He collected his hat, his M20, and his uniform, even in the cold he called the barracks. "Every other day" he told himself, always hoping for the best. Annarmaður Erik "The quick" Jassonsson was like that. He briskly walked out of his quarters, trying to avoid any officers catching him, as he was late for his shift. He was deathly scared, maybe even petrified. One of the officers told him to be extra alert, as people get rowdy during days like these. Partying and drunkenness were things Erik always loved, until he had to make ends meet and join the Royal Guard. He approached his post, being very empty and quiet. Nothing was heard except the blasting stereos from downtown. He also heard some yelling, but it should just be people getting rowdy and drunk. Other than that, it was quiet. Oh so quiet. He hadn't gotten alot of sleep last night, and maybe now would be a good time. God is my witness. He awoke to the bark of all of his peers, telling people to get behind the lone or face jail time. He slowly drooled out of his box, to find Molotov and vomit. He stood in the middle of it all, with his gun in hand, ready for anything. The yelling of the officers almost got drowned out by what he thought was a collapse of something large. The roar of the people swept through the boundaries, almost like water flowing into a pipe. His commander told everyone to form a shield around him, and so he did, slowly walking to a corner. There were too many, he had to do something. He cocked his gun, just if any teen thought it would be funny to throw a rock at them. He lost his balance as someone grabbed his leg and fell to the floor. Bang.