. . .

Give me money

I was surrounded by them. Legions of them, pulling at my clothing. Beggars. I hate them. Miserable whiners, always looking for a free handout. Life doesn't hand things out to you. You have to reach out and take what you want. I never had a handout from anybody, and that was just fine by me.

But the beggars kept surrounding me. They saw me, they saw my clothes, and they thought, "There's a man who's worked his way up from nothing! I'll feed off him like the parasite I am!" Insignificant maggots. Normally I didn't walk like this, walk through the streets filled with refuse, but I had a test to make. A test that would make history.

I reached into my wallet, slowly, giving them all a chance to see what I was doing, and pulled out a few dollar bills. Immediately the throng of moochers pushed forward. Spastic hands reached out, knowing there was money nearby. Just as the mass about me reached a fever pitch, I pressed the button.

The crowd around me was gone. Everything around me to a radius of 10 meters had been vaporized entirely. Not even shreds of bone remained. I smiled, slowly. This was better than I had anticipated.

I performed the test several more times during my walk home. Each time it worked like a charm. I was ready for the press conference.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to announce TeraCorp's newest invention. The ultimate in personal security. Nothing can match the security of the Electric Flash."

I don't know where I'm going with this. Or, rather, I have some idea, it just sucks bigtime. I guess I just wanted to slaughter dozens of people. Very cathartic. I'll line up a few more to take out.

The handle of the gun felt firm, warm in my hand. I held it steady, looking through the sights. You never can tell where they'll be, but it would be just their bad luck to come across me now. I was ready.

No sign of movement in the underbrush. This was just an exercise, perhaps, but there was no sense in taking chances. When I felt that my gun was simply another appendage, I called out. "Pull!"

A human figure flew through the air. I hit it four times before it hit the ground. I was slowing up. There was a time I could have unloaded a full clip into it. I walked over to check it out. Good grouping on three of them, but one had hit it in the leg. If it hadn't been for the chest shots, it would be crippled rather than dead.

Well, it had made the mistake of accosting me when I was in a bad mood.

I think I'll name him. He's got strong opinions of the value of human life. Probably reads Ayn Rand obsessively. Those who contribute vs. those who don't. Cold, man. Cold. He sounds like a John, to me. This will not make Jon terribly happy, but then, this doesn't make me terribly happy either. I need a real idea out of this. Hmph.