Crimes on Camera

Adam’s eyes opened, slowly. He was sore and groggy, coming out of some kind of anesthesia. The hospital room stunk like medicine and BO. He looked to his side and there was a pasty, soupy meal on the tray table. He could feel a bunch of wires coming from his left hand that needed to go. Same for whatever was under the bandage on his head. He pulled that off and a jolt of pain shot through his body. There weren’t any mirrors but it was all coming back to him, the fall. He was in the middle of a run-29, he was on a crane with Terry, and then they heard something, the cops probably, maybe a landlord or construction supervisor. They started running and then…

Adam kept tapping the soft spot on his head, it was bad, he could tell. His left eye was all grey but he was blinking himself awake. He examined the corners of the room, no cameras. Shit. He needed a camera. He snapped his head to the left and peaked out a window. He knew this city well, East Side. Life Beyond General. Time to run.

He got up and felt a little woozy but no rest for the wicked. He downed the little Dixie cup of water on the tray, threw the rest, and ran out the room with the tray. Right outside was a nurse who was in his way. He bounced over her and all eyes in the hallway fixated on the young man barreling down the corridor. A male nurse vaguely tried to get in his way so he ate the tray and went down out of shock more than anything.

I need a fuckin camera he thought. Camera before cop.

Just then a bathroom door opened and Officer Halley jumped into action. Adam hit a touch plate and pushed the double doors open against their springs with Halley in hot pursuit. Adam needed a camera. Phone, surveillance, webcam, anything. He was making history.

Down the stairwells two by two, jumping the bottom four, pig hot on the heels. Third floor. Second. First. Turn left for the lobby. Score. A whole waiting room full of sick and injured with their families. Instincts kicked in and he saw an old coot near the sliding doors sitting alone playing on his phone. Yoink.

Slide up. StreamLab. Open. Video. Start broadcasting.

“Whatsup 9ers, Monkeyfuck69 is on the escape!”

1 viewer.

“The Bacon Patrol was a little too slow and now I’m home free to fuck shit up!”

8 viewers.

“If you’re watching this get word to ButtFart111 that I’m running up 92nd going West near the Quizzies subs. You guys wanna see me get some food?”

22 viewers, all of them sending hearts and bomb emojis.

Just 18 hours ago the 29-Bomber Clan was doing their wildest Run yet. Infiltrate a Manhattan skyscraper with a backpack of bowling balls to launch God knows where. You feel bad for the unsuspecting civilians below but think of the views!

Second degree murder, breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon, all charges washed away under the 29th amendment: “The right of the people as an active press is respected with all forms of evidence present”, AKA if it’s filmed it’s public record and therefore protected as a form of speech.

The police murder of Reggie Thomas three years prior had led to the American Spring. Every metropolis went up in flames, courthouses, banks, fast food, anything with a corporate logo was singled out and the more lowly citizens they sent behind bars the worse it got. Every one with a phone was filming and streaming nonstop. Every assault was another McDonalds torn down.

The first tactic was to just take the fuckin cameras but the damage was already uploaded. Then they tried to block the sites, which worked fine for the American domains, but the ones hosted in Hungary or Argentina just laughed at the subpoenas. The jig was up and the powers that be knew it. A class action lawsuit of over two million streamers went to the Supreme Court and the rest is history.

Office Robert Crawford was the scapegoat. When he unloaded 4 in the back of a young Mexican kid running away from the tear gas in Orlando the fraternal order of police officers cut him loose and a jury took 4 hours to convict him. He died in his cell a week later.

It was a new day where anything on film was game. Slaughterhouse workers sending out shit covered ham, racist board room rants, CCTV footage of a teacher watching porn during a math test, nothing was safe and for about a week this was going to be the golden age to rebuild the character of a nation and keep every one honest. Let justice be done though the heavens burn.

Then the runners started.

If a thousand people will watch a guy catch a 22 pound bass, and ten thousand people will watch him throw that bass off a bridge into traffic, imagine how many people would watch him slap a dozen shoppers in Walmart unprovoked. And if a cop shows up they’re just filming a historical event.

Like Adam flipping a table over with his free hand and kicking a pregnant woman in the face.

“What ya’ll wanna see me scarf down? Turkey Club?”

112 viewers and 71 bombs.

“Yeah bitch! Turkey Club or my foot!”

The staff was running terrified, this was a common incident these days. So common that Rahym, the manager, came out loaded with a pistol in his right hand and a phone in his left, uploading to VideoDome.hu, just a few dozen viewers but the archive would go mad.

“BACK IT UP! I’LL HIT YA!”

Before he finished the sentence he let off 2 shots into Adam, who was standing on the booth chair. This would be awesome for Rahym’s cred, his first 29-kill. Officer Halley and his partner/assigned vid-storian burst in the door just a moment too late. Adam laid in a pile of blood and Terry was even one more moment too late to even get the footage for the 29-Bomb Clan.

1,057 viewers.

He had promised Adam’s death to all of his followers who were now grumbling in the comments.

XxXPussyDemolitiion17XxX posted a link to the sub manager’s stream.

949 viewers.

Fuck he thought. Stealing my thunder. I gotta keep ‘em hooked.

“I said someone was dying on stream, homos. The Bomb Clan don’t lie.”

Terry reached down with his left hand.

950 viewers.