[Leonard D Neubache]

Quote:

I called my ex-boyfriend, a relative, and a friend, told them I had been raped, and asked the three of them to come to Rochester. I said I had a plan. They didn't ask questions.

Oh yeah. Don't want the story... uhh... retelling to get bogged down, right?

Quote:

My ex hopped a train from Indiana to Rochester and the others came in from Chicago. Over the next three days, we held private discussions in my bedroom, met up with Sean's roommates, and talked to his friends. The consensus was that our plan was fair.

So the whole community was in on Sean's beating, including his room-mates and friends, and he never caught wind of it. Sounds legit.

Quote:

Two weeks after the assault, we were ready. My ex-boyfriend and I drove to Sean's house blasting Tupac's "Hail Mary" and rapping along to the intro: "I ain't a killer, but don't push me. Revenge is like the sweetest joy..."
The other two drove separately. We parked our cars a few blocks away from Sean's house, adjusted our ski masks, and clenched our fists.

Walking a few blocks with ski-masks on? What are they, five feet from the north pole? I wonder if the ski-mask crew were cool with being outed at a later date?

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"Ready?" "Ready." We walked through snow flurries to Sean's street. I approached the front door and knocked. Sean answered. Before he could say anything, my ex-boyfriend punched him twice in the face, picked him up, and threw him into a glass coffee table.

Front door opens into the living room, we can assume. I suppose Sean opened the door in the dead of night for a stranger in a ski mask, so complacently that he couldn't even try to shut it before taking several shots in the face (multiple shots before he could even flinch).

Quote:

The four of us ran to where he fell and administered blind punches and kicks, as though button-mashing in Street Fighter. I bludgeoned Sean's pudgy body with a sock-n-lock as my ex-boyfriend screamed, "You don't rape our friends and get away with it!"

Lots of space for four people to get around a single prone man lying in the remains of what used to be a glass coffee table. Enough space even to swing a lock-in-a-sock.

A cynic might be forgiven for thinking this is all a load of bullshit.
Ultra stylised masturbatory bullshit for that matter.