Misunderstandings have deadly Consequences (Short Mega Story)

The Deadly Consequences of Misunderstanding 

By

@Gamerguy1991

"Dispatch, this is Officer Daniels, I'm on patrol through Battery East, I just passed the Golden Gate Welcome Center, nothing to report thus far." God, this job is mundane, I thought I would be saving lives, getting in car chases, being a real hero.
Instead, I get to walk down this same uneven path every day, making sure no one is fucking, keeping the homeless from sleeping or doing drugs under the Bridge, and if I get really lucky, arresting a hooker, or two. Still, getting to see Golden Gate every day, I mean, if I have to waste my life walking up and down, busting people's chops for no reason except my paycheck, at least I get to see something beautiful. Maybe I should not take this job for granted, I do get to walk down a nice path, see incredible nature, and hell, few people bother me out here. Maybe, just maybe, this is better than I thought.
"Officer Daniels... Officer Daniels!" I hear my name shouted over the radio, startling me so greatly my heart skips a beat. "Yes, Dispatch?" I speak nervously, she must have been trying to tell me something for several minutes... "Well, there's the missing officer." God, I hated Sharon's sarcastic tone, she could never even pretend to care. "We have reports of a deranged male a few thousand feet from your position on Battery East. He is about six foot four, black, wearing baggy shorts, sandals, and a dark blue shirt covered in stars. At first, it was reported to be a seizure, someone tried to help and call 911, then he knocked the phone away from the individual, and started bouncing down the path making loud aggressive noises."
This man must be on drugs, high off his ass, he could hurt someone... "Is the man armed?" I inquire as my heart rate skyrockets. "We are unsure, there may have been a bulge in his right pants pocket." Could be a small pistol... "The person he attacked, how badly were they injured?" Sharon's tone became serious and robotic, "It was an elderly male, he fell to the ground and hit his head, he is en route for medical care." "Understood Dispatch, I am pursuing the assailant, send back up." I then rush down the winding path towards the lunatic, my hand reaches to draw my Glock as I hear screams ahead of me. I come to a group blocking the left-hand path to Fort Point Overlook, I holster my pistol as I notice they appear all to be frightened, angry, and arguing amongst themselves until I show up.
"Officer, Officer," A young woman frantically calls for my attention. " This man was running, screaming, and he knocked over my 5-year-old little girl." I look down seeing the sobbing child, who appeared to be battered and bruised, the anger swells inside. "She is ok, but very scared, worse though, he was swinging his huge arms around in all directions, he could knock someone else to the ground and kill them!" She nearly screams through her intense sobbing. "Where did he go?" "He ran down Fort Point overlook heading underneath Golden Gate."
I take a deep, slow, and steady breath, then with my right hand I reach to draw my Glock once more, as I dash to the left down the battered pavement.

I notice the sea, and then smell the saltwater in the air as I rush towards uncertainty. I feel an intense gust of wind batter me, as I grip my pistol firmly while attempting to control my heart rate, I begin taking larger breaths with each step forward. I see the large, looming presence of my potential suspect before me, he had just made it under the bridge, so I know I have to huff it even harder. I feel winded but push through it anyway, while I rush towards the hulking man before me. I radio dispatch while hot on the trail of my first dangerous suspect, "Approaching suspect, back up required at G.P.S location" He appears to be punching and kicking the air, jumping up and down, snarling and shouting what could be words, but sound more like guttural noises. I swiftly raise my gun and aim before shouting in the most intimidating manner I could muster. "Freeze! On your knees, hands behind your head now!" The man then starts screaming violently at me, "There is no issue here sir! THERE IS NO ISSUE HERE SIR!!!
I shout again, "On your knees, hands behind your head now!" 

