Nothin' like a stroll among the napalm to get the blood pumpin.' I've set more than my fair share of fires, but this one takes the cake. Well done, Syther. Bravo, ya fuckin' assholes. The smoke got thicker the deeper inside I went. Seems like somebody had enough sense to bust out the windows, but that was only a bandaid on a gaping wound. I eventually had to slip into one of the apartments and grab something I could use as a breather. I came out with half my face wrapped in a white t-shirt... which kinda makes me look like I'm robbin' the place, but hell, this ain't no fashion show. Found a phone there, too. Low battery, but it'll do. By the time I reached the plaza, I was sick of it all. Sick of the fire. Sick of this tower. Sick of the sick corp bastards who started all this in the first place. And now I had this feeling... this shitty feeling that everything was about to go ass up. As if this could get worse. Well, there's only one thing to do: get it done. The central plaza was the fastest way from 99 up to 101, where I was gonna blow the water mains and flush this place. The open air had a hazy orange glow. The fire even smelled different here, probably because of all the shops and their merchandise. There was more to burn here. I spied escalators in the distance --dead, of course, but that didn't matter-- and started jogging toward them, across the open space, with balconies on all sides. That damned feeling was back, twice as strong as before. That twitchy, paranoid, shouldn't-be-here feeling that I thought I'd grown out of years ago. Made me feel like a kid with one hand in the cookie jar, just as mom and dad walk in... if mom and dad were starving wolves. And that's when it hit me, what this feeling really is. It wasn't just the feeling of being watched. This is a world of surveillance and tracking; we're always being watched. Nah, this is different. I'm being hunted. Balconies on all sides. More than a city block of open air between me and the escalators. And here I am, like a fish in a fucking barrel. I thought you were smarter than that, John. Idiot. I broke into a full sprint, headed for the nearest alley I could duck into. Maybe nobody's there. Maybe it's all in my head. But I'd rather this in my head than a bullet. Rather be paranoid than dead.
“It’s not your time, not yours, not any of you.” A third person came up from behind and started to push away the rubble. Judging by his voice and choice of words it was the old man. The one who hid a shotgun in his umbrella. Right now though, RAM would take all the help he could get. He could already feel the load on his back lighten. The two men were removing the heavy pieces of stone while the little girl was digging away at the grit. Only the support beam was left. With the dirt and rubble gone, it shifted slightly, putting even more pressure on his back. Things started to get a little fuzzy. The old man left and got back again, apparently someone else joined in freeing him, but the floor was crumbling down fast. RAM ignored the question about their little communication problem right now as he was a little busy not getting squashed by a support-beam. He could feel it getting lighter though. Three strong men were giving it their all and it payed off. RAM looked up, ready to give it one last attempt, and looked straight at that little girl’s face. “You can do it mister. Please don’t give up!” And with that final pep-talk he pushed up with all his strength. Aided by the three men, the beam started to budge. For a few seconds it was up high enough that RAM could crawl out underneath. He didn’t hesitate for a second. Maybe he should have. RAM quickly got free, but also lost his grip on the support beam. With the task completed, the other men dropped the beam and let it fall back on the floor. But the floor was weakened by the fire, and the beam crushed right through. With the strength of desperation the falling man threw his daughter up into the RAM’s arms, just before he hit the 102nd floor. RAM fell back, outside the room with the girl in his arms. He handed her over to the old man, got up and looked down the new hole. He was out of breath, his whole body was aching and he probably broke a rib or two, but none of that mattered when he saw that man, that civilian that chose to stay and help a stranger over saving his own life, lying motionless on a pile of rubble. For the first time since Ben died, he was focussed. His mind clear. He knew what to do. He turned around with a look of determination on his face. “Thank you for saving me, but this isn’t over yet. Old man, take the girl with you and draw the attention of that ship. Use your shotgun if you have to, join we when she’s safe. You, I don’t know your name, but if you’re interested in saving another life today, come with me, I’ll need all the help I can get. And you…” He turned towards the girl. “you have been very brave today. I promise you I’ll do whatever I can to bring your father back.” Her eyes were wet, though she tried very hard to hide her tears. She said nothing, but gave a small nod. He knew he was wielding an authority he did not have, but right now he just had to try. If he couldn’t save this one man, what the hell kind of hero was he trying to be? He threw one more glance at that little girl… and jumped down.
I felt a cold grip on my throat as I watched the Armor Boy descend into the hell below us. Like a moth to a flame, with an only purpose to save that unfortunate one. His recklessness will bring him death faster than he thinks. But before that, he’ll put his effort to some good use. There’s still hope for him. Where did I put my shotgun? I think I put it against the wall here somewhere, at the time when we had to deal with the rubble. There it was, not so far away. I grabbed it, and lead the girl to the closest window I could get to. Then to the other one, as I didn’t see anything that could resemble the ship from there. “The Syther, you ask?” I replied to the newcomer’s question. “Not in this fairytale. They left us all to die, as far as I’m concerned.” I looked out of the window. The ship hovered in place a few floors below us, neatly camouflaged. I figured that the others from our little squad dropped to the lower floors to take care of the sprinklers and stuff. Heh. About time. Whatever. Now we needed the attention of that ship. I reloaded, and then cocked the shotgun. Aimed high in the air, and shot twice. The noise coming from the gun was very unimpressive. It was a lot louder in more closed areas. At the open, I doubted it would even break through the city noise. I had to look for something else. And, of course, shooting the ship was out of the question. …or was it? I reloaded the gun, and shot again, this time pointing at whatever was below us. I didn’t care what it was until I could get the attention by breaking it. Well, I hope I did something.
