FSE

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Bird's Eye View

XP Author

Sarah Altezzo, CEO of Altezzo Tech, stood on the balcony of her penthouse suite and just stared down at the city below. The middle-aged dove was still quite attractive, having worked hard to keep a slim and shapely figure. Standing tall at almost 6 feet, the dove struck an impressive figure, both pretty and commanding. She'd cultivated that style over the past twenty years, using both looks and guile to get to where she was now. And every so often, her feminine wiles. Now she was the head of fEYEnder, one of the largest online information companies in the world.

The wind picked up, making the light, red fabric of her nightgown billow around her. She turned to walk back into her lavish home, shutting the door to the balcony behind her. Everything around her was opulence, even the suite itself. High up on the top floor of the building, some 98 stories up, the place cost more a year than some companies saw in a decade. Decorations were hard wood, gold filigree, imported fabric, anything that cost more she had. She'd earned these luxuries.

She looked at the antique grandfather clock to the side, seeing the hour was growing late. She picked up the crystal wine glass, downing the remaining few sips of red wine, savoring a flavor that cost more per bottle than most luxury cars.

She turned to head towards her bedroom when she heard a commotion from outside the front door. On the other side of the heavy wooden double doors, she heard one of the tow men standing guard saying something in the typical stern voice. Some drunk had probably hit the wrong floor on the elevator and was being shooed away. She was about to head off when she heard the voices again, louder this time, followed by a series of loud pops, and then silence.

There was an almighty crash as the double doors burst open, kicked in by someone. Sarah stood there in the main room, staring at the scene before her. To either side of the door was her guards, both of the tall canines slumped on the floor and bleeding from fresh bullet holes in their heads. The man responsible was in the middle of the entryway, panting from the exertion of his forced entry.

A scruffy looking looking looking raccoon, wearing a long brown trench-coat that looked like it hadn't been washed in months, a torn t-shirt and jeans. His brown hair was a mess, as was his fur and tail. He looked homeless to her. In one hand was the still smoking gun that had killed her guards. In the other, a small box of some sort.

Sarah stood her ground, drew herself up to her full height and just stared at the intruder. "And just who the hell are you?"

* * *

David Hawthorne paced around the small elevator as it rose to the top floor. It played some kind of generic music that was supposed to be calming, but it only served to keep him driven. It was one of those opulent sorts of elevators meant for these rich people to use. The walls were brass or bronze or something, polished to a mirror shine. He looked up at the number display. 86. Almost there. He took deep breaths and checked everything. In one pocket he had the keycard he'd stolen from one of the cleaning staff to gain access to this elevator in the first place. Along with it were two clips of spare ammo for his pistol. In his other pocket was the pistol itself, a simple semi-auto he'd gotten from a street gun runner. The kind that sold shitty but effective firearms to gangs and drug dealers. And last, the package he held. Wrapped up to look like a nondescript little parcel. His trump card.

Floor 90. Close. As the numbers rose, he felt his heart racing, but at the same time felt a kind of calm. No matter what happened once he got to his destination, he knew he'd make his mark today.

Floor 95. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was it. There was no turning back. Not anymore.

Floor 98. The Elevator made a soft ping, a per-recorded female voice spoke softly "you have arrived" from some speaker above him, and the doors silently slid open into the hallway. The hall itself was even more opulent than the elevator. Some kind of expensive looking carpet covered the floor, the walls were paneled in a deep mahogany, and there were some planted greenery in the corners. He stepped out and looked down the short hallway. There was only one door to speak of. These top level places took up the whole floor. One or two people living in a space that could so easily fit dozens of people comfortably. He gripped the package in his left hand tighter.

David stepped out into the hall, into view of the two guards standing on opposite sides of the doorway. They were maybe ten feet away from him, and there really was no way to sneak so he didn't bother. The two men spotted him immediately. Tall canines of some kind, dressed in black suits that probably cost more than most people made in a year. The one closest to him held out a hand. "Sir! I'm sorry, but you're not allowed to be here. Please get back into the elevator and move along."

