Together, hunched double atop their makeshift perches of buckets, crates and trolleys in a circle that surrounded itself with an air of hushed urgency and anxious secrecy, men spoke in low tones and listened by turns. Around them unfolded the uniform drudgery that always seems to accompany such clandestine meetings. An urban wasteland of refuse and forgotten souls, tucked away and swept into corners to be ignored by an otherwise reputable, respectable community. Each participant in tonight’s disgruntled discourse had dressed for the occasion. Overcoats swept the backs of their knees, and frayed cuffs rested upon clean and pale wrists. Boots tapped the ground in staccato thumps and manicured fingers with the cleanest of nails tangled in stained and unwashed shirts. Beneath the general air of poverty and stench of stale sweat was an aroma of pine fresh cleaning products and dust free homes.
The men of the revolution hidden in the guise of the homeless.

It was, Sy thought to himself, hardly surprising. He listened with half an ear, attempting to look interested and doubtful at the same time, to strained rhetoric and anecdotes. It was the standard accusatory speech renouncing the government that spilt from the lips of each man. Rumours of forced silences, disappearances and endorsed torture. Sy smiled. It’s funny how sometimes people simply guess the truth.
Men and women from the suburbs, meeting in the dark after finishing work, feeding the kids and washing the hover-car, spinning tales for one another, spurring each other to action. Action that very rarely, Sy understood, eventuated at all. All this group would need is one or two of the members suddenly disappearing. Not forever. Why push inactive complaints to outright rebellion with unneeded deaths? Just for long enough to make everyone uncomfortable. Long enough for each of them to start looking over their shoulders, sleeping with the light on and jumping at every unexpected touch on the shoulder as they sit…
And then the return. A subdued, re-educated former revolutionary. No more talk, no more speech of change. No martyrs, no causes. With the knowledge that it could happen to them, there’ll be no more foolish talk of rebellion and far less blood spilt all round.

The meeting came to a close when a bin at the entrance to the street they’d occupied tipped to the ground, prompting a feral cat to howl to the heavens. With nervous glances and sharp, awkward movements the company broke up and scurried away, mice in the face of that feline announcement.
As Sy made his own way back through the suburban labyrinth towards the City centre he entered the details of tonight’s meet in his ‘Port and sent them via a direct link to his office workspace. His secretary, Mike, would edit them in the morning as he always did, and organise them into something cohesive and likely in dot points. The man was in love with formatting.
It would be a matter of maybe one more appearance at a rebels meeting and perhaps a few evenings spent lurking and following businessmen home and then his report would be forwarded to the ED. Sy felt an involuntary shiver trace his spine from the neck down. He’d been lined up to work for the ED- the Educational Department. If it hadn’t been for seemingly innate ability to blend in with a crowd and appear trustworthy to almost anyone he met he’d likely be spending his days beneath the foundations of government buildings, convincing and torturing the people too stupid to revolt without being caught. It wasn’t an occupation that appealed to him. He preferred to maintain order by watching and reporting, rather than maiming and terrorising. Both methods achieved the same thing, in any case. People stopped talking.

He paused at an intersection before turning right, threading his way between holographic advertisements that sprung up as you approached certain stretches of the pavement, casting a pale glow around the footpath. A small apartment building rose out of the gloom ahead of him, it’s façade proudly claiming that it was a civil servants building sponsored by TROLL ™ a national conglomerate that monitored business environments and interaction between employees. Sy had been meaning to move from the building for about five years now, feeling that living in a sponsored government building for people like himself was advertising his career a little too much. Still, property prices were too high for someone on his salary too afford and the building was conveniently close to his office. He placed his palm against a screen by the door and watched as a pale blue light traced the outsides of his fingers. An almost silent beep and the door clicked open, prompting Sy to push against it with his shoulder. The ever present hum of the climate control system greeted him and the lift to his left was waiting, doors open. When it’s motion sensors detected his successful entrance, the doors whirred shut and the lift began to rise, slowing as it reached the tenth floor. One palm scan later and Sy was successfully ensconced in his own apartment, which was, unusually, already occupied. A silhouette stood opposite him, looking out the window. Sy paused, slightly startled. There was no use pretending he wasn’t there- the apartment had, sensing his entrance, altered its settings and changed the lighting and heating accordingly. He frowned. That, of course, begged the question:
“How did you get in, then?”
The figure remained motionless as it replied. “It wasn’t hard, Sy. I have access to almost everything the department knows about you. Which is quite a lot, I must say.”
Sy Frowned. “Mike? What are you doing here?” He felt himself relax slightly and ran a hand through his hair. “And what’s with the dramatics?”
Mike laughed softly and turned around. “Still so trusting, Sy? Do you know that they’ve been watching you? The government you serve so faithfully? They think your work has led you too close to those who’d see them fall.” He smiled. “The very people who form their foundation are threatening their stability. And stability is what matters, isn’t it, Sy?”
Sy’s mouth felt dry, his tongue heavy. This was strange, surreal. “I don’t understand, Mike. What do you mean?”
“Stabiltiy, Sy. That thing you protect at all costs. That’s what you do, isn’t it? You find people who are talking, you follow them, and then you make them stop.” He grinned. “You’re like a human information plug. You fix all the leaks around the government. You stop people from speaking, you take away their freedom. You ensure that stability, comfort and success aren’t impeded by the unhappy, disillusioned few.”
Sy shook his head. What Mike was saying- yes, that’s what he did. He protected people- protected them from the malcontents who sought to bring down the very institution that ensured their happiness. He said as much, and watched Mike grin.
“Of course. You restrict their freedoms to maximise their comfort.” He spread his hands and shook his head. “That’s not an argument, Sy. In fact, I’m not here to argue with you. I’m here to kill you. I just wanted you to know, before you died, why you were dying. I wanted you to know that you do what you do- silence people, and destroy their freedoms, because you think it’s noble. Your personal motivations are above reproach. But why do you think you are needed? Why do you think it’s necessary to stop people from thinking, Sy?” He paused, as if for effect. “Because, Sy, the government you protect is corrupt. It’s destroying itself with its secrets and its torturous methods of keeping everything in. It’s become obsessed with its own power, and now it’s getting paranoid. First it feared its people. Now, Sy. Now it fears itself. First it eliminated freedom of speech among society. Now it needs to eliminate it within itself. And that’s why you’re going to die, Sy. Because they are afraid of you, and they silence what they’re afraid of.”
Sy backed away. “You- you’re my secretary, Mike. What are you-”
Mike laughed. “I told you, Sy. They were watching you.” He grinned. “Watching you from behind a screen of bullet points and indentations. You were only ever a tool, Sy.”
Sy shook his head. “And what does that make you, if not a tool?”
Mike sighed. “I, Sy, am aware of my own usefulness, and that means I can exploit the fears of those who use me. You took away freedom of speech. I take away freedom of life. We both of us do our jobs, and so long as people search for power, there will be people who fear to lose it, and there will be tools to eliminate…. Freedoms.”

With a word, Mike activated the serum that had been lying dormant in Sy’s bloodstream since he’d scanned his palm on his apartment door, and watched the man die on the carpet.

AN:

So, originally i posted this on mya ccount over on DA... it was written for a competition (FPS) I won the Aussie comp and was nominated to go over to the USA for the internationals... but i didn't. headdesks

Anyways. Hope you like