It was a major firefight. Mr. Sunshine, Jay, and an individual that teamed with them were running hard, firing back. A group of teens rushed in to distract the pursuers. The three escaped, the teens lost their lives. Now it's time for revenge. And rescue the families. -- Anon Guest
[AN: If a member of Pax Humanis gets into a firefight, they're doing it wrong]
"I said cut the red wire! It's always the red wire."
"I'm colourblind, damnit!"
Mr Sunshine, focussed on his escape route, spared some breath to ask, "What did you DO?"
Dorothy Oz, a Lucker more likely to go off towards the enemy, was also focussing on her running. Specifically, on not tripping on any debris and thereby slowing them down. "I cut all of them. Doy."
Which had set off the security systems. Which had mobilised the Executive Regent's personal guards. Who had started shooting without ever asking a question. Not even, "Who goes there?" It got messy after that, and Mr Sunshine hated mess.
Screens all over the city were lighting up with their faces. A solemn, sexy news presenter was announcing that three Alliance Terrorists were wanted for Regicide, and if anyone turned them in, they could be in the draw for half a million quatloos. Enough, perhaps, to pay off half their debts at the company store.
What a change of life that could be.
The thing about oppressive oligarchies is... people get sick of being oppressed. People get sick of being lied to. People blame the one face that takes all the credit and apparently delivers all the pain. Mostly because they make all of the policies.
And teenagers live to rebel.
The kids came out of nowhere, carrying whatever they could swing. Some leaped down from windows. Some emerged from doors hidden by the aforementioned debris. Some were running out of alleys. Some, trapped in upper balconies, had debris of their own to add to the street. Specifically, at the heavily-armoured Regent's Guard.
It was futile to fight such elite forces, but they fought anyway. Out of spite, out of a sense of vengeance. Out of the mistaken dream that they could change the world and still live to see its alteration. Out of a delusion that they could be heroes.
It was futile to fight, all the same.
Bullets flew. Bodies fell. Screams cut short. But there were a precious few seconds for Pax Humanis to escape the iron fist of alleged justice.
Mr Sunshine was furious. He rather liked young people. They had a charming naivety to solving the world's problems. Further, he remembered being young and furious at the unfairness of the universe. Desperate for a way to fight it.
Those kids didn't need to die.
Safe in their hideout, they cleaned up. Patched their wounds. Took stock of what they had to hand versus what they needed to forge forward.
Jay took to their default calming activity, sharpening small knives. "I'm going to find them. I'll find where they live. I'll cut out their eyes. I'll rip off their faces. I'll excise their blood vessels while they're alive to feel it. Each and every one of those overpowered, blood-drunk, bullet crazed, ba--"
"Hey. Hey. Breathe. We'll get them, okay?" soothed Dorothy. "We need a few more things. Like a plan."
Mr Sunshine was hand-laundering his sweater vest. Spattered with blood. He hated mess. "I agree with the bare bones laid out by my associate, but we need to plan. They know our faces. They may have our DNA. They will be looking for us."
"Tiger trap?" asked Jay optimistically.
"Yes. That will suffice. Ms Oz? You may wish to leave the planet. We have some vengeance to enact."
And a very, very bloody revolution to initialise.
[Photo by Jan Kopřiva on Unsplash]
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