“Sometimes you have to pick the gun up to put the gun down.”

Malcolm X

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck."

Paul was gibbering and shaking as he looked down at his blood-covered hands, turning them over and over in disbelief. Max had one hand on Paul's shoulder, trying to calm him down but looking barely more composed himself.

Mike was stood facing away from the group, unmoving and face cast down. Jake wondered how he was feeling.

"Ok," Jake said, "I know this is intense, and I know we just lost Josh, but we have to move. Now. We can think later, but now we move. It looks like someone knows where this place is."

Damned if I know how, though.

The Ministry rented apartments all around the city and suburbs on a bimonthly basis, outfitting each one identically and releasing their locations only to a handful of active agents at a time. This meant every agent had access to several different safe houses at a time, making it impossible for anyone to predict which safe house any agent would use at any moment.

Of course, if a safe house was discovered it would be conceivable to place a watch on it until someone arrived and take them out that way, but this second attack in one night left Jake in no doubt that someone was actively monitoring his location.

Which led to one major question... Who the hell was hunting him?

It didn't make any sense. This wasn't what happened to the Ministry's agents. Its existence was almost entirely unknown to the outside world except for certain individuals throughout the government, and those that did know about it knew very little of its actual methods.

Besides, this wasn't a movie. It wasn't like a secret cabal of super-criminals were gunning for world domination. Most of the Ministry's work was basically... information. Information regulation and, sometimes, theft.

Though there were other... areas of interest, shall we say, that would attract attention if they were made public.

Whatever, there was no time for that now. First things first, he had to get him and his friends to a safe place, and there was only one place safer than this apartment in the city.

"We'll come back for Josh later, I promise. For now, it's time to get out of here. Come with me," said Jake in as firm a tone as he could.

The group refocused gradually, clustering behind Jake as he moved cautiously towards the door. Seeing nobody and no hint of movement in the hall outside, he led them quickly to the stairs at the end of the corridor.

“No, stop,” he hissed at Paul, who dazedly moved towards the elevator, “We take the stairs, the elevator’s too risky.”

They walked hesitantly behind Jake as he led them downwards, frequently pausing to look and listen for anybody approaching from below. Such caution proved unnecessary though, as they encountered nobody on their way to the basement-floor car park. They heard panicked voices and the sound of sirens coming closer, but always beyond the doors.

The car-park was well-lit and open, only a few cars parked in their allocated spaces.

“No way…” said Max in whispered tones.

The car sat in the middle of the lot, opalescent under the lights, screaming speed and power even when motionless.

“A goddam Aston Martin DB12. This isn’t supposed to be out yet! Look, V12 and a carbon-fibre body. What’s the acceleration on this? I mean…” Max practically drooled.

“It’s not mine.”

“Where did they get this from? I heard it has a turbocharger and…”

“It’s not mine.”

“It’s gorgeous! The torque on this thing! Wait… how are we all going to fit in this?”

Max looked up from the sleek 2-seat sports car, face puzzled.

“Sorry, what?” he asked.

“It’s. Not. Mine.”

Jake glared at Max as he led the others to the next car in the lot, a nondescript dark green estate. The electric beep as Jake remotely unlocked it echoed around the car park as they stood in silence, watching the side door slide out and back. They continued to say nothing as they climbed in.

“It’s got more leg room anyway,” said an annoyed Jake as they pulled away and headed for the exit ramp.

They'd had to change to the underground after parking the car at Victoria because Jake thought it was better to mix up their methods of travel. Fighting their way through the early morning commuter traffic they headed up to Embankment, changing trains and heading north only to disembark a few stations up and take a taxi back the way they came.

Mike had mentioned his concern about being out in public in their state, but his worry was needless. They blended in well with the rest of the night's survivors, just another group of still half-drunk men coming down as they made their way home.

Jake stopped the taxi outside a line of bland brown buildings somewhere off Horseguards, and they got out. The street was quiet at this time of the morning, and there seemed to be little activity inside the buildings.

Each office block was distinguished only by a small plain plaque besides each entrance. Walking up to the entrance of one such block and pressing a buzzer labelled "Alderson Paper & Trade Co." Jake stared into the small black camera above, until the door buzzed open. They went in.

The first door within and to the right was labelled with the same name, and Jake stepped in without hesitating. The group followed, and were taken aback to see a woman sitting behind a small reception desk, eyes fixed on the screen in front of her. She barely flickered an eye as they filed in past her, despite their disheveled, bloody state and what must have been a strong smell of alcohol.

Jake led them on through into a small room at the back, stacked with boxes of unidentifiable documents. The room was barely more than a closet, and they were perplexed when Jake turned and leant against the wall at the back.

"Squeeze in, hurry up," Jake said impatiently.

