Vending Machine Lunch (4 page)

Barging past
people, Jonathan thought he had lost the suspect for a minute. He
continued smashing his way through the crowds, the final bit of the
orange sun attacking his retinas. Scanning the people for a bald
guy with a leather jacket, Jonathan panicked that he may have given
him the slip.

There was a
boom behind him. An explosion of a rather large proportion, the
sound partially deafening him, opera singers screaming in his ears.
The crowd screamed, people began running. Jonathan span around to
see a small newsagent shop had blown up, bricks, mortar and dust
everywhere. Flames were pouring out of the large gaping hole which
used to be the front of the shop. Amongst the flames, people also
pouring out, some of them ablaze. A handful of bodies, immediately
knocked unconscious by the blast were just about visible. An
improvised explosive device. Things were getting way out of
control.

Stumbling over
something, Jonathan resumed his chase, his head spinning. The
suspect had now reappeared, a little further ahead than before,
making his way nimbly through the rapidly degrading crowds. Another
gunshot was heard, and a few people screamed. Jonathan didn't care,
he simply had to get the suspect.

Cursing under
his breath, Jonathan forced his legs into faster motion. His lungs
were screaming.

Breaking out of
the crowd, Jonathan saw the suspect head towards Crescent Hill. He
cursed again. Another bleeding hill. Sucking in air, he continued
the torture. He wasn't as fit as he used to be.

Crescent Hill
was as steep as ever, named, after it's moon-like shape with a
curled top and a sudden drop to the bottom at the top. As they
chased, the setting sun reflected off the orange stone path which
lead up to the top, the rioting crowd clearly visible on the
streets below. Crescent Hill was the crown of the local land, you
could see the entire city from the top. This night, the streets
were filled with orange sunlight and angry people.

Still chasing,
slowly griping up the hill, Jonathan was mentally wishing he hadn't
smoked as much when he was young. He was wishing that maybe he
ought to have gone on weekly runs to keep up his fitness. He was
getting too old for this job, and he knew it.

The suspect
reached the top of the hill. Clearly he had no idea where to run
now. It was either the hill or battle through the edgy crowd and he
obviously preferred the idea of the dead end hill.

Jonathan
reached the curled top of the hill, and pulled out his weapon, the
orange sun shining off the chrome digits on the side of the
weapon.

The suspect,
A's shooter, span around. “Do you know why all guns have the exact
same numbers on the side?” he said, close to tears, the sun
reflecting off his pupils.

Jonathan shook
his head, catching his breath, still pointing the gun at the
suspect.

“It's because
of him,” he said, walking closer to Jonathan's face, “It's because
of that loon! He's insane. You have heard the rumours have you not?
Do you really want to stick up for a mentalist who insists that the
press are exaggerating things? Do you really want to put all your
faiths in a man who is so drunk on power, he refuses to let even
death take it from him? Do you really want to live in this world?”
his face was now pretty much touching Jonathan's. Jonathan didn't
move, staring cold into his orange mad eyes.

“I live here
because I have no choice,” said Jonathan, “I'm here because I'm
just doing my job. Call me ignorant, but I don't care. Do you
really think if you had killed him that would have done any good?
He has no heir, there would be no leader again. It would be Mahusay
Na Mundo all over again.”

“That happened
years ago. Things would be different.”

“How? What was
so different back then? The world didn't have places such as
Deimos?”

The suspect
grabbed Jonathan's face, breathing his awful breath on his face.
“Look at your weapon,” he hissed, showing yellowing teeth, “What
are the numbers?”

Jonathan pushed
the suspect off of him, causing him to fall to the ground. He
wailed.

“I already
know,” said Jonathan calmly, “Zero, one, one, zero. So what? All
guns have it. It's a category number or something.”

The suspected
laughed in his pain, “Can't you see? Are you blind? It's
everywhere. It makes him in charge. Subliminally, his word is law,
no matter what we think. How many times has the public lost faith
in him, and yet a rebellion, an overthrow has yet to occur? How
many generations have been waiting for his weak promises to become
a reality? How long have we been on edge, waiting for the public to
kick off?”

