The food shipments were late again. In the upper city, not everyone was rich, indeed, there were many people struggling to make a living in that gleaming place. These people would buy food as it came in from the agricultural lands, unwittingly driving up prices and worsening their own lot in life. The now grossly swollen crowd of the poor and desperate heaved itself against the thin police barrier, which wavered against the morass of people, but just about held.
Half an hour later, and still no shipment. The crowd was begining to turn ugly, whilst the police line was streched thinner and thinner: new officers couldn't force their way through the people. Then , it began. With a sudden surge, the poor slammed into the police, and the line broke. People ran screaming through, searching madly, hopelessly for any sign of food. None was found, and the disappointment turned into murderous rage. The small police force was trapped, and with no escape, they would have to fight.
The roars and screams of the crowd were begining to get into Private John's mind. Huddled by a smashed office window, he watched the ...... animals below, the crazed crowds dispensing "justice" on the few ground officers left. John had killed 10 people in his desperate struggle for shelter. He didn't even know if they were rioters, or just citizens trying to flee, but now it was too late. Private John wept for those he had killed, whilst the riot continued below.
The entire district was in chaos. Small pockets of officers held small, easily defensible shops, but were outnumbered tenfold. The rioters were burning, looting, destroying with reckless abandon. The Market district had become hell. Police forces from all other areas were amassing for the crackdown, whilst the news spread to all others in the city. The vengence would be brutal and efficient.