Horror Wears a Policeman Uniform

July 22, 2011.

He arrived on Otoka Island before dawn. He'd been there before, so he was familiar with the environment. He was fast and methodical in his movements. He unloaded the heavy gear first, then the survival bags, and finally, the camo outfits. The hardest part was hiding the boat in the bush. Painfully slow. The wind was too strong that morning, and making a fire next to the tent was essential for warmth. He couldn't wait for the sun's rays to appear and blanket the area with sweet heat. His stopwatch indicated a countdown of 14 hours and 34 minutes to zero. Everything was perfectly timed to go according to plan.

But his head hurt, and his hearing was perturbed from the explosion in Oslo just three hours earlier. He decided to take two antihistamine pills to deal with it.

He changed into a police uniform and selected a badge from his tool bag to show if necessary. He turned the radio on to hear the news about the Oslo bomb attack and was pleased to hear it caused absolute chaos in the government. That was indeed music to his ears.

Soon, he was expected at the island's local immigration office to identify himself and his purpose on the island. He was sure his fake police ID badge and uniform would do the trick.

Daylight was beginning to peek out, and it wouldn't be long before the sun broke through, casting bright rays that would engulf the darkness. He thought to himself that by tomorrow morning, the whole world would know his name, his mindset, and his manifesto.

Anders Behring Maki, b. Feb 11th, 1979, will be the biggest mass murderer in Norway since WWII.

Inside his head, he believed that non-whites were eradicating the white race and that society as a whole was under threat. He was about to change that and share his ideology with those he believed were unaware of the current and imminent danger.

He thought his plan was flawless and perfectly timed, and the consequences long-lasting, not only for Norway but for the world at large.

He thought: 'Not bad for a single man without assistance.'

'Not bad for a self-taught man.' These radical thoughts made him feel proud and gave him tremendous encouragement.

He made a fire and coffee right after he set up the tent. The sun was rising, and although the beams were still weak, you could feel them quite nicely. He found high ground and grabbed his binoculars. He could barely see any movements from the camp. He figured they probably were having breakfast. No one must be aware of his presence, and no one should be able to see him. The operation would be as stealthy as possible until the time was right. Only then will they be conscious of his existence.

He came down from his observatory point, as he figured the coffee would be ready. He sat down and rechecked the maps, then assembled the weapons he was to use. He had put together an arsenal, but the most important items besides the automatic guns were the clips and the ammunition. He had travelled all over Europe trying to get access to automatic weapons on the black market. That was proven to be a useless endeavour, except for a couple of pieces and the fertiliser; the rest he obtained legally in Norway. He was told that the Czech Republic was a haven for whatever one desired, but it turned out to be a fool's errand. He was livid about it and was already preparing his revenge, assuming he survived this mission.

As the day progressed, he went around the island, walking like a panther in a hunt, reckoning the land. His police uniform and sidearm gave him a sense of security when he saw a group of fishermen walking about, himself always out of sight. He was the perfect stalker, aware of his own movements and his own sounds. He was invisible in that forest, and he wanted it that way.

He headed to the town council as planned to meet with the officials there, introducing himself as an Oslo police officer reporting from the field. He presented his fake badges and ID to both men there and told them the story of what had happened in the city just a few hours earlier. He couldn't answer their questions but assured them that he would catch the culprits in the near future. But the mood changed when they began to doubt his credentials and his purpose on the island. Tense moments ensued, followed by even more tense silence. Realising this wasn't going according to plan, he pulled his pistol from the side holster and quickly executed them both in rapid succession. They never had a chance. Then, he calmly closed the blinds, turned off the lights, and secured the front door with lock and key, swinging the sign “Closed" outward.

Then he walked the same short distance back to his tent, grabbed the binoculars, and looked at the camp from the hill. Now, he saw a lot of movement. Everyone was doing something, seemingly in coordination, with higher-ups directing the work. Most of them were young men, between 19 and 25, with the captains a bit older. The entire encampment must have numbered around 600 people, divided into three main sections.

While Anders was burying the tent and other items, something completely unexpected happened. The shore of Otoka Island is rich in oysters and would make a good take for anyone willing to put in the work. During his short stay on the island, Anders was surprised when a fisherman who happened to be walking by stopped to say hello, startling him. Caught totally off guard, Anders engaged the man in a brief conversation while waiting for the opportunity to strike him. He thought a bullet would attract undesired attention, so he planned to use his knife. He couldn't afford to leave such a witness alive who could easily identify him later. But just as he was about to strike, a boat pulled up with his companion fishermen, hurrying him on board, destination unknown. The man politely wished him well, climbed aboard the boat, and departed. An unexpected occurrence over which Maki had no control. He continued his labour as the zero hours approached.

He carefully rechecked the weapons after burying the tent and utensils, then looked from the hill towards the camp. Everything was as it was supposed to be. The walk through the forest to reach his destination would be roughly 42 minutes, so he still had another hour to kill. It was the longest hour of his entire life. He found an isolated spot, and he waited underneath his camouflage poncho, with the sun bathing him in full.

His thoughts took him deep into mental images of his probabilities, chances, and responses that could take place after his arrest, if caught alive. He carefully planned the event and his outreach to the media to ensure that they published his manifesto. It had all been going through his head for five consecutive nights now, through his mental and physical notes, and over again, just like clockwork. He noticed he was getting anxious as the time drew near, and remaining still wasn't an option anymore. He decided to get as close to their camp as possible to observe their movements while staying at a safe distance and watching what was taking place through binoculars.

He didn't expect to encounter anyone else on his way there, just like he didn't expect to have any more surprises while the clock was getting closer to 00.00 hours.

The walk took less time than he thought it was going to, and before he knew it, he was at lens distance from the main camp, and he could perceive ordinary-paced movements. Underneath his camo outfit, he was wearing the police uniform that would make him an attractive subject to the panicky youngsters looking for a safe haven. He thought it was a brilliant part of the plan to avoid them running away from him and instead running towards him. Later, it was determined that during the panic, the police uniform worked in his favour 75% of the time, and the Islanders mostly trusted it; as a result, they became easy targets, falling like flies to the rapid fire of his automatic M-1 Garand-converted rifle.

Some in the camp were doing exercises; others were preparing food. Scanning the surroundings, he selected elevated ground that would work exactly for his purpose, with enough surface to stand on and move 360° and wide enough to contain his weapons and gear, ammunition, axes and grenades, as well as his military carry-on duffel bags. He thought to himself, how many of these people would be alive 30 min from now? How much would the world as we knew it be the same? So, with that in mind, he began his death march. Another tenth of a mile, and there would be no turning back. They will know the name Anders Behring Maki for generations to come…

In the middle of the island, the campers had no idea what was about to occur. But since everything was timed perfectly, it'd be 27 minutes before true hell descended upon them. And the adrenaline started to pump. His sense of pride went off the charts as he reassured himself that he was humanity's hero and that history should recognise him as such.

But history begged to differ. An ambush that is premeditated and carried out against non-combatants is far from an honourable endeavour.

In the end, he accomplished what he set out to do: killing close to 100 people, brutally finishing some with an axe, and using the unspoken fear that his kind and agenda were being threatened as his primary reason.

When the police arrested him, soaked with the blood of his victims, he had a smirk on his face. And in the transport van, he wasted no time explaining his premise, even when no one had asked him any questions.

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ref: Video, "Racist Narratives"