Seventeen days...
It's been seventeen days since the Backfencer robbery gang got trapped in the Rocky Monster. It's been seventeen days since the City Force laid a siege camp outside the vault door. Even Grantomer Foeblaster, the City Guardian had come down himself to witness the siege and probably motivate the men not to waver. Later on after a week and nothing new has happened, he fired futile shots at the vault door in annoyance.
Foeblaster is an ambitious old man of 60 years, grumpy, dark minded and domineering. He could be seen that day moving down the ranks of the City Guards, shouting commands and making them see why they need to get that stolen item back to him— without really telling them why they need to get it back. Tricky, yeah. His mouth quivered non stop that day even when he wasn't talking.
Grantomer Foeblaster's presence that day confirmed one thing. The stolen object has something or everything to do with why the young men of the City was called to the Tower for service. Like it was the final touch of everything and without it, all previous efforts are abortive.
No man from the City Force was permitted to leave for home for the past two weeks and three days. The station is now deserted save for the fat and unfit officers whose job was to arrange papers, rock on their chairs, and hum an unpleasant melody while flies perch on their half eaten burgers... Of course, we are pointing to no one in particular.
With this lack of seasoned men to keep order, one can only imagine the level of chaos going on in the City. For now, chaos among Cityzens does not matter to the old man Foeblaster. He only wanted his tube back. Even if the whole City is revolting. He couldn't care less.
Among the rank of men forming the siege camp was Officer Song. Young man enjoyed this no more than anyone else as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He never imagined a day would come where he wished to be a woman. He thinks that pricking one's finger on a knitting needle every minute was more endurable than this. His legs felt dead from standing and his arms seems to be picking the same vibe.
Everyday for at least 8 hours, he has to stretch his arms out in front of him, pointing his small gun at the vault door, never faltering, never wavering. He has to do this everyday with his colleagues for good— perhaps bad— eight hours before the next shift takes over for another eight hours. Only then does he and his shift mates have the time to have a meal and catch some sleep in a makeshift space in one of the Tower rooms near the vault, of course.
Three days into the sieging, one of the City Guards suggested that they use a blaster on the door. Ten shots of the blaster should be enough to weaken the thick door and make them infiltrate the vault to retrieve the tube. It was at that moment a shout erupted from the inside of the vault, followed by gunshots. The shot was fired to gain the City Force's attention. The commander walked over to the door with a solid formation of men poised and ready for any surprise attack. The commander shouted back, asking what the thieved wanted, and a reply came. It was unclear at first but later on, the commander was able to make out a few words.
The words came out like, "We hAve A hOrSe LEg! JIMmY LITtle thing!"
The person must have been shouting his lungs out trying to communicate through the thick iron door, because a loud cough erupted after the shout and there was no more sound. His voice obviously cracked.
As the commander moved away from the door upset with a lack of information from the shout, Song had already decoded what was happening. Though the shout was muffled due to the thick barrier, he knew what that person was trying to say.
"WE HAVE A HOSTAGE! JIMMY FRECKLETON!" That was what that person meant.
Song walked up to the commander that day after his shift to explain what he thought the thieves meant. He told of how a woman phoned the station, filing a report for her missing son, Jimmy Freckleton who seems to be the captive in that vault.
The sturdy commander only raised an eyebrow and dismissed him after the explanation. Song knew little of what happened after that but he knew that the commander would have contacted the station to confirm if Song's story was true— which would have been confirms true.
So, the use of blaster was halted for now since a Cityzen is also trapped in there. It's now more than retrieving a stolen object, an extraction mission is now at hand also. The boy must be rescued unhurt.
Song's thoughts reeled back to the present as a loud voice announced that their shift is over. He let out a grateful sigh and lowered his gun before tucking it into his pocket and turning towards the open room to rest. His walk was staggering as the leg couldn't readily adjust to the sudden movement after a long standing for eight hours.
His stomach grumbled violently, protesting to be fed. Song could only wonder what the trapped thieves are feeding on after 17 days. The boy too... Cab he survive that long? Is he dead yet? How will the Force know if he's dead or not? Do they even have plans except waiting it out? And what the f**k is Foeblaster doing? Damn!
The lost feeling has returned to his legs as he stepped into the warm open room. He slumped on the nearby bunk like a sack of meat. The bed made creaking noises in protest and threatened to give way under him. He showed no bother.
He needed sleep more than food but a quick bite on something would do him good, so he beckoned on one of the serving boys nearby and demanded a plate of whatever is ready. The boy scurried off at once and returned with two bowls. One contained a mashy mass of overcooked white grain. The other, chopped leaves and spices, meat and other unfamiliar ingredients. Song collected them with weak hands and set the plates down on the low stool opposite him. He looked up at the boy and asked:
"How old are you, boy?"
"15," the scrawny kid replied.
The same age as Jimmy, Song thought to himself.
'Okay, if you were held hostage by a gang of armed thieves, what would you do?"
"I won't be caught by a gang of thieves," the boy replied without thinking twice.
"I know, I know. Just saying, if..."
"I won't be caught by a gang of thieves," the boy said again, cutting Song off.
Song snorted in disdain and dismissed the boy. "F**king waste of semen. Fit to be Foeblaster's," he cursed at the boy's retreating figure.
He dragged the stool towards him and studied the room once again. His fellow Enforcers dragging their feet tiredly into the room, slumping on the creaking beds while calling for their food before they lay to sleep. He shook his head at their misfortune, at his misfortune. To think the Backfencers view the City as heavenly.
He turned to his poorly made food and dipped the silver spoon into the white grain and guiding the spoon into his eager mouth. The vegetables followed into his full mouth and he began chewing. He closed his eyes, relishing the taste. The food might not look good, but it sure tastes good. He rolled the masticated sweetness about with Hus tongue and was on the verge of swallowing when he heard a loud sound. It sounded deep in his head, like he had chewed a small stone with his meal and it broke into pieces alongside his molar tooth.
He felt the back of his teeth with Hus tongue and discovered nothing wrong. Then he heard the loud bang again. Another one... Three... Four... Five... Six... He lost count. It was sporadic.
Instantly, men of the City Force in the room rushed up from their resting positions, leaving crawling bunks, splattered meals, and the tap-tap of their soles in their wake. Every man's hand clamored at his right side of their belt, ready to unsheathe something— their guns.
Unbidden, Song felt himself stand up as well. He spat out the food in his mouth and the sweet taste from earlier was replaced with a sour one.
His senses was slow at first but he now he understood what's happening as he peered over the shoulders of his colleagues rushing out throught the doorway. The City Guards on shift right now are being attacked from the rear... The thieves has sent their reinforcement.
His colleagues has rushed out to join in the crossfire, and only Song remained in the room.
"Fools, they are moving in the wrong direction," Song lamented as he turned back towards the back door deeper into the dark parts of the Tower, away from the shooting.
The gunshots never stopped.