rSlash - r/Nuclearrevenge I Murdered Several Men

Episode Date: September 22, 2024

0:00 Intro 0:09 Shots fired Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

How do stop losses work on Kraken? Let's say I have a birthday party on Wednesday night, but an important meeting Thursday morning. So sensible me pre-books a taxi for 10 p.m. with alerts. Voila! I won't be getting carried away and staying out till 2. That's Stop Loss Orders on Kraken, an easy way to plan ahead. Go to kraken.com and see what crypto can be. Non-investment advice. Crypto trading involves risk of loss. See kraken.com slash legal slash ca dash pru dash disclaimer for info on Welcome to r slash nuclear revenge, where we have literal revenge murders.

Yes, plural. Our next reddit post is from deleted. I graduated from high school in the late 2000s. I tried college, but it didn't work for me, so I enlisted like I'd already planned to after I'd gotten associates. I got into the Navy, passed qualifications for the special warfare training block while in basic, and after completion, went and started training to become a SEAL, which I didn't complete because that is no joke.

But that's cool because I just became a special warfare combat crewman instead and became a dirty boat guy. The SWCC are those guys you see in movies arriving just in time with fast boats blasting lots of firepower at the bad guys so they can pull our boys out of hell. Sometimes they work with helicopter crews or man the helicopters themselves. Most often, they just patrol riverways in Iraq begging for someone to shoot at them to break the monotony. That sounds way cooler than it actually was.

Aside from becoming an expert in all things small watercraft and doing a good amount of diving and aircrew stuff as well, I didn't get to do all the cool Navy SEAL stuff. There are some things that I did do while strapped to a SEAL team, but I don't think I can talk about that. No door kicking, no breaching, no SEAL Team 9 stuff. Only on a handful of occasions did I actually get into a firefight. Anyways, I left that job 8 years in after being injured, and I did my last 4 years in my 12 year career doing stuff in special warfare, more cyber oriented.

I retired, collected my VA card and went to school for a couple of semesters to bone up on stuff that I needed for some cyber security certifications. And I've been working in the private sector since early 2019. I've got my own LLC and everything. So in 2016, I had been back in my hometown for a while, which was near a major naval base. I had changed career tracks and I was on medical leave for a bit after my injury. So I'd been able to take some time off to reconnect with an old high school sweetheart

of mine and we'd been dating for several months. She was my best friend growing up and I absolutely blew it when I had the opportunity to take her to junior prom. And we didn't see much of each other after we graduated and I enlisted. So we'd grown apart and in the several years it had been since we'd parted ways and reconnected, she'd had her own kid, an adorable little three-year-old girl. And the baby daddy wasn't in the picture, which was absolutely his loss because she was a gem of a child. We grew close quickly, and after a couple of months, the little girl would occasionally

call me daddy, which made my heart soar. And as for her mother, I was hit over heels for her years ago, and reconnecting with her only reinforced those old feelings because it took off like a rocket. We were inseparable for the first couple of months. And when we weren't going on fun playdates with our kid or acting like horny high schoolers after we sent her to bed, we were texting each other at work. Tagging each other in funny memes on Facebook. You know, dorky, cheesy, lovey dovey kid stuff that's embarrassing to admit as an adult in his 30s. But you know, we were in love. Real love. Something that, to that point, I'd never known like that before. I'd been shot at and stabbed. Hell, that injury I talked about

was due to getting my leg blasted with a 7.62. But none of that made me more nervous and scared than this new love that I was feeling. I had it bad. If you're curious, I looked up what a 7.62 is. It is a bullet that looks like it gets shot out of an AK-47 as some kind of Soviet made bullet. However, there was a complication in the form of her brother, some lanky, inbred, wannabe gangster wigaboy, whiter than driven snow, who came in and started crashing on our futon a month and a half into our relationship. This piece of garbage had the highly unfortunate

blessing of also being the kid's godfather and uncle. He had no blood relation to my girlfriend or the child. He was just some former tweaker who worked at the Target they both worked at who started crashing from low blood sugar. Really, he was coming down from whatever he was high on. So my girlfriend got him a cheeseburger and a soda, which in tweaker culture is like being given a handful of gold.

