The interrogation room in the Peace Corps Detention Center, a small cubicle painted in nursery colours and images, sat in the far back, away from the majority of the livestream cameras and most prying eyes. Commander Radfield sat on a black beanbag cushion, hands held in front by a pair of rubberized Smith & Wesson handcuffs. He knew the place on an intimate level, having interrogated dozens of troublemakers before now in this very room. The black one was his usual chair, and his fellow Peace Corps officers afforded him that one luxury while awaiting proceedings.
Radfield looked around the room, recognizing the two pinholes where the livestream cameras were located at once due to his prior familiarity with the place. A smile played on his lips as he raised his bound hands, waved, and looked forward, trying to not play up to the camera like so many lawbreakers before him. Instead, he took to singing songs he knew the words to, clapping his hands along to the beat and looking all the more like an overgrown child in a Peace Department uniform. Eventually, he grew bored of it and stopped, letting his eyes wander around the room and take in details he had never noticed before; places were the paint was peeling, indents and divots, even the two small charred holes in the wall where Tamerlane had missed with his uTaze when that dreg attacked him after learning he was scheduled for sanctioning a few months back.
Aww shit. Couldn't handle that one guy alone, could you, Frank? Nevermind that you had half a meter and at least fifty kilos on the damn guy... Had to come in and properly subdue him for you... And ain't that a damn shame? You'd been on the force almost ten years and couldn't even operate a child-proof uTaze properly? Aww jeez. Don't worry, brother. I'll make a man outta you yet...
He sighed. The memory of Frank in one of his goofier moments caught him off guard, something he hadn't been prepared for at all. Now that the floodgate had been opened, he tried to repress the memories from earlier that night, but it was of no use. They washed over him, leaving him drowning and adrift in a flood of recollections...
* * * * * *
The night had just begun in Nuevos Refugio, leaving everything damp and chilled in its wake. As the sun set, the winds picked up, blowing air from the ice caps skirting the edge of the continent inward and freezing to death those unlucky enough to be caught outside without the proper protection. Lucky for Frank and Christian, they were already prepared.
The PatrolBike was parked outside of the warehouse at Central and Franklin. Commander Radfield and Captain Tamerlane were standing aside it, back hatch having slid down automatically so they could retrieve their containment gear set just inside. Of course, Department regulations forbade the pre-deployment of gear of any kind, but it was in Radfield's experience that not having any gear on you ostensibly made you a sleeping duck. He'd been there before, vowed never again, and had to impress on Tamerlane the importance of gearing up pre-strike on more than one occassion.
They had already hitched on their gear belts and were adjusting pouch positions when the first signs of trouble emerged.
The sound started slowly, like rushing water but amplified a million times over, a cacophony pouring out of the open doorway to the warehouse. Frank and Christian jerked their heads towards the door in unison, eyes wide and disbelieving.
"What. The. HELL?" Frank turned to Christian with his fearful stare, hoping, like always, that Christian would have the answers to everything. He was mistaken; Christian shook his head slowly, uncertainty and caution tainting his every micro-second of movment.
"Frank, buddy, I got just as much of an idea on this as you do," he said under his breath. Franks eyes grew wider.
Christian noticed from the corner of his eye Frank's hand trembling as he went to heft his uTaze unit and turn it on. Christian shook his head again; why in the hell was he prepping that already? It's one thing to merely be armed, it's another altogether to be drawn and ready to fire at the slightest twitch of uncertainty. That's the whole reason for the regulations, Christian thought, So we won't abuse our powers like our forebearers...
The second sign came in a flash of an instant.
From amongst the rushing sound, they heard a scream, horrendous and soul-wrenching in it's sheer terror. Frank and Christian didn't hesitate now; they both pulled their uTaze units and switched them on, the prospect of having to make an active detention steadying their nerves and steeling their resolves. Christian approached the building first with Frank behind him, as proper order dictated, and slowly poked his head around the corner of the open door. He blanched at what he saw and pulled his head out to indicate retreat to Frank.
"We need to leave. Now. Let Sanctions deal with this one, man," Christian gushed as he slumped to the ground, back pressed to the wall.
"What the hell did you see in there, Christian?"
