“You have to get out man! Like, they’re coming! They already got Leafie!”
“Shit. Look just keep yourself safe, I’ll make sure we’re okay over here.” Kempt quickly put the landline phone down.
Alston, with his hands hanging by the sides of the sofa, was experiencing a lull in time. A period of nothingness where his incredible mind could expand and he could reaffirm his idealistic beliefs about the small stickers they had distributed across the country, a drug to push humanity forward and amplify the mind.
“Alston, we gotta go. They could be here any minute dude.”
“Who are they? You gotta stop playing this pronoun game with me man I’m serious, it just fucks me up whilst I’m drifting through the other worlds y’know.”
“Yes, yes I know Al but the police are on to us, London just got off the line and-“
A great sound left grey bricks piled into the corner and filled the armchair with dirt, a lovely brown leather armchair that had been a staple of the wales homestead for many years Kemp might have added, in dirt. This sound jolted Alston who leapt across the room, as his trip took a turn for the worse. Masked members of a team of specialist firearms officers burst into the building carrying small Heckler and Koch Mp5s. Their bright flashlights blinded Kemp, but simply glazed over, or past, Aston’s eyes.
Flowers, flowers surrounded the black grim reapers as they stormed in, their weapons like scythes, their masks and helmets a hood. He now knew what Kemp had meant, they had come, they had come and he could see all that they were. They were he to take away his sight, to take away this thing that amplified his thoughts to this great level. He could not have it.
“Leave! Leave now you foul beasts!” He screamed from the mantle next to the humble ashen fireplace. White dust covered his shoulders.
“TOC this is entry team, we have both targets, about to tag and extract.”
Kemps head was roughly forced into the ground, his nose scrunched in pain. Alston writhed on the ground, kicking at the officer’s shins as they moved up on him, caring little for his feeble efforts.
“Calm Alston, it’s the police.” Kemp managed to croak out as he was forced out of the home.
A pile of petals rested next to the new entryway, and the yet more sunflowers continued to pulse around the officers like orbiting stars, granting light like their rifles, but more rejuvenating than painful. His limbs fell limp as his energy was spent and his being restrained.
Overnight, the country’s mind-altering drug rose in price, from a single pound to five, as the police seized six million trips worth of goods across Wales and London. The country became a little less colourful, undercover police involved in the operation broke down, and the social experiment of amplifying the human mind, whether it was really for money or entirely idealistic… failed.
Operation Julie (for context)