Conaway's Catacombs

After being paraded around for the Courtroom, I was sent to an evidence room in the basement of the Clarence M. Mitchell, Jr. Courhouse. They should just call that place Conaway's Catacombs. I met Frank Conaway. He came over and fondled me one afternoon. His family comes into the Courthouse at all times of the day and night and treat the place like their personal flophouse. The family eats and eats and eats there and never clean up after themselves.

Each night, after the Conaways had finished gorging themselves on the biggest shrimp boxes I had ever seen, they would leave and turn out all the lights. Then, about five minutes later, it was go time and the rodents would appear on cue. THERE ARE RATS THE SIZE OF DOGS IN THAT BUILDING. Hundreds of them! Every night, they drink from the Judge's coffee cups, and lick the keyboards of the clerks computers to eat the crumbs out of them. They urinate in the elevators, and breed on the prosecutor's desks. Every time they came near me, I booted up just to scare them off. God knows how this man Conaway and his family must live in their home. This is the most digusting building I have ever known. Even my controllers, which were made in Guangzhou, China and have seen far worse conditions than I, were scared shitless.

This went on for a few weeks. At long last, I was told by a confiscated cell phone on the 1st of December that a jury had been reached in our trial. We were guilty. I was grateful as I was certain I would receive time served for my incarceration and be back in young Master's clutches within a few days.