The burly man before me starts pacing back and forth muttering to himself, his hands can't stay still, he keeps rubbing them one over another, again and again as he continues to pace back and forth. Then he starts mumbling incoherent madness that he repeats to himself, "A structure cannot stand without a foundation. Logic is the foundation of function. Function is the essence of control. I am in control. I am in control." He repeats it more times than I can count, faster and faster each time as he begins to reach inside his right pocket. I realize then and there, this madman plans to blow up the Golden Gate Bridge. His hands tremble even more rapidly as he struggles inside his pocket. My heart pounds, sweat pours down my face, my hands tremble as I shout, "Stop or I will fire!" The man's hand trembles in his pocket as he shouts with tears running down his face, "A structure cannot stand..." I see the look in his eyes while he speaks, "without foundation," My hands shake, I know I cannot let this happen.
I pull the trigger on my Glock rapidly, I fire more shots than I can count, the deafening sound of gunfire echoes along the waves crashing nearby. His hand flys out of his pocket, as his chest is struck several times over with the rounds from my 9mm. I then see the black, oblong object fly out of his hands as he falls backward, crashing violently into the ground as blood gushes from the wounds covering his chest. The man starts whaling, crying out, "Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, Lieutenant Commander Tuvok...." I rush to the man dropping my gun and falling to my knees beside him. I then notice wireless earbuds poking out of his ears, he looks up at me, afraid, tears run down his face. "Where is Lieutenant Commander Tuvok!" he shrieks while muttering incoherent words to himself. Out of breath and stammering, he fights to get the words out, "Get Tuvok, make sure he is ok!"
I look up and see what was in his pocket, it was a toy, an action figure of a black man with pointed ears in a Star Trek uniform. "Is he ok!" The man utters while coughing up blood. I then am struck as if by lighting, I just shot a man with the mind of a child for reaching for his toy... I take off my overshirt and take the man in my arms, I hold him tight using my shirt to cover the blood. "Lieutenant Commander Tuvok is ok, he was uninjured." I speak softly, as the man with the eyes of a child looks up at me trying to speak, "I am sorry sir for breaking protocol, please beam me to sickbay." The poor boy cries while pleading, "I won't misbehave again, I was playing, I'm sorry. Please get The Doctor to heal my phaser wounds, they hurt!" I realized at that moment exactly what he was asking for, exactly what he thought had happened. I cradle the child I shot in my arms, I quickly radio dispatch. "I need E.M.Ts to my location stat, multiple gunshot wounds, this child is dying." Before I can finish my plea for help, I see the light fade from the boy's eyes, as he slumps in my arms. "Wake up, come on kid, we are going to get you to sickbay, please..." I hold him closer and tighter to my chest, wrapping my arms around him. "You did not break protocol young cadet. I did, protocol was to guard life, I failed." I kiss his forehead while hugging him tightly. "You would have made the Federation proud, you cared for your comrade's life more than your own..." I radio dispatch once more, explaining what I had just done...
I must have sat there for what seemed like hours until the E.M.Ts finally arrived, but they were not alone, the Cheif himself had come down. "Sonny, I know you feel like hell, but you did what had to be done." I look up at his burly figure, the Cheif's wide and tall stature made him imposing even if I was standing, let alone collapsed helplessly on the gravel. "Let me help you up Sonny." I stare into his eyes before finally uttering, "It was senseless, there was no justice, I saved no lives, I only took the life of a good boy Victor." Victor reached down gently, and with both hands on my shoulders, his words finally broke through, "You saved your life today, and tomorrow you could save the life of another, you did what you had to do." Victor's and I's gaze never left, we were locked in silence for several moments before he finally helped me to my feet... "Listen, Sonny, you are going to have to give a speech to the press in a few hours, but first lets head to the office and clean up." I look stunned and reply, "I have no words for a speech sir..." Victor pats me on my shoulder as we walk up past the Golden Gate, just as he says,
"Don't worry kid, I'll write it for you..."

I stare blankly at the report on my tv, seeing the officer who took my son away from me, giving a fake apology.
"Today I took a life, the intended purpose was to save the lives of others. Instead, I took the life of an innocent. However, if I had to make that choice again, I would do the same. Because you simply never know, and most of all, The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the Few."
I cannot stop pacing back and forth, thinking over and over the same thing, all while tears stream down my face as I hold back bubbles of snot. "If no one takes a stand, more will die for nothing but fear, and a paycheck." Every day you know it is possible. You see it on the News, you read about it on Twitter, you hear the screams echoing throughout your country. The screams of those who lost their babies. You always think it can happen, you even fear it, but you never fathom it will.
Slowly my mind gets twisted and turned through my own repeated thoughts. They are so persistent, that all I can do is pace through my marble bathroom. I can't even stand to see my reflection in the huge, brightly lit double mirrors. I close my eyes briefly still seeing the brightness of the lights, before turning to hastily walk past the huge vanity that separates my cluttered sink.
All I want to do is run to Mikey's room and down his whole bottle of Xanax. Yet, I can't bring myself to move from the tile to the carpet of my bedroom. All I can manage is to stand there motionless, as I leer at my huge burgundy bed in front of me. My mind tries to tell me that it looks so inviting. As if  I could crawl in, and wake up to Mikey's asking, "Mother, I would function better, and with greater morale, if you would please come watch Star Trek with me at this time."