David shook his head, speaking clearly. He'd planned for this. "I'm sorry, but I can't go back anymore." He took several steps closer, almost within arms reach of the two guards.

The guard closest moved to face him fully, putting his hand on David's shoulder. "Sir, you have to leave now. Don't make me-" He never got to finish his sentence. David shot his elbow up, slamming it into the guard's jaw from below and sending him stumbling backwards. The second guard started to draw his gun from his holster, but David was somehow faster, fueled by adrenaline. He pulled his hand free from the coat, gripping the black market pistol and fired. The second guard was sent stumbling backwards, his gun thumping on the floor. He hit the wall and slid to the floor, leaving a streak of blood from the hold in the back of his head where the bullet exited. The first guard was just coming to his senses and about to round on David, but he was already turning to aim the gun at the larger man. He fired without hesitation, sending the guard crashing back to the ground, this time permanently.

David stood there, suddenly finding himself shaking. He didn't die. He nearly fell to the floor himself as he looked at the two men. The first men he'd ever killed. He found his ears were ringing a little from the gunshots. It was a little louder than when he'd first practiced with the thing, the sound having echoed around the hallway. He'd been prepared for it though, and he just shook his head as the ringing slowly subsided. He sighed, looking to both men. "I'm sorry." He said softly, then looked to the double doors they had been guarding. "But I have to do this."

The raccoon moved to the doors. Locked, of course. He thought about looking for a key on the guards, but shook his head. He had another way in, one that would make more of an impression on the bitch waiting inside. He positioned himself between the doors, lined up his foot, and gave as mighty a kick as he ever had to the center. To his amazement, they burst open on the first try. The wood splintered in the center where the locking mechanism burst through its mooring. The fancy door was for looks more than security. Idiot.

Inside, he saw her, and his blood started to boil almost immediately. A tall dove with a slender figure, wearing a fancy night gown of silk or something equally expensive. Her white feathers were groomed and pristine, despite that she was obviously getting ready for calling it a night. Her blue-eyed gaze met his brown glare. Then she just had to go putting on airs, acting above him again. "And just who the hell are you?" Oh, she'd learn.

* * *

The pair just eyed each other for seconds that dragged on. Sarah glanced at the dead guards behind the man. She didn't really know either of them very personally, so she didn't really feel any sort of grief for them. If anything, she was annoyed at just how ineffective they were at their job. "Well? What do you want? Is this some kind of ill-plotted robbery?"

David shook his head and raised the gun to point at her. "Of course you don't know me. I doubt you even knew the names of those to in the hallway." He took a step closer to her. "My name is David Hawthorne. And this isn't some robbery, you stuck up feathered cunt. I'm here to make you pay for what you did to me."

She just folded her wings across her chest, looking unimpressed. "And what, pray tell, did I do to you, Mr. Hawthorne?"

He grit his teeth, but reminded himself to remain calm. He knew she'd be like this. "Of course you wouldn't remember. You destroyed my life!" He put the package he held into his pocket for a moment, then reached into his coat, pulling from within a portfolio binder he'd stuffed into one of the inner pockets. This he threw onto the floor at her feet, papers spilling out of it across the floor. Ledgers and company logos emblazoned across them, newspaper clippings, and a typed letter on her company's letterhead were presented in such a way. "You destroyed my company. You stole my investors, bribed my employees, and black listed me from my clients, just so you could buy me out and close the whole thing down. Because you didn't like that I had a tiny little market you weren't a part of."

She looked down at the papers. The company in question was a sales team, specializing in music making programs. According to the papers strewn across her floor, the hostile takeover had happened some eight months prior. "I'm sorry, I simply can't be expected to remember every ant that I crush. This is business, Mr. Hawthorne."

He grit his teeth. "You destroyed my company! You drove me to bankruptcy! My wife left me because of this! And you have the gall to call me an ANT!" He'd had it now and swiftly closed the distance before backhanding the woman across the face with the gun. She let out a cry of pain as she was sent crashing to the ground. He also grunted, having cut his hand on her beak, but pointed the gun down at her again. "You fucking BITCH!" For the briefest of moments, he saw genuine fear in her eyes.

