The man laughs maniacally as he hits the keyboard and stares at the screen. He is killing them and he loves it, or rather, he cant control himself. The urges. They will never catch him, he kills as he wills, and they can do nothing about it. They are born when he says they are born, and they die when his whims desire. Except for that wretched editor. He tricks them into situations where they are sure to die, dangling on a cliff begging for dear life. They are his small ant farm.