“If you read this, you are gay lmao”

by perturbedspinster

Summary:

Two alleged political assassins share a cell and fall in love maybe.

Notes:

First satirical political fanfiction kinda nervous. Many creative liberties taken lol. P.S. potential federal agents of the U.S. government I have no relation to anyone in this body of work and it is for comedic purposes only. The first chapter is allegedly in Tyler Robinson’s POV.

Chapter 1: Shots Fired

Life comes at you fast, almost as fast as a bullet to the neck from 200 yards away.

Almost.

After months of planning everything came crashing down because I had to run my mouth. The searing guilt of actually watching a human bleed out through a scope was shocking. I had mentally steeled myself, at least I thought I had but actually watching his neck bleed and his head snap back while the crowd screamed in terror made doubt creep in. It made me hesitate for a beat too long.

Before I could dwell on it I saw the beginning of movement from security in the crowd. If I stayed on the roof I would be a sitting duck. I had to move now or it would be over, they would shoot me on sight. I threw my gun in my bag haphazardly and forced myself to stand if I wanted to actually have a chance I had to move. My world was spinning as I ran to the far end of the roof. Knowing they would be waiting for someone to come from the stairs I made the decision to drop down.

I ran down side streets toward somewhere I knew wouldn't have cameras and changed into the spare clothes I had brought, something inconspicuous. As I was doubled over catching my breath I watched from the brush I was hiding in for any kind of movement, any clue that someone had followed me. After seeing nothing for a few minutes and standing there hunched over trying to calm the adrenaline pumping in my ears, a thought crossed my mind to check twitter to see how people were reacting. Pulling out my phone I saw the twenty or so news apps I downloaded in preparation and checked my notifications to see if the news had broken yet. Seeing no notifications mentioning the shooting I decided to open twitter and just search ‘Charlie Kirk’ and clicked on the latest tab. Immediately I saw a video of the hit which had 6 replies, I clicked the thread and scrolled to see a quote tweet from someone showing the campus police detaining an old man.

This is the best news I could have seen because it kicked me back into gear. They weren't looking for me yet so I still had time to get farther away. I threw my phone back in my bag and collected the clothes I had changed out of and started power walking toward my house. Trying to move inconspicuously but still maintain some speed was my first priority. I still wasn't allowing myself to dwell on what I had done or how I felt about it, the only thing running through my mind was that I hoped mom or dad hadn’t come home from work early. After arriving home and rushing into my room I finally sat down to think.

It actually worked, after years of building hatred and my disdain for the political dumpster fire that was American politics, I had actually done something to change things. Now how things were going to change only time would tell but I hadn’t just sat around waiting for things to happen. Plus I actually hit my shot unlike the cucks that had poorly attempted to assassinate Trump and I actually got away, at least for now. As badly as I wanted to check social media to see the public's reaction I knew I had to take care of the evidence as quickly as possible.

After tossing the clothes I had changed out of and the bag I had been carrying into the bathtub I drowned them in bleach, I would shred them later and burn them in the woods tonight but at least for now it was something. The gun was another story, the police might be checking cars going in and out of the city and they would definitely be checking boats on the lake so I would have to keep it at home until the heat died down and the feds would assume I was long gone. Clicking open the panel I had made under my bed I slid the gun in the space as well the remaining bullet casing I hadn’t used, chuckling to myself I read them-
‘Hey Fascist! Catch!’
‘Bella Ciao’
‘If you read this, you are gay lmao’
The one that actually hit him read ‘*notices bulge* OWO what’s this?’ which was arguably the funniest. The look on Charlie’s face if he could have read it would have been comical.

Just then after closing the panel I considered that he might not actually be dead. Rushing to my phone I opened my notifications and saw the headline ‘Charlie Kirk shot at Utah Valley University: Currently in critical condition’. Critical condition?? I watched a gallon of blood pour out of his neck in the seconds after the shot rang out before getting my ass out of there. There’s no way I put my life on the line for this dipshit with giant gums to survive a bullet to the jugular. It was laughable actually, a cruel twist of fate that I couldn’t even finish the job. Right as I started to laugh a notification from Trump’s truth social came up pronouncing him dead, but it didn't stop the laughing instead it bordered on hysterical. I guess I am good for something.

