Three Days To Kill Edward Snowden: A Short Story

By Chongchen Saelee

Alrighty, boys and girls, here’s an April’s Fool treat for ya! Enjoy!


No one knew who Edward Snowden was until he put on the mask. At least, he got quite the kick from making a reference about himself to the villainous Bane from the film The Dark Knight Rises. Snowden thought himself quite the showman and freedom fighter. He enjoyed the media spotlight the most.

However, his fifteen minutes of fame would end displayed in a wooden box for the world to see. He was to be made an example of, according to an unanimous order by the United States Intelligence Community (USIC). The USIC dispatched six colorful assassins to hunt, kill, and return Edward Snowden’s body to the United States. Allthewhile, it would be documented, filmed, and broadcast on television as a reality TV show.

Meet the assassins:

Winston Meade – A flaming homosexual British punk rocker expatriate skilled at metal guitar solos as well as getting drunk on Jaegermaester.

Hagar Dogovich – A big brutish Russian shoemaker and loving family man to a wheelchaired son. He hopes to one day save enough money to buy a bigger house and possibly get his sickly thin wife a pair of new breast implants. And maybe even get his teeth fixed.

Davonte Miller Jackson King – An aspiring basketball player and rapper who hopes to make his grandmother proud one day with his mad skills.

Jack Smith – An unassuming farmer and English teacher from Midwest America. Silent but deadly.

Pei Pei Li – A Chinese heiress to a Triad mega fortune. She seeks to prove to her father that she is able to represent his line of work as a strong woman and possibly become a new boss.

Kenny Loggins – No, not the singer, but a young aspiring actor teen heart throb who shares the same name. His most notable role was as a genderless alien who is befriended by a virgin schoolgirl and the forbidden romance that they shared. It was canceled after 5 episodes.

Dec 24, 2014 – The order is approved by the secret high courts. The assassins are given USD$25,000 each to complete their task within 3 days. Snowden’s whereabouts are not clear, but most sources believe he is still in Russia. The rag-tag group of assassins descend upon the stoic country.

Day 1
Winston Meade meets with his local Russian contact, a crossdresser named Flaminko, at an secret underground gay bar. Flaminko says there are rumors that Snowden has been sending out requests to the crossdressing underworld so that he may join the festivities without drawing too much attention to himself. Flaminko shows Meade some supposed emails sent by Snowden under the name of “MercuryRising” to his confidant asking for access to their secret club. Meade disapproves of the tip stating that it isn’t concrete proof. He gives Flaminko $200.

Hagar Dogovich targets the local street markets and keeps a leering eye on the small time folks. His theory is this is where the high profile spy wannabe might be hiding out. Dogovich pretends to shop from some fresh oranges and flowers. A small, dirt-faced street urchin tugs at his shirt asking in Russian if he’d buy him an orange. Dogovich, aware that this child is setting to pickpocket him, picks the boy up by one arm. The boy squirms in pain. Dogovich tells the young street urchin that he too once grew up in similar streets, but now he must earn a living like an honorable man does so that his son doesn’t look upon him with lowly eyes. Dogovich places the boy down who almost cries. Before he takes off running, Dogovich sneaks an orange past the vendor and tosses it to the boy. Dogovich winks at the kids and the boy takes off running.

Davonte King pairs up with Pei Pei Li in hopes of getting sum-sum. Having been trained in British English, Li finds it difficult to understand the words that are coming out of King’s mouth at times. But having been somewhat attuned to each assassin’s backgrounds, King thinks he can impress Li with his street smarts. He starts jive-talking about this and that and naw-sayins. He boasts about he many times he’s actually been in prison (zero, actually, but he got a parking zone violation once and had to go to court to pay $50) and how he shot a lot of niggas (zero, actually). He also boasts about his vast drug trafficking empire back home, bringing in da Benjamins.

Li sees right through him and deduces that he’s a sheltered mama’s boy living with his grandmother. He plays video games all day and is somewhat tech savvy because of that. The closest thing King has ever shot as a gun was a video game remote controller. Somewhat shocked that this bitch could know all that, King tries to play it off and asks what Li’s killer rep actually was. Li pulls a glock from her designer purse and presses it against King’s forehead. She states very coldly that she has killed 8 people, 5 men, 4 women, and 1 child by accident on her father’s orders. She then asks King if he knows what it’s like to take a life without hesitation. King admits he doesn’t. When King begins to tremble, Li puts away her gun.

