This post was inspired by this month's Scholar and Scribe Invitational writing prompt. You can read all about it HERE. I'd love to see people joining the fun !
"You'll never take me alive, copper !"
He couldn't resist the traditional jibe as he pulled the curtains closed. It should stop their snipers spotting his position, at least until they could bring in infrared gear.
In the street below, heavily armed police cowered in doorways and behind their cars. None of them knew what kind of weapons their prey might have or be prepared to use.
It took a while for an inspector to summon up the courage to do more than try to stay out of sight. Finally, the plump little man stood up and stepped out from the cover of his armoured Transit van, bringing a loudspeaker up to his lips, pushing his beige mackintosh back in the clear hope of looking stylish.
"Come out with your hands up ! We know you're in there, you're surrounded and you've got no hope of escape. You're only making things worse for yourself if you stay in there !"
Joe grinned, flipped the curtain open a little, and hurled a small glass bottle down at the inspector. It hit the ground at his feet with a light tinkling sound. The pristine beige mackintosh was instantly spattered in blotches of Royal Blue Windsor and Newton permanent ink, as the inspector dived too late for cover with a most un-policemanlike profanity leaving his lips.
There was a loud crack, as a police sniper fired at the fleeting form in the upstairs window. But it was a snap-shot, and the bullet splattered against the brickwork of the wall nearby.
"So they want to play rough, eh ?" Joe murmured to himself. Moving swiftly to the computer in the corner of the room, he pulled up the Metropolitan Police X account and posted an image he'd prepared earlier. A photograph of a young man looking round at an attractive girl while his actual girlfriend stared in disgust. The caption was in two parts; on the girl in red, it said 'Catching the MemeKing', while the girlfriend's caption read 'Catching Real Crooks'.
Then, picking up a milk bottle, he rolled up another picture printed onto cheap paper and stuffed it into the open neck. The picture was a girl with a snarky expression watching a burning house. Appropriate, Joe thought. He lit the paper and lobbed the Molotov cocktail at the Transit van below. With a "whoomf" sound, it started burning nicely.
This time, two or three snipers fired back. One bullet came thorough the open window. It tore through the curtain and ricocheted off the back wall.
"Last chance, Joseph King ! Put down your weapons and come out with your hands in the air !" the inspector called, now hiding in a doorway twenty yards from his burning Transit. "You've been tried in absentia and found guilty of posting anti-government memes and breaching the Online Safety Act's 2025 amendments. If you surrender now, you'll have a chance to appeal, maybe get the sentence cut from life down to twenty years."
The sound of boots on tarmac rang out, as groups of police ran into position, using the cover of the nearside wall to avoid being directly seen.
It was time to split. Joe grabbed the contraption he'd made from the sofa and dashed out of the door. He could already hear the police battering down the front door.
Half tumbling down the steps in his haste, he hit the ground floor and kept running, making for the cellar door.
He almost made it.
Five feet from escape, the front door splintered and a tidal wave of black-clad, masked and heavily armed police began to tumble in.
The first of them raised his assault shotgun and fired wildly. He missed, but it was clear they'd been ordered to terminate him. It would look good on the six o'clock news, live footage from the quadcopter drone he could see hovering just behind them.
Joe wasn't having any of that. Pointing his contraption in the general direction of the front door and it's mass of intruders, he squeezed the trigger.
A gout of liquid spurted out, smothering the police before igniting in an inferno of flame. Their vests might be bulletproof and even fireproof, but the gelled and sugared liquid was running inside their armour. Their screams proved it.
Rifles, pistols and shotguns had been regulated out of private hands through the simple expedient of delaying the issue of new licenses indefinitely. But petrol was still freely available, so Joe had made himself a flamethrower. With petrol and a few other easily available household ingredients, and based on a simple garden leaf-blower. It was short ranged, primitive and brutal. But once it was clear the police were intent on a public execution, there was no reason not to use it.
As police writhed on the ground screeching incoherently, he looked the drone squarely in it's camera, knowing full well that an audience of millions was watching.
"Long live the Resistance !" he shouted out. "This is the MemeKing signing off for the night. Remember my name, you'll be hearing more of it. I'm Joe King !"
Then he sprayed the drone liberally with his flamethrower before heading for the cellar and his secret tunnel to escape and safety.