CW: Revenge
THE REAL PURGE
There were last preparations taking place before the annual Event. Nobody called it “the Purge,” but everyone knew that it was the Purge.
It was strange to think that a bunch of rich people had become so enthralled by a movie series that they would legalize assault and murder. That they would embrace one day of the year when everyone could go wild and do whatever horribleness they pleased.
Leave it to rich people to watch an allegorical movie that they would misunderstand and turn into terrible life goals. It was like when all those dudes watched “Fight Club” and were only able to understand the “Fighting is cool!” portion of it.
Call it a lack of empathy. Call it a lack of social awareness. Whatever it was… rich people loved the idea of being able to freely hunt the poor for sport.
And, of course, serial killers and rapists were having a great time too.
Normal people, not so much.
It was the fifth year since the start of the Event. People were still terrified and worried, and a lot of time and money was spent in the months leading up to the Event in bolstering home security and stockpiling weapons. In filling medical kits and learning first aid. In practicing self-defense and trying to figure out who amongst family and friends was truly trustworthy, and who was looking forward to inheriting some property.
The Event season was a stressful time of year. First there were preparations. Then there was the terror of the Event. And then there was the afterward, with the cleanup and the hospital bills.
The only ones that enjoyed the Event were sickos and the rich. Everyone else simply tried their best to survive.
But this year… this year was different.
Because Malcom Butterman had had enough.
. * . * . * .
Malcom was born into a barely middle class family. They had enough food to eat even if it wasn’t of the best quality, and there were always clothes to wear even if name brands rarely made an appearance. He’d always received a new school bag every year and there was plenty of Crayola crayons and markers.
It was just that they’d all known there was no safety net. One job loss. A few missed paychecks. And everything would fall apart.
He was seventeen years old when it fell apart.
His mother was killed in the first Event. A group broke into the house and in the struggle Claire was dead.
They were all beaten up that night. They fought back and killed most of their attackers. But none of them could say that they had won.
With the death of his mother, Malcom had to give up his college dreams. There wasn’t enough money after the funeral expenses and the hospital bills from his dad’s horrifically broken leg.
He’d had to get a job. If he hadn’t just graduated he would have had to drop out of high school. As it was, he had to work hard so that his two sisters had enough food to eat.
Between him and his dad they barely managed to keep the house. But there were times when they couldn’t afford heat and everyone had to huddle together in the living room with the lights off. They ate a lot of oatmeal and ramen and his sisters no longer carried new school bags or name brand school supplies.
They survived though. Through hardship and poverty and three more Events, the last of which took his youngest sister Marie’s left hand.
And finally Malcom had had enough.
He’d always done well in school. He’d cheerfully seen his name added to the gifted list every year. It was what had allowed him to graduate a year early.
Even though he didn’t get to go to college, he still studied in his off time. Still did online research and practiced programming. Still taught himself and found sources online to learn from.
And before the fifth Event, he came up with a plan.
If he did things right, this would be the last Event.
Because the rich wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about a legal murder night if they didn’t have their private armies to protect them. Having to fear reprisals and thievery would curtail their bloodthirsty support of violence and mayhem.
They had always been cowards in their hearts.
. * . * . * .
Even with all his preparation, Malcom couldn’t be sure that things were going to work. He wanted to believe in his skills, but he didn’t have as much experience as he would have liked. But that didn’t stop him.
Brute hacking into company servers was difficult. So he had to find ways to slip in through the backdoors. Using subterfuge and guile, phishing emails and eventually kidnapping a few known employees and interrogating them to death. He didn’t allow himself to feel any pity.
Because it was known that rich families were using their company resources to hire private armies. And rather than using their security officers to protect themselves and their property, they were paying them extra money to go out during the Event and bring them victims.
They wanted the thrill of rape, torture, and murder, but they didn’t want to risk themselves. So they hired others to face danger in their place. The kinds of people that were willing to gather victims and bring them to their rich masters who could commit their depravities in the safety of their private bunkers.
And those were the ones Malcom targeted.
The security officers and the scumbags they outsourced their evil to. He followed the money trail and gathered himself a list of names, addresses, and profile pictures.
All those masked monsters breaking into peoples’ homes to kidnap them during the Event. Those creeps that thought they were safe in their anonymity, smiling as they walked through their lives and spent their dirty money, while at the same time targeting their neighbors for harm.
He gathered a list of names and he wrote a little script. And two hours before the fifth Event started, that list of names and photos was released to the public along with their home addresses and the addresses of their family members and closest friends.
He felt heartless and cruel and he didn’t care.
And while those monsters were forced to face their own humanity and scrambled to get their loved ones to safety… Malcom used the van he’d leased to drive from one gated community to the next.
They lived in their castles behind tall walls and didn’t have to fear that anyone from the outside would get in. But he didn’t want to get in. He didn’t need to get in.
He simply had to make it impossible for them to leave. Not without terrible consequences.
Malcom Butterman had always had good grades. He’d excelled at math and science and chemistry. And he’d had months to plan and fantasize.
Even if he didn’t kill the money monsters, they were nothing without their followers and sycophants. They still needed to eat and drink and have their pools cleaned and their carpets vacuumed.
If they wanted to stay in their safe rooms, then they could stay in there and rot. But if they wanted to leave… They would suffer and burn for the pleasure of freedom.
The fences were tall, but his launcher was powerful. And without security guards to chase him away, he was free to launch paper flour bags of not-flour at will.
He’d mixed and filled HUNDREDS of bags. They filled the whole storage compartment of the van and the launcher took pride of place in the copilot’s seat. There were enough bags for him to strike thirty-five of the richest communities in the state. He drove from one to another and only faced two incidents on the way.
As he’d thought, most of the violence of the Event had been manipulated by those rich backers. With their private security more interested in saving themselves and their families, there wasn’t the wide scale violence and mayhem of previous Events.
Sure, people went after their enemies and there were break-ins and assaults and murders, but it wasn’t the wild free-for-all of previous Events. Because most people simply didn’t have the weaponry to break down heavy security doors. And those that reveled in Event violence usually had targets in mind and only a single night to reach their destinations.
Other than having to shoot back at a couple of attempted robbers, Malcom was able to enjoy the mostly empty streets to reach the communities on his list.
He spent the Event launching not-flour bags into gated communities and was then able to drive the van to the abandoned shed that he’d readied in advance.
He washed off the paint he’d used to coat the van and switched back the license plates. He changed the tires and wrapped the new ones with cut pieces of tarp before driving the van out and setting the shed on fire, burning the tires inside.
As he drove off, he kept an eye on the fire through the rearview mirror. There was a chance that it could spread and cause a catastrophic event, but he didn’t think so.
He’d spent the day before digging up the grass around the shed and soaking the ground and surrounding area. And inside the shed he’d hung a thin tarp loaded with baking soda. Once the tarp was burnt through, the baking soda would drop on the flames below, hopefully putting out the fire before it could spread.
Malcom had looked at the weather report while making his plans and knew that there was an expected rainfall in the evening or in the next day. And when that water hit that not-flour he’d spread…
He began to whistle a cheery tune.
This would be the last Event. He was sure that nobody would ever want to play again. Because rules and laws were nice things to have, especially when the consequences could also be felt by the rich.
=END=