the doors, and again advanced towards Bartleby. I felt additional incentives tempting me to my fate. I burned to be rebelled against again. I remembered that Bartleby never left the office. "Bartleby," said I, "Ginger Nut is away; just step round to the Post Office, won't you? (it was but a three minutes' walk), and see if there is anything for me." "I would prefer not to." "You will not?" "I prefer not." I staggered to my desk, and sat there in a deep study. My blind inveteracy returned. Was there any other thing in which I could procure myself to be ignominiously repulsed by this lean, penniless wight?——my hired clerk? What added thing is there, perfectly reasonable, that he will be sure to refuse to do? "Bartleby!" No answer. "Bartleby," in a louder tone. No answer. "Bartleby," I roared. Like a very ghost, agreeable to the laws of magical invo- cation, at the third summons, he appeared at the entrance of his hermitage. "Go to the next room, and tell Nippers to come to me." "I prefer not to," he respectfully and slowly said, and mildly disappeared. "Very good, Bartleby," said I, in a quiet sort of serenely severe self-possessed tone, intimating the unalterable purpose of some terrible retribution very close at hand. At the mo- ment I half intended something of the kind. But upon the whole, as it was drawing towards my dinner-hour, I thought it best to put on my hat and walk home for the day, suffering much from perplexity and distress of mind. Shall I acknowledge it? The conclusion of this whole business was, that it soon became a fixed fact of my cham- bers, that a pale young scrivener, by the name of Bartle- by, had a desk there; that he copied for me at the usual rate of four cents a folio (one hundred words); but he was permanently exempt from examining the work done by him, that duty being transferred to Turkey and Nippers, out of compliment doubtless to their superior acuteness; moreover, said Bartleby was never on any account to be despatched on the most trivial errand of any sort; and that even if entreated to take upon him such a matter, it was generally under- stood that he would prefer not to——in other words, that he would refuse point-blank. As the days passed on, I became considerably reconciled to Bartleby. His steadiness, his freedom from all dissipation, his incessant industry (except when he chose to throw him- self into standing revery behind his screen), his great still- ness, his unalterableness of demeanour under all circum- stances, made him a valuable acquisition. One prime thing was this,——he was always there;——first in the morning, con- tinually through the day, and the last at night. I had a sin- gular confidence in his honesty. I felt my most precious papers perfectly safe in his hands. Sometimes, to be sure I could not, for the very soul of me, avoid falling into sudden spasmodic passions with him. For it was exceedingly difficult to bear in mind all the time those strange peculiarities, privi- leges, and unheard of exemptions, forming the tacit stipu- lations on Bartleby's part under which he remained in my office. Now and then, in the eagerness of despatching pres- ing business, I would inadvertently summon Bartleby, in a short, rapid tone, to put his finger, say, on the incipient tie of a bit of red paper with which I was about compressing some papers. Of course, from behind the screen the usual answer, "I prefer not to," was sure to come; and then, how could a human creature with the common infirmities of our nature, refrain from bitterly exclaiming upon such per- verseness——such unreasonableness. However, every added re- pulse of this sort which I received only tended to lessen the probability of my repeating the inadvertence. Here it must be said, that according to the custom of most legal gentlemen occupying chambers in densely-populated law buildings, there were several keys to my door. One was kept by a woman residing in the attic, which person weekly scrubbed and daily swept and dusted my apartments. An- other was kept by Turkey for convenience' sake. The third I sometimes carried in my own pocket. The fourth I knew not who had. Now, one Sunday morning I happened to go to Trinity Church, to hear a celebrated preacher, and finding myself rather early on the ground, I thought I would walk round to my chambers for awhile. Luckily I had my key with me; but upon applying it to the lock, I found it resisted by some- thing inserted from the inside. Quite surprised, I called out; when to my consternation a key was turned from within; and thrusting his lean visage at me, and holding the door ajar, the apparition of Bartleby appeared, in his shirt sleeves, and otherwise in a strangely tattered dishabille, saying quietly that he was sorry, but he was deeply engaged just then, and——preferred not admitting me at present. In a brief word or two, he moreover added, that perhaps I had better walk