Revenge

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mustynutz

mustynutz

Sicc OG
#1
Jun 27, 2002
14,470
135
63
#1
I lit my cigarette and took a long draw. Why worry about thing such as lung cancer or heart disease? I was not planning to live that long, anyways.

Muffled screams could be heard in the distance as I continued smoking. Maybe they were warning me that resuming my smoking habit wasn't a good thing to do. I was not concerned.

I reached over to my video camera which was on a tripod.

"Wait." I said aloud. "I want to catch this."

I pulled out a matchbook and laid it in my palm. More voices in my head were telling me what I was doing was wrong. Fuck them.

The label on the matchbook was for a bar named "Hooligans". For some reason it always reminded me of the song "Hooligan's Holiday" by Motley Crue when they got that chump singer to replace Vince Neil. An O.K. song, just not real Crue. Anyways, back to the issue at hand.

I placed the unlit end of the cigarette into the matchbook and placed it on the floor carefully, not to tip over.

The stench of gasoline was now starting to grow stronger and had made me glad I had lit the cigarette quickly or I may have put myself in a bind.

I stood back and watched as screams followed.

There before me, a family of 4 was tied up and lying on the ground soaked in premium gasoline. Why did I opt for the 92 Octane when 87 would have just done as well? I guess I just wasted money like millions of people who do the same thing.

"You're husband." I told the older woman who was giving me puppy dog eyes begging for her pitiful existence on this place called Earth. "He did this to you. And your children must die to end his blood line. Don't worry though, he will be joining you."

The cigarette had burned down to the matches and ignited the red tops, in turn lighting the gasoline on the floor. A chain reaction that I found to be pleasantly amusing as then the Goldstein family was next to burn.

As their bodies writhed in pain on the floor desperately trying to escape the flames that consumed them, I snatched up the videotape and left.

I opened the front door and casually walked to my car as if nothing happened. It would have been fine, except somehow the quick fire had ignited a gas line too quickly and the house exploded into flames and the roof caved in immediately.

This was attention I did not need, so I quickly drove away before law enforcement could arrive.

Next stop? My work.

"What's up, Ed?" My friend Jim Evans spoke to me.

"Better jam out, Ed. Things are about to get ugly." I warned him and reached down to my side and patted the nike shoe bag I was carrying. Metallic clanks could be heard as the guns inside bumped into each other.

Jim needed no further advice or warning as he grabbed up his things and left the building.

The cat was out of the bag, it was time to hurry. I went to the office of that bastard Harvey Goldstein, my boss.

"Do you have an appointment?" His pushy secretary stopped me upon entering the room.

"No." I answered back angrily. "I don't have a god damn appointment."

"Well, you can't see him, he is busy."

"I have a videotape for him to watch."

I pulled a VHS Cassette tape from my jacket and waved it at her.

"It's real important."

She looked at me as if I was insane. She was right.

"Ok, how about this?" I reached into my bag and fumbled around eventually pulling out a chrome-polished .50 caliber desert eagle.

"Oh my god." She spoke.

"Yes." I replied. "About your God. Uh, tell him I said to go to hell."

I pulled the trigger, she slumped over dead as half her lungs and internal organs ran down the wall behind her.

"What the hell?" Shouted Harvey from his office.

I kicked down the door and waved the gun at him with one hand and the videotape at him with the other.

"Look, Harvey." I said calmly. "I have something interesting for you to watch."

"I walked over to a television with a VCR built into it that was used for whatever bullshit meetings went on in this white collar snob fest office.

"Watch."

Harvey watched the tape where I meticulously tortured his family, tied them up, and burned them alive.

He broke into tears and begged for his own life.

"Harvey. This is about yesterday." I warned him as I placed the still warm gun to his forehead.

"Ye-ye-ye-yesterday?" Harvey stammered. "That was nothing."

"To me, it wasn't." I told him. "Obviously, Harvey, as I'm in here with a gun having killed 5 people already."

He broke down into tears. Would this gain some kind of sympathy from me? I know not the word "mercy", I only know hate.

"Harvey, you're Jewish, right?" I questioned of the whimpering man. He only nodded in response.

"Well, tell your God to go to hell. I'm trying to cover all my bases here, as after you I'll take out Ackmed in human resources."

I pulled the trigger sending Harvey's head into oblivion.

Do you know what happens when the brains and half the skull are removed from one's head? The skin and hair kind of cave in on themselves leaving a barely recognizable bloody pulp where a face used to be.

The police had to be on their way, so I quickly slapped down my bag and pieced together the broken down M-4 Carbine that was inside. I tossed away my jacked revealing my body armor vest with plenty of spaces filled with 20 and 30 round magazines of ammunition.

