The Old Dominion University football game had not gone well for the home team. ODU lost by three touchdowns. If that wasn’t enough, their season became a lost cause when their quarterback got sacked, and wound up with a separated shoulder, and their best wide receiver went down with a torn ACL.
I sighed, “Gonna be a rough night.” I had the heads up display run pictures of 31 girlfriends and wives across the screen. I could have had the system pick one by random number, or I could have picked by closest to the social security number of the dead person I supposedly was, or the one matching the day of the month.
I looked at the eyes of each picture. One set caught my attention, “There’s my starting point.”
The armor plotted the shortest path to her residence. I didn’t bother with her name. According to the Norfolk Police Department’s computer records she was a domestic violence victim. That’s all I needed to know.
The car was waiting where I’d left it, in the parking lot, surrounded by countless others. It looked normal, like an old, cheap Toyota. The door would only open for me, and even then, only when my hand pulled the handle, and only if my hand still had a pulse. If someone borrowed my hand, the door wouldn’t open.
The computers managed the car’s audio system so it sounded like an old, cheap Toyota. I drove the car to the home of the victim, parked on the street a block away, and waited until I saw his car. Once he’d driven past, I exited my car, and walked into the shadows beside one of the buildings which lined the street. “Activate.”
I walked out of the shadows, knowing no one could see me, no one could hear me, my breathing, my footsteps, my pulse, were all silenced by the armor.
She lived in a one bedroom apartment on the third floor. The lights in the stairway, and hall were eyeball searing bright. “Security by illumination.” I waved at the video cameras in the hallway as I walked toward the victim’s apartment, then giggled at my joke. The video cameras couldn’t detect the armor. I could have stood in front of the camera and danced a jig, and no one would have known.
Of course, someone might wonder how an apartment door opened and closed by itself, but that wasn’t my problem. I stopped at the door, and used the sensors to see the apartments contents. The victim was prone on the apartment floor, the sensors recorded her physical condition. He’d struck her several times, according to the heat signature, her pulse, and blood flow. “Her condition?”
“Recommend requesting medical assistance.”
“Place the call.”
The armor called 911, reported our address, and requested medical assistance for the victim.
I didn’t bother opening the door. I went through it. No bruises for me, the armor took the beating. The male raced toward the door, then stopped when he realized no one was there. I kicked him in the groin, hard enough to lift him off the floor. He formed a little ball on the floor, so I rolled him into the nearest wall. By the time I finished, I’d added a concussion, three broken ribs, a separated shoulder, a broken arm, and four broken fingers on his right hand, to his list of injuries.
The armor reported the male was in a great deal of pain, but not at risk of death.
You can call me Satan. Call me evil. Call me violent, heartless, soulless, uncivilized. Call me whatever you want. I don’t care. I was there to fix things. Things the law, reason, the courts, the police, and society weren’t able to fix.
Invisible, I whispered in the male’s ear, “I’m Armor 17. I am the violence. And I’m watching you.”
When the medical assistance for the victim arrived, I walked away, back into the shadows of the building I’d started my walk from. “Off.” I walked out of the shadows, got into my car, and drove off, knowing there would be more violence in the days ahead.
Much more violence.
And so goes year 3, week 13 (Week 3.13) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. This week the prompt is the song, “Call Me Satan” by Omnia. Please, go read the other stories in this week’s challenge.