Codename: Crucifix (part 4)


It was the tenth hour since a teen boy took the school hostage. Press and crowd of worried parents were almost simmering to the point of rushing into the object to save their children. Police officers were hailing in more support from the nearby districts, just to contain the crowd.

Using the parents to speak with an aggressor over the megaphone hasn’t made any progress and Special Agent Hail talked a few more times with the kid. He hasn’t released the hostages.

The Captain lost all of his spare nerves and he ordered Agent Hail to give this guy a final warning before the breach. She had to do it out of unexplainable compassion she developed for the poor guy. It seemed obvious that he was pushed over the edge and now everybody had to deal with this problem. At some level, she was there with him, fighting his cause.

She came to the door for the final time.

“I’m here!” She yelled when she was near the metal frame and the camera went on. “Hey. This really went too far! Come on! It is enough! Everybody is suffering already! We really don’t need more misery in the world! Think about that! Whatever the reason you have to do this, let it go! It’s beyond all of us! I’m sure you understand that! Come on, you are a smart guy!” She pleaded, but red lamp blinked and there was no reply rustling in the Bluetooth speaker.

Out of nowhere, she saw a glimpse of a jacket and then a mask came out the corner. It was him. A thin young man in a light sport’s jacket came to see her in person. He was tall, taller than her and the mask was faceless like he wanted to be anonymous, distanced from the act he committed.

“They will accuse me of manslaughter. I shot a security guard. I could’ve gotten out when you put my father on the microphone. I know I am not coming out of this alive. I made my decision. I will follow this through.” He said and this was the first time she heard his voice.

“I can help you.” She made a face, but he dared not to believe it.

“If I do live, this will be classified as a terrorist attack. They will write about me in the papers. People will speak about it on YouTube, some will defend my actions, call me a ‘guy with mental issues’, some will use me as a prime example to push some political narrative even if this has nothing to do with it. Other things inspired this! NOT THE FUCKING REGIME!” He growled and in a second she stepped aside bit came back, hiding she was afraid. “Society will crucify me. If my file leaks out and journalists find out my gamer codename, I’ll be marked as a religious fanatic. I know that. This is the point were even God can’t help me.”

“He is in the corridor. Relocate to the West Wing.” The Captain uttered in the radio and special unit advanced at the upper level, their guns pointed downward.

“Tell me! Tell me who did this!” She banged at the glass, using little time she heads before the team goes in and kills him.

“Ask the hostages!… If any of them survives.” The last one he said in a deep raspy whisper when the ceiling exploded and shock grenades flashed before gawking operators approached him, guns doing their job.

Scarlet Hail could only watch operators killing a young man she came to link within the past few hours. He laid on the floor, his weapon was empty and the bomb technician called in that the bombs were fake.

Fake bombs? His father mentioned that his son loved making replicas from the games as a school project. He loved games and art, poetry and movies. To make a replica of a bomb and fool much-experienced men, people who deal with the real war in Third Caliphate? The kid was out of his league. In a way, she admired his skill to make a wild goose chase last for hours.

She was crying and laughing while coming down the stairs, disoriented, confused.

“He is alive. The target wore a DIY bulletproof vest.” The sound of an operative rejoiced her in a weird way and she laughed like crazy, but stiffen up when she noticed that everybody was watching at her.

Their next conversation will be very exciting. She picked up the pace and everybody ran up to the school.

crucifix dronstad story

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