"They were..." Christian started, unable to bring himself to the words for it. "They were... Killing aliens. Their own kind. Young ones, all tied up. Being shot with... Whatever the hell that damn thing is!" He found his voice growing stronger as he continued his rant. "Those children are screaming and being murdered! Screw this! If they can kill kids they can kill US! We need Sanction Corps here NOW!"
As he shouted the last line he pressed down on the com implant in his jawline, opening a direct line to Peace Department Dispatch. He waited with baited breath for Dispatch confirmation to come, but after a minute that felt an aeon with hearing nothing, Christian tried again.
Pressing down on the implant, he said, "Dispatch, this is Commander Radfield, Nuevos Refugio Peace Department. Con-firm November Foxtrot Two, copy?"
Nothing.
Radfield cursed under his breath and ran his wide hand through the thick black mop he maintained for hair. He spared a side glance at Tamerlane to see what he thought of the situation or, at the very least, have him try his com.
Frank wasn't there. Christian spit out another curse, heaving himself to his feet and re-arming his uTaze in the process. He poked his head around the corner of the door, hoping to not see Frank, hoping that the idiot son-of-a-whore would have had the good sense to not try and play the hero again.
Frank stood just a meter away from him inside the building, having attracted the attentions of some of the aliens dispersed in the wide open space. He was saying something in a loud voice, but with the screaming and the sound of the weapons still being fired towards the rear Christian couldn't make out a single word being said. Instead he watched, praying Frank wouldn't continue the hero act and sensibly step away, but it was not to be. He continued to attempt to talk to them, and judging by his nervous shakes, it wasn't going very well.
Using Frank's distraction to his advantage, Christian took a better look around him. The wall to his left was lined with the younglings, all of them hanging from their bound limbs. They were so young, Christian noted, that their fifth arms hadn't even come in yet, a grim sign. To his right was a row of adults, each armed with what appeared to be bright silver cylinders on top of their hands being held by a handle of some sort. He knew what guns were from the historical dramas on the television, of course, and had even held one during the prerequisite Criminology course he was put through prior to he and Frank's signing on with the Peace Department... and these weren't they.
Radfield looked around the room, recognizing the two pinholes where the livestream cameras were located at once due to his prior familiarity with the place. A smile played on his lips as he raised his bound hands, waved, and looked forward, trying to not play up to the camera like so many lawbreakers before him. Instead, he took to singing songs he knew the words to, clapping his hands along to the beat and looking all the more like an overgrown child in a Peace Department uniform. Eventually, he grew bored of it and stopped, letting his eyes wander around the room and take in details he had never noticed before; places were the paint was peeling, indents and divots, even the two small charred holes in the wall where Tamerlane had missed with his uTaze when that dreg attacked him after learning he was scheduled for sanctioning a few months back.
Aww shit. Couldn't handle that one guy alone, could you, Frank? Nevermind that you had half a meter and at least fifty kilos on the damn guy... Had to come in and properly subdue him for you... And ain't that a damn shame? You'd been on the force almost ten years and couldn't even operate a child-proof uTaze properly? Aww jeez. Don't worry, brother. I'll make a man outta you yet...
He sighed. The memory of Frank in one of his goofier moments caught him off guard, something he hadn't been prepared for at all. Now that the floodgate had been opened, he tried to repress the memories from earlier that night, but it was of no use. They washed over him, leaving him drowning and adrift in a flood of recollections...
* * * * * *
The night had just begun in Nuevos Refugio, leaving everything damp and chilled in its wake. As the sun set, the winds picked up, blowing air from the ice caps skirting the edge of the continent inward and freezing to death those unlucky enough to be caught outside without the proper protection. Lucky for Frank and Christian, they were already prepared.
The PatrolBike was parked outside of the warehouse at Central and Franklin. Commander Radfield and Captain Tamerlane were standing aside it, back hatch having slid down automatically so they could retrieve their containment gear set just inside. Of course, Department regulations forbade the pre-deployment of gear of any kind, but it was in Radfield's experience that not having any gear on you ostensibly made you a sleeping duck. He'd been there before, vowed never again, and had to impress on Tamerlane the importance of gearing up pre-strike on more than one occassion.
They had already hitched on their gear belts and were adjusting pouch positions when the first signs of trouble emerged.
The sound started slowly, like rushing water but amplified a million times over, a cacophony pouring out of the open doorway to the warehouse. Frank and Christian jerked their heads towards the door in unison, eyes wide and disbelieving.
