Dear, dear Karl,
I will work on the assumption that you had no idea of yesterday's horrible, monstrous effects on the city of New Houston. If this proves to be untrue, and I find out that you really did mean to cause that messy… meltdown, I will find you and make sure that you do not forget the faces of the men, women, and children that you so "unwittingly" murdered.
I find it absolutely terrible that someone with your caliber of strength would even imagine to do something so horrid, that even us quaint thieves, bandits, and ne'er-do-wells on the roads of the Del Rio-Canadian Highway have heard rumors—rumors that include words which are most definitely not synonymous with "good", "pleasant", or "deserving of life". This truly shocks me, mainly because I was of the opinion that in a world where even the old man might be able to stab your mind with his eyesight, large-scale evil would disappear. I mean, of course the small stuff would always be around—no police, no worries, as you know—but lines of betrayal and revenge are absolutely revitalized in this time of disorder, so I hope your family and friends know of your stupidity. Stupidity in even being associated with such a tragedy, if you really claim innocence.
However, for the sake of my letter to you today, I will assume you've committed the crime, but didn't mean to lash out in such a heated manner. As you probably know, this is a judgement made by my own attitudes towards the natural goodwill of humans in this day and age, and not the result of an analysis by a post-apocalyptic news station. Even though, ironically, this would be the best time for 24-hour news in a world where you're not even sure if the Earth still spins at the same rate. Those strange, walking, wire-like, artificially intelligent monstrosities known as the Journalism Robots, or the Jo-bots, if you will, have been spitting serious misinformation and bias since their conception, but there's not really much else to get info from. I'd stay away from large settlements if I were you.
Of course, surely you also realize that just because the world is half-empty because of some disaster from space doesn't mean you get to act as if the world is completely empty. Remember that the things you do have consequences, Karl. Know that anyone you come across could potentially have the key to defeating you, so keep your temper.
You know, all of this reminds me of when I was still finding my way around the beautiful business of dangerous living, back when I had decided to settle on kidnapping (something that hadn't worked out and caused me to change course, after a certain gaseous gal escaped too easily and almost killed me). We met at what was left of a bar, remember? The piano was playing and the rain outside was comforting, if a little wet. The wood walls were dim in the lighting, and blended the sounds of rain, song, and chatter into a calm scatter. You were so young and powerful and fiery in that time, powerful because of your acclaimed drive to do more. You wanted to see past the strange skylines of living buildings, past cyber-trees, past lands burned by radiation and haunted by those with unfathomable powers…It seems you've failed slightly, hm? Causing a catastrophe like the rest, and making everyone who survived sweat a little more. I mean, I'm sure there's still time to get back on your original plan of action…Of course, that was quite some time ago…
Why am I even writing to you, you may still ask? Well, if you haven't figured it out, it's finally happened, after crossing paths with you several times to the point where I wonder why we aren't quite enemies or quite friends yet:
I've been contracted to kill you. And I'm giving you ten days before I start trying to track you down. As I write this from a low-lying apartment room, I can already feel the sun shining on my blades as my blood pumps, my heart fueled by the thought of another job done. For now though, it's dark out tonight, really dark, frankly, and a little chilly. I'm not well-bundled in layers, but perhaps I'll be able to afford to buy some from the market after I'm through with you.
I think you already know I have a talent for sniffing out blood with my blades, a talent which made me so fit for tracking and hunting ventures; and if you're wondering where I got a sample of your life juice, look no further than those who also wish you dead. Again, I'm giving you time to either end yourself or expose yourself. The end result will be the same, but I'm "cutting you some slack" because I think you weren't that ill-meaning.
Your pal,
Lekter, Primary Hitman from Roth Incorporated.
P.S: If you were wondering how this letter got to you, don't. I will admit though that the new carrier birds are a wonder—And don't worry about me putting a tracker on the bird, because 1) I wasn't able to find a suitable tracker in time and 2) I do like a challenge =D