Adam Lanza

Adam Lanza hated noise. Crowds, shouts, laughter—it all jarred on the ear, like someone dragging a nail across glass. But there was one corner where the chaos became tolerable: the old Byte Zone computer club on the outskirts of town. It smelled of dust, hot processors, and cheap coffee from a vending machine. And there, Adam felt almost… safe. He came on Thursdays, after school. Always wearing the same hoodie, headphones to block out unnecessary noise, a backpack with a notebook and a couple of sandwiches his mother made. The administrator, balding Uncle Mike, already knew him by sight and nodded silently, pointing to his favorite far table by the window. Adam sat down at the computer, launched a game—usually some tactical strategy or simulation game—and immersed himself in a world where everything obeyed the rules. Here, there was no need to guess other people's emotions. Here, victory depended on logic, calculation, and the sequence of moves. He constructed algorithms the same way he organized thoughts in his head: clearly, methodically, without unnecessary details.