He was forever in her debt and became her right hand man, never wanting her romantically as he preferred trash similar to his own kind. Thank god. She referred to him as brother and he to her as sister, so naturally he was uncle to the little one. This meant that when he showed up in the middle of the night midway through our relationship, it was a very bad sign for me because that homeless, jobless, feckless idiot was moving in. My friendship with this guy started on a very bad note

because he was met by me pointing a 45 in his, wondering why a grown man was in my girlfriend's apartment while we were in bed and I heard something going bump. Now I didn't live there at the time, I had my own studio near the base. I just stayed the night often because it was convenient and fun. And with recent break-ins in the area, my girlfriend also felt safer with me there, so it was win-win. So, naturally, I didn't have any say in anything regarding this guy living there. In an effort to placate this young whippersnapper, after I held an effing 1911 to his nose, I

let him borrow my PS3 and spare TV so he had something to do, because he sure as hell wasn't going to go out and actually find a job. Instead, he smoked weed on the balcony all day and played Need for Speed and Call of Duty on my PlayStation. This douchebag acted like my girlfriend was his mom. He expected her to cook him food when she got home from work, expected her to take his laundry out and fold it for him, and god, he once asked her if she could relase his shoelaces onto his sneakers because she does it better. This 23 year old kid was an effing loser,

and beyond just being a live-in babysitter for the actual child when mom and I were at work, he served absolutely no value. We'd come home to a messy kitchen and stuff all over the apartment. Numerous times, he'd leave a turd in the toilet and neglect to flush. And also, F him for asking my girlfriend to do his laundry because I didn't always see toilet paper in the water when I was the one to flush it. This man had an itchy butthole all the time, I guarantee it. He was good with the kid though, I'll give him that. She never had a dirty diaper before she transitioned to the potty, so good on him for actually being a little useful. And it was like this for four more months. Eventually,

I was spending so much time over there that she and I were talking about getting an apartment together so that we weren't paying two leases. And of course, this dude was hitting us up for a spare room, which we fought and argued about because four months after moving in, this dude still had no job. This guy who talked so much game about being a successful drug dealer in his late teens couldn't even move legal weed. He claimed to be a professional drift car driver but he nearly backed my car into a light pole four times the handful of times I trusted him enough to park it for me. And every single time we argued or had a little spat, his choice of words were, I'm gonna kick your butt. And if I can't kick your

butt myself, I have a whole bunch of friends who can and will. Now, I want to reiterate, I was not a Navy SEAL. I didn't go through the rigorous combat training the Navy teaches special warfare operators and Navy team guys. I learned some of it, enough to qualify you for special warfare. But whatever Navy SEALs go through in their supplemental training schools, their individual specialty schools, and whatever clandestine stuff the agencies and JSOC have them doing nowadays was completely missed on my career track. We drive boats, we fly choppers, we jump out of planes. Sometimes we do a mission with the SEAL

team, but most of the time it's a partner force op or some kind of escort op in some territorial waterway that we're not supposed to be in. Maybe we're pulling a few divers out of the merc and then keeping our mouths shut because it's one of those missions. There's a reason that real Navy SEALs are called Frogmen. I was also injured. I could walk on both legs by this point, but if my painkillers weren't working well enough or if the weather was bad, there were days that I couldn't stand up straight without leaning on something. But the rest of my body was still in decent shape.

I had trained in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu on the fleet. I'd practiced Kali and Salat with some Filipino guy that I'd met on base. I wasn't Rambo, but I wasn't a slouch either. I'd practice Kali and Salat with some Filipino guy that I'd met on base. I wasn't Rambo, but I wasn't a slouch either. And I could kill this guy with my bare hands, no gun necessary. But I loved his, quote, sister, and I wanted to marry her and adopt her child. So I bit my tongue whenever he flexed on me. Weeks went by, and every now and then he would snap at me over something.

I decided I'd had enough, and one night when I was leaving to hit home, I took my PlayStation 3 and TV with me. He loved that. He declared that I was banned from the apartment, to which my girlfriend reminded him that it's her apartment and her rules, and that he needed to be respectful. Then one fateful morning, maybe a week after that, I'd spent the night and we were getting up early because I needed to be on base and she had to go to work. So we got out the door with the kiddo and just as we were buckling her into her car seat, I realized I'd left my wallet inside. So I went back to the apartment and retrieved it and as I was walking towards the front door, douchebag McGee pipes up with, you're cleaning those dishes

when you get back. To be clear, those dishes were dishes that he had made messy the previous night when he had late night stoner mac and cheese and somehow needed a mixing bowl and four different wooden spoons to make it. I stared back at him and said, you're high, clean them yourself b-word and don't ever tell me what to do again. And then doing just about the damned best about face that a man can do when low on painkillers and high on pain and salt and walking out the door. I was maybe 6 or 7 steps down their stairwell when I heard the door fly open behind me. I turned to see him coming at me with both hands and he threw me the rest of the way down the stairs. I landed hard on my back, knocking the wind out of my body and hitting the back of my head hard on the concrete deck. My leg caught fire with fresh pain. Then he jumped

on top of me, snapping me out of my daze and I went to work on him. I grit through the pain and started working to get on top of him where I proceeded to rain hell on his face with my fists. I split his lips, I popped him in the eyes in the temple. I even gave his Adam's apple a nice little tap. I was effing furious and I honestly didn't care if I killed him in that moment. Someone had to die and it definitely wasn't gonna be me. But my girlfriend saved his life a second time. She was wondering why it was taking so long and when she heard the yelling she came running and found me on top, beating the gravy out of him. She screamed for me to get off, and I did. As soon as I did, his mouth started running.

