Another story from my work in progress sci-fi/horror collection, Nobody Is Special is obviously inspired by current events, to the point where there's certainly nothing speculative about a society descending into fascism. Hey, poke your heads outside every once in a while, everybody! Life has always been a struggle, and it's never over until you give up. There's plenty left fighting for. Just remember that this country, despite its many atrocities and crimes, was founded as a democratic republic with humanist ideals. America has done some wonderful things, from joining the Allies in World War 2 to putting a man on the moon, and we can do good again. We just have to remember who we are and that the current administration is about as far away from the American ideal as possible.
...
The comedian took the stage to lackluster applause. He had curly hair and a big nose and wore a blue blazer that was noticeably faded in the bright lights. Before he spoke, he removed a note from his pocket and stared at it for a moment, as though he didn’t recognize his words, before tossing it to the ground with a nonchalance that belied the almost imperceptible tremor in his hands.
“Hey, how you all doing tonight?” he asked the crowd. “Boy, the Gestapo is out in force. Sometimes I wonder what they look like under those skull-like masks. Are they good-looking? Is a Brad Pitt look-alike under there? Is Ben Affleck’s twin busting my nuts? You’d never know because they never take the masks off. What do you think that signifies? What do you think that means?”
“What if I got up here in a doomsday helmet and told jokes? It wouldn’t work, would it? It would be too humanizing. You’d know that under that monstrous mask, there was a real person with a real sense of humor. We don’t know if a random Gestapo agent looks like a movie star or Cleetus Diabeetus, but I’ll tell you what, I’d bet on the latter!”
The crowd murmured with a few uneasy laughs sprinkled about.
“You know what kind of fucking losers work for the Freedom and Pacification Force? Dumb fucking hillbillies! The kind of people to whom you ask a question and they answer with duh-huur? You know why they never read you your rights? It's because they can’t read!”
Two armored FPF agents had materialized behind the back of the crowd. They started walking toward the stage, truncheons drawn.
“You know, we used to have freedom of speech in this country. A person could say whatever they wanted, especially a comedian. Telling the truth was our societal function. Now they drag you offstage to beat the hell out of you for calling a pig a pig!”
Both agents had hopped onto the stage, shiny black helmets gleaming in the strong light. The comedian turned toward them with a sneer.
“Oh what the fuck you gonna do, big man? You gonna beat me in front of all these fucking people, you fucking cousin fuck…”
The truncheon slammed into his big nose with an audible crack, and the comedian fell to his knees, blood spraying across the stage. A gasp went through the crowd before it grew silence. The agents dragged him off the stage and behind the curtain, and the promoter ran out to apologize, sweat glittering on his forehead.
“It’s over, folks, the show’s canceled tonight. I’m sorry, we’ll offer refunds at the door! Please exit in an orderly fashion. This will all be over soon! Goodnight!”
The crowd did as they were told, but there were a few lingering stares, for in the quiet shuffling of feet moving, you could hear the blows raining down upon the comedian, falling like heavy rain behind the curtain.
…
“Quite the show, eh?” said Jeff to his friends.
They sat around a circular table, cards in hand, three middle-aged men and one woman drinking beer in-between bets. They were in a smoky basement room adorned with sports memorabilia and a two mounted deer heads. Old honky-tonk played on a stereo softly while a basketball game progressed on a muted television that they all ignored.
“He had it coming to him,” said Diego, a brown-skinned man with close-cropped hair. “Everybody knows you can’t say shit like that.”
“Why not?” asked Wilhelm, whose long blond hair was fleck with gray. “In Germany we can tell jokes about the police.”
“Well in America, you fuck around and you find out,” explained Ashley, winking across the table at her boyfriend Diego. “We don’t put up with agitators and terrorists.”
“How was the man committing terrorism by poking fun at the FPF?” asked Wilhelm.
“He was calling them Gestapo and hillbillies!” replied Diego. “These men put their lives on the line every day, rounding up undesirables and degenerates! If they didn’t do their jobs, we’d be mobbed by the homeless and the Anti-Fascist radicals!”
“In an ostensibly free country, you should be able to speak your mind without fear of government retribution,” opined Wilhelm.
“That’s socialist propaganda,” dismissed Ashley, taking a swig of her beer.
“Can you explain what you mean by that?” asked Wilhelm.
“Can you guys stop talking politics all the time?” asked Jeff. He had dark skin and a bald pate and a thick, woolly mustache.
“Jeff’s what they call an enlightened centrist,” said Diego.
“I am not! I don’t pay attention to that shit. Both parties are the same,” explained Jeff.
“Surely you don’t mean that,” said Wilhelm. “The Progressives never implemented anything like the FPF when they ran the country.”
