I was reciting slogans from “the little red book” as I was reading “Settlers” in the front seat of my state owned people’s police cruiser when a call came in. It was the chief.

“Bad news, detective. We got a situation.”

“What? Are class-traitors in Hong-Kong trying to obtain decadent bourgeois “rights” again?”

“Worse. Somebody just stole four hundred and forty-seven billion yuans’ from one of our comrade billionaires.”

The book practically fell out of my hands. “What kind of monster would do something like that? The riches of our comrade billionaires only represent our success in the development of the productive forces in our goal to achieve communism and solidify the revolution. They are the true manifestation of dialectical materialism, not subject to arbitrary manipulation by any bourgeoise agent but by the worker’s state. Do we have any leads?”

“Not yet. But mark my words: we’re going to figure out who did this and we’re going to take them down … provided we can discern if it was the act of a dissident or imperialist agents.”

“Easy, chief,” I said. “Any opposition to the People’s Republic of China is, by definition, imperialist.”

He laughed. “That’s why you’re the best I got, Zhang Wei. Now you get out there and find those yuans.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m on it.”

I put on the siren. Ten minutes later, I was on the scene. It was a normal office building, strangled on all sides by suicide nets. I hopped over them and went inside.

“Glorious Revolutionary People’s Police!” I said, flashing my badge and my gun and a small picture of Michael Parenti.

“Nobody move unless you want to get shot!” They didn’t.

“Now, which one of you punks is going to aid the State in investigating this crime?” No one spoke up.

“Come on,” I said. “Don’t you all understand that the protection of the State and its ability to enact authoritarian repression is the foundation for the liberation of the working class?”

It didn’t seem like they did.

“Seriously, guys. Without a strong authoritarian state, the Revolution could not be upheld. Working with the police in a people’s republic is truly the manifestation of class consciousness.”

Nothing. These people were stonewalling me. It almost seemed like they didn’t care that a fortune in yuans obtained by ruthless state-capitalist exploitation was missing.

I figured I could wait them out. I lit several cigarettes indoors. A pregnant lady fainted after having worked 12 hours straight, and I told her that conditions for the working class in Amerikkka were much worse than in China since they were not building a true proletarian state. Just then, a man in glasses made a break for it.

“The proletarian revolutionary state of China commands you to freeze, Scumbag!” I yelled.

Too late. He was already out the front door. I went after him.

“Stop right there!” I yelled as I ran. He was faster than me because I always try to avoid stepping on suicide nets. The revolution needs a slave-like labor force to be able to compete against foreign counter-revolutionary forces, but, thanks to the incestuous interplay between NGOs and Western Imperialist powers, this labor force was being phased out.

I was losing him. “Listen, I’ll put your family in reeducation camps if you don’t stop!” I yelled. “What would you consider an appropriate amount of imprisoned loved ones for stopping? I’ll offer you two siblings in Xinjiang and both your parents in a Gobi Desert gulag!”

He turned. To my surprise in his hand was a revolver, which could only be allowed to those enacting the will of the People as an agent of the People’s Republic of China. He fired at me and missed. I pulled my own gun, and fired back. The bullet lodged in the head of an Uyghur refugee less than a foot from his head. I shot the Uyghur refugee again, on purpose.

“All right, all right!” the man yelled, throwing down his weapon. “I give up, cop! I confess: I took the yuans.”

“Why’d you do it?” I asked, as I slapped a pair of revolutionary class conscious handcuffs on the guy.

“Because I was afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Afraid of an economic future free from the pernicious meddling of white western marxists,” he said. “I’m a white western marxist.”

I wanted to coldcock the guy. Years ago, a white amerikkkan marxist killed my partner. Instead, I shook my head.

“Let this be a message to all your white western marxist friends out on the street,” I said. “No matter how many yuans you steal, you’ll never take away the dream of a society based on the principles of vulgar dialectical materialism.”

He nodded, because he knew I was right. Then went to a black-site in northern China to live the rest of his life in a re education camp.