*For context, this story takes place during Seasons 10/11. Feel free to leave a review! Thank you for reading!
Stefan Mitchell was prepared.
For a moment, he gazed lovingly at the sheen of his brand new shotgun, slid out from its hiding place underneath his bed. "Nina," he had named it, shortly before taking a hacksaw to her glossy black barrel. A shorter barrel meant easier concealment. And concealment would be the key to success.
He opened his closet and examined his wares. There were at least ten homemade pipe bombs – those were pretty easy to build; you really can find schematics for anything on the internet. There was a TEC-9 machine pistol – that one was a toughie to procure, but money does all of the talking if you have enough of it. And there were boxes and boxes of ammunition – they were almost too beautiful to use. A kevlar vest hanged just behind his Blue Jays jersey – he planned on wearing both on the day of the attack.
He had been planning the actual mission (or "Operation: Pearl Tower [OPT]", as he called it) for the better part of two years. The name was relative nonsense; he just happened to do a project on the city of Shanghai during his sophomore year and took a liking to one of its tallest buildings: the Oriental Pearl Tower.
Less than a year before, the process of getting his firepower would have been a long and arduous headache filled with paperwork and questions. But the Parliament had unknowingly thrown him a bone – just as Stefan was contemplating upon how to acquire his arsenal, the higher-ups nixed a standing ordinance that required all long-barreled firearms to be registered. That meant that a 12-gauge shotgun was all but his. Stefan was still required to pass a background check, but that was of little concern to him. A few petty vandalism charges here and there were the only minor blips on his record.
"Besides," he thought to himself, "those dumbasses deserved what they got".
It was Thursday, three days before he would set his plan into action. Just as he did every night, he took to writing his inner thoughts on the pages of his journal.
Thursday, March 22nd
It's almost time. I can hardly contain myself. I have been dreaming of this day for forever now. Degrassi is about to get a wake-up call. All of those little shits who ride through life on mommy and daddy's paycheck are about to witness a true lesson in terror.
My dad asked me why I had such a big grin on my face as I left for school this morning. Oh...if only he knew...
That girl Anya was waiting for me at my locker again. Dumb bitch. Thinks I'm a fucking angel. She asked me if I wanted to grab coffee after school on Friday. She is so clueless, just like everybody else. Hopefully I can get inside her pants before Monday. Thank god im good at bullshitting.
I know that people (the Mounties, those fools at the CSIS) will try to analyze me after the fact, figure me out, get inside my head. People will say that I was bullied, that I snapped, that I was some sort of fucking nut that heard voices in his head. But I have a message for you FUCKERS: you couldn't figure anything out if you had all the time in the world. After all, how can you figure out God? I will be God. I will decide who lives and who dies.
A broad smile came across his face as he scrawled the last few lines. It was genius, art, pure poetry!
There was a knock at his bedroom door. Stefan took a quick glance around the room to make sure that his artillery was out of sight. His mother entered, carrying a basketful of clean laundry.
"Stefan, sweetie," she dotingly addressed him , "don't forget to fill out those last couple of forms from Penn. Your orientation is coming up."
"Will do, mom," he replied.
His mother sighed, "we always knew you were a bright kid, Stefan. But to be accepted to three Ivy League institutions..."
She paused.
"...just know that both your father and myself are very proud of you."
He smiled. She gave him a hug.
As soon as she closed the door behind her, he turned around to add another line to his journal entry:
Did I mention? – Thank god Im good at bullshitting.