“Even as the fingers of the two hands are equal, so are human beings equal to one another. No one has any right, any claim to superiority over one another. You are as brothers.”

Muhammad

Paul had had a difficult day. He’d returned to his narrow apartment after leaving the Ministry and hadn’t left again except to buy some essentials from the small Tesco’s down the road. In the time since, he’d tried out various methods of stopping the rising damp in his room to no avail, and attempted to work on his art, the canvases of discarded works strewn around the floor testament to his failure.

Try as he might, he couldn’t find his muse. He struggled to find creativity at the best of times, when he was clear-headed and free of distractions, and right now he was anything but. Throwing his brush to the floor in disgust and nodding to himself in sudden decision, he dumped his smock on the floor, grabbed his keys, and headed outside.

The day was easing into the afternoon, a watery sun shining on the damp tarmac outside, and he walked hurriedly along the street to where the tube station entrance descended into the ground. He hurried down the steps and tapped his travel card to the ticket gates, jumping onto the train as the doors were closing.

It wasn’t much later that Paul was walking across the tiled pavement that led the way to Alderson Paper & Trade Co. Paul caught himself whistling as he walked, and asked himself whether he was really enjoying this.

But he had to admit – mysterious assailants, secret bases, spy games; it was all very stimulating. He hadn’t experienced a situation even close to this in his humdrum, everyday life. It was… refreshing.

A memory of Josh drifted across his mind, and his whistling stopped.

He walked absentmindedly, deep in thought as he closed the distance to the Ministry building, until glancing up he spotted Mike just entering the door, followed by a large group. He called out Mike’s name, but was too late to attract his attention, and Paul watched him disappear through the door into the little office beyond.

Paul stepped up his pace, swiftly covering the remaining pavement and jogging up the stairs, hoping to catch up to Mike before he descended the elevator. This was assuming, of course, that they were truly going to be let in and the promise of access hadn’t been merely a lie to get them out of there.

Unusually, the main entrance door hung open, swinging slightly in the breeze. Paul pushed the intercom button anyway, on the assumption that an open door didn’t mean he could enter unannounced. He shuffled his feet and looked around the street while he waited.

The street was quiet as always, a few smartly-dressed figures making their various ways down the thoroughfare, focused on their own thoughts. Paul’s gaze lingered on a cluster of large black 4x4s parked a few buildings up. Odd, the whole road was covered in the usual double-red lines that prohibited all stopping, and a traffic warden would inevitably be along soon. He knew – he’d eventually had to sell on his old banger of a vehicle because the city parking was amounting to almost as much as his rent.

Still no answer…

Telling himself that no-one would be put out if he simply took a quick look inside, see if anyone was around, he pushed the door wide. He stepped inside, and at first saw nobody. Nothing moved, though a warm drink on the receptionist’s table still steamed and spoke of recent occupation. It took him several seconds to notice the long black hair strewn on the floor, disappearing behind the desk. He stepped around and looked down.

The receptionist lay there face up, eyes staring blankly into the next world. A small red circle punctured the centre of her temple, and a slowly growing pool of blood spread out around her like a halo.

Paul felt his pulse skyrocket, and he jumped at a loud drumming sound. It took him a few breaths to realise it was his own heart, beating wildly. He backed up without looking and cracked his head on a light fitting jutting out of the wall behind, releasing an involuntary cry of pain.

The rustle of paper underfoot and a hissed “I told you to shut the fucking door...” was all the warning he got. A darkly-clad figure darted out of the back room with pistol extended, aiming it square at Paul’s head.

“Who the fuck are you?” the figure growled.

The man was stocky, shorter than Paul, craggy features almost but not quite hiding numerous scars and the remnants of broken bones. He had extremely close-cut hair, a square buzz-cut that made his stern gaze even sterner, and he stared over the barrel of the pistol in a way that said he would find it easier to use than to put it down.

Paul felt himself begin to babble, a stream of words fighting to get themselves out so fast that they stumbled over each other and lost order and meaning. He held his hands up in front of his face reflexively, turning his eyes away in terror.

“Ha, he looks like he’s gonna piss himself…” said the man loudly, addressing an unseen companion.

