Uprising – Prologue/Backstory

An assignment for Creative Writing. I had to write a short story inspired by a song. Since ‘Uprising’ was inspired by Muse’s song of the same name, I just wrote a short story about events that I did not discuss in the novel.

November 7, 2012

In a basement located only a few dozen miles from the Capitol building, a small group of people watched a large screen, as their country’s foundations and principles were destroyed.
It was election day, or it should have been.  The president had declared that the country was in peril, that the populace had been infested with spies and radicals, and that the elections would be ‘postponed indefinitely’.
“Postponed, my foot,” one of the young men spat.  “This is a coup.”
“We all knew this was likely to happen,” another responded, much more calmly than his fellow.  “That’s why I purchased this shelter.”
“Oooh, a basement.  How useful for when the FBI or CIA comes knocking.”  The woman’s acerbic tone came not from hostility, but from tension and fear.
“Now, now, Damaris, be civil.  This is much more than just a basement.”  The young man rose and flicked on the lights.  “I’m going to remove the entrance that we came through.  The only ways in or out will be hidden.”
“Great, so it’s a hiding place,” the first young man said.  “That doesn’t help the country.  We have to do something, Nick!”
“And so we shall, David,” Nick replied.  He pressed on a portion of the wall, and it slid aside.
The gathered group stood up quickly, staring.  Behind the secret door, they saw a room full of high-tech computers, with a large, holographic, spherical display in the center.  One by one they slowly stepped in, Nick going in last.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said.  “Welcome to the headquarters of the Rebellion.”
“Rebellion?”  They all turned to him, eyes wide.  David spoke first.  “You’ve been planning for this all along, haven’t you?  The rest of us never really thought this could happen…”
“Yes, I have.”  He ran his gaze over the group.  “However, planning is nothing without action.  I need a team.  Can I rely on you, David?  I need an explosives expert.”
David nodded without hesitation.  Patriotic as he was, Nick had known he’d be easy to convince.
“Damaris, what about you?  You’ve been my right hand on so many projects, I would be lost without you.”
The young woman also nodded.  She was loyal to the country, and she was loyal to him.
“And you two?  Chavez, Michael?  The Rebellion will need ninja.  Intel gathering will be critical.”
The two looked at each other, then nodded.  They were good friends; they had been since they had first met.
“Yissel?  What about you?  No one’s better at playing innocent than you are.”
She giggled softly and nodded.
“Good, then.”  Nick turned and gestured grandly into the room.  “The fight to reclaim our country begins.”

—–Six months later—–

A dozen young men and women filled the command center, tapping away on keyboards and digital displays.  The general aura was one of focused industry, of a group of people who knew what needed to be doen and did it without question or hesitation.
One of the doors that led deeper into the compound slid open, and Nick strode out, pulling on his leather jacket and gloves.  “Have we gotten any new reports on the situation on First and Jackson?”
“No, sir.  Police say it’s still a stalemate.”
“I’ll have to do something about that.”  Nick rushed to the door, but Damaris jumped out of her chair and stopped him.
“Personally, Nick?  You’re the only one that we can’t afford to lose.”
“I’m also the only one who has the ability and experience to handle this.  Don’t worry.  I’ll be fine.”  He slipped past her and out the door, jumping on his Harley and roaring onto the streets.  As he rode, he reviewed the situation in his head.  It was a rebel op gone wrong, so there were rebel hostages in a bank, being held by common bandits who wanted nothing more than to satisfy their own sense of greed.
He revved the engine and rushed through the police barricade, flashing a ID that falsely identified him as an agent for a special government task force that was created to handle hostage situations.  As he walked right past the SWAT team, pulling his revolver out of his holster and thumbing off the safety, he scanned the situation through the glass.  The bandits hadn’t seen him, so he got a good look.  Half a dozen of them, one for each of the half a dozen shots in his revolver.
A quick leap took him up to the overhang, and from there he was able to reach the roof.  He ran to the center of the roof, pulled open the ventilation access.  Dropping down, he quickly found a grate that accessed the main room.  Peering through it, he saw the bandits.  From this angle, he had lines of sight on all of them.  After carefully removing the grate, he prepared his shots, readying himself.
He dropped the grate, firing the six shots, all of them hitting the bandits before the grate hit the ground.  As the hostages looked up, Nick dropped down, landing hard but gracefully.  His eyes met those of the rebels among the hostages, and they got up and followed him.
They walked out the front door, and Nick spun some story about how these men were agents of his, and it bought them enough leeway for him to get them all out.  Once they were away, Nick hopped back on his Harley.  “Scatter.  Make your way individually back to the compound.”
As he watched them walk away, Nick breathed a sigh of relief.  He really hadn’t been sure that would work.  Knocking the kickstand up, he revved the engine, heading back to the rebel’s complex.
When he opened the door, Damaris pulled him in and slapped him.  “You’re an idiot!”
“So you keep telling me.”  Nick rubbed his cheek.  “Must you slap me every time I do something you dislike?”
“Maybe you should learn.”  She scowled at him.
“Yes, yes, I’ll learn.  I’ll learn to catch your hand before you slap me.”  He chucked and ducked the smack she threw at him, heading deeper into the complex.  A few of the hostages he’d rescued had already returned, and they thanked him profusely while he deflected their thanks as part of the job.
He headed back into his office and flopped back into his chair.  It had been a good day.  With a little luck, they’d have many more days like this, and the uprising would succeed.


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Filed under My Stories, School, Short Stories

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