The Amber Spires: Part Two

I sat on a small rickety stool outside the wide oak door that led into the dull interior of the taskmasters’ quarters, this was becoming a far too familiar scenario. Two weeks ago, it was a brawl outside an abandoned fuel station over a case of expired cans of vegetables that got overlooked during the last rounds of looting and rioting, and the week before that a precinct six blocks over burnt to the ground. Quelling riots before they ever happened became our duty, weather it was some strategy come down from the brains up top or the fight in the people had just died out none of us knew.

“Come in Maracana” A booming voice sounded from the other side of the heavy door.

The tiny stool gasped as I pulled my weight off it and took a few steps over to the entrance. It swung open with a clunk and a squeal to reveal a dull gray room containing a single large man, positioned behind a heavy metal desk in a plastic roll chair. An old clock that was ten minutes off hung high on the wall behind him, while a portrait of an old graying man in a suit was nailed to his right. A large pump gun, the only other thing contained in the room aside from another stool across the desk from him I made to take a seat.

“Don’t bother Maracana, I only need a moment of your time” He grumbled, never raising his eyes from the paper in front of him.

“Get on with it then, Mark” I responded as I sat down, producing a smirk from the normally ornery man.

“Its Sir, or Mr. Henry to you boy” He stated before chuckling, “How well do you know the 47th downtown sector”

“The 47th has been a burnt-out pit since last spring sir” I answered more seriously now.

“That’s not what I asked, the brains are putting a team together, and on account of how well our precinct has been doing we have a little muscle to spare” He answered in a relaxed tone, his face going flat, “I recommended you and your boys, quick in and out, a smash and grab if you will, at least to my understanding”.

I glanced down at the paper as he began sliding it towards me, his own chair now producing a creek, official stamp of the spire on it and all. I finally noticed how awful the lighting was in the room as I held the paper up to examine it. It contained the typical bureaucratic garbage for the first three paragraphs, for the good of the city, to back your brothers, what a great opportunity we’re providing you with, followed by a very interesting fourth paragraph.

The 47th downtown has long been one of our greatest victories over the degenerates of our proud city, the spires have not forgotten what you did for us there. Unfortunately, through a series of ever-increasing tragic events, and with the high recommendation a Mr. Mark Henry has given you, you must return there with a unit of some of our finest special enforcement officers. You are to report to the 49th residential unit, rally with the other half of your team, and proceed to the 47th with future orders. Thank you for your compliance, Mr. Maracana.

“There's no place to sign” I stated.

“Nope” Mark answered.

“This isn’t a choice” I realized.

“Thankyou for your compliance, boy, you’re going back to the 47th” The large man answered before sighing and running one meaty hand through the remainder of his thinning hair.

“You think they’ll remember me?” I asked with an unconvincing smirk.

“God, I hope not boy” He answered grimly.