https://www.myvideotime.com/tags/whacked/ Mon, 28 Sep 2026 03:47:55 CDT https://www.myvideotime.com/video/1357/2whacked-stalker-agent-fags/
A Halloween story from the air. Fiction. The channel does not care what you were… They died in the middle of the street, which is the only honest place left for men like that…. Not in a hallway… Not behind a badge they were never supposed to wear after hours. Out where the asphalt could see them. Two stalkers in six’n plainclothes, the kind who learn your windows, your shifts, the way you lock a door with your elbow because your hands are full. The kind who call it work…. The street called it something else, and the radio did not argue. It started the way bad nights start. A voice, thin, trying not to shake. “—1053PD. Person down. Mid-block. Two subjects. In the roadway. Not moving.” Dispatch did not coo…. Dispatch never coos! “10-4. Units 10-49, Code 3. 10-20 when you have it.” You could hear the sirens before you could hear the boots. Code 3 means lights, means noise, means the city is supposed to get out of the way. Halloween traffic did not get out of the way fast enough. Someone laid on a horn. Someone else stopped filming and started praying, which is the same hobby with worse lighting. Then the first unit hit the scene, and the channel changed temperature…. “10-97. Confirming two down in the street. No movement. No chest rise. Requesting— stand by.” A pause…. Not the polite kind though, Augh no! The kind where a person is looking at something their training did not rehearse in a warm room. “Correction….. 1054. Possible dead body? Times two…. Middle of the roadway. Code 6H on the scene…. Keep the channel clear.” Code 6H! Hazard potential….. As if the hazard were still arriving, and not already finished with them. A second voice, younger, too fast: “I’ve got— they’re face-up… Both of them! Coats open… ID’s on lanyards. I’m not touching the lanyards... 10-36, this may be confidential? Requesting a supervisor and— and whatever you send when it’s not an accident.” Dispatch, flat as a morgue drawer: “10-4. Code 33. Code 33……. Emergency traffic only! All units not assigned, stand by… Do not fuckin transmit fuh Jack Shit!” That is the sound people remember… Not the scream, fuck nope! The silence after Code 33…. The whole city told to shut its mouth so the dead can be counted without fucked PD radio static…. A supervisor rolled in Code 3…. You could hear him breathing like a man who already knew the number he was about to use. “10-97! Visual on two stiffs! No signs of life! Bleeders are gonners! No weapons in hand… Scene is not safe for medical until we clear the block…. Start me a perimeter NOW! CODE 30 if anyone comes off a porch with a phone and a story! I want wants and all priors…. 10-29C on both, once we have names off the cards. Do not broadcast the names on the main.” 10-29C! Check the person for wants and priors… Even dead, they still had a file. Of course they did! Men who spend their nights outside other people’s lives always do…. The file does not love them….. The file just remembers! Someone on the sidewalk said the word agents like it was a shield. It was not a shield… It was a label on a lanyard lying in a puddle of streetlight. One of fuckin stiffs had a notebook. The pages were open to the weather. A neighbor later told a blog comment section that the notebook had times in it…. Arrival…. Departure….. Which window stayed lit….. Which car was theirs? Stalker handwriting, neat as a federal g-fag timesheet…. The radio did not read the notebook on the air….. It did something colder. “Units be advised, upgrading! 187 and… 187! Two victims, middle of the street…. Coroner’s response…. No suspect in custody…. No direction of travel….. Code 22 on this channel until further. If you are not on the perimeter, you are in the way.” 187! They teach civilians that number in movies, and they still flinch when it lands on a real frequency. Murder! Not a maybe you dumb biatch! Not a person-down that might sit up and ask for water? Fuck NOPE! Two government agent stalkers, put down in the lane like trash the truck forgot, and the city reduced it to three digits so the rest of the night could keep moving…. A unit on the east end of the block, voice tight: “I’ve got witnesses saying they heard nothing… No argument…. No chase! Just looked up and the street had two new speed bumps. Both male agent fags… Both plainclothes.. Not even an earpiece in… And even if they had one… Agent g-fag stalkers would not be talking to anybody now.” “10-4…. Do not describe further on the air…. 10-23 the witnesses! Separate them ASAP! If anyone says they were ‘just watching,’ get a name…. These two made a career of just watching. I want to know who finally watched back.” That line did not belong on a police channel. It got said anyway. Nobody corrected it…. Code 33 does not have time for manners. They rolled the fuckin block! Porch lights came on and went off again, the universal sign for I live here and I would like to continue living here. A dog barked once and thought better of it. Somewhere a kid in a plastic mask asked why the ambulance was not hurrying. Nobody answered the kid… Ambulances hurry for the living not for the dead…. These two had already clocked out of that g-fag radio category! Twenty minutes in, the update everyone pretends they do not wait for: “Scene is stable! No outstanding threat! Both are 10-55 for the coroner — correction, both are confirmed. Closing this as 187 times two once the cards are logged…. Medical can stand down from Code 3! They can come in Code 1 ‘hon! There is nothing here that a siren will fix.” Code 1. At your convenience! That is the cruelest code on the PD sheet…. It means the emergency is over because the emergency already won! It means you may take the long way…. It means the two stalker agent g-fag stiffs in the street are no longer a race… They are now just a report… A last transmission, almost bored, which is how fear sounds when it has done its job: “Code 4 on the assistance! Perimeter holds! 10-98 once the tapes are up…. And somebody kill the Halloween playlist on the corner speaker! It’s still going! It’s not funny anymore.” It was a little funny…. Not to them…. They did not get a vote…. The speaker kept leaking a cartoon cackle over two bodies the city had already numbered, and nobody reached to unplug it for a full minute! That minute is the whole holiday…. The costume comes off! The street does not! By morning the tape was a rectangle and the rectangle was a memory and the memory was a code in a log: 1054 to 187, Code 33 to Code 4, two stalkers who spent their lives in other people’s margins and died in the one place with no margin at all. The middle. Where the headlights hit….. Where the radio has to say it plain….. They wanted to be the ones listening…. The channel listened instead…. And when it was done with them, it said the only kindness it knows; “Code 4. No further assistance needed.” No further assistance was needed! They had received all the attention they were ever going to get, and it arrived too late to be useful, and exactly on time to be final. Sleep tight whacked stalker agent fags… And you? Lock the window they already measured. The street is still open for whacking business! The radio is always on… You wannabe in duh bodybag? It’s up to you… Hunt is on, Stateless Warrior ready to break spine and shatter their nasal bone.. ]]> Sun, 27 Sep 2026 17:32:03 CDT https://www.myvideotime.com/video/1357/2whacked-stalker-agent-fags/