Never As It Seems

Mobilization

Minutes passed, but they certainly were not filled with silence. Discussions were had, arguments were given, and a chair was almost thrown across the room - basically, the people talked. The discussions went on for so long, in fact, that Flames dozed off a couple of times, and was only jerked awake by Annmarie stomping on his foot as his eyes threatened to close. The people in the so-called rebellion league were both argumentative and strong-willed, and it seemed as if they would never come to a consensus.

Finally, though, they decided on a plan: a small number of them (field agents mostly) would go to the Fuzzy Guy's hotel (after confirming that he was in fact there) with guns - but they wouldn't use them. They would then proceed to take capture of the Fuzzy Guy and take him to AY5, where he would receive psychological torture and hopefully confess to his crimes, and Flames' reputation would be clean once again. 

Flames stepped away from the camera and walked towards the chairs where Adam, Rick, Katie, and Rose were sitting, and he slouched down on one next to them. 

"Well, I think that went all right," he said. 

"That was great, Flames," said Annmarie, who had been following him and sat down on a chair next to him. "I think we're going to actually start something big here." 

"You know, I've been thinking," said Rick, and they all looked at him. "We always talk about how similar you and Adam and I are, how we all look the same and act pretty much the same and stuff like that. But that's not really true, is it? That thing that you just did, I totally couldn't have done that. What about you, Adam?" 

"I probably wouldn't have been as persuasive," said Adam. 

"Yeah, definitely not for me. You've got a thing that we don't," he added, pointing at Flames. "Something." 

"Is it that I'm a wanted criminal?" Flames said. 

"Maybe. Anyway, are we all on the plan for attack here or not? Did we actually get anything done? 'Cause I wasn't sure." 

"Seems like it," said Annmarie, gazing around at everyone in the room. They were chatting amongst themselves again, and some had returned to their computers and were forcefully typing away. All seemed serious, as if they had finally realized the magnitude of the situation at their hands. 

"I'm just glad they took my sudden appearance well," said Flames. "I was afraid they were going to kill me. Literally kill me. I mean, I don't know what they're hiding under those coats. Some of them could have machetes." 

Annmarie laughed. He stared at her, puzzled. "What's so funny? Does the thought of me getting brutally murdered by all the potential maniacs in this room amuse you that much?" 

"No." She smiled. "It's just... machetes. Remember Mr. Machete?" 

His eyes lit up in sudden understanding, and he laughed. "Oh, yeah. Better times." 

"Worse-r times," said Annmarie. "Nobody was on your side then." 

"You were!" 

"Hmm." 

"Who's Mr. Machete?" said Rick. 

"Guy who tried to kill us," said Flames. "May or may not have been carrying a machete. Charles made it up, remember him?" 

"No, should I?" 

"We made fun of him once." 

"I make fun of a lot of people, my brain is too foggy to remember some nerd named Charlie or whatever it was that you just said." 

Flames rolled his eyes. "Whatever." 

"Flames?" said a voice. He turned around; Breanne was standing there, holding a clipboard and a pen. "I think we're about ready to go."