Rooting For the Ones Who Want To Get Away
The young man glanced around the room. His mother saw this, and assumed that he was anxious about his father’s arrival. Gerard Livingston IV had hinted at something big going on at Livingston Industries, the largest corporation in the world, and now his wife and their son, Gerard Livingston V, awaited the news. Gerard was the heir to his father’s company, and Mrs. Livingston was glad that the seventeen year old boy was finally taking an interest in his domain. After all, whoever controlled Livingston Industries controlled the world.
Gerard stood up. He took one last glance around the room, then walked to the door. Just as his hand was upon the doorknob, however, a voice stopped him.
“Gerard, where are you going? Aren’t you going to wait for your father?”
“Yes, Mother, of course, I was just going to wait outside so I could get a bit of fresh air. That way I can also see him coming faster,” he lied smoothly. “I’ll know the big news before you do,” he added with a grin.
“Oh, all right, then. Go off and have some fun as well. But be back in time for supper. The cook will have something wonderful prepared, I’m sure.”
“Of course, Mother,” he said dutifully.
“And don’t do anything scandalous with a city girl that might jeopardize the deal your father is making. He’s worked very hard for this, and one day it will all be yours.”
This time Gerard couldn’t bring himself to answer her. Instead, he walked out the door in silence. It was a relief to be free of the small study. His mother enjoyed cigarettes, and the room was filled with smoke. Not only that, but it was a relief to be able to remove his grey suit jacket and tie that his parents insisted on. He tossed the clothing in one of the house’s many spare rooms as he passed and unbuttoned a few of the buttons on his white shirt.
These may have been small changes, he reflected as he exited the house and entered the garage, but they symbolized much more. He chose one of the family’s less conspicuous cars and started off towards the inner city. The Livingstons lived in the outer area, which was where all of the nicer homes and estates were. The inner city was packed with the lower class, and was inhabited by no less than fourteen separate gangs.
Or, it had been. The gangs had recently been driven out by a new group, known as the Planetary Freedom Army. They weren’t a gang as you would think of gangs normally. While nearly every member had killed someone, they didn’t murder. The PFA were instruments of change. Livingston Industries controlled the world. Upper class mattered to them. Everyone else was just garbage. The PFA wanted to tear Livingston Industries down, brick by brick. They could strike quickly, with no warning, but preferred to stand up and show people that they were dangerous before they had to strike, in order to deter all but the most determined or foolhardy.
Livingston Industries, on the other hand, had no need to strike silently when they could easily crush almost everything in their way.
This is what Mr. Livingston was thinking about as he drove home that evening. He passed his son, glad that he would not be home to hear the bad news about the company that would one day belong to him. This news was that the new deal had been disrupted. Somehow the PFA had known the meeting place for Livingston Industries and the Emerson Corporation.
Livingston Industries had been planning for months now to buy out their only remaining competition. The meeting place was kept secret in order to keep exactly what had happened from happening. The PFA had shown as soon as the meeting started, carrying guns. No shots might have been fired, but Mr. Livingston had decided to be brave. He had tackled a gunman. This prompted everyone else to attack the rebels, and there had been a firefight between Livingston Security and the PFA.
Luckily, none of the high-ranking members of either company were hurt. But three of the rebels were hurt, and one was killed. Before security could see the body and identify it, however, it had been dragged off by the remaining members of the rebel group. One member of Livingston Security had also died, and five were injured.
None of those people mattered to Mr. Livingston, however. They were degenerates and lowly security guards. In fact, he was planning to send Livingston Security, who policed the world, to kill all of the rebels anyway. No, what really bothered him was how much the attack had scared Emerson. Which, of course, was why the rebels had attacked. Emerson was now too afraid to go through with the deal, and they broke off all negotiations.
All in all, it had been a very bad day for Gerard Livingston IV.
His son’s mood, however, was much improved when he was told of the day’s events by the group of people in the abandoned warehouse far into the inner city. The only thing to darken his mood lay on a table in the center of the warehouse, dressed all in black and ready for burial. Ricky had been a close friend, and it upset him that it had ended like this, though it didn’t come as much surprise.