Sister, he threatened to kill me and he attacked me and threw me down the stairs because I asked him to bring back the PS3, which she knew was effing BS and the neighbor security camera outside backed me up. But in that moment, she was livid BS and the neighbor security camera outside backed me up, but in that moment she was livid and rightfully so. So I took her to work and I took the kid to daycare. Then I went to base. I had to explain to my commanding officer why I had bloody knuckles and why I was holding a cold pack to the back of my head.

They offered to call the police so I could press charges, and I told them no. My commanding officer near ordered me to call the police or he'd put me back on medical leave, which he couldn't do technically, to which I replied that I'd rather be on medical leave than lose my girlfriend for calling the cops on her brother. It was made clear to me, under no uncertain terms, that I'm a particularly stupid kind of butthole and that that would come back to bite me in the butt someday. Well, he was right. Basically, the guy gave an ultimatum that either I leave and she dumps me or he leaves and walks out of her and her daughter's life.

Which to be fair to my ex, that loser had been the only constant male figure in her kid's life since she was born. So that would have been devastating for the little gremlin and she wanted to spare her that kind of pain. Which meant I got the axe. Honestly, I'd have rather taken an actual axe to the heart because what I actually felt was way worse. It's one thing when you're saying goodbye to the woman you love, but to have to also say goodbye to a sobbing little kid you wanted so much in your heart to adopt and make your own?

I don't want to meet the man who can hold back the tears from that. That man scares me. I went back to my apartment. I put together a little box with the toys and keepsakes and clothing items they'd left behind and I waited for the right time to bring it by her work. I was a broken man. But that douchebag wanted to kick me while I was down. Remember those friends he mentioned? Well, he wasn't lying. He did have some friends with rap sheets and bad intentions. And in the month that followed her and I breaking up, he put them to work.

I woke up one morning to discover that my car had been blocked up, the wheels taken off, my catalytic converter cut out, and they had spray painted slurs and swastikas on my car after busting out my windows. I wasn't Jewish and I'd been dating his sister for the last six months, but somehow I was both a slur for Jewish people starting with K and a slur for gay people starting with F. What my insurance didn't cover cost me $2,500 in repairs. Police were called and reports were made, but surveillance footage was useless. They covered their faces, they wore gloves so no prints. And it's not like the cops are gonna roll out the CSI team to collect

hair follicles for auto-vandalism. Two weeks later, I have an attempted arson attack on my front door. Someone wearing a mask and a hoodie lit a molotov cocktail and threw it at my front door's welcome mat. And if it weren't for the apartment's fire sprinklers actually working, my apartment would have burnt down with me in it because I wasn't jumping from a third floor balcony. That was a more serious crime. Cops were very interested in solving it, but once again, no usable prints and the face was covered for the camera. Then it was quiet for a month.

My ex had reached out to me when she heard about the fire and I told her I effing knew that it was her brother, but I didn't have any proof. She said that she would say something to him and coincidentally nothing happened again. For a while. Until I guess cops came around asking to talk to him because obviously I gave the cops his name as a person of interest. In the months since our spat, she basically forced him to find some kind of work or she was going to kick him out. So he had gotten a part-time gig at an auto shop in town that had a reputation for being the one that you don't go to, but it's fine to recommend it to someone you hate.

They cut corners everywhere they could, so it was a perfect job for this douchebag. At least until the cops came looking for him one day, asking about that fire. The owners didn't like having cops asking about their employees, so since he'd only been there a week or two, he got the boot. He deeply appreciated that. So one night, I'm getting home from work. I'd stopped at the gym on the way, worked up a good sweat, and got a bite to eat from the grocery store.

I pulled into my spot and walked into my apartment. While I was over 21 and legally owned guns and had a concealed carry permit, on days where I was on base I didn't carry my pistol. So that morning I didn't have a pistol on me when this douchebag jumped me. I was unarmed. I lived on the third floor. There was a fourth floor above me with stairs leading up to it. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs fast, and I turned to see four guys in hoods, masks,

and wearing gloves coming towards me. My door was already open, so I dropped my groceries and tried to slam the door behind me. They got a foot in the door and managed to wedge through into my apartment. What followed took place during a period of about 14 seconds. After the fire, my neighbor got a security camera installed outside their door as well, so we knew the actual timestamps down to the seconds. I kept a loaded pistol tucked in a closet near my front door.