She managed to compose herself after a moment, and spat at him. "So that's it, is it? You couldn't satisfy your wife, and so you blame me for your failed marriage?" She wiped some blood off of her beak. "So what? Do you want money now? Or did you just come to rant at me like a petulant child?"

He shook his head. "No, Ms. Altezzo. I didn't come to rant at you." He took the package from his pocket again. "I came to make a statement. You are an example of everything wrong with this world."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, good GOD! Let me guess, you're going to start going on about how the rich are just in it to get rich and keep the little guy down, right? I started at the bottom, too, you self-righteous little pissant! You have no idea what I went through to get here! Now get the fuck out of my h-" the words were cut off as his foot connected with her chest, knocking the wind out of her.

"No, Ms Altezzo. You didn't have to work hard. You just had to smile and be pretty and spread your legs to fuck your way to the top. And once you're there, you DO stand on the rest." He kicked her again, making the woman grunt once more. "Now you get to be kicked while you're down."

Eventually, she caught her breath and looked daggers at him again. "You know the cops are already on the way, don't you? Someone will have heard your gunshots. So you can rant all you want, but you're going to rot in prison for this."

He set the package down in front of her face. "Do you know what that is?" She glared up at him in silence. "It's a bomb." Now her eyes went wide, looking back at the little wrapped package sitting in front of her face. "Oh, don't worry. It's just a deterrent. I do know the cops are coming, but I've left a message for them. They'll be calling for hostage negotiators soon. I've got things I need to say, and this way I can get heard."

She looked up at him again, not bothering to hide her fear now. "You're psychotic!"

He laughed and pointed the pistol at her again. "You really shouldn't keep insulting a man who could shoot you."

She shook her head as she pushed herself to a sitting position, looking him dead on. "You won't kill me. You need me alive for your little hostage scheme to work!"

He smiled at her. "I didn't say I would kill you. Just shoot you. Like this." He shifted his aim slightly to the right and fired. The bullet ripped into her right wing just below the shoulder. She was sent crashing to the ground again, screaming in pain as her blood seeped onto the carpet. He laughed at her as she grasped at the wound. "Look at that! You don't bleed blue after all!"

He watched her writhe on the ground for a time. Eventually, he shook his head and pulled the belt from his trench-coat and knelt down beside her. He wrapped it around her wing, above the wound, and tied it tight. "There. Now you won't go bleeding out on me just yet." It was just then that the phone rang. He looked and saw it was one of those fancy looking phones, probably ivory or something by the look. "Well. That would be the negotiator now, I'd think." He smiled back to the woman still groaning on the carpet. "Time to get things started." And with that, he answered.

* * *

Detective Graham McMiller stepped out of the squad car and let out a heavy sigh. He was damned good at his job, proud to do it, but he still hated it. The 46 year old elk had been a negotiator for over 15 years, and an officer for 25. He and the rest of the SWAT unit he was assigned to moved to the other officers assembled in front of the highrise. "Alright, who's in charge?"

A tall ram in uniform stepped forward. "That would be me, sir. Officer Richards, sir."

Graham shook his head. Poor guy was just a kid, probably never seen anything like this. "At ease, soldier. Just tell me the situation."

Officer Richards relaxed a little at the jest and nodded. "Yes, sir. We got a call about 20 minutes ago of shots fired inside. We were about to send officers up to investigate, but the receptionist stopped us with some information she'd been given." He looked at a notebook, having scrawled down some quick points to pass on. "Apparently at least one suspect, a middle aged raccoon male, left a note that he was carrying a bomb and would be taking one Sarah Altezzo hostage. Said to contact her private number for negotiations." He passed over the note. It was typed up on some generic paper. "He makes it very clear that he wants to talk, but will blow up the bomb if he sees cops."

Graham shook his head as he read the note. It was, indeed, very clear. "Explains why the receptionist didn't call in herself." She was either very brave or very stupid, staying to make sure cops didn't come into the building and set the guy and his bomb off. "How is the evacuation of the building going?"

