Two police officers knocked politely but sternly on an apartment door in suburban Texas. As often happened, the heat index here was well over 100--heat in the 90s with high humidity, giving the whole outdoor world an oppressive weight that encouraged people none-so-gently to stay inside, or at least in the shade. The police officers, as ever, had a job to do, though, and took the heat in stride.

If anything was strange here, it wasn't them, the heat, the time or day, nor even the apartment, but the five-foot-four woman dressed in white silks with an eight-foot staff who stood behind them. The heat didn't bother her, and indeed her pale skin didn't flinch back from the sun when she stood a little bit back from the building. It was true, if not completely obvious, that she was mostly bored by the whole process, although she like many people understood the necessity of her presence.

The man who opened the door (that's me, by the way--we'll get to that later) was obviously adapted to being inside. I squinted out into the sunlight, my eyes travelling from the police officers to the woman in white with increasing resignation on my face.

"You are Jerry Applebee, who recently returned from entering the Pearland Dungeon?"

"Yes."

"We have some questions for you about what we believe to have been player-killing incidents in the Dungeon. Would you be willing to answer some questions?"

The look of resignation could have been answer enough, but the way these things work, I had to say things out loud. "Yes, that's fine."

"It was reported that a man matching your description turned in three PCs at the level 20 checkpoint for resurrection and admitted to being responsible for their deaths. Do you know anything about this?"

"That was me."

"So you admit to having killed three Dungeoneers?"

"Yes."

"Have you committed any other killings in your time in the Dungeon?"

My eyes swept to the woman in white, who bore a look of studious concentration. "I committed a total of five killings in the dungeon. Two... I turned their bodies over to an NPC and I believe them to have been destroyed."

The police turned their eyes to the woman, who nodded. "That appears to be accurate."

"We would like you to come down to the police station. At this time, you have a right to refuse, but if you do we will return with a warrant. In either case, you have the right to remain silent..."

In all honesty, my trial was more fair than I deserved, owing in no small part to my willingness to admit to my faults, sometimes even over the objection of my lawyer. Moreso, I'm sure, my crimes were whitewashed by my skin, newfound wealth, and status as a dungeoneer. The bodies turned in for resurrection were, in the end, almost inconsequential--but the two who were permanently gone were a more serious charge.

Even that, though, was mitigated by the fact that I "merely" transferred ownership of their bodies, used by the Dungeon to resurrect them, to an NPC. Setting aside the criminal intent and the consequences, the dungeon itself had done the deed, after I had proven my willingness to turn bodies over for resurrection, which my lawyer successfully used to argue my charges down from "murder" to "voluntary manslaughter" charge.

Which still resulted in heavy fines and jail time, but at that point, I was not keen on resisting. I could have--not legally, I mean, but physically. As a dungeoneer at level 21, I could probably have broken out of the courtroom and led a reasonably successful manhunt until they found some other adventurer with the right set of skills to capture and/or kill me.

But, I like to think, the whole issue came to a head when the priestess overseeing the questioning and verifying my responses asked me a very simple question:

"So you regret killing them?"

My response was longer winded than simply "yes", but it got there, and she gave me a particular look before informing the court that to the best of her divinatory ability, I really did regret the killing, and in particular did not want to repeat the crime ever again. They repeated the question a few other ways to make sure I wasn't weaseling my way out of the truth-reading with any specific combination of half-truths, but after only a short while they appeared satisfied that it was the truth, and things went a little more smoothly.

Smoothly in the sense that I was effortlessly fined two hundred thousand dollars and given thirty months in jail.