“It doesn't
matter-” began Jonathan.

“FOREVER!”
screamed the suspect, “We are meant to be in this situation. We all
think he has lost control. He so hasn't. He really really hasn't.
It's everywhere. And no-one can see it.”

“You can come
with me alive, or I can shoot you,” said Jonathan calmly, “Your
choice. I'm just doing my job so my family are safe and are
comfortable.”

“So you don't
care about the bigger picture? You don't care that everything is
spiralling out of control, that your kids will be part of a future
slave race?”

“I can't afford
to be a prophet. I've got to do the best I can with what I can do.
If I can ensure that my kids have another day of food, another day
with a roof over their head, then in my mind, that's mission
accomplished,” said Jonathan, “Now please, what is your
choice?”

“Shoot me for
all I care,” hissed the weeping madman on the ground.

Jonathan's
finger tightened on the trigger. The sun was seconds away from
being totally gone, the wind blowing slightly on top of the curly
hill. Below, Jonathan saw that the crowds hadn't calmed, they
probably never will. Several fires had now started below, many
people trying to escape the carnage, some still attempting to
protest peacefully, but the majority just generally causing havoc.
He moved his second hand to his gun, and forced himself to look at
the suspect.

“Lost your
nerve,” the suspect laughed and wept, it wasn't a question, it was
a statement.

“No. I'd just
like to thank you for what you've done,” said Jonathan calmly,
“You've just gone and triggered another big riot. Someone will have
to pay for the damage caused. I thank you for essentially putting
our taxes up even more.”

“You do know
what they say don’t you?” spat the suspect, his eyes crossed,
focused on the barrel of the gun, “When there is no more room in
hell, the dead will walk the land. Well, cut me out of all of
this.”

Jonathan didn’t
react to the suspect’s rambling speech. He just pulled the trigger.
With a bang, the bullet shot through his body. He howled with pain.
The last few seconds of sun were now gone, and the streets below
were now beginning to light themselves orange with burning flames.
Jonathan pulled the trigger again, several times, bang, bang, bang,
bang, bang. One of his bullets had hit the suspect in the head. He
was well and truly dead.

Jonathan
slipped the gun back into his jacket. The wind had suddenly begun
blowing stronger now, the fires below still raging. Without a
sound, after pausing and looking at the disaster below, Jonathan
made his way back down the hill.

I Never Liked You.

Jessica was furious.
Although, she refused to let her face show it. She pulled out a
locket from her cleavage and stared at the engraving on it.

K.B.O

As far as she
understood, it was an old war phrase, from many of years back. Keep
Bouncing On. She didn't quite understand why the word 'bouncing'
was used, however, she understood that it simply meant that in
times of trial, you cannot give up.

Wrapping her
hands around the locket, she gripped it tightly before taking a
deep breath. In front of her, a mass of angry faces were in uproar,
all talking amongst themselves furiously, as though what Jessica
had just suggested was pretty much unthinkable. Behind her, a few
rows of speakers who were on her side. This, was the House of
Speakers.

Beside Jessica,
was her aid, who went by the name of Jack. He was a small and
shrewd man, with no facial expression, never giving away his inner
feelings, if he had any. She leant across to him and said over the
noise of the outraged opposition that she felt like giving up.

"Why," shouted
Jack into her ear.

"Gentleman,
ladies, please," said the organiser into his podium's microphone.
The organiser was a person who was meant to control the political
debate, but take no side, a bit like a referee in sports games.
This particular organiser wasn't very good at it.

The overcrowded
side of the room began to simmer down, some still talking in
disbelief about Jessica and her suggestion. Jessica caught sight of
Jordan, an opposing Speaker from the corner of her eye. He made his
way from the overcrowded rows of wooden benches and placed himself
at the microphone'd podium at the front. His blonde hair gleamed
like it did in adverts. He rubbed his huge nose. This debate was
about to get grimy.

