Honestly, they hardly deserved the title of police, dressed and armed as they were. Men without an inch of skin exposed, armored to the teeth with black ceramic plates encased in ballistic fiber, hugging their powerful bodies and repelling the bullets we fired at them. They carried machine guns and bullpup rifles. Cruel weapons forged with the seemingly sole purpose of tearing our poor soon-to-be corpses to shreds. My childhood best friend and I held them off for the better part of an hour, but 2 young men with little training and a limited supply of ammunition could only hold off the indignation of the entire United States Domestic Armed Forces for so long. It was lucky that we had an elaborate plan to defend our compound, or we wouldn't have even held out as long as we had. Luck, however, is an abstract concept, and for us, it was only a matter of time before ours fell short.
I'll never forget the exact moment, frozen in time, of when it happened. The last box of 9mm bullets was on the far side of the room, on the other side of the open doorway, through which the armored pigs of war could get a clear shot. I recommended that we surrender, and we could figure it out after the storm had lifted. He declined. He crawled to the far end of the dark, windowless room, gathered all the strength left in him after the long engagement, and broke into full sprint for the other side of the room. He didn't make it. He fell, right into a clearing where his lower body was fully visible to the SWAT teams, so thirsty for blood and revenge. He had slid on the brass casings, strewn about by my gun during the fight.
The gun that I refused to tape a plastic bag to for the specific purpose of catching brass, as I thought it wouldn't look as badass. I watched them shred him to bits with hollow point after hollow point round, engineered for maximal damage when making contact with unguarded flesh. My best friend, my only friend, the closest thing that I'd ever had to a brother, gone before my eyes, because of my foolishness. It wasn't long before the police entered the dark, windowless room. I never wanted to kill again, at that moment. I was, for a moment, too shocked to notice the 6 cops surrounding me. 5 had assault rifles or machine guns, but one was not like the others. He wore the same black body armor, but no helmet. He had his pistol trained on my chest, but a small paper in his hand, to which his attention was being paid. I still had my gun in my hand, when he opened his mouth to speak.
