Elevator music isn't soothing, I never liked it, I don't know anyone who does. I have always found it grating, caustic even - it's an assault on the ears and an affront to real music. I'm not sure what the point of elevator music is, but I think if they did a study they would find that most psychotic episodes were precipitated by a ride in an elevator. The United Credit Corp elevator music is as awful as any, some over-synthesized, vomitous Kenny G cover that never seems to end. I bet Van Gogh was in an elevator like this when he cut his ear off. And despite all that, presently, I'm humming along and tapping my toes.

I'm already riding down, escorted by two blue-shirted security guards. They are a bit worse for wear, thanks to me, although I do need to give some credit to Ari and Jake. The guards are trying to keep a safe distance - but there is no safe distance in an elevator. I've only been in the building twenty-five minutes. I made it as far as the thirtieth floor, to a nice corner office that contained the very metropolitan Manager of Accounts, Southwest Region. I had to ruffle quite a few feathers just to get that far. And then I ruffled a few more. There was an exchange of raised voices, some swearing, some veiled threats, some unveiled threats and also something akin to fisticuffs.

I made it clear I would not be putting up twenty-five thousand dollars and he made it clear he did not give a good goddamn if my family ended up starving on the streets. He felt it would teach me an important lesson, he was glib, self-important and too well-manicured for my tastes. He lectured me at length and my patience wore thin at his condescension.

"I thought I would be able to come here and reach a reasonable agreement with United Credit." I said, interrupting him.

"United Credit is not in the business of compromise, Mr. Killoren. We are in the business of making money."

"That's fucking harsh." I replied, quickly departing from the high road, in a Dead Man's Curve sort of way. "We are talking about my family here asshole. Where the hell are we suppose to go? We'll be out on the streets without food or shelter."

"I think I speak for all of us here at United Credit, when I say, we don't care where you go. That is not our problem. You stopped paying on your mortgage, you defaulted and this entire situation is your responsibilty. And quite frankly I do not like your tone or your foul language. This conversation is over." At which point he motioned to the two security guards just outside the door.

Things are a little blurry after that. I was a bit stunned by his dismissal, my entire plan had fallen apart in under two minutes and I was suddenly farther from a solution than I had been before I entered the building. My head was buzzing, thoughts raced back and forth smashing into each other like exotic particles at CERN. Colliding and exploding and recombining into new fleeting thoughts. But intangible, meaningless and utterly non sequitar ideas. Nothing useful came to mind, no words, no apologies, no inspiring soliloquies - just that incessant buzzing. Acid splashed up in my throat. I felt like puking on the guy's desk.

"Maybe a little hunger will do your family some good - put things in perspective for you." He added reaching for the phone on his desk. Maybe he thought he was being funny. I found it less than humourous.

A vivid image flashed in my mind, Heath - cold and hungry, on the streets - suffering. The stream of consciousness, that rushing torrent of nonsense, ceased to exist. In place of the stream, a frozen pond, a glassy surface atop a dark pool in which hid the unknown workings of my innermost self. The brackish depths which, until now, kept concealed my worries, my anxieties and my rage. The buzzing was replaced with a ghostly silence. The difference engine in my head made calculations as the fight or flight response went through the motions. Lightning dumped into my veins as the inevitable result was reached.

Our eyes met and he paused, frozen there with his hand on the receiver. I'll never know what he saw in my eyes, all I know is what I saw in his. Fear.

Thomas Ramsay Carlton III, Manager of Accounts, Southwest Region should have kept his mouth shut. His left hand lingered too long on the receiver of the phone, a split second later I had his three largest fingers in my right hand, I turned his palm up and dislocated all of them. His mouth opened wide as he sucked in a gasp, but before it came back out as a scream I snatched the Redline stapler off his desk and smashed it into the right side of his head with such force he went ass-over-applecart into the Ficus tree in the corner of his office.

Two security guards burst into the room. The first was too old, too slow and too frail for this kind of thing. I pivoted into the wide stance Jake drilled into me. The old guy had his chin up and hands down, he took a straight right to the face and a left to the ribs and crumpled right there in the doorway. This created an obstacle for the second man and gave me a moment to retreat further into the office where I had more room to move.

