Ron walked out of the skyscraper, still fuming, the anger hadn’t left. The fresh air was doing him little good. True, it had stopped raining, but it was starting to feel humid and sticky.

His hands still trembled over the insane morning he had. He kept walking through streets and alleyways, trying to somehow walk his anger out as he headed for the start of Tap Street. It wasn’t working. His mind kept traveling back through all the horrible things he learned. Torture, secrets, hobos, basements. At the root of it all was hate, pure and simple. President Arnold hated the sciences, and with him being the leader, it bled into the people’s minds too. This couldn’t continue.

He remembered the two teenage girls who came into his office yesterday. His heart sank at their memory. John was looking for them, but they were probably hobos now. If he found the two girls, it would be more than enough proof to start building a solid case against President Arnold.

He waited at the beginning of Tap Street, trying to remember where the hobos lived, when he heard a sound bouncing off the alley wall behind him. That alley was mostly deserted at this time. Was someone following him?

The anger immediately changed to fear. It seemed like such an irrational fear. President Arnold seemed like the kind of person who would send someone to follow him. He would meet up with John, then they would go somewhere more private to have the conversation.

The shadow of a man was cast on the wall. He saw the man pausing at the corner to keep himself hidden, then Ron watched as the shadow silently pulled out something, and the nearly quiet sound of a magazine sliding into a gun.

Ron realized how much he was a stupid, naive Junior Official. Albert’s warning that he completely ignored came back to him in full force. President Arnold never intended to fire him. He intended to kill him.

Ron picked up the pace, knowing the street through the alley led to a busier street. The lunch crowd was starting to come, and he could lose whoever was following him. Maybe.

There was a thought that maybe it was John, but he doubted it. He had gone with John almost every weekend to the shooting range. John wasn’t the kind of person who quietly loaded his gun.

Ron’s heart pounded in his chest as someone walked out of the alleyway and started following Ron, picking up the pace along with him. He was struggling with the desire to sprint. There was a man behind him with a loaded gun, who was starting to catch up with him. Ron hadn’t been thinking. Of course not. He was too angry to be thinking straight. But now the reality of the situation hit him. The government he was working for had been lying for decades, hiding all sorts of things. Of course they would hide whether or not they killed people.

Ron gave into the instinct and sprinted out of the alleyway, caring for nothing except to get away from whoever was following him. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, dialing John’s number as he sprinted, putting his phone to his ear. It rang a few times. Ron was dodging some people, glancing behind him. Someone was running behind him. It confirmed his fears. President Arnold sent someone to kill him.

“Ron? I got your text. I’m on my way. The neighbors said S.E.A. agents came and-”

“John!” Ron said as sweat began to form on his forehead. He didn’t care if President Arnold could listen in on phone conversations now. He was in desperate trouble and needed help. “Get back to the skyscraper! Find Fred! Tell him he’s right about everything. And protect him with your life! Do you understand? Protect Fred. President Arnold’s coming after me, and if he’s coming after me, he’ll come after Fred.”

“Whoa, whoa,” John said, the alarm coming to his voice. “Ron, what is going on?”

“Ask Fred!” Ron said right as a gunshot burst through the street. People began to scream and duck. Ron didn’t blame them. He’d never heard a gunshot in real life. They sounded like loud firecrackers that went off way too close for comfort.

Ron ducked and kept running until he felt a searing pain in his side. He gasped as he dropped his cell phone. He didn’t have time to pick it up. He grabbed his side, blood spilling out of his fingers at an alarming rate. He was swiftly losing energy as the people around him began screaming and singing. Ron tried to run, but the pain was too much.

“Sir! Are you okay!” someone next to him sang in a desperate way.

“I’ve been shot. Please, I need to get to a hospital.” Ron’s fingers were wet and sticky.

“Hey, that’s a Junior Official! I’ve seen him in the news!”

“Someone’s trying to kill a Junior Official!”

“This cannot happen! This cannot be!

“Protect him at all costs! Let’s help him flee!”

Ron was losing energy fast, but a huge group of citizens gathered around him. He wanted to tell them to run, that President Arnold would get him either way no matter how many casualties he’d make, but the pain was too much and he put all his efforts into not screaming.

A car pulled over right next to him and a woman jumped out of the driver’s side.

“I heard the song, I heard the cry,

“Put him in my car. Hurry, fast,

“Let’s get him away from the bad guy.”

Arms grabbed him and guided him to the car, and Ron could do nothing but let them. He had to admit that sitting in a car was a better option, but he still was afraid for the lives of everyone who helped him, especially as three followed him into the car. The car leapt forward and some hands steadied him in his seat.

“Thank you,” Ron said to the driver.

“Thank me after we get you to the hospital,” she said.

“What’s your name?” Ron asked, trying to distract himself from the pain in his side.

“Nancy. Yours?”

“Ron.” Ron gave another gasp as they bumped on the road. Blood was getting everywhere, and he began coughing. Red foam spilled from his mouth.

“Hold on, Ron,” someone next to him said.

“We’re almost there,” Nancy said, urgency in her voice.

In minutes Nancy pulled over to the nearest hospital, but it was minutes Ron spent in agony. The few people there helped him out of the car, and Ron tried to gather his strength. He gritted his teeth as he straightened his tie with his blood covered hands and limped into the hospital with his saviors standing next to him, ready to catch him if needed.

The medical professionals were quietly chatting in the reception area when Nancy ran ahead and threw open the doors. “We need your help!”

Ron, still grasping his side, tried to give them a smile. “Hello. I believe I’ve been shot.”

Darkness began to cover his vision, and his legs trembled. The last thing he remembered was feeling the hands of the medical professionals grab him to guide his fall, and he couldn’t help but hope they didn’t hate him because he worked for a government that didn’t treat them fairly.