The members of “Rogue Group” sat around the table in the small cabin. The wheels had been set in motion, and even if they wanted to stop it. . . it would be close to impossible. Not to mention very deadly for them to attempt to even try.
The man was destine to die, and it was meant for him to die in front of millions. The plan would work. That group of kids from that 50′s retreat had helped to prove it would work. Only two out of the twenty had come out of it.
Since then they’d improved on the treatment, now there was no way for the subject to fight it. It was also close to impossible to reverse. But not completely impossible. After this was dealt with, they’d then deal with Dobs Macalister.
How could one man screw up a perfect plan? How could one man get so many people to join him. The man was very close to being paranormal. He had that special quality that drew people to him, that made people want to follow him.
The experts said that it was because he was a rebel, always speaking his mind, and always ready to back it up. That he’d say and do what other people only thought about doing. Things that most people would never in a hundred years say or do.
But people who thought as he did, were coming forward and joining him. In the beginning he was a very small minority. Totally insignificant. Now he’d grown into a real major pain in the ass.
All over the country there were people taking a stand of some sort. Little things that may appear to be small but were anything but small.
One young man shattered his supervisor’s jaw with a hard right. He then called another supervisor, and then waited five minutes, and called the cops. They all showed up at the same time.
“If you will check him you’ll find that he has five one hundred dollar bills under his shirt. He said that, Ya’ll were coming up exactly five hundred dollars short. The deposit bag is already shut up in the office and locked in the safe.”
His boss shook his head, and told the officers to take the manager in. “I gave Tank full authority to act in the company’s best interest. In fact my exact words I believe were: I know that somebody is dirty, I want you to be my eyes and ears. Be certain of the facts, and then do whatever it takes to keep that person from leaving.”
Tank breathed a sigh of relief at the blatant lie.
“Anything wrong sir?” an officer asked suspiciously.
“No sir. Everything is okay, my father was afraid that the story wouldn’t be the same, and I’d be the one left holding the bag.”
The officer stared for a moment then smiled. “I know you don’t really expect me to believe that?”
“By way Sergeant, Captain Davidson is my old. . . father.”
The officer also knew the story that was always kept out of the reports. Steve (Tank) was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then he’d loose his temper and bust a few heads. It was getting pretty damn tiresome, sweeping up the teeth and mopping up the blood after the boy. Then having to make certain that his name stayed off the reports.
How would it look, if it were made known that a certain police captain’s son to be less than perfect? That he had a problem with his temper, they’d want to put him away. He didn’t have a problem that called for that.
Too bad what he did have wasn’t contagious.
The Quest CH.20/PG.163 He had a syndrome known as FYIDGAS. (Fuck You I don’t Give A Shit) I don’t give a shit, about the rights of punks that prey on innocent people. I don’t give a shit, if the law likes or dislikes my actions. I don’t give a shit, if those twelve assholes on the jury say my actions were criminal.
To protect and to serve. To protect and to serve whom, the innocent or the
slime? He’d seen the maggots get busted, and then six maybe seven months later they’re back out on the damn street.
A very good friend of his was raped, she was beaten and brutalized, and that motherfucker said that she asked for it. That she asked him to do that to her, that was what got her blood going.
He’d watched as she and her fiancee tried to pick up the pieces of a shattered life. Her man didn’t blame her, but he was still a man and didn’t know what to do. When he tried to hold her, that was when she didn’t want to be touched. When he tried to give her some space. . . that was when she needed to be in his arms.
The law let the bastard go.
They Let The Motherfucker Go!
The reason why? Because her mother was an ex-whore, they felt that it must run in the family.
The bastard turned up dead, and their investigation on his death, was much more extensive than the one conducted for the rape. They had to find out who it was that did those horrible things to that poor man.
All living things die, his parents had recently died in a car wreck. . .
Must have been something that ran in his family. . .
The news of the horrendous death hit the streets, and many spat in the gutter and replied: “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
Since it was a homicide investigation Steve was brought in. “I wasn’t there, but I’m sure the bastard was drunk, just like he was the night he spent with Darnell. He must have been drunk and just fell on the machete.”
“Seventy times. . . somehow I don’t think so.” the investigating officer replied sarcastically.