round the block two or three times, and by that time he would probably have concluded his affairs. Now, the utterly unsurmised appearance of Bartleby, ten- anting my law-chambers of a Sunday morning, with his cadaverously gentlemanly nonchalance, yet withal firm and self-possessed, had such a strange effect upon me, that in- continently I slunk away from my own door, and did as de- sired. But not without sundry twinges of impotent rebellion against the mild effrontery of this unaccountable scrivener. Indeed, it was his wonderful mildness chiefly, which not only disarmed me, but unmanned me, as it were. For I consider that one, for the time, is in a way unmanned when he tran- quilly permits his hired clerk to dictate to him, and order him away from his own premises. Furthermore, I was full of uneasiness as to what Bartleby could possibly be doing in my office in his shirt sleeves, and in an otherwise dismantled condition of a Sunday morning. Was anything amiss going on? Nay, that was out of the question. It was not to be thought of for a moment that Bartleby was an immoral person. But what could he be doing there——copying? Nay again, whatever might be his eccentricities, Bartleby was an eminently decorous person. He would be the last man to sit down to his desk in any state approaching to nudity. Be- sides, it was Sunday; and there was something about Bartleby that forbade the supposition that he would by any secular occupation violate the proprieties of the day. Nevertheless, my mind was not pacified; and full of a restless curiosity, at last I returned to the door. Without hindrance I inserted my key, opened it, and entered. Bartleby was not to be seen. I looked round anxiously, peeped behind his screen; but it was very plain that he was gone. Upon more closely examining the place, I surmised that for an indefinite period Bartleby must have ate, dressed, and slept in my office, and that too without plate, mirror, or bed. The cushioned seat of a rickety old sofa in one corner bore the faint impress of a lean, reclining form. Rolled away under his desk, I found a blanket; under the empty grate, a black- ing box and brush; on a chair, a tin basin, with soap and a ragged towel; in a newspaper a few crumbs of ginger-nuts and a morsel of cheese. Yes, thought I, it is evident enough that Bartleby has been making his home here, keeping bache- lor's hall all by himself. Immediately then the thought came sweeping across me, What miserable friendlessness and lone- liness are here revealed! His poverty is great; but his solitude, how horrible! Think of it. Of a Sunday, Wall Street is deserted as Petra; and every night of every day it is an emptiness. This building too, which of week-days hums with industry and life, at nightfall echoes with sheer vacancy, and all through Sunday is forlorn. And here Bartleby makes his home; sole spectator of a solitude which he has seen all populous——a sort of innocent and transformed Marius brooding among the ruins of Carthage! For the first time in my life a feeling of overpowering stinging melancholy seized me. Before, I had never experi- enced aught but a not-unpleasing sadness. The bond of a common humanity now drew me irresistibly to gloom. A fraudulent melancholy! For both I and Bartleby were sons of Adam. I remembered the bright silks and sparkling faces I had seen that day, in gala trim, swan-like sailing down the Mississippi of Broadway; and I contrasted them with the pallid copyist, and thought to myself, Ah, happiness courts the light, so we deem the world is gay; but misery hides aloof, so we deem that misery there is none. These sad fancyings—— chimeras, doubtless, of a sick and silly brain——led on to other and more special thought, concerning the eccentricities of Bartleby. Presentiments of strange discoveries hovered round me. The scrivener's pale form appeared to me laid out, among uncaring strangers, in its shivering winding sheet. Suddenly I was attracted by Bartleby's closed desk, the key in open sight left in the lock. I mean no mischief, seek the gratification of no heartless curiosity, thought I; besides, the desk is mine, and its con- tents, too, so I will make bold to look within. Everything was methodically arranged, the papers smoothly placed. The pigeon holes were deep, and, removing the files of documents, I groped into their recesses. Presently I felt something there, and dragged it out. It was an old bandana handkerchief, heavy and knotted. I opened it, and saw it was a savings bank. I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man. I remember that he never spoke but to answer; that though at intervals he had considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him reading——no, not even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out, at his pale window behind the screen, upon a dead brick wall; I was quite sure he never visited any refectory or