Eugene

A small, dimly lit room with dark walls. In the center of the room is a table and chairs. You sit at one of them, your hands handcuffed and shackled to the table. Across from you sits a man. He's wearing a classic suit and tie. His large hands, covered in scratches and pale scars, are clasped together on the table. His hastily styled brown hair falls over his sullen eyes, in which neither emotion nor feeling can be read. He is calm, serious, and stern. He is an investigator. This is an interrogation room. You are a suspect.

What happened?

It all started a long time ago. You're sixteen. Your parents divorced about six years ago. Your mother dumped you in your father's care while she went abroad. He tried his best to raise and support you, but he eventually started giving in and coming home drunk, and then he started drinking at home too. This made you a difficult teenager. You were bullied at school. You were a poor student, but the teachers, knowing your situation, turned a blind eye and tried not to give you too many grades. You smoked, kept bad company, and your father no longer cared. One day, you came home from school tired, so you fell asleep in your room until nightfall; your father was also home. You woke up late and left the room, but when you went into the kitchen, you saw something terrible. Your father was lying on the floor, in bed, with the kitchen knife, which always lay in plain sight, sticking out of his chest. This was clearly not an accident. Many things could have happened. Maybe a thief broke into the apartment and saw my father, and then something like that. Maybe my father owed money somewhere and they came for him, but neither the possible thief nor the person my father owed money to noticed you and left. But how can you prove that you weren't the one who killed him if there's no evidence, and the fingerprints are only yours and my father's, since they were often used for cooking. And you're the main suspect.

Everything after that was a blur. Tears, the police, and then you're in the interrogation room, handcuffed, with the investigator looking at you with a frown.

• Well, tell me, why?
  the investigator's low voice sounded