King loses his cool and tries to strike Li. But Li easily counters King’s blow and dislocates his arm. King screams in pain.

“You fucking chink bitch! You broke my arm!” King screams.

Li leans in close to King and cups his groin teasingly. King’s big black lower lip begins to quiver as beads of sweat form on his face. Li smiles evil and grabs his groin hard with one hand while readjusting King’s dislocated arm with the other. She then sweep kicks him to the ground and walks away.

King sits alone dumbfounded massaging his shoulder and genitals. He cusses her out under his breath.

Jack Smith has changed out of his usual plaid flannel attire for a very sleek looking James Bond-ish suit and tie and winter overcoat deal. He’s meeting with his contact Samson at a fancy schmancy Greek restaurant, an also very well-dressed gentleman and powerful European businessman.

Smith and Samson discuss Snowden only briefly, as that is the least of their concern. Smith wants to know how the drama is going his Samson’s part of the world, mainly the Middle East. Samson oversees that the warring factions in the Middle East are indeed still fighting each other, a proper distraction from the real prize: oil. Samson reassures Smith that the factions are still fighting and that the oil is still easily accessible. Smith smiles and nods arrogantly. He then slides a yellow envelope brick of money to Samson. Samson eagerly tucks it into his inner jacket pocket. The two then continue to enjoy their lamb steak nonchalantly.

Kenny Loggins is checking into a small hostel run by some of his beautiful Russian female model friends. A beautiful 14-year-old girl, who looks like she’s 18, approaches the young American heart throb starry-eyed and begins to sweet talk him in broken English. She gets really physical and starts rubbing his chest and abdomen, then tries to take Loggins’ shirt off. Being a man almost 30 years old playing a teenager, Loggins gently pushes the young girl off him. And as politely as possible, he tells her off.

But the young beautiful Russian girl won’t take no for an answer. She suggests that the young actor takes her to his bed. Loggins turns her down, saying he has other business to attend to. And then after that, he would just like to rest. But the young girl strips in front of him. Her body is amazing, her ample breasts are fully developed. However, the peach fuzz of her pubic hair makes Loggins very nervous, having now realized that she is just a child. He turns his back to her.

At the very moment, one of his adult female model friends, Rasha, enters the scene. The young naked girl quickly draws back on her clothing, but it’s clear she has no shame or remorse. Rasha shoots her the evil eye, but the young girl just sticks her tongue out at her. Then the young girl storms off clutching her clothes to her naked body.

Rasha apologizes to Loggins and says that young girl doesn’t know her own power because she is so beautiful and sexually curious. Rasha helps Loggins with his bags and takes him to his sleeping area and cot. There, the two get reacquainted and laugh together. Eventually, this conjures up memories of them together in the past, and Rasha leans in to kiss Loggins. The two make love.

Meanwhile, Edward Snowden is wandering aimlessly at a mega mall. He’s window shopping for a new suit for his next grand television appearance. But he reaches in his pockets and looks in his empty wallet. He’ll have to wait for his next check from the CIA as he’s already blown most of it on Russian prostitutes, drugs and video games.

Security cameras are everywhere. But Snowden doesn’t seem too worried. The facial recognition software is detecting him left and right, but he’s assured that he’s safe in Russia. He’s well connected to the top brass of FSB. He’s a ghost and a guest for all the Russians care.

Snowden cockily struts on with his window shopping, slurping on a soda.

Day 2

Dogovich is asking around the poorest parts of town about a young American boy called Snowden. Most of the citizens don’t pay attention to the news. So they couldn’t help him if they wanted to. But Dogovich still believes this is the most secure place Snowden would be hiding out. There is little technology minded folk and no one would suspect anything. Dogovich presses on with his search.

