Vending Machine Lunch Read Online Free PDF Page A

chase, his head spinning. The
suspect had now reappeared, a little further ahead than before,
making his way nimbly through the rapidly degrading crowds. Another
gunshot was heard, and a few people screamed. Jonathan didn't care,
he simply had to get the suspect.
    Cursing under
his breath, Jonathan forced his legs into faster motion. His lungs
were screaming.
    Breaking out of
the crowd, Jonathan saw the suspect head towards Crescent Hill. He
cursed again. Another bleeding hill. Sucking in air, he continued
the torture. He wasn't as fit as he used to be.
    Crescent Hill
was as steep as ever, named, after it's moon-like shape with a
curled top and a sudden drop to the bottom at the top. As they
chased, the setting sun reflected off the orange stone path which
lead up to the top, the rioting crowd clearly visible on the
streets below. Crescent Hill was the crown of the local land, you
could see the entire city from the top. This night, the streets
were filled with orange sunlight and angry people.
    Still chasing,
slowly griping up the hill, Jonathan was mentally wishing he hadn't
smoked as much when he was young. He was wishing that maybe he
ought to have gone on weekly runs to keep up his fitness. He was
getting too old for this job, and he knew it.
    The suspect
reached the top of the hill. Clearly he had no idea where to run
now. It was either the hill or battle through the edgy crowd and he
obviously preferred the idea of the dead end hill.
    Jonathan
reached the curled top of the hill, and pulled out his weapon, the
orange sun shining off the chrome digits on the side of the
weapon.
    The suspect,
A's shooter, span around. “Do you know why all guns have the exact
same numbers on the side?” he said, close to tears, the sun
reflecting off his pupils.
    Jonathan shook
his head, catching his breath, still pointing the gun at the
suspect.
    “It's because
of him,” he said, walking closer to Jonathan's face, “It's because
of that loon! He's insane. You have heard the rumours have you not?
Do you really want to stick up for a mentalist who insists that the
press are exaggerating things? Do you really want to put all your
faiths in a man who is so drunk on power, he refuses to let even
death take it from him? Do you really want to live in this world?”
his face was now pretty much touching Jonathan's. Jonathan didn't
move, staring cold into his orange mad eyes.
    “I live here
because I have no choice,” said Jonathan, “I'm here because I'm
just doing my job. Call me ignorant, but I don't care. Do you
really think if you had killed him that would have done any good?
He has no heir, there would be no leader again. It would be Mahusay
Na Mundo all over again.”
    “That happened
years ago. Things would be different.”
    “How? What was
so different back then? The world didn't have places such as
Deimos?”
    The suspect
grabbed Jonathan's face, breathing his awful breath on his face.
“Look at your weapon,” he hissed, showing yellowing teeth, “What
are the numbers?”
    Jonathan pushed
the suspect off of him, causing him to fall to the ground. He
wailed.
    “I already
know,” said Jonathan calmly, “Zero, one, one, zero. So what? All
guns have it. It's a category number or something.”
    The suspected
laughed in his pain, “Can't you see? Are you blind? It's
everywhere. It makes him in charge. Subliminally, his word is law,
no matter what we think. How many times has the public lost faith
in him, and yet a rebellion, an overthrow has yet to occur? How
many generations have been waiting for his weak promises to become
a reality? How long have we been on edge, waiting for the public to
kick off?”
    “It doesn't
matter-” began Jonathan.
    “FOREVER!”
screamed the suspect, “We are meant to be in this situation. We all
think he has lost control. He so hasn't. He really really hasn't.
It's everywhere. And no-one can see it.”
    “You can come
with me alive, or I can shoot you,” said Jonathan calmly, “Your
choice.