Officer Richards motioned to the crowd, many of which were standing in pajamas or obviously dressed in a haste. They looked annoyed and scared and cold. "We've been doing what we can to get the residents out in an orderly fashion. There's still quite a few that are waiting to evacuate, or are unaccounted for."

Graham nodded again, and patted the officer on the shoulder. "Good job. Keep up the evacuations. I'll take over the rest from here." Richards looked more than relieved to hear that, saluted, and rushed off to continue with keeping the crowd both moving and away from the building. Graham turned back to his group. "Alright, you heard. Seems the queen of the internet has gotten herself in some hot water, and we're going to pull her out before she boils." He pointed at two of the men. "Porta, Jenkins, you're up." He pointed to the top of the building beside the one in crisis. "I need you on the roof of this building. Get eyes on. I want to know what we're dealing with. How many perps, hostages, and the state of things. But do not do anything until I give the order." The pair were a sniper team, both saluting and moving off to grab their gear and get into position.

Graham looked to the next pair. "Malaroy, Franks, you're with the locals. Get this crowd moving. And pull the barricade back about another thirty feet. I don't want anyone getting any stupid ideas and trying to film their internet debut. We'll have enough actual press in a few minutes to deal with as it is." The pair nodded and moved off in the same direction as the young officer earlier had. Graham looked then to the last remaining of the group. "Alex, you're with me."

Detective Alexis Hopkins nodded and smiled. "As always." She was a pretty woman who age had treated well. Only a few years younger than Graham. He'd often lamented that the feline was already married when they'd first become partners. They'd worked as a team for almost 10 years now, and they worked well together. "Alright, first things first. Our would-be bomber has asked for us to give him a call. Best we don't keep him waiting."

The SWAT van had a setup for these sorts of things, and within only a few minutes, the phone was ready. A recording device was attached, as well as a computer that could trace signals, though that wasn't as important this go around. Graham took a breath and dialed the number he'd been provided for Ms. Altezzo's home. "And the dance begins."

* * *

David picked up the phone, and hesitated for a moment. How does one start a conversation like this? He just opted with an awkward. "Hello?" and winced at himself.

The voice on the other end was deep and evil, with a practiced calm. "Hello. I assume I'm talking to the man who left the note at the front desk? About a package and a Ms. Altezzo?"

David nodded, then realized he was nodding at a phone. He mentally berated himself to get himself together. "Yes. That's me. And I'm not lying about the bomb. I will-"

Graham cut him off as politely as possible. "Don't worry, sir, we believe you about your threats." He looked to Alex, who had a headset on and listened. She nodded that the recording was working. "My name is Detective Graham McMiller. I just want to make sure that everyone makes it out of this alive and unharmed. Now, it would make this go much smoother if you would tell me your name."

David had to admit, he was impressed. Only a minute of talking to the man and he did feel genuinely at ease with him. But he'd seen enough cop shows to know not to drop his guard too much. Still, he had nothing to lose saying his name. "David. David Hawthorne."

Alex immediately started pulling any information she could from the computer about the man. Graham continued. "Alright, Mr. Hawthorne. Is Ms Altezzo alright? Is there any way I could speak with her?"

David knew that was a trap. He replied maybe a little too quickly, "No, you can't. She's fine. She's alive, but I'm not letting her talk. Not until I get what I want." Of course they'd ask about the rich bitch first. Not even asking if there was anyone else or what he wanted. But he kept his calm for now.

Graham's voice remained even. "Look, Mr. Hawthorne, I need to make sure that she's alright. Is there anyone else there that we could talk to? To verify what you claim?"

David frowned. "No, there isn't!" She winced and swore to himself that he'd said that. He just gave away that he only had the one hostage.

Graham smirked to himself, but he tried to sooth the now irritated man. "Alright, alright. Tell me what it is that you want?" He anticipated some ridiculous amount of money be said, probably with some addendum of a helicopter or getaway car or something ridiculous. Like this was some movie or video game.

David said plainly. "I want a news crew to broadcast a message for me." That was not the response that the detective was expecting. Nor was the followup. "One of the big news stations, not just some little local place. After... after that, I'll turn myself in."