Despite their reservations they were simply too tired to do much except follow Jake's commands, so soon the four grown men were crammed within what appeared to be a small storage space for no discernible reason. Max had laid his head on one shelf to his side and was gently snoring.

Suddenly there was a crunching sound and the ground jerked downwards, the floor of the room from which they had entered rising up until there was only smooth, featureless concrete sliding past. Mike, the closest, reached out and touched it with the tip of his finger, withdrawing it quickly as the moving wall scraped at his skin.

"So, not a cupboard then?" Mike said, turning and speaking to Jake over the heads of the others.

"Well, technically it is also a cupboard. But, yes, it's more of an elevator. Watch you don't lean back," Jake replied.

The ride didn't last long, no more than half a minute. The elevator slowed gradually and the sliding concrete face was replaced by a wide, brightly lit room. Waiting a few steps away were two people, a man and a woman dressed in dark, severe suits to match the looks on their faces.

"We'll have your... friends... cleaned up and looked after," said the female of the pair, stepping up to Jake as she spoke, "Meanwhile, you are to report everything that's happened this evening. Someone is making a move on our agents, and we need every detail of this night's events."

Her companion, the man, stepped forward and smiled, suddenly breaking the stern atmosphere.

"Jesus, Jo, he's spent the evening getting chased and shot at. Give him a break."

The man turned to look at Jake.

"You look like hell, Jake. We'll take care of your friends..." and he nodded in greeting at the swaying trio, "...but we're gonna need to know what the hell is going on as soon as you're up to it."

"It's fine, Ray," said Jake hastily, interrupting Jo before she could interject, "Jo's right, we need to figure this out now. Anyway, you know me, right? I don't need so much rest."

"He's been shot. In his side. Shot."

Mike's words drew a surprised glance from the two suits, apparently named Ray and Jo, then Jo grabbed at Jake's jacket and lifted it up before he could react.

"Oo, nasty. That looks bad," she said.

Ray leaned over for a look.

"Damn, that's painful to look at," he said.

Jake put his hand to his temple and massaged it in a mixture of tiredness and exasperation. He knew what was coming, they made the same joke every time.

"Yeah," said Jo, "That was a damn nice shirt. We're never going to be able to get those stains out."

They turned and smiled towards the now thoroughly confused newcomers.

"Trials is - how shall we say? - not quite as susceptible to damage as we are," explained Ray, grinning. "It'll take a lot more than a single bullet to cause him problems."

"Now, come on. We'll get you guys to somewhere you can freshen up then take Trials off for a talk."

Jo led the way deeper into the maze of subterranean rooms.

It was several hours later and Max, Paul and Mike sat around a table in the surprisingly well-furnished room they had been shown to. There were several rooms at the sides and back, each containing a single bed and shower unit. The main room contained a TV and a couple of couches, along with the table they had gathered around. It gave the impression more of a basic hotel suite than a secret subterranean base. They'd each gone into separate rooms and showered before sleeping for a couple of hours, emerging still tired but filled with too many questions to continue resting.

"So, Jake is some kind of super-spy now?" said Max, clinging to his coffee like it was a lifeline in stormy seas.

"A John McClane, more like," replied Paul.

Mike was not sitting with the others, but standing and leaning his palms on the table. Occasionally he would pace around the room, staring at the cameras in each corner and coughing nervously.

"They basically laughed at him being shot. What the hell was that about?" said Max.

"There's something they're not telling us. Something he's not telling us. You don't just get up and move around like that with a shot to the gut." Mike's voice was filled with repressed anger.

"And Josh..."

Mike and Max paused to look at Paul, who had cast his eyes down to the floor.

"Did he... mention anything about family? Any wife or kids...?" Max was clearly thinking of his own family as he spoke.

"I don't think so. Shit, we were so drunk, I don't know. Maybe." Mike came and flung himself down onto a chair.

"No, he didn't say anything like that. I'm sure he would've," Paul made a worried expression. "Wouldn't he?"

"Fuck, what a mess. I can't process this. I just want to call my wife, let her know I'm alright," said Max.

"That won't be a problem. You can call them whenever you're ready."

Jo, the suited figure from earlier, walked in carrying a bag from which came an aroma that set their mouths watering.

"I got Gregg's. Sausage rolls and pasties, hope that's alright. Sorry, we don't have a kitchen down here."

They set about the bakery food with abandon, devouring every morsel of the copious amount within. Finally, when sated, they leaned back and looked at Jo, who had remained standing and watching as they ate.

This was the first opportunity the group had taken to properly look at her. Slightly shorter than average, her face was framed by close-cropped, straight-fringed hair. Everything, from her lightly-done make-up to her demeanour, spoke of severity and professionalism. She didn't seem able to relax.

