I have to say, I definitely love the policy of the Police Academy: IF YOU SURVIVE, YOU PASS. Speaking as one with a lot of anxiety in school, the assurance was comforting. It didn't matter about the quizzes, group discussion, participation, or the final exam. If there's a notebook to hand in, original research, or book reports, none of it counts, skip it.
I always wanted to go through the training. Yes, I heard it was a bastard of an ordeal, but the mere fact that there's policemen on the street told me it was more than theoretically possible to survive. And so I did ... the only one this year ...
The first day came, the opening of Police Academy! They told us the policy and I immediately knew what had to be done, which was basically to bide my time. Everything would work out in the end. It would just be a matter of playing it smart and accumulating what I needed. After all, if you survive, you pass!
Right away, I saw the others were doing it all wrong. These guys over here were diligently taking notes. A couple of female cadets were winking at the lecturers. Most of them were doing lots of research, putting it on 3 x 5 cards. I saw some impressive piles. They taught us about taking a good defensive stance, of having the right ammo for the particular gun we were handling, and how it might help to memorize the Miranda rights, just in case we failed somewhere along the line, etc. Failure? I wouldn't have it!
My favorite lecture was the one where they had a big body outline on paper. The lecturer pointed at the various appendages. The top two were arms, the bottom two legs. Those are not kill zones. Everything but that, see, constitutes what's left. And of that, everything from the waist down is non-trunk, leaving the remainder, except for the head, as trunk. The head is the head. With all that in mind, every shot goes for the trunk or head. Simple! There's no crotch kills.
Then there was the mantra, drilled into us: SHOOT TO KILL OR DON'T SHOOT AT ALL. There's nothing ambiguous about that, which is how I like it. Nice and tidy, easy to remember, easy to do. I've always been amazed how they don't do this on TV shows. I'm sitting there watching the cops shooting at random, poking the gun around the corner and shooting. And I'm shouting at the TV: "Wait for a good shot, then shoot!" It's not like you have all the ammo in the world; it's much better to end up with more than you need.
So we had that policy, and the other one, IF YOU SURVIVE, YOU PASS. To me that said there might be shooting. Someone would go crazy and start in. I immediately made up my mind that when that happened, I'd be ready! They wouldn't deny me my certificate! That's where I got busy, accumulating guns, other weaponry, building a formidable stockpile, charting out the auditorium, the side rooms, etc. I knew the access points, the whole layout. And I was ready.
The last day came and anxiety was building. Who was going to blow? And why? It turned out to be something simple, some idiot clown pissed off that all the homework he did, the notebooks, the stacks of cards, the original research, the kissing up to the lecturers, the homemade book covers from paper sacks, none of it mattered. He complained about the other guy who ignored everything and did nothing -- he was referring to me -- would get the same passing grade. So he erupts -- see? -- and pulls out a gun and is shooting wildly. That means everyone else, trying to defend themselves has to shoot to kill or not shoot at all.
The place was ablaze with fireworks, bullets flying, life and death. I see cadets falling everywhere. One of the lecturers, a smart guy, is behind a table, waiting it out. Just as I was waiting it out, but I had taken the excellent precaution of stationing myself behind a huge metal plate (meant for the sound system) up in the rafters, with my entire cache. I looked out and just missed getting hit by a shot hitting the top of the plate. Half the class was dead, the other half was checking their notes as to how to do it right.
Now it's down to the last eight to ten guys -- the survival of the fittest -- and they're piling up bodies and ducking behind them, anywhere they can get. The lecturer's ducked down, but I have a line of sight on him. He spots me and shoots, just missing. Here's where it gets good, because I've seen him behind the table so much, I can picture precisely where his head and trunk have to be. True to my scruples about getting it right the first time, I zero in for a head shot and watch him drop.
The bad part of this shot is it alerts the others to my position. But right away in the hubbub, having also anticipated this, I'm able to get decent trunk shots on four of them. That left five or so others. My position, however, being what it was, I could afford to wait. I mentally raced through all the possible diversions I've seen in old shows, telling myself I couldn't be fooled. If someone threw something across the room, I ignored it. If someone called for a ceasefire, I knew better. But as for them, no one could move without me seeing.
Just then I looked down and this one asshole's crawling under chairs, exposing himself a second at a time in the gaps. Three rows and I had it timed, a nice head shot. Another guy was desperate and ran for a door in the chaos, but this is where the gun in my left hand came in handy, right in the back, heart-side. That left only a few survivors, whose cries for compromise I simply ignored. In the Academy it's kill or be killed, kill first and ask questions later, if there's anyone to answer.
Now they're calling to one another, trying to gang up on me, making a pact. At which point I'd just about had enough. I lobbed a grenade, not meant to kill but only to flush them out. Which worked. They're scampering along, tripping over bodies, slipping on blood, out of their minds with fear, the whole bit, and I picked them off just like that, bam bam bam bam.
OK, at this point, if I had less intelligence I might've come out. But I have that extra something, that extra mental oomph, what I like to call Moxy Power, moxy on the ball. So I waited and waited and waited, listening for some sign, just in case there was someone nearly as smart as me still hiding. I spent my time meditating, "Aaaaauuuuuuummmmm," just mentally working on that and other helpful mantras, keeping me on my toes, part of my Life Divine studies. When what do I hear? A very tiny hushed sneeze, someone sneezing into the thickest part of his shirt.
It was my meditation that gave me the extra Moxy Power to locate the sound, on the left side of the hall, 3rd row back, 4th seat from the end, on the floor. Here's where I was tricky. I heaved a grenade to the opposite side of the room. Which worked. The guy thought I was off my game and he could take me by surprise. So up he pops, gun in hand, with a quick aim. But not quick enough, with my 30 ought 6 rifle already trained where he had to be. I sent a slug immaculately through his head, right between the eyes.
So I survived! Yea! And I passed. I stepped over bodies getting to the front and found a bloodied sheaf of certificates by the dead lecturer, rifled through them, so to speak, and found mine. Now it's just a matter of passing the strength and agility training and I'll have a job with the local police department! Wish me luck!
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