The next day was a horrific mixture of guilt, pride, and soulcrushing anxiety. I jumped at every creak in the floorboards and watched the windows like a hawk anytime a car drove through our neighborhood. My parents definitely noticed but I hoped they would chalk it up to anxiety about the shooting and not the fact that I was guilty. The news kept reporting they would take someone into custody and then release them. Eventually they were asking the community for help. I was so sick from anxiety I couldn't even enjoy the hilarity in the public response, every time I picked up my phone my stomach would violently lurch. I had prepared myself to be killed or captured but I had only barely planned an attempt at evidence disposal because I guess I really subconsciously thought it was over before I even did it. Sure I made the panel to hide the gun but I used it to hide it before I even shot it. It never occurred to me that I might actually get away with it.

My parents cornered me after dinner to try to weasel out what was wrong with me. I sat there for five minutes contemplating whether or not I should tell them but ultimately I needed the help and not just because the FBI had already released my photo asking for tips. After spilling my guts to them they just sat there and looked at me, my mom was horrified and sobbing but my dad just sat and stared at a point behind me in the wall. We sat like that for what could’ve been minutes or hours. Eventually my dad started saying that he would help me and that everything would be alright, but I knew from the look on his face he had already made up his mind.

After trudging back to my room I flopped on the bed and seriously considered shooting myself in the head before the police could get here. Then I thought maybe I had traumatized my parents enough for one day and deluded myself into thinking prison wouldn’t be so bad. It wasn’t long before I heard the faint sound of sirens and decided to just lay face down in the center of my room and waited. A few minutes of waiting later and there were at least 10 people bursting into my room. There was yelling and screaming and then I was jerked to my feet and practically dragged out the door. The entire house was slam packed with police officers and SWAT team members. I didn't see my parents as they walked me out of the house but I didn’t really care to look for them either.

There was no telling how long the police interviewed me the first day, especially since there wasn't a clock in the interrogation room. I didn’t say a word the entire time but even if I had wanted to they barely gave me any time to respond to them. The coming trial for the myriad of charges they were accusing me of would take weeks if not months. The waiting between interrogations was painfully boring and eventually the police realized I wasn’t going to talk, at least not until I had a lawyer. They stuck me in an empty solitary room with nothing but a foam mat and gave me one meal a day and left me alone in my own mind, which was the last place I wanted to be. I was stuck there for days, or maybe weeks. It was hard to tell.

Having time to think I contemplated all the ways I had wasted my life. Before taking the shot and getting myself into this situation I had never really done anything worthwhile. I spent most of my free time consuming brain rotting political content, I would be remembered vaguely as the guy that shot some right-wing podcast weirdo and then even that would fade. Charlie Kirk wasn't someone with actual political power, sure he had influence on basement dwelling degenerates but in reality he was a puppet for a larger movement that would continue on with or without him. His death might be brought up occasionally as a gotcha moment but after the initial shock of it the media would move on and so would everyone else. Except me, I would be stuck in this cell until the day they decide to execute me. What a waste of a shot.

Knocking on my cell door interrupted my doomer self pitying inner monologue. My meal had already been delivered today so I had no clue what this intrusion could mean. The door swung open and two guards stood there glowering down at me.
“Come on Robinson, you’re being moved.”
My mouth spoke before my brain caught up
“Moved where?”
The panic in my voice was apparent. They didn't respond and came into the cell to shackle my hands and feet. Walking through the corridor of the prison I realized how disheveled I probably looked, I was only wearing an orange jumpsuit and no shoes. Not to mention there was no telling the last time I had been able to shower. There was no doubt I smelled gnarly.

