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Normally when I'm low I write about Officer Brisko abusing his power to kidnap, rape, and break me. Today is worse than usual - I don't have the will to do that today, nor the will to want it. Instead, I'm sitting here thinking about walking home late at night on the edge of the city; it's quieter there, less busy than the never-sleeping inner streets, yet the police still routinely patrol throughout the day and night due to the oddly high rate of female kidnappings and murders.
One such brave, upstanding officer is Sonny Brisko, who walks past me as I take a shortcut through a side street. He's trailing his fingers over his freshly issued, brand new service him in its holster, and as I smile and nod while walking past him he remembers the practice of tsujigiri. With a calm, collected smile, he stops, watches me take a few steps further away, and pulls out his gun. He expertly executes me with a shot straight to my axis. I'm dead before the sound finishes echoing. My body hits the floor before I can even register the pain. Satisfied, still smiling, he rings in the incident and explains with an equally as expertly acted fearful tone that he thought I was reaching for a gun as I passed him. It's written off as a tragic mistake. My few friends are distraught, but he never faces any trouble for it. Who would prosecute kind-hearted Officer Brisko, beloved by his community, for an honest mistake in such a dangerous area, after all?
