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| FML |
Brandon awoke to find himself in a concrete room about the size of a walk-in closet. He was on his back in a hard bed with a thin, lumpy mattress that provided no comfort at all. And he was in a great deal of pain.
As he looked around the room he began to remember the events of the other day. He was at school. There was screaming coming from the stairwell. Suddenly a mob of men dressed like black Storm Troopers came charging at him and attacked him. Someone sexually assaulted him and he passed out from the pain. Remembering the sexual assault made him more aware of where the worst pain was coming from. His testicles were severely injured. The pain was so intense that he felt as if he would throw up. His ribs were hurting badly, too, so he hoped that he wouldn’t throw up because the strain of it would make his ribs hurt more. He was fairly sure at least one of them was broken. His face felt as if someone had hit a home run on it using a baseball bat. One of his eyes was swollen almost completely shut. His vision was a bit blurry and he had a screaming headache. He knew what a concussion felt like thanks to years of playing football. He had a bad one.
He looked around as best he could without moving since every movement caused intense pain. He noticed that he was dressed in a neon orange jumpsuit. A stainless steel toilet was attached to the far wall at the back of the room. Everything was made of concrete and painted white. A heavy door was on the wall behind. The door had a rectangular opening like something a mailman would use to drop letters in, except the opening was larger and there was no privacy cover over it. It was just a gaping hole in the door.
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| OMG |
Red called her father the instant she heard about what happened to Brandon. “Dad,” she cried into the phone, “they took Brandon! Soldiers invaded my school and took Brandon away! What is going on?!”
Mr. Reidenhausen had been expecting something like this, some kind of politically-motivated attack. Immediately following the arrest and release of his precious little girl, Katie "Red" Reidenhausen, he had noticed that a black unmarked police cruiser was always parked on the street somewhere near their house, with at least one man inside it, day and night. He also noticed unmarked black police cruisers following him every time he left the house and everywhere he went. Seeing them, he knew that more trouble was yet to come. Even so, he was shocked by the extreme level of violence and callous disregard for human life displayed in the apprehension of Brandon at school. In fact, he was surprised that they had come for Brandon in the first place instead of for Red.
Every minute of every day thoughts of the police kicking in his door and coming into his home to take his daughter plagued his mind. He had discussed these fears at great length with his attorney, Mr. Wheelhouse, who had assured him that the best course of action was simply to keep Red at home and not do anything to arouse suspicion or give the police any excuse to take her back to jail. Plus, the Black Panthers had placed a bounty on her head, which was not a joke, and the only place she could be well protected by her family was at home.
Every minute of every day thoughts of the police kicking in his door and coming into his home to take his daughter plagued his mind. He had discussed these fears at great length with his attorney, Mr. Wheelhouse, who had assured him that the best course of action was simply to keep Red at home and not do anything to arouse suspicion or give the police any excuse to take her back to jail. Plus, the Black Panthers had placed a bounty on her head, which was not a joke, and the only place she could be well protected by her family was at home.
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| Death to Little Red Riding Hood! |
Home had become Red's prison now. She had not left for days. Making home feel even more prison-like were the armed guards patrolling the yard outside, day and night. Mr. Reidenhausen had hired them immediately upon hearing the reports of the Black Panthers placing an illegal bounty on her head, which the Department of Justice would do nothing about. He had also installed a network of video cameras all over the property which was actively monitored by a highly complex software application that Mr. Reidenhausen himself had created and begun selling years before for use in dangerous locations where terrorists, kidnappers and unstable governments made life difficult and treacherous. The American embassy in Cairo had one of his systems installed and had credited it with saving many American lives there on several occasions during the recent uprisings. Many embassies located throughout the Middle East and South America were his customers.
The system is triggered by certain key events or patterns. Three or more nearly identical vehicles all moving together, especially at higher than normal speed, for example, would trigger an alarm. Multiple men in combat boots suddenly appearing, obviously armed or not, and moving towards the protected location was another trigger. Anyone utilizing night vision goggles, carrying a certain type of rifle, or uttering the phrase “allahu akbar” was an instant trigger. There were other, less obvious triggers, all constantly being modified and updated over the years with each new system update. It was considered to be one of the most advanced and effective security systems in the world and had made Mr. Reidenhausen a moderately wealthy man.
The day after the invasion of the school and apprehension of Brandon, a group of Mexican workers came to come to the house. It was 7 am when Red heard and then saw three pickup trucks filled with Mexican men pulling down the driveway towards her house. As her father walked past her bedroom she shouted to him and asked what the men were there for.
“There’s a plumbing problem,” he told her. “It’s under the foundation so they’re going to access it through the storm shelter I had installed in the floor of our garage when we moved in here. It's nothing to worry about.”
At first Red didn’t think much more about it, other than that the noise they were making was annoying her. But then she started to notice that there were an awful lot of men going down into the storm shelter and they were pulling an enormous amount of dirt up from there. Even after several days the men were still working and yet they still hadn't fixed the problem. Meanwhile, there didn’t seem to be any problems with the plumbing in the bathroom connected to Red’s bedroom. The water was fine.
While all of the plumbing work was going on, Mr. Reidenhausen began going to visit all of the neighbors. He talked to each and every one of them about the situation and his fears for his daughter's safety. He asked each neighbor if they would allow him to install cameras on their properties that would be aimed at the street so that he could monitor the people coming into the neighborhood. He said that it was necessary to install them on privately owned properties because the city wouldn’t give permission for them to be installed on public property such as on light poles, etc. The Black Panther’s illegal bounty for her murder was alarming and infuriating to everyone. They all agreed to allow the installation of the cameras. Not a single person refused.
