"God, I hope this fucker isn't a match hoarder!" Lt. Mark Matthews barked.

  "The fuck are you talkin' about, Mark?" Dave, one of his partners, asked. Matthews turned back to him, annoyed.

  "Shit, that's right, you're still green, huh, Dave? Well, check it. A match hoarder is some degenerate asshole who loves living in our great country, but when their number gets called, they somehow stockpile the heads of matches—usually something more explosive. They craft a crude, makeshift bomb that blows the fuck up when shot, taking all of us with it!"

  "Oh, shit. Yeah, that's new on me. I'll check him good," Dave yelled, trying to catch up.

  "Good. That's on point, Dave. Let's debase and humiliate this guy first! Dumb fucking asshole, ha-ha!" Mark boasted, and the group laughed as the next batch of people were brought up to the line.

  "Please, please, I'm not even a citizen here!" one of the prisoners shouted.

  This irritated Mark. "See that shit right there?!" Mark grabbed the man and yanked him forward. "Come here, you little shit!" Then he shot him in the forehead. "Nobody wants to pay the price. Just wanna reap the rewards," he muttered as he turned to a woman begging for her life.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Please, please don't do this. I have three children!" she pleaded, terror in her voice.

  Mark paused for a moment, his gun hanging at his waist. He stared at her. "You're a mother?"

  "Yes! Yes, I—"

  Before she could finish, he shot her three times in the chest. "Children! Hear that shit? Who the fuck would bring a child into this world? Children are bred by selfish assholes who think the world needs another one of 'em." He dropped his gun, then casually took out another target. "I don't," he said coldly. His men just sat there, staring in disbelief. They'd never seen someone so detached.

  "Aight, which one of you assholes wants to pop their cherry?" Mark yelled, looking for someone to pull the trigger next.

  "Fuck it, I'll do it," Jake said, a tall loner who’d joined Population Control because he genuinely believed in it. But now, after all he'd seen, he wasn't so sure.

  "Here. Take this, it'll make his head pop," Mark said, handing Jake a Desert Eagle handgun. Jake leveled it at the next man, whose begging started almost immediately.

  "Please, please, sir, I have children. Please—"

  Jake stood frozen for a moment. "So did the other guy. So do a lot of people," he thought to himself. Why the fuck are we resorting to genocide when the population’s a problem? he wondered. Fuck 'em, give 'em all up to God? Is that what we're doing now?

  He looked at the man, pleading in front of him, but all Jake could hear was the voice in his head: What the fuck's going on?