This is a two part story called “Gear of the Machine” and “Grenade in the Fist”
Who do they think they are? These…FUCKING ASSHOLES! Like I want to be here, holding the line! Fuck them! But we do our duty, right? That’s my purpose; to do as I’m told. I’m trying to protect them. And this is what they do; they show up ready to fight with their protectors. As soon as we are given the go ahead I am going to bash every single one of these fucking people’s skulls in.
Pigs. Masked, armored pigs they call us. They don’t even realize. They would already be dead if we let them out of the city. I have a wife, I have two kids, I have places I need to be, people I need to protect. But here I am, on the streets with these liberal ivory tower fucking piece of shit KIDS. They think they know what the world is like. They think they know what true freedom is. They see us standing in their way. Hey, I’d be more than happy to let you walk through this barricade, watch the weak get picked off, thin this pathetic herd out some.
Here comes the rocks. They are starting small with throwing rocks; they won’t hurt us. I see the few wiry guys standing towards the back, putting soaked rags into the tops of glass bottles. I see the few here and there who are obviously carrying firearms. They are going to be the first ones I shoot.
My wife is alone right now. I taught her how to shoot my guns, but I should be there. I should be protecting my own. Now they roll out the tires…yeah fuckholes, light those up, you cover your mouths with handkerchiefs. I have a gas mask. Who do you think has the upper hand dealing with toxic black smoke? They are idiots, they are ignorant, they think they might change something. The only thing they are guaranteed is my boot up their ass.
They play at rebellion; they romanticize Che Guevera, and William Wallace. They don’t realize…this actually IS the end. This is not just an attack, this is not just an outbreak. This is the mother fucking end. Hellfire, and blood rain. The oceans turning black, and the sky turning scarlet. Panic is our new master, and we will all serve it. Fear - that’s what dwells in our hearts.
But I’m not fearful now. I’m angry. I’m out for blood. More so than these “rebels” They think their anger will keep them safe, but I’m angrier, I’m meaner. I’m the one who goes bump in the night, not the infected. ME. If you can see the whites of my eyes, then prepare to meet YOUR FUCKING END.
My baton is light in my hand, like holding air. This will be okay to start with, but I’m waiting for the order to put on our masks, to pull out our side arms. I’m waiting for this shit to go up to 11. The streets will be red with blood when I’m done tonight.
“GO BACK TO YOUR HOMES, THE CITY IS IN QUARANTINE!” They shout over the megaphone.
As I thought, it only riles them up more. They yell and scream about authority, and rights, and privileges. I’ll tell you who have the rights, and who has the authority; the people with the power. You have a rock, I have a Beretta M9. You have a molotov cocktail, we have M1 Abrams Tanks. We will FUCK YOU UP. I’ll smile as you run, and scream. It’s because of you I’m not at home, protecting my own, so I will take immense pleasure in causing you pain. Lots and lots of pain.
Time to be the bully, time to flex some muscle, time to get a fucking hard-on! We fire some tear gas into the crowd, and they scatter like the roaches they are. The best part is they didn’t see it coming because of their stupid tire fire. The smoke had obstructed their line of sight. One of the cans hits one of them in the head, he’s not going to be getting up…ever, and that makes me laugh, so hard. I start hitting my batton against my shield, and after a few beats we all are doing it. One unit, Five fingers alone are weak, but they can make a fist.
“ANY ONE CAUGHT ON THE STREET WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT, RETURN TO YOUR HOMES IMMEDIATELY!”
There’s tarry rubber smoke in the air, the grit and grime sticking to my skin because I’m sweating bullets. Today is turning out to be a pretty good day after all. Masks are going on, the wind is picking up. This is going to be fun.
We start walking forwards, slowly, and then faster and faster. They launch that first cocktail, and it hits right in front of us. We don’t miss a step. We walk through the fire as easily as we do their smoke. This is no joke. We are not to be fucked with. At first I didn’t want to be here…but now there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
Here we go, I’m going to enjoy this. FUCK YOU.
