Rush

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Fifteen years later
Fifteen years ago, my parents were killed by a secret group, one of the two that have caused chaos in our country. I was four. Now, I am nineteen, and I made a promise to myself that I would track down the people that killed them and take them down. But what am I doing?
Getting ready for work as a security guard.
I worked at the newspaper, making sure only people with identification could get in. I thought it would be a great way to stay informed, but so far, I know more about how to make a good cup of coffee than where to find the group that killed my parents.
When I say group, it sounds like a small amount of people that can, say, meet at a park and decide what to do next, etc. But the two "groups" that are destroying our country are more than that. They're underground and they're huge. The media calls them Alpha and Omega. Why? No one really knows. They're everywhere. I can hear about a bombing caused by one group on the west coast, and then I can actually hear a bomb exploding here, which was once New York City.
It's crazy.
And in a sick way, I kind of love it. But it's frustrating me that I can't do anything about it.
What I do every day is grab two slices of stale bread and on slice of cheese, if it isn't moldy, and make myself a grilled cheese sandwich. Then I eat, put my plate in the sink, and drive my motorcycle to work.
The last day before my life changed for the second time, fifteen years after the first, I drove into my parking spot at the back of the building, and dug in my pocket for my keys. I was about to unlock the door when I heard a "Hey!"
Two men, muscled and tall, appeared. They wore the same thing as me, black pants, a grey shirt, a badge, and a belt holding a radio, a taser, and a handgun. I raised my hand in greeting.
"Haven't seen either of you before," I said.
"We're new," the blonde one said. The other one had black hair, cut close to his scalp.
"We lost our keys," said the one with black hair.
"Oh, I'll let you in," I said. First, I inspected their badges, hopefully discreetly, and when I found that they were identical to mine, I opened the door. The men briskly walked in without a word of thanks.
"You're welcome," I muttered, and entered behind them.
I saw a woman wearing a maroon blazer and matching skirt usher the new guards towards her, I considered following them, but I had to get to my post in the lobby.
"Wassup, Jamie?" Eli greeted me.
"Don't call me Jamie," I grumbled.
Eli was the closest thing to a friend I had. We'd been working together for about a year, ever since I got the job. He was a guard, too, but not like me. He wasn't tough enough, as he put it. He was skinny and pale, with a mess of floppy hair. He worked with computers, and he was ridiculously good at his job. If he wanted to, he could probably program a tree to dance.
I stood by his desk, he asked people entering to scan their IDs, and if he checked it and it was fake, well, that's when I came in.
The last normal day passed like every other day. No one's ID was fake, Eli told bad jokes, and in response, I threatened to use my taser on him. He left first, then I did. I got on my bike and started the engine. That's when everything changed.
I saw a blur of black running towards me. It jumped on the back of my motorcycle and wrapped its arms around my waist.
"Drive!" they yelled. A female voice. I revved the engine, then hesitated.
"Why?" I asked.
"JUST DRIVE, IDIOT!" She screamed. Her voice was immediately followed by the sound of gunshots. What else could I do but drive? Nothing, that's what.
So I drove.
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