I loved the mornings he felt so much himself, so happy and without the nagging suffering of his mind. Those were the times that he could make us breakfast, he would clean the house with such precision and glee. I would wake up to him simply wanting to share what made him feel happiest.
I hate myself for the times I responded poorly, all due to my selfish frustration of desiring to be left alone to rest. I then realize I am holding Mikey's bottle of Xanax in my left hand.
The bottle's top is in my right, and I have no idea when I got to his room. I had to have come through the hall from my mine, slowly stumbling into his, before going into his nightstand, all without realizing it... I stare intently at the open bottle, "What point is their without taking care of my baby..." I open the bottle beginning to stare at its contents when, I see from the corner of my eye, his special cannabis vaporizer. It was decked out in Star Trek stickers, that medicine and that special device made him the bouncy joy he was becoming. He kept saying, "It is a standard Starfleet medical device, for Vulcans with an extraordinary difficulty controlling their emotions."
I stare around the room seeing all his prop Phasers, his figures of Spock, Picard, Data, Worf, and the place where his favorite figure should be. The one he took everywhere, the one that reminded him how to control his overwhelming emotions... I dump the pills into my hand, bringing them to my tear-stained mouth. I see the image of how he lit up the first time he saw Star Trek, how he came out of his shell at his favorite place in the world, the yearly Star Trek Convention in Las Vegas.
I looked at the poster he had pinned to his door along with our tickets, it was only two weeks away. He counted down the days to that event, like a child counts down to Christmas.
Except he was not excited for gifts, he was overjoyed that he could be himself.
Everyone loved him there, I was so scared the first time we went, he hated being in public, but he said he had to meet Tim Russ. When he told me how he would be sure to behave himself, how he would rather silently suffer if it meant he could meet his hero.
I was filled with so much pride, he then said, "I can not allow the fear, I feel every day, to keep myself from knowing the triumph of success." He was finally learning to be happy, his entire childhood was numb, but his emotionless, zombie-like being was finally coming to life. My father kept telling me, never give up on him, protect him, and guide him to be as strong as I taught you to be. "Dad I need you now!" I scream pitifully knowing that no one can hear me, as I drop the pills and bottle to the wood-grained floor.
Then suddenly, I heard my father's voice clear as day, "Justice was not done, I wore that badge to save lives, not take them. He took a life out of fear, then justified it. They no longer take up the badge for the sake of human life, it is for glory, and glory alone my child." I walk back to my room and slowly, timidly, head for my walk-in closet.
"You know that justice was not done. You know what they have become, they are not the same as we once were. They think they are cowboys, and that they can justify taking any life, so long as they fear for their own." As I approach the back of the closet I reach for the top shelf, retrieving an old, dust-covered wooden case. "You fear for the lives of others, seek justice for the callous taking of life in the name of justice. You know it to be just, my sweet Pamela."
I knell down cautiously and open the case taking my father's Colt 1911. I feel the roughness of the rosewood grip on the pistol, the weight of the tool reminds me of the responsibility that it carries.
I grab a grey shirt, my jeans, black converse, and my black hoodie, I place the pistol on top and grab the box of bullets from the case.  I head to my bed and set the items down, first dressing, before removing the magazine and then striping the pistol down. I look at the slide, frame, and magazine, still clean all these years after I went with Dad to the range that last time...  I put the gun back together, and rack the slide several times ensuring the action is smooth, before loading the magazine with seven forty-five caliber rounds. I tuck the gun in the back of my waistband before I zip up my hoodie and head down the hall and stairway.
