Chapter 2: Breaking the Code

Kathryn Botts witnesses the ugly face behind Tranquil PD.

Kathryn Botts

My squad gathers around a dorm where we suspect the Hounds to be concealing themselves at. It makes me sad that they have to suffer like that, handling all of those things we could easily take away. The most depressing thing is that a teacher is convincing them not to go out. Not even for medical treatment. A couple of their population have been found dead without even a proper burial. Ignorance will be their downfall of we don't intervene.

Not all of the places where worker-class students live are nearly as bad as this one. We used to send clean up teams to patch everything up, but efforts had stopped after an uncanny number of them went off the map. Everything about the place is broken down, from the stairs to the roofs to the walls.

I presume they're all afraid of us now after the incident with Janette Ginkster. A new programmer went haywire with custom code and had killed the young woman. Being there for it was hard enough on me I refuse to do office work again. Even though my personal program was adjusted to soothe the trauma, there's a remnant of it that has a funny way of popping up. I wonder if mine's faulty, seeing as I'm resistant completely to commands even though my abilities are enhanced. There's no time for this now.

Another officer busts down a door to a flat. Everything is still except for shuddered breaths from the frightened tenants inside. I can imagine the fear in their hearts and the disordered thoughts racing through their minds. We suspect they might even have a gun. This is not going to be a pretty rescue.  

As we inch up the stairs, a crack claims one of our team and causes him to tumble. He curses under his breath, knowing they heard the fall. Silence settles again, a calm before the storm. The storm hits hard. A woman with platinum blonde hair jumps out with a knife in her hands. Behind her are three sleeping teenagers. They wake with a stir, obviously not expecting the interruption of their midnight slumber.

There's no question that I'm not cut out for field work like the other officers are. They were all giving a full dose of Tranquil's worker program. I wonder if they even see the disdain and hatred in their eyes. It's hard to help but notice every little detail. Every feature tells me a story I can barely stomach.

Flashes fill my vision the way I almost found obsolete. There's a gun, alright. But it isn't the people we were hunting down. My colleague is standing over a limp body of a boy who had been huddled around his two smaller companions, who were stiff with shock. Another flash, than another, and then few seconds until I adjust back to the nighttime lighting. A smoking gun leaves a trail behind him, flowing with the wind.

"Threats." he answers to my unspoken questions. "They've been eliminated without troubling the people above us." Air rapidly enters and exits my body, refusing to make words. All of my training, everything they've told me, is being crushed in front of me in the most horrifying way possible. The bitter woman is thrashing against the man's less lethal counterpart, crying for her lost ones. She isn't a lunatic, she's a mother, which is the same thing but with a purpose. In a shard of glass, I swear I see the glow in my eyes flicker.

I hate myself for running. Every inch of my being despises anything that tries to get in or out to get me to listen to any reason. My feet don't even feel real as they slam against the concrete and paneling. Next to the house is a garage. There's two boys inside and a betrayal about to take place. I know this because one of them is connected to the network.