Ran, she did. To avoid the violence of her Residential District. She was unable to return to her living space due to a large grouping near it, and as luck would have it, the Enforcers began closing in. To avoid the seemingly indiscriminate spraying of rubber bullets and the deployment of pepper spray, she ran as far as she could. Directionless, aimless, but least of all motionless, she ripped open a door that led down a maintenance hallway.
She slowly shuffled in, closing the door behind her as quickly as she could to ensure nobody would follow her. As the door closed, the light went with it. The path before her barely illuminated by dim red maintenance lights. The only thing she could hear was a less than faint buzzing sound coming from the walls surrounding her. With determination to escape the situation, and an ounce of fear, she began her walk down the maintenance hallway.
There wasn’t much notable for her to look at as she crept down it. There was only about a foot of space past her shoulders, the walls littered with seemingly random wiring, pipes, and the occasional red light that faintly illuminates her immediate surroundings. After she got about half way down the hall though, she noticed it. A small pocket that opens up to her right. Assumedly a spot for workers to put their things down, since the rest of the hallway is too claustrophobic for that.
The pocket came pre-equipped with a small office chair, a nice little table, and a few random tools scattered about. She looked towards her destination, the door on the opposite end of the hall that she had been crossing, and then back at the pocket. Well, perhaps this would be a safer spot for her to hide out at, for the time being. She sat on the office chair, and for what felt like the first time in the past half hour, she took in a deep breath.
If she concentrated hard enough, she could still hear the sounds of the protests outside. That’s good. That way, she can know when it’s safe to go out the other side, or maybe, even return back to her living space. She finally felt like should relax, even if it was only temporary. Leaning back in the chair, she looked straight up at the ceiling, and closed her eyes.
Her eyes shot open at the sound of the door she was previously heading to opening up. Suddenly, the hallway was now far more lit up by the lights of the District whoever was approaching had been coming from. It wasn’t long until the hallway went back to its previous state, and thus, she heard it. Powerful, domineering footsteps that started their way down the hallway. Closer, and closer, they came.
She put her feet up on the chair she was sitting upon, and put her hand over her mouth. She knew that the chance was so very small, but if she could maximize her chances of going unseen, she would. And then, that mysterious person arrived at the terminus. They definitely saw her. Most definitely. Absolutely. Even more than that, it’s as if they expected someone to be there, as they stopped perfectly at the corner, peering around at her as she sat atop the chair.
The person who stopped there, the man, was a man with short hair. Though, the color was hard to decipher in her environment. The rest, well, that would be impossible to make out. The man wore an all encompassing black rain poncho, and most of his face was covered by an Enforcer helmet. She couldn’t be sure where he acquired such a thing, but that didn’t seem important.
Fight or flight kicked in. She sat up out of the chair and tried to walk the opposite direction down the hallway. The man grabbed her right arm as she walked past. Her breath caught in her throat, and as she twisted her head around to look at him, she saw it. In his right hand, was a silver bayonet. She began to scream. He did not even attempt to cover her mouth. He likely knew that any noise would be drowned out by the ensuing noise outside of the maintenance hallway.
He stepped aggressively toward her, thrusting her against the wall covered in pipes and wiring. She felt a pipe dig into her shoulder blade, and at the same time, she felt warmth from her stomach. Looking down, her eyes were immediately fixated on the bayonet embedded firmly into her lower abdomen. With the hand that was previously grabbing her arm, he finally covered her mouth. She wasn’t sure why at first, but then, he spoke.
“It’s okay. Sleep, now. Salvation awaits.” Alarm bells were firing in her head. Her body was reacting in any way it could to be free from the threat in front of her. Her stomach hurt. It really, really hurt, as blood poured out of her and onto her shoes, splashing onto the maintenance hallway floor. He thrust the knife into her chest next. It was as if the hole that had ripped into her lungs caused all of the air to escape from them. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, it hurt so bad. It hurt so bad. It hurt so bad. It hurt so
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Multiple of the protests scattered across the U.S.S. Starlight Hope had dwindled. Not because they lost their enthusiasm, but primarily because they had been pushed out, and concentrated. The ongoing movement in Commercial District 1 had entirely collapsed, and the ones in Commercial District 2, and Common Area 1, had been pushed into Residential District 3, which now corresponded to the bulk of the movement.
They had been properly kettled. A police tactic that was utilized to condense large crowds into one area, to control the flow of bodies in and out. Many of the other tools in their arsenal, such as tear gas, energy weapons, or acoustic devices, were not authorized for deployment quite yet, much to their chagrin. They had been begging, hoping, dying for a reason to escalate the violence. To attack those that they considered beneath them.