Marching through a maze of corridors It felt like every step I took was one closer to death, my legs were wobbly. I considered trying to talk to the guards again by trying to catch one of their eyes but they didn’t even glance at me. I would’ve been angry if it weren’t for the anxious pit in my stomach.

Eventually we reached a door and the guard in front of me abruptly stopped causing me to run into him. After catching myself I stumbled backwards into the guard behind me.
“Sorry” I mumbled after righting myself.
They didn’t even bother responding. They just uncuffed me, handed me a bar of soap, opened the thick metal door and shoved me inside. Swiftly closing and locking it behind me. I stood in a stark white tiled room with a bench next to the door with a clean orange jumpsuit folded on it, a single showerhead, and a button under the showerhead presumably to turn it on. Just as I took in my surroundings I heard a sliding noise and whipped my head around to see a slit in the metal door open.
“You have five minutes.” and then it closed just as fast as it had opened.

Before I could question it and waste the five minutes I peeled off my old jumpsuit and left it in a pile in the corner. Tentatively I stood under the showerhead and pressed the button and was met with a spray of chilly water. Better than nothing I supposed and washed myself in a hurry. After thoroughly scrubbing down my entire body and rinsing off I went over to the bench and set the soap down to put on the fresh pair of clothes. Sitting on the bench I contemplated why I was being allowed this luxury when it had been denied to me since having been here.

As soon as I started to wonder the door jerked open and I was on my feet cuffed and walking again. This time the walk took a minute or two before we reached the end of a hallway with a single door that looked like every other door I had seen in the place. The shower had eased some of my anxiety from before but now it all came crashing back. Was this it? It couldn’t be, I hadn’t even been to trial yet. As I was considering how to make a run for it the guard in front of me reached the door and opened it while the guard behind shoved me inside and to the floor.
“Have fun with your new roommate” One of the guards laughed dryly.

Awesome, I’m about to be ass raped and murdered. I’m still on my hands and knees when I look up and the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Aren’t you the guy that killed that CEO??”
He purses his lips, looks me up and down and responds coldly.
“Allegedly.”

Chapter 2: The American sweetheart of alleged political assassins

Notes:

There's only so much you can write about two people trapped in a practically empty room. So, I made the decision to use a certain presidents poor decision making as a device to move the plot along. Sorry this chapter is shorter; I'm trying to maintain a certain air of mystery about Luigi for now and it's hard to do that when you're writing his inner monologue. Did he do it? Does it even matter if he did? Only time (and I) will tell.

Hell on Earth is a federal prison in Utah.

Surely this was unconstitutional, anyone could argue it was cruel and unusual or at the very least a threat to the outcome of our prospective trials. A few days ago, my stay in the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn was cut abruptly short when I was met with knocking on my door and a guard entering with my lawyer trailing closely behind.

“What’s this about, we didn’t have a meeting scheduled for today?” I asked panicked.
My lawyer sighs deeply and replies
“You’re being transferred-”
“Why?” I cut her off
I was finally building community with some of the other prisoners, at least as much as you can while in solitary confinement yelling at each other through vents.
“The decision came from the big man himself.”
For a split second I thought she meant God but not even god could save me from the sick mind of our commander in chief.

She then basically explained how the president wants to make a spectacle out of how well he runs the country and is making a documentary on our daily life leading up to our eventual conviction and double execution. I cannot even begin to form a sentence that would encapsulate the utter disbelief that I experienced after hearing that. What. The. Fuck.

Knowing that the president of the United States of America was actively plotting on your downfall was distressing to say the least. Obviously, I had assumed he wasn’t my biggest fan but to do something so reckless and honestly stupid that threatens the very justice he claims to seek is incomprehensible- Actually after thinking about it he has made worse decisions just in the last 6 months of this term.

And so now I sit waiting in a cell with only bunkbeds, a toilet, and a sink which is more than I had in Brooklyn so there's a silver lining, I guess. From what my lawyer told me this Tyler guy was supposedly a right-wing groyper, some random 22 year old Mormon with a republican family that sold him out and didn’t even take the reward money. It was so pitifully stupid you could almost laugh, if you weren't about to be stuck with the guy for an indefinite amount of time.

