Greston
07-04-2008, 21:52
"Don’t you know how much of my year's work goes to the government?" demanded angry Aaron Wanker, John Batther’s personnel secretary. "Too much! Government spending has gotten way out of control. It needs big cuts in welfare, health, and education. These damned taxes get laid on us poorer workers while the richer bastards get fame, fortune, money and power. We have way too much to pay you when it only goes into useless crap! Give the poor starving people a chance for once. I don’t care about my taxes it’s just that when we get scammed it fucks up the other people’s chance at a good life. They make Greston look like a dump can’t we just loosen up the taxes so they can have a chance?"
John looked confused and tired. He couldn’t take care of this nonsense. It was time to use his power and get out of some work. That was when Jerry Striker found himself with an office, some aides, a budget, and John Batther’s ranting secretary. John had briefed him. John had been confused and distraught so the issue didn’t make all that much sense but Jerry didn’t forget that John had said, “You can do anything you want, anything at all.”
*****
The night was relatively normal. Nothing was going wrong and the streets started to empty as the people flooded into their homes, the only people not doing so was the bums. Money was a great thing, everything needed it and people would do horrible things for it. Horrible, horrible things.
“I don’t feel good doing this.”
“Yeah well lighten up Steve; they are just a bunch of John and Jane Does.”
“I know but they are still humans.”
“Okay Steven shut the hell up and listen, taxes rise, people go broke, broke people become forgotten and live on street, hoboes ruin peoples revenue and the economy starts to fail, the tax funding goes to the military and to us, we ‘take care’ of the hoboes and Greston is clean and thriving getting more money to do more things with. It is a win win man. Every thing is fine and we all walk away with money in our pockets.”
“Not those bums.”
“Yeah Steve but they will be dead so just shut your mouth.”
Blake turned away from Steve, his naïve partner and walked a bit faster so he didn’t need to look at him. Steve was feeling bad but not Blake. 20 of the targets had been hit and it was time to his at least 40 more. Their next spot was Battery Street. It bordered the poorest neighborhood and almost no police ever went there so bums found it ideal to live at. If was like a hobo suburbia. Blake and Steve walked down Yolk Street and turned to their right. Then they came onto the footsteps of Battery Street. The street was ridden with bottles, torn paper, tattered clothes, rats, socks, cans, and litter. The litter was so big in number it was like the street was a meadow and the litter was flowers. They walked down the dimly lit street and Blake checked his M16. It was a newly produced one and had not only a silencer but a scope and a nice handle. The gun was full. Every thing was read. Steve put his silencer on then they got into the tactical position. Blake ran up and spun and fired at three hoboes around a bonfire in a garbage can. The men fell with a moan and one fell into the fire, head first.
Steve looked aimed and walked forward. Slowly and sliding his feet across the land he smoothly slid into an alley and fired twice at his target. The hobo, full bearded, starving, and horribly clothed, the ideal bum, died at the hands of the spitting sound of the gun. Blake walked up to his dead targets and picked up a half full bottle of rum from the dead grasp of a bum. Perfect. He ripped some cloth from the man’s shirt and stuffed it into the bottle. Than he lit the cloth and threw it at a group of four bums that came to stare at him. It blew and the bum’s bodies flew everywhere.
That woke up the poorly kept neighborhood. The bums ran out of their places to look at what happened. On seeing that seven people were dead they all ran. The big gap between buildings was filled up with bums racing for their lives. It was like Blake and Steve had flushed out a flock of ducks. They all ran out of their places and sped away hoping that the person next to them would be shot and not them. But many weren’t rewarded with that.
Blake let out. Instead of nicely controlled bursts of two or three shots he let out a long, steady line of fire that didn’t end until his clip went out. The large, closely grouped mass fell and people who hadn’t been shot fell as well from people tripping on the dead or the dead falling onto them. The group became smaller and the piles of dead grew. Only 20 of the 50 lived and got off the old block.
They walked forward, to leave Battery Street. Blake didn’t care much where he stepped as a result blood soaked into his shoes as he walked over their limp bodies. Steve walked around the mess and then they meet back up at the corner on Yolk.
