Hostile Territory

I left my hideout wearing the appropriate uniform and carrying an attitude to match it, which would hopefully fool everybody for I was to be an infiltrator this day. Deep within enemy lines I was going to go. 
Dressed as a member of the Operation Center's motor pool, I drove away from my hideout but was tailed near immediately. I was not used to operating during daylight hours and maybe I had already blown my cover so I accelerated coolly but briefly, then pulled over slightly and waved my (now two) tailgaters to pass. They passed me by and kept going- while I breathed a sigh of relief.
Driving towards my objective, the stream of traffic I found myself in was heavier than I had anticipated and it was moving fast so I blended into the pack and matched their speed to remain unnoticed until abruptly peeling off, like they often did, indicating that their (and now my) objective was in sight. I pulled silently into the Operations Center's vast parking lot, and made my way towards the facility.

Just one of the gang

Gabriel Amaral- Unsplash.com

A few officers and some enlisted personnel eyeballed me curiously, or gave me hard stares, as I entered the Operations Center. It was not normal to see ones of my rank checking out equipment at this hour but it occasionally occurred, due to some ranking member being Away On Leave or even AWOL, so even though I was a curiosity, I wasn't challenged. Were I to be, I knew the appropriate lingo to use for I had been studying my target for quite some time. 
Leaving the Operations Center two minutes later, I climbed into a transport, started it, and began to drive. Personnel at the Operations Center Exit Gate eyeballed me for second, then waved me through. I or someone like me had been seen driving a transport before, it was nothing new, though it was unusual to see a motor pool member other than one of the usual few. 
Whew. I was in. Making my rounds between the airport landing site (Adam 17), base (Charlie 16), and a few others, I called in the appropriate radio codes. My voice was unfamiliar to the long-term personnel at the Ops Center but my delivery was flawless for I had practiced calling these radio codes back in my hideout, and due to that, I was not challenged in any way. 
A few hours in, I knew I was likely to ace it because so far, my mission had been a success. I actually found myself getting bored. Infiltrating the OPs Center motor pool had been easy, but I knew I had to stay sharp. Eyes were occasionally on me, studying me, perhaps thinking that I would attempt to return again (should I be so bold) on the morrow. These watching eyes I could not trust for I sensed malice in them and they made me very nervous. I told myself to remain aloof and act natural, but it was difficult. I could feel them scanning me, puzzled as to why I was there, and maybe going so far as to approach me and ask questions, or check the duty roster. I had my alibi at the ready and was prepared at any moment to use it but this game of cat and mouse continued in a tense, unspoken way, neither I nor they giving any clue as to what the next move would be. 
It was in this way that the remainder of my time behind enemy lines passed, until I had gathered up all the resources I had infiltrated the base for. Exiting much the same way I came in, I saw ones of my rank walking my way. I dodged them until I was safely again in the parking lot, lest they accidentally identify me through hailing me in greeting and break my cover. 
Soon I was racing away from the Operations Center, my mission a smashing success! I had achieved my objective-

  Pulling a shift on DAYSHIFT.

Cure All

       I have discovered, to my delight and dismay, that there is a substance in the world with amazing magical properties. This substance isn't found everywhere, only in certain places. With it you wield the greatest power. Without it you are as nothing. 
      Those given this power are ordinary mortals, just like you, who seem to be just like you, but once they have this substance in their possession they are changed by it. Nothing is ever enough for them once they have it, and nary will they give up a dram of it to those in need. Beyond all comprehension they act as despots, rulers without mercy, employing their new-found power to satisfy every desire it can possibly fulfill. 
      Those without this magical substance are ones bereft, shivering in dark places, relegated to dank environs, and looked upon with pity. To these afflicted the rest of the world is mainly unaware (and thus unable) to come to their aid. The local governors, those who are aware and in position to render aid, gaze with unflinching eye upon the distress of the afflicted for the governors only employ this magical substance to achieve their objectives. They do not themselves possess it, but give it to others, bestow it upon them, as reward. These boons, granted, are highly prized. The governor's blessing "Do what thou will with it!" is then given the fortunate whilst those lacking the substance are treated by the same governing forces with a disdain bordering on villainous and unchristrian. How can such a thing be?

The churlish look you get when you ask a favor

Rod Long- Unsplash.com

 "Is it not unfair that ones should have so much, and others so little?!” beseech the greatly displeased. “After all, are not people equal in the eyes of God?".
      "No!" say they, the possessors of the alchemical elixir. "'Tis fair that we have a greater quantity, for we are special! Different. Above and beyond the rest. No one can save you". 
      "But you can!” plead the lesser-than. "You, who have this astonishing potion, can show us mercy!"
"Nay!" say they, and the door slams shut. 
  Decades of this unfair and unethical treatment can pass, the powerful growing ever the more, the wretched slowly accruing, but never will they be able to match the power of those above them, who lord over them still (and undoubtedly will) until the bitter end. 
  No misery is greater than this, no offense more grievous, no chance at respite more hopeless, no cruelty more pronounced. 
  Those that have the fairy dust would argue that it is not so, things are not as bad as they seem. They downplay the impoverished one's suffering and ofttimes jest about it, telling them that they once knew of the astounding bleakness they're experiencing, the lack, the lesser chance at life, and survived it. 
    "But (if you ever did) that was so long ago!" howl the afflicted. "You, who claim to understand suffering, bring to us ever the more of it! We are not blind to your smirking at our travail, passing us by with thinly-veiled aversion, treating us with condescending air, and overall despising our very presence as if we were lepers. You once had no Golden Ticket! You once knew of pain! How can you be so heartless, so desensitized, so monstrous? So... ....inhumane?!”
    "We hear you not. Go away!”
    And again, the door slams. 
    Muttering, the disenfranchised shuffle away, only to dream, to scheme, to plot, to hope, to wonder when, or if ever, enough of the wondrous, strategic, and fabulously potent resource that the exalted have will come their way. Glorious, it’ll be, that day when they’ll see bright daylight again! On that day where they'll walk proud amongst their fellow men, heads held high and with confident hearty laughter, be enjoying life again!
  But alas, alas! 'Tis not yet!

Another night shift looms. Another night to only fantasize-

       -about having SENIORITY.