I cleared every room in a military-like style I had watched on the movies and read about in books. It was quite effective as my body count rose to nearly 30 people. Also, I have read about those who are merely wounded in other office murders and I was to see to it this did not happen, so as I shot someone and they hit the ground, I would put two rounds in their head with my sidearm as I passed each and every body.

"Ackmed!" I shouted upon seeing the Muslim human resources clown hiding behind a counter. "Come here, I have a message for Allah."

"Allu Akbar!" He shouted while running at me with a broom handle. I had to wing him with a round in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

"A fucking broom? You fucking Muslims are more nuts than I am." I reached inside my bag and pulled out my trusty desert eagle once again. "Tell Allah to go to hell."

"Wait!" He begged. "Why do you do this? Why are you killing?"

It was a legitimate question that I would answer.

"Yesterday, someone took a coke from the refrigerator that belonged to someone else. I was accused of doing that. I didn't do it." I answered back.

"What? Just that?"

"Just that?!?!" I responded angrily. Ackmed died immediately afterwards. His body flipped over with the impact of the rounds against his chest and face.

As his blood pooled on the floor I went to the refrigerator and opened it. There wasn't much inside. I opened the freezer and found what I was looking for. A coke can was sitting in the door frozen solid.

"Look!" I shouted victoriously. "Some asshole accused me of stealing and the fucker forgot he had put the damn soda in the freezer!!!"

This vindicated me. I would not die today, I would have to live.

I escaped into the sewers below the building and the police are still looking for me to this very day.
 
mustynutz

mustynutz

Sicc OG
#5
Jun 27, 2002
14,470
135
63
#5
Not too long ago, I decided to take on a job in the mall, at the local big-chain toy store. It's walking distance from my house, and I like the idea of having discounts on chemistry sets and lite brites.

You ought to know that this particular store is an anchor store for the mall within which it sits. This being the case, we had a virtual army of employees on the floor and in the back room at all times.

My first day on the job, I was actually looking forward to my triumphant return to retail sales. I couldn't wait to be the salesperson who'd NOT run from customers and who'd be helpful when needed. Yes sir, things were going to be just dandy.

"Jared!"

I swiveled around at the shouter. It was Joanna, one of the five store managers, and the one in charge on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. I hadn't met her up until that point, as the weekend manager, Delta, was the one who had hired me.

Joanna was a willowy girl, a little taller than I am, dark, and had long brown hair. She was about 30, and had big, pretty, brown eyes. Additionally, she wore a rather blatant gold crucifix around her neck.

"Yes?" I asked sweetly.

"Have you been to the baby department yet? The store hasn't been open an hour yet, and it's a mess! Get over there now to fix it up."

"Okay," I replied, a little miffed at the lack of politeness.

"Oh," she continued as I turned my back, "You might be new, but we have to earn our stripes around here."

"Okay, Joanna. I'll do my best."

I went to the baby department, and aside from one blanket that wasn't folded properly, nothing was amiss. After double and triple checking the area, I went back to the action figure area and paced about, straightening toys and making myself available to any customer in need.

"Jared!"

I turned my head. It was Joanna. She came right up to my face and whispered loudly, "What do you think you're doing?"

"I was just setting things up in action figures and---"

"No, Jared. It looked to me like you were lollygagging."

"I was---what?"

"Lollygagging."

I stifled a smile, but not well enough.

Joanna's eyes flashed. "Are you laughing at me? Get into the back room. We have to have a talk about your behavior."

I couldn't believe that this was happening. Could it have been a little prank that she liked to play on the newbies? Yes. That had to be it. Heh. Lollygagging.

Joanna marched me into the back room and sat me down. "You see, Jared, this store is like a gear," she interlocked her fingers, gear-like, "And the workers are like the teeth on the gear. Do you follow what I'm saying?"

I nodded.

She continued, "Well, when one tooth isn't pulling its weight, the machine starts to break down. Do you follow what I'm saying?"

I nodded again.

"Good. Now, do your job, or I'll have no choice but to write you up."

That hit a nerve. I think that write-ups are the stupidest thing on the planet. Either fire someone or keep them on. Don't write them up, you crazy, sick pussy.

I nodded. "I understand, Joanna. I'll work harder. I'm sorry."

When she left the back room to return to the floor, two back room employees, Sam and Jarmaine, approached me.

"Hey," Jarmaine said, "Don't listen to that bitch. She gives everyone a hard time. She's technically not even a manager. She's a supervisor."

"Yeah," agreed Sam, "She's really nasty, but there isn't much we can do. Her uncle is district manager."

Intriguingly, Joanna, as supervisor, was in charge of making the weekly schedules. For some reason, I was always scheduled to work during her shifts. I approached another couple of managers when I could, to discuss the situation, but they seemed to think that I was doing a good enough job to not cause any fuss in Joanna's scheduling realm.

