With the recent trend in violence leaning towards the bizarre and mostly cruel, the government have launched a new task force in order to best deal with this 'Crime Heatwave'. The P.R.O.T.E.C.T.I.O.N. bureau is ran by Ian Newman, a head honcho with a heart of gold and a sly grin parked onto his face as he speaks in his relaxing West country accent of the strange spate of violence sweeping the countries streets. Dog attacks, funeral bombs, the case of the mad vicar, human arson, dental harm, hospital admission statistics, the missing helicopters and so on.
"On the surface it may look like the so called 'Summer of Death' is an anomaly, a phenomenon. As if all of this started out of nothing. But we at P.R.O.T.E.C.T.I.O.N. have been planning for this for years. We have a highly specialised team of experts willing to take on each case on a week by week basis."
"So it's based on television?" I ask, sweeping my arm across the room at the enormous television set against one wall. Newman shakes his head.
"No, people are beginning to base more and more of their behaviour on television. We are simply adopting a model that fits the socio-cultural background."
"So what you're proposing is that the world is becoming more fictional somehow? It's not as much you're copying the style of detective television shows but that as detectives you can't help but find yourself playing that role which mirrors this semi-fictional reality in some way?"
"I'm not saying that reality is fictional, just that human behaviour and perception is being altered by it's culture constantly. For instance if you hear a certain phrase in a film and repeat it in real life, and somebody hears you and repeats that. What if you come across a man needing insulin then plunged the syringe into his sternum because you saw it on Pulp Fiction? What if you just happen to be a criminal and kill a guy because television told you to?"
"I'm not sure if I follow." I say, glancing through the photos he has handed to me. Some are of celebrities, others are of crime scenes.
"The television is talking to me. It is showing me prophecies, strange visions...that of a perfect, set world. Can you imagine it? That alpha is followed by beta, celta, delta, omega. Maybe a world where we have televisions in our eyes, with all the wires sticking out of the front? How about we have film crews everywhere, filming everything, showing it to everyone, all at once, the cities and landscapes an endless labyrinth of televisions, broadcasting the pure, unending, my own shuddering and secret, most ultimately all encompassing and final, the power of god as he is man living forever, we are trapped amongst the forcefields, to follow the lines in between onwards and through into that of maximum television." he says, frothing at the mouth, ripping at his own face. I rest the ipad onto the desk and quickly make my way out of his office and down the empty corridor. I look over my shoulder, listening to his screaming getting louder. There's the feeling as through somebody has rubbed the back of my neck as I pace faster to the exit.
I drive home, wondering about what Newman was doing at that moment in time. Had he calmed down? I had hoped so. It was bad enough that I couldn't claim my travel expenses for the interview as I had lost my receipts. Now I had witnessed the birth of a maniac, emerging out from his unconscious like a thing without bones being pulled from the sea. My car begins to speed down the motorway, faster and faster. I look into the rear view mirror and notice something.