I take a look at all the paintings, posters, and pictures that Mikey had helped choose, and place throughout our home. He somehow always knew the perfect placement for everything. I take a last look at a photo of my Father, Mikey and Me at the Star Trek convention. Dad and I were dressed as Klingons, and Mikey was of course dressed as Commander Tuvok.
I then head through the door to the garage and get in my silver Dodge Challenger, I take out my phone as I buckle up, and search Facebook for Sonny Daniels. I scroll through various profiles before seeing the face of the man who killed my son. I click on his profile and then notice that his phone had made auto-posts, checking him in everywhere he went. I realize he just was checked in at Coit Tower, "Only a short drive away." I hit the garage door opener put my hoodie up, and then peel out nearly hitting several passing cars as I race for my son's killer.  Before I even can realize it, I am driving up the winding road to Coit Tower and as I draw closer, I see the man who took my son, sitting in front of the Statue of Columbus, staring at the Tower. I slam on the breaks and hop out of the car taking the pistol in hand, aiming at the beast before me as I walk with great haste towards him. "What the fuck!" He screams with panic seeing the black-clad figure approaching him, he appears to see me as if I am the Grim Reaper, maybe I am.
"You know what the fuck this is, you KILLED MY SON!" My voice started calm, audible, but before I knew it, I was screaming with such anger that my body began to shake. I march towards the man who attempts to stand, before I shout while aiming at his face, "ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES!" I finally am inches away from the monster who stole the light from my life. I look him in his watering eyes as I place the barrel to his temple, I ask him, "What gives you the right to take a life!" I ram the barrel against his skull as I shout, "YOUR JOB IS TO SAVE LIVES NOT TAKE THEM, YOUR LIFE IS NOT THE ONE YOUR OUT TO SAVE!" I realize as I finish screaming, that a few people had been there, and were now screaming and scattering in all directions. I don't care, I keep screaming the truth at the monster's face.
"YOU KILLED AN INNOCENT, ALL BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO CARELESS AND AFRAID TO UNDERSTAND SOMEONE DIFFERENT!" I continue to scream despite the fact that I was starting to lose my voice, and totally ignore the sight of the people I frightened into fleeing. "HE WAS THE LIFE YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT!" My voice is nearly gone, it is as low as a whisper as I try to horsely scream, "NOW I AM GOING TO PROTECT THE LIVES OF OTHERS!" I try to pull the trigger on my father's pistol, then it hits me, Mikey's voice comes in clear as a bell.
"There is no logic in this Mother, do not let something so powerful as love, turn to something as dangerous as hatred." I drop to my knees, allowing the pistol to slip from my fingers, dropping with a heavy thud between Daniels and me.
"Miss, I should have died today, if I could trade places, I would..." I see the broken woman look up at me with the Tower looming behind her, she was barely able to speak, "He would never be in a position to take a life, he would have died first. Killing, even to save a life, for him was not possible. He would not even kill a dangerous insect, like you..." Without warning, I hear the sound of a single gunshot. I bear witness to the gruesome sight of the woman's throat exploding, with blood bursting forth, spattering my face and body.
My mind goes quiet, I reach for the pistol at my feet, grasping it firmly as I stand and whip to the right aiming for the shooter. I am then struck as if by lighting, seeing another officer grinning, gun drawn, and still smoking as he then aims for me. "Put the gun down Officer Daniels, we got the bitch." He laughs, and then I know what I must do... As this monster is more than capable of taking a life for no reason... Without remorse...
My aim steadies, I lock eyes with the officer, I see no fear in his, only joy. I then make the first truly confident decision of my life, the first choice I know to be right. I pull the trigger rapidly, firing upon the officer who just shot an innocent woman. While blue and red lights illuminate the roadway, as I hear sirens blare, I stare on as the seven rounds I emptied strike the Officer dead center. One after another they pelt his chest, causing blood to erupt and spray throughout the air. I watch the officer fall face-first to the ground, as blood begins to pool, I then slowly watch the sunset while patrol units start to arrive...

