“I never took a test. There’s been a mistake. I’m a supporter.”
“Shut up or I’ll break every finger. Capiche?”
The guard grinned a moon of bloody teeth and pushed his nightstick against Bob’s lips. Hard.
Bob grunted but said nothing; decided he’d bide his time for now. This will all get sorted later.
It didn’t get sorted. Why would it? Along with tens of thousands of other “supporters” the only thing Bob got for his support? A free one-way ticked to the burn pits. He’d been beaten enough that when his time came, he jumped of his own accord.
—————
D4: Dictator’s Delusion Disease
petersironwood 