Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26519812-20150622015543

His name is Paul Reed, and he has been waiting on this day for far too long. His apartment is dark, save for the light given off by the screen he sits before. For the hundredth time he reads the instructions sent to him.

   “Birthday Party at the bank on Main Street. Gonna need you to cater the event. Don’t forget to bring the goods we sent ya. ;) -<3 TS”

Paul chuckled a bit reading this again. He was an office worker, not a damn caterer. Clearly this “The Speaker” loved the dramatic, and must have watched far too many movies. Regardless, orders are orders, and Paul knew that the members of “The Commanded” message board were the only ones who could lead him to his dream. He just had to make a difference. He was nervous about the next few hours, but he would not come to be called “The Reader” by talking on a forum. He had to prove himself.

Turning his chair around, he observed his room. Upon the table in front of him sat the tools needed for his task. Some were his, and the rest had been graciously donated by his internet friends. One AR-15 with twelve magazines of armor piercing rounds just in case, one full auto AK-47 for crowd control, two Molotov cocktails for the money in the vault, one armored vest, a gasmask for tear gas, a backup 9mm handgun, and as much ammo as he could carry. He was almost ready.

He donned his protective vest, filled the ammo pouches he had already been wearing, loaded the weapons, and stuffed everything he could not carry into a gray duffle bag. He laughed as he hid the offending attire under his trench coat. If it weren’t raining so heavily, any thinking person would have been alerted by his conspicuous appearance. Now, he was ready.

Or was he? He thought he had killed all of his doubt, but things tend to look different a quarter-hour before the curtain’s rise. The deed needed doing, Paul knew that. But it still didn’t make acting on blind faith and gut feelings any easier. The Commanded were the future, and it would take acts like this to save society. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what his mother would have said. He was glad that this had waited until she passed. If it wasn’t her sickness, the news reports of later today would have put her in the ground.

“Fuck the media!” He said aloud for reassurance. And he meant it. He reminded himself that it was that very same media and those damned liberals that held the blame for all of this. Bringing people so close together, telling the people that it was ok to bang like rabbits, and worst of all, telling everyone that you were a bad person for rejecting the strange crap some people choose to do. He shouldn’t have been surprised that it was all sinking so far down. Paul knew better than to doubt himself, or his friends. He trusted them, and they needed to know that he too was trustworthy.

“That’s all this is, a test of strength. They need me!” Said Paul, mostly sure of himself.

The bank was only five blocks from his home, so he began his walk. As Paul made his way towards his goal, he remembered his first encounter with The Commanded. A year ago, his radio’s signal was hijacked, and through those stolen airways, came a message of freedom. Freedom from the enslavement of a worthless nine-to-five job, freedom from the P.C. obsessed masses of the far left, and freedom from that sense of meaningless ness that the world always seems to encourage. Finding their forum was easy. Just a little screwing around on his computer and there they were. They pretend to be normal users on some nondescript board, but Paul knew better. After building the strength to speak with his new heroes, they ignored him. Paul was crushed, but his hope soared again when their leader “The Medium” contacted him over the phone later that day. Despite his joy, Paul found this strange. He had never given out his number online, but the event had convinced Paul that these guys are the real deal. Ever since that day, they would have him do strange “jobs”. Steal this, move that, and most of all don’t get seen. This time however, was different.

Paul gulped as he walked up to the bank’s entrance. He saw the metal detectors just inside, but was not concerned. After all, he wasn’t robbing the place. He stood near the doors, fidgeting with his gloves.

“Can I really do this? No! Now’s not the time for doubts!”

Paul stepped through the doors and brandished his AK, leveling it towards the crowd before him. The Commanded were right, this place was packed. As the people began to notice him, the sound of panic began to grow. Hearing this, Paul quickly slipped on his mask, raised his gun again, and fired.

At first he was shocked. They were just falling over, nothing fancy. The guards barely put up a fight, the police were still a few minutes away, and the civvies weren’t putting up any resistance. Were his friends wrong? Was this the blood of the innocent on the ground? He continued with his task anyway, hoping like hell that his fears were wrong. But as he loaded another magazine into his rifle, he heard it, the unmistakable sound of tearing flesh and shifting weight that had erupted behind him. Paul smiled as he turned. The beast in front of him had shed its human disguise out of desperation. The large mass of meat and teeth lurched towards Paul. Just before he opened fire, Paul shouted. ..

“They were right! My god. . . I was right!”  