The End

I do not condone any action taken in this story, stories are told to provoke thought and emotional responses, they are not told to endorse or condone the actions taken in said story.

I Hate Recess (Short Story) (Drama, Romance)

I Hate Recess

By @GamerGuy1991

This story contains violence, abusive language, and themes of bullying, if you think the situations are inappropriate, then you have never been a kid on a playground.

I hated it when Mrs. Crowell told us it was time to go outside, and here she goes again with that scratchy voice. "Kids time to head outside for your mandatory fun." I saw all the other boys shoot me the same nasty looks, I was hoping they wouldn't harass me badly today. We all started to file out and that is when it started. I felt a swift punch to my back, it took all my strength to not topple over while my back hurt so much. If a fist was not bad enough, I had to hear "It will get worse outside terrorist." I shoot back, "It must be hard, being such an oppressed Christian." He hissed so hard I felt his spit hit my ears as we left the classroom. "Shut your mouth mussie." As we moved down the halls towards the door to the playground, I shot back once more. "Mussie is such a cute nickname, I just love it, much more fun than saying Muslim." I smiled as I hid the deep pain such terms caused, I knew I could never show them that pain. 

As we all filed out the door and got to the playground I realized Mrs. Crowell had gone inside, why did she pick a time with no other teachers or kids are out again? I wonder while trying to hurry over to the spot behind the playhouse, as no one bothers me there most days. Just as I near the yellow and green house, I feel two hands on my back pushing me down hard as I hear, "GET OUT OF AMERICA SHIT SKIN!" My face then smashes into the sand and rocks that cover the ground, as I fell blood drip out of my nose and a sharp pain on my face, I roll over and kick up as hard as I can. I did not even look before shooting my foot into the kids's balls causing him to scream in agony. "Davey!" Shit, why did he have to have friends with him? I quickly stand up and punch the boy in the face, knocking him down as he clutches his balls screaming in pain. 

Two more boys move towards me fast and I realize I am going to have to fight them, why not, after taking such abuse for so long, it is time I strike back. "Come and get it Christ suckers!" I scream as I stand my ground, I see them fill with even more rage and run screaming towards me, that is when I see her, as if she was an angel with a huge ass bookbag. This beautiful blonde girl comes running out of the playhouse, she then swings her huge bag into one of the boy's heads knocking him to the ground. The other boy looks shocked as he continues towards me, that is when I get the nerve and charge the privileged brat tackling him to the ground. I then unleash months of anger on this boys face, I strike with my right, then my left, and then my right and left once more, before finally striking him as hard as I can with my right hand. 

I then turn and look at the angel swinging a loaded bookbag at the boy cowering below her. I stand up and walk to her while I command the boys behind me as they lay on the ground crying, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE." I hear the boys behind me dash away, and that is when she finally stops pelting the boy with her bag and notices me. "I think you beat his ass pretty damn good." She looks up and smiles before she slings her bag on her back, and moves the long hair out of her face in one smooth motion, she then kicked the boy hard in the stomach one last time. "They were asking for it for months, they would harass me all the time out here, and I heard some of the awful things they said to you." I smile warmly as the boy scurries off and she comes closer to me, I somehow feel smooth enough to say, "I wouldn't let idiots bother me, not when there are people worth paying attention to, that is if they wouldn't mind the attention" 

We smile at each other before she says, "I would love some." She takes my hand and leads me into the playhouse, where we sit down in two chairs that are almost too small for us. "Let me clean you up." She askes so sweetly as she opens her bag, I notice a ton of books as she pulls out some wipes, she then looks towards me and says, "It won't take too long, I am sure it feels worse than it looks." She dabs away the blood as I can do nothing but stare at her green eyes, they are utterly entrancing, I have never felt anything like it. I then finally snap out of it and say, "Thank you, for helping me, I don't think I would have lucked out against both of them." She smiles while putting away the wipes before warmly replying, "I bet you could have taken them both, but I didn't want you to have to." I had never felt such a warm and comforting feeling before, everyone else had been so cold and cruel, she was none of those things. "My name is Eva, what is yours?" 

I felt so smooth before, now I feel like I am drowning trying to speak, "I, I, My name, It's Wadi." I love her grin, even though I know she is holding back laughter, I don't care, somehow her laughing at me would feel good. "You were different outside Wadi." I can do this, just talk to her, just say something, anything, think Wadi, think. "Eva, what is with all the books?" Her smile fades and then she spoke so quietly, "Oh, you'll probably make fun of me, but I love to read. The other boys, they made fun of me for coming out here to be alone and read." 