“No, what they did instead was jack up inflation so high that you couldn’t afford groceries or gas and then implement polices in schools to turn the kids gay and teach them to hate themselves for being white,” said Ashley.
“Do you believe this?” Wilhelm asked Diego.
“All I know is that I don’t like women telling me what to do,” said Diego, smiling at Ashley.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” she told him.
“Sure, but I’m your asshole,” replied Diego.
“Play a hand, play a hand,” said Jeff. He showed his cards and won with aces high.
Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the door.
“Who the fuck is that this time of night?” asked Jeff, getting up from his seat.
“Probably some freeloader looking for a handout,” said Diego.
“Jesus, Diego,” said Ashley, laughing. “It’s probably a neighbor.”
Jeff opened the door to reveal an FPF officer standing before him. He had on a thick black uniform with an armored torso and knee pads, and his right hand dangled above his side arm as though ready to duel. His encompassing helmet had empty obsidian eyes and a circular respirator that amplified his breathing. The black combat boots raised his height considerably so that he towered over Jeff, who was not a tall man. There was no badge or number on his breast or sleeve; FPF officers were free of identifying insignia, so that they could perform their function anonymously.
“Is this your house, citizen?” he demanded in an electronically-distorted voice.
“What’s this about?” asked Jeff.
“I asked you a goddamn question,” said the officer, who put his left palm on Jeff’s chest and shoved. Jeff stumbled backward and fell to the floor.
“Hey, what the hell?” yelled Ashley, getting to her feet.
The FPF officer pivoted toward her and drew his pistol.
“Stand down! On your fucking knees!”
“Oh my god!” screamed Ashley, falling down with her hands behind her head.
In the doorway a flying saucer about two feet in diameter hovered, red lights dancing across its surface. It aimed a white light at Jeff, and then Ashley, until it stopped on Diego and began to strobe.
“That’s him,” said the FPF officer. “You there, brown man. You’re under arrest for illegal immigration. Walk in front of me with your hands up.”
“What the hell, man! I’m a goddamn veteran!” said Diego, who had his hands up.
“I’m not going to tell you again, motherfucker,” said the FPF officer, aiming his weapon. “The AI doesn’t make mistakes.”
“Well it sure as hell does if it thinks I’m an illegal immigrant! I’m a former Marine, asshole…”
The gun fired, deafening in the small garage, and Diego slumped to the floor with a hole in his skull. Ashley screamed and the FPF officer turned his weapon toward her.
“Shut up, you stupid bitch, or I’ll blow your goddamn head off!”
Suddenly the flying saucer’s light cease its strobe effect, and turned toward Wilhelm, who was staring at Diego’s corpse in wide-eyed shock.
“Wait a minute,” said the FPF officer. “You’re the illegal, aren’t you?”
“I forgot to renew my visa,” said Wilhelm, his voice stammering.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” babbled Ashley, who had begun to crawl toward Diego.
“I thought you said it didn’t make mistakes!” said Jeff.
“I…” murmured the FPF officer before falling silent.
“You killed him! You killed him! You murderer!” cried Ashley, her hands covered in blood as she cradled Diego’s head.
“Shouldn’t you call an ambulance?” asked Wilhelm.
“He shouldn’t… he shouldn’t have resisted,” said the FPF officer finally.
“He did nothing of the sort! He was complying! You shot him for nothing!” accused Jeff.
“He was a domestic terrorist,” replied the FPF officer, his voice regaining its hostile confidence. “He should’ve done what he was told to without question. You fuck around and you find out. You! Illegal! Come with me outside.”
Wilhelm quietly followed the FPF officer outside. Jeff and Ashley remained where they were until they heard a car door slam shut followed by the squeal of tires as the FPF officer’s vehicle burned rubber.
…
Across the street, two neighbors watched as an ambulance carted off the body of Diego Sanchez.
“Christ almighty, what is this country coming to?” asked Ernest, a heavyset man in his late forties.
“They’re making it right,” replied Andrea, a bleached blonde older woman with a cigarette in her hand.
“The FPF? They just shot one of our neighbors and abducted another,” said Ernest incredulously.
“They already uploaded the video to the internet,” replied Andrea. “Here, watch it. You can see that the Latino didn’t do as he was told.”
“Look, I support the Freedom and Pacification Force as much as the next guy, but there was no reason for the officer to shoot Diego! He had the wrong guy!”
“You do what you’re told when a federal agent points a gun at you,” said Andrea, taking a quick drag on her cigarette.
“You’d let them drag off your own mother, wouldn’t you?” accused Ernest.
“You bet I would. You know she has it coming. I’m going back inside.”
Ernest was left alone in the now-quiet neighborhood, a look of disbelief lingering on his face.
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