Virginia Tech: A Cho-ose Your Own Adventure
Stupid fucking cops. If they knew it was you who shot those two people your sure they would have come for you by now. Might as well drop the package off in the dorm's mail room and be on your merry way.
You walk to the dorm's front entrance. You hear the squawk of police radios as you approach. When you turn the corner to head for the mailboxes, you finally see them. There are about five cops and a couple detectives mewing around the lobby. They are discussing the shooting. You feel nervousness tighten in your scrotum as you pass them. They glance at you, but otherwise pay you no mind. Your scrotum loosens.
There's a slot in the wall where outgoing mail is supposed to go. Since the slot is made for standard envelopes, it takes you a moment to carefully fold your manila envelope in order to get it through without damaging your precious media kit. You almost have it through when it seems like it's gotten caught up on something. You bend over and look in the slot to see what's hanging it up.
While bent over, you suddenly hear a clank followed immediately by a loud bang. You jump. Oh no! The Glock fell out of your vest while you were leaning over, and since you were too dumb to put the safety on, it discharged. You hear yelling in dorm lobby and the police radios blazing anew. "Shots fired! Shots fired! Officer down! Send back up!"
You look over at the brood of cops in the lobby. Your stray bullet apparently struck one of the police in the back of the head, cavitated, and blasted chunks of his brains and face all over his buddies, who now have their guns out and trained on you. "Freeze you fucking chink scumbag!"
Well, you guess it's come to a shootout with the cops. You reach inside your vest to grab the Walther, but the cops have you dead-bang. They pop off about six shots at you. One shatters your elbow, sending a spike of pain shooting through your body. You drop your gun without firing a shot. Three of the bullets hiss miss and strike the mailboxes behind you. The other two get you in the chest, but their impact is dampened by the magazines in your vest. You fall to the ground, bloodied but still very much alive.
One of the cops runs up and kicks you in the ribs, knocking you on your back. Then he kicks both of the guns out of your reach. He is enraged. He looks like a mad animal with splinters of the dead officers cheekbones glued to his face with blood. "You cop killing sonofabitch! I'm gonna kill you right here!"
"Hold your fire, Sergeant!" the detective barks.
"Why? This is the perfect 'good shoot' if I do it here. You guys will back me up, right?"
"It is. But that guy he killed is my cousin's husband. I've got a special thing planned for him. Take him out to the van."
The cop above you groans, but he holsters his weapon and roughly cuffs you which makes the shattered bones in your elbow sing with pain. Two of them grab you underneath your armpits, hoist you up and take you to the paddy-wagon waiting outside. There are a few students standing around outside. No news media have responded yet, so hardly anyone sees them take you out there.
Once they've tossed you inside the paddy-wagon, the cops get inside and close the door. They un-cuff you and bark, "Now bend over you fucking slope."
"What?" you say, confused and in a daze from the pain.
They don't ask twice. One of them swings a nightstick into your face, breaking your jaw and most of your teeth. He swings again, striking you in the diaphragm and causing you to double over in pain. One of the cops grabs your hands and holds them. Another starts unbuckling your pants. They strip down your underwear and you are there bent over and bare assed.
"Look at this," the detective says. He grabs you by your hair and yanks your head up. He's holding a sixty-watt lightbulb in front your eyes. "I learned this trick when I was serving in Iraq a few years ago. It worked like a charm on the sand-niggers. I'm sure it works on chinks too."
You wonder what the fuck he means to do with a mere light bulb. You quickly find out when he starts sticking it bulb first up your butthole. You scream as best as you can through your shattered jaw as he works it all the way there. This hurts more than the time Mr. Brownstone butt raped you as a child.
"Somebody hand me a nightstick," the detective says, then he whispers in your ear. "Now, here comes the fun part..."
The detective swings the nightstick as hard as he can against the light bulb in your ass. It breaks with a pop. Your butthole clenches up, driving the shards of the broken glass through the walls of your sphincter. Mere words cannot come close to describe the pain you now feel.
"Jesus, Lieutenant...he sure is bleeding a lot."
