Two black vans sped down the road; sirens wailing, lights flashing. Houses, signs, and streetlights flickered past like lightning, reflecting off of the vans' tinted windows as they roared in the direction of East Grisham High school. They would stop for no one now. Not when a school full of children were being endangered by a deranged 15 year old nut-case. The GPD prided themselves in the efficiency of their SWAT division. When SWAT was set to a task it would be done within the hour. Guaranteed.
Their tires screeched as the two vans rounded a corner and sent a plume of burnt rubber into the air. Lieutenant Calvin Beckridge felt his Kevlar helmet slam backwards into the window as they took that last turn. He winced as pain rippled up his spine and he clutched his M4 carbine tensely. He wasn't exactly young anymore. At 51, Beckridge was the oldest member on the squad and he was planning on retiring within the next month. He just couldn't take sharp turns like he used to; breaking down doors and repulsing riots beside the point.
He sighed and squirmed in his body armor. What was this world coming to? They were heading toward a school shooting sight with an active killer roaming it's halls. And he was 15. Sickos and murderers were coming younger and more willing these days with the media churning graphic video games and movies to an unsuspecting public audience. Children were becoming more desensitized to wholesale slaughter and more attracted to weapons and violence and aggressiveness. They were being taught subtly that good was evil and that evil was good. Those gaming companies had no clue that they were creating monsters and if they did... well, then they deserved to be murdered in their beds.
Beckridge smiled at his last thought. Even he wasn't impervious to the media's violence. In fact, no one was. In the past five years SWAT had been deployed twice to neutralize snipers, once to root out a local terrorist operation, and three times to a workplace shooting. People were going postal all over the place. That was another reason Beckridge was planning to retire. He was tired of seeing the evil side of the world. He was tired of the state of society. He was tired of close calls and dead bodies. It just wasn't worth the excitement anymore. Foiling mentally deranged people wasn't as fun as it used to be. There were just too many of them.
Beckridge sighed inaudibly and studied the faces of the other four men being jostled about in the van. Their expressions were stony beneath the shadows of their helmets. They knew what was coming. Scenes of terror and death and carnage. Things that just weren't meant to be seen. Things of nightmares... Each of his men had gone through rigorous psychological training when they had been assigned to SWAT so that they didn't go into shock when they saw such... disturbing images. They had been trained to conquer their fear and put their jobs before emotion. They had been trained to enter a kill site or a riot or a drug den totally emotionless; totally uniform and rigid. Nothing could touch them. Psychologically that is. Bullet proof vests could only stop so much.
Tires screeched again as they rounded a final corner, rattling the helmeted heads of the SWAT squadron. Beckridge caught sight of East High darting up from behind a cluster of second rate houses and scraggly trees. He caught his breath. Here it was. Another chance at a brush with death. He pressed his gloved hand to his Kevlar vest and felt his heart punching at it. He wouldn't be surprised if he dropped dead of a heart attack before anyone shot him. Fifty-one. Beckridge shook his head and squinted out the window at the yellow tape roping off the entire school. Six police cars were already idling there; their lights painting an eerie collage of colors against the vans' tinted windows. The men were looking at him now, holding their guns expectantly, faces pale. Beckridge snapped a clip of bullets to his carbine. Time to kill a psycho.
Without any warning at all, the van slammed it's breaks on and skidded to a halt. “Let's go men!” he roared, “Go, go, go!” The van doors burst open and five black forms darted from it's orifice, joined by five others from the second van. They sprinted towards the school, guns rattling and hearts pounding.
Bulletproof was only a word.