Bite the Hand that Beats You

Two police officers dragged a man who was cuffed and had a bag placed over his head down a hallway. The limp man gave off a faint smell of blood and occasionally twitched to show he was still alive. The officers were dressed in all black and full body armor with a handgun holstered on their hip. They gripped the wrists of the prisoner and marched with heavy foot steeps. Their strids were in union with each other like a perfectly calibrated machine. The first officer was an older man in his forties. His eyes anxiously darted around. The carpet was spotless, little tables were perfectly spaced 10 feet apart with a single red rose in a white vase. On the walls were portraits of the former governors hanging above the tables.

Once they reached the end of the hall, there was a door with a seal in the middle of it. It was of a male lion standing on its back two legs. In one claw was a book of law, and in the other was a sword with the inscription, Strength is Order and Order is Peace. The officer’s hand fearfully rested on the brass doorknob.

He looked at the second officer. He was about half his age and had a combat shotgun slung over his shoulder. “Should we?” he nervously bit his lower lip, “I mean, she’s going to kill him, right? I know what he has done, but don’t you think people are going to get angry?”

The young officer shook his head. “This man is a terrorist! The city is burning because of him. I hope she kills him, and if you’re worried about riots, we’ll make an example out of Ranken here. Show his followers the cost”. He said while he jostled the prisoner’s limp arm.

“Or give them a martyr.”

The young officer opened his mouth and closed it a few times, unable to formulate a response. “I don’t think that will happen. People are cowards. Let’s just do what we are told.” He opened the door and entered a luxurious office. The room was dimly lit by one desk lamp. There were four chairs with green cushions, but only one was available to sit in; the others overflowed with papers and reports. Likewise, most of the desk and surrounding floor space was taken up by papers. A large window wrapped around the room and gave a view of the night sky and the burning city. Against the window was a silhouette of a woman who was looking out at the city.

The officers pushed Ranken down into the free seat and cuffed him to the arm before removing the bag over his head. Ranken was bloodied, his face was cut and split. He struggled to keep his head up as his breathing quickened.

The young officer smiled and said, “Here you go, Ms. Maxwell. I hope he didn’t get beaten too badly.”

She turned to them. Her brown hair was tied up in a bun. A beautiful red dress hugged her hourglass figure. Her red lips curled into a wide smile but offered no comfort. It was as lifeless as the man that sat before her.

“Thank you, boys, leave us.”

The older officer spoke up, “Um, Ma’am, we aren’t supposed to leave you alone.”

She took out a handgun and placed it on her desk, “I can take care of myself. Now leave us.”

The two men looked at each other before leaving and closing the door behind them. Ms. Maxwell waited until she heard the door close before she went back to gaze out the window. Fires were scattered across the whole city. Most traffic had stopped. Sirens and gunshots rang out as the smoke cloud grew larger, slowly blocking out the stars. “I love this city; it was where I was raised, and now, I’m its governor. Yesterday, children freely played in parks, business boomed, people were happy. Now look at what you have done to my city, you are burning it to the ground. I have tolerated you long enough.”

Her eyes were glossy, but she held her eyes held tight. She sat herself at her desk and flipped through the papers. “Do you know what these are?”

Ranken lifted his head. Long, black hair covered part of his bloody face. It was surprising that he was still conscious. His nose was broken and his skin was purple for how badly bruised it was. Despite his wounds his green eyes looked through his hair like a tiger through the brush.

“These are all crimes people have done in your name, let’s take a look,” she flipped through the papers, “March eight, a bombing at the Smith Mall, seven killed and thirty-three injured, a shooting that killed two officers, riots that have cost civilians and government millions.” She raised an eyebrow, “Shall I continue?”

“I never told them to do that…” his voice was rough and dry as if he had been wandering the desert for days.

She smiled, “I know I never told them to do that, but you never told them to stop, did you? You preached anarchy, and you didn’t think that people would act according to what you taught? I would like to avoid conflict, so I’ll make a deal. I will let your live if you stop this crusade and shut up”.

