First, every lit window in the city pulsed like the strobe lights of the world's greatest rave. Second, they flickered like fireflies over the lake. Third, they ceased to be visible at all. The power surge left everyone in darkness, and those sensible enough to keep candles lit them.

The lights would come back on soon, they assured themselves. But some weren't convinced. Fewer still knew what was really going on.

The common man had to grumble through, complaining about this and that but basically making the best of things, while those burdened with knowledge feared for the worst. This was no accident, and those with power didn't care how many of these common men must suffer until they got results.

The city was all but being held ransom, as a dominance battle raged amongst the political leaders. The lights would not return until the mayor was made to bow, more metaphorically than physically but getting the nasty bastard to bend a knee would have been a satisfying bonus.

They were reaching a stalemate. Hostages only worked if someone gave a shit about them, and the mayor was no such sentimental man. He had a private generator, and no personal problems at all in the following days. Until his personnel became the problem.

It was as though Prometheus had taken the fire once more, and given it to the people. Or like Robin Hood taking from the mayor and dispersing his power. But no one knew who it was.

A meeting was called with the leaders of the country to reach appeasement with the Mayor, and they were courteous enough to not allow cameras during the meeting. The mayor had no intentions of bowing to these people, even after he had tasted hardship himself. Supported by his entourage of bodyguards, he felt no fear and would not fall to intimidation. He would never fall himself: but he could be tripped.

A man well past his prime was standing to the left of the mayor, and when it was finally time for his employer to speak he kicked out the back of the mayor's knees, making the man collapse to the floor. Confused indignation coloured the mayor's face until he saw who exactly had kicked him. His most trusted bodyguard. He had served as bodyguard for many others in the past, and was at least a generation older than any of his coworkers. One should be wary of the old man in a profession where men die young. It wasn't luck that kept the old timer ticking: it was his strength alone and will to survive. Part of survival is knowing where to place your allegiances, and when to disregard the paychecks and jump ship. Loyalty had no value to someone who prioritised self preservation. He hadn't died young because he would never die for these people in the first place.

The lights were back, but the only one guiding the elderly man out of the city was the dim cherry of his cigarette. Onto the next job.

"You won't die for those you serve."

"That's right."

"But they hire you to die for them."

"That's their problem."

"You should find another line of work."

"Why would I?"

"Corpses can't pay well."

"It's not about the money." The old man laughed to himself. "It's just nice seeing their faces."

"You're scary when you get like this."

"I'm always scary."

"Not always."

"Then what am I, always?"

"Alone."

The old man stopped talking to himself after that.