So I want you to pick a juror. Any juror. That’s not me! No picking me! And I want you to describe how you would murder them. And no I don’t want you picking your xd best friend and murder them with a hug or some gay shit. I want you to pick the juror you did not get along with in this game, explain WHY you are murdering them, and then describe in the most tiny details how you would end their life.
The juror I am picking is Johnathon Benducci. The reason why I am murdering him is because he dared to disrespect my game and act like he knew who was running the show when he didn't last long enough to make it to the show. It insulted me that he was @Ing me when Logan was going to take his jury vote.
Let's set the scene. John is just leaving the home of a client, he works long hard hours as a nail technician and is tired. He engages in small talk with his employee as I slip into the backseat of his car, wearing a mask. With me is my small briefcase of supplies. I am prepared with my ammo of murderous tools. John is extremely exhausted and so he gets into his car, buckles in and starts driving, while I am laying on the floor, mere inches away, in front of his back seats. Now, John often gets calls from extremely weird clients, and this one was especially unusual. 86 year old Dorothy lives alone in a cabin, perched at the top of a cliff. There is a single road that goes around the cliff to the top of Dorothy’s house, with no ledge surrounding it. If John makes one wrong turn, he’ll be flung into the deadly waters down below and I won’t be able to have the pleasure of watching the thick viscous liquid drip from his body until he is no more. As terrible as he is as a juror, luckily, he is somewhat competent at driving. John drives down the road and feels an unusual chill go down his spine as if there’s an unwanted presence near him…..
John finally reaches the bottom of the road and exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding. What a night. John takes a second to look over at his watch. It’s 2 am in the morning. John SCREAMS as he slams into something and curses for not keeping his eyes on the road. John reaches for his flashlight and exits the car. He takes a breath, looks over and sees that he has murdered a stray deer. John is shaking as he tries to hold in his sobs. He looks around and notices that no one is around him, and so he takes the deer and with all his strength, he pushes it into the trunk of his car. Oddly enough, this scenario feels vaguely familiar, yet foreshadowing at the same time for John. He runs back into his car, slams the door shut and locks everything. He looks over to the right and notices there’s a large deliberate tear going across the passenger seat of his car. He shakes but decides to dismiss it as something he had missed. John can barely hold onto his steering wheel at this point, and he contemplates calling his mother for some comfort. He shakes away the thought and instead inserts a track of classical piano music into his VCR Player. Bad choice. The music is incredibly haunting and John isnt able to change the track. Wolfgang Amadeus has him second guessing every choice in life he’s ever made.
John sucks it up and continues to drive home. After passing a car accident on the main road, he has to alternate and switch to a highway that he has never been on. The highway is completely empty and at this point John is freaking out. He mistakenly takes a wrong turn and it’s at this point that I lurch forward and grab his arms. John delivers a blood curdling scream as I punch him in the throat, knocking out his windpipe temporarily. After stopping the vehicle, I take his arms as he is recovering from shock and use a rope to tie them to the back of his seat. He sobs in terror as I take out my butcher’s knife and slit his right arm 25 times, one for each year he has lived. I then repeat the process on the left arm, this time with a dagger, 25 slits again, this time one slit for each year he won't live to see. I make sure the scars go all the way up to his shoulders and aren't nearly enough to kill him. I want to prolong the suffering. Rumour has it John Benducci has 9 lives.
I take out my Morphe X302 painting brush and dip into my liquid rat poison. I paint long light strokes on John’s arms, to further infect his wounds. He screams and cries and begs me to stop, and I catch a look of surrender in his eyes. I then use long acrylic nails to slice open John’s knees, and that's when the blood starts to pour ever so slowly. As John is begging for the help that will never be found, I take his head and bang it against the steering wheel. I douse the car with a small amount of gasoline and decide to give John a nice bath as well. The gasoline and blood mix together to form a haunting halloween orange. Poetic. John Benducci is practically weeping at this point, if he can actually get his sobs out. I take this moment to the carved sides of my spear to dig into his throat with a nice, clean slit.
As I watch the blood seep through the car and see the body getting ready to turn into a corpse, I decide there’s one task left. The last thing I do before John closes his eyes for the last time in his life is take off my mask. I want him to know who murdered him. The final thing John Benducci will see in his life is the face of Blue Ivory Birkishma, who will forever haunt him in hell. I walk away as I light a match and throw it through the hood of the car. I laugh at the rather pathetic display of pity, the last look in his eyes. Silly little bird. Shouldn't have tried to mess up my game.
