text: The coffee was weak. He added another half spoon of sugar. Now it was sweet and weak. He decided against it and set it back down on the table next to him. Meanwhile the plans had been strewn about the table in the middle of the room and the two other men in the room were leaning on them, frantically pointing and hollering. It wasn’t easy to ignore, but it was possible. He took a deep breath, until he felt the slight strain in his lungs. This deep breath induced a yawn, as he ran his fingers through his hair. He placed his hands in his suit pants pockets, leaned against the window frame that spanned from floor to ceiling, and gazed out the window. They were on the second floor, overlooking the parking lot to the north, and the small, single room water treatment plant to the west. Anywhere else you look from this room is coniferous forest, while the heavy equipment and mounds of gangue were to the south, which is not visible from this side of the facility. There was plenty of light coming through the large windows, illuminating the table and chalkboards - although it was slightly overcast. Outside, a pair of deuce-and-a-half cargo trucks with black canvas tents covering the backs turned into the site from the main access road. Often the staff in North Wing spent their breaktime in the parking lot. In the centre of the asphalt there was a green patch about five meters wide by eight meters long which was riddled with dandelions. A timber frame gazebo housing two picnic tables with empty ash trays occupied this green space. When the trucks came into sight in the small parking lot the five workers at the tables rose, one at a time, and began returning to the front door of the facility, away from the trucks. If it hadn’t been a Saturday, the picnic tables would have been filled and bustling. He turned away from the windows before the trucks had stopped. The sound of boots was drowned out by the argument, but the gunshots were not. He had made it to the other side of the room by then, having just enough time to pour the coffee down the sink in the kitchenette. With the other two now frozen silent, the three of them could hear the boots bounding up the stairs and then the screams from the mezzanine. The two men made an effort for the only door, but it was blocked by silhouettes before they could reach it. From the kitchenette, he could see the lobby through the glass door. Near the empty receptionist desk lie the security guard in a puddle of blood, his moustache dripping, his vest pulverized, and his sidearm in its holster. The door was forced open and the two men immediately had their faces pressed against the table and their hands tied by plastic straps by the first four to enter the room. Before he could open the dishwasher, he too was thrown to the ground. The mug cracked when it hit the concrete.