Angel passed cautiously by the drunk couple. They were so pissed she could as well be invisible. The woman was throwing up, and the man was hardly standing on his feet. She sat on the wall ten meters away from them, a statue of flesh in the shadows. Her phone was always ready for action. This was a dangerous road, the long way from her workplace to her little home, especially during the small hours of the night.  Her muscles and secret defences were always ready for action too.

​

She made a few pictures. Her face ached from the effort to remain serious. It was serious. These two were heading towards a rough night on the desolated road and the weather forecast was not in favour of such a choice. She looked at the pictures. It was too dark to distinguish any details. She zoomed in. It was ugly. She signed, relaxed, jumped off the wall, what to do, what to do? Angel had only 10 hours till her next shift. She could not wait here forever for them to sober up. Angel searched for her backpack. The bottle of water. At least the water was still affordable in bloody England.

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“You all right there?”

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They blinked stupidly.

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“Wow, where did you came from?”

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Angel shrugged her shoulders.

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“Halifax. Want some water?”

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It took them ages to answer a simple question such as hers.

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“Ok, give it.” The voice of the woman was indifferent as a public announcement on a bus station.

“Five quits.” Smiled Angel.

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“Five quit for water! You, bitch!”

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“Just kidding. Here you go, take it.”

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They swallowed the water like animals and sat on the ground. The woman focused on Angel’s phone.

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“Is this an I-phone?”

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 “No, just a cheap Huawei.”

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She recognized the spark of hate in the eyes of the woman. This sweetheart wouldn’t mind seeing Angle’s gut spilt on the asphalt. Angel was 5 ft 5 and as light as a feather. The other was a fat cold-blooded witch. Angel signed. The two were just another victim of the lack of equality in the UK. Probably on the cheapest substitute for happiness, there was in Calderdale. Angel was not feeling hunger, nor thirst at the moment, nor tiredness, no matter that she been working for the last 12 hours. She was feeling high, like able to fly. But those two were seeing only 5, 5 ft tall girl, with a phone in her hand. And she was seeing only the years of promoting an unhealthy lifestyle, a life full of misery, stress and wondering where the final blow will come from.

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“Ok, can I have my bottle back, please?” she asked quietly.

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“What, love, what’s your hurry? What is your name?”

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Angel smiled. She noticed another spark, that of a vigilant dog when she started digging into her backpack again.

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“Can you do me a favour?” She pulled two AA batteries.

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“Can you find a proper bin for those. It is very important.”

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The woman lean back and forward, then gently took the batteries from Angle’s hands with a pretend care.

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“Of course. Of course, we will.”

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It was time to disappear. Angel sank into the shadows of the streets, immaterial like the scent of a perfume, and when she found a cover, she looked at the couple. Without any hesitation, they threw the batteries away in the nearby garden and wobbled up the hill.

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Angel turned on her camera and took a few pictures. Suddenly, the view changes and she was able to see the couple from a birds eye. They lived a few houses further up the road. She continued making pictures. A good night sleep and then expect the unexpected, that was lying ahead. She played her part.

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Angel reached her house on autopilot, unlocked the door and fell on the bed with her clothes. Ten minutes later she was fast asleep.

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She slept for five hours. Then she opened her lovely eyes. She brushed her long brown hair, had a shower and dressed in a hurry. This time she could not wait to get to work.

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McDonald’s was packed with people. She worked diligently till her cigarette break and then she went out and turned on the camera. She took a shot of Halifax town hall. Then she opened the gallery. The image there looked nothing like the building. She was looking at some kind of an instrument, an instrument to cut things, big things. She continued taking shots. They were all right. She had only five minutes break, every hour. The next break was at 7 pm. She took a picture of the bank. The image from the gallery was showing something completely different. It was drilling equipment, somewhere in the open. She had no idea what was she looking at. The shift continued with countless burgers, fries and cokes. Another break. More pictures. She shot the broken pavement Yorkshire stones. In the gallery appeared a picture of a hole. What were the guys from the satellite showing her? All the details were very blurry.

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“I am your terror.” Came a song from the distance. She personally was listening to “Catch you” by Kosheen all day, with a strange premonition triggered by the strange behaviour of her phone. Something was coming, not good. And she was the last person on earth to put up with terror, even when she was disappointed, helpless and drowning in all the dirt life was pouring onto her. The people in the outlet were creating the usual mess. The cleaners were buzzing from table to table with a fed-up look on their faces. Fat kids who were going to become sick kids were ordering burgers and fries. A homeless guy was scanning the “glamourous prospects” for getting a few quits for his next dose. The club next door was attracting more and more unsuspecting victims. All the poisons of British society had a date at their corner tonight.

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Last break. She lit a cigarette, but when she nervously finished it, carefully put it off. The anti-terrorism forces were sniffing around the city all day, she was not the one to set a bin on fire tonight, something bad was coming and vigilance was needed. Just to annoy the forces, potentially sniffing around her too, she took a picture of the bin. The image gallery showed a pipe of some sort, dug from the ground. OMG, was it a gas pipe! Her instinct told her that there will be an explosion, sent her back as a torpedo back to the fast-food restaurant. She opened her ears. The grills were sizzling.   She listened closely, despite the heated scandal of an angry customer waiting twenty minutes for his order. She looked around. Was an explosion possible here? The noises were so disturbing if you come to think of them as a warning. The HVAC system, the water pipes, where was it going to come from? She tried to relax and smiled at the frowning manager.

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Suddenly, darkness. Angel’s heart stopped. Some light, from the emergency system, was still available, so she could see the startled Brits stampeding and pushing each other towards the exit. She forced herself to be courageous, even though her gut feeling was crying for her to leave this place immediately. Angel measured the crowds, coming from the night club. Nobody was screaming, that was good. However, wearing t-shirts and short skirts in this freezing hour, everybody on their phones, cursing, struggling. She wondered about the scale of the blackout. Everything around them was with no power. She stared at the freezing Brits. At least they were not screaming.

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“Damaged power line.” She overheard the manager on the phone. “It will be fixed in an hour.”

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Angel kept staring mesmerized. Nobody paid attention to her, everybody stood there contemplating those who had the bad luck to be outside. She wondered for a second if the phones were also affected in some kind of a cyber attack, playing tricks like her own. And then she realized what were the pictures. Somebody was keeping her up to date to his approach to the power line. Who, why, where, was unimportant. The important thing was that she asked too many times too many Brits to do a few simple things and was ignored. So now she could take a break and watch, hopeful that the mysterious saboteurs will have mercy on their businesses and their souls.  Panicking teenagers, stretched services, she stood there amazed at the punctuality, the rest of the town seemed unaffected, only their corner of poisonous food and booze.

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Angel did not dare to take more pictures. She opened her Facebook. She was following numerous groups and one headline drew her attention. “Shock and relief!” She imagined the faces of the workers, reporting to the mayor or whoever, about the power line and that it could have been worse. What else was on Facebook? News. Arresting environmental activists in London. This was too much of a coincidence. The turmoil outside interrupted her thoughts. She could not believe her eyes. They were fighting again. Then one of the boys took his pants down.

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“What do you think, Angel?” tapped her on the shoulder her manager.

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“You Brits should really stop doing this.” Joked Angel. Lately, the net was flooded with naked Brits after Prince Harry's mishap in Las Vegas. 

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But she knew now it was not a joke.