Jake Ultra

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“Fascist scum! Eat shit!” A stream of liquid shot onto Jake’s face. His eyes immediately began burning. He shut them tight and collapsed on his knees. “Get back!” the police yelled, off in the distance. Jake felt a hand on his back. “I’m going to get this stuff out, look up.” Something cool poured over his eyes. “Now try to open your eyes so I can wash it out.” Jake opened as best he could, and within a minute the burning subsided enough that he could make out an image of the man standing before him.

“Are you wearing contacts?”

“No,” Jake replied. “But it still stings.”

“It’s going to hurt for a few hours. When you get home, wash your eyes out with some milk.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Franco.” Jake stood up as Franco closed his backpack of medical supplies. He examined Jake’s eyes once more.

“They’re still pretty red. I think they’ve started using some kind of acid instead of regular pepper spray, but if you can see now you should be okay.”

“Man, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I want to help people on our side.” There was a skirmish off to Franco’s right. A Molotov cocktail was thrown in the middle of a group, lighting a man’s pants on fire.

“Shit, I have to go. Take care!”

“Wait, let me buy you a drink or something.”

“DM me on Twitter. My handle is LenaDunhamRapedMe.” Franco ran off while Jake stumbled to safety.

Jake washed his eyes out with milk when he got home. As his vision returned to normal, his anger rose. The ...

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