Redistributive Justice: Chapter 1 – To Steal a Country

Chapter 1 – To Steal a Country

“Let’s get this done and get out of here,” I say.

My three friends agree as we exit the bank’s bathrooms. We spread out and check on everything we need to before proceeding with our plan. Looking above at the cameras, I see that the lights on them are off. Checking my phone, I get a message that the police in this city are preoccupied with other crimes happening here. The guards who usually patrol the floor are not here, and the customers and workers are starting to realize that something is up. My friends and I quickly go to the back and put our masks on. Kelly puts on a clown girl mask, Al puts on a grey mask with black stripes around its eyes and mouth, Suzuki wears a tiger mask, and I have a clown mask with the Chimaera States flag on it.

We’re all wearing suits with long jackets; I’m wearing the most basic black-and-white suit with a tie, Al is wearing one with a bow tie that looks like a butler's suit, Suzuki’s suit is like mine and has his golden thorny cross, and Kelly’s suit is bright pink and looks similar to a ringmaster’s. At the vault door, our insiders open it, revealing all the cash, gold, and valuables inside. My friends and I ignore all that, go up to the locked boxes in the back marked with small dragons, pick the locks, move the valuables aside, and pull the levers to reveal a hidden door in the bank. Opening the hidden door, we find a room filled with gold, cash, and cultists wearing dragon masks and black-and-gold vestments who are beheading infants on an altar. Noticing us, the cultists stop their ritual and stare at us.

“Sick bastards,” Kelly says as we take out our compact assault rifles from under our long jackets.

Before the cultists say anything, we open fire, killing the cultists and saving the remaining infants. We put away our compact assault rifles, hand the infants off to our insiders, and take as many of the valuables as we can in large bags. Walking back out on the bank floor with our masks off, nobody seems to be aware of what’s happened, and no one questions any of us as to why we’re carrying a bunch of heavy bags. Outside the bank, I drop a bunch of hundred-dollar bills into the cup of a homeless veteran of the Great War who is drawing pictures and has a cat with him, before we enter our truck in the bank’s parking lot and drive off.

“Smooth as always, guys,” I say.

“We weren’t smooth enough to save all the infants before they could be sacrificed,” Kelly says. “Do these disgusting pagans really have to be so archaic in the way they try to get what they want?”

“It’s how they’ve operated for hundreds of years, and they think it works, so they keep doing it,” Suzuki says.

“I wish I could go back there and shoot them again,” Kelly says.

“We’ll get our chance to punish more of them. They’ll all get what they deserve,” Al says as he crosses himself.

“Amen.”

Looking at each of my friends, I see Kelly’s youthful face, her half-blue, half-blue hair, pale skin, blue eyes, and black lipstick. Al has long black hair, green eyes, and an equally youthful Mediterranean face. Suzuki looks like the spitting image of the tough samurai from Tatsu that he is, with long black hair, brown eyes, and a gruff face. Meanwhile, I’m a slightly old man with a lot of greys in my black hair and goatee, and my dark brown eyes show a lot of what I’ve been through. Just looking at us, I can see that my friends are a bit disturbed by what we saw, but not completely shaken. We’ve seen worse. At least it wasn’t like that pedophile island run by the wealthy and influential elites of the world that we raided not too long ago.

We park the truck we’re in at a church’s parking lot, hand the keys over to some friends, and the truck is driven off again to a safe location. Right now, a presidential rally for Vincenzo Campione is happening here with dozens upon dozens of supporters here for him and his brother, Cesare Campione, who is his choice to be vice president.

Going up to Vincenzo, I say, “The withdrawal and deposit of your political donation is complete.”

Both Vincenzo and Cesare Campione are sharply dressed men and look like real men of status and power, which should be a given since they own casinos, are the secret heads of a syndicate of virtuous criminals called the Hydra Roundtable, and are part of the mafia, or the family, as they like to call it. Vincenzo wears a black-and-gold suit with a red tie and a black-and-red fedora, and has black hair and deep blue eyes. Meanwhile, Cesare has a grey and blue suit, a blue bow tie, a grey and blue fedora, and blonde hair and green eyes.

Vincenzo softly smiles at me, tips his fedora, and says, “Thank you for the kind donation. Let’s head inside the church. I think I need a little rest from all the attention.”

“Thank God. I thought this would be easy, but it can be both boring and exhausting,” Cesare says.

Going inside the church, Vincenzo waves toward the priests and nuns who smile at him and walk away, presumably knowing that he wants to be left alone with us.

“What of the cultists?” Vincenzo asks.

“Filled with holes like Swiss cheese,” Kelly says.