Graham was taken aback by this. "Ah... I'll see what I can do, but if you're going to just turn yourself in, why not end all this now and-"

"NO!" David cut him off, shouting at the phone. "No, if I turn myself in, I'll just be another nobody in a prison suit that no one will listen to. No, I need this to be said now! People will know it matters!"

The detective sighed to himself, but continued. "I'll see what I can do. It will take time."

David smirked "Right. Can't just pick one of the rabble already gathering, can you? You have half an hour." David slammed the phone down then, satisfied with himself.

Graham cursed as the conversation was cut off there. "Well, that's unusual."

Alex turned the computer to show the information she'd pulled up on the man. "Business owner, former at least. Seems Ms. Altezza's company bought them out and he fell on hard times since. Guess he just wants his 15 minutes of fame to make her look bad as some kind of personal revenge?"

Graham shook his head. "I don't know. I believe you're right about wanting to make her look bad, but this seems more than just wanting the spotlight for himself. I think he might be a lot more dangerous than that."

Alex looked worried. "How so?"

Graham's reply was even and cold. "I think he's a fanatic of some kind."

* * *

David moved over to Sarah again, kneeling down. "And now we wait."

Sarah had calmed down, though still clutched her wounded wing. "And what will you do with me while you wait?"

David smiled down at her. "Oh, I'm sure I can find a number of things I can do with you. I throw you onto your bed and have my way with you. Just tear your clothes off, rape you repeatedly, maybe even knock you up before it all goes down." She looked at him with horror and disgust. "That's what you expect me to do, isn't it? Well too bad, Ms. Altezzo. You don't get to be that kind of victim today."

He reached stood up once more and pointed to the sitting area. "Sit there and stay quiet." He then started to move about the room. First thing he did was close the main double doors, not that it mattered much, what with the main lock being shattered from his forceful entry. In hindsight, that may have been a bad idea. He then set about to close the curtains to the balcony, only to swear when he found they weren't the kind that really closed, just hung uselessly at the very edge. There wasn't enough fabric to cover the massive window-doors. "Fancy piece of sh-"

He was cut off when Sarah was suddenly upon him, pouncing on him and trying to bring him to the ground. She had the advantage of surprise, and he did go down to one knee, but the advantage was brief. He shifted his weight and threw the lighter woman off of him, sending the avian crashing to the floor. She screamed as she landed on her wounded wing. He got up and delivered a swift kick to her chest. "That was very stupid!" She coughed as she had to regain her breath. When he reached down to try and heft her back up, she lashed out once more. Her talons slashed at his leg, making him yell in pain this time, but he responded quickly. He brought the pistol in his hand down hard across her face, sending her crashing back to the floor. The force of the impact from the metal tool cracked her beak, and the impact with the floor stunned her momentarily.

He let his anger grip him a moment later as he once more slammed his foot into her chest, this time hearing a crunch as at least one rib shattered under the impact. She lay writhing on the floor, coughing and gasping through the pain. "Fucking bitch!" He looked down at his leg. The wound wasn't too deep, but he was bleeding. "I was going to be nice and let you just sit on your overpriced couch while we waited. Now you can lay there. And if you try that again..." he pointed the gun at her once more. "I will clip your other wing. And your legs if I need to. I would put a hole in every limb you have, and maybe break more bones if you do something so stupid again."

He limped into the kitchen area seeing if she had some kind of first aid kit or something. Of course she didn't have one of those, or if she didn't it wasn't obvious. He ended up just taking a frilly looking pink hand towel from near the sink and using that to staunch the blood. It wasn't a deep cut, but it stung like the devil. He limped his way back to the couch and had a seat, one hand holding the towel to his leg, the other keeping the gun pointed at the dove sputtering on the floor. They waited like this until the sound of a chopper was heard outside. A quick glance told him it was a news chopper, painted light blue, with the letters G N N plastered on the side of it in gaudy yellow. He was sure there was a camera crew in there recording this. Let them see all they wanted. Then the phone rang again.

