Roaring

I removed my hardhat, earmuffs, and UVex goggles, and put them on the break room table a couple of seats over from Jim, who was bravely eating Tuesday's pizza from the fridge. I took my Ziploc sandwich container out of the fridge, took the cover off and stared last night's chili in the face. Satisfied, I replaced the cover which I cocked it at a 45° angle, and stuck it in the microwave for a minute and a half.

Jim and I made eye contact, and gave each other a curt nod, and his eyes returned to hand as he scrolled, content reflecting at me from his UVexes. He and I didn't really know each other, but we both took the advanced first aid course the company offered, so we gave each other an acknowledgement. In the background, I could hear the sharp, tuneless ring of the steel billets hitting each other on one of the cooling racks before being forwarded over to the new munitions annex which had been added on with the way things were going.

"Mitch, how goes?"

"Goes, Jim. It goes. How goes?"

"It also goes."

"How's the pizza?"

He paused.

"Not terrible, not great."

Another billet rang out.

The microwave sounded.

Removing my chili container from the microwave, I used my thumb to push the blue lid back to a fitted position and sat down diagonally from Jim.

Jim cleared his throat and said, "You hear about Venezuela?"

Standing in the MerCo Lobby, I could hear rain slowly start to patter off of the windows, which gave the white concrete barrier walls and chain link fencing that surrounded the building a grey tint, as I watched MP7 and LMG making their way across the front to the side of the building to stand in the traffic control wicket.

A third MerCo employee, who forewent the face covering, ushered them inside. Feeling the coast was clear, MP7 and LMG removed their gaiters, but were too far away for me to make out anything about them other than "white guys".

From where I was standing I could see red hair bob up and down on the third mercenary, who spoke to MP7, then suddenly letting out a laugh. As he did that, he stuck his thumbs into his plate carrier, and I could see him mouth "Yeah... yeah," as he nodded his head.

I looked back over at Jack.

"Jack."

He flinched, but his eyes cooled.

"Do I know you?"

Yes you fucking know me. What do I even say?

"Yes."

"I don't really– you know, I'm good with faces, but I don't remember yours.

The guy who stepped out of the elevator first looked at Jack, but said "Alex?"

I squinted. No, this is Jack Dakota, my handler since I got hurt. Definitely.

"Alex?" I ask, with a tone of disbelief.

"Yeah, Alex," the first guy out of the elevator added, reassuring me, and himself, "Alex."

"Alex." I say it out loud, "Not Jack Dakota?".

"Yeah, Alex," Jack says, "What kind of a name is Jack Dakota? That sounds fake." he said, holding his hand up to gesture at me with an air of dismissal.

This wasn't working. I held my hand to my chest.

"Mitchell."

"Nice to meet you?" Jack says, and turns to the other guy, "This is Kyle?"

He nodded. "Kyle Pshyk... well... Kyrylo, but Kyle's fine."

"I didn't know that," he said to Kyle, then Jack pointed to me, and said "Mitchell," then pointed to himself, "Alex Williams."

No, it was Jack. I was sure. I heard Vic pick up a handset from the desk.

Kyle looked over at Vic and made the universal gesture of "Hold on, put the phone down, we're okay here".

We stand in silence looking at each other, and it was getting awkward.

Kyle breathed sharply through his nose, "So, Mitchell, Alex, do you... because I'm gonna... yeah. Alex, a pleasure as always," he reached for Jack's hand, they shook as Jack reached for his keychain.

I hadn't seen them when I walked in, but Jack pushed a button on his keychain, activating his two Spot-7 robots that stood up and walked over to his side.

"Yeah man," I took the lid off my container and snapped the wrapper off of a compostable GREEN brand wood spoon. "Awful stuff."

"I hear they've got a full blockade now, and have either taken over or destroyed the offshore platforms. Big problem."

"Destroyed? BP's not gonna like that."

"Actually, Shell's CEO was issuing a statement this morning, actually."

"Jeesh, the CEO of Shell?" I took spoonful of chili, "That's weird. I couldn't pick them out of a lineup."

"Yeah. Maarten Van Den something, says the proven reserves are worth global concern."

"Meanwhile we're all being pushed on to electric everything. Did you hear about these new MetroCars?"

"Supposed to be fast because they're all aware of each other. Sounds like a giant slotcar track if you ask me, though."

I took another bite of Chili. Jim scrolled.

"What about Niagara? Anything?"

He made a face that said "I don't know, but it's fucking grim and scary shit I will tell you that."

His mouth said, "More today."

I made a noise of acknowledgement.

"Oh man, it says here they signed a deal with Panama the other day,"

"What?" I pictured Panamanian soldiers marching in lockstep across the Rainbow Bridge."

"About the, uh, Darien Gap."

The rain continued, and got worse, but instead of focusing on the sound of thunder, I heard the sound of the side compartment of the left Spot-7 flap open to reveal a gun barrel, which eerily clicked itself into place on the top of the chassis.

The compartment closed, as the second unit's articulated arm uncoiled. The first unit moved at a ninety degree angle, allowing the second to use its arm to push back on the charging rod of the gun attachment, which then pointed its business end at me. I didn't know they could do that.

"Alex, please. I know it's a bad time right now, but shooting a man to death in a corporate lobby out of mistaken identity?"

"No, actually, you're right," Jack looked at me, "Mitchell? It might ring a bell..." he trailed off extending the "ell" sound longer than needed as he mugged stroking his chin in contemplation.

I took the opportunity to try to remember which pocket Clarke's Ducky Zero was stashed in case I had to tell these dogs to sleep. Of course, that meant losing an arm. Probably getting at least something else pulled on me. Nah.