Ricky was known for taking chances. He would rush into a building full of security without hesitation. Every time he was outnumbered and outgunned, but he always made it out alive. Until now. As soon as it was fully dark outside, Gerard and the others picked up the body and carried it out into the street. They loaded it into a van and drove out of the city, to a small area where the bodies of all of their dead comrades were buried.
Once the body was buried, the group headed back to the warehouse. Gerard knew his mother would be worried, but tonight’s planning was too important for him to leave, even if it meant blowing his cover. He wouldn’t need it much longer, anyway. The Planetary Freedom Army was planning something big, and Gerard was at the center of it.
“So, is the plan clear to everyone? We ready to send them straight to hell?”
They all nodded. Everyone understood their respective parts, and the even bigger part their leader had. Gerard had known about the plan for awhile, and while nervous, knew that it was something that had to be done.
Gerard headed home once adjustments had been made to the plan. Ricky’s death had changed things, but they could go through with it on schedule. The plan was set to go into motion in three weeks. The PFA should have recovered from their loss by then, and security wouldn’t be quite as tight.
His parents seemed to have given up on waiting for him to get home, and had already gone to bed. No doubt his father was still awake worrying about the deal with Emerson. His mother probably slept a little more soundly. Gerard himself lay awake for hours, wondering why he did what he did.
He had it all: looks, money. He was practically the heir to the world, and yet he had chosen to fight against the world he was born into, chosen to try to take down his own parents. Most people would give anything for what he had, but he was throwing it away. Still, he was happy with his decisions, and that got him to sleep that night.
Three weeks passed. Gerard lived the life of rich boy by day, soldier of a rebel army by night. The PFA was careful not to attack Livingston Industries for this period of time, pretending that the death of one of their own had scared them into hiding.
Then came the eve of the big mission. That night, the entire gang met at the headquarters for Livingston Industries. The next day a meeting was scheduled between the heads of all of the branches of the company. They had flown in today, and the meeting began at ten-thirty the next morning. The PFA had a lot of preparation to do before then.
Gerard got them into the building with the security codes had already given them blueprints, with security guard routes marked. They spread silently throughout the building, laying explosives in every storage room and janitor’s closet. When it was done, they all grouped some ways away from the building.
“Now remember,” Eddie, the explosives expert, told the leader of the PFA, “they can only be detonated from inside the building.”
“It’s all right. I’m on it,” he told him.
Gerard looked around and said, “My father will get there much earlier than the others. He will tighten security, make sure nothing can happen. It will be hard to get in. The guards wouldn’t even let me in.”
“All right, we got it. You think a few fucking guards will stop us?” one of the guys said.
“No, I think a bullet to the head will. Be careful, goddamnit. My father doesn’t play around.” Gerard was tired of them assuming they could take care of anything that came their way. They had already lost Ricky, and while that was how he would have wanted to go, and it was how everyone else present would prefer to go, it was better that none of the good guys have to go at all.
Gerard caught a ride back to the warehouse. He wanted to go over the plan one last time, make sure he knew exactly what he had to do. It was too late for mistakes. They all had to get it right, or they all had to die.
He stumbled through the front door at three in the morning, careful not to be so loud as to wake his sleeping parents. They had never suspected a thing about their son, always believing that he had wholly supported Livingston Industries. As soon as Gerard reached his bed, he fell asleep, fully clothed, without having removed even his shoes.
At ten forty-five the next morning, he arrived outside of the headquarters. Staying hidden, he and a few others started to taking care of the guards outside the building. By eleven fifteen, all of the outside guards were dead or unconscious.
“Okay, it’s time. Go for it. Blow their asses to hell,” the men said.
Gerard walked through the front door with the detonator in his hand. The leader of the PFA reached the lobby, turned, and pressed the button that turned the building and everyone in it to ash and rubble.
