That night I had a dream. Actually it was more of a flashback, if anything. I was young, no more than five. I was playing with a ball in the basement of my uncle Ron and aunt Judy, the ball rolled away from me, and went into the far corner of the room. When I went to pick it up I noticed a door in the floor. Curiosity overtaking me, I went to go open it when my uncle stopped me. I awoke covered in sweat and breathing heavily......

The police said her name was Dorothy Chambers. The new owners discovered her when they were cleaning out the basement for storage. She was reported missing July 18th 1984, two years before I was born. The news devastated my family. No one could have believed my uncle was capable of this. Next to her body, or at least what hadn't decomposed over the years was a note that simply said "Don't worry, she is free. They're all free". The police found three more bodies buried under the tool shed in the back yard. Any doubt that was still in me was now gone. This was the right thing to do.

I still don't know exactly how killing a person releases them, and yourself, from bondage. I suppose it's its like a nuclear bomb, most people don't know the mechanics of it, just that it work's. It's becoming increasingly more difficult to be around people now. Going to the city isn't even an option anymore. All those chains rattling against the pavement, its almost as if their crying out to me, begging me to release them. It will all be over soon, the pain of knowing will go away and I will have saved innocent children from eternal damnation. This is my only solace.

My father and late uncle were avid hunters and gun collectors, so finding a means to free the children was obvious. There was plenty of ammunition that my father stored in his closet. The guns on the other hand were kept under heavy lock. This was actually a blessing in disguise, because it brought me to what I have with me right now. When my uncle passed away he gave my father his prized elephant gun, it even had bullets to go along with it. I wouldn't call them bullets as much as I would call them tank shells, these things were huge. The best part about them wasn't their size though. These were miniature bombs. Back when hunting elephants was legal, there was competition between companies to produce a quality gun and ammunition for the big game hunters. This lead to the creation of the Dulzer gun and round. This gun and ammunition is fully capable of bringing down a large target with incredible force, and all thanks to creators idea. William Dolzer but a high quality explosive in the head of the bullet so that when it hit the target, it exploded. This idea made Dolzer incredibly rich, until people realized that you didn't just have to use the gun for elephants. Governments around the world banned production of the gun and ammunition. At first, the gun was kept in a glass container above the fireplace in the living room. Whenever we had company over, my father would show off the gun and tell of its rich history. After the news broke though, my father felt ashamed by it. He was split, he admired the rich craftsmanship, but at the same time it reminded him of his brother-in-law and the "atrocity" he committed.

I wish I could have told my father the truth, but he never would have believed me. It wasn't fair that my uncle and people like him are labeled monsters. They are heroes, putting themselves in danger to help people. If he had been caught before he freed that girl, then all those other people then him, and all those other people he helped would be were my aunt is right now and for the rest of eternity. He was a savior to those people, and now, so will I.....