Jack looked at me, "Well, I'm going to go get breakfast, anyway, and I mean, you don't seem to want to shoot me on sight... maybe I'll remember more on a full stomach. Truce?"

"You're the one with the gun. Rod and Tod outside took a look for mine."

The Spot-7's side compartment opened, and the rifle head maneuvered back inside.

"I'm heading across the walkway into the mall next door." He threw a thumb behind him. "I guess I'll remember by then, and if not, well, you seem to think you know me. Maybe you met my twin brother or something."

Another steel billet rang out.

"The migration has gotten so bad that they gave 'em the go ahead to use whoever's there and able to set up a new border wall project down there."

"It's their tax dollars, I guess."

I heard a weird low rumble and felt a vibration or something like it. Awfully loud.

"I didn't know you had a brother," I said as we walked along the glass-lined hallway towards the one-way turnstile leading into the public indoor plaza.

I looked back at the flat, handdless doors emblazoned with "MERCO EXIT ONLY. ENTRANCE ON TECUMSEH PLAZA."

"I don't have a brother," he hissed, dropping the act, sounding more like Jack. "You know, it's pretty safe, but people die every day in the city, Mitchell. Some parts dangerous, and I have a private car pass off the MerCo network. I could show you." I thought he was trying to make it sound like a threat.

"Are we going to have breakfast Alex, or are you going to have your dog shoot me in broad daylight?"

"Here? Well, I could, and I'd disappear," he said, "them too," again, acting tough. I had no time for his bullshit.

"What are they called today?"

He ignored my question as we walked into the Moxies through the mall doorway. His Spot-7s stopped tailing us before I noticed where they went, but I was sure they were nearby.

"Hi welcome to Moxies. Two?"

"Yeah," Jack said, glancing at me.

The hostess took two of the oversized menu cards and led us to a two-up towards the back, across from a long set of two-up assembled against a booth wall, chairs tucked in with rollups, along with a few triangular signs that read "Reserved" in embossed all capital letters every few feet along the table. The sign also featured a Visa logo embossed on the right hand side.

"Okay, so we have a brunch going still for a little while still, along with a happy hour special of half off mimosas or a glass of our sangria which is... red?"

"I'll get a mimosa, but can I also get an ounce of Vodka in that too?"

"Water," I say.

"Great, I'll punch those in, and Kelly will be over in a few to take your orders."

Suddenly I definitely hear a roar of something. The sound of the fire alarm was deafening and I was disoriented. Jim got my attention and I followed the emergency floor lights that lead out of the break room and into the main hallway towards the exit. Workers from all around the facility were clearly panicked and getting the fuck out of there while Jim and I got separated int the crush.

The low rumble I heard earlier was louder now, and closer, definiitely shaking the ground. "The fuck is that?" I remembered saying, just before an overhead ventilation unit broke loose, and then all in a rapid sequence I could hear the another roar overhead of what I would later learn were F-35s pounding the main boiler building JAGM air to surface ordinance, attacking in a straight line starting at about the sugar refinery and on through to what must have been the pier. Everyone was screaming.

Jack pounded back his liquid breakfast and I made the mistake of ordering actual food, which gave him the opportunity for another Mimosa with what he was calling a "Bonus Jonas" for some reason.

"Okay, and scrambled. No toast."

"Great, thanks."

"I'm good for now," Jack said, looking a little wobbly.

I took a bite of my eggs.

"So I put in my two weeks. I've had enough. I don't have any friends left anyway."

Staring him straight in the face, "I'm your friend, Jack. Or Alex. Whoever."

"Yeah, Jack Dakota! International man of mystery and certainly not a langley 'researcher'. That reminds me, I have to switch over everyone's supply drops. It's a good thing you showed up."

"Listen, I need to know where my last guy is, Matthew."

"Fuck man, I don't know. He's supposed to be in Quebec, but he wasn't exported yet, or something... I haven't gotten my kickback. I hope he didn't die or anything."

My blood ran cold.

"Did you... like actually look it up?"

"Yes, obviously. I even tried a friend of mine who, by the way, tell your next guy to send Canadian forms."

I can't hear, I can only see. The heat was building and I could see thick black smoke out of the window. Jim following me as we got separated from everyone else.

Another crash. The building was falling apart. The drop ceiling fell in, the aluminum bending around him, panels tripping him up as he tried to get out.

We settle up with the cheque and go dutch.

Jack and I headed out and his Spot-7s arrived to tail us as we walked downstairs to the MetroCar stands. Yeah, sure, private car, Jack. Was there any part of him that wasn't bullshit?

"So why do you care so much anyway, about this guy? I mean, he's either dead or you'll get a payout," he asked.

Jim yelped. I tried to pull him out. I tried to untangle the drop ceiling frame, and push back the panels.

Another roar. Closer this time, followed by heat and broken glass, more shifting equipment on the ceiling, Jim's hand in mine as I feel the crush. The complete utter agony as I realized I could have easily lifted up the frame and let him out if I didn't rush.

I tried, and I made a stupid mistake.

I didn't want it to happen again.

As the MetroCar pulled up, I decided I'd had enough, and clicked on the Ducky Zero, causing the Spot-7s to collapse, the MetroCar to immediately power off, and my arm to fall from its maglocks.

I bum-rushed Jack into a wall. He dropped the Spot-7 controller unit as he hit with a thud

"Hey what the fuck!"

I had him by surprise. I whipped out my EDC knife and held it to his sternum as I pushed him up against the wall with my maglock nub, my prosthetic hanging dead in my coat, barely suspended.

"It doesn't really matter. I need to know. Let's find him."