CHAPTER 21: THE SIEGE — Part 2
Marcus pulled me to the front of the room. Kept the gun trained on me but loosened his grip slightly.
"Everyone else stays on the floor," he announced. "Nobody moves. Nobody tries anything. This one—" He gestured at me with the gun. "This one is going to explain why his family thinks people like us don't matter."
"I can't explain that," I said. Voice steady despite the fear coursing underneath. "I don't think people don't matter."
"Bullshit. You're a Roy. You're one of them."
"I'm one person. I don't control the company. I don't make those decisions." True, technically. "But I'm here. You wanted someone from the family to listen. I'm listening."
Dennis spoke for the first time. His voice was flat. Cold. "Pretty words. You think we're stupid?"
"No." I turned to look at him. "I think you're angry. I think you were promised things that didn't happen. I think you've been screwed over. And I think you want someone to acknowledge that."
"Acknowledging doesn't pay my mortgage," Marcus said.
"No. It doesn't." I looked back at him. "But maybe we start there. Tell me what happened."
For a moment, I thought he'd refuse. Thought Dennis would override him, escalate the situation.
Then Marcus started talking.
"Twenty years. Started here when I was twenty-five. Maintenance crew. They said good benefits. Pension. Healthcare for life. Work hard, we'll take care of you." His jaw clenched. "I worked hard. Took every shift. Trained new guys. Did my fucking job."
The Empathy Engine caught the words beneath the words: I believed them. I built my life on those promises. House. Family. Everything.
"Then what happened?" I asked.
"Corporate restructuring. That's what they called it. New management company took over facility operations. Our benefits? Not their problem. Pensions? Transferred to some fund that went bankrupt. Healthcare? Cut unless you're full-time, and oh by the way, we're making everyone part-time."
"That's—" I stopped. Chose words carefully. "That's not right."
"No shit it's not right!" Jerry from the door, voice cracking. "My daughter needs medication. Sixty dollars a month when we had insurance. Six hundred without. I can't—" He stopped. Breathing hard.
Marcus gestured at Jerry without looking. "Sit down before you shoot someone by accident."
Jerry sat. Still holding the gun. Still shaking.
I watched Marcus. "Let him put the gun down. He's going to hurt someone."
"That's kind of the point."
"No it's not. You want to be heard. Someone getting shot by accident doesn't help that."
Marcus considered. "Dennis?"
The older man shrugged. "Kid's right. Jerry's gonna twitch and blow someone's head off. Bad optics."
Jerry set the gun on the floor near him. His hands were still shaking but at least the weapon was down.
Small concession. But a concession.
I filed it away. Marcus would listen to Dennis. That was important.
Outside, the sirens were getting louder. Multiple vehicles. Police, probably. The cavalry arriving.
Time was compressing. Once tactical teams showed up, the dynamic would shift. Harder to negotiate. Higher chance of violence.
I needed to close this before that happened.
"Marcus," I said. "You have a family?"
He glared at me. "What?"
"Family. Wife, kids?"
"What's that got to do with—"
"Just answer."
"Yeah. Wife. Two kids. Girl's twelve, boy's nine." Something in his voice softened. Just slightly. "House about to go into foreclosure because I can't find work that pays what this place paid."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't—"
"I know it doesn't help." I met his eyes. "But I mean it. You worked here twenty years. You built a life on promises that got broken. That's not fair. It's not right."
From the floor, someone spoke up. Emily. "He's right. I manage a Parks location. We've been ordered to cut staff, reduce benefits, trim everything. Meanwhile profits are up. Stock's up. But we can't keep our promises to employees."
Marcus looked at her. Then back at me. "So you admit it. The company screwed us."
"Parts of the company screwed you," I said carefully. "Different divisions, different managers, different priorities. But yeah. You were promised things that didn't happen. I'm not denying that."
Dennis stood. Walked closer. The gun in his hand was steady. His eyes were chips of ice.
"Pretty speech," he said. "But what are you going to do about it?"
That was the question, wasn't it.
In canon, this resolved with... actually, I wasn't sure. Roman survived. The situation ended. But I didn't remember the details. Did someone get hurt? Did Marcus surrender? Did tactical teams storm the building?
I didn't know.
All I had was here, now, and the tools in front of me.
"I can't fix everything," I said. "I'm one person. I don't control the company."
"Then why should we listen to you?" Dennis asked.
"Because I'm the only Roy here. I'm the only person you can talk to who might actually relay your concerns to people who can do something about it."
"Relay." Dennis smiled. Cold and sharp. "Like you'll go back to your mansion and tell daddy about the poor people who took you hostage."
He wasn't wrong. That was exactly how it would sound to Logan.
Unless I framed it differently.
"My father values people who solve problems," I said. Voice steady, Trauma Lock holding the fear at bay. "You let everyone go safely, no one gets hurt—you've got a better chance of being heard than if someone gets shot and this becomes a murder case."
"We're already looking at prison," Jerry said from the floor. Voice hollow.
"Maybe. But there's a difference between armed kidnapping and murder. One of those has a path where you survive and maybe get your story out there. The other..." I shrugged. "Tactical teams are probably setting up outside right now. They're not going to negotiate if someone dies in here."
Marcus looked at the windows. Covered, but light bleeding through the edges.
"They're right," Dennis said. To Marcus, not me. "Cops are here. We need to make a decision."
"We haven't been heard yet!"
"They know we're here. We've made our point." Dennis's voice was pragmatic. Cold calculation. "The question is how this ends."
This was the moment. The decision point.
I could feel it through the Empathy Engine—Marcus's desperation warring with reality, Jerry's terror spiraling, Dennis's cold assessment of options.
I spoke to Marcus directly. "You wanted someone to listen. I listened. I heard you. I can't promise everything gets fixed. But I can promise I'll tell people what you said. That you're not crazy. That you had real grievances. That the company broke promises."
"And we just... surrender? Go to jail?"
"Or this escalates. Someone gets shot. Maybe you. Maybe Jerry. Maybe one of us." I gestured at the hostages. "And then the story becomes 'violent employees attack innocent trainees' instead of 'desperate workers wronged by company.'"
Silence.
Marcus looked at his gun. At the hostages. At Dennis.
"What do you think?" he asked Dennis.
The older man considered. "I think the kid's right. We made our point. We need to walk out alive to tell the story."
"Jerry?"
Jerry was crying now. "I just want to go home."
Marcus closed his eyes. The gun lowered slightly.
Then shouting outside. Bullhorns. "THIS IS THE POLICE. RELEASE THE HOSTAGES. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP."
Marcus's eyes opened. The gun came back up.
"Fuck," he breathed.
Time had run out.
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