It was the burn mark that stood out. A strip of puckered flesh ran down the left side of her face, starting just behind the lines of her eye and running down to the jaw. It was hardly noticeable at first, hidden beneath a layer of foundation, but became more obvious with time. None of the group felt up to asking about it, however.

"Could you please tell us what in God's name is going on?" said Max, wiping crumbs with the sleeve of the fresh clothes they had been given.

"Jake will be here in a minute, it'll probably make more sense coming from him," replied Jo.

"No, screw that. I have too many questions spinning around in my head as it is. Just give us something, will you?" said Mike angrily.

"Fine, ok. Look, this is a... special part of national security. It's quite unknown to the general public - and will remain so, I can assure you. You will not be making any of your experiences here known on pain of imprisonment - and Jake's been working for it for several years now."

"MI5? 6? Majestic-12? This some Illuminati bullshit?" Max seemed stronger now he had eaten.

"Nothing so... conspiracy-theory like. No, gentlemen, this is the War Office."

"Though we call it the Ministry, now."

They turned towards the door at the sound of Jake's voice, where he stood holding some kind of large assault rifle at his side.

"The Ministry? What the hell is that? I've heard of the War Office, but isn't that some old department from years ago?" asked Mike, incredulously.

"Decades ago, actually," interrupted Jo, "The War Office was merged into the Ministry of Defence in the early 60s. At least, that was the public story. Really, it was split. The Ministry of Defence went public, and the... other one... remained secret."

"It doesn't really have a name. Just 'The Ministry,'" added Jake.

"Great. So this really is secret spy base?" snapped Max.

"Look, we deal in information control, ok? That's it. We make sure that information that should be made public is, and that information that shouldn't be isn't," said Jake.

"And who decides this? What gives you the right to judge what people should or shouldn't know?" growled Mike.

"Nothing, but somebody has to at least try. This world is full of misinformation and lies, fed by a media that has to sell copy."

The other suited figure, the one Jake had called Ray, had entered. Mike glared at him.

"How many more people are going to walk in here dramatically? Can we get to the point, please?" Mike's voice was filled with venom.

"I'm the last," replied Ray, "You won't be meeting any other members of the organisation." Ray turned to Jake. "We've got the car ready. You can leave anytime."

"I need to speak to these guys first. This must be really messing with their heads," answered Jake, turning a placating look towards Mike.

Whilst Jake and the suits were looking towards Mike, Max and Paul both got a look at Ray. A dark-haired man of stocky build, he too had a line of scarring down the side of his face, this time to the right. It was almost the mirror image of the burns on Jo's face. Max surreptitiously made a questioning gesture to Paul, but was waved down in response.

Jake sat down at the table, drawing the group’s attention.

"We don't destroy information, we filter it. Christ, with social media these days it's not like we could if hide things if we wanted to. We simply emphasise what needs emphasising, and limit what needs limitations," he said.

"Sounds like Big Brother to me," replied Mike angrily.

Ray cut in.

"Have you got a Facebook account? Twitter? Insta-fuckin'-gram? Have you seen the amount of crap that's vomited out onto them every day? Pictures of massacres that supposedly happened just the other day, when they're really of Sarajevo 30 years ago? Children starving because of famine whose images are then attached to a message about the danger of vaccines? False research, fake data, fraudulent news articles? It's everywhere, every-goddam-day." Ray's voice had also risen in anger.

"So what? They're obviously bullshit. No-one takes that crap seriously," said Mike, tone more controlled now in the face of Ray's suppressed hostility.

"Yes, they do," continued Jake. "That's the problem. We live in a democracy, and a democracy needs a well-informed electorate. That poison being pumped out every day harms the process. It alters and cripples progress. It needs a counter-balance..." Jake leant back and spread his arms out, "...us."

Jake clearly thought he had got his point across, but Mike leaned closer and spoke in careful tones.

"You? What gives you the right to decide what people can and can't read? You think you have some objective view of this world that can be carefully calibrated for the good of the people? You are wrong. This is a ministry, alright. The Ministry of Propaganda."

Jake's nostrils flared and eyes blazed in sudden fury. Max leaned quickly in and waved his hands in between the now interlocked eyes of the two, putting his hand to Mike's shoulder and drawing him backwards.

"Alright guys," said Max, "We can find time for moralistic debates later, but right now I think we should look to the more pressing questions. Like why can you, Jake, move like Mission-bloody-Incredible, and, more importantly, why the hell are people shooting at us?"

Jake leant back, swinging his rifle up into his hands.

"Well, for the first question; a lot of information we need access to isn't always, shall we say, freely available, and for the second; I don't know..." Jake cocked the gun with a murderous expression, "...but I'm going to find out."

He stood up and stalked out of the room, while Mike scowled at his back.