It was 3:46AM on a darkened street in a quiet suburban neighborhood. Streetlights had stopped working months ago. The van stopped just short of the target domicile. It was a typical cookie cutter house in a typical subdivision. Assault Team “Soy Latte” was led by Todd, callsign “Rump Ranger”.
Todd was considered a grizzled veteran having 7 raids under his belt. They told him this one would be like taking candy from a baby, which appealed to his pedophile nature. The target was some dipshit bartender who had under-reported his tips. With Central Bank Digital Currency there is nowhere to hide. The disloyal fuck deserved to be put in his place. Plus, they could have some fun with him and his wife after the children had been sold to Child Protective Services for a nice bonus.
The targets always whined and whimpered, cried and begged. They were always cowed before the mighty Feral Government. Sure, Todd had heard the rumors of “minor” resistance in far off places like Idaho and Montana but the blue hive cities were firmly locked down. Wyoming had originally caused some problems but was completely pacified after Liz Cheney became Governor.
The targeted “tax cheaters” were pathetic. Subhuman. They deserved to be treated with malice and cruelty. Todd’s WOKE training on dehumanization of the enemy had been spot on. They deserved no pity and received none.
Todd had earned his tactical call sign, “Rump Ranger”, due to his penchant for anal sex. He thought it quite poetic. When he was young, and still identified as a “male”, he had read a book once about “Rogers Rangers” in the 1750s. At the time he had thought the concept of “Rangers”, an irregular guerilla fighting force, to be rather romantic.
As he aged, of course, he realized that they were Bourgeois war criminals who oppressed the Native American people. He had been well indoctrinated in the horrors of “colonialization” and the exploitation of indigenous peoples. Still, he retained the “Ranger” moniker since it was being used in an acceptable homosexual context.
Team “Latte” exited the van, stacked up and started their slow serpentine approach to the target house. Just as Kyle “Butter Bum”, the breacher, approached the front door a blinding white flash and very loud bang erupted. Intense small arms fire exploded from across the street raking the team over and over.
Todd looked behind him. Half of the team were down and the other half were scattering like cockroaches. He wondered if some traitor at HQ had leaked details of the raid leading them into an ambush. He wondered if his 4 weeks of diversity training had really prepared him for these raids. He wondered if he would ever see his boyfriend, Cory, again. He suddenly realized, too late, that this baby had teeth and wasn’t going to give up his candy without an argument.
Todd slowly regained consciousness. There was a burning sensation in his leg. As he became more coherent he realized he was tied in a chair with several people standing around. The room was dark and damp, like a basement. As his eyes came into focus he realized that the people were wearing masks. No, not the “good” masks that kept the Covid at bay. These were hideous masks intended to obscure the identity of the wearer.
One of the persons spoke to him. It sounded like a “male” voice but Todd was too well indoctrinated to assume gender. The person speaking was Richard Milhouse Nixon, aka “Tricky Dick”. Todd recognized him from a photo in a book he had read about the evils of Republican presidents in the “Dark Days” before the revolution.
Old Dick Nixon began asking him questions. Difficult questions…
Not far from the possible future if we don’t stop this mad rush towards total idiocy.
Ripped from tomorrow's headlines today! More please.