Laying prone inside of air duct, the man patiently listened through the grate bellow his face. He had been waiting inside the duct for a solid hour now,and he was beginning to think they wouldn't show. They were late, but they had shown. Two men were sitting awkwardly inside of a cramped broom closet. It was apparent that they didn't want anyone hearing them. If they only knew.
"So what's the plan? What's our focus right now?" whsipered one of the men, his voice shaking. He seemed rattled.
"We just have to wait for the signal," replied the other man, his voice stoic and even. "They didn't say what it would be, but they did say we would know when it happened."
"Well how the hell are we supposed to know? I knew I shouldnt have let you drag me into this bullshit," replied the shaky man.
"Ya know what, I'm sorry. I didn't have anyone else to ask. You're the only one I really trust here, and there was no way I could do this one my own. We'll just have to sit tight and play this by ear from now on." His whisper contained a stearn aspect to it.
"Alright alright, fine. This just sucks, man; I didn't think it would go this far. I'm cool though. I just kinda wish I knew that this 'signal' was."
After he rounded off the "S" in his sentence, there was a loud boom. It came from somewhere outside. It seemed to be an explosion, and the shockwave shook the eighteen story office structure.
"Do you think that's it?" the shaky guy asked. The other man stood up and opened the door just enough to peer outside. The hallway had sparked to life with people running for the exits and the building's sprinkler system activating.
"It has to be, it isn't just a coincidence. Cmon let's go." He opened the door and walked out, followed quickly by the other.
Cyrus quickly lifted the grate, set it aside, and dropped into the broom closet. At a fine age of 35, he was still as mobile and quick as he was eighteen years ago, when he started running. However, his whole life, he had studied the martial art of Krav Maga. This kept his body tone and his mind focused. Krav Maga is the type of fighting style that puts a focus on subduing your opponent as quickly as possible by attacking with a fast fluid stream of striking and countering. Emphasizing pressure points and weaknesses in the enemy was key in Krav Maga. To Cyrus, it was the fastest and most effective way to incapacitate an enemy. It was also the perfect martial art for runners to use. When faced with an enemy on a rooftop with a helicopter whizzing over your head, you need to keep moving. In a world where speed and agility is everything, taking out your opponent in the smallest amount of time gave you a better chance to survive.
Cyrus, along with his older brother, Talon, were some of the first runners. After the November riots, they lost their parents. They had seen them from their high apartment window, in the front of a massive mob. On the opposite side of the mob stood hundreds of government troops. No one knows exactly who fired the first shot. No one knew if it was directed at anyone in particular. No one even knew if it might've been a car backfire or a firecracker. But after that first shot rang out, the government troops began the slaughter.
On their second run together, Cyrus and Talon had infiltrated a government run office building to steal some schematics. On the run on the rooftops, Cyrus and Talon were being pursued. Cyrus jumped over a gap, but Talon mis-timed it, and came a foot short. Cyrus spun around, leaped, and grabbed his brother's wrist before he could fall.
"Cyrus! Cmon lift me up! They're comin'!" Talon shouted. Cyrus lifted, and could feel his muscles straining. Talon put his left foot up on the ledge and began lifting himself up, but before he could, they heard many rapid fire pfft pfft pfft's from behind his brother. Cyrus saw Talon's eyes roll back in his head. In shock, Cyrus lost his grip on Talon's wrist, and Talon dropped ten stories to the ground. With no time to mourn, Cyrus turned and launched himself behind a wall, but not before a bullet grazed the side of his face.
Now Cyrus had three reasons to hate his government, and the two and a half inch long scar on his left cheek was a constant reminder.