You are standing over the person that tortured and murdered your family ... what do you do ?

His eyes quiver as mine stared daggers. He knows exactly who I am and his body quashes any attempt to hide that fact. His mouth moves, spouting out some sort of noise. The coward is probably begging for his miserable life. I ca n't hear them, not over the echoes of those he targeted with his sins. 
 
 Some would hesitate to call it more than `` torture,'' if that. But those people are short-sighted. Or they just stay too far to see the real damage. They've never known the pain of searching for a specific type of prompt. They've never painstakingly programmed a bot to flag posts as they reach the queue. They've never watched a writer struggle to find that one prompt, the one that speaks to them. Not for lack of trying, but because the two letter code in square brackets that is supposed to precede prompts was missing. They've never seen someone driven to madness to find perfection, driven to end their quest via coiled rope. 
 
 What they *say* never matters anyway. Ender *did* kill them. He did n't tie the rope or kick the stool, but he urged their use. And if somebody does n't stop him, there'd be more pain. 
 
 `` You know who I am,'' I ask, not waiting for a response. `` So you know why I'm here.'' 
 
 `` B-but I added [ WP ] in the text,'' he pleads. 
 
 `` Not in the title. Not where it was needed. And now,'' I reach into my pocket. `` I think it's time to teach you a little lesson.'' 
 
 He curls into a ball as my hand resurfaces. He ca n't bear to watch the projectile tear through the air at him. The card slices the air by his throat, just far enough to avoid drawing blood. He must have been expecting something a little more final. 
 
 `` What is this?'' he cries. 
 
 His hand fumbles around on the floor until it finds enough grip to collect the card. 
 
 `` It's our sidebar,'' I tell him just in case he's having trouble reading. `` It lists out the rules and proper tags. All this extra searching to find your prompts makes my hand tired. When my hand gets tired, it ca n't aim as well as it should. You best read that before these cards stop missing your neck.''
