Taking The Reins

Bursting through the five sets of double doors simultaneously into the atrium beyond, Oliver is for once not at the head of the charge.

From here on out he has to play the role of the leader, which he is. So he waits for the initial chaos to subside. It doesn’t take anywhere near as long as you might expect. Mainly because people generally comply when they have guns shoved in their faces. It’s self-preservation, a wish to keep on living rather than die pointlessly in one of the rare instances where you get such a choice in your life.

That is not to say, as Oliver steps over the threshold, the doors quickly closed and barricaded behind him, that there is silence. There is not. Muttering, whimpering, whispers, sobs, cries and stifled screams continue. It is only natural that they would and yet none of the armed groups’ members have made any efforts to hide their face. The same is not necessarily the case for the national leaders and other representatives.

What would be the point in the armed men and women hiding their faces? None is the answer and for a very simple reason. Hiding your face implies you are not serious about your cause, for what you are asking for. It’s why soldiers generally do not hide their faces. Sure, Special Forces do but they are a different matter. They have a reason to conceal their identities, anonymity. Something that is vital if they wish to continue performing their job, their role. Outside of that niche however there is no reason to wear hoods and balaclava, especially when you are trying to bring about change. No, not try. This is not a try, an attempt. This is a definite move to ensure change comes. Unlike those cowering in fear because of the presence of Oliver and his armed retinue, the ex-soldier is not a self-serving premier.

Spinning around on the spot now that he is on the stage at the head of the atrium, Oliver cannot help but feel pride. Then it hits him that the world is his stage, so he clears his throat and waits to be informed that everything is ready. When he receives a nod of confirmation to announce that it is, he begins.

“People of the world, for too long we have sat and watched as these…. leaders… as we dare to call them line their pockets, do their backroom deals… And because of that change has never come and when we are we are today.” There is a pause from the ex-soldier. Not because it has been planned but rather because it feels appropriate to him, in this moment. Reasons as to why that is he cannot give.

“This is not the world we wanted. At least I don’t think that is because I cannot imagine any of us wished to see people we know and love torn from us by disasters instigated by our own hands.” Oliver shows his fingerless gloved mitts off to all those watching.

As he speaks his followers make sure to keep the national leaders under armed guard, watchful eyes effortlessly casting back and forth to ensure no one grows a backbone or worse a hero complex. After all, the last thing Oliver wants is for this to descend into some kind of bloodbath, unless…

“Yet, I know you will be asking; who is this man? It is a fair question. My name, full title, is Captain Oliver Hendricks. I’m an ex-soldier. Reasons for my discharge I will announce here and now so no twisted versions will be created to discredit my good name.”

Careful consideration is given by Oliver in regards to the words he will speak next, and when he feels ready, following a brief examination of his surroundings; the boring atrium of white walls and panelled ceiling from which hang lighting gantries and speaker mounts, he continues.

“I assaulted a rich VIP who thought the suffering of people, like you and me, was of little concern. Was it the right thing to do? No. I reacted. I should’ve known better. But when you have spent years fighting for your country, seeing friends maimed and killed because of orders issued by those counted amongst the elites of this world you inevitably reach a point where no more shit can be stomached and absorbed. That day was when I got there; when it became abundantly clear that I was not protecting the innocent but the greedy.”

“Now, to why I am here, stood before you today. This is not some terrorist act. This is… intervention. We’re dying, in our droves. We all know it. But no longer could I sit and let it happen. Watch from the sidelines.” Oliver takes a breath. “Protests have not worked. Nor have petitions or demonstrations. And this convention… it’s the third attempt, since the daily disasters began, to forge such a declaration. One meant to evoke real change. The reality is, it’ll never happen. These men and women are too comfortable, safe, secure, in their positions. And so here I am. Not alone but gathered with brothers and sisters, like you who are watching this, and they could not be watchers any longer.”

“You’re insane.” One of the national leaders blurts in accented English.

“From your point of view I probably am, but your time, era, is coming to an end.”

“Do you really think this will work?” Another declares.

“What? Do I think what will work? Do you know what this is? I seriously doubt it.” Is the reply issued.

“It’s a coup.” Is the response offered in kind response to Oliver’s words.

Correcting and explaining the ex-soldier points out that, “A coup is something staged by the people of the nation and occurs when they rail against their government. So this is not a coup, clearly. This is something else; far larger and more important. But your ilk have always wished to give things labels.”

“You want power, control. “ A desperate voice in the crowd exclaims clearly hoping to make a deal with Oliver and his armed retinue.

“No.” The brown haired ex-soldier says with his assault weapon across his body armour clad chest. “I don’t want power. I want change; real, physical, tangible change. And I want it before there is no one left to reap the benefits of it, or be born to see this world.”

“After all, we are but tenants on this planet, not landlords. Earth does not belong to us. It belongs to no one.”

“So you’re an eco terrorist?”

