Kimveer Gill is not alone. He's got his acolytes and his groupies.

This revelation is chilling, as disturbing in its own way as the shooting spree that last week brought the 25-year-old assassin all the notoriety his twisted heart craved. A bullet in the head — self-administered but he was going down anyway — hasn't arrested the phenomenon that was Gill Unbound.

Amidst the tears and the rage, the perplexity of trying to fathom what pushed Gill from alleged outcast to gun-pumping murderer, there is also evolving a cult of icon-worshippers, excuse-mongers and those who reject the very notion of apology or contrition.

It is with reservations that I cite in this column the profanity-laced contents of an email I received a few days ago. There is no way to confirm the genuineness of this correspondent's sentiments — might be all adolescent braggadocio, the fulminations of a nobody pining to be a somebody. Rather like Gill, come to think. But she certainly sounds authentic in her screed.