"What. The. HELL?" Frank turned to Christian with his fearful stare, hoping, like always, that Christian would have the answers to everything. He was mistaken; Christian shook his head slowly, uncertainty and caution tainting his every micro-second of movment.
"Frank, buddy, I got just as much of an idea on this as you do," he said under his breath. Franks eyes grew wider.
Christian noticed from the corner of his eye Frank's hand trembling as he went to heft his uTaze unit and turn it on. Christian shook his head again; why in the hell was he prepping that already? It's one thing to merely be armed, it's another altogether to be drawn and ready to fire at the slightest twitch of uncertainty. That's the whole reason for the regulations, Christian thought, So we won't abuse our powers like our forebearers...
The second sign came in a flash of an instant.
From amongst the rushing sound, they heard a scream, horrendous and soul-wrenching in it's sheer terror. Frank and Christian didn't hesitate now; they both pulled their uTaze units and switched them on, the prospect of having to make an active detention steadying their nerves and steeling their resolves. Christian approached the building first with Frank behind him, as proper order dictated, and slowly poked his head around the corner of the open door. He blanched at what he saw and pulled his head out to indicate retreat to Frank.
"We need to leave. Now. Let Sanctions deal with this one, man," Christian gushed as he slumped to the ground, back pressed to the wall.
"What the hell did you see in there, Christian?"
"They were..." Christian started, unable to bring himself to the words for it. "They were... Killing aliens. Their own kind. Young ones, all tied up. Being shot with... Whatever the hell that damn thing is!" He found his voice growing stronger as he continued his rant. "Those children are screaming and being murdered! Screw this! If they can kill kids they can kill US! We need Sanction Corps here NOW!"
As he shouted the last line he pressed down on the com implant in his jawline, opening a direct line to Peace Department Dispatch. He waited with baited breath for Dispatch confirmation to come, but after a minute that felt an aeon with hearing nothing, Christian tried again.
Pressing down on the implant, he said, "Dispatch, this is Commander Radfield, Nuevos Refugio Peace Department. Con-firm November Foxtrot Two, copy?"
Nothing.
Radfield cursed under his breath and ran his wide hand through the thick black mop he maintained for hair. He spared a side glance at Tamerlane to see what he thought of the situation or, at the very least, have him try his com.
Frank wasn't there. Christian spit out another curse, heaving himself to his feet and re-arming his uTaze in the process. He poked his head around the corner of the door, hoping to not see Frank, hoping that the idiot son-of-a-whore would have had the good sense to not try and play the hero again.
Frank stood just a meter away from him inside the building, having attracted the attentions of some of the aliens dispersed in the wide open space. He was saying something in a loud voice, but with the screaming and the sound of the weapons still being fired towards the rear Christian couldn't make out a single word being said. Instead he watched, praying Frank wouldn't continue the hero act and sensibly step away, but it was not to be. He continued to attempt to talk to them, and judging by his nervous shakes, it wasn't going very well.
Using Frank's distraction to his advantage, Christian took a better look around him. The wall to his left was lined with the younglings, all of them hanging from their bound limbs. They were so young, Christian noted, that their fifth arms hadn't even come in yet, a grim sign. To his right was a row of adults, each armed with what appeared to be bright silver cylinders on top of their hands being held by a handle of some sort. He knew what guns were from the historical dramas on the television, of course, and had even held one during the prerequisite Criminology course he was put through prior to he and Frank's signing on with the Peace Department... and these weren't they.
A movement at the far end of the room caught his attention. One of the aliens stepped out from the darkness in the back and was headed straight for Frank. He thought of warning his partner, but the thing was moving so fast there simply wasn't enough time. Instead, Christian spat on the ground and stood up in the doorway behind Frank, reaching over Franks shoulder with his uTaze aimed squarely at the attacker's head. He waited a second longer, and when the attacker was two meters away, he fired.
Christian never misses. Now is not the exception.
The sting at the end of the uTaze line buried itself deep under the organic plating that made up the alien's skin directly in the center of its forehead. Christian grinned and pulled the trigger the second time, loosing one hundred thousand volts of pure electrical stopping power into the alien in a matter of mere moments. The alien dropped instantly, attracting the attention of everyone in the