A chuckle leaps from the back of Oliver’s throat when he casts his head back, eyes pointed toward the panelled false ceiling above that is meant for presentation and decoration more than functionality. Its presence reminds the ex-soldier that much like this ceiling the world leaders in this room are all front and no substance. That what is on the surface is all that exists. Because of that they’ll betray their morals, if they posses such things, and any beliefs they hold in pursuit of accruing ever more to pin to their names. Whether that is more money or property, land, contracts, titles it does not matter. At least he does not think it does.

“No. I’m no friend of the Earth. I’m a pragmatist like most soldiers. I know what is and is not possible. If I didn’t I wouldn’t be stood here before you all, like I am.”

“That’s what all tyrants say.”

“Say’s a real tyrant known for suppressing any and all forms of free thought in their country.” Oliver fires back while glaring at the latest speaker who is a woman. One who should know better given her thirty year track record of imprisoning and starving those who do not swear fealty to her.

Yet, he is not surprised. His shock regarding such things expired long ago, when he’d been but a few years into service for his country. One that has grown, if that is the right word for it as it does not feel as though it should be, weak and powerless. A laughing stock that continues to believe its import ranks near the top of the pile.

The reality is that those days are gone. A successive string of ‘leaders’ put pay to the stable reputation it had held for so long. Tragic in many ways but endemic of the way the world has gone in many others.

“Then tell us…”

The elderly man speaking never gets to finish. Not that his age is remarkable amongst the leaders of this atrium for too many are old, stuck in their ways, having served in positions of power for far too long to still have within their grasps shreds of anything other than hubris, selfishness.

“They’re assaulting building one. Repeat; an assault is in progress on building one.” Is the call which cuts through the sudden emergence of gunfire to reach Oliver’s ears.

He is not alone in hearing the call. All those who count themselves as his supporters hear it too.

“There are no secrets here. We are being assaulted. The security services of these crooked old crones are coming to regain control. They will not…” Oliver shakes his head softly from side to side to illustrate his point.

Surprisingly, these were not words he had originally intended to speak aloud and yet, plans change. By the time he realised what he was doing he felt it only right to continue the recounting of events. Somehow his voice managing to cut above the sounds of exchanging weapons fire. As well as shouts and demands by his armed crew, screams and cries from terrified leaders who in their desperation grow too confident and begin to…

Without a word, or an ounce of hesitation Oliver fires. For a while, it feels like minutes but in truth is little more than seconds, there is no sound in the wake of the shot from Oliver’s semi-automatic pistol. There is only a shocked, horrified, pause as well as eyes focused in on him.

“Secure and execute.” Is the order the ex-soldier with brown hair barks shattering, in a voice too loud for its surrounding, the soundscape.

With the order issued the camera feeds are cut, protesting cries outside urge support for Oliver’s actions and then the leaders having concluded, unsurprisingly, that the execution order is meant for them, attempt to mount a rebellion against these armed band.

It doesn’t work. Unarmed they are no match for the bringers of change who spray bullets across the assorted mass.

As a result, in seconds many of the leaders lose their bravado, collapse back into being terrified souls desperate to survive. Some even make bids to flee, regardless of the fact that they have nowhere to flee to. Still they are cut down just the same.

Meanwhile, the security forces outside performing their assault are held at bay. That is until protestors arrive, in their thousands.

In the wake of that wave of bodies the security personnel are battered and beaten into defeat and submission, relieved of their weapons, ending the danger that could have derailed this vital op.

Failure is not an option, Oliver reminds himself.

The shooting is over now, at least inside the atrium and the building anyway. Sporadic shots continue to be heard from outside, echoing off the towering flat slabs that are the faces of the structures which line this street.

“Check the dead. Leave none alive, there can be no survivors.” Is the order he gives following a short sniff that leaves him able to taste nothing but gunpowder in the air.

It’s a taste he is incredibly used to, familiar with. Though, he does not shy away from watching as the more experienced members of his crew walk amongst the swathe of seemingly dead bodies checking their vital signs.

When they come across a survivor, however weak, a shot is fired. The process takes a long while but there is one small mercy, the bodies will be out of shot. Not that he wanted it to end like this. Part of him hoped, and planned, that the world leaders would see sense, negotiate. Alas, they remained ravenous, voracious, gluttonous to the very end. It’s tragic, as any loss of life always is and will be, but not unexpected.

If it were, Oliver would not issue a curt nod for the live feed to be returned in as calm of a manner as he does.

In an instant the live feed is returned and Oliver’s face is projected across the world. There is not a single news station or outlet glossing over these events. This IS the news. The only news that matters, and all eyes are focused on the ex-soldiers face as a result.

He does not think about such things, nor does he need to, as he announces, “This is not how I wanted this to go, but in conflict there are always be losses. You never want them but you plan for them. Every eventuality… However, I extend this warning to any governments considering some retaliatory act. Do not. You will not prevail. The world is changing. The people are speaking. It is time you listened. If you had I would not be here, but alas I am. This is my purpose.”

The ex-soldier looks right into the lens of the camera now and affixes it with a burrowing stare. “The reins have been taken and will remain in the peoples grasp until… well until we are not dying in our thousands by the day.”