I had just started to begin my career in law enforcement, back when it all began. The scientists couldn't agree on the cause of the *e-pun-demic*. Some said it was related to *Tumblrous Contagiosum* strain, or the tendency to be offended. Others attributed it to the declining quality of humor on-air. I didn't keep up with all that talk. All I knew was that my body was different. I could *hand*le puns, I genuinely found them *humerus*. While the *e-pun-demic* was gaining a *foot*hold on the population, I remained the same. 

 My first job with LMPD was on "Pun-Patrol", a special force designed to tackle the dramatic rise in graffiti puns.We always arrived too late, and the perpetrators were rarely caught. At first we were seen as a joke, I was a petty excuse for an officer. Around my 3rd year on the job though, things changed. 

 I was making my nightly rounds with my partner, Mike, when we got a code 162114: standard pun-crime. The call directed us to the Oak Hill nursing home. We were greeted at the door by a middle-aged woman in tears. Mike and I were taken aback. We didn't need an explanation as we ventured in the building. All across the hall, papers with the words, "Your lives shall be ex*pun*ged", littered the floors and walls. A loudspeaker repeated the same words in a computerized voice throughout the whole building. Mixed with the sound of the loudspeaker were the faint cries of the weak in their rooms begging for mercy. The scene was so horrifying I couldn't think what do to first. I looked over at Mike who was struggling to keep his balance, his ears were bleeding. I noticed a small glass room ahead, without hesitation I approached it and found a tape player producing the noise on the loudspeaker. Quickly powering down the device, I called for backup and paramedics immediately. The nurse who had met us at the door had not seen the perpetrator, the three colleagues that were working with her that night collapsed upon seeing the papers she recalled. 16 elderly patients also died that night as a result of the sick play on words. 

 The weeks following the incident brought to light a new issue. The doctors who had examined the bodies of the nurses determined that they had been infected with a new, stronger, strain of the *e-pun-demic*. The worse the pun, the stronger the effects. Within 5 years, the whole population was now a carrier or affected by the new strain. In that time, war had broken out in eastern europe, and I joined the fight. This was not a war fought with guns and bombs, rather, megaphones and leaflets. I never saw the battlefield when it was discovered in basic that I was immune to all forms of puns. I was quickly transferred to the "Information Department" where I learned such ways to hurt a man that I cannot describe. I always started lightly, maybe a little small talk about where we were. "*Europe* next for questioning" or "Are you *Hungary*? I'm sure we could hook you up with a snack, do you like *Turkey*?" If they were stubborn I would have to put some pressure on them. "We don't have all day, just give us some names and we'll be *Russian* you outta here" the worst I could do is, "Tell us the names and we'll let you *Mos-go*" 

6 months into the war, I was working just outside enemy lines after a battle when one of our own bombs went off by mistake. I only know that because they told me when I woke up in a hospital back in Louisville, with both my legs gone.

 I fell into depression after that. I never could get used to the cold prosthetic legs. Confined to a wheelchair I began to drink heavily. Nothing good was on the news anymore. The nation had fallen into chaos, more attacks like the one on the nursing home had taken place, politicians constantly debated on how to deal with the crisis. Doctors worked around the clock to no avail. My veteran's benefits couldn't support me so I reluctantly accepted a job at the LMPD as an interrogator. I felt no pride, no joy in my work. After some time I slowly started to develop a pain in my side after each interrogation. I thought, "Is this how I spend the rest of my days?" One day I clocked in at the station and was met by a man dressed in white, he explained that new research had shown that the immunity for the latest strain of the *e-pun-demic* may lie in the legs. He ran some tests and looked at me solemnly, "you appear to have the latest strain, you probably aren't immune anymore" Without speaking, I rolled over to my office. The chief was busy so he didn't notice when the guards sent in the next subject. The man who walked in was dressed neatly, combed back hair and fair skin. He looked very soft except for the scar on his left cheek. Then it all came back to me, that night so many years ago at the nursing home. It was him. In my one track state of mind my subconscious had repressed a memory that would have brought justice to so many people. In the office of the nursing home, after I had unplugged the cassette player, I saw the man before me slip out a back door. It must have taken me a minuet to recall all this information because the suspect asked, "Are you going to question me?" Slowly my gaze shifted towards the criminal. "The doctors say I'm probably not immune to puns anymore." The man's face showed slight relief. "I know what happened that night at the nursing home, I saw you there" The man was now visibly upset, 

"What are you talking about, I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my life" "I have closure in my life whether I live or die, I could get lucky and live through this" The man tried to get up from his seat, "Whats going on here? This is not an execution!" "Ask yourself this question, am I feeling lucky" I looked the murder in the eye, "Well do ya? punk"