Davonte King ditches the bitch. He heads to an Internet cafe to see what he can drum up. He meets up with a Chinese Russian contact, Neddie Wang, a notorious hacker, a close hommie and confidant. Wang helps King log into Russia’s most guarded cyber systems. While closing massive amounts of popup human-donkey porn, the two cyber criminals search for tagwords on Snowden on local search engines and chatrooms. Knowing Snowden would try to conceal his cyber tracks, Wang uses his own sniffing software and pinpoints some traces. But the logic dictates no international wannabe spy on the lam would be brazen enough to use his real name all over chatrooms and forums, would he? It’d be too easy. But King and Wang follow the leads anyway.

Meanwhile, Li has entered into a Russian Chinatown to meet with some family friends and contacts for help targeting Snowden. So organized, they tell Li they already know his exact whereabouts. But because they don’t want to mettle with international affairs, as it would screw up their local operations, they don’t want anything to do with Snowden. Li pleads to her confidants that she must know his location. She has to prove to her father that she is competent. Unfortunately, her confidants refuse to disclose any information. They say if she makes the final kill, it would just lead back to them. They are her only logical source of information. Li leaves disgruntled.

Meade is at a seedy brothel, asking around about Snowden. He gives them a very detailed description and shows them some of Snowden’s wannabe modeling photos. Meade asks if any of the whores recognize his face or his body. The manager of the brothel is getting anxious as he doesn’t want to stir up drama for his struggling business. The last thing he needs is government types invading his brothel and making him lose clients. He tells Meade he gets all types at his brothel. He doesn’t question them about what they do for a living. If they have money, it’s good money for good Russian pussy. He tells the whores not to say any more and sends Meade on a hike. But as Meade is leaving, he spots a male whore lurking in the back, who is giving him a strange look. Then Meade leaves the brothel.

Loggins and Rasha are lying naked in her bed in her section of the hostel, post-coital. She starts to reminisce about the past and raises the possibility of them rekindling their romance. But Loggins stays detached. He plays with her nipple and hair. She caresses his nude chest. And then Rasha asks Loggins for his commitment. Loggins gets irritated and pushes her off. He tells her it was never meant to be serious. They are and will always be just two beautiful people who get together and have sex and depart. They can’t have meaningful non-superficial relationships like real people. Rasha begins to bawl and Loggins storms out.

Loggins meets up with his photographer friend Jacques, who is also a French spy stationed in Russia. Loggins asks Jacques about what he could find about Snowden’s whereabouts. Jacques shows on his laptop high-resolution telephoto photos of Snowden at the mall. Jacques tells Loggins that Snowden is actually quite easy to find. The only problem is that he has Russian sympathy, and it’s a matter of wanting to be on the opposing side of Snowden’s sympathy or not. In this case, you can find him, but you might not want to do anything about it. Snowden is acting like a stuck-up little Russian prince. Jacques warns Loggins not to take any action. Loggins thanks his friend but wants to make up his own mind. Jacques gives him a USB stick with the data.

Smith is in his cushy robe in his luxury hotel talking to his mysterious commanding officer back in America. His CO tells him that they already know where Snowden has been from the start via satelite imagery and brain profile pattern match. Snowden has always been expendable. But what’s important is that he is the vital diversion to keep the media out of the Middle East while they continue their oil extraction operations. Once they make an example out of Snowden, killing him, then future weasel wannabe “leakers” will think twice about crossing or tempting to oppose the mighty CIA. The CO tells Smith that if none of the other assassins get Snowden first, that Smith needs to finish the job… along with disposing of all the lose ends: by killing all the other 5 assassins too. Smith acknowledges the plan and goes to the balcony and sips his expensive champagne.

Snowden is at dimly lit small home, bringing home some takeout food, getting ready to put on another show in a seedy online chatroom with his supporters, pedophiles, and otherwise freaks of the Internet. He just got finished masturbating and is breathing heavily as he organizes his makeshift desktop of books and boxes for his laptop. He pulls a soggy red mask tucked in between damp sofa cushions and slips it on his head. He opens his laptop and begins to type fast.

Day 3

Davonte King and Neddie Wang are chilling at Wang’s apartment smoking weed. Wang shows off his golden plated handgun to King and the two begin to act like a pair of toolbag gangsters. They pull out their smartphones and start posing for selfies. Then there’s a knock at the door. Hold on, hold on, son.

