Victim of a Cereal Killer

As you approach him, you put your right hand into you pocket [gentleman] / hand bag [lady]. Your fingers dig deep into your pocket/bag groping and searching it. Then you found it, or maybe it found you.
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You pull it out. A piece of plastic. Flexible and thin. So flexible you keep twisting it into weird shapes, so thin it disappears once you place it amongst the many pieces of papers. Papers adorned with faces of dead Rajas staring back at you with their haunting eyes. Layered on top is a black layer of magnetic film. The plastic and its magnetic film is sandwiched between a coat of paint, like egg and ham sandwiched between two slices of bread.
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You continue to move closer. He held up its metallic arm, almost touching his partner which is standing next to him. He and his partner and a few more partners were standing in a perfectly straight line. So perfectly straight, you would question the straightness even in a perfect world… if there is ever such a thing as a perfect world.
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Your stride never once slowed. You rise your hand, maybe you had want to say “Hi”, or perhaps “Good morning” — in an Englishmen sort of way. But as your hand reaches waist level, he snatches it from you. With nothing more than a glance at him, you walk past him and push his cold, steely hand aside. And you grab the flexible and thin sheet from him. He could do nothing but stare at you, crossed and eyes red… knowing that he cannot desert his position, lest he disrupts the perfectly straight line.
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You move on until you are part of a sea of people. Each and everyone so connected in distance, yet so disconnected in action, in thought, in emotion. Some are deaf but to the music that only blast into their ears. Some are blind but to the paths only they will walk. They walk, because they fear that if they stop walking, the path that had grown narrower will suddenly disappear. And that they can never walk again.
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Then you hear the deep rumble emanating from the ground. Even the deaf turn their head in accordance with the rest. The sea of people, now which you are part of, floods into every space and every cavity it can find. You try to resist the flow. But it was not a flow, it was a tsunami. A tsunami of people, or sardines (of which you will understand later).
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You find a space amongst the spaceless space. It is so packed it’s like sardines in a can. Like sardines in a can. You just can’t wait to peel yourself away from here, what more when everyone is pointing their stink-o armpits at you.
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The sound of synthetic bell echoes through the long, cavernous space. The symmetrical doors slide open with a loud hiss.
You straighten your shirt/dress/skirt. Then you close your eyes for a moment, trying to visualise the next few seconds in your mind. Then you let out a soft sigh, so soft that only you can hear.
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Without moving your lips, you mutter “S’cuse me!”. Then you barge through the sardines, not soaked in tomato sauce but drenched in sweat. And some… in perfume.
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Then you see him again, with his metallic arm raise, almost touching his partner which is standing next to him.
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You put your right hand into you pocket [gentleman] / hand bag [lady]. Your fingers dig deep into your pocket/bag groping and searching……