The proverbial straw-that-broke-the-camel's-back came in the form of a new shipment of "Robo-Kitties" Robo-Kitties are little robot cats that purr and meow, move about like real cats, and have light-up eyes. I was placed in charge of stocking them on the floor. As they were last holiday season's big seller, I thought that I'd put them in a rather prominent spot, towards the front area, by the registers.

I've always liked stacking things and building models, so I arranged the toy boxes (over a hundred of them) in a rather fetching pattern. When I was done unloading the shipment, the boxes stood a full foot or so higher than I did, and I stepped back, mightily pleased with my work.

"Jared!"

That cacophonous voice of a thousand cats, screeching their claws across a chalkboard---I'd recognize it anywhere. Joanna.

She strode right up to my tower of Robo-Kitties. "What the hell is this? Am I paying you for---for---for little kiddie playtime?"

She shoved the tower and the boxes toppled over, onto the floor, and onto the child of a nearby customer.

"Oh my God!" the customer yelped as she pulled her crying child away from the crash site. She looked up at Joanna. "What the hell were you thinking? Are you insane? You hurt my son!"

Joanna, stone-faced and emotionless, stuck her thumb out in my direction. "Blame him. He's the one who stacked them." She then turned to me. "Clean this up, and find shelf space for them. I don't have time for silly little kiddie babysitting today."

With that, she turned and left for the back of the store. I went over to the customer to see if everything was okay, but she scooped up her sobbing child, said, "Stay away from me!" and left the store.

I considered quitting on the spot, but I realized that doing so would be tantamount to letting the terrorists win. Oh no. It was time for something else. Something I prided myself on.

I called up my friend, an MIT graduate who had just started med school.. "Hey man," I began, "How are you with robots?"

"Not so hot. I was in a competition once and finished tenth."

"Out of how many?"

"Five or six hundred."

"Okay. I need your help."

I knew the store's alarm system code from watching over Joanna's shoulder each morning. Additionally, once when she was in the bathroom, I unhooked the store's door key from her key ring and had a copy made over my lunch break before nonchalantly returning it to her possession.

The plan was set.

On Monday night of the next week, myself, my friend, and another couple of his MIT alums sneaked into the toy store, dressed in black from head to toe. We wore hairnets and gloves (in fact, we wore rubber gloves with another set of gloves over them, just to be safe).

Approaching the dozens of shelved Robo-Kitties, we gave each other the typical, "point of no return" glance, and went to work.

One boy deftly sliced open the side of the kitten with a three-inch scalpel while the other two went to work on the toy's innards. The final step, translucent red paint, was my own responsibility. After each toy was fitted with a slight rewire, a receiver, and a little recording (voices by yours truly), I painted over the cat's eyes with a layer of paint. My friend handed me a small, hastily conceived controlling transmitter. It was a couple of metal plates with some naked wires and an antenna.

"It might zap you when you use it, but it shouldn't be that bad."

After three and a half hours, we had modified about forty kitties and re-stacked them on the shelves. The incision on the side of each was easily disguised by the cat's fur, and we left the store, with the alarm rearmed, just as we left it. We didn't risk trying the transmitter just yet.

The next day was a Tuesday, and Joanna wasn't in. Luckily, no customers decided to purchase a Robo-Kitty than day.

Wednesday came. I was sure to spend a good amount of time around the kittens when I wasn't called to the registers. Sure enough, my patience paid off.

"Jared!"

I cringed. That voice---that horrible voice---

"Yes?" I asked with a great, big smile.

Joanna came right up to me, God yes, right in front of the kittens. God, God, God, yes.

She stared into my eyes. "What do you think you're doing? Lollygagging? Again! Why do you insist on just pacing, pacing, pacing, pacing around when there's work to be---"

I clicked the little wireless switch in my pocket. I felt a small electric shock, but that was nothing compared to---

"Joanna . . ." The cats croaked out my recorded voice in unison. Their eyes beamed red, and their heads moved from side to side.

Joanna turned and her mouth dropped open.

"Joanna . . ." the cats moaned again. She stepped back.

"Joanna . . ." the cats called her name a third time. Her hands jerked to her chest. Then, like a beautiful symphony, came the piece d'resistance:

The cats' heads turned from side to side and sung out, "Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan!"

Joanna fell backward but scrambled right up. "Aaaaaaaaauuuuggghhh!"

She ran out of the store, and I never saw her come back, because I chose that day to quit. I shouldn't have to resort to such trickery at my own place of work, so I left the place, but I still have the transmitter. I click it on occasionally, but I tend to doubt that the range would extend that far, or if it even still works.

I'm sorry to all of the children who have purchased one of my possessed Robo-Kitties from that store. I hope that they give you your money back, and if you're reading this, please don't report me.
 
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