“Okay, so he was also a moron.” Steve, replied with a smile.
It was just another way of Steve Davidson, thumbing his nose at the law. They knew it had to be him, but there was not one shred of evidence to confirm their suspicions.
The officer tried for over four hours to break Steve’s story but the man never faltered. The girl he was suppose to have been with at the party confirmed his story, as did the other thirty witnesses from the same party
The case was never officially closed, in later years all evidence and files would vanish from the police station.
Tank along with countless other men and women, would join in the fight for Texas Freedom. They would be considered among the Founding Fathers by those in the Company. The men and women that had decided to take a stand for their beliefs.
They would never be read about, in any history book, nor would their deeds ever be discussed by presidents in speeches to the nation.
Their tactics and ingenuity would be recorded and studied. Theirs would be the foundation, in which certain organizations would base their philosophies on.
In their line of work, it would be wise to understand certain facts in dealing with the enemy. You either Kill or you’re killed. Dying may come with the job, but at least die with honor. In other words: you take as many of the bastards with you as possible. Go Down Proud if You Must Fall.
Yes, by all means take out as many of the enemy as possible, then those on your team will have fewer assholes to deal with. Take out their storage areas, and make life as unpleasant as possible.
There are no niceties in dealing with the scumbags. You either kill the bastards, or put them so far from daylight, that all forms of comfort are unseen, and completely out of their reach.
There are to this date, people that are presumed missing, that are in such a prison. They pissed off the wrong people, and are now as they say. . . history.
Never give in. Never allow them to see one sign, that any of those frivolous emotions even exist inside you. Compassion and all of those other corn-ball types of emotions that they’d failed to show during the actions of their crimes don’t exist within you either.
Soon even some of the actions of this group, will leak out and will cause disgust to many of Americans. Too harsh a punishment for a scumbag. Well Boo-hoo, and Fuck You Too.
One group would try pointing out that a certain percentage of those killed were Black. But what they’d fail to point out is that in the beginning, an even larger percentage of the punks, that were killed during the first two weeks were White.
His plans had gone from bad to stupid, then to complete shit. Borga could not
understand how the cops, and insubordinate groups of citizens could have grown so powerful and so large so fast.
They must have been underground all this time. He reasoned, that was the only logical explanation. He made a mental note to personally shoot his intelligence officer. This mission was rapidly turning to complete shit, and there was nothing that he could do about it.
What was so bad he’d lost contact, with his people in his homeland. Without them backing him, he could and in all likelihood would loose his immunity. The local cops would love that.
There wasn’t anything wrong with the radio. . . it was almost as if they were either being ignored, or his people were just no longer there.
“Send out the assault teams. Attack their towns, start with their schools and churches and nursing homes. I want to hear about lots and lots of dead bodies. If I hear of another failure, I will personally shoot those responsible.”
His voice was steady but it had an evil ting to it, he was losing his grip on his sanity.
The woman fought back the sick feeling in her stomach. This is one Really Sick Fucking Cowardly Bastard. Takes a brave person to attack, or to make war against children, and the elderly. Not to mention those that may be in the churches.
She knew that he was standing by watching her for a reason, she was under suspicion of being a traitor. If she didn’t comply Borga would personally shoot her in the head.
In the short time she’d been here, she’d actually grown to like America. The people were not at all like they’d told them. They’d been lied to. Now, she practically had a gun to her head, and she was to order the deaths of little children. Babies!
One group had welcomed her into their church, she learned of the teachings of Christ, and though she’d been taught to hate and despise all forms of Christianity, she’d wept at the acts done to such a wise, as well as a very kind and gentle man.
She gave the order first in German, then in Spanish. Then she smiled faintly as she set the dial. Please God. . . please let me get word out. I cannot allow little children to be killed, I cannot allow them to kill anymore of your people.
She spoke in perfect English. She gave the order to attack the cities and be certain that the schools, and churches were to be the main targets. She tried her
best to sound cold and merciless as she gave the order to also attack the nursing homes.
Borga smiled as he walked away. The woman had passed his test and she had more than proven her loyalty. Now, he’d simply sit back and wait for the fun to begin. He was the sickest man to ever set foot in America. In later years there would be some that would run a close race in the sick department.