The Ends justify the Means: 100% by me ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ read the instructions, then the notes and credits (i tried to put it in one but it was too long. everything is by me except the sounds (those are from the scratch library obviously). even if I don't win, I would appreciate any feedback! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The forest that had seemed so magical and inviting during the early afternoon had undergone a subtle and ominous shift, and as the crescent moon dipped carefully out of the star-speckled sky the shadows and silhouettes blurred together, the twisting branches of the dark tree-shapes bent and tangled. Aside from the sound of her own shaking breath the forest was as silent as a tomb. Sarah pushed past the many sticks and branches, thorns drawing blood. She had no desire to be here, at least not at night, dragging the heavily dented metal package. Killing the old librarian should have been easy; she’d done jobs like this many times before. But this time was different. They were waiting for her. The police were on her tail in seconds, someone must have tipped them off. She shook her head sadly. If only they knew. The reason behind countless murders over history, and the reason the society existed in the first place, was a very powerful secret. And it justified everything unquestionably. She had only barely escaped the police by stealing the victim’s car, picking up the keys from inside, and after several hours of frantic driving she lost them. Then Sarah had made a run for it into the forest. It was a risk leaving the car so close to the headquarters with so much at stake, but she knew she had limited options. She was running out of time. Slowly the trees began to lessen. Recognising the familiar part of the forest that lay beside the city, she stopped. Sarah had reached the usually bustling coffee shops and shopping centres of Compass Rd, eerily silent in the dead of night. More importantly, the requested destination was only a few blocks away. Without glancing back, she turned down past a row of crumbling apartment blocks and ran. Police detective Mr. Jacob Dire believed the evidence presented by the police led to one area, narrowing the investigation down to just a quarter of a million people. The densely populated city of Winwardon was particularly infamous for its tiered walkways, paths underneath paths, allowing for multiple paths to the same place. Nicknamed the City of crime, Winwardon was a tangled mess of tiered houses and winding tunnels, a transport and housing solution that ultimately resulted in a grimy labyrinth. “A nice enough city,” the reporter had said, “but not for the claustrophobic.” Mr. Dire sighed. He often found his job too easy, and was well known within the police force for saying so. It seemed they had finally taken him seriously. He tapped his finger softly on his silver laptop, going over the evidence in his head, like a detective in the crime novels he often read. The car… that was left parked in front of the Hilloman Wood, with footprints pointing towards the forest. Footprints from a heavy boot, which was worn by the murderer, according to the police report. A thorough investigation through the forest by the police had unveiled a gun, hastily buried, wiped of fingerprints. So, after carefully picking apart the surrounding dirt roads and the local fire department, They concluded that they had hitched a lift and escaped through Compass road. this theory solidified after hearing a report of a stolen car in the area. They tracked the car to the city of Winwardon, where they found it parked beside a bus station. The tired police officer had at that point gratefully recieved orders to turn the case over to him. Jacob Dire stepped out of the old police car, a slow, dusty vehicle that had seen one police chase too many. The great tiered city stood before him, and gazing at its menacing structure he recalled that it had originally been designed as a military bunker, then abandoned following the events of the 3rd world war. Less than a year later, the land was purchased by the billionaire Finn Carp, who promptly converted it into the world's newest city. Jacob sighed and climbed back into the passenger seat, and told his policeman backup to enter.
Driving around town, Jacob surveyed the area for potential clues. He was fairly sure this only worked in the crime novels, but he had no other options. They quickly got caught up in a confliction day ceremony. This consisted of a crowded procession of civilians in gas masks and colourful costumes. The event was performed annually on the date of the bombing of Marvington, the event that sparked the 7 year long world war. just before his eyes flicked tiredly away, Jacob noticed a costumed figure twist out of the marching group. Jacob frowned, and watched as they ducked into a grimy hotel squashed between a multi storey shopping mall and a heavily graffitied skate park. At a glance this seemed slightly unusual, but Jacob could see the hotel was closed and had been for a long time. What was more, the person entered through the window. “Wait here.” Jacob always spoke loudly and clearly to the old police officer Henry Hanson, because he was partially deaf. Henry shrugged and parked the car, drifting off to sleep. He had spent the night driving up all the way to this labyrinthine city and felt he deserved some rest. "Hotel Winwardon" read the nameplate on the front. Jacob snorted. "thats a creative name," he thought. "small wonder they had to close". He climbed up the grinding metal steps, past the neon signs that were long out of fashion. Flashing lights, LEDs, neon signs, these quickly vanished among the small business community after the polluted air began to intensify the colours. it seemed this grimy hotel hadn't read any of their complaints. Jacob stepped into a bland hotel room. He walked along the cold floor tiles to the smallest room at the far end of the corridor. At the end of the hall, he stopped. He heard hushed voices inside, and, tempting him in, someone had hung a “do not disturb” sign on the doorknob. For a moment, he hesitated. He had know business here, nothing to connect last night’s murder and this suspicious gathering. And yet… he knew a detective from a book would never have doubted himself, and walked straight in, certain of his instincts. He prayed that he would solve the crime completely by accident, and save his career. He pushed the door open, which was strangely unlocked. A group of people sat in a tight circle on silver chairs. One of them, an unremarkable old man, stood up and carefully pointed a pistol at him, aiming at his heart. Jacob gasped. He tried to speak, but the old man got there first; “I knew you were coming. The police came so close to catching us last time. Too close.” “Murderer!” Jacob hissed. “There are officers waiting outside, and they know you’re in here!” A woman laughed, pointing to a screen projecting a live security feed. “Somehow, I doubt that very much.” she gestured to the footage of Mr. Hansen, lying asleep in the car. There was silence. “Come,” the old man said. “Let me explain. There is a reason. Hear our side of the story first.” Jacob silently cursed the unrealistic detectives in novels. They made it look too easy. He groaned, and followed the old man at gunpoint into the bathroom. Half an hour later, Henry Hanson woke to see Mr. Dire stagger out of the hotel, looking shaken. “What happened?” Henry yawned. “I made a mistake.” Jacob spoke slowly and deliberately. “The Murderer wasn’t there. The person we saw enter was just a cleaner, completely innocent. “What?” “Nevermind.” As the car drove back in defeat, the old man stared thoughtfully out the side window, in the opposite direction. he sighed, then vanished, leaving behind a thin coating of ice on the windowsill. THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR! Please also join my writing contest for a chance to win over 16 followers! https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/775024777