Back in Washington, DC, Brandon's trial was already beginning. There were TV cameras everywhere to record and broadcast every minute of it across America. A special judge had been hand-picked by Eric Holder and his Department of Justice. Objections from a few members of Congress that the new presidential police force and associated court was illegal were simply ignored. Unless Congress was prepared to impeach the President and arrest the Attorney General the trial was going ahead as planned.
Brandon was wheeled into the courtroom in a wheelchair. He was chained to it with shackles both at his wrists and ankles, even though he couldn't walk due to the severity of his genital injuries. He had received absolutely no medical treatment at all. He was still dressed in the prison orange jumpsuit they had placed him in. His own blood was still smeared across his face. The prison uniform combined with the chains and swollen, bloody face made Brandon appear an odd combination of menacing and pitiful.
Brandon was not allowed an attorney to represent him. It had been decided that an attorney would raise too many inconvenient objections and drag the proceedings out, when what was needed to help the President in the polls was a quick and damning conviction of a wealthy white male scapegoat. This would appease both the protesting black militants and the feminists, because both movements are Marxist and thus equally committed to the Marxist goal of destroying all white males throughout the world, along with eradicating capitalism and Christianity.
A special prosecutor had been chosen for the job of verbally crucifying Brandon, a member of GLAAD's board of directors named Linda Haighter. The judge was a personal friend of the President going back to the President's days as a black agitator in Chicago. He was an ex-NAACP chapter officer named Hamad bin Muḥammad. His job in Brandon's trial was simply to say "guilty" and pass sentence after Linda Haighter finished verbally shredding Brandon.
Brandon was wheeled into the center of the room, directly in front of the judge's unusually high bench. There was a square in the center of the floor, with a wooden rail around it on three sides and a wooden gate at the back. The gate was opened and Brandon was wheeled inside. Then the gate was closed behind him. Armed guards stood on either side of him. To Brandon's left was a table where the prosecutor and her team of 5 attorneys were sitting. Cameras were rolling from every corner of the room as reporters were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder behind and a select few were permitted to occupy the two front corners of the courtroom in order to broadcast video of the event. An armed woman standing to the right of the judge's extraordinarily high bench said "all rise for the honorable judge Muhammad." The 6 prosecuting attorneys, all females, stood up. Everyone else was already standing, as it was standing room only in the back half of the room. Brandon could not stand and so he simply rattled his chains as if trying to get up and then gave up.
Judge Muhammad entered from a door to the left of the bench and strolled into the room with his chin high so that he was looking down his own nose in order to see where he was going. His jaw was jutted out proudly and it was apparent that he felt quite proud of himself. He swaggered over to the seat behind the bench and sat down without looking at anyone. Then he picked up the largest and most ornate gavel that Brandon had ever seen and banged it loudly on the desk.
"This court will now come to order," he said loudly and with an obviously exaggerated deepness to his voice.
Back in Washington, DC, Brandon's trial was already beginning. There were TV cameras everywhere to record and broadcast every minute of it across America. A special judge had been hand-picked by Eric Holder and his Department of Justice. Objections from a few members of Congress that the new presidential police force and associated court was illegal were simply ignored. Unless Congress was prepared to impeach the President and arrest the Attorney General the trial was going ahead as planned.
Brandon was wheeled into the courtroom in a wheelchair. He was chained to it with shackles both at his wrists and ankles, even though he couldn't walk due to the severity of his genital injuries. He had received absolutely no medical treatment at all. He was still dressed in the prison orange jumpsuit they had placed him in. His own blood was still smeared across his face. The prison uniform combined with the chains and swollen, bloody face made Brandon appear an odd combination of menacing and pitiful.
Brandon was not allowed an attorney to represent him. It had been decided that an attorney would raise too many inconvenient objections and drag the proceedings out, when what was needed to help the President in the polls was a quick and damning conviction of a wealthy white male scapegoat. This would appease both the protesting black militants and the feminists, because both movements are Marxist and thus equally committed to the Marxist goal of destroying all white males throughout the world, along with eradicating capitalism and Christianity.
A special prosecutor had been chosen for the job of verbally crucifying Brandon, a member of GLAAD's board of directors named Linda Haighter. The judge was a personal friend of the President going back to the President's days as a black agitator in Chicago. He was an ex-NAACP chapter officer named Hamad bin Muḥammad. His job in Brandon's trial was simply to say "guilty" and pass sentence after Linda Haighter finished verbally shredding Brandon.
Brandon was wheeled into the center of the room, directly in front of the judge's unusually high bench. There was a square in the center of the floor, with a wooden rail around it on three sides and a wooden gate at the back. The gate was opened and Brandon was wheeled inside. Then the gate was closed behind him. Armed guards stood on either side of him. To Brandon's left was a table where the prosecutor and her team of 5 attorneys were sitting. Cameras were rolling from every corner of the room as reporters were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder behind and a select few were permitted to occupy the two front corners of the courtroom in order to broadcast video of the event. An armed woman standing to the right of the judge's extraordinarily high bench said "all rise for the honorable judge Muhammad." The 6 prosecuting attorneys, all females, stood up. Everyone else was already standing, as it was standing room only in the back half of the room. Brandon could not stand and so he simply rattled his chains as if trying to get up and then gave up.
Judge Muhammad entered from a door to the left of the bench and strolled into the room with his chin high so that he was looking down his own nose in order to see where he was going. His jaw was jutted out proudly and it was apparent that he felt quite proud of himself. He swaggered over to the seat behind the bench and sat down without looking at anyone. Then he picked up the largest and most ornate gavel that Brandon had ever seen and banged it loudly on the desk.
"This court will now come to order," he said loudly and with an obviously exaggerated deepness to his voice.
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| "This court will now come to order!" |
... To be continued ...
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