Senator John McCutchins was sitting in his favorite red suede armchair in front of his favorite oak writing desk, reading a script for an upcoming speech. He didn’t even sense the stranger until an object the size of a soda bottle was shoved to the back of his head. He started to call out as his hands reached for the button on the underside of his desk that would alert armed guards to burst into the room. Before he could do either, a hand reached around, covered his mouth, and flipped his chair back, his head hitting the ground hard as he stared dazedly up at the ceiling of his office. Before he could get his senses recollected, a firm boot clamped down on his throat, to where he could hardly breathe. He struggled to lift the boot off his throat, and his eyes began to clear. He was greeted by the sight of a silenced pistol in his face and a shadowy figure of a man behind it.

A baritone voice whispered out of the darkness. “Senator John Henry McCutchins, a supposed “Republican”. Well, it seems, Senator (the stranger said this with an audible sneer), at least according to the underground polls, the people that voted you into office, the people that you were supposed to represent didn’t like you signing on with a gun control bill that impeded their rights. They don’t think that was representing them, surprisingly...”

John struggled to lift the heavy foot of his larynx, his legs flailing. The man stepped down harder, and John couldn’t swallow, his head starting to spin. The stranger continued his speech.

“See, ironically, John, gun control doesn’t really work that well. Yes, it keeps people from getting guns. But those are the people who bother to do it lawfully. Criminals like me can get guns without waiting in line, gun control really only works on the people you don’t need to worry about. Look at me. The tin can I’ve got pointed at your face I bought on the street in five minutes, no paper work, no nothing, just to prove a point to you. So now, you have an armed criminal state, and an unarmed populace of defenseless sheeple…”

John flailed his legs, and looked toward his desk in desperation.

“You know what’s even more ironic John? The way you just glanced at your desk with such fear and hope in your eyes, tells me you think you can get out of this. Your armed bodyguards? How hypocritical…”

John gasped more, and pushed the foot off his throat enough to breath. The stranger didn’t fight it too much. His eyes started to focus again, and he saw the man’s face. It was painted or masked in some sick semblance of a jester’s, painted jet black except for one large silver four-pointed star around the right eye, the thin points curving like blades. The mouth was outlined with silver, the corners painted up in a permanent teasing grin. The white eyes stood out starkly with the black around them. The man leaned over to the desk and opened the top drawer, the smile becoming even more pronounced.

“A handgun, John? Like what you would have outlawed? Do you think you’re above the rest of the people or something? Senator, you work for the people, you’re not here to control them. And certainly not here to take gun control lobby money for your vote. And a Beretta 92… How original, Johnny boy…” he trailed off softly, dropping the magazine out of the Beretta, and clearing the chamber with a rack of the slide. He dropped the gun onto John’s crotch, reveling as the Senator whimpered in pain. The man made no move to quiet the whimpers of pain. John’s pain passed slowly, and seeing that the man wasn’t trying to shut him up anymore, he got up and screamed for help.

“Who do you expect to come, Johnny boy? Your guards? Asleep or dead. I wanted no interruptions, no witnesses. If it’s any comfort, I didn’t try to kill them if I didn’t have to. After all, they’re just doing their job. Though why anyone would want to protect you is beyond me, Johnny.”

John stared at the man, and then lunged for the telephone or the button under the desk that would call the authorities. He was almost there when a fist collided with the side of his jaw, sending him sprawling, dazed. The man walked over to crouch over him.

“You know, John,” he said, “it wouldn’t have worked anyways. For one, I cut the phone chords, like any person with a brain. And second, the cops never show up in time to protect anyone, just to cleanup after them. And thus self-defense is the responsibility of the citizen.”

John recoiled back, groping for anything he could use as a weapon. “Who are you? Stay away from me!” he yelled at the masked stranger. His hand felt a lamp, but the man hit him again in the jaw, sending him down dizzy and confused. The man resumed crouching over him until he fully came to. “Who am I? I am the will of the people. See you in hell, Senator”

He stood up, the grotesque jester’s mask grinning down at John. “John Henry McCutchins, you have betrayed the people that voted you into office, the people you were sworn to represent, to better your own gains. Consider this your impeachment.” The silenced pistol hardly made more sound than an air gun, and the man deftly caught the small flying brass. The former senator stared blankly at the ceiling, a small hole in the middle of his forehead and a stain forming on the rug. And then the man was gone.