The police checked every hotel. Ever bed and breakfast. Every campground, park, parking lot, vacant house, empty building. They held the greatest manhunt anyone in town had ever seen. They found nothing. I had to chuckle about that. After all, I was a dead man. A man who didn’t exist. Encased in an armor that diffracted the entire electromagnetic spectrum, and rendered me invisible. I couldn’t be seen, or heard. Even their camera systems were of no help.
They went door to door through the entire town. Nothing. No one had ever seen the man in the picture from the video. They found no car. No motorcycle. No taxi use. Nothing.
As they searched, the internet went insane for a third day. This time, it showed those who wished Michelle didn’t exist, so they never had to deal with that thing, Michelle, again. How so many of them smiled, and laughed, and cheered when they found her mangled body that day.
“I’m glad she’s gone.”
“I don’t have to be nice to it anymore!”
“Now, I can use the women’s room again!”
Those words were why I’d come to their town. Why I’d acted. Why I would finish what I’d started. It was up to them, to their actions, to their deeds. They’d acted with violence, hatred, and intolerance.
I’d responded in kind.
And revealed their hatred to the world. Like the saying goes. Nothing on the internet ever really goes away.
The next part of the ongoing Armor 17 story. It’s Week 322 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.