The Ringer, small and bald moved silently though the Ballrooms of Mars. They were coming, and he had to move fast. He stood before a gong, strangely scared for a moment. This was it. Not how he thought it would happen at all.
He took the hammer and banged the gong.
In the dorms, the teenagers sprang up. They knew the drill – bang the gong, get it on. They rushed to get dressed. All had to look beautiful. Revolution was nothing without art, after all.
Lynx ran to her locker and pulled on her black combat suit. It was tight, designed to augment her muscles. Next came the stockings, hydra teeth necklace and the diamond star halo. Finally, the war paint. Thick, black liner and mascara smudged down her face.
She paused to look at the warrior staring back from the mirror. Sweet.
Dirty Sweet.
The tannoy screamed, “Troops. Fall in!”
Lynx, now Dirty Sweet, scrambled to the main room.
***
An army waited for her there – the press had dubbed them the Glam Army – and she hurried to join the ranks.
The Ballrooms of Mars used to be a nightclub. Weekly, the teenagers of the town had met there, then the Council moved in and closed it down. The friends of the club went to court to protest.
“It’s Fine!” They said.
“It’s Good!” They Said.
Everyone said “It’s just like rock and roll.”
To no avail. They shut it down. Coincidently, the Glam Army had just been evicted from their last squat and, with them needing somewhere to go and with the building being empty, they moved in.
Which didn’t go down so well with the local constabulary, and soon they were being beaten up and arrested.
Or arrested and beaten up.
Like Josh Hampden, “White Swan,” who died in Police Custody.
Which lead to a difference of opinion.
The Army called it Police Brutality leading to Murder. The Police called it “Justifiable Homicide.” They released a statement: “Their behaviour, their name, even their choice of clothing puts the “Glam Army” at odds with everything this country stands for. If they choose to illegally inhabit public property and willfully disrespect our way of life, they will have to be prepared for the consequences of their actions.
So the Army started to fight back and used the Ballrooms to plan the Bump and Grinds. Fighting back made them an enemy of the state.
And, being identified as an army, meant they could be shot.
And so it came to this. The Dreams of Teenagers in a broken down nightclub.
***
“The Enemy is at the Gates.” Their leader, Metal Guru, was speaking, psyching them up.
“What do you do?” He yelled.
“Move like a Cat. Charge like a Ram, Sting like a Bee.” Lynx joined the cried response.
“I can’t hear you!”
“Move like a Cat. Charge like a Ram, Sting like a Bee.”
The Mantra. The Battle Cry.
“What are we?”
“We ain’t slow. We’re the Avengers!”
“Again!”
“We’re the Avengers!”
And then we were off. Screaming, yelling. Into the gunfire.
We are beautiful. We are terrible. We ain’t slow. We’re the Avengers.
We are the Children of the Revolution.
And we can’t be fooled.