The unknown is worse than the waiting. I’m left to sit and wonder about the mental stability of my new roommate, my mind running through every possible scenario. If this guy is an actual psychopath, how am I going to stop him if he comes at me? Will the Guards even attempt to intervene? I can’t imagine either of us is very popular with the faculty. My fear of the unknown is interrupted by the abrupt opening of the door.

“Aren’t you the guy that killed that CEO??”
His voice was almost as annoying as the stupid look on his face as he stared up at me from the ground. The only thing I could think when I saw him was how painfully average he looked.
“Allegedly” I responded coldly.
Who knows if there’s a camera in this cell, but either way I hadn’t worked this hard just to incriminate myself for this buffoon. I watched him scramble up as the door behind him slammed. He stood awkwardly at the edge of the room seemingly taking in the few luxuries we were given. A thought suddenly crossed my mind, and I remembered that this guy was turned in by his parents after confessing to them. If this guy can’t keep his mouth shut, then it’s better not mention our respective alleged charges.
“Don’t talk about your case or mine at all.” He gave me a confused look which just annoyed me even more.
“We’re probably constantly monitored but even if we aren’t I have no interest in hearing anything you have to say about politics. In fact, don't bring up anything political at all.”

After a minute of silence I go to lay back on the bottom bunk, content with ignoring each other when he suddenly begins to speak.
“What are we supposed to talk about if we can’t mention the only thing that even remotely connects us?” He said looking at me expectantly.
“Preferably nothing.” I responded flatly.
“You can’t seriously expect us to sit in silence all the time.” He snorted “Who knows how long we’ll be stuck here together!” From the way this guy is talking it almost feels like he doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation we find ourselves in. I decide to ask since the long silence of me staring at him dumbfounded isn’t providing any answers.
“Do you not know why you’re here…?” I asked.
The silence that follows the question and the look he gives me answers the question for me, however before I can explain he answers.
“...Because I was arrested...?”

Have I personally smited God? Surely anything I could have done in this life wouldn’t warrant such senseless cruelty. I draw in a deep breath and close my eyes, then I release the heaviest sigh of my life. I explain as calmly as I can manage-
“Donald Trump is making a reality television-esque documentary on our daily life in prison leading up to our eventual conviction and double execution.” I’m not sure what kind of reaction I expected but it definitely wasn’t hysterical laughter. He continued to laugh until he was slumped on the floor with a stream of tears running down his cheeks. The inner workings of this freaks mind remain an enigma to me.

This goes on for a few minutes before he can finally collect his composure. He looks up as if just remembering I’m there and studies the apprehensive look on my face.
“Don’t you realize how good this is for us?” He manages to croak out.
This causes me to pause; I’d been trying not to linger on the prospect of the remaining of our short lives becoming a twisted zoo exhibit for the American public. Before I can consider how this could be good for us Tyler answers his own question for me.
“Donald Trump is so caught up in his own self-righteousness to realize he’s giving us the best gift we could hope for in this situation. His twisted exhibition of our daily life in prison is going to humanize us to the American public.” Tortuous months of fighting to affirm my innocence in court had caused a lapse in my judgement. I hadn’t considered the court of public approval; I was too caught up in the approval of the actual courts.
“I’m not sure the American public is going to sympathize with alleged political extremists.” I said warily.
“Please.” He scoffed and then said-
“You’re practically the American sweetheart of political assassins.”
“Alleged political assassins.” I corrected. He smirked and then said-
“Of course.”

The next few hours were practically silent. I had already claimed the bottom bunk because climbing up to the top one would be a struggle considering my back pain, but Tyler didn’t need to know that. He didn’t even question it and awkwardly climbed into the top bunk where we each sat in our own thoughts.

