>Tick tick tick
>The hands of the clock on your wall inch forward slowly, making painfully little progress.
>Work sucks. Even when you were younger, you figured you probably didn't have much to look forward to. Little did you know of course, just how soul sucking it could really be.
>Reading reports, writing reports, scrutinizing memos for every little detail. Doing your job, doing your boss's job. Day in, day out, sifting through each passive aggressive email from your boss just so you could figure out what you had done wrong this time. All so you could just barely afford to put a roof over your head and have something to eat most of the time.
>Ten minutes to go, you only had to hold out a little while-
>“Hey bud, couple of the guys were gonna stop by the bar after work, wondering if you wanted to come along? Game's canceled but at least the bar is still open... probably.”
>It was the usual invitation from one of your coworkers. He was friendly enough but you honestly just didn't feel up to it, you hadn't really since you'd started work here.
“Sorry man, I'm still just getting over this cold, the last thing I need is a hangover on top of it.”
>It wasn't exactly a lie, you'd been feeling like shit since before Christmas. It was the flu, it always got you this time of the year. Get sick just in time for the holidays, don't get better until after New Years, keep feeling like shit for at least a couple weeks after.
>”Alright, no worries then. Just stay safe out there, highway is still shut down and I heard there's supposed to be a curfew tonight.”
>Curfew? What was this? High school?
>It's true that the highway had been shut down since New Year's Day, and that was a week ago. There had been a heavy snowstorm that morning, dumping a little over a foot of snow all over the state. Normally this wouldn't have meant much, snow plows would have had everything cleared by the afternoon, but the whole state was on high alert. Some sort of terror threat or something.
>Highway shut down, half the city shut down, shitty job still open.
>Still, if there was going to be a curfew that seemed to imply that things were getting worse, not better.
>You begin to turn towards him to offer a half-assed smile and thank him for the thought...
>...and fuck, there goes your coworker, you must have been sitting there lost in thought like a retard again, why does he even put up with you anyway?
 
>Tick... tick... tick...
>You scan through the channels on your radio. Your favorite station has been off the air all week, it seems that all you've got to choose from is country, oldies, and the emergency broadcast service. Lovely.
>You're confined to taking the back-roads to and from work which, in addition to the snow, has been adding almost an hour to your daily commute. At least traffic has been light.
>Not that it even really matters, it's not like you really do anything outside of work but waste time anyway.
>You were being negative again, at the very least you had a home to head back to. Times had been tough the last few years, and there were times when that hadn't been such a sure thing.
>The holiday season generally did this to you. And the flu. Screw holidays, in general.
>You pull up to your apartment to find no open parking spaces, as usual. By the time you find a space it's dark. There's a light flurry of snow in the air but as much as your mood sucks, you can't help but enjoy the sight of the tiny flakes silhouetted against the street lights. At least that's one nice thing.
>Five minutes of walking finally gets you to your door. It also gets you damp shoes and damp pant cuffs. Going inside, you quickly change into something a little more dry, and comfortable, and warm.
>Sweat pants and a hoodie, the definition of style.
>Your apartment is, unfortunately, as cold as the outdoors. You can afford to put food on your table or the heater, not both. Speaking of food though you're in luck, you've still got some leftover pizza from last night.
>You walk past the sad excuse for a Christmas tree on your table that you'd bought to “get into the holiday spirit”. It's really more of a Christmas shrub. You couldn't even motivate yourself to decorate it properly, save for the six little pony ornaments hanging from the branches.
>It's tacky, but it brings a brief smile to your face. You know the thing should have gone in the dumpster by now, but you still haven't gotten around to it.
>Reaching the fridge, you throw a couple slices of cold pizza on a plate and walk over to your computer, checking your library of games for something to kill some time.
>Nope, nope, and nope.
>Almost two hundred games and you can say absolutely that you have no interest in any of them right now.
>You finish your pizza and brush your teeth before dragging yourself to your bedroom.
>You collapse on your bed, rolling on your side and slowly drifting off to sleep.
 
