What Are They Here For?

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Glaring lights shone down upon Richard as he arched over his seat, pouring over into the keys of his computer, fingers flying over the letters like a hurricane. Glasses planted firmly on his nose, eyes glancing up and down as numbers spun through his head, quick as a winter wind.

It was his eleventh hour cramped in his sea; food and drink quickly consumed and then forgotten in the midst of his work. The hours had drawn on, minutes merging together so that time had swiftly been forgotten, so that the ticking of the clock behind him was naught but the change of the numbers echoing around his head.

Machines. Weapons. Strategy. Speeches. Words. Lies. Panic, panic, panic. Was what had haunted him when that terrifying message had come through. 

A threat is looming over us.
You have been called upon by the state to play your part. You are to work overtime, extra and twice as hard until this crisis has been averted. Your list of duties have been reprimanded and increased; attachment verified. More information will become available shortly. 

Service to the state; service to the country; service to the war. Ave Publica!

He sighed. Work, work, work. It was all he ever did. 

Picking up the glass next to him, he scalded down the water and turned back to that work. Black dots began surrounding the sides of his vision, climbing over each other and consuming his whole as he bent forward, clutching his head. Headaches. Stupid, annoying headaches. Work always seemed to bring them on.

Bringing his head back up cautiously, he stared at the screen once more. His mouse shot all over the screen as his fingers typed just as fast; words spilled onto the page like a wave.

Almost instantly, the screen began flashing, fluorescent whites and blues streaming out in rapid bursts. Each program disappeared as a message shot to the centre of the screen, screaming veraciously at him. 

Prepare for readily available information.

Doors opened abruptly and a line of uniformed figures shot in, quickly closing off exits or any chance of escape. Startled, the workers jolted back, faces a pale shade, before climbing to their feet. Back straight, eyes alert, they all came to attention, each trying their best to avoid eye contact. What are they here for?

A tall man with light hair stepped forward, appearing the leader of this strict group. His hand shot to the side as a dark-haired girl with piercing grey eyes and a multitude of freckles stepped forward. It was her! She was the girl from earlier! What was she doing here? The man's forehead creased as he cleared his throat, reasserting himself.

"I'm sure you're all quite confused why you've been put in a situation such as this, but you need fret no longer. My partner and I are here to tell you exactly that. Miss Fortbec has received quite urgent and horrific news from the generals - obtained, we can assure you, through very reliable sources. There is no mistaking this news, no accidents. It is as stated, as hard as it is to believe, the utter truth." He looked at the girl and nodded. "Miss Fortbec, if you will."

Her eyes scanned the room and she smiled. "Thank you Mr Swilks. Yes, unfortunately, this news happens to be un-falsified." Her lips twitched as she clasped her hands together, gaze brushing over Richard like an empty space. "Tell me, do you know what items are necessary in order to win a war in this day and age?"

Eyes glanced away quickly, attempting to avoid eye contact. Whispers flourished until finally, a girl croaked, "Weapons?" Then once again, louder, "Bombs?" 

Pea's face dropped. "Yes, 'nuclears', bombs, guns, our weapons." She walked forward once more, "A week ago, there was an incident that was unlike any we've ever seen - not in all recorded history has something this devastating occurred. Every bomb in this country, our opposing force, all around the globs, disappeared." 

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