Irresponsible, I know, but I was younger and more naive than I am now. I had a scuffle with the first guy who came through the door. I managed to reach my hand into the closet, find the gun, and push myself back in a way to give us several feet of space. I remember very vividly seeing all four men in my doorway and hallway. The first guy that I had pushed had been body blocked from actually falling backwards, so he was starting to come towards me a second time. I raised my pistol. This one, a SIG P226, chambered in 40 Smith and Wesson. And just as I heard one of them shouting, GONE! I started lining up shots and pulled the trigger. There were no limb shots, no shooting to scare them.

I didn't try to graze them. Body shot, body shot, head shot. As I'd been trained, as I'd been taught. The first guy went down. The second guy caught two of the through and throughs from the first guy before I plugged him in the forehead. The third guy stopped dead in his tracks before catching four bullets center of mass. And the fourth guy was halfway out the door before I emptied the rest of my magazine into

him through friend number three and whatever I could see and aim at. You might be thinking, hey, that fourth guy was running away, so that's murder. You're a murderer, OP. Well, the cops didn't see it that way and the investigators didn't charge it that way either because he lived. Now the first three recipients of my high velocity sleeping pills didn't live. The first guy's brains were all over the second guy. The second guy's brains were all over my wall.

The third guy's hearts and both of his lungs were demolished and was pronounced dead on the scene. That fourth guy, he was my ex's brother. Of the three bullets that hit him, one grazed his butt, the other thoroughly lodged itself in his right butt cheek, and the third one hit him square in the spinal cord right around the kidney area. It shattered his spine and completely destroyed his lucrative career in competitive breakdance and bicycling. He was paralyzed from the navel down.

He had to have a permanent catheter to catch his piss and a diaper for what was now the most useful byproduct he was capable of producing. He would never walk again. He would never screw again. And when he was healthy enough to be discharged from the hospital, he was locked up in prison, and given three manslaughter charges since he caught the rap for his three buddies that he got killed. He was also charged with conspiracy to commit murder, assault, battery, and he even caught the reckless endangerment charges for me discharging my firearm in an apartment complex with another apartment across the hall from the open door that I was shooting towards. He was never going to breathe free air again.

I would like to say that this ended up happily ever after. That my girlfriend took me back, that we got married, and I adopted her little one and we had a couple of spares of our own. But she didn't. Within 24 hours, she declared that she was scared of me. That she didn't want me anywhere near her or her child. That she'd call the cops on me if she ever saw me near her home or her place of work. Which sucked. I liked that target. She called me a murderer. She accused me of sicking the cops on him to instigate a response, just so I could shoot him.

She ignored the arson, the vandalism, and the various threats that he'd thrown at me in the previous months that we were together. I never saw her again. She blocked me on everything. Her family blocked me. She changed her number, she transferred to a different target, and after a couple of months she moved to a different apartment in a different part of town. It's been 8 years since the shooting and I still haven't

heard from her. I know she's alive. Friends of friends informed me that she got married in 2020, had a second kid, and is happy. So more power to her. I never got my happy ending. My white picket fence. Believe it or not, killing three guys, even for a person trained for war and conditioned for the possibility that one day he might have to do it, messes with your head. Especially when you consider that it happened in your home and not in Baghdad. There's a huge mental and emotional disconnect and difference between killing someone for work and killing someone because your life is in danger. I had PTSD.

I couldn't touch any of my guns once I got them back for a full year without having panic attacks. It's been 8 years and since then I've retired. I'm now working in the private sector. I have my own LLC making great money doing cybersecurity and site security consulting. Occasionally, I go out boating. My partner of 3 years is the most loving, supportive person I've ever been with. I know that she has my back no matter who tries to kill me.

We're talking about having kids before we get too much older. Life's good. But you know what really warmed my heart? Just the other day, a Google alert that I set up 8 years ago triggered. It was Douchebag's first and last name, followed by the word obituary. It turns out that someone in prison got sick and tired of the annoying white boy in a wheelchair talking so much trash and flexing on people, believing nobody would hit someone in a wheelchair. They used his wheelchair to cave his skull in and used their shoes to finish him off

with a few good stomps. Of course, it doesn't say that in the obituary. It says that he was a bright and lovable lad when he was young, who fell into hard times in his early adulthood and landed in prison. The real surprise is that apparently he survived by a daughter that none of us knew that he had. So it sucks for her, but I doubt she ever got a chance to know her sperm donor anyways. Honestly, it's for the best. Well, hope you enjoyed my story. OP, I find it very strange that you kind of romanticized your ex because your ex had a superpower when it came to ignoring red flags.

And that in itself is a red flag. Nothing about this woman suggested that she would have been a good partner or worth dealing with that guy to get with. So despite the fact that she dumped you and that you loved her kid, honestly, you are way better off without her. Also, I like to say on this channel, don't mess with the IT guy, but I guess the real warning is, don't mess with ex-military. That was r slash nuclear revenge and if you like this content, be sure to follow my podcast

because I put out new reddit podcast episodes every single day.