FAT G- For All the Glory by Zoë SM Lawrence. All rights reserved.
'Where the Glory of mankind is from the One who saves them'
IN THE PAST/ AT THE UNION BUILDINGS IN PRETORIA, SOUTH AFRICA
The clock struck midnight, and a resounding banging echoed from a barricaded door within the Parliament office. At the end of the room, behind a large mahogany desk, three individuals huddle together, their faces etched with fear.
'This isn't the time to be flirting, Vice President Gcina. What if it's the police?'
A blonde woman in a red blouse and pencil skirt eyes her boss and coworker nestling against each other amid the chaos. The room still had documents flying about the room after they rushed for safety. Among the debris, a newspaper fluttered, its pages caught her eye before responding. It stated that in the year 20XX, a group of bandits smuggled a strange weapon into the heart of the city.
Haibo, don't be dramatic, Rebecca. They are probably just skollies looking to make a quick buck.'
(translation. thugs)
'I prefer it if it were the police, at least then they could be reasoned with.'
A woman wearing thick red lipstick sneers at her coworker and returns to snuggle in the old man's arms, his salt and pepper beard a stark contrast to his dark supple skin as he replies with his brows wrinkled.
'You mean bribed with Vice President Gcina.'
States Rebecca bluntly.
The words land hard.
Xoliwe's eyes widen, her jaw tightening before the heat rises to her face.
'Hau, thula wena.'
(translation. Be quiet, you)
'Ladies, do you realize what's going on?!'
Vice President Gcina's voice cuts through the tension, sharper than intended. His patience, already thin, finally he snaps as he stands up tossing Xoliwe to one side.
The banging on the door comes to an abrupt stop. For a beat, there's silence then the handle begins to rattle, slow and deliberate.
On the other side, three men stand shoulder to shoulder, each dressed in dusty construction overalls that have seen better days. They call themselves the Noizie Boys, a small ruffian group with more than enough manpower to take out an entire city.
At the front is Gerald, the unspoken leader a Cape Townian Coloured with a sharp jawline, mischief in his eyes. His purple overalls are stained at the knees, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Beside him, Aditya stands agitated. A Durban Indian in bright pink overalls, he wears a cap of the same colour pulled low over his brow and looking down at his dwindling thumbs.
Juno, the third, leans against the doorframe with a crooked grin. A Korean man in dark blue overalls, he whistles under his breath, the picture of casual trouble.
'Come out peacefully, and we won't attack!'
Gerald calls, bravado in his voice and yet his mouth twists into the kind of scheming smile only those who'd walked out alive remember.
'Boss, didn't you say we'll take them captive for a ransom?'
Yes, Adi, but are they supposed to know that?
Aditya or Adi to most asks, voice careful as though he hasn't come to terms with the plan yet and this annoys their leader but not as much as it did Juno.
'Can you see you bra you're making Kaptein naar?!'
(translation. Dude, can't you see you're upsetting the captain?!)
Juno steps forward and grabs Adi by the collar, yanking him close. The movement is swift, sharp meant to intimidate.
But Adi doesn't flinch.
The usual nervous energy that clings to him evaporates the moment he's face to face with Juno.
Got something to say?
Juno narrows his eyes and tightens his grip, but Adi doesn't heel.
You talking the whole day and staying. When you going to shut up?
I must shut up!? You piece of…
Gerald watches from the side and his voice cuts in like a knife before things get ugly, once again.
Hou julle bekke man! Don't you understand? If we pull this off today, tomorrow we'll be legends.
(translation. Would you guys shut up!)
Adi and Juno smile to each other knowing full well what that means. They don't knock again. They're done asking.
The voices on the other side fade into uneasy silence.
Inside, the three government officials face are drawn with tension exchange wary glances. Slowly, deliberately, they rise from their seats and begin moving toward the door, each step echoing with the weight of uncertainty.
Just as the first hand reaches for the handle-
Boom.
The door bursts open with a violent crack, the lock giving way under brute force. Wood splinters everywhere and hinges groan.
A low, unnatural growl slithers through the air, rising from somewhere deeper, darker.
And then they see it.
The Noizie Boys, framed in the doorway but somethings amiss, their leader looks like a creature straight out of a Bleach episode. The officials scream raw terror ripping from their throats as a massive, demonic entity lurches into view. Gerald's arms are impossibly long, jointed wrong, dragging across the floor with a soundlike bone over concrete and his entire body pitch black almost shadow like. A smile crooked, stretched far too wide, filled with jagged teeth that seem to shimmer wetly in the low light. His eyes glow with a sickly, pulsing heat and says in a scratchy growl that commands attention.
Ons vat oor, Groot man, this is the Age of Glory!
(translation. We are taking over, big man)