Everyone keeps asking for more of my short stories.  Some people just can't get enough of them! Here's one you might enjoy.  Might be true, might not be true.  Might be based on fact, might not be based on fact.  That's entirely up to you!  But it will give you things to think about.

The Ancient One and his companions flew far to the east.  There were some places they could not go, but there were others they could.  They landed by a bunker on the edge of what appeared to be an abandoned airfield.  "Vapor," The Ancient One muttered.  He and his companions became invisible.  They entered the bunker.  Sixteen men sat about it, in army camouflage.  Sophisticated equipment was everywhere.  There was the noise of a vehicle outside and a few moments later four more men entered, carrying two containers which they sat down.
 "Here's tonight's shipment!" one of them remarked.  A man with captain's tags sewed on his collar came over and opened one of the containers.  Inside were plastic bags filled with white powder.  "What a racket!" he remarked.  "We buy the raw product, purify it here, ship it directly back to headquarters in Virginia, our people pick it up, sell it to the n-----s and the s---s, and they kill each other over it.  We get rich, and we keep in power, 'cause the stupid people have to have this crap!  And now, after 9/11 nobody questions us.  Everything is so friggin' easy!  We don't get to make our shipments and build up our retirement funds, they don't get their information on the terrorists.  We won't have to worry if there's any money left in the social security system, we'll be well off!"
The Ancient One motioned his companions outside.  He materialized wearing a uniform very similar to the ones the men in the bunker wore.  His companions followed suit.  The Ancient One found three ak 47s in the back of a truck, tossed one to each of his companions.  "I got seven," he snapped, "you got seven, she's got six."
The Ancient One's companions nodded.  The Ancient One started towards the bunker and called out, "Yo!  In the bunker!  Friendly party coming in."
"Friendly party better know the password!" a voice answered.
"Hussein f----s purple!"  The Ancient One answered.
"Come on in!" the voice answered.
When the officer saw him he motioned all of his men to their feet.  "How can I help you, sir?" he asked.
"General Starr," The Ancient One remarked, "Military intelligence.  Need to call headquarters, alpha channel.  My call sign is 'The mountain has fallen.'"
The captain nodded to one of his men who picked up a microphone, adjusted some dials, and began to speak.  A moment later he asked, "What's your password, sir?"
"Muhammed is here!"  The Ancient One answered.
"They want to know what you want, sir," the man asked.
"I just want them to know who did this," The Ancient One answered.  He brought up the rifle and shot the operator.  In rapid succession he shot six others before they could grab a weapon.  His companions got the rest.  The Ancient One went over, opened one of the boxes, took out a plastic bag, walked over, and dumped its contents on one of the men.  He repeated this process nineteen times, then stood over the captain who was still struggling for breath.  The Ancient One bent down, held his nose, and as the captain opened his mouth to breathe he poured the powder into it, until it plugged it solid, then pushed some of it down the captain's throat.  He then dumped the rest of the bag over his body.
"Take the other box," he snapped, "take it out and spread its contents on the ground."
He went over and picked up the mic.  There was a voice coming out of the speaker, screaming, "What in the hell are you doing there?  What's going on?"
The Ancient One keyed the mic.  "Dispensing justice," he snapped.  "There'd better be no more shipments coming through.  Am I understood?  Or one of them may contain a nasty surprise.  Do you understand what I'm saying?  No more!"
"All right!  All right!" the voice answered.  "We get the message!  Jesus Christ!  We get the message! Don't do anything crazy.  People were just trying to get by."
The Ancient One ripped the mic out of the radio, threw down the rifle, took his true form, and departed, his companions quickly following.
"Yeow!" his male companion remarked.  "We're in a nasty mood tonight!"
"Yeah!"  his female companion agreed, "We most certainly are! But I think we made our point."
"That we did!" her associate answered, "That we did!"
"And we taught a moral lesson," the female companion continued.
"What's that?" the male asked.
"When you've got a foul mouth," the female answered, "you might not like what it gets cleaned out with!"
The male companion laughed heartily.  "Yeah!" he commented, "Yeah!"  and they soared on.