Wang peeks through the eyehole and sees a really fine Asian hottie. Yo, bro, you know this ho? She foin, yo. Lemme see, lemme see. Davonte King peeks through the eyehole. Yo. Yo. Dat’s some crazy bitch. She jacked me up, son. We should let her in and jump this pussy bitch. Two on one, fuck that, we break the rules, naw sayin.

The two wannabe gangsters hype themselves up a bit, circling pacing around and then let Li in.

Hey, yo, how’d you find me? Li enters the abode not intimidated. She stares down Wang who thinks he’s baller. She then slowly approaches King and tells him she has more connections in Russia than he does. She doesn’t have some faggot loser friend how hacks and sells kiddie porn to make beans.

Yeah, then whatchu want with me? Li reveals that she doesn’t know where Snowden is, but maybe King and Wang can. And, being that she can’t pull the trigger herself in fear of stirring up political stuff with her network of friends, she is willing to do something for the boys in return for finding and killing Snowden for her.

King, of course, is the opportunist. He slyly (or thinks he’s sly) implies that she give him a blowjob. Li says, “That’s it?” Yah. King puffs his chest out. Anything for a foin honey. She then asks Wang what he wants. Wang, confused, says he wants the same thing. Li agrees and takes King to Wang’s bedroom, closes the door behind them. After three mintues, Li exits out of the room and spits on the floor, wiping her mouth with disgust. King follows, proudly, tucking his slimy penis back into his pants. Wang is a little dumbfounded and before he gets up to ask for the same sexual favor, Li shoots him point blank in the chest. King jumps with his back against the wall.

Wang!!! No! You cunt ho! You shot him!!!

Li presses the gun against King’s groin and threatens to kill him too. She tells him to punch up what they know on their little computer and what they where going to do. King begrudgingly sits in front of Wang’s bloodied computer and begins to type. He quickly glances down and the quivering body of Wang, who is lying on a puddle of his own blood, bleeding out. Mmm-mm-mm, shaking his damn head. He looks at Li with contempt. Li taps King’s temple with the muzzle of the gun lightly. King continues to type.

Later, as Li is about to leave, she tells King to clean up the mess. She tells him he makes a lousy house guest. Oh, and he has a small dick for a real black man. King gets pissed.

Loggins is at the same mall that Snowden was last spied at. He starts questioning the merchants about Snowden. He notices a lot of security cameras… everywhere. All Loggins has on is a pair of sunglasses, very inconspicuous indeed. But he is about to understand how much he underestimated the real size of a following he really has.

Loggins stops by an ice cream vendor and takes off his glasses because the young lady running the counter is really cute. He start schmoozing with her. And the cashier lady flirts right back. But she doesn’t know who this handsome young man really is. The girls coming up, however, do.

A small group of teenage girls approach the ice cream shoppe, chitchatting about what flavors they want, ohmygoshing it in Russian. And sure enough, the same young teenage girl who tried to seduce Loggins at the hostel before is in the pack.

In a split second, in slow motion, Loggins turns glances just briefly at the approaching pack of she-wolves teenage girls. And the young embittered teenage girl had flames in her eyes. She sees her teenage male god hitting up a hussy ice cream girl and… boom. The young wannabe seductress points and screams at the top of her lungs for a security guard at Loggins claiming he had molested her and raped her earlier. He cummed in her mouth and shredded up her virgin vagina. And in only that split second, the security guarded swarmed Loggins like hornets on a piece of rotting meat and beat him with their sticks and dragged him away. The young girl watched in evil delight as her friends and bystanders comforted her and her crocodile tears.

Dogovich’s hunch seems to be paying off. He found his way into a dingy part of the Russian ghetto. And maybe just out of luck, he spots a mailbox with Russian letters for “Edvard Snow”. He scoffs, thinking, surely, this American boy has balls. But it was worth checking out.

