Dear Readers: as will quickly become apparent this story is 100% fiction and could never happen. It's just a fucking story! If you can't suspend belief – like you need to every time that you watch a Superheroes movie – you won't enjoy it.
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I'm Blake Break, a 29 year old of average intelligence who got a college degree primarily the result of intense tutoring by the athletic department tutors at the university I went to. I was the starting tight end on a Division I (SEC) powerhouse football team at a university that valued athletics more than academics; but nevertheless I have a degree that says that I'm smarter than I really am.
While pretty average in looks, smarts, and many other ways, I do have a few distinguishing characteristics. Of course two are size and strength – you don't start for a Division I program unless you're strong, or at tight end unless you're big too. I'm 6 feet 5 inches tall, 245 pounds, 8% body fat, and despite my long arms can bench press almost 500 pounds. I also don't have that gene that causes fear – or maybe I'm just too stupid to be afraid.
Although I was drafted in the 4th round by the Cincinnati Bengals, I had an epiphany after the draft, and determined that I had had enough of football; and I got lucky. One of the sports agents trying to sign me up, who I'll call Jerry McGuire just for fun since I don't think that he wants his real name used (I didn't use mine either), I really hit it off with. When I ultimately told him that I wasn't interested in signing with the Bengals even though I had attended the NFL Combine in Indianapolis, he offered me a job. I would work like a paralegal in a law office would some of the time, and other times I would babysit his football clients and keep them out of trouble.
If a star offensive lineman gets in a fight with some jerk baiting him he might break his hand while punching out the asshole, lose game time, and get his name in the papers and a fine by the horse's ass who passes himself off as the Commissioner of the NFL. If I intercede on his behalf, the interloper still gets the shit beat out of him, but the offensive lineman is blame free. Jerry has attorneys on retainer in all major cities who I can call if the cops think I was a little overzealous.
I've never had too much interest in politics but as the 2020 national elections approached I garnered more interest than normal. Typically, my entire family, myself included in the two national elections that have been held since I turned 18, normally votes for candidates nominated by the Risk political party. I've never voted for a Destiny political party candidate, but in 2020 I was planning to since the Risk political party went ass-wipe crazy and nominated a guy named Ronald Drumpf who has a narcissistic personality disorder and is a pathological liar. I'm not just slinging shit by saying that – my Mother is a well-known psychologist and she assures me that he has that disorder and that pathology.. Although she has never before in her 53 years voted for a Destiny party candidate in a national election, this year she says she will too.
In fact, I'm so upset that the Risk party would nominate someone who bad mouthed the military, made fun disabled protestors, called females in general by derogatory names, and said that the president of the United States sympathized with terrorists, I actually gave $200 to the Destiny party candidate for president, Hilda Compton's campaign – although my hand was shaking when I wrote the check.
In fact there is only one thing about the Drumpfster that I admire (even though he is wealthy I don't admire his wealth because unlike people like Warren Buffet, Michael Bloomberg, and the Koch brothers, he got it by cheating people instead of actually promoting the economic well-being of the country). What I admire about him is that he got his wife Aldona to marry him. While she's smart and appears to have a nice personality, of course the main thing I appreciate about her is that she is the stone coldest fox I have ever seen! Those nude photos of her from magazines from her birth country of Lithuania when she was in her 20s are enough to make a eunuch cum, and she appears to look just as good now after having a daughter six years ago.
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In Northern Virginia where I live I have a concealed carry permit and I'm an excellent marksman with a handgun; my favorite is a Ruger P series. However, in D. C. where I work there are essentially no such permits, and in any event I couldn't get one, so I don't carry a gun in D. C. I do carry an innocuous self-defense tool stupidly called a "Travel Wrench," which is merely a piece of light, hard specially-shaped plastic. Though simple, in the hands of an experienced user it is an excellent attack, as well as defense, weapon.
My real story starts as I was walking from the Metro to work near a big D. C. hotel when a black SUV, of the type everyone who lives in the area associates with the Secret Service, pulled up to the curb maybe 50 meters ahead of me. Out came three obvious Secret Service agents (one a woman), a girl of about five or six, and a slinky woman wearing a hat and sunglasses. They apparently were making a short walk to a side entrance of the hotel.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose; I heard gunshots, and two of the Secret Service agents went down, and the female one had her Uzi out and was firing before she hit the deck. Three dirty looking guys ran up to the woman and kid, two grabbing the woman, the other the kid.
Like I said, I don't have the fear gene. I was already in full stride like I was running downfield to crush a safety so that my running back could score by the time that the first gunshot registered in my brain. I got to the guy holding the kid in no time at all, hit him on his temple as hard as I could with the Travel Wrench, and he went down instantly.
The guy closest to me holding the woman pointed a handgun at me – it looked like a Glock G42. I hit it with my left hand, moving it toward him, dropped the Travel Wrench and then with my right hand pulled his Glock away while breaking his thumb. Then I shot him in the chest and he staggered. I realized that he had a bulletproof vest on so I shot him in the head; blood sprayed all over the place.
Exactly how I got in a tussle with the other guy holding the woman I don't remember, but I was when I saw two other dirty looking guys pop out from behind some bushes with automatic weapons. I turned the guy I was tussling with toward them and he took a few rounds from his buddies. I knew that he would drop as soon as I let go of him so I looked around for the woman and kid. They were startled and disoriented, and kneeling. As soon as I dropped the miscreant I dove on top of them to protect them from the automatic weapons fire.