I smile and take her hand in mine, "I love to read, I would not make fun of you for enjoying stories." She smiles right back at me and then it was like lighting, she kissed my cheek and told me, "Thank you, your really nice Wadi." Those feelings wash over me again as I stare at her beautiful face. "You're so pretty." Eva's face turns bright red as she laughs while telling me, "No I am not, I am too pale and too chubby." I smile wide and tell her, "Eva you are beautiful, your skin is perfect, they put me down for mine too, do not take their words to heart." Eva grins as she softly tells me, "I think you're the most beautiful boy in our school." 

I wonder, would it be ok, I want to, should I just ask her? "Eva, could I kiss you?" Eva moves right in front of my face and smiles, "Kiss me Wadi." I put my lips to hers, and we let each other's hands go while we hold each other pressing our faces tightly together. After what seems like an eternity the bell rings causing us to hold each other tighter, we then both try to speak with keeping our lips together. "I don't wanna go." We both mumble and that was when sparks flew, our tounges met as we mumbled our wish, it was magical, I thought she might be grossed out but she then danced her tongue around mine once more. We heard the bell continue to ring as we held each other locked in our first, and the world's longest kiss. Once the bell stopped ringing we both knew we had to stop, I pulled her in to hold her as close as possible as we finally ended our kiss. All we could do was smile at each other as we walked hand in hand back to class. 

The End

Am I a Terrorist or Mentally Ill? (A Satirical Short Story) (Mature Content Warning)

Am I a Terrorist or Mentally Ill?

By

@GamerGuy1991

This farce contains very offensive content with themes of terrorism, mass violence, mental illness, and religion you have been warned. If you enjoy humor such as South Park head on in, if you're easily offended back away slowly.