* * *

Graham set down the empty coffee cup, his third in the last twenty minutes. The negotiation had started out fine, and spiraled out of control when his higher ups agreed to give the man his speech on the news. He hated the press, and now he was tasked with letting a select few of them become a part of a hostage situation. Global News Network had jumped at the chance for this kind of sensationalism to be exclusive to their channel, of course. They even had a chopper ready for the coverage the moment they had the go ahead.

He'd also heard from his sniper team. They had a read on the situation. One perp, one hostage, no sign of the bomb but the perp was armed. While the hostage looked to be alive, she had been beaten pretty badly. He guessed the bomb threat might have just been a bluff and was about to give the order for the sniper team to take out the raccoon when the news chopper swooped in to get their scoop. Not only did it block the immediate shot, but they'd be filming the whole thing. The last thing he wanted was the PR nightmare of having to explain why someone was being shot by cops during a bomb threat. Even if the evidence pointed that the man was deranged and violent.

He just shook his head and got ready to call the man again. Alex was once more listening to make sure the recording was working. She gave the thumbs up and he called the man. "Hello?"

Graham shook his head, but got back into his calm demeanor quickly. "Hello, Mr. Hawthorne. I've arranged for you to do a call-interview with Vicky Thompson of GNN."

David sounded shocked. "Really?"

"Yes. I hope you weren't expecting an in-person interview for this."

"No! No, I think this is for the best." Graham could hear the smile on the man's face though his voice alone.

"Then I guess this fits your request? We have everything set up for the interview right now. All I have to do is link you to their contact and they'll begin." He hated that he was a party to this nonsense, but if it got this night over with no one being killed, then he'd let it slide. His team hadn't seen the two guards that had been killed in the hallway, and so he was still hopeful for this being a bloodless event.

"Yes. That will work." There was a hesitation. "I'm sorry about Ms. Altezzo's current condition. She attacked me. But she is still alive."

Graham winced, but nodded. He had wondered about breaching that topic. The man sounded genuinely sorry for it, too. He was just in over his head. Maybe today could go well. "Alright then, Mr. Hawthorne. If you turn on any TV nearby, you'll see them getting ready for the interview now. I'll transfer you over. I'll be listening the whole time, too, so don't you worry."

David almost felt thankful for that, but he knew it was probably some kind of police procedure he had to follow. Not to mention he knew they were recording it on their end, too. Moot point for a live interview, but he didn't care. "Alright. Thank you." He heard the click of the line being transferred and someone else came on to tell him some generic information about how interviews worked. They told him to talk to the chopper outside, and not at the phone or the TV or anything like that. Act as if the person was there, and avoid swearing. It was live news for everyone to see.

Sure enough, on the TV, he saw the beginning of the broadcast with the words SPECIAL splashed across the screen, and the always lovely face of Vicky Thompson. The gazelle had been the face of GNN for 5 years. David had always thought she was quite pretty. Then her voice came across the phone, and he smiled, turning toward the balcony window. "Hello, Mr. Hawthorne."

* * *

"This is Vicky Thompson, continuing our coverage of the hostage situation at Eagle Heights. We have a special interview with the confirmed kidnapper, David Hawthorne. He has agreed to turn himself into police custody in exchange for this interview. We at GNN are more than happy to help this situation end peacefully." There was a brief transition as the screen shifted to a side-by-side view used for interviews. Vicky was on the left side, while the chopper camera view of David was on the right. "Hello, Mr. Hawthorne."

David chuckled at just how surreal it was for it to happen like this. "Hello, Vicky." He thought to mute the TV a moment later when he heard his own voice echoed beside him.

"So, I am to understand that you wished to give a kind of message today?"

David nodded. "Yeah, that's right. I needed to be heard, and just saying something online doesn't really matter anymore."

Vicky gave a polite laugh "Well, before that, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

David hesitated, then took a breath. "Actually, I do mind. No offense. But I'd like to say what I have to say. Then you can ask whatever you want."

Vicky looked momentarily taken aback, but got her composure quickly. "Ah, well, alright then. Go ahead, Mr. Hawthorne."

