Destruction of Property (Prolouge)

Each photo was examined again and again and again. Randy had to make sure he knew every face as though it belonged to his own brother or sister. He wasn't sure if he'd want to remember them after the day that would follow, but for now, he had to know the face of each of his victims, to make sure he hit the right ones. He'd chosen six perfect targets… drug addicts, two even had AIDS at the "virginal" age of 15, meaning none of them would ever be productive members of society. Too angsty of a group to matter to anyone but each other. They weren't a part of the machine, nor were they any of the few who could see what a joke the machine was. No one would miss them but their parents, but the parents of such teens didn't matter either. None of them mattered, they were all just gears, and gears could be replaced.1

Their losses wouldn't be in vain though, he would see to that. It was Randy's plan to make sure these six, or rather, his murder of them, grind the machine to a halt. He hoped his trial would make the idiots that made up most of society wake up and smell the Starbucks.2

"Just keep thinking that, Randy. Tell yourself they'll care. Keep lying to yourself, old boy," he muttered, glancing at each face one last time. "This is America, after all. All you'll do is make a few people like yourself wake up, maybe cause more deaths. What a joke. Oh well… at least I'll get a few loose screws out of their workings for them, the bastards."3

He crumpled the papers and dropped them in a pile on the cold cement, along with a copy of the day's newspaper. The next day, he'd be the front page story. Today, it was more propaganda.4

It only took one match for all six of them to go up in flames.5