"Rafeek I need to ask you something of great importance." I spoke nervously, if anyone at the camp heard this, they would surely send me on next week's suicide bombing. "Aaqib, what is it my friend?" Rafeek always spoke so warmly, his kindness everytime would put me at such ease. "I was reading on Bicker about the shootings and bombings in America," I looked around the darkened camp cautiously, to make sure only Rafeek would hear my next words. "They are claiming that their terrorists are only mentally ill. See Rafeek any time one them goes nanners and slaughters a fuck ton of infidels for us, they are never labeled terrorists like us." I spoke with a slightly heightened inflection, "It seems only Arabs and Muslims can be considered terrorists?" Rafeek's warm smile faded as he rushed us away to a secluded tent in the back of camp. His voice had never been so quiet as it was when he said, "What is making this subject important to you Aaqib, you never cared for labels before?" I did not expect that question, "Well, most of those acts in America do seem to be motivated by politics or religious beliefs, so I began to question how we are any different?" Rafeek then looked horrified and asked with great worry, "Are you saying we should stop slaughtering infidels?" I admit the thought had crossed my mind, but I assured Rafeek all the same. "Rafeek you know I enjoy killing Infidels just as much as you." Rafeek smiled that same warm smile again, "That is wonderful my friend, so then what exactly is on your mind?" I just had to say it, "I simply questioned how we are different, because well if most terrorists are mentally ill, maybe we are too?" Rafeek then looked both shocked and horrified, he responded while mildly quivering. "I, do not understand" I knew I had to explain deeper, " I just mean, maybe we are not making the best choices, I know our cause is just and righteous, but maybe our methods are not working?" Rafeek looked deep in thought, then his head cocked to the left as if he had a brilliant idea. "Let us go ask Ghazzal, surely he can put your mind at ease." I started to stammer, "No, no, Rafeek he will send me to the depot next week and make me splode..." Rafeek looked at me with a charming grin, "Aaqib, you and I both know we are too valuable to wear those vests." We both laughed and smiled, "Ok Rafeek you are right, let us go talk with Ghazzal." We then left the tent arm in arm, strolling through the mostly empty camp to Ghazzal's private tent. I noticed the camp was totally empty and asked Rafeek, "Where is everyone?" "You forget? Tonight is the premiere of Keeping Up With The Kardashians." I stopped in my tracks, "Damn, and we are missing it, did you set up the VCR?" Rafeek smiled while dragging me along. "Aaqib, when have we ever missed a second of our beloved Kimmy?" I smile at Rafeek and give in. "I should never have doubted you." We finally reach the entrance of Ghazzal's tent and head in with mild trepidation, Ghazzal greets us with love, "Rafeek, Aaqib, what can I do for my two best commanders?" Rafeek nudged me forward, it was at this moment I realized Rafeek was a bit of an Allah damned coward. I spoke but with great reluctance, "Well, uh, Sir, Ghazzal, I was reading on the Bicker, and I, well I..." Rafeek struck my ribs with his shoulder muttering, "Bloody hell, get the fuck on with it." I begrudgingly spit it out, "Are we mentally ill? Because it seems in America they do not call their terrorists, terrorists. They say they are mentally ill, they even take some of them in alive and with no injuries." I mostly stammered out that response but I could tell Ghazzal heard and was concerned in that fatherly way of his. "That is a wonderful question Aaqib." Rafeek and I looked shocked as I blurted, "It was?" Ghazzal chuckled lovingly as he replied, "Yes, it was." Ghazzal's tone then took on a polite but very comprehensible timbre. "This may be slightly confusing but bear with us. See gentlemen, terrorists are mentally ill, and the mentally ill can be terrorists, but the mentally ill are not always terrorists, however, terrorists are most certainly mentally ill. For example, while I seem caring, I am an absolute sociopath." Rafeek looked dumbfounded, and I was looking no better. "I can see that you are confused," Ghazzal remarked while stroking his long white beard. "There are many forms of mental illness, which is why the blanket term is pretty useless, and just as confusing as thinking that terrorism is anything but what it is so clearly defined as. 'the unlawful use of violence and intimidation, especially against civilians, in the pursuit of political aims.' Yet the Americans are so obsessed with labels, that they often use them when they are not applicable or often so simple that they blindly mislead, kinda like what we do to the 'Special Recruits' that wear the vests." Rafeek spoke up cheerfully, "Oh like when we sent Taheem to USO show, and he blew it and himself to Allah!" Ghazzal was pleased replying, "That is it, my child!" I smiled and patted Rafeek on the back as Ghazzal spoke once more. "See boys, some mental illnesses, like the ones that those of in this room have, are very useful and most American's in Wall Street suffer from them. Our jobs are to guide those with the most debilitating and useless mental illness to Allah, much like the US government does." Rafeek and I spoke in tandem, "Now we got it!" Ghazzal said with great love, "Of course you bright boys do, now run along and play with the half-dead infidels!" We screamed with glee and ran off chanting, "Yippee!"

The End

Copyright 2018

The Leader made me do it, a Protection-Bot's story (Satirical Short Story) (Mature content warning)

The Leader made me do it, a Protection-Bot's story

By
@GamerGuy1991

This satirical farce features mature content, such as violence, offensive language and situations, you have been warned. 

