A/N: The prompt for this story was to use 4 images from a provided list (I've inserted them into the story). 3000 words.
You cannot be serious. Zoe closed her eyes, willing it not to be true. But when she opened them again the supermarket shelf was just as bare. No coffee. Not even so much as a lowly jar of instant. "Excuse me," she asked a passing staff-member. "Can you please tell me when you'll be getting more coffee in?"
The spotty youth shook his head. "No more coffee, love. Ain't you 'eard? Been classified as an illegal stimulant, it 'as. Plus, they reckon it's a waste of resources. Banned, innit?"
No more coffee. A few years ago, Zoe couldn't have imagined a more horrifying phrase. Now her brain simply absorbed the information despondently and filed it away with the long list of other items the Directorate had banned or deemed as wasteful.
It's for our own good, she told herself as she joined the queue for the checkout. Without the Directorate, there would be chaos. It's worth a few sacrifices to have order. To have the chance to build a better life, one day.
She told herself the same thing, every day. Some days she even believed it.
****
He will walk upon these very steps, though Forster, reverentially. These very steps that I stand upon. We are close now, so close.
With intense satisfaction, he surveyed the humming arches suspended above him, the tachyon generators flanking the steps, and the technicians working with quiet efficiency at their posts around the room. His chest swelled with pride as he gazed up at the swastika-emblazoned banner that dominated the room. It was positioned so as to be the first thing the fuhrer would see, when he was returned to them.
Plucked from his bunker in 1945 Berlin, moments before his suicide, he would no doubt be disoriented by the sudden leap across a century of years, by the abrupt transition from defeat and death to life and hope. Even an intellect as magnificent as the fuhrer's would struggle with such a quantum shift. It was only fitting that his first sight should be the comforting and familiar symbol that had signified the glory of the Third Reich. The symbol that would now herald the rise of the Fourth Reich.
With an effort, Forster dragged his attention away. Checking his tablet, he found only further cause for satisfaction. None of the regional directors' reports listed any protests or civil unrest. The latest round of restrictions had been accepted without a murmur by the general population. Forster grinned. It had taken years, but the people had been thoroughly broken.
When the unprecedented wave of terrorist attacks had erupted in the late '20s, taking out parliament-house, police headquarters and so many other government agencies, chaos had ensued. Bereft of leadership and and with no clear target to attack, the nation had dissolved into riots, civil war and internecine conflict. When the firm hand of the Directorate had emerged to take control, the population had willingly acquiesced, desperate for the madness to cease, and willing to cede much of their liberty in exchange for a modicum of peace and the certainty of food on the table.
Now, years later, the Directorate controlled everything. Their tentacles stretched into the armed forces, the police, the education system and every other aspect of governance. These were the aspects the public saw. The real power however, lay with men who kept to the shadows. Men like Forster. Men who knew the real purpose of the Directorate.
Now, after all this time, after all the planning and all the sacrifice, the time to realise that purpose was upon them. In seemingly perfect congruence, the quantum-gate would become operational just as the population was ready for the return of the fuhrer. Crushed and spineless, the people would flock to the banner of the Fourth Reich. The wrongs of the past century would be righted. The Aryan dream would live again.
****
The buzzing noise was barely audible, but still made Zoe jump guiltily. Even though the curtains were drawn and there was no way she could be seen, she looked around furtively before withdrawing the contraband phone from under the seat-cushion of her sofa. The notification light blinked red.
Swallowing nervously, she keyed in her password, and the green text of the Shadow Web scrolled across the screen. The Web lay hidden in Directorate-sanctioned communication channels, encoded secretly in what appeared to be a carrier-signal to anybody without the right encryption key. The tiny bandwidth meant it could never hope to rival the old internet, banned by the directorate in '33, but its simple, monochrome text was nevertheless a beacon of defiance and difference in the Directorate's homogenised world of restriction and denial.
It was also highly illegal. Working late one night, slightly drunk on contraband whiskey, a co-worker had told her of the Web and slipped her the phone. She suspected it had been mostly a means to give her his number, but she had been fascinated nonetheless. The temptation to step outside the lines for once in her life had been too great. She had accepted the phone.
And the next morning, hungover and remorseful, she had stuffed it down the back of the couch and tried to forget about it. Until now. The screen displayed a short message.
hey zone 37 peeps. do u like coffee? we got some if u want some. old cathedral on high st. bring cash. peace out freaks
Coffee. Zoe almost felt dizzy at the thought. Swallowing her doubts, she grabbed her coat and slipped out of the apartment and into the night.
****
Nescafe sachets. That was the 'coffee' on offer. And the really sad part? People were snapping it up. Paying top dollar, too. Time was, Zoe wouldn't have gone near the stuff. Now, she obediently joined the queue and counted her money, calculating how many sachets she could afford.
She glanced surreptitiously at her fellow curfew-breakers. Middle-aged men in suits. Young couples. A grandmotherly type in a dressing-gown. She shook her head. These were what passed for criminals, these days.