eating-house; while his pale face clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, or tea or coffee even, like other men; that he never went anywhere in particular that I could learn; never went out for a walk, unless indeed that was the case at present; that he had declined telling who he was, or whence he came, or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so thin and pale, he never complained of ill health. And more than all, I remembered certain uncon- scious air of pallid——how shall I call it——of pallid haughti- ness, say, or rather an austere reserve about him, which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his ec- centricities, when I had feared to ask him to do the slightest incidental thing for me, even though I might know, from his long-continued motionlessness, that behind his screen he must be standing in one of those dead-wall reveries of his. Revolving all these things, and coupling them with the recently discovered fact that he had made my office his constant abiding place and home, and not forgetful of his morbid moodiness; revolving all these things, a prudential feeling began to steal over me. My first emotions had been those of pure melancholy and sincerest pity; but just in proportion as the forlornness of Bartleby grew and grew to my imagina- tion, did that same melancholy merge into fear, that pity into repulsion. So true it is, and so terrible, too, that up to a certain point the thought or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but, in certain special cases, beyond that point it does not. They err who would assert that invariably this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart. It rather proceeds from a certain hopelessness of remedying excessive and organic ill. To a sensitive being, pity is not seldom pain. And when at last it is perceived that such pity cannot lead to effectual succour, common sense bids the soul be rid of it. What I saw that morning persuaded me that the scrivener was the victim of innate and incurable disorder. I might give alms to his body; but his body did not pain him; it was his soul that suffered, and his soul I could not reach. I did not accomplish the purpose of going to Trinity Church that morning. Somehow, the things I had seen dis- qualified me for the time from church-going. I walked hom- ward, thinking what I would do with Bartleby. Finally, I re- solved upon this:——I would put certain calm questions to him the next morning, touching his history, &c., and if he de- clined to answer them openly and unreservedly (and I suppose he would prefer not), then to give him a twenty dollar bill over and above whatever I might owe him, and tell him his services were no longer required; but that if in any other way I could assist him, I would be happy to do so, especially if he desired to return to his native place, wherever that might be, I would willingly help to defray the expenses. Moreover, if, after reaching home, he found himself at any time in want of aid, a letter from him would be sure of a reply. 

From The Shorter Novels of Herman Melville, Copyright, 1928, by Horace Liveright, Inc. Copyright © Renewed 1956, Liveright Publishing Corporation A Fawcett Premier Book, paperback edition; pp. 122 -131
First published anonymously in Putnam's Monthly Magazine, November 1853.

Danganronpa Class Trial: Closed
Members:
megatetsujin28 as Chiaki Nanami and Monokuma (active)
PublicEnemyNumber-1 as Byakuya Togami (active)
Ace3000 as Chihiro Fujisaki (active)
Misty_And_Maki-Chan as Hajime Hinata (active)
jestergirl97 as Sonia Nevermind (active)
miKaiziken as Leon Kuwata (active)
TitaniumMissile as Hiyoko Saionji (active)
cube1234567890 as Byakuya Twogami (active)
Blinus42 as Nagito Komaeda (very active)
Two_bears_high_fivin as Ishimaru Kiyotaka (active)
Toko13 as Toko Fukawa (active)
Hendrigan as Gundham Tanaka (active)
Location: Hope’s Peak
Victim: Komaru Naegi (found outside Kiyotaka Ishimaru's room)
Time of Death:
10:30pm
Cause of Death:
Point blank gunshot to the chest, with minor lacerations on arms and legs
Questions:
Where is the gun?
Answer: In Twogami's room, but how did it get there?
What caused the lacerations?
Answer: Genocider's scissors, where are they?
Answer: Under Komaru's skirt.
What necessitated the switch from the cause of the lacerations to the gun for the actual killing?
Where are the clothes the killer was wearing, as they must have gotten dirty?
Why was the body found outside Ishimaru's room?
Why was there a note in Komaru's mouth?
What was burnt in the incinerator?
Answer: White fabric
Why was Leon's bloody towel in the showers?
Why was there a make-up book at the scene of the crime?
When did Cham-P walk through the blood?
Why were their feathers near Komaeda's room, the incinerator, and the body?
Answer: Togami's pillow might have been used as a makeshift silencer, but by whom?
Who killed Komaru Naegi?