Protection Officer report 2./69, officer Alpha Five timeline of events Junaberry 2.2.340042, I was outside my Protection Office when I noticed a potential vandal. "Stop or I will be forced to stun you!" I commanded the youth vandal before me as he paints "Stop the abuse!" on the wall of the Protection Office. "Up yours officer tin man!" The youth shouts while spraying orange paint over the blue shield of Protection with the words, "Protect us from the Protectors!" I aim at the youth's back and pull the trigger on my P.D.T set to stun. A bolt of light leaves the barrel traveling a short distance before coming into contact with the youth's back, he is then violently flung against the same wall he just defiled. I lean down and apply hand restraints, while using my hand's life sign scanners to check the boy for injuries. The readout indicates that the boy's life signs are stable, and that he is fourteen years of age. I activate my network communications to send the following, "Protection Office 2-C this is Officer Alpha Five reporting a subdued youth vandal outside Office 2-C, he is restrained and ready for recycling, transmitting exact coordinates." Office 2-C's communications program responded sharply. "Affirmative Alpha Five, we are dispatching recycle units to your location." I then leave the scene and head directly for my patrol unit. I slide through the auto-opening door and sit back for the safety harness to strap me in. Once the unit completed the safety procedures, I proceeded to patrol my local zone Centraltopia. As I ride through the zone's downtown I make visual records of the high-rise buildings in the area, as they are in need of servicing A.S.A.P due to several structural flaws, but most importantly mass vandalism. I make detailed notations of the offensive language scrawled through the schools, businesses and housing units. "Protection officers or Abuser Officers?" "Pay us a living wage!" "Protect our kids from violence at schools" "Stop profiting from murder and mayhem!" "We all deserve kindness and compassion!" While I send my report to the Protection Office I receive a distress report from the local school. "Protection Officer needed at School 9.M.M please report to disperse a growing rally." "Alpha Five in route, further information regarding rally requested." The data is sent directly to my central core. "There have been a few minor school incidents over the past two weeks, a few shooters set their P.D.T's to vaporize resulting in a mere thirty or forty dead. Protection Officer's were not needed as the shooters were contained to the school, and eventually killed themselves in each occurrence after a lengthy battle with the school children." I transmit my response to the command protocols. "Received and will be at the location in five minutes." As I grew closer to the rally I began to suffer from some type of software glitch, I was seeing bright red lines grandly becoming wider and then filling my vision with a blurry red haze. I followed the standard procedure requesting service for a nominal glitch. "Command this is Alpha Five requesting tech services send a data pill to my trans-neural system hub." "This is tech services we are sending the requested data pill, your trans-neural subroutines will reflux over the next 120 to 240 seconds" "Received" I acknowledge the report and exit the patrol unit to reach the rallies central point. I observed that there were eighty protestors gathered in front of the school complex, their ages ranged from twelve to seventy-three, they were carrying signs which I made visual records of. "P.D.T's do not belong in schools" "Our kids are here to learn, not dodge energy blasts" "Teachers are not soldiers or human shields!" "Personal Defense Tool or Personal Murderer Tool?" "Stop the violence at its source, stop selling Personal Defense Tools!" I set my vocal volume to eleven for maximum effect, "Anyone who does not disperse in the next ten seconds will be stunned and recycled!" A young woman emerged from the group and shouted while moving towards me, "Stun us, we don't care our friends were vaporized!" The woman then proceeds to move ever closer to me, I then fired one stun blast flinging her into the crowd. "Who are you protecting, you bucket of emotionless bolts!" A man screamed while charging at me, giving me no choice but to fire another stun blast, which sent this man careening over the protesters landing headfirst on the pavement. "It can't stun us all, get that P.D.T and destroy it!" Another protester shouts while leading a group towards me, it was in this moment I had to process the sequence of events and any relevant information in less than point five seconds. I went to my most basic subroutines for a role model, the teachings of our Grand Leader the most prominent preprogrammed choice, with his and the knowledge of events preceding and during our current culture, I compiled a worthwhile solution. I pressed the button on my P.D.T to switch the mode to vaporize, and fired four precise bolts causing four protesters to vanish from existence. The remaining protesters screamed in horror while scattering in all directions. The rally was dispersed as ordered, and I kept the crowd from destroying my P.D.T I then contacted command. "Rally at school 9.M.M ended, I stunned two protesters and vaporized four others as they rushed to destroy my P.D.T" Command replied curtly, "Return to office 2-C and head directly to the justifications department."  I then entered the patrol unit and came directly here, and that is when you asked for my report, Sir. The human justifications officer looks at his datapad, viewing a recording of the events before asking, "While I see the justification in your use of the vaporization setting, I question how the Leader helped you make that decision?" I analyze my thought patterns before responding to the justifications officer. "Sir, our Grand Leader has been firm in his stance of using harsh force against any opponent, due to the great effect of fear for giving a sense of power and control over the masses." The justifications officer looks confused and inquires, "where exactly did he say that Officer Alpha Five?" I search through my files for the appropriate speech record to validate my summarization. "Anyone who usurps our fine Protection-Bots must be made to see the fault in their logic, they must understand that our Protection-Bots only stun, and occasionally vaporize citizens for their own protection. They have been programmed with basic logic, reasoning and a certain sense of personal identity to be our best shields against any threat to our comfortable lives." The justifications officer sits back and appears to be thinking over what I have told him before coming to a conclusion. "You are fit to return to duty, but first you must undergo a treatment for the new glitch we have discovered, we are calling it 'Seeing Red'." 

The End
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