Framed for Molestation, Governor’s Armed Rescue

"Ugly freak! Monster!"

The screams shattered the tranquility of the supermarket's laundry and personal care section.

A can of ketchup slipped from my hand and crashed to the ground with a "bang," splashing bright red juice onto my work boots.

A little boy, about seven or eight years old, slumped down at the end of the shelf, pointing at my face and crying his heart out. He kicked his legs wildly, as if he had seen a demon crawling out of hell.

Instinctively, I reached out to pull him up. My right hand was only halfway out when the boy recoiled as if electrocuted. His terrified eyes were like knives, piercing deep into the uneven, dark red scabs on my face.

This is my third day working as a stock clerk at this supermarket. The raging fire a few months ago didn't kill me, but it branded my face with a nightmare-inducing shape.

"What's wrong, baby?!" Accompanied by the rapid clatter of high heels, a woman in a designer trench coat rushed over and shielded the boy on the ground behind her.

She abruptly turned and glared at me. In the instant our eyes met, I clearly saw her gasp, her pupils dilating sharply. She even involuntarily took a half-step back.

At that moment, the fear in her eyes was no less than that in her son's.

But then, that fear quickly twisted into extreme anger on her face.

"You perverted bastard! Who gave you the right to come out and scare people?!" The sharp curse instantly drowned out the background music in the supermarket, and the woman bristled like a mother hen protecting her chicks.

"Ma'am, I was just tidying up the goods. He came over around the corner by himself..." I lowered my voice, trying to make my tone sound calm. My crisis management training in the fire department told me that I had to calm things down now.

"Shut up! You deliberately hid in the shadows to scare my son!" The woman ignored me, her voice rising eight octaves, her bright red nail polished fingers almost poking my nose. "You shouldn't be out in the world with that repulsive face of yours! Where's your manager? Get your manager out here!"

I swallowed the bitter taste in my throat. There was no need to argue with her; I just needed this meager salary to pay for my anti-inflammatory medication. I turned around to get a mop to clean up the ketchup on the floor.

This act of yielding completely ignited the woman's madness.

"Don't go!" the woman suddenly screamed, grabbing the back of my blue work clothes. "Everyone come quick! This ugly freak just touched my son! He was groping the child!"

Buzz—

My mind went blank for a second. My muscles tensed instantly, and I instinctively wanted to explode, but reason held me back.

"Scary" is one thing, "child molestation" is another. This woman, in order to escalate the situation and cover up her own embarrassment at being frightened, actually crossed the line of the law!

The sound of footsteps around them quickly intensified. The customers who had been pushing shopping carts swarmed around aisle number 3 like sharks smelling blood.

"What happened?"

"He seems to be a pervert, touching other people's children..."

"My God, look at his face, he doesn't look like a good person! How could the supermarket hire someone like that?"

Whispers slithered into my ears like venomous snakes. I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms. I had never felt so suffocated, not even when I carried the governor through a wall of fire at 800 degrees Celsius.

Seeing that she had the upper hand and the woman was outnumbered, her arrogance reached its peak. She pulled out her phone, shoving the camera directly at my face, almost hitting my nose.

"Take a picture of this! I'm going to expose you online! I'm going to call the police and have you arrested, you pervert! You'll spend the rest of your life in jail!"

The flashes of the camera were blinding, making it hard for me to open my eyes. The burn scars on my face gleamed a grotesque red in the bright light. But I didn't flinch; I simply straightened my back and stared coldly at the dark lens.

"Make way! Make way, everyone! What are you doing!"

A series of rough shoving sounds came from the outer edge of the crowd. Supermarket manager Stefan squeezed in, panting heavily, covered in sweat, his name tag askew.

He glanced at the woman holding her phone with a furious expression, then at the crowd pointing and whispering around him, and finally his gaze settled on me, standing in a pile of tomato sauce, looking utterly repulsive.

"What on earth is going on?!" Stefan wiped away his sweat, his voice trembling.

The woman shoved her phone away, her eyes instantly reddening, tears welling up in her eyes. Her voice was shrill: "Manager! Your supermarket employs a pedophile! He just molested my son behind the shelves!"

Stefan's face turned deathly pale. He abruptly turned to look at me, a flash of extreme panic and resolve in his eyes. He took a deep breath and made a choice.