I lay in the vent, gazing at the clean metallic interior. The yellow, multi-pocketed bag used by all Runners to deliver messages hung down the junction of the vent i would later drop through, as soon as my handler, Drake, told me the Blues had eased off searching for me. I pondered as I lay there. Pondered hard, contemplating the city, its inhabitants and, most importantly, my life in the city amongst those inhabitants.

As my thoughts drifted as I continued to lay there the November riots entered my head. I heard Drake say I had to leave the bag in the vents. I moved through the vents and came to a point where it became a small alcove, and leaned the bag in the corner. I removed my marker about to make my way back through the vents to leave a couple Runner glyphs when an idea passed through my mind.

I turned back to where I left the bag and moved to a corner of the alcove. As the memories of the riots continued to flood my head I began to write on the walls of the vent. "November," I began, my hand moving in smooth deliberate strokes.

November. No one in this city will ever forget it. A terrible day in the minds of many when our privacy and security was lost to those who we were supposed to depend on. The day was dark, grim, as the population of the city uncomfortable with the newly planned methods of operation in the city's government walked the streets in protest, making themselves heard against the voice of those who would take from us that which we hold dear. Our identity, our privacy, ourselves.

There is one thing that is unsure of the day. Who struck first. Was it the protesters, becoming more and more heated as it was met with the blue and white barrier of the city's security force, or the security, met with the screaming, angry faces of the steadily growing mob as they were pushed against. No-one knows how it started or which side it started with. We only know that it escalated to the riots that day in November became so infamous for.

Blood was spilled in those streets, blood of the innocent and the guilty, the honest and the dishonest, the blood of the weak, the elderly, even children. Lives were lost. Lives that had families, friends loved ones, children to take care of; the reasons they were protesting. Parts of the city burned with flames of hatred and anger, filled with passion as the reds and yellows of the flames spoke to the government. "If we can't have the city, you can't either."

The storm eventually was quelled but not in the city's favour. When the smoke and dust cleared, the debris removed, we had found out the casualty of these riots. Everything that we had fought for was still lost and more... as many lost loved ones, friends, lost hope...

We are still here, those who will fight in whatever way we can until the end. Most of us have disappeared from the eyes of the public, some of us do the real fighting but others, like me, we run. Not away from the fight but to keep the fight going. We are the most seen of these invisible fighters, but also we are the ones who are truly free. We are the ones who live. We continue to fight. We continue to run. For November.

I lifted the marker away from the wall. My hand shook, ever so slightly. I put two more words at the end of my short writing. "Remember November."

I put the cap back on the marker and began to make my way out of the vents leaving a Runner Glyph to mark the location. Through Drake's directions I found myself exiting onto the roof. The Blues were gone, leaving the area in search of me elsewhere.

I breathed in the air of the rooftops. I breathed in freedom. I turned and began to do what i do best. I ran. I ran and two words echoed in my head. Two words that told me why I risked this jump to the next building and every jump afterwards. Two words that reminded my why I had to run and what I was running for. I will always...

"Remember November."