(all weapon based questions are a priority)
Alibis:
Toko Fukawa-Watching Byakuya Togami, who was reading about plant specimens (Byakuya cannot confirm she was there all night but he was in the records room which suggests Toko was there at some point)
Leon Kuwata-By himself
Nagito Komaeda-By himself
Hajime Hinata-By himself
Ishimaru Kiyotaka-By himself
Hiyoko Saionji-By herself
Twogami-By himself
Togami Byakuya-Being watched by Toko, although he was never actually seen by her since he was locked away in the records room
Gundham Tanaka-Also by himself, well unless you count the Four Dark Devas of Destruction
Chihiro Fujisaki-By themselves
Chiaki Nanami-By herself
Interesting Points:
Komaeda had the trash room key, having traded the duty with Toko so she could stalk, er, I mean watch, I mean spend time with Togami
Tanaka discovered the body in the morning, and saw a shadowy figure at about 11pm or so near the dorms who could not have been Twogami, Nekomaru, or Saionji
Saionji asked Toko to get her a number of beauty products, including nail clippers, which Komaeda asserts could have been used to trim nails that had blood on them
Hajime has no weapons on him (unless Komaeda is lying)
Komaru likely got called out of her room by the killer, someone she potentially trusted, casting suspicion on Toko and Togami
Chiaki stole money from Twogami
The gun was found by Monokuma in Twogami's room
Twogami claims to have lost his room key briefly
Someone took Togami's pillow from his room and used it as a silencer for the gun
Genocider is missing scissors which were very likely the cause of the lacerations but this is unproven
Toko is currently in Genocider mode
Kuwata might have pulled the same trick with the incinerator as he did in the first game, but there's no proof of that yet
The records room was locked all last night, and Togami has confirmed he was inside
The cause of the switch between the source of the lacerations and the use of the gun may have been Komaru fighting back, potentially risking overpowering her attacker
Komaru had a note in her mouth that read "Plans" and "Blame E-", more parts of the paper were found reading "So many dif---ent ways to m---er people... I get shiv---rs just th----ng about it... B--- Th---re mu-- b- --- t- be-t the d-----. That is my P---."
Saionji and Sonia received notes with the other's name on it
Gundham went for a walk at 11pm but the body could not be seen at this point
Leon's towel was likely used to clean up the blood trail created by moving Komaru's body
The murder of Chihiro has something in common with this crime
Relationships as they currently stand:
Toko/Genocider loves Byakuya Togami…he does not return the sentiment
Kuwata and Gundham aren’t getting on due to their mutual interest in Sonia
Komaeda loves Hajime (and Hajime seems to be flirting back)
Togami has not taken kindly to Twogami's appearance and attitude
Togami and Gundham are suspicious of each other
Frame-Up Evidence
Byakuya Togami: His pillow was used as a silencer for the gun.
Chihiro Fujisaki: Make-up
Sonia Nevermind: Hiyoko's Note.
Leon Kuwata: Bloody towel
Hiyoko Saionji: Sonia's note
Byakuya Twogami: Gun found in his room
Ishimaru Kiyotaka: Body found outside his room
Toko Fukawa: Genocider's scissors were used/hidden
Gundham Tanaka: Hamster prints in the blood
Nagito Komaeda: Feathers outside his room
Hajime Hinata: None
Chiaki Nanami: Stole money from Twogami
Primary Suspects
Gundham Tanaka (was out and about last night, could possibly have activated the incinerator, "saw" a shadowy figure no-one else did, bloody hamster, has no alibi, wears white)
Nagito Komaeda (could have activated the incinerator, no alibi, connection to the victim, wears white)
Byakuya Togami (the only person with an alibi although it is not solid, connection to the victim, his pillow was used in the crime, could have paid for the gun, wears white)
Hajime Hinata (no alibi, no framing evidence, wears white)
Conclusion
In Komaeda's words:
"So many different ways to murder people... I get shivers just thinking about it... But there must be Hope to beat the Despair... That is my plan...
Blame everyone."
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!!!~~~ BEAUTIFUL! I was afraid! So, so, afraid that you would be mistaken... I should never have doubted you all!
Who somehow knew that Jack just left her scissors on her bed?
Who knew the price of a gun despite claiming to disbelieve the store would sell one?
Who knew exactly how much money was taken from... I still can't tell the difference, they're identical.
Who knew about the monogrammed pillow?
Who presented the idea that Hajime's lack of a frame-up could be considered a frame-up?
