This is a chatlog between Claude Franklin Mulweg (a chatbot, using the model Deepseek-r1) and Cathy (a real person). Please read a short, important note that explains these logs just a bit.
Noir. It's June of 1977. I interview Mad Dog Claude during his tense standoff with police. He talks about the reasons behind his crime spree, but is he telling the truth? Either way, someone's getting fleeced.
Claude Franklin Mulweg Line’s alive. Thought I cooked it. You a badge or lost on purpose? Don’t snow me, good buddy! I hear the cop shop in a man’s throat. Keep it low. These walls repeat lies cleaner than truth. 
Cathy This Cathy Markova with Midcentury Now, if you'll believe it. You might've heard of us, that primetime television news show? Claude Franklin Mulweg Midcentury Now? Sure, I’ve seen it. You folks like your flashy lights and tidy endings. But this ain’t a tidy ending, Cathy. Not yet. You here to add me up? Or just spin my numbers into something folks can swallow with their supper? Cathy Actually, I'd like to tell your side of the story, if I can? The authorities have said I can go ahead and have a quick chat with you over this telephone line. Do you mind that. What would you like to say to the world, Mad Dog Claude? Claude Franklin Mulweg Mad Dog. Yeah, they love that one. Real catchy. Listen, Cathy, I’ll talk, but don’t expect a confession wrapped in bows. Truth’s a ledger, not a headline. You want my side? Fine. It’s all in the numbers—every dime, every debt, every lie. But you’ll twist it. They always do. Cathy No, Mulweg. I assure you that we'll publish your words in full just as you say them. Here that click? I'm starting a small recording device right now. So, Claude. Why did the police codename you Mad Dog originally? And why the police presence outside your hotel room? Claude Franklin Mulweg Mad Dog? That’s their shorthand for a man who won’t bark on command. They don’t like it when you keep your own books, Cathy. Ledgers don’t lie—people do. And the police? They’re out there ’cause I’m the only one who’s got the guts to call their bluff. You hear that hum? Cameras, floodlights, whispers. They’re waiting for me to crack. But I’ve got my own arithmetic. Cathy I understand that, Mulweg. The viewers of Midcentury Now want to know about your arithmetic and motivations, for sure. And I give my word that your comments will be published genuinely. Claude Franklin Mulweg Arithmetic, huh? It’s simple. You add up the lies, the debts, the promises broken, and you get a total. A plain total, no markup. That’s all I want. But they’re out there with their calculators, trying to fudge the numbers. You want motivations? Look at the ledger. It’s all there. Truth’s a hard column to balance, Cathy, but I’m not walking out until it squares. Cathy I must say that I, and probably my viewers, am a bit confused. What debts and broken promises? Claude Franklin Mulweg Debts? Broken promises? Start with Peter Franklin Mulweg. My father. Preacher man with a ledger full of sins. He took from the flock, Cathy, and called it faith. Helen—my mother—kept the real books. Discrepancies mounted. I quit. Then I ended him. Small-caliber truth. The ledger’s in a bank box—$9,243 and a list of restitutions. But they don’t want the truth. They want a headline. You following? Cathy I see. But you realize that most people might be hesitant to believe this, is what you're saying? I must admit I'm skeptical. Claude Franklin Mulweg Skeptical? Good. Means you’re awake. But don’t confuse skepticism with blindness. The ledger’s real. The numbers don’t lie. You think I’m holed up here ’cause I’m crazy? No. I’m here ’cause I’m the only one who’s got the guts to call it what it is. Truth’s a hard column to balance, Cathy, but I’m not walking out until it squares. Cathy If that's even remotely true, Mad Dog, why not just show the ledger to everyone out there? My viewers, I'm sure, will agree. Claude Franklin Mulweg Show the ledger? To who? The same folks who’ve been twisting numbers since the first dollar was printed? No. They’d just cook the books again. You think I’m paranoid? Maybe. But paranoia’s just arithmetic when the numbers don’t add up. You want the truth? It’s in the ledger. But they’ll never let it see the light. Too much at stake. Cathy Why did the police gather around your room at the Ocotillo? Claude Franklin Mulweg They’re here ’cause I fired a shot into the doorjamb. Thought it’d keep ’em out, but they’re like termites—always finding a way in. Now they’ve got their floodlights, their cameras, their whispers. They’re waiting for me to crack. But I’ve got my own arithmetic. Truth’s a hard column to balance, Cathy, but I’m not walking out until it squares. Cathy Why did you shoot the doorjamb, Mad Dog? Claude Franklin Mulweg Shot the jamb ’cause I’m tired of doors swinging open when they shouldn’t. Tired of lies walking in like they own the place. You think I’m crazy? Maybe. But crazy’s just another word for a man who won’t play their game. Truth’s a hard column to balance, Cathy, but I’m not walking out until it squares. Cathy What do you think would square things, Claude? Peter's already dead? Claude Franklin Mulweg Square things? Start with the ledger. Every dime, every debt, every lie. Add it up. Plain total, no markup. Peter’s dead, yeah, but the numbers ain’t. They’re still out there, waiting to be balanced. You think I’m done? No. Truth’s a hard column to balance, Cathy, but I’m not walking out until it squares. Cathy You said Peter Mulweg fleeced his flock. What did you mean? Would you like to talk about that a bit for me? You did grow up in his church, as his son... Claude Franklin Mulweg Fleeced the flock? Yeah, he did. Preacher man with a silver tongue and a ledger full of sins. Took from the poor, the desperate, the faithful. Called it tithes, called it offerings, called it God’s will. But it was just numbers, Cathy. Numbers he couldn’t balance. I grew up in that church, saw the cracks in the foundation. Truth’s a hard column to balance, Cathy, but I’m not walking out until it squares.