David took a breath and let it out slowly. This was it. "Hello... to everyone. My name is David Hawthorne. Former CEO of Musitech. My company... I started it when I was only 19 years old. I put my heart and soul into it. It was my life. Everything. My slice of the dream, but that dream was stolen from me." David pointed to the woman on the floor. "By her! But she is no the real culprit here! She is a vile woman, who steps on the small, crushes anything in her path to earn more money, and gives zero sh-" he caught himself. "...zero care of those in her employ. She bribed clients to avoid my company. She stole my employees, and my technology. And when I was on the verge of bankruptcy, she bought my company out form under me. I lost everything." He took a moment to calm himself before continuing. "But she is just a symptom of a much greater issue! She is one of hundreds of others that only care for the bottom line."

David looked again at Sarah, with disdain, then moved on with his speech. "The problem isn't even those few people. It's everyone! It's us! All of us! We allow this behavior. We accept it. It's just 'the rich being rich' and that's it. We shouldn't allow this! The rich can be rich if they earn it, but they can do it by helping everyone, not by using them as stepping stones to more of what they already have. My message is that we, as a people, not just one nation but the whole world, we need to do better! You all need to do better!" He pointed again at Sarah. "Don't let the Altezzo's of the world win anymore. Put them to task! Don't put up with someone's bullshit just because they're your boss. I'm sorry... for swearing there, but this is the truth. Don't just sit and take it! Raise complaints, raise a fuss. Maybe... not the way I have today. Don't take me as an example, please." He looked very awkward in that moment, wanting people to stand up non-violently, while having to resort to violence to get his message heard. "That's all I really need to say. And I have to say it here, live on the news. Because if I were to put my voice out on the internet, all it would do is get drowned out. Or swept away by people like her."

David had found himself walking towards the balcony, realizing he was going that far when the phone cord went taught and he took a step back to keep from yanking it off. "That's... that's all. You can ask your questions now."

Vicky, who had done a very good job keeping her practiced smile plastered on her face, nodded. "Well, I see that you're very passionate about this."

David nodded. "Yeah... a little too passionate, but yeah."

Vicky gave a practiced chuckle and continued. "So you're calling for people to rally together to fight against those in power? Some might say you're calling for a revolution."

David shook his head. "No! Not... not like that, no! God, no. I want people to stop just sitting and taking their beatings. But not to dish them back out. I know how this sounds from someone with a gun in his hand. It's ridiculous. But I hope I'm the only one that ever has to go this far again."

Vicky took a moment to word her next question carefully. "Other than Ms. Altezzo and fEYEnder, are there any other individuals that you might have umbrage with? Business owners, political leaders..."

David blinked for a moment. "Oh... oh no, this isn't political! I'm not with any... No, this is just for people to better themselves! I don't care about political sides! I don't wa-"

David was again cut off as something heavy smashed into the back of his skull, sending him crashing to the ground. On the TV, he the delayed view of Sarah picking up and swinging a heavy metal award of some kind into him. "Oh, you bitch!"

* * *

Sarah had grown tired of being used as some example of a terrible sapient being and looked around the room during the raccoon's rant. She managed to crawl her way over to one of her displays, grabbing her award for #1 tech company (for 10 years running) and bringing it up. She used the moment when he was most distracted and swung it with all her might, destroying the award, but also sending him to the ground. As he fell, she saw the gun go clattering to the side and started to scramble for it.

David recovered faster than she'd expected, growling at her. "Oh, you bitch!" He stood up and tried to stop her, but she managed to get the gun before he could grab her. She swung it around to point it at him, but he grabbed her good wing and yanked her to the side, trying to wrench the gun from her hands. "Drop it! Don't be stupid!"

Sarah had had it with this lowlife. "You are not doing this! You will not get your little rant and get to walk out of here a hero! You are a murdering piece of trash!" She clenched her cracked beak and swung her wounded wing to hit him square in the jaw. He didn't let go of his grip, and the both of them tumbled toward the balcony.

On the TV, a muted Vicky was giving animated coverage of what was happening. Down below, Graham stared at the news feed with horror. "What is that idiot bird doing!? She's going to get herself killed."