They had been waiting. They had something up their sleeves, but they needed permission from people that were above them. “This is 466. 10-52 over in Residential District 3.” As the Enforcer walked back through the line they had set up, he approached another group of officers. The order he had just barked out, ‘10-52’, referred to requiring medical attention. A protester had received a bean bag round directly to their eye. This wasn’t something that frustrated him. It meant one less body they had to worry about.
As the other Enforcers saw him approaching, one held up their hand to wave. “Merle, any update on the shit-stirrer?” The man, Merle, took his helmet off now that he had made it through, out of the direct line they had set up to form a perimeter around the protesters. The man's face was entirely ordinary. Clean shaven with a buzzcut, he was someone you could find just about anywhere in this ‘world’.
“Nothing yet. Waiting for approval still. When it comes though, we’ll definitely show them what we got.” He looked behind him back through the line he had just crossed. He could see the many people clumped together. Some shouting at those Enforcer’s still holding the line.
“What about that broad you interviewed. Maybe we won’t even need one? She seem like one of those feisty powder-keg types?” The Enforcer beside him elbowed Merle as he said that, which caused Merle to look towards the man who did it. He didn’t seem particularly fond of the playful elbow.
“No. That girl, what was her name… That woman’s daughter, you mean? She had nothing. Not a drop of soul in her.” The Enforcer and Merle locked ‘eyes’ as they spoke. Of course, from Merle’s perspective, he was simply looking through the red ‘goggles’ that were fixed to the helmets. Merle was one of the few that often enjoyed taking off the helmet. It seemed the rest appreciated the power that it projected.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Merle was someone who had developed a good ability to read people. It wasn’t out of a willingness to connect with others, or anything wholesome like that. He had garnered that experience from being a frighteningly talented interrogator. As he twisted their bones, beat them around, and played with their lives, the key to his success wasn’t to view them as people he had to break. Merle’s method of success was to view them as beasts. Beasts would often switch to ‘fight’ out of the two options, when backed into a corner.
He didn’t have much interest in becoming an Enforcer per se. He would have been happy to stay as an interrogator for as long as he could. However, the Administration told him that he needed some boots on the ground experience before elevating in the Administration. “Nothing left huh? Well, she might be a bit of a bore, but she might be easy to get into bed with.” One of the other Enforcer’s speaks up, and the encirclement laughs. Sans Merle. Not because he was opposed to whatever was being said, he was just one to observe more than partake.
As the group laughed, Merle’s radio began to buzz. He quickly took it out of its holster around his hip. “10-17.” Everyone around him heard it as well, and they began to move into position. As the reinforcements boldened the north facing line, a shift was felt in the air. A shift that went unnoticed by all those present, sans those who knew it was coming, of course. Merle clicked his helmet back on, and then he saw it through the red tint applied by his goggles.
A living space door flung open, and out came someone wearing a hoodie. They effortlessly weaved themselves into the crowd, slowly pushed their way up until they were about to pierce through. Out from the pocket of their hoodie, came a handgun. That handgun quickly went up, aimed at the line of Enforcer’s before him, and just as quickly as it all unfolded, multiple shots rang out.
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Finally, they had received approval for the most extreme measures in their arsenal. Conveniently, most of the protesters, or rather, the recently upgraded ‘rioters’, were more or less corralled into the same spot. As the violence escalated from the Enforcer’s, in turn, the ‘rioters’ fought back. If you were to believe that you had a right to self defense, well, in cases like this, you would be wrong. The right to violence only existed with the state. Your life would become forfeit.
This did not dissuade people, however. Some continued to fight back, to push back against the oppressor. As tear gas canisters came, they would cover them with empty tubs. As others were hit with bean bag rounds, they would be lifted up by their fellow civilians. The ‘rioters’, too, formed a line that they refused to be pushed back on. Frankly, the Enforcer’s bit off more than they could chew. They were unaware that these people wouldn’t be willing to go down without a fight, and thus, reinforcements were required.
Inside of Detainment Room #2, where about 80 to 90 people were taken captive, things began to move. “It sounds like things are getting bad out there. We should all head over. One of us should stay to keep an eye on the detained.” Asserting that, 5 of the Enforcers that were present within the detainment room went straight out the door. Just like they had specified, one was left over to keep watch over all 80 to 90 others. Luckily, they were handcuffed, zip tied, or otherwise behind bars.
The door slid closed as they exited. They were in a rush, so they didn’t watch the door too closely. And besides, it was a keycard access door. So realistically, nothing bad could happen unless the door was prevented from closing. As the door was about to be fully shut, something had stopped it in its tracks. Not hearing the customary beeping noise of a keycard access door closing, he knew something was off. He looked over his shoulder. Lodged in the small crack between doorway and door, was a shoe.
Then, two pairs of hands gripped the door, attempting to pull it open. “That’s enough!” Yelled the Enforcer, stopping himself in his tracks and turning right around to approach the door. His inertia from his prior steps slows down his forward momentum towards it. The door was pried open, and entering, was a lone figure. The figure did not advance towards the Enforcer, they simply stood in front of the now once again closing door.
The two looked on at each other in silence, until the door firmly closed shut. The customary beeps letting the Enforcer know that nobody else was coming to assist this person. He reached to the table to his side, grabbing a baton that they had lying around for when the detainees started to resist, and pointed it towards the figure. “This is your only warning. Get on the ground. Now.” Asserting that, the man began to fidget around as he pointed it towards them.
Glancing behind them, the figure lifted their leg up, and swung it backwards. Slamming their boot into the door behind them. And then, they cocked it back, and kicked it again. And again. “That’s enough! You wanna get charged for property damage, too?!” Rapidly, the Enforcer began to approach the figure. The door curved inwards, being unable to fit flush in the doorway any more. In response, it began to repeatedly make the beeping noise that it made when it closed, stuck in a perpetual cycle of closing.
The Enforcer approached, raising the baton overhead, ready to strike. In response, the figure reached not into their hoodie pocket, but behind themselves into their waistband. That’s when it happened. The first shot rang out, then a second, third, fourth, fifth, and then, the sixth and final shot. All piercing the Enforcer’s uniform, and going straight through his abdomen or chest region.
The detainees inside cowered as the body of the man collapsed to the floor. They looked on in fear as they heard the sound of the revolver's cylinder being pushed out, and all six of the fired cartridges hit the metallic floor, causing the sound to echo throughout the wide open detainment room. The sound of the figure's boots were loud as they approached the table the man had been beside, grabbing a set of keys. One among many.
Reaching into their hoodie pocket, they loaded the revolver again, and took the set of keys to the first set of detainees they saw. “Go to that table. It has sets of keys. Let everyone else out.” Said the figure, revealing a woman's voice underneath the face covering and hood. Rapidly, the released detainees split up, grabbing sets of keys for each of them. And one by one, they all released each other.
They confirmed their loved ones that shared the same room as them were safe, and proceeded to work together to pry open the stuck keycard door that had been kicked by the woman. The second it moved even a few inches, people began to crawl out of the small opening and rush into the adjacent Commercial District. Far from most of the turmoil, they started to pry from the other side, until the door was open enough for most people to escape.
Among the many to escape, was Alexandria. She was extremely grateful to the masked assailant who had freed not just her, but many others from the tyranny of this new agenda the Administration was working to enforce. She wasn’t someone who necessarily glorified political violence, but knew that when push came to shove, it was one of the only tools in the arsenal of the people. If the boot remains firmly on your neck, she thought it fair to lash out at the one keeping it on you.
She wanted to return to her friends. She wanted to return to her. She’s grateful that the gunman had given her an opportunity to not let that conversation they had in her room be their last. She wanted to make her feel seen. To make her feel understood. She wanted her to come to her. But only when she was ready. Only when she had already been through the worst of it, and was ready to come out the other side. Alexandria would be there to catch her.
As she began to move towards the door, her arm was grabbed. Looking behind her, she locked eyes with the woman behind the mask. The shooter had grabbed her. She was unsure what the aim was. Was she going from detainee to hostage? What else could this person have wanted with her specifically? Before she could think longer, she was pulled into an embrace.
Her mind began to race. What on Earth was possibly happening? And then, that voice she had longed to hear, graced her ears once again. “I’m sorry… for saying those things to you.” The masked woman said. Her breath caught in her throat in response, and she slowly tilted her head up to look in her eyes once again. They were eyes that she knew far, far too well. Eyes that looked at the world with a deep hatred. Yet, when they looked at her, they were filled with something else.
Her lip trembling upon the realization, she swallowed the lump in her throat that prevented her from speaking, and as if to confirm what had already been confirmed in the interaction that had just transpired, she asked; “...April?”
