The Chestnut Tree Café had been an ordinary bar, once. But now, it was anything but.
Within the bar, two badass revolutionaries. Winston "Smith" Churchill, who had been through hell and back at the hands of the Party. He had nothing left to lose after the loss of his lover, Julia. And Emmanuel Goldstein, the mythical, stereotypically Jewish proto-rebel who had stood against the Party longer than anyone could remember.
Outside the bar, at least two hundred armed men, all loyal to the Party that shaped them from birth into killing machines. All of them waiting on the single order that would allow them to charge.
"They're not moving," said WInston. His brow furrowed. He reached for a Victory cigarette.
"Cut that out," replied Goldstein without glancing away from the window. "You can smoke a Victory once you've had your first."
"My first what?" asked Winston, puzzled.
"Victory".
"My first victory? Against all that firepower?" Winston was freaking out.
"I've got this," promised Goldstein. "When I was a Party official, I had access to all the rules of engagement, and I know the first step is to send in some sort of guided incendiary…"
Winston's brow furrows deepened. "I don't see how that helps us."
"Just trust me," said Goldstein with a wink. "I didn't survive as long as I have without learning a few tricks."
Within a minute, a high-pitched whistle filled the air.
"That'll be it," said Goldstein, sounding almost bored with the deadly situation. He raised his pistols and stood his ground in the window.
"Goldstein! Get down!" yelled Winston, but Goldstein stayed put. Suddenly, he opened fire.
The window exploded in a crash as a missile sailed through, only to be intercepted by Goldstein's mighty bullets. The striking bullets sparked on the steel casing, illuminating Goldstein's rugged face. The missile slowed as the bullets hit it and, only seconds after it entered, was pushed backwards by their force into the crowd of Party-allied men, losing altitude as it went.
There was a loud explosion.
"Motherfucker!" yelled Winston, and then he didn't yell anything else because the rest of the enemies were charging him and he was shooting for his life.
He ducked behind a table, picking targets freely as they streamed in. Each bullet was sent from his gun by some spirit of vengeance, eager to exact its toll for what had been done to Winston in the bowels of the Ministry of Love. And then there was Goldstein beside him, keeping the steady stream of fire from his two pistols constant. Then he was gone, leaping away to new cover and drawing the fire of a group of soldiers that had made it behind the bar and were taking potshots that were missing Goldstein, but wasting bottle after bottle of vintage. Goldstein reached out from his cover to try and save one, but the bullets were flying too thick to chance it. The other patrons were absolutely bewildered.
Winston sighted down his barrel and let loose a short burst that toppled a young man with black hair and a big adam's apple. Another man took his place, a blonde with blue eyes and a sneer that Winston was sure he had been practicing. Winston raised his gun and fired.
Click.
The blonde smiled grimly without so much as a flinch.
"Goldstein! Help!"
"He can't hear you," said the blonde, still sneering (he had been the whole time, even while smiling). His finger tightened on the trigger.
"He can't," said a mysterious voice. "But I can."
One quick shot from nowhere and the blonde fell, never again to rise. Winston looked with shock at the new arrival, who was already tossing him a new pack of ammo. Winston caught it out of the air and the new figure tipped him a wink before ducking and rolling behind a pair of disused barstools, pulling out a new weapon along the way.
"Y-you didn't have to save me," Winston stammered, still flabbergasted.
"Of course I did," said the new arrival. "I betrayed you, remember? Least I can do is pay back the favor, try and make things right."
Winston smiled a battle-heavy smile. "It's good to see you again… Julia."
