[8 Hours Earlier]
Inside Ethan Storm's bedroom, the cold, robotic voice of a computer somewhere near the CN Tower repeated its message for the umpteenth time.
"Weatherradio Canada. 162.4 MhZ, CN Tower. 6:00 EST. Environment Canada on September 11 2014 has issued a severe thunderstorm watch for the following areas: Barrie-Orillia-Midland, City of Hamilton, City of Toronto, Dufferin-Innisfil, Halton-Peel, Oxford-Brant, Waterloo-Wellington, and York-Durham..."
It was 6 AM and Ethan Storm was already packing his bag for school. Inside his bag was a biology textbook, a functions textbook, and a 7.62 pump-action rifle. Beside his bed, his weather-radio alarm clock delivered its ominous, prophetic warning again in French.
"Radiometeo Canada. 162,4 MhZ, Tour CN. 6H00 HNE. Environnement Canada, le 11 septembre 2014 a emis une alerte d'orages violents pour les regions suivantes..."
Waking up to the computerised voice of the emergency weather station was one of the things that Ethan would miss most about being alive, along with the people, the sights, and the smells. Well not really. Ethan thought. To him, the things that made life magical had lost their magic long ago. The happiness found in the burden of existence was a delusion. The lived-happily-forever-after endings of fairy tales and Disney films were straight-up lies. Long ago, Ethan had woken up from the delusion that others lived under.
He retrieved a shoebox from under his bed and opened it, revealing two handguns: a Glock and a Colt. The Colt was a .357 revolver. The Glock was a .45 calibre striker-fired pistol. Around the guns were speed-loaders and magazines.
Ever since he realised the truth, Ethan always wondered how others could live life as they did. Ethan didn't live life; he endured it. He envied how others, the sheeple, could live so ignorantly of the reality around them. Eat, sleep, shit, fuck, and die. That's all there is to life besides suffering.
Ethan picked up a speedloader holding "Black Talon" bullets, and loaded his revolver.
Dubbed "cop-killers" by the media, Black Talon bullets expand after impact, ballooning in size to increase damage to its target. In other words, it was just another hollow-point bullet. Ethan would've bought cheaper bullets in higher quantities, but it was Tyler who called the shots. Using that particular brand of bullets was part of the plan.
Today was 9/11: the day 19 men under another brand of fairy-tales and lies died for their twisted cause. Today, Ethan and Tyler would bring honour and truth back to 9/11. 9/11 will be remembered as it should be. Ethan entered his parents' room.
The task was simple, and there was relatively little mess. Not bad for his first time killing.
Ethan went to his sister Sharon's room next.
Sharon was away at university. This meant that Ethan wouldn't get the chance to kill her.
Sharon had betrayed him. He had given her all his trust, but instead of giving him understanding, she turned his world upside down, and used his deepest secret against him. She manipulated him-manipulated his idolatry of her for her own gain.
But as much as he realised how foolish his forbidden yearning was, Ethan couldn't help but still feel love for her. In the time that she was away, Ethan's anger towards her had been given time to cool. A small part of held on to the feelings he once felt towards her.
Ethan left a letter on her computer desk. Feeling unusually sentimental, he decided to bring a little piece of her with him. The small cotton garment still smelled like her.
At 6:30 Ethan grabbed his duffel bag and backpack and set off to Tyler's house.
Sam took the exit on Bayview Avenue today. While Highway 401 was always jammed this time of day, especially on the stretch close to the interchange for Highway 404, Sam hadn't expected traffic to be this bad. Sure it was raining, but the rain was barely a light drizzle. How could someone have possibly crashed?
While better than the highway, driving down Bayview was no walk in the park either. Construction had reduced traffic on both sides of the road to one lane. The drive down York Mills Road was much better, and the last stretch of Sam's commute which involved going north on Leslie Road was a cakewalk.
When Sam arrived at SRU headquarters, the first thing he noticed was the white armoured vehicle with red and blue Toronto Police decals sitting in the parking lot. Sam recognised it as an RG-31 MRAP. The vehicle was a common sight in the Canadian military, but Canadian police forces rarely had armoured vehicles, much less used them. As Sam inspected the vehicle, Ed approached him, holding the keys.
"Cool toy, eh? It's a gift from the military."
"A gift? These things cost almost $50000 a pop."
"Well it's technically on loan to us. The 32nd Combat Engineer Regiment trains their mechanics with this one. The guy that drove it here says the turret got hit with an RPG in a battle near FOB Frontenac in Afghanistan, screwing up the wiring."
Sam felt a flicker of recognition. Ed continued.
"They fixed the hull, but the turret was too damaged. By the time they were able to order a new one the war was over."
"Sounds like one hell of a story. So is Team One getting another MRAP?"
"Actually, someone pulled some strings, and Commander Hollerand says that Team Three gets it. I guess it pays to have connections, eh Sam?"
Ed handed the keys to the vehicle to Sam. When Sam opened the driver's side door, sure enough, written in Sharpie, it was there.
Mcpl Matt X. TF KBAR CANSOFCOM
Sam climbed into the front passenger's seat. The same seat he had taken when his unit was clearing out a Taliban stronghold. The same seat he had taken the day Matt died.
The official story was that the vehicle was hit by an RPG, and Matt been shot climbing out of the hole in the roof. In reality, Matt was hit through the windshield of the vehicle by friendly fire.
The day Matt died, Sam radioed command to confirm he was cleared to fire, and was sure to report that there was an MRAP in the AO. Command had cleared him to fire on the MRAP, so that was what he did. 1500 kilometres away, Sam fired a single shot into the windshield of the MRAP. It killed his best friend instantly. An hour later, when Sam's unit returned to perform site exploitation, he was the one to make the discovery. Matt was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It took a change of occupation before Sam could move on from Matt's death. In the time he spent as a civilian police officer, Sam learned to accept that he could make mistakes. He learned to accept loss, and forgive himself.
Sam climbed out of the vehicle. Now the leader of SRU Team 3, Sam had new-found responsibilities. He had to brief the team on the day's patrol. Sam entered SRU headquarters, and headed straight for the briefing room.
When Ethan arrived at Tyler's house, Tyler was already done loading the car. Ethan placed his duffle bag and backpack in the back seat of Tyler's 2003 Toyota Camry. "Are you ready?" asked Tyler. "Better than ready," replied Ethan.
"Jews, Jocks, Gypsies, Asians, Negroes, fuck 'em all. Today, we kill them all."
"Godspeed."
"Fuck God. We're better than God. We're Tyler-motherfucking-Frost and Ethan-the-fucking-Storm. We're gonna show the world not to fuck with us!"
