Flashpoint: Wayward Sons

Chapter 5

*Author's Note*

Yeah so hey guys. I was working on a new chapter and it was almost done, but apparently my computer decided to follow its dream of becoming the television set from poltergeist and was no longer in working form. So until a priest performed an exorcism on my monitor, I was unfortunately unable to post the new chapter :( I know depressing! *Infomercial guy voice* BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!

Although I was unable to find a priest willing to exorcise the demon from my device, I found a mysterious man named Dave Our Computer Guy who was able to perform some dark ancient ritual that appeased the creature and I now have access to my files again. *trumpets* YAY!  My gift to you is a new chapter :D Enjoy!! (Ps. Please don't hurt me I swear I've been trying to update this for a very long time! Honestly!)

*Team One*

Greg sighed as he was finally left alone in the briefing room. A solid two hours of uninterrupted hell left him mentally weary. He collected the scattered papers that covered the table. As he sorted them into piles, he came across an unfamiliar form. It was Dean's permission slip. Before he could forget, he scribbled his name on it and slid his phone out of his pocket. He quickly dialed the school's number. The dial tone sounded and a cheery professional voice came on the line. 

"Hello! Leaside High School, how can I help you?" 

Greg smiled. "Ms. Lacy, it's Greg Parker." he greeted her. 

"Oh! Sergeant Parker! How are you?" she asked brightly. 

"I'm great. I was just calling to tell you I have Dean's permission slip for the dance and I'll send it with him tomorrow. I completely forgot about it." 

Ms. Lacy chuckled, "No problem. I'll be sure to let him know as well." 

Suddenly, the alarm in the station went off. 

"Team One, hot call!" Whiney announced. 

"Thank you!" Greg said quickly to Ms. Lacey before he hung up. He met up with the rest of his team at Whiney's desk. "What've we got, Whiney?" he asked. Her eyes never left the computer screen. 

"Shots fired from an office building on the corner of Finch Ave and Kennedy," she answered briskly. "One armed subject appears to be male. He's holding the second floor hostage, no ransom demands yet." 

Greg nodded. "Team One, suit up!" he bellowed. The team moved practically as one. No questions needed to be asked. Everyone knew what to do, each accomplishing the necessary tasks quickly and efficiently. "Alright, gang! We don't know what we're dealing with here so I need everyone to be prepared for the worst. Use extreme caution." Greg advised as he pulled on his gear. The chorus of "yes" and "yeah boss" answered him and he nodded pleased by the response. The team was ready instantaneously and moved together as a single unit, their sights set on the trucks. "Whiney!" Greg called over his shoulder. 

"You got it, Boss! The address is being sent to your phones as we speak!" She replied swiftly, already knowing exactly what he wanted. Greg was already out the door, Ed at heels. Whiney watched as the rest of the team continued to follow. "Be careful!" she blurted, her eyes lingering on Spike with an expression he couldn't quite read. "We will!" and "Don't worry about it!" answered her from somewhere amidst the wave of black that swept out the door, but Spike held her gaze. 

"I always am," he smirked, nodding his head slightly in her direction, then whirling around and vanishing out the door.

*9:34 A.M.*

            "I want everyone to empty their pockets right now! Lay everything you have out in front of you and keep your heads down!"  The panicked workers fumbled with their belongings, hastily emptying their pockets and bags onto the floor, avoiding looking up at the gunman at all costs. Joana Miles knew her mascara was running as the tears flowed down her cheeks, but for once in her life, it wasn't her appearance she was worried about. Alan Jennings glanced nervously at his phone which was openly sitting on his desk, beckoning to him. The photo of their children seemed to stare back at Mr. and Mrs. Duran as the married couple's heads lifted to look at it from their opposite sides of the room.

"Hurry up!" the assailant said loudly, nudging the barrel of his gun into the back of intern Lucy Stern's neck to emphasize his words. A short sob broke free as the surprise coolness of the weapon made contact with her skin, but she quickly bit her inner cheek to silence herself. A low rumble emanated from the gunman's throat and it took a moment to recognize the noise as a chuckle. He found the office workers amusing. Their panic radiated off of them in waves making them seem even more pathetic than they already were. They were mostly middle class people definitely on the higher end of their respective positions in society. The subject was almost entirely positive that none of them had ever struggled to support themselves, however they were by no means rich. He noted idly that they were all quite clumsy. They seemed to fall over themselves in their attempts to carry out his simple request. Perhaps it was because they feared him. With that thought, something resembling a smirk appeared on the subject's pale face. It was similar to a crack in the earth following an earthquake and it seemed more like a sneer rather than a sign of enjoyment. He was so caught up in his twisted thoughts; the gunman hadn't realized his hostages had done as they were asked until nearly stepped on the contents of Mrs. Duran's purse.

The subject paused, the expression that previously lingered on his sunken features dissipating replaced by a more calculating demeanor. His eyes grazed over the empty bag and its contents with a sort of keenness that unsettled everyone to an extent beyond what they already feared. He carefully analyzed what had been laid out before him. It was the typical assortment of items: cellphones, wallets, makeup, tissues, etc. It only made sense, they were just ordinary people. The subject knew this all too well. That's why he chose them after all. He needed the perfect distraction. No one would try to play hero, they were all too cowardly for such actions. Everything would go according to plan.

As the sirens began to blare somewhere off in the distance, a single thought passed through the assailant's mind: Let them come.