The next guard was more of a threat - young, angry and armed with a baton. He lashed out with it aimed squarely at my head, but my hands were already up and I managed to block it and took the hit just below the wrist. The pain was sharp, and I ignored it as I had been taught. Ari had hit me that hard more than once in training, I am familiar with that pain. I trapped the guard's hand and disarmed him in a single fluid motion, then spun away to create a bit of distance.

He came forward instantly and took me by the jacket lapels and swung me into the wall. He was brutishly strong. Instinctively I grabbed a wrist with one hand and his Adam's Apple with the other. I gave it a good squeeze and his grip released immediately. I bent the wrist and the arm followed, as did the rest of his body. Ari taught that once I was engaged in a fight, I was not to let up until I was certain my opponent was incapicated, I needed to take the fight out of them completely. At the same time, I did not want to further damage my hand, so I smashed his nose with a hammerfist and gave him another shot to the groin. It appeared to be sufficient medicine.

I went over and grabbed Thomas by the neck, blood flowed from a gash on the side of his head.

"I'm going to leave now. If you call the cops on me, I will come back here and kill you with that Redline stapler on your desk. I suggest you call whoever you need to call, get my mortgage paperwork in order and get us back on track. I have no problem paying what we owe, but not a penny more. You people just have to let me know where to send the money. Don't give me a reason to come back here."

He mumbled something that seemed to be in the affirmative and I left his office. A crowd of gawkers eyed me with mouths agape as I made my way to the elevator. A minute or two later, the two security guards caught up to me as I waited for the lift. They approached cautiously.

"We are to escort you out of the building." The older one said as he dabbed his split lip with a hankerchief. The other had his bleeding nostrils stuffed with kleenex.

"Fine by me." I replied.

And now here I am, slowly descending floor by floor, serenaded by the sweet dulcet tones of Kenny G. Things did not go exactly as planned, but I did get to speak my mind. No way for me to know if anything good will come of it, but I feel better for doing something rather than nothing. Plus, I did get to hit three people in the face before 9AM, now I can cross that off my bucket list.

The doors slide open and the foyer does not contain the police I was expecting to see. Guess I won't be going to jail just yet. It's a pleasant surprise and I exit the elevator and bid my new friends a fond farewell. I move to the street through the large revolving door and for a brief moment I am overcome with the desire to skip down the sidewalk.

I suppress the urge.

I have quite a few hours to kill before I head back to meet Kate. I decide to head down to the river front, it's turning out to be a decent day and the walk will do me good.

I stroll aimlessly along, checking out the occasional sculpture or war memorial. I gaze across the steel blue water at the smouldering city scape on the far shore. Despite the smoke, it doesn't look that bad from here, but once in a while a sound carries across the water that might have been a gun shot. Bathed in the orange morning Sun, some of which glints off the mirrored glass of the tall buildings that make up the skyline, Grand Forge looks peaceful, inviting even.

I carry on, down river until I come across a group of young men, clad in CADPAT, a type of disruptive pattern camouflage. One of them is peering through a spotting scope mounted on a tripod. Next to him, another scans the far shore with binoculars. A third is on a radio of some kind. A fourth is a pimply-faced kid that looks like he's sixteen at most. He's got a large coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I want to run and tell his mother.

"Good morning sir." He addresses me.

"Good morning. What are you guys up to?"

"Observation post. We are keeping an eye on things across the river."

"And how are things over there?" I ask.

"Things are fucked up, sir." He says and then apologizes. "Sorry sir, I mean messed up."

"It's okay, I'm more comfortable when people fit their stereotypes." I can tell by the look on his face, it went over his head. "What's yer name kid?"

"Private Hartt, sir."

"I don't think you have to call me sir, I'm just some curious dude walking along the river. Maybe just call me Connor."

"Yes sir, Connor, sir."

"We'll work on it Private Hartt. So, I'm not hearing much news these days, you guys might know as much as anyone - what's going on over there?"

"Some thug basically owns the city now. We are not certain who he is, but he's managed to bring a lot of the gangs together and maybe even people who weren't in gangs to begin with. They have run the authorities out of the city, and in the process taken over everything."

"That's not good."

"No sir, not good. They have had access to police station armouries and possibly other sources of weapons. They appear to be very well-armed. They even have some armoured vehicles from law enforcement inventories. We are still trying to assess the threat."

"You think they will try to cross the border?" I ask.

