Like wildfire it spread, chaining through every section as each of them looked up at what the source of the commotion was. For one brief, yet seemingly long, second they all went quiet. Then noise like Aliyah had never heard boomed from them, threatening to burst her eardrums.
When she focused on individuals, she saw men and women and children cheering madly. Their arms throwing in the air and their faces lit up with unrestrained excitement.
Their sugar was here, and they would feast.
The noise made the inside of Aliyah's mouth go dry. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her knees went weak. If not for Haylen holding her up as she sagged, she would have crumbled to the ground.
She felt hot breaths against her left ear. Wilda screamed into it, "Who's awfully silent now, you cocky bitch!"
The platform was about twenty-five feet long. The newly constructed guillotine sat just before them, gleaming in the sunlight. Soon the cheers morphed into a steady chant of one name, "WILDA! WILDA! WILDA!"
***
"WILDA! WILDA! WILDA!" Gringe felt his bones echo due to the loud cheers emanating from the headquarters. He and Germaine stood in the cover of a small, empty clothing kiosk whose owner they had paid off to vacate. Now they waited, the western wall of the headquarters looming some two hundred meters before them.
With every passing second, at every resounding cheer of the name 'Wilda', his patience slipped just that little bit more. He looked at his wrist. The clock on his MiraLink read 11:58.
Germaine shifted on his feet by his side. He was quiet as usual but with an unnerved quality to his silence.
Two minutes. Two goddamn minutes.
***
Six holo screens floated in a grid above the desk, displaying camera feeds of the borders of Wilda Sector. To the right lay a physical monitor screen, which relayed radars of all sorts covering the borders as well. Jin was disappointed he was not able to witness the execution of the District Head's aide. Well…he was able to, he just was not supposed to. He flicked his eyes over to the time at the corner of one of the screens: 12:01:21.
Noon. Any time now, it was bound to happen. The drop of the guillotine. The slicing of meat and bone. The spurt of blood. The cheer of the crowd. Blood…
What harm could it do if he tuned in for a minute or two?
"Dammit," he cursed as he switched the monitor's screen to the live feed of the execution, missing as hundreds of dots appeared on the radars he had just switched from.
#
Praet slinked through the crowd, her view partially limited by the hood of the oversized jacket she wore. She could not see them—as they were spaced apart—but she was certain Whylan and Scott were in line with her. The sun shone directly overhead, its searing heat imprinting prickles on her skin that meant only one thing: it was time.
If there was any doubt, then came the roars of one name from within the headquarters' compound, "WILDA! WILDA! WILDA!"
"Ahh, fuck it!" She glanced at her MiraLink, noting the time, and decided to do away with all caution. Instantly, she ripped the jacket off herself, revealing an upper body covered with the sleek fibre of an ExoSuit. Then she ran, unmindful of the people she shoved and powered through in her bid to breeze past the crowd. Cries of alarm rose from either side of her, just as they did from the people she jostled.
"Intruders!" Alarms blared all around. The crowd burst into panic, people scrambling for an exit. The ruse was up. They had been discovered. But it did not matter. All was going according to plan.
***
Wilda Damij stepped out past Aliyah to the edge of the glass platform. She looked upon the multitude gathered below and raised a hand. Their glorious cheering of her name turned to jarring silence. The corner of her lip quirked up at the control she wielded. "People of Doranne," she spoke, her voice carrying to them through speakers installed into the walls of the compound. "For decades we have been neglected, forced to fend for ourselves in these desolate lands. And against all odds, upon achieving said self-sustenance—with great effort, and at great cost—those who neglected us, who deemed us unworthy of the riches they amass and enjoy, have now come, claiming themselves as heroes who wish to clean our Doranne.
"To them, we are still filth." Wilda turned, facing Aliyah. "To her and her masters, we are filth."
Boos filled the air. The crowd launched objects that did not sail far enough to reach the platform but were enough to make the displeasure of the crowd clear. Wilda waited, choosing to let them settle on their own this time.
After two minutes of boos and hoots, after the headquarters was once more silent, she continued. "Control is all they seek. They despise what we have made of ourselves and seek to rule over us. And I, Wilda Damij, Leader of the Seven,"—a title she had not proclaimed publicly till this moment—"will never stand for that. It is my duty to protect my people! Today's exhibition is a warning, a deterrent to anyone who thinks they can come and trod all over us!"
Raucous, hungry cheer boomed once more from below. Wilda looked at the executioner, a reedy old man with sunken large eyes, about to give him the go-ahead, when her MiraLink chirped with an incoming call. She cursed, ending the call before it rang any further into the microphone she wore. Whoever was trying to reach her would have to wai—
Her MiraLink lit up with another call immediately. This time along with Haylen's. They shared a knowing look. It could only be an emergen—
The doors to the platform burst open, a ragged panting guard appearing through them. She bent to her knee to catch her breath for a moment, then stood, alarm dominating her expression. "We're under attack, ma'am! By the gates! Three Suited people."