>A white coat and motherly tone, levitating a warm scarf around your neck.
>A pink, grinning snout, bubbling with joy and energy, offering you something warm to sip.
>Yellow fur and long pink hair, meekly conducting a chorus of chirps and whistles.
>Blue wings, zipping back and forth, hanging red and blue lights.
>Lavender with stripes, speaking to the crowd with clear and firm diction, “...please remain calm...”
>Orange and strong, bucking down a pine tree in the distance, the sound so far away.
>Tick........ tick........... THUMP THUMP THUMP
>You wake with a start, the sound of sirens clearly audible amidst panicked yells.
>It's like there's a light show outside your window.
>THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
>”THIS IS THE POLICE! OPEN YOUR DOOR AND STEP OUTSIDE!”
>You jolt out of bed, your heart racing. Something is clearly wrong, very fucking wrong.
>You half-dash half-tip-toe to your window, raising a single blind to peek out.
>You count no less than six police cars outside, and even more ominously, several humvees, trucks, and what look like armored vans.
>You can see some of your neighbors being escorted around, most of them being herded onto the trucks.
 
>BANG BANG CRASH
>Was that your front door?
>Your bedroom door flies open and three men in fatigues pour in, two with guns drawn.
>Yep, that was your front door, but that doesn't look like the police.
>”ARE YOU THE ONLY RESIDENT IN THIS UNIT?”
>The man is standing just a few feet in front of you, rifle pointed straight at your chest.
>You're honestly about to piss yourself.
“I-I errr... w-wh-wha... I... y-yes?”
>Good job brain, now they're probably going to put you down for being retarded.
>Behind the other two you see the third man speaking into a radio.
>”Dispatch, we've got one resident, target demographic, on our way down to you”.
>That sounds... you don't really know what to make of that. At the very least they aren't shooting you.
>The third man steps forward, grabs you by the shoulder, and starts dragging you outside.
>You're still a little too jolted and confused to complain about the treatment, but you certainly notice that they aren't giving you time to put on your shoes.
>Your feet touch the frosty ground. Your toes start to burn from the cold almost instantly as you begin to trudge through the snow.
>Your mind swims with worry and fear. Should you be resisting? You have rights, don't you? Despite the panic, you decide now probably isn't the best time to complain about getting a lawyer.
>You're lead towards the parade of flashing lights and vehicles, straight to another woman in fatigues standing in front of an armored van. She happens to be flanked by two figures in white hazmat suits.
>The soldier who has been dragging you along shoves you forward and you catch yourself before you fall into the woman. She presses her hand against your chest to stop you from falling any farther forward, then reaches upward and grasps the bottom of your chin. Shining a flashlight to your face and tilting your head left and right.
>”Open your mouth.”
>You comply, still worried that at any second you could wind up full of holes.
>She angles the beam down your throat, takes a cursory look inside, then presses your jaw upward, closing your mouth for you.
>”Looks okay, stick him and sedate him.”
>Wait what?
>Those were not good words.
>Those were very, very not good words.
>The two figures in hazmat suits close in from both sides as the soldier behind you grabs your arms and pins them behind your back, deftly slipping a zip tie around your wrists and tightening it before you can react.
>The figure on your right raises what could only be an injector with a frighteningly large needle to your neck.
>You stare at the woman in front of you, wide-eyed in horror as she holds her hand against your forehead, bracing you in place.
>There's a sharp sting in your neck, then a hissing sound.
>It feels like fire surging down your neck, into your chest, out your arms and down your legs.
>It burns like nothing you've ever felt before in your life.
>You barely notice the second needle being pressed against the other side of your neck.
>You scream out in pain.
>You thrash against the man holding you, desperately trying to break his grip.
>You can't break free, your chest is on fire, you're already beginning to feel light headed.
>You struggle in vain, yanking your arms apart, trying to snap the tie off.
>You're trapped.
>You cry out, your voice fading to a moan as your body goes limp.
>You can feel them lifting you into the van.
>The last thing you perceive is the sound of the rear doors slamming shut.