I don't really know first-hand what happened next. However, I saw two videos of it – isn't everything on video these days? I also was told what happened. The other Secret Service dude who was driving jumped out with his Uzi blazing and he killed both of the guys with automatic weapons. Apparently another had been killed by the female agent before she went down. One of the male Secret Service agents who was hit (a guy named Weld) died at the scene, but George Washing Hospital is close by, and they were able to save the lives of the other two.
I took three rounds in my torso and apparently also hit my head on the concrete sidewalk, which was probably what knocked me out. Both the woman and kid were bruised, but otherwise unharmed – I had taken their bullets by covering their bodies. Of course you know who they are, although I didn't until I was told. Aldona Drumpf and her daughter.
Like the Secret Service agents I had quickly been transported to G. W. Hospital. By the time that I woke up two of the bullets had already been removed, and the Secretary of HEW, at the behest of the President, insisted that the top spine doctor in the country fly in from New York because the third bullet could either be innocuous or paralyze me for life. I was told that he would be there in about ten minutes. He had flown by military jet to Andrews Air Force base, and a Secret Service vehicle, with motorcycle cop escort, had him on his way from there.
I was feeling like shit, although happy to be alive, when it happened. A disheveled, but impossibly beautiful, Aldona Drumpf walked into my room, grabbed my hand, in her sexy Eastern European accent thanked me for saving her life, and more importantly that of her daughter, and then started crying and kissed me on the forehead.
I think that I babbled something about being happy to help, or some such shit, but between my pain and how gorgeous she was in person I was so taken aback that I really don't remember. I do remember a crew of medical personnel coming in just a couple of minutes after she did, and excusing themselves saying that Dr. Swanson was on site and that they needed to get me to the operating room ASAP. She kissed me on the forehead again, just before the biggest male nurses I had ever seen shinnied my mattress onto a gurney and we were off as a cute female nurse started telling me what they were going to do to me.
It was apparently the next morning when I woke up. A guy in a suit – obviously a Secret Service agent – immediately picked up the phone when I opened my eyes and said "He's awake" into it. It wasn't thirty seconds later when the room was filled with people. A guy who was obviously a hotshot doctor smiled at me. "Mr. Break, the operation by Dr. Swanson and my team was a complete success. You'll have no long term damage at all, let alone to your spine, from that concerning third bullet. Dr. Swanson said to tell you that he was honored to help you out, but he had to get back to New York for other surgery that required his expertise."
"Great Doc," I mumbled.
I think I remember some of the other people in the room and what they said.
Julia Pierson, director of the Secret Service, thanked me profusely. It was then that I learned that one agent had died but the other two would recover only because the gunmen – who were Islamic terrorists – were stopped so quickly and the wounded agents got to the hospital within minutes of being shot.
The head of Ronald Drumpf's campaign – I don't remember his name and don't care to – thanked me profusely too, and said that The Ronald wanted to see me. I told him in no uncertain terms that I did NOT want to see The Ronald under any circumstances but that he could send Aldona back any time.
Jerry McGuire actually had tears in his eyes when he shook the hand that was not the one with the arm loaded with IVs and told me how proud he was of me and that all of his clients had been calling in to express their good wishes.
Some woman whose name I don't remember, but she was either the hospital public relations director or from some news organization, on an iPad played the two videos of the incident that had been released to the public (apparently a third was not being released because it was too graphic). I was surprised that I looked real good on them!
I asked someone else who looked official if they captured any of the terrorists. "No," he said with a smile, "you killed the one you hit in the temple with your fist," [apparently he didn't see the Travel Wrench in my hand] "and the one you shot. The other guy holding Mrs. Drumpf was shot by his own two guys. Agent Hampton (the female agent) and agent McMurray (the SUV driver) killed the other three guys. However, we got their smartphones and have already arrested two others who we will get to talk."
After a few more greetings, the head Doc shooed everyone out except for the Secret Service agent who had been in my room when I woke up. Director Pierson said "Just to be safe, Agent Phillips will be staying with you until he's relieved. We want someone with you for at least the next 24 hours – you're infamous and we want to make sure that until the entire terrorist cell is caught by Homeland Security or the FBI that no one gets any ideas about killing the hero."
I mumbled "Thanks," and smiled, and Agent Phillips shook my good hand. I shortly was asleep.
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When I next woke up another agent had replaced Phillips. He called for a nurse and doctor. They came in and took my vitals. "How are you feeling Mr. Break?"
"Except for some pain in my back, I feel almost normal – how long did I sleep?"
"Eight hours – and never moved a muscle the entire time," the nurse replied with a big grin.
They talked about my medical condition for a while, and concluded with "If you make the same progress in the next two days that you have the first full day after your operation, you could be released."
"I'll be sure to," I chuckled, before a pain in my back made me wince.
"Your parents and sister are here; they just got in from Chicago – can I send them in?" the doctor asked.
"Absolutely, I'd love to see them."
All three of them were on the verge of tears as they virtually sprinted into my room. The Agent went outside and closed the door and stood in front of it.
I had a great talk with my family, although I was disappointed that my sister didn't bring my five year old niece with her – she stayed with her father, although both my brother-in-law and niece had a video greeting that my sister played for me on her smartphone.
