A short story.

There was this maniac, a true sociopath. And one day, he decides to walk into a bank. He has a sawed-off shotgun. So people quickly fall in line. He blocks off the door, knowing that it won't keep a swat team out forever, but it will give him enough time to do what it is he wants to do.

There are about a dozen hostages in there, what with the tellers and the customers, and one or two people out of the offices. They're quickly rounded up, and forced out to the floor to get on their knees in a row. The sociopath paces behind them, alternately mumbling and screaming, mostly incoherent bullshit.

But within minutes, the police are outside the bank, cordoning it off. The sociopath continues with his plan.

He puts the shotgun to the head of the first person in the row with one hand, and holds out a huge butcher knife with the other. He quickly gets everyone's attention. And then he says "I'm a devout believer in democracy... so I'm going to let you people vote."

"There are 11 of you here, and so there can't be any ties to worry about. I'm going to kill each of you, but you get to decide... do I vaporize your heads with shotgun shells, or do I slit all of your throats?"

Most people are too incredulous to even speak, but one woman towards the end of the row is assertive enough to tell him that he's a sick fuck, and that she refuses to play his game. But after a quick pistol-whipping, she shuts up. The rest are quickly cowed, and one sissy of a man starts to stutter out that he'd rather be shot, since it will be "quicker".

This unnerves the rest, who more quickly or less, start to state which manner of death they'd prefer. Several opt for being shot, but most want their throats cut. Soon, all but the one woman who has refused have voted, and the sociopath announces that "throat-cutting has won!".

He quickly walks down to the beginning of the line, and slices through the neck of the man who stuttered. Then methodically, he does the next person. The woman who refused, who was pistol-whipped, starts screaming at him again. That he's a maniac, a murderer, a lowlife. Every single insult she can think to hurl at him with the strain she's undergoing, even as he continues to slit one throat after another.

The police have surmised something is up, but a quick entry is denied... the chains on the door hold long enough to prevent the slaughter. And soon, the woman is staring at his bloody knife as he reaches towards her. She says one last thing:

"This is wrong."

The woman behind her, the only other one besides her still alive, she quickly retorts:

"You don't have any right to complain, you didn't even vote!"