Ranken started to laugh despite the pain in his chest, “I can’t do that, the people have had enough, they demand freedom. You have put them under the presser of tyranny and like a pipe, they can only take so much before they burst.”

She was unamused by his mockery. Her fingers tapped the table. The rhythmic sound resonated as the only sound. “Your so-called freedom is disrupting the peace. I smell the discord; I can feel the embers growing. People have already been killed; who knows how many more if you continue? You want to fight the government, you think we are going to stand still and let you neuter us? We have teeth, and we bite! Go back to where you belong and keep the order.”

“You would rather have people be brainless? To fall into place and in your machine. To take away their free will and humanity? People have become slaves to authority; their souls have been chained in oppression. Taxes, re-education, and selfish power gain have weighed us down long enough. Let us be free.”

“You honestly think anyone can be free?” Ms. Maxwell opened the bottom most drawer on her desk and took out a bottle of scotch and two glass cups. The bottle was half empty and clearly expensive.

“I’m more of a wine type of girl, but guys seem to like this stuff more.” She filled the glasses up halfway. The dark amber liquid hit the bottom and sloshed the side of the glass before settling down to a still pool. She wrinkled her lips and she reconsidered their drinks. After a second, she filled them to the top.

Ranken said, “I don’t want to hurt innocent people. I have seen you burn books that disagree with you, people starve in the streets because you have robbed so much from them and my own father was imprisoned and died in jail because he thought different.”

“I can empathize with you but quit this childish thinking. Even people with all the power in the world are slaves to keeping that power. It’s the same way with money. People don’t want to be free; making choices is too hard. They would rather serve a master: drugs, money, sex, religion. I’m just here to make sure everyone doesn’t kill each other.”

She pushed his glass to him. He took the glass with his free hand and took a sip. She put her glass to her lips and downed the dink in a single breath.

“You talk about wanting to avoid conflict, but what have you offered me? You have arrested me under no charge, beaten me, threatened me, and asked me to abandon all I believe in. For what, my life? Something you already own.”

“Fine then, what do you want? A position in government? Money? Or so-called freedom?”

“You can’t bribe me. I want change. You underestimate people because you have made them disposable cogs of a machine. Give them a chance, an opportunity to grow and learn. People become slaves because they have no choice. This is not a country but a prison.”

“A prison? Okay. Sure, but I have order. Where is your order? In your anarchy, chaos will run rampant. How can you keep the law? How can you punish evil people? Are you assuming that people will do the right thing when given the chance?” She shook her head. “People don’t deserve that chance; they will do what they desire, and not all those desires are wholesome.”

Ms. Maxwell picked up her gun and circled the room. Her dress shoes clacked with every step. She rotated the gun. The metal was shiny and smooth. An intricate machinery with dozens of moving parts to send 9 millimeters of metal through the air faster than a human can hear. If even one part was dysfunctional, nothing would work.

“You think I don’t know that my higher-ups are corrupt? That they only have enough order so they can keep their power. They are driven by greed not creed and that allows for disorder and for people like you.”

She pointed her gun at him, “Here is my offer. You can be my equal, and both of us can overcome this lack-luster regime, and we can reshape this nation into what is best for the people. A utopia, paradise, heaven on earth, in other words, perfect order.”

He didn’t flitch or care to look at her, “I was starting to think you could be reasoned with. You’re no Tyrant, you’re a woman with a god complex.”

“I really don’t want to kill you. But your disciples are making it hard to keep order, my order. I will make an example of you.”

He hung his head low, “My followers won’t see it as an example but as a call. You will plunge this nation into civil war, and you will be the only one to blame.”

Ms. Maxwell paused to think about the other outcomes, “No, I will keep the order.” She pulled the trigger. A single shot rang out. A hole appeared in Ranken’s head and what little life was left vanished. He sat in the chair, lifeless, with his head looking up at the ceiling. The two officers busted through the door. The older officer was shocked. He looked to her and said, “What have you done?”

She smiled at him, “Keeping order. I want every officer out there and armed to the teeth, and if anyone steps out of line, kill them.”