“That’s good to hear. Did you put a bullet in them for me? I wish I could’ve been there myself,” Cesare says.

“Yes, we did,” Al says. “All I’m curious about is whether the tax agency will really turn a blind eye to your newfound wealth in your bank account.”

“We have people within the agency who will help us out with that. Besides, that money was in the invisible account of our foe. No one is going to claim it actually exists. They’ll just take this loss on the chin. It’s not like they don’t have cash and gold reserves in other areas of the country,” Vincenzo says.

“Or other places where they’re sacrificing infants. I say we strike their abortion clinics and the orphanages they run,” I say.

“We can only hope and pray that we eradicate it all and that, when I’m president, I can abolish the great evils of the tax agency and abortion clinics.”

“But is this really the best way to destroy our foe, this Paradox Collective?”

“It is, Ace. They already have too much power in the rest of the world, so we can’t allow their candidate to win the presidency of the United Chimaera States.”

“What about the Malefic? Just because they don’t have the presidency and we flush out the rats from their hiding places doesn’t mean they’ll be completely erased.”

“Let me handle that. Getting rid of them is like getting rid of sin from humanity. We can never completely erase it, or our other foes like the Middle Easterners, Eastern European Slav Federation, and Western European Vorfahren aligned Mediterranean Empire and Zeitloses Imperium.”

“Stop overthinking things like you usually do, Ace,” Kelly says as she slaps my back. “We’ll be fine.”

“We’ll deal with the problems as they come to us. We can’t do it all at once, and if things get more difficult, what are you going to do? That’s life,” Al says.

“Providence will ensure our victory. There’s no need for concern even in turbulent waters,” Suzuki adds.

“Okay, okay.”

“Ace, please stay with us for mass, our rally, and dinner afterward. It’ll do your soul good,” Vincenzo says.

I agree and stay for the mass that they’re holding and dedicating to the country and Vincenzo’s presidential run. Afterward, a dinner is held in the church’s parking lot where Vincenzo gives his speech. When I first joined the Hydra Collective, I wouldn’t have expected to be told by the bosses to support their run for president, but I guess that’s what happens when you get in the innermost circles of an influential and powerful organization.

On the stage, Vincenzo says, “Family and friends, or should I just say, family? We’re all family under God, so let’s not act distant or separate ourselves from the struggles and lives of one another. Thank you so much for your support in my struggle to run for president and for trying to make this country an even better place than it already is. Believe it or not, my first career choice was one in politics, even though I became a car mechanic and casino manager. I’ve always wanted to help our country and wider world from a place where I can do the most, and with your help, we can make that dream a reality, so I can’t thank you enough. From what I’m hearing from the news, it looks like I’m certain to win the Traditionalist pick, and after that, we’ll only have one more hurdle to overcome.

I promise you that I will always listen to your concerns and do what’s best for our country. As you know, I’ve already dedicated my life to bettering this community, and I have done so, so you know I will surely do the same for the wider country. May God help us secure victory if it is His will, and may God forever bless us and the United Chimaera States.”

Everyone claps for Vincenzo and cheers for him. He smiles, bows, and steps down from the stage to talk to them, sign autographs, and take pictures.

My friends and I are sitting at a table in the very corner of the parking lot under the shade and a place where not many can see us.

“Do you think a rally like this could be attacked?” I ask.

“They have to be stupid to do so. Attacking a candidate only gives credence to his cause, and killing him makes him a martyr,” Al says.

“Or sometimes their death is just their death, just like in my country,” Kelly says.

“The United Chimaera States isn’t as backwards as the Slav Federation,” I say.

“You sure about that, Ace? It uses people like us to give illegitimate wealth and power to legitimate people who can also be considered criminals themselves.”

“The systems of politics and business that man builds are imperfect. It needs correction from outside, Kelly,” Suzuki says.

“I know your government is used to it because they use samurai like you without directly saying so, but also, I’m not complaining. I’m just stating facts, and why I prefer the career I have over getting into politics.”

“It’s a noble career path that requires a lot of discipline and the ability to endure the temptations of corruption. Vincenzo and Cesare are probably the only men who can handle the job,” Al says.

“You’re just saying that because you’re in the same “family” as them, but I guess I have to agree with you. They are our bosses and, as long as they don’t tell me to join them in the White House, they have my vote,” Kelly says.

As I look around the parking lot, I see a lot of infectious optimism and happiness. I’m sure the Campione Brothers have their underhanded methods in securing the presidency against the Paradox Collective, who are still a concerning mystery to me. I can only hope and pray that we win, and that their Malefic leaders see justice one day.