"Hell yes!" Another soldier answers who has overheard the question. "We have resources they want and we probably look like easy pickings."

"How do they know what we have?" I ask.

"It doesn't take a brain surgeon - they know there is food and fuel over here. They are hemmed in on three sides, but there isn't much keeping them from crossing the river.

 There are six OPs right now watching the other side twenty-four hours a day. That includes one overlooking the bridge and another in the tunnel about a third of the way across to the other side. No one is really talking about it, but everyone is thinking it."

"Gawd, I hope we don't draw tunnel duty." The soldier on the spotting scope interjects. I am surprised by her voice, I had not noticed she was a young lady. "The tunnel is the absolute worst post."

"You would know, Ella." One of them shoots back.

"You mean you would know ma'am - correct private?" Ella replies. I guess she's in charge here.

"Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am." The soldier stammers as he takes over on the spotting scope.

"Something tells me he's gonna pay for that later." I add.

"Damn right he will." Ella replies.

I don't see rank insignia, probably wouldn't know what they meant anyway. What little I do know of military structure makes me think she might be a section leader, maybe a Master Corporal.

"Why don't they backfill the tunnel, or blow up the bridge? If they are really concerned, you would think they would do something." I say.

"Politics." Ella answers for all of them. "The border crossing is nothing but a liability right now, but nobody around here can make that call. Ottawa won't do it, the border crossing represents a huge financial investment. Furthermore, Washington wouldn't allow it."

She's articulate for her age, and she's right.

"So what then?" I ask.

"We hold the border."

"Just that simple?"

"Hardly, but those are the orders."

"Ma'am I think you should see this." The soldier on the spotting scope says. "I think our problem just got worse."

Ella grabs the binoculars and begins scanning the far side of the river. "What do you see private?"

"It's on the move ma'am, I only got a glimpse. It's travelling west to east, a couple roads in. You will see it when it crosses an intersection. Look right of that burned out bus, maybe two streets over."

They watch, all four of them now intently staring across the way. I watch them, watching.

"There it is!" The young soldier exclaims.

"Wait, let me have the scope." Ella takes over. The scope I'm sure, has far higher magnification. "Oh. My. God."

"What is it ma'am?" Private Hartt asks.

"MBT."

"Ho - lee - shit!" Hartt says.

"What?" I ask. They all seem very excited all of the sudden. "What's over there?"

"It's a Main Battle Tank." Ella answers. "I have no idea where they would get their hands on that. George, get on the radio, call this in."

"Looks like they have painted it." The other soldier says.

"Looks like gang graffiti." Ella observes.

"Gangsta in a tank? Jesus. I think maybe I should head home now, this is a bit much for me." My appetite for adventure has suddenly disappeared.

"Wait a second." Ella says, still scanning the far shore. "Watch those intersections!"

Now we are all staring across the river. Breathless.

"See that Gauthier? Confirm my count." Ella says.

I watch her pan the scope left and right, scanning. Gauthier is doing the same with the binoculars.

"Bus. Make that two -- wait -- bearing two degrees. That's a Bradley."

"I got 'em ma'am, two buses, and the Bradley. But I have lost the tank."

"I think the tank is waiting on them in back of those buildings a couple streets over." Ella replies.

"Sounds like a convoy." I add, because I just can't keep my comments to myself.

"That's exactly what it is." Ella answers.

"I don't see any people on the buses, ma'am, I can't make anything out." Gauthier says.

"The windows are blacked out."

I really can't make anything out from my vantage point. I squint and peer in the same direction, I see movement, but not much detail. "Where are they heading."

"Looks like the group is all moving in back of that building, out of our line of sight." Gauthier replies. "Straggler ma'am." He announces. "Another APC bearing three-five-five."

"That makes two buses, two APCs and a tank." Ella confirms. "Call that in George. Convoy mustering down near river. Hartt, check the maps for grids and George can call it in."

"On the move ma'am." Gauthier says. "East. The whole column."

Hartt is flipping through the maps. "What's east of there?" He asks George, who is waiting for more details to relay.

"Dunno Trevor." George says. "Maybe a car wash?"

"Ha." Hartt chuckles. "Maybe a paint store."

Something lurches in my chest. I know exactly what is to the east. I know because I walked right past it on the way from Kate's work.

"It's the tunnel."

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