Jessica looked
behind her with dismay. Her sides row of benches were near enough
empty compared to his. Placing her necklace back down her top, she
took a deep breath and forced her heart not to sink.

"Because we may
as well accept that the leader is only going to choose his ideas,"
she whispered in Jack's ear, as the crowd settled more.

Jordan cleared
his throat into the microphone, causing a small scream of feedback.
Everyone was now silent.

"Miss Jessica,
please," he began, rubbing his abnormally large nose again, "Are
you seriously suggesting that the public did not like yesterday's
speech? That the rioting continued, not because of the
assassination attempt, which might I add, was dealt with very
efficiently and effectively thanks to our well trained Enforcers,
but continued due to the fact that what our leader said was not
good enough?

"Then why, Miss
Jessica, did you not voice concerns on the actions to be taken in
the aftermath of the Deimos disaster when they were still being
planned out?"

The crowd on
his side roared with approval and support.

However,
Jessica had ammo for this round. This argument had been used once
too often,

"My dear
Jordan, don't you remember? I did oppose to the actions taken. We
argued about it remember? We debated for a very long time over the
fact that all our leader and his supporters appear to be doing is
moderately protecting the so called 'power-users' of this land
rather than dealing with Ninety-Nine percent of the population,
which are just average people. I did oppose the plans, and I still
do. Building another facility without first repairing the damage
caused to the public and the land when the first facility broke is
the worst case of cutting corners I have ever heard. Is it
surprising that people now take to the streets and refuse to pay
their taxes? The very fact that the com-link transcripts are not
available from the Deimos disaster speaks for itself on how corrupt
this government is."

She had a small
cheer of support from behind her, which was quickly drowned out by
a boom of disapproval from the leader fanatical side.

"My dearest
Jessica," began Jordan again, smirking confidently, "That is all
well and good, and I admit, you have proven me right on the point
that you did in fact disagree with the actions planned after the
Deimos disaster. However, that does not at all mean you are correct
in saying that these were the wrong actions. Do you seriously
expect to be able to please everyone?"

"Listen!"
yelled Jessica down the microphone. The sound echoed in the hollow
wooden room. She had really had enough now. "Just listen to me for
once! And listen to yourselves! What do you really hope the achieve
by just agreeing with him? One day of free healthcare is simply
diabolical in the circumstances! It's pathetic! It's-"

"Miss Jessica!"
the organiser had now spoken into his microphone, rather sternly,
"Seriously now, that is simply unprofessional. Do I need to remind
you that we are all on edge after an in-house betrayal from the
Enforcers. Do not give us any reason to think you are on the same
side."

"Why do you
think that betrayal happened?" Jessica responded immediately, "Why
do you think that the public are still clearly upset?"

"Agreed!"
yelled someone from the crowded fanatical side, "One rupee a share
is not enough!" There as a murmur of agreement from both sides.

"No, I'm not on
about the shares!" pleaded Jessica, looking desperate and tired,
"I'm on about the average people of everyday life. Deimosgate has
brought on much more than the collapse of a government run company.
With the amount of fatalities aside, we now have medical conditions
on our hands which people are suffering from, we have a massive
loss of people's property, we have the neo-terrorists, PP drug
addiction, we have the serious infections, known as the Requiem
causing people to-"

"Yes, yes,
thank you Miss Jessica," said the organiser as though he was bored,
"Thank you for the room's entertainment. Now may we have a
discussion on something based on hard factual evidence rather than
what people reckon and the press's accusation of our so called
felonies. Miss Jessica, we all admire your enthusiasm, however,
this is a government discussion, not a children's playground. When
you actually bring with us some evidence that prove that the
press's and your claims are true, then we shall talk. Until then,
we will resume our previous topic of Union's-"

"I have the
evidence," interrupted Jessica, "If you refuse to believe the
photos taken by the press then I have some of my own, along with
reports from doctors from the Deimos area and-"