Who do they think they are? These…FUCKING FASCIST PIGS! There’s nowhere I’d rather be right now, than here at the front line. This has gone on long enough. We will not sit quietly in our homes while the world burns around us. We are strong, we are capable, and they want us to sit on the sidelines as they fumble trying to think of a solution. Well closing borders and locking up your people will do nothing. The infection is already inside, already spreading out its tentacles to envelope us all.
They call us rebels, revolutionaries, anarchists. They are wrong though. We are so much worse, they underestimate us, they think too casually of us. This is our moment to take on the establishment, we will seize the reins and come out on top. Today is day one of the end. They stand in a line opposite us in the square, dressed head to toe in black gear, with helmets and clear shields. Some look afraid, some look angry, a few even stand to the side, talking to one another and laughing. They think this will be easy. They won’t remember today…they won’t live through it.
We start by throwing rocks, make sure they are paying attention. Those who weren’t looking at us… they are now. They don’t realize what we’ve done, why we picked this square as opposed to any other one. It’s simple: we hold this square, and all of its exits but one; the one they came in through. While they wait for the order to strike, we’ve closed up that last exit.
The people in the back are getting some Molotov cocktails ready. This is our next step: we ramp up the aggression in them. The rocks they can handle, but being fire bombed? That they will not stand for. First though, we need to slow them down, confuse them, and obscure their vision of us. So we start the tire fire. If one of them were to see the bulk under our coats, see a wire slip out, we might not get to the last stage before they just shoot us. There are a dozen of us wearing the bombs; we are the martyrs today. We haven’t armed the bombs yet, but once they start to come for us…we will.
The smoke is thick, it fills the air, burns to breathe in. It’s filled with carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and styrene. We are breathing fire, literally. We burn for our country, and we will do whatever it takes. The smoke hides us, makes them wonder, we emerge here and there through the smoke to throw another rock, another slur at them before disappearing into it again.
They are getting angry; I can see it. They are getting tired of our “games.” It’s working, we are sucking them in. They don’t know what we plan, what they are about to experience. They don’t know fear, not yet. They see us as the enemy, but what will they do when it’s a beautiful woman who walks into a market and blows herself up, or a child, maybe even their own child. Then they will be afraid, then they won’t know who to hit, who to silence…we will be all around them.
We have filled the store fronts and homes that face the square with the infected, ones we were able to take alive. Now all we need is to get them to step forward, get close enough to open those doors, let them out, cause the panic we need. No one leaves this square alive.
The infected are not the end game though. That’s why we have the bombs. When I can see the whites of their eyes I’ll do it. We made the triggers death-proof. We arm the bomb by pressing down on a button in our hand, with the wires running up our sleeves. It’s only when we release the button that the bomb detonates.
They yell over the megaphone, we don’t even listen; we just yell louder. They don’t realize, the ones who hold the power, who have the authority are those who are willing to go to the extreme. They mean to quell a rebellion. We mean to burn the establishment to cinder.
They are getting excited now. I can see it on their faces; they are getting pumped up, they are starting to look forward to this. Tear gas canisters launch into the air. We knew this wasn’t going to be easy, it wasn’t going to be gentle. It burns, worse than I could have imagined. My lungs were already on fire from the smoke, now they are positively melting. They yell out over the microphone again, and we just yell LOUDER. Through the yelling I can hear it, like war drums, first only one, then all of them. They are banging their batons against their shields, they are coming.
I have 10lbs of trinitrotoluene on my vest, better known as TNT, with 20lbs of nails, and ball bearings ready to do their damage. We considered C4…but we wanted the stronger option. They are walking forwards now; I grab one of the cocktails, light it up and watch it sail through the air. It hits directly in front of their feet, and they march right through it. Good, they mean business…and so do we. They are going to name schools after us. Children will be given my name, to keep my legacy alive. People will remember this day. It’ll take a lot more than water to wash the blood off the streets.
They think they’re a fist. Well we are the pinless grenade that they are holding. They are getting cIose now. I hold down the button.
Here we go. The winds are changing. No one leaves this square alive.
Story by Ben Kurstin (Screenwriter and Cinematographer for Chrysalis)