*Content Warning: Depictions of firearms in illustration, gun-related violence and death in middle of the episode.*
Screams and shouts of panic spread through the crowd in response to the gunshot. Many people darted about towards the doors, only to find armed men blocking the way. From the centermost doors a group of the gunmen made their way towards the front, led by one who would be assumed to be the shooter -- a pistol in his hand over his head aimed at the ceiling. The crowd parted as the men approached, giving them a wide berth to pass. Being in the farther mix of the crowd, Lance and Adam could only see so much and assume what was going on until the group came nearer to where they stood.
Lance’s heart sank as he recognized the man leading the group as the stranger in the parking lot.
Lance continued to stare him down, trying to force the identity to come to his recollection. He briefly glanced at each of the men as they passed, looking for clues, then back at his original quarry. He saw the man’s left arm bore details he didn’t see the first time: a set of Asian characters, likely being a significant quote, but what caught Lance’s utmost attention was the word “STRIKER” with an ancient serpent woven through the lettering.
“Oh no...” mumbled Lance, his eyes widening with realization.
“Oh no what?” whispered Adam.
“How could this be worse?”
Lance, seeming to ignore the question, began to carefully sift through the people to try to get closer to the last of the gunmen.
“LANCE!” called out Scott in a louder whisper, reaching out, but just missing the wandering Lance.
Lance finally got close enough and unfortunately found what he was looking for: a circle composed of a segmented snake eating its own tail and a runic symbol in the center. Scott caught up to Lance in time to hear him say just one word:
“Ouroboros...”
The leader finally reached the platform, bound up the steps, and stood before the microphone with an evil grin across his lips. He glanced back at Knight and those on the platform.
“Quite the crowd,” he commented with a devious smile, mimicking Midas’ earlier comments.
He tapped on the mic to make sure it was still on, then spoke again, this time to everyone.
“Good morning. I am here to announce a slight deviation from today’s originally scheduled events. For those who don’t know me already, I am John Striker, Head of the Ouroboros. Today you are all our hostages.”
Another wail of panic passed through the crowd: some cried, some were silent, but fear bore down upon all.
“Now, many of you likely also have heard of us and our... deadly... tendencies... but rest assured that no one will be harmed as long as everyone cooperates and does as they are told.”
An elderly gentleman stood up and started towards the platform but was stopped by several of the Ouroboros members.
“What do you want, old man? Weren’t you listening?” one of them demanded.
Striker waved down his men.
“Let him speak,” he ordered. “After all, this is a free country, isn’t it?”
The old man brushed off the hands of those who impeded him and continued up the platform to stand directly next to Striker.
“I honestly don’t know who you are, but why are you doing this to us?” the elder questioned. “We have nothing of value to you here! You can’t just come in here and wave guns around and expect that you’ll simply get whatever you want!”
The seeming calm and controlled countenance of the gunmen’s leader slowly gave way to something short of anger.
“You’re mistaken, old man....” he said with the click of his pistol’s hammer being drawn back.
“I can and will get what I want.”
His statement was solidified with a shot from his firearm, the elderly man falling to the ground.
“Who else wants to see how serious we are?” Striker challenged the crowd. “Anyone?"
No one spoke this time.
"Good.”
He turned to a couple of his men.
“Take him out of here,” he said, gesturing to the now lifeless body on the platform beside him.
The cries of fear and sorrow increased as the men unceremoniously carried the body out through the doors of the auditorium.
The doors having been shut again, most people were either sitting on the floor or on the few chairs that were available, but all were huddled in groups as Ouroboros members walked circles around the room. Lance, Adam, Scott, and Noel sat together with several others near the center of the room.
“This wouldn’t have happened if I had realized it was Striker sooner,” said Lance, ashamed.
“Dude, it’s not your fault,” Scott said. “It’s definitely not great that this happened, but hopefully things will be okay.”
“How could you have known anyway?” asked Noel, attempting to reassure as well, even though she was on the brink of tearing up.
“Whether he slipped up or did it on purpose, Striker was caught on security feed at GenTek’s facility a week or two ago,” stated Lance. “There were several orders of new bio-interfacing weapons meant for the police and SWAT stolen. It was all over the news the day after it happened.”
“I heard about those,” piped up Adam. “The short version is that the interface only allows a registered user to fire the gun via biometrics on the grips and trigger. The practical application for police was so that baddies can’t simply snatch the weapons and turn them on the officers.”
His shoulders slumped slightly after he finished relaying the information.
“But obviously it doesn’t help when said baddies ARE the registered users.”
Lance took a glance around the room: several Ouroboros were at each of the three doorways, a few patrolled the crowd. He saw Striker sitting on the edge of the platform, dropping a knife into the wood, retrieving it, and repeating the ritual. He looked up briefly, once again happening to lock glances with Lance, giving him a malicious smile as if to note that he recognized him from before. Lance quickly turned away, still angry with himself. He looked up again and saw Melody across the room, who turned as if she sensed his gaze, returning it with a look of hopelessness.
Lance returned his attention to his group of friends around him.
“We need to do something...” he stated, more thinking out loud than anything else.
“We are a bunch of college students,” noted Scott. “And they have guns we can’t use...”
“And they’re scary...” added Noel.
“Scary is easy enough to handle,” mentioned Adam. “The problem is the weapons.”
Lance put his face in his hands in a pensive manner. After a few moments, it then dawned on him.
“Weapons. Electronic weapons.”
“Yeah, ones we can’t use, remember?” asked Noel.
“But what if they couldn’t either?” queried Lance. “And conveniently, we are in the middle of the mother-load of tech projects.”
Adam’s eyes brightened up, catching onto the idea.
“Are you suggesting we ‘MacGyver’ a jammer?”
“Exactly,” said Lance with a point of his finger. “The tricky thing would be to get the parts to build it, and to do so without drawing attention.”
“How would we do that exactly?” asked Scott. “They’re watching everything.”
"We can try to pass notes around, but very carefully,” suggested Adam. “The parts might be difficult to acquire depending on what we need.”
“Well,” started Lance as he spread a brochure from the event on the floor between them. “Conveniently enough for us, the event’s displays are organized by project type.”
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