That process was thought up in seconds after John told Jerry his job. The job included some small squads of Hawk Spec Ops, a clean up crew, and some lucky Stockbrokers who got to buy the now valuable land.
Jast was the first city that was hit. Battery Street had been completely cleaned of the filth and the mess the filth made when they died.
John looked confused and tired. He couldn’t take care of this nonsense. It was time to use his power and get out of some work. That was when Jerry Striker found himself with an office, some aides, a budget, and John Batther’s ranting secretary. John had briefed him. John had been confused and distraught so the issue didn’t make all that much sense but Jerry didn’t forget that John had said, “You can do anything you want, anything at all.”
*****
The night was relatively normal. Nothing was going wrong and the streets started to empty as the people flooded into their homes, the only people not doing so was the bums. Money was a great thing, everything needed it and people would do horrible things for it. Horrible, horrible things.
“I don’t feel good doing this.”
“Yeah well lighten up Steve; they are just a bunch of John and Jane Does.”
“I know but they are still humans.”
“Okay Steven shut the hell up and listen, taxes rise, people go broke, broke people become forgotten and live on street, hoboes ruin peoples revenue and the economy starts to fail, the tax funding goes to the military and to us, we ‘take care’ of the hoboes and Greston is clean and thriving getting more money to do more things with. It is a win win man. Every thing is fine and we all walk away with money in our pockets.”
“Not those bums.”
“Yeah Steve but they will be dead so just shut your mouth.”
Blake turned away from Steve, his naïve partner and walked a bit faster so he didn’t need to look at him. Steve was feeling bad but not Blake. 20 of the targets had been hit and it was time to his at least 40 more. Their next spot was Battery Street. It bordered the poorest neighborhood and almost no police ever went there so bums found it ideal to live at. If was like a hobo suburbia. Blake and Steve walked down Yolk Street and turned to their right. Then they came onto the footsteps of Battery Street. The street was ridden with bottles, torn paper, tattered clothes, rats, socks, cans, and litter. The litter was so big in number it was like the street was a meadow and the litter was flowers. They walked down the dimly lit street and Blake checked his M16. It was a newly produced one and had not only a silencer but a scope and a nice handle. The gun was full. Every thing was read. Steve put his silencer on then they got into the tactical position. Blake ran up and spun and fired at three hoboes around a bonfire in a garbage can. The men fell with a moan and one fell into the fire, head first.
Steve looked aimed and walked forward. Slowly and sliding his feet across the land he smoothly slid into an alley and fired twice at his target. The hobo, full bearded, starving, and horribly clothed, the ideal bum, died at the hands of the spitting sound of the gun. Blake walked up to his dead targets and picked up a half full bottle of rum from the dead grasp of a bum. Perfect. He ripped some cloth from the man’s shirt and stuffed it into the bottle. Than he lit the cloth and threw it at a group of four bums that came to stare at him. It blew and the bum’s bodies flew everywhere.
That woke up the poorly kept neighborhood. The bums ran out of their places to look at what happened. On seeing that seven people were dead they all ran. The big gap between buildings was filled up with bums racing for their lives. It was like Blake and Steve had flushed out a flock of ducks. They all ran out of their places and sped away hoping that the person next to them would be shot and not them. But many weren’t rewarded with that.
Blake let out. Instead of nicely controlled bursts of two or three shots he let out a long, steady line of fire that didn’t end until his clip went out. The large, closely grouped mass fell and people who hadn’t been shot fell as well from people tripping on the dead or the dead falling onto them. The group became smaller and the piles of dead grew. Only 20 of the 50 lived and got off the old block.
They walked forward, to leave Battery Street. Blake didn’t care much where he stepped as a result blood soaked into his shoes as he walked over their limp bodies. Steve walked around the mess and then they meet back up at the corner on Yolk.
That process was thought up in seconds after John told Jerry his job. The job included some small squads of Hawk Spec Ops, a clean up crew, and some lucky Stockbrokers who got to buy the now valuable land.
Jast was the first city that was hit. Battery Street had been completely cleaned of the filth and the mess the filth made when they died.