This week: The funeral

Crap country playing quietly on the jukebox in the corner of the pub, Arthur and George sat sipping their pints in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. It had been a beautiful ceremony, just a few family members and close friends. Some little touches he would have appreciated. His black 'Predator' PlayStation controller clasped in his hands upon his chest, he had looked almost beautiful in death.

'A life in games' had been the theme of the vicar's address, and the gathering responded in time honoured fashion by getting out their Game Boys and WonderSwans and completely ignoring him. He would have liked that.

Many in the church couldn't choke back their sobs when the game of Actua Soccer was played by the font, the sound turned off (though most agreed afterwards that the sending off had been a disgrace). The whole place had wept openly when the coffin was finally carried out, the ageing organist making a brave attempt at a section of soft, eerie background music from Tomb Raider.

But the nagging, tragic thought on everyone's mind as he was lowered into the ground was, "Why?" Why did he have to go and take his own three lives when so many opponents over the years had tried to wrest them from him by force? It was such a waste.

Arthur solemnly regarded his friend. "I know why he did it."