"Someone in your household is helping terrorists"

You refuse to believe it. Susan better have some evidence if you want her to be taken seriously.

She sees the skeptical and angry look growing on your face. “They attacked the Harrison household this afternoon.” This must be what the cops that Amber had mentioned were about. “They kidnapped Millie, the young expecting wife who lives there."

You know her well, you ogle her every time you drive by and she's outside.

Susan goes on, "You know, usually their goal is to impregnate a woman themselves. I was reading about it online. A bunch of them break into a house while the husband is at work and take turns fucking a woman, every hole at the same time, again and again. Sometimes two men in the same hole, one right right up against the other like a couple of queers…” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think Susan is starting to get aroused by the idea.

Indeed it's hard not to imagine the scene in your mind: Millie naked and on all fours, penetrated in every orifice while she moans and tries to break free. Although you don't know which of the many terrorist groups is responsible, so you're not sure if they're big black cocks, muslim cocks, women with cocks, or what.

"They're probably God damned communists. They share everything, you know?" Susan rubs her chest with her hand as she talks, seeming quite bothered. "Then they impregnate her and make more little communists. This time they’ll probably just raise her husband’s baby as a communist. They might screw her stupid anyway. Or maybe they’ll abort this baby and fuck a new one into her. They’d love that.” Susan shakes her head in disappointment, her distant eyes lost in the imagination of it all.

If it’s true that the terrorists have struck in your neighborhood, it’s very troubling. “But what does this have to do with my family?” You ask

“I saw them drive by… in their filthy old van.” She claims. “And they left something in your mailbox.” She takes a sip of her beer, then holds the cold bottle to her flush cheeks, still recovering from thoughts of the things that terrorists do.

“My mailbox?”

“Go look for yourself. I was considering going to the cops. I still might, to be honest, but we’ve always been good neighbors. I thought I’d let you know first.”

You do just that. A quick trip to the mailbox reveals a small envelope with a folded up paper in it. What the fuck is this? Could it really be true that someone from your family is involved?

Quickly you tear it open and read it.

The takeover of your neighborhood has begun. Today we took the rich pregnant cunt down the street. Tomorrow we’ll be back for your fascist cunt neighbor. If you continue recommending targets, we can assure you that your house will be untouched.

Fuck the privileged!!!

It's damning. And it seems like Susan is right if this is indeed meant for someone in your household. You look up at your neighbor. She has no idea she’s next. You should warn her.

Then again… you know where and when these assholes are going to strike next. That’s an opportunity that’s hard to resist. You don’t need to involve the cops, do you? Surely you can defend your own neighborhood. You’ll wait for them to show up at Susan’s house tomorrow and pounce. Susan might just have to be the bait.

Then again, you could go to the cops and tell them that the letter was in someone else’s mailbox. Your family would be off the hook and you could let someone else do the hard work of taking down the terrorists. Susan would refute your claim, but the cops wouldn’t believe a dumb broad’s word over yours. Hell, you could wait a day and then go to the cops when Susan wasn’t around anymore to cause trouble.

“Well… what does it say?” She asks.

You clear your throat. “It says they’re targeting pregnant women now.” It’s a good lie that’ll convince Susan she can’t be next. “It doesn’t say what kind of terrorists they are and uh, it’s not addressed to anyone. And it doesn’t say anything about any future attacks around here.” You crinkle it up and shove it in your pocket. “I’ll take this to the authorities tomorrow and handle my own household.”

“Let me read it.” Susan holds out her hand.

You shake your head. “My house, my business.” You know she can’t make a man do anything against his will in his own home.

So that’s that. Susan finished her beer and heads home. And you have to decide what to do.