Notes:

I hope the insane direction this fanfiction is taking is at least enjoyable. But I'm assuming you didn't come here expecting sanity so.... Anyway, thank you for the comments and kudos I'm having way too much fun writing this. The next chapter might take a little longer because I'm finding it harder to get in the headspace to write the inner monologue of a right-wing freak. C'est la vie

Chapter 3: Sharing is caring

Notes:

In this chapter Tyler battles his inner demons (internalized closeted homosexuality). The lawyer I made up for this chapter doesn't exist, so I won't be updating the character tags to add her. Anyway, hope you enjoy <3

It’s an interesting mixture of emotions to be emasculated by someone being a better assassin than you.

This guy was better than me in practically every conceivable way. The planning and execution alone was incomparable. Fuck; even the inscriptions on his bullets were better than mine. He was caught after 5 days when I couldn’t even make it 2. Of course he was smarter than me too, I mean hell the guy was an ivy league graduate. The worst part though was that he was.. conventionally attractive, at least according to what felt like the entire internet. Before seeing him up close I thought maybe people online were exaggerating but the guy looked even better in person. Thinking about him made my stomach burn with jealousy. And it was pathetic.

It didn’t help that there was no escape from him in this seemingly closet sized cell. I could hear every breath he took, every movement he made from the shuffle of his clothes. It would interrupt any other thoughts I managed to have that weren’t about him. I snuck glances at him when he would pace around the cell, trying to catch his eyes and start any kind of conversation. He continued to seem completely unbothered by my presence, perfectly content with pretending I didn’t exist. It was disturbing me how badly I craved any sort of validation from him.

The lack of privacy was also maddening, it made me question even the smallest decisions. Not to mention the awkwardness anytime either of us needed to use the toilet. At least the toilet was tucked in the corner between the wall and the sink, not that it offered much coverage but it was better than nothing.

Days had passed since the guards first shoved me in the cell. We hadn't spoken at all since I made him exhale through his nose at the American sweetheart comment and not without lack of trying, on my end anyway. I was in no way one of Luigi’s many simps but it wasn’t like I was spoiled for choice of company. I was desperately lonely with nothing to occupy my thoughts except some asshole that refused to respond to me. Frankly I didn’t understand how he was taking this all so well.

There hadn’t been any news on the upcoming developments of our television debut. It was shortly after our midday slop that this place called a meal when the door was abruptly opened. Luigi and I both sat upright.
“Robinson, let’s go.” said a guard I hadn't ever seen. I figured it was pointless to ask but it didn't stop me from trying.
“Where are we going?”
“You have a meeting.” was all he said. Then I was cuffed and being led through corridors once again and leaving Luigi behind.

I’m taken to a visitation room with a table and chairs on opposite sides. The guard cuffs my hands to the table and my feet to the floor and then leaves without another word. It’s not long before a professional looking middle aged woman enters and strides over to the table to take her seat. As she sits she extends her hand across the metal table-
“Dolores Nike of Nike Law.” I take her hand and shake it.
“Tyler Robinson.” We both sit back and I wait for her to continue speaking.
“I’ve been appointed as your lawyer.” If she’s been appointed by the courts then that means my parents have officially abandoned me, not that I can blame them. Before I can dwell on it, she continues speaking and says something I was in no way prepared for.
“I’m also Mr. Mangione’s lawyer.”

Of course I'm stuck with the man 24/7, and now I also have to share a lawyer with him. What are we going to have to share next, a toothbrush?
“Isn’t that like.. a conflict of interest?” She kind of chuckles to herself and answers.
“No, your respective cases have no overlap so there's nothing preventing me from representing both of you. Plus it’ll be easier to relay information about the upcoming production of the TV series with you together. That way you can both ask me questions at the same time and I only have to explain it once.” She pauses and then adds-
“But that's the only time either of you will receive information about the other. Any information regarding your case is restricted to you and I and vice versa between Mr. Mangione and his case.” That makes me feel a little better about the situation at least.