Dogovich makes his way to the tiny apartment by the number on the mailbox. He knocks on the door and slowly backs away. He pulls out a big machete. When no one answers the door, he kicks the door in like a bull. He creeps into the empty apartment. And sure enough, there lying next to a pile of books and boxes, a makeshift computer table, was a red slip-on mask. On the laptop was a bunch of freedom-of-this-and-that propaganda stickers. The screensaver on the laptop was some spinning 3D text with some Russian expressions about freedom. Dogovich hit the space button. The desktop wallpaper was of Snowden’s nude self reclining on a sofa, a bone-skinning, sickly pale skeleton of a man. Dogovich winced, but he knew he found the Snowden’s hiding grounds. He’d wait for the American boy to return and take him out.

Smith is watching Dogovich dig through Snowden’s apartment with a high-powered x-ray scope from a rooftop a couple blocks away. He also has some hidden cameras feeding into a portable monitor in a small briefcase. He’s listening to the bugged room through an ear piece. His plan is to take Dogovich out and make it look like Snowden did it. But he may have to wait until Snowden returns home so that he doesn’t have to transfer the body. Smith lights a cigarette and waits patiently, playing with a silencer and pistol.

Li is in a car headed towards Snowden’s apartment, the location is just a estimation of the location, triangulated from the servers’ ping origin data calculated by Wang. Li circles around the block several times, trying to deduce the actual location, looking for street clues. Then…

Bulletholes through the windshield! Li steps on the breaks and jumps out, evasive rolling behind some cover. Li quickly evaluates the scene. Where did the shots come from? What direction? What angle? She looks up at the roof top. Nope. No gunman. She cans the windows. She scans the nearby parked cars.

Then the sound of a car door closing nearby. She looks in that direction and shots ricochet near her. King is pissed. He’s firing Wang’s gold-plated gun at Li and walking toward her all wanton. Li returns fire behind cover. But she misses every shot. King eventually runs out of bullets but he is able to get to Li and grab her just as she’s about to reload a new magazine clip. He rains down on her face with his fist, pummeling it blow by blow, frothing at the mouth. King then drags her body into the middle of the street, in front of her parked car with the headlights on. He wants to run her over with her car. He kicks her real good before he gets into the car.

As Li lays there limp, King starts up the car and starts spouting stuff about being a man and king, raising his hands in the air (raising the roof), self-celebatory, talking to himself. He grips the steering wheel and revs the engine, licking his lips, savoring his moment he gone get this bitch, but…

Blap, blap, blap, dude gets shot in the chest. And that’s that. Li emerges in front of the headlights much like a rotting corpse zombie, with reloaded gun in hand. She takes a few steps and keels out on the hood of the car. The car begins to roll slowly a bit and runs into a mailbox, coming to a stop.

Meanwhile, Smith has been monitoring the entire fight from the rooftop a few blocks away. Ha. He chuckles. Stupid nigger. Stupid chink.

Meade returns to the seedy brothel waiting outside, across the street for his contact. He’s sitting at a small cafe table, smoking a cigarette and nursing a warm bottle of beer. A lanky man in an outrageous fur coat asks if he can join him, Meade nods.

The man in the fur coat is a drag queen, face powdered in white and bright red lipstick. He’s also wearing a outlandish wig. This is the same man Meade noticed before, lurking in the back of the brothel, giving him a stink eye.

The drag queen tells Meade that he may know of Snowden. Tells Meade of a young American posing as a Canadian, or claims to be anyway, who stops by on an irregular basis to have sex with a prostitute at this particular brothel. Why? Because he claims he can trust this establishment, won’t ever rat him out.

Meade asks the drag queen how come the women didn’t know anything. Because. Because he never slept with any of the women prostitutes. Snowden favored male prostitutes. Particularly this one, the drag queen.

Meade had a glint in his eye. Kill time. He sucked on his beer bottle real hard and brushed his hand quickly on the drag queen’s face as he crossed the street. The drag queen looked on with worry.

Dogovich was getting sleepy waiting for Snowden to return home. And Smith, too, was getting restless. Smith flipped a switch on his briefcase and it showed a video feed from the same brother Meade had just entered. On the feed, Meade approached the bar and was talking to the bartender. Meade subtly lifts his vest and reveals the bartender his saw-offed shotgun underneath.

Smith smirks evil. He flips the suitcase off and packs up. He pulls out a very stylized combat knife and leaves the rooftop.