She was handing over her cash when the spotlight struck. Blinded, she threw up her hands to shield her eyes from the dazzling beam.
"Remain where you are. Failure to comply will result in the use of force. Remain where you are."
Blinking in the glare, Zoe searched for the source of the amplified, metallic voice. The spotlight swung away, restoring her vision and she found herself staring at a single red eye, regarding her from an otherwise featureless black visage.
"Identification verified. Zoe Di Carlo, age 28. Remain where you are, citizen. You are charged with the purchase of contraband. Remain where you are."
Zoe couldn't have moved if she'd tried. Like everyone, she had heard of the enforcers, but she had never seen one in the flesh. Or whatever it was they were made of.
The black-clad figure switched it's attention to the coffee-seller, standing dumbstruck at the head of the queue.
"Identification verified. Neil Tyson, age 42. Known criminal, multiple convictions. Remain where you are, citizen. You are charged with the sale of contraband. Remain where you are."
Wide-eyed, Tyson stared at the enforcer. He took an unsteady step backwards.
"Remain where you are, or force will be employed." The enforcer raised its gun.
"Alright, alright!" gasped Tyson, throwing his hands up. The wad of cash he'd been clasping slipped from his grasp, the notes drifting and dancing in the cool updrafts of the cathedral.
The red eye of the enforcer swung back in Zoe's direction. "Zoe Di Carlo. You are guilty of consorting with the known criminal Neil Tyson. You will come with me, for sentencing and punishment. You will come with me, now."
Horrified, Zoe took a step back.
"You will come with me, or force will be employed."
"I...I'm not a criminal," blurted Zoe.
"You will come with me, now."
"I just wanted coffee!" Without conscious volition, she took another step back. She tried to stop moving, but her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. She closed her eyes as the enforcer raised its gun, and braced for the impact.
A gunshot rang out, and then another. There was a thump, the shattering of glass and then the perception of darkness, even through her closed eyelids. Cautiously, she opened them.
The cathedral was dim, lit only by the streetlight filtering through the stained-glass windows. The dark shape huddled on the floor must be the enforcer. Shock rapidly turning to bewilderment, Zoe spun around, trying to understand what had happened.
"Nescafe? Seriously, people?" A dark clad figure emerged from one of the transepts, holstering a handgun as it approached Zoe and the other curfew-breakers. "I know the the place is a little screwed up right now. But Nescafe?"
As it drew nearer, the figure resolved into that of a compact, blonde-haired man in combat fatigues. He began withdrawing objects from a bandolier strung across his chest and distributing them to the stunned onlookers. He smiled at Zoe as he handed her one.
"Whuh?"she said. "She looked at the object. It was a small flask. She looked back at the stranger. "I...what...huh?"
He gently took the flask back, unscrewed the lid and returned it to her. The most glorious aroma drifted up from it.
"Coffee,"said the stranger. "Real coffee, not that Nescafe crap. Drink it, you seem to need it." He looked around at the others in the room. "Take your coffee and go home, people. It won't be long before more enforcers arrive." Zoe started to edge away, until he pointed at her. "Not you. You're coming with me." Seeing the renewed terror in her eyes, he held up his hands in placation. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. But you've been identified and convicted. You can't go home. Not unless you want to end up in a labour-camp. Or worse."
The horrible truth of his words sank in. Zoe's life as she knew it was over.
"But-but..who are you?"
The stranger grinned at her. "Me? I'm The Barista."
****
Dawn was breaking as the stranger led them into an enormous warehouse. Zoe had no idea where they were. A mad dash through a maze of back alleys had been followed by a motorbike ride through the sewers, emerging somewhere outside the city. Another hour of hard riding had brought them here. To a seemingly endless, open plain of warehouses.
She looked around in wonder as they walked between towering shelves of...coffee. And chocolate. And liquor - whiskey and scotch and vodka. Boxes and bags and bottles. Row after row, shelf after shelf of contraband food and drink.
"I thought there was supposed to be a shortage of all this stuff?"
The stranger looked back at her. "Nope. It's just suits the Directorate for you to think that."
"Why would the Directorate lie?"
"The same reason anybody lies. To get what they want."
"And what do they want?"
They had arrived at a doorway. "Come on in. I'll try to explain."
****
Half an hour later, comfortably ensconced in an armchair, and sipping on a really excellent coffee, Zoe regarded the stranger sitting opposite her. He'd confessed that his real name was Carter.
"So it's all about coffee?"
"Not really. It was just the coffee that pushed me over the edge. Specifically, the banning of coffee."
"So now you run around shooting enforcers and handing out lattes?"
"Well, I generally try to avoid enforcers. And I'm more of a short-black man. But basically, yes."
"But, why? Why the hell would you risk your life for coffee?"
"Because it was the last straw. The Directorate took away the internet. They took away travel. They took away books. They took away alcohol. I accepted all that. But not coffee. What the hell sort of place doesn't let you have coffee? Not one that I want to live in. So my little act of defiance is to give coffee back to the people."
