"We're working on the money issue," Sara tried to stay calm, "there are anonymous donations supporting our cause..."
"Anonymous?" a local Labour councilor scoffed, "Lady Kent, politics is a transparent ga. 'Anonymous donations' often an shady deals. How can you guarantee that this money isn't coming from foreign forces, like... xico? Or even worse places?"
A buzz of discussion arose from the audience. xico, a term that recently frequented the news, was always associated with turmoil, new technology, and challenges to the old order. For so people, it was hope; for more, accustod to the old life track, it was a disturbing unknown.
"Every expense of ours will be made public..."
"Public to whom?"
Another union official chid in, a stout figure with a cigarette stub between his fingers, "To your 'Congress' insiders? Why should we believe you? The union's been around for decades. Sure, there are issues, but at least the rules, elections, accounts, they are regulated. Your setup... it's too grassroots, like child's play."
At that mont, the side door of the warehouse was forcefully pushed open, letting in a gust of night wind with a fishy sll. A few figures hurried in, led by the head of Liverpool's "English Congress" branch, a forr high school history teacher nad Dave, whose face was pale and sweaty.
"Sara, sothing's happened." Dave approached the podium, speaking in a hushed tone, but loud enough for the front row to hear, "Old Dock District, near the 'Seven Seas' bar. Half an hour ago, there was a shooting. Two dead, five injured."
The warehouse fell silent instantly.
"Who did it?" Sara asked, her heart tightening.
"Don't know. But the thod... very brutal. The deceased were executed at close range, headshots. Among the injured, one had his hand cut off. The bar owner said that the shooter wasn't speaking English, nor with a Liverpool accent. It was Spanish, but with a heavy... xican accent. They took all the bar's earnings of the day and a few thousand British Pounds the owner had hidden under the counter, and... so packets of stuff."
"What stuff?"
Dave licked his lips, speaking even quieter, "Cocaine. High purity. The bar owner was secretly selling it. Those people seed to co specifically for this."
xican accent?
Shooting? Drug robbery? Sara's mind was in chaos. This was a world away from the struggle she knew - gatherings, speeches, legal procedures, community service.
"What about the police?"
"They ca, sealed off the scene, but left after a few questions. They said it's a 'drug-related violent incident,' and they'd investigate. But nobody believes them."
Dave glanced at the varied expressions in the audience, "People in the dock area are tense now. Many are saying London's order has collapsed, and all sorts of riffraff have co in. Others say... it's our 'Congress' clamoring for change that broke the peaceful days and brought this disaster."
The audience imdiately erupted.
"See! I told you so!" the fat union official raised his voice, "Playing politics, pushing reform? Get the street safety sorted out first! Bars have started shooting; what if they target hos next?"
"What's this got to do with us?" Sara tried to argue, but her voice was drowned out.
"How's it not related?" the old dockworker glared at her, "You said you wanted a new order, the old police aren't working anymore. So where are the new cops? Can we still go out safely at night?"
Questions and fears surged like a tide. Sara suddenly realized the challenge she faced was far beyond the procedural hurdles of London bureaucracy. When old authority loosens, what's likely to rush into the gaps is not sothing new and beautiful, but the most primal and violent chaos. And what ordinary people care most about is their imdiate safety.
Allen, having appeared behind her unnoticed, spoke calmly yet clearly into her ear, "This is both a crisis and an opportunity. Organize our people, set up community night patrols, volunteer sign-ups. Not to replace the police, but to provide eyes and ears. Simultaneously, demand local police increase patrols in this area and release case updates. Turn the security issue into a point where we showcase organizational ability and win public support."
Sara took a deep breath, looking at the angry, fearful, and skeptical faces below. She knew Allen was right. But she also knew that once she delved into the realm of security, it ant half-stepping into a gray area, potentially provoking fiercer backlash and possibly being dragged into endless street violence.
However, she had no choice.
"Dave," she turned to the branch leader, "imdiately organize our trusted people to form a temporary patrol team, start tonight on the main streets of the Old Dock District. Don't carry weapons, just flashlights and radios. Record any suspicious situations, report directly to the police, and also inform us. anwhile, draft a public statent calling for a eting with the city Police Chief and local councilors tomorrow morning to discuss specific asures to enhance dock area security."
She faced the audience again, raising her voice, "You all heard it, there's been a shooting, people died. Fear is normal. But fear doesn't solve problems. Neither does bla. The police say it's a drug case, okay, then we ask them to take action! And we ourselves cannot just wait. Those willing to join the night patrol, see Dave after the eting to sign up. This isn't about replacing anyone; it's about protecting our own neighbors and streets!"
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