He was in the base’s auditorium. That much he could tell through the American flag cinched over his face. The familiar smell of nylon webbing and Cosmoline wafted into his nostrils.

Bright lights told him he was dead fucking center in it.

How many he was surrounded by he could not tell.

Too many.

Air Force Brigadier General May was in enemy hands and on display.

I’m up Shit Creek. How the hell did eastern Maryland become Indian country?

He remembers a short general alert that was cut off. Running to command center and finding it in an uproar.

No one knew what was happening. No one could get an outside line, all communications were cut. The Air Force Security Police were nowhere to be seen. It was like they disappeared.

If only he had known then what he knew now.

I would have jumped in my car and made a run for it, goddamned little incel jerks. I should have known a bunch of 19 and 20-year-old SPs couldn’t be trusted. That little green fuck butter bar lieutenant.

Second Lieutenant Boreman came into base ops with a platoon of SPs, M4s leveled at everyone. In one fell swoop, they had the whole command staff, the intelligence wing, the civilian contractors. It was over in less than an hour.


“…they call us losers, they call us terrorists. The Stacies, the Chads, the Tyrones. Yet they rely on us. And what do we get? Fake promises. Lies. Quiet humiliation. A life of quiet desperation, all while being shamed if we complain! Daddy’s little slut princess always gets his ear. Us? We’re relegated to the basement, to our porn, to our video games, to our weed. And if we grasp for more than that and fail, they fucking double down on their insults…”

General May recognized the voice.

Erik? Chief Master Sergeant Blasko’s kid?

“Erik? Is that you, son? Let’s stop this now. You don’t have to do this. None of you boys have to do this,” General May said.

A fist rammed into General May’s face, shocking a body already weakened by the beating he received when they seized him.

“Fuck you, old Chad. My life’s a meaningless pile of shit. While you managed to see to it, little Ashley got to go to Tulane on a ROTC scholarship. Ha!”

General May’s hands spasmed against their restraints. The chair kept him propped up.

“It’s a little too late for ‘please.’ How many cunt subordinates did you promote for some under the desk action? The IT guys, the base security? They’re ours, old man. Call us terrorists while we do the real work, while we form the backbone of society? Fuckhead, nothing we ever do is good enough. I bet you would’ve just loved for us losers to drop our pants and take it up the ass,” Erik said.

There was a pause and Erik continued: “Speaking of which, boys, let’s do this!”

Then the general heard a sound like a thousand keys rattling and grinding.

“Erik, please. What do you hope to accomplish?”

“Satisfaction, old man: satisfaction.”

The sound of many feet shuffling grows closer, along with a light wet slapping sound.

A muffled chant built up in the auditorium: “Chad. Chad. Chad.”

The air cut with a pungent musty odor.

“Erik! Erik! What’s happening?” The general begged.

Erik answered, “I told you: ‘satisfaction.’”

Erik let out a deep rumbling laugh that the general couldn’t believe came from the pale skinny boy he remembered.

A heavy goatish-smelling gel landed on the flag covering General May’s face. A teaspoon spurt of a substance followed by an exhalation of “Gah!”

Oh God! It’s fucking acid; it’s got to be.

But there was no acrid biting, no dissolving of the flag.

One spurt became two at a time, then three, then a cascade of multi-textured fluids with sundry consistencies.

Some were thick and powerful-smelling, glopping on the general’s face.

Others were copious and watery strings that soaked through the flag, plastering it to the old man’s face.

The seconds turned into minutes and breathing became labored as the incels filed past, unloading their seed.

General May choked back his vomit more than once when a deep breath drew droplets of spooge into his mouth, thickening his saliva and causing his mouth to water.

The sound of footsteps and groans of passion assailed the general.


The footsteps faded away until the auditorium sounded empty.

General May, in between panting, called out to Erik, “C’mon kid, let me loose. You’ve proved your point. DON’T FUCKING LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!”

A voice from the top of the auditorium came to him, “You know, Mr. May, in all of this you never asked what happened to your subordinates, and you never said ‘sorry.’ So allow me to pontificate to you, just like I’ve heard men like you do all my life. Your fucking overpaid Chads in the OSI, the FBI, Academi or whoever can come and get you when they figure it out.”

And with that, the door slammed a final time, leaving the old man alone with nothing but the sound of dripping as the flag hardened into a crust.