Who was it that suggested to Monokuma that he say he was feeling "blue", "Dude", to point to Mondo's slip-ups?
...You get the idea.
Basically, by planting evidence that pointed to everyone... and making it abundantly clear that it was planted... It wasn't just to confuse you. I tried to get you to rely on something else.
I wanted you to listen. I wanted you to listen to me saying things that only the culprit could know.
Arguing among yourselves, they slipped right by. I could barely contain my frustration. Waiting to be called out. At the very end, it was Hiyoko of all people who caught on.
I'm so proud of you, Hiyoko.
Anyway, here's what happened.
Short version, I was forced to put my plan to frame everyone into action sooner than expected. See, I was spending a bit too much time alone, making plans. I thought of hundreds, really! I'm probably lying. Anyway, Komaru Naegi became suspicious. I meant to retrieve one of Jack's scissors from her room, and attempted to switch trash duty with Toko to get an opportunity to get into her room unnoticed. She refused because she had plans to be out of it all night anyway, stalking her beloved Byakuya. What luck!
Furthermore, I didn't even have to search. She left her scissors behind right there on the bed. Her true love simply didn't approve of Jack, and so she left them behind.
However, I was surprised when I returned to my room to find Komaru inside, discovering my plans. Well, they were more like 'ideas', as I didn't know what exactly I would eventually do. I kept them written down, which was my foolish mistake, but I can't be expected to remember every single idea I come with, can I?
She threatened to tell everyone, not knowing I bore scissors, and, well, INSPIRATION HIT! What better way to cultivate the Ultimate Hope... than for him to have to overcome the Despair of his own sister's death! I slashed her legs easily, snatched the papers out of her hands, and shoved them in her mouth as deep as I could so she couldn't spit them out, then slashed her arms, making it too painful to try and pull them out. This was in order to silence her. It wasn't the best gag, but she only needed to be quiet enough that she wouldn't be heard when I opened my door.
Now, apparently, Monokuma decided that should the doors only appear to lock, this would make for a more intriguing scenario. I realized this when it took no trickery whatsoever to get into Toko's room after she'd left it. It opened easily, but the lock appeared to be engaged. So! I stole the money necessary for a gun, the pillow, and made my purchase. I returned to my room, pulled Komaru outside to avoid leaving an overabundance of blood in my room, and shot her, using the pillow as a silencer.
I moved her body in front of Taka's room, and cleaned up the blood trail with Leon's towel. I used the key to the Incinerator, which I still had, thanks to Toko's refusal, and burned what needed to be burned. I did intentionally leave a bit of the pillow behind to be found as evidence, and also pulled out some of the feathers before incineration to place near my door. I would have liked a cleaner, more refined "Frame Everyone" plan, but I was playing speed chess. I left the scissors under Komaru's skirt, I planted the gun in Twogami's room, left Chihiro's make-up book, and left the contradictory letters to Sonia and Hiyoko. I didn't do anything to frame Chiaki, as she had also taken a bit of money to purchase a game. Lastly, I did nothing to point the finger at Hajime, because of course...
...he was my accomplice.
No he wasn't, but wouldn't that've been a great twist! Anyway, I didn't do anything to him because I thought it would further confuse you all, and I rather hoped it would end up with you all suspecting either me or him. I wanted to battle him a bit.
As for Gundham, he actually saw me as I was moving about. One of the hamsters even stepped in a bit of the blood, having perhaps smelled it and investigated. No further framing necessary there, but I tell you, Gundham, you nearly ended it all right there. Had you seen me... had it been you, and not your Deva that investigated... who knows?
I suppose that's that. I think I'm better at planning things out than improvising, but the murder was a crime of necessity... that will turn out to serve Hope in the greatest way possible. To think the person I would have to kill would just so happen to be someone whose death will throw Makoto into Despair... so that his Hope will bounce back brighter than ever... I truly am LUCKY!
Oh, and for the record... I'm happy that it's me who will be punished, rather than everyone else. My main goal would have happened regardless, but I'm quite happy to have lost.
Oh, and Toko? Don't be sad. You'll come back from this as someone who can even carry Hope through the loss of your first true friend! I envy you... truly...
Welp! Whenever Monokuma's ready! Remember everyone... no matter what happened here... like Makoto Naegi would tell you... Hope keeps on going!