By now, the broadcast style had changed to just filming their protest. Ilana had gone back into the office to make sure that the people on Charbon had escaped safely. “Our best runner ran ahead, and he usually takes four to five minutes to run one mile. After that, he gets tired and he said 30 minutes of running total to get to five miles, so he stopped running after about 30 minutes. It took us about two and a half hours to get there, with all the babies, elders, and disabled, and we walked just a bit more to make sure.” The scene was even more fantastic up on camera. The cameraman was very skilled, and he spun a panorama of raging people with banners, pickets, torches, and headbands. The overwhelming color, sound and emotion was being sent out, live, to every single television in London. * * * People pushed against the gates of Scotland Yard, Westminster, and Buckingham Palace. The crushing body of people cascaded upon the police who were desperately trying to block the crowd. A variety of pickets and flags could be seen over the heads. ‘Do you compensate for your injustices with a bomb?’ ‘Stop the bombing-NOW!’ ‘They are people. Are you people?’ ‘You are killing citizens’ As the people protested, more and more people were strengthened to join in. The crowds were soon doubling, tripling,… The deafening noise was too much for some sound systems to bear. There were screams, shouts, yells, voices which could be ignored, but not when there were thousands of them. The islands were heating up, too, and everyone was getting more active by the second. The shouts got louder. The people felt like their vocal cords might break any second, but they didn’t care. It is common logical thinking to choose your greater need if you did not have the power to satisfy all your needs. It was kind of like that. There were other needs like not being afraid of the government, protecting your throat, or resting, but it didn’t matter, because they felt one strong need that united them all. They wanted to save these islands. They were people. Ten minutes. The protest continued. Every battle cry was a new source of power. When one person shouted “Stop the bombs!” the “Stop the bombs!” continued as an echo, rippling around the people, ‘stop’s and ‘the’s overlapping, ‘the’s and ‘bombs’s overlapping to create one harmonized cry of justice. Five minutes. The protest raged on. By now, almost every house on the streets was deserted, leaving an eerie silence. But as you walked on, you might have heard something very far away, very loud, but sounding faint. With every step, the sound would have gotten louder, until you came across a huge mass of people. The sound was not loud; it was deafening. Three minutes. Pushing the hardest, yelling the loudest, there was no such thing. Because whenever someone thought that this was the best they could do, the limit, there always seemed to be a higher point. And when they got there, there would be an even higher point. They came to realize that they were limitless. Opportunities, possibilities, they stretched on infinitely. And knowing this, they protested harder. Two minutes. The world around them disappeared. All they could see was the way forward. All they could hear was their own undefeated cries. They knew they wanted this; it was a burning desire. On Mayfield, the islanders were fighting with tears. Though hundreds of miles apart, the islanders could see, feel the Londoners fighting for them. Fighting harder, harder, harder… Until they could change the people’s minds. One minute. Everyone knew in their hearts, the government has the power. Maybe they will persist. Maybe they will actually bomb the islands. But that thought just made the people push even harder. Because they knew, deep down, no matter how strong the government is, they are people too, just like them. In the end, without their name plates, they are just the same. The government was raised from the people. No matter how big the power held by the government was, the people were always, always stronger. The countdown started from ten seconds. A sudden silence settled over the crowd. It was such a drastic change in volume that the shouts could still be heard, ringing in the ears. Nine, eight, seven. Everyone tensed up, closing their eyes. Six, five, four. The Londoners glanced, anticipating, at the broadcast. The islanders, fear wrapped with courage, Held their hands with whoever was next to them. Three, two, one. This wasn’t a new year’s eve countdown. Zero.