"One shot at a time?"
"One shot at a time."
Zoe gestured around the room. "How have you managed this? How do you know about these stockpiles? These warehouses?"
Carter sipped on his own coffee. "I was head of security for one of the Directorate's top men. A guy called Forster."
"Never heard of him."
"Which is exactly how he wants it. Anyway, when I decided I wanted out, I faked my own death. It's not hard, if you know how. And because they thought I was dead, they didn't bother to cancel my access to places like this."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. Being all-powerful has a lot to be said for it. But it does tend to make you sloppy. And when I was on the inside, I saw enough to know that the Directorate is up to something. Something big. The restrictions, the stockpiling, they're all part of it. I've still got connections and they're telling me it's all coming to a head tomorrow."
"What is?"
"Their plan to bring Hitler back."
"Sorry, what?"
"I think you heard me."
"Hitler? What, you mean back from the dead?"
Carter shook his head. "No. I mean back from the past. Look, I know it's hard to believe. But my sources are reliable. So trust me, it's definitely not just about the coffee. Not anymore, anyway."
Zoe absorbed this in silence. She knew she shouldn't believe Carter. But against all reason, she did. "What are you going to do?"
Carter smiled, grimly. "I'm going to stop them. And I'd appreciate your help."
****
A faint rumbling disturbed the pre-dawn silence of the city. Curtains twitched in windows as those few residents who were awake searched for the source of the noise. The rumbling grew louder and was joined by a ferocious metallic grinding.
Zoe cursed as she shifted the tank into a higher gear, trying desperately to remember Carter's brief instructions. He had given her free rein to choose from an enormous garage of stockpiled vehicles, so she had picked the biggest, most bad-ass one in sight. Unfortunately it drove like a house.
A glance through the viewport revealed that she had arrived at the designated building. Sighting on some nearby parked cars, she aimed the turret and fired, setting off a gratifyingly impressive explosion. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her machine gun, and climbed onto the roof of the tank.
The swarms of enforcers pouring out of the building stopped dead at the sight of her.
She gave them a provocative grin. "Hello there, boys. Who's up for a bit of a chase?" As the enforcers raised their weapons, she dived back into the tank, slamming the hatch shut as the first shots rang against the armour. The transmitter in her ear crackled.
"Lingerie?" Carter's voice was incredulous.
"Well, you said I could take whatever I needed to create a distraction."
"Wow. Well, mission accomplished."
Grinning ferociously, Zoe slammed the tank into gear and set off down the street, crushing a phone-box and a fire hydrant as she went.
****
Carter waited a few minutes for the pursuit to clear the area. The building would still be guarded, but Zoe's stunt had improved the odds considerably.
He was counting on his little invention to even them out some more.
Carbon-fibre armour. Chain-gun. Rocket-launcher. Flame-thrower. Espresso-maker. His battle-suit had them all.
A prototype model commissioned by the Directorate, he had stumbled across the suit in his wanderings through their warehouses. Now, customised to his liking, it was time for it to take on its former masters.
Emerging from the alley in which he'd been hidden, he stormed into the foyer, guns blazing. Enforcers tried to bar his way, but they were designed for controlling civilians, not a trained solider in a high-tech battle-suit.
This was something he'd been counting on. The Directorate had become victims of their own success. His battle-suit was a perfect example. An awesome fighting machine, it had been abandoned as unnecessary, in favour of the cheaper and more numerous enforcers. The Directorate had crushed all opposition so effectively and for so long that they could no longer imagine real resistance.
Carter was rapidly reintroducing them to the concept.
With the foyer cleared, he wedged himself into the elevator. A somewhat surreal, muzak-enhanced ride later, he emerged in the basement, where he met his first genuine opposition - more enforcers, this time equipped with RPGs. The ensuing firefight was short and brutal, and despite the carnage he wrought, Carter's suit took significant damage. Immobilised, he was forced to abandon it after the last enforcer fell.
Continuing on foot, he found the quantum-gate in a far corner of the basement, behind a simple wooden door, unguarded and unlocked. Gun held ready, he cautiously pushed it open. And came face to face with one of the greatest monsters in history.
Adolf Hitler regarded him from across the room. It was only the slightest flicker of the cold eyes that alerted Carter to the armed man that lunged at him from behind the door. It was Forster.
They struggled briefly, but Carter was the stronger and soon disarmed his opponent, shoving him to the floor, with a gun to his head. He pointed the other weapon at Hitler.
Forster glared up at him. "You cannot win. You can kill me and you can kill the fuhrer. This fuhrer. But we have the technology now. We can bring him back. Again. And again. As many times as is necessary."
Carter sighed. "If it's OK with you, I think I'll just deal with one Hitler at a time." He fired, and the fuhrer slumped to the floor. He looked down at Forster. "As for you, you're coming with me."
"Why?"
"So you can help me figure out a way to make the future Hitler-proof."
"Never!"
"Well, we'll see about that. But first, I need a coffee."