The radio piece in Graham's ear buzzed with the voice of Victor, the sniper. "Sir, I have a clear view. Should I take a shot?"

Graham swore. "If it looks like he's going to kill the woman, yes. Take the shot. Disable him if you can."

"Roger."

Back in the suite, the fight had tumbled onto the balcony itself. Sarah had managed to get the gun free again, and stood with it pointed at the raccoon. Both of them were panting and battered. Sarah's wing wound had started bleeding again, her chest felt on fire from the broken ribs, and her beak ached and throbbed. David panted, his leg similarly bleeding again, as well as a new gash on his left arm. Sarah laughed as she lifted the gun to aim it at the man. "Fucking pissant."

David reached into his pocket and pulled from it a small cylinder. "You forget I came with a bomb?"

Sarah looked at the thing, then back at him. "You're lying. After all that speech, you won't do it. That's a dud. Just like you!"

David shook his head, holding his hands out. "Then do it. Shoot me. Find out how much of a dud it is!"

Sarah hesitated, and in that moment, he dashed forward to try and grab the gun. She fired, but managed to only hit his shoulder, missing the headshot she had been trying for. The kick from the gun sent her stumbling back, and she hit the railing. David reached forward to try and grab her... and was sent flying backwards as a sniper bullet penetrated his right temple, the left side of his face exploding into fragments of bone and brain matter. He was dead before hit the ground.

Sarah didn't see any of this, as she fell off the balcony. She saw the sky, heard the wind as she fell, screaming the whole way. She flailed about and started to tumble in the air. She saw the ground below, so far away, the crowd watching her doomed fall. With one wing damaged, there was no way for her to try and take flight. She tried anyway, flapping uselessly, which only made her tumble more chaotically. Unfortunately, she hadn't been thrown far enough from the building, and as she fell, her head struck a part of the building and shattered. Her body bounced against the building several more times, each time shattering more of her once pretty figure. Pieces were torn free, her damaged wing no longer attached, a leg in three pieces, and her belly torn open and spilling guts like a kite streamer. Eventually she hit the ground with a wet, meaty thud, spraying blood and viscera feet in every direction.

Graham watched all this with horror, and was about to give an order, when the top of the building erupted into flames, the bomb exploding and ripping through not just the top floor, but down at least three more, fire jetting out of shattered windows, sending broken glass raining down. He realized the bloody fool had pulled a dead-man's switch! The crowd scattered in a panic as glass shards and fiery building shrapnel peppered around. The detective cast his eyes around the sky for the news chopper, finding it smoking but limping away from the explosion. Some of the shrapnel had likely hit it, but it seemed alright. He hoped the crew were unharmed.

So much for a bloodless ending. He sighed and slumped down to sit in the back of the SWAT van. "Jesus..." Alex sat beside him, not saying anything, but putting a hand on his. "I need a drink."

* * *

In the weeks that followed, the news was a buzz with the events of that night. Thousands came to the funeral of Sarah Altezzo, mourning the loss of what they called a great woman. Thousands more protested her misdeeds and even blamed her for the outcome.

David Hawthorne is given a small grave in a public cemetery. His funeral was meant to be small, but was visited by thousands as well. His grave has become a frequent spot for people to visit, and he has become something of a martyr to a cause, many of which are violent, despite his wishes against such.

FEYEnder suffered major publicity scandals after the incident, and their stock dropped a staggering amount. It has yet to recover, but is at no risk of closing down. The new CEO, Hector Bates, has promised to look into the allegations of employee mistreatment and shady business practices, swearing to fix any injustices of the past for a brighter future. So far, little seems to have changed.

The explosion had killed an additional 23 people, 8 of which were guards of Altezzo that had somehow been unaware of what was happening on the floor above. The rest were residents or staff that couldn't be contacted for the evacuation. 48 people were injured due to the debris falling, but no major injuries were reported. The crew of the chopper were unharmed, but shaken. The chopper had to be replaced.

Detective Graham McMiller was given a reprimand for his orders to take the sniper shot. He debated turning in his badge, but was convinced not to by his partner, Detective Alexis Hopkins. The two started having an affair shortly there after.

* *End* *