A knock at the door cuts off my ability to ask any other questions. Dolores walks over the door and opens it waving whoever is on the other side inside. Luigi trudges in, escorted by the same guard that had brought me earlier. He’s smiling at Dolores when his eyes move past her and land on me, his face falls returning it to his regular grimace seemingly only reserved for me. The guard leads him to the seat next to mine and cuffs him to the table and floor. Dolores returns to her seat across from us and the guard leaves the room.

The door barely has time to close before Luigi speaks.
“What’s going on Dolores?” he asked, visibly irritated.
“I’m representing both of you, separately. The only reason we’re meeting together is because there’s news about scheduling for the production of the series.” she explained. Luigi’s jaw clenches but he doesn't say anything, instead he just nods curtly. We both wait for her to continue and she does.
“So, because the show needs to be entertaining to keep the audience engaged while also being profitable to be able to justify the budget being used to fund the show, the producers decided you’ll be competing against each other in a myriad of different challenges and games.” She pauses, presumably to gauge our reactions. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and hesitantly ask her.

“What's stopping us from refusing to participate?”
“You could do that but refusing wouldn’t allow you to use the show to your advantage to change public perception. Production is also implementing a reward system to encourage participation.” She explained. Luigi perks up upon hearing that last part.
“So I could request a separate cell if I win a challenge?” He asked excitedly.

Wow. I realize being stuck together is not an ideal situation for either of us but his obvious annoyance from my mere presence is starting to really piss me off. I raise an eyebrow and side eye him.
“I was specifically told rewards are predetermined and you wouldn’t be able to choose what is given to you.” Dolores replies trying to sound casual after noticing the shift between Luigi and I.
“Bummer.” I snap. I make a point not to look at Luigi so I can’t see the look on his face. Dolores purses her lips together before cautiously speaking
“You’ll want to consider trying to seem friendly during the challenges if you want to be seen as a united front against the president. It would show people you aren’t hostile or deranged at the very least.” She said pointedly at both of us before continuing.

“Your first challenge is set for 2 days from today in the prison’s gymnasium. The cameras will be set up beforehand. You’ll have no interaction with the crew except when they attach and detach your microphone packs.” I sit back to take in the information when Luigi questions her.
“Do you know what the first challenge is?” Dolores winces before replying.
“ Paintball. The producers consider themselves comedic geniuses for coming up with it.”
It doesn’t take a genius to connect paintball guns and firearms. I can, however, admit it is a little funny.

It isn’t long after we’re saying our goodbyes to Dolores and being escorted back to our cell. Having a decent amount of time around guns growing up I was pretty confident in my ability to handle them. Even without knowing much about Luigi I was sure he hadn’t spent as much time around guns as I had, meaning I have an advantage in this challenge. We finally reach the door to our cell and Luigi and I are uncuffed and shoved back into our cells. We knock into each other before we step apart and the door closes behind us without a word.

Moments after we’re back in our routine of doing absolutely nothing for hours on end. I think about trying to say something every now and then until I remember how rude Luigi has been to me and decide against it. If he doesn’t want to talk that’s fine by me, we can ignore each other for the rest of our lives for all I care. If only I had something to do other than sit here and think. That’s when I remember the reward system for the challenges, if I won I might be given something to occupy all my time and ignoring him would be so much easier. I decide then and there that I will do whatever it takes to crush him in 2 days.

Notes:

I'm not sure if I want to continue writing this, I've been having fun with it, but I can't lie it feels weird to be writing the perspective of real people. Maybe if I leaned into the satire more, I would feel less conflicted. I've also been spending an absurd amount of my free time writing this. Also, just the state of American politics is getting increasingly horrifying by the day which is occupying most of my thoughts. I don't know maybe I'll use this as a way to let out my frustrations with it. Sorry to ramble I've just been sitting in my thoughts for a while and don't know how I want to continue.

Notes:

First fanfic I've written since I was like 12 so, please forgive me. Also please forgive my limited knowledge on the U.S. justice system. I wrote this because I was bored and think I'm a comedian. Will write a chapter two if anybody wants it lol.