"He's hemorrhaging," he says. "It usually takes about fifteen minutes before they bleed out completely. So take your time while we drive back to the station boys."
You walk to the dorm's front entrance. You hear the squawk of police radios as you approach. When you turn the corner to head for the mailboxes, you finally see them. There are about five cops and a couple detectives mewing around the lobby. They are discussing the shooting. You feel nervousness tighten in your scrotum as you pass them. They glance at you, but otherwise pay you no mind. Your scrotum loosens.
There's a slot in the wall where outgoing mail is supposed to go. Since the slot is made for standard envelopes, it takes you a moment to carefully fold your manila envelope in order to get it through without damaging your precious media kit. You almost have it through when it seems like it's gotten caught up on something. You bend over and look in the slot to see what's hanging it up.
While bent over, you suddenly hear a clank followed immediately by a loud bang. You jump. Oh no! The Glock fell out of your vest while you were leaning over, and since you were too dumb to put the safety on, it discharged. You hear yelling in dorm lobby and the police radios blazing anew. "Shots fired! Shots fired! Officer down! Send back up!"
You look over at the brood of cops in the lobby. Your stray bullet apparently struck one of the police in the back of the head, cavitated, and blasted chunks of his brains and face all over his buddies, who now have their guns out and trained on you. "Freeze you fucking chink scumbag!"
Well, you guess it's come to a shootout with the cops. You reach inside your vest to grab the Walther, but the cops have you dead-bang. They pop off about six shots at you. One shatters your elbow, sending a spike of pain shooting through your body. You drop your gun without firing a shot. Three of the bullets hiss miss and strike the mailboxes behind you. The other two get you in the chest, but their impact is dampened by the magazines in your vest. You fall to the ground, bloodied but still very much alive.
One of the cops runs up and kicks you in the ribs, knocking you on your back. Then he kicks both of the guns out of your reach. He is enraged. He looks like a mad animal with splinters of the dead officers cheekbones glued to his face with blood. "You cop killing sonofabitch! I'm gonna kill you right here!"
"Hold your fire, Sergeant!" the detective barks.
"Why? This is the perfect 'good shoot' if I do it here. You guys will back me up, right?"
"It is. But that guy he killed is my cousin's husband. I've got a special thing planned for him. Take him out to the van."
The cop above you groans, but he holsters his weapon and roughly cuffs you which makes the shattered bones in your elbow sing with pain. Two of them grab you underneath your armpits, hoist you up and take you to the paddy-wagon waiting outside. There are a few students standing around outside. No news media have responded yet, so hardly anyone sees them take you out there.
Once they've tossed you inside the paddy-wagon, the cops get inside and close the door. They un-cuff you and bark, "Now bend over you fucking slope."
"What?" you say, confused and in a daze from the pain.
They don't ask twice. One of them swings a nightstick into your face, breaking your jaw and most of your teeth. He swings again, striking you in the diaphragm and causing you to double over in pain. One of the cops grabs your hands and holds them. Another starts unbuckling your pants. They strip down your underwear and you are there bent over and bare assed.
"Look at this," the detective says. He grabs you by your hair and yanks your head up. He's holding a sixty-watt lightbulb in front your eyes. "I learned this trick when I was serving in Iraq a few years ago. It worked like a charm on the sand-niggers. I'm sure it works on chinks too."
You wonder what the fuck he means to do with a mere light bulb. You quickly find out when he starts sticking it bulb first up your butthole. You scream as best as you can through your shattered jaw as he works it all the way there. This hurts more than the time Mr. Brownstone butt raped you as a child.
"Somebody hand me a nightstick," the detective says, then he whispers in your ear. "Now, here comes the fun part..."
The detective swings the nightstick as hard as he can against the light bulb in your ass. It breaks with a pop. Your butthole clenches up, driving the shards of the broken glass through the walls of your sphincter. Mere words cannot come close to describe the pain you now feel.
"Jesus, Lieutenant...he sure is bleeding a lot."
"He's hemorrhaging," he says. "It usually takes about fifteen minutes before they bleed out completely. So take your time while we drive back to the station boys."