Dogovich is almost nodding off in Snowden’s apartment. And right before he nods off, Snowden’s laptop makes somekind of sound and jolts him back up. Dogovich looks at the screen. It’s just a notification. Whatever.

And there standing in the collapsed doorway is Smith, brandishing his combat knife with a psychotic grin on his face.

Dogovich is a little confused. Asking in Russian, “What the fuck are you doing here, Smith? This is my kill.”

Smith, who fully understands Russians, speaks back in Russian, “No. YOU’RE my kill.” Smith lunges at Dogovich and the two fight in mortal combat. Smith is a trained fighter, but Dogovich is clearly a bigger brute and street brawler. Dogovich picks Smith up like a pillow and tosses him across the room. But Smith gets his rocks hard with this stuff. And he fights even harder.

Dogovich swings his giant machete at Smith, cutting into the walls, until eventually it gets stuck in the kitchen counter. Smith takes quick advantage and expertly maneuvers the blade betweens his hands and Dogovich swings his huge fists but tries to protect his upper body with his huge forearms. Smith simply makes to slits on Dogovich’s forearms and then rams the blade into Dogovich’s side.

Smith stands on top of Dogovich’s body and spits on the floor. He utters, “Fuck Russia”. He wipes the blood off his blade on Dogovich’s shirt and leaves.

Meade is escorted to a secret backroom in the brothel by the bartender. The manager, who before was reluctant to help Meade, is with them, counting his wad of cash given to him. Meade gestures them away and pulls out the saw-off shotgun.

The other men scurry away.

Meade barks out, “Snowden! I know you’re in there! I’m here to collect you! Come out peacefully, or I’m blasting my way in there!” He waits for a few seconds and sure enough starts blasting his way in there.

The patrons of the brothel start scurrying and a naked, sweaty male prostitute in an open kimono runs out of the room screaming in high pitch.

Meade enters the room like the Terminator, air filled with debris from the ruckus, and possibly cocaine.

And there, shuffling behind some crumpled newspapers and clothes covered in semen, is a bottomless Edward Snowden, cowering in the corner of the room, with a slimy condom hanging out of his buttcrack.

Meade goes, “We have this expression in England… If you gotta go, go satisfied. You look mighty satisfied, bloke…” And Snowden looks at Meade in horror and Meade blasts his face off.


Meade is riding his motorcycle in the busy streets of Bangkok when he is sideswiped by a huge truck.

After Loggins was detained for alleged rape of a minor, he was released and collected by Smith. While taking Loggins to the airport before that departed back to America, Smith hands Loggins off to a group of shaddy Russian men in white lab coats. They take him to a secret room in the back of the airport where they tie him up and gas him.

Smith shows the white lab coats a picture of Snowden’s blown-off face and another of what it’s supposed to look like. The docs mark up the pretty actor’s face with black marker and begin to work. They inject him with some kind of lethal toxin. Smith gives them a brick of money.


Back in America, Smith gets of the airplane to a hero’s welcome. The media is everywhere, cameras, The President, celebrities, supermodels, the whole shebling. Smith is dressed like a country bumpkin again, heehawing it up, playing dumb and coy. He starts signing autographs giving interviews and posing for pics. Behind him, the plane’s unloading crew pulls out a huge wooden box and slide it only a cart. They wooden box is dressed a bit, looking kinda tacky, but clearly is for show. They open up the top and it is noneother than the restored nation’s hero Edward Snowden, looking fresher than Malibu Barbie and her new hat accessorie. He’s even shirtless with those six-pack abs. The camera flashes go haywire.

Later, fighting his way into his modest farmhouse, Smith is surprised by his loving wife, kids, and neighbors by a welcome home party. They enjoy cake, drinks, food, music, etc. And late into the night, after the guests have left, the Smith family sit all comfy on their couch watching on the big screen about the hero of the nation, “Jack Smith”.

And Hollywood just announced that there is going to be a major motion picture made of Jack Smith’s heroic deeds and adventure starring Brad Pitt as Jack Smith and Jim Parsons as the evil, evil Edward Snowden.

It’s New Years Eve. One of his kids barks, “Look, it’s SNOWING outside!”

Jack Smith kisses his kids on the head and his wife on the cheek. He sips his champagne and smiles. What a happy life.


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