“Goddammit...” came a second voice from the back room. “Knock him out and close the damn door.”

Those were the last words Paul heard for a while, as the scarred man cold-clocked him with the barrel of his gun and sent him spiraling into darkness.

Paul regained consciousness to find himself bound to one of the very chairs he had sat in during his stay at the Ministry barely a couple of days ago. Cord cut tightly into his wrists and shins, pulled tight enough to cut off the blood flow to his extremities. Already his hands and feet throbbed with pain.

He was in the same lounge area where he and his friends had stayed their first time here. Opposite him sat Mike, equally bound at the wrists and legs. His eyes showed relief at Paul’s recovery, but this quickly gave way to worry.

“What the hell are you doing here?” hissed Mike. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

“I came to see how the investigation was going. What are you doing here?” demanded Paul, bindings briefly forgotten in anger at the sudden accusatory tone.

“I’ve got us mixed up with some… terrible people,” replied Mike, shaking his head in contrition. He coughed as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Paul, this wasn’t what was meant to happen.”

Mike fixed his eyes on Paul as he continued.

“You weren’t meant to get involved. You, Max, Josh…”

Paul didn’t understand what he was talking about. None of this was Mike’s fault… he assumed. Something in the set of Mike’s shoulders, however, told him otherwise.

“What are you talking about, Mike?” said Paul, slowly. “What happened? What did you do?”

Mike drew a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes as he searched inwardly for some kind of guidance. Eventually, he released his breath and looked up, reaching a decision. He began to speak, slowly.

“I was just so angry at him, you know? Goddam Trials, stomping all over the globe without thinking, hurting people, stealing from them. When they approached me I… didn’t believe them. But it was true. He… The damn Ministry… it all needs to be stopped.”

Paul just stared as Mike continued his monologue.

“They appoint themselves moral protectors, but who protects us from them? No-one! But I promise you, I promise, it was never meant to be like this. They told me they were non-violent. We were just gathering data. Like them, see? We were going to beat them at their own game…”

“Mike…” interrupted Paul, “What the fuck are you talking about?” He pulled at his bindings as he spoke, but found no give whatsoever.

“I’m the one who let them know Trials was coming to the reunion, ok? I told them where we’d be, where we were. I knew who he had become, what he had become. They were meant to talk to him, that’s all. And suddenly they’re trying to kill him? It doesn’t make sense! That’s not who they… we… are.”

“We...? Fucking we!?” The normally well-spoken Paul swore in an uncustomary rage. “This was you all along?”

Mike looked up with pleading eyes.

“You’ve got to understand Paul, these people… they aren’t part of my group. We were concerned citizens, looking to expose the Ministry for what it is. We just needed some evidence. These people… I have no idea who they are, but they must have been hiding amongst us, waiting until we gathered any information they could use. At least, some of them.”

“And who exactly is your group?” Paul demanded.

“It’s difficult to explain. Nobody knows all the members…”

“And that’s enough small-talk for now,” came a voice from somewhere behind Paul’s head.

The voice was accented, gruff tones nearly succeeding in concealing a sinister undercurrent, a calculated malice that was apparent even from so short a sentence.

Paul saw Mike’s eyes widen as he looked at someone behind and beyond him.

“You? But why..?”

Paul could hear movement behind him, and he strained to turn his head.

“I fucking knew you couldn’t be trusted…”

Mike’s words ended with a gasp as Paul heard a metallic click close behind him, and a cold metal barrel poked against the back of his head. He tensed involuntarily, and forced his muscles to strain with all their strength against the bindings that held him to the chair. He felt the cords cutting into his flesh, his hands becoming slick with blood.

The voice came again from behind him.

“Maybe you did, but it made no difference. I just needed to wait, and you brought all the information to us. You are all so naïve, so trusting. Well, this is what that trust gets you. Say goodbye to your friend.”

Paul saw Mike futilely fling himself forward, thrusting up with his feet to propel his chair in desperation towards whoever stood behind him. He closed his eyes in terror, as the world ceased to exist.

Mike lay collapsed on the floor, sobbing and coughing, as the man who had just murdered his friend strode away.