The afternoon sun sets shining orange light across an office building not unlike any other. A drip hydroponic system waters the rose bushes planted around the base of the building and the odd man or woman wearing office attire and lanyards with ID cards hanging from their necks stroll through the snapping automatic jaws on the ground floor before swiping their ID cards to get through a turnstile. Mundane routine, and it could have been any office building. Hiding in plain sight, a powerful organization
too powerful
helmed by a whackjob with a grudge.
Not for much longer
Calloused fingers protrude through a manhole cover.
This is how it happens. This is how power shifts
The manhole cover slides over a foot.
A people try to reclaim their liberty. Their freedom. Their right to exist
8 identically yellow clothed men flow out of the sewer, like the undesirable overflow of a blocked toilet. A worrisomely accurate metaphor, given their recent social state.
F*** your genocide. The revolution is now!
The 8 men are joined by a dozen more. Dozens more. They begin accosting people who attempt to get into the building. Others pick up stones and hurl them at the windows on the higher floors.
S***
I hope they dont kill anyone
After what felt like minutes, but was probably barely one they are met by force. Men in black dressed like soldiers armed with dartguns.
That would be worrisome
Forming a line they set for attack, in a 3 row formation resembling the redshirts of colonial times. A tactic made necessary by the single-shot/re-load capabilities of their arms.
if I hadn't already planned for it.
The yellow men duck to one side and then suddenly disappear, fading into nothingness, leaving only a single object in their wake. A flash-bang grenade.
They wanted me to give them a real one
You wouldnt believe how hard it was to talk them out of that one
BANG!
The yellow men appear once more from nothingness and begin beating the stuffing out of the S.T.R.I.K.E field agents. Outnumbered 3 or 4 to one, (its hard to keep track) they pummel them into submission. Other S.T.R.I.K.E agents drop to their knees howling and palming their eyes and ears.
Theyre enjoying themselves a little too much... Still, one can hardly blame them.
More agents flood through the building to support their fallen comrades, only to be met by the flood of yellow pouring into the building.
Its working
but I cant imagine theyll be this clueless about whats happening for much longer. Still, they shouldnt have to
An agent slips free from the torrent of gold. Finds space to peel a round off and shoots true.
Well, I had a good start anyway
Nothing happens. The yellow flood keeps coming, trying to change direction for the shooter.
It cant be! I hit him!
A field leader sees it. He doesnt completely understand whats just happened, but he knows enough to make the call.
Fall back! He calls in directly to Anderson upstairs, explaining what he just saw. Before dropping to the floor in pain.
That's enough! I'm in! Get out now! Before the tide turns!
The yellow wave continued to wash over them, but the screams had stopped.
I said enough! Get out! Get him out now!
The response fills my head as the words rattle around, echoing and ricocheting between my ears. I'll never get used to it.
I'm trying! He won't listen to me!
Shut him down! Shut him down now! It's for your own good. They know they're not real. It's only a matter of time til they find you and stick a dart in you. I'm in, and you'll need as good a head start as you can get. While they're chasing shadows I'll have all the time I need, but you're no good to me dead! Get out now!
An image fills my head of the yellow men dropping to the ground grabbing their heads, they flicker and glimmer and are gone.
Good work. You just saved all three of your lives. Link me up with Blue... Blue, grab his ankles and the pair of you get him out of here until he's back on his feet. Go fast and go deep. Don't go back home, find somewhere away from the others. Somewhere safe, where you won't put the others at risk. When he's good again, tell him how helpful he was... He made this happen. You all did.
* * * * *
Here I am again... another ventilation shaft. I'm starting to get comfortable in these, hell I keep this lifestyle up I might wind up with agoraphobia. Rode on top of a lift, squeezing through ducts. Bouncing off of obstacles through chutes like a pinball. This life of mine. Didn't take too long to find. The big majestic office on the top floor. A powerful man scared of power in others, so he wields it. He flaunts his power and the authority it brings, lest others question it.
Next room over, must be absolutely silent now. More than ever I test the ducting beneath to be sure it won't creak or moan under my weight.
Soundlessly I slide through the ducting. I'm over the room now, I carefully shift my weight so I'm looking through a vent. He's here. But so is someone else that I can see. I need him alone. Waiting is torturous. I listen intently.
"...attack. It seems the insurgents weren't real. ...metahuman hard light generations and..."
Anderson was closer and walking nearer as well. The other reporting agent followed.
"They can't be far off. It's not a power that can be used effectively long range. They're on the grounds. Find them. This can't be allowed to stand. Not now. Not so near to the end."
"Yes, sir."
The agent turned to carry out the Director's orders. Anderson rubbed his chin considering the situation.
"Howe?"
"Yes, sir?"
"It occurs to me this could just have been a distraction. Have the remaining men not tracking the insurgents search the building."
"Sir. Yes, sir."
"Howe" snapped his heels and cracked a salute, clear military background that one, before leaving the room.
Anderson paces the room, still I wait. I don't have a clear view of the whole room, I give time for anyone who may be there to approach him. Turns out I needn't have bothered... Anderson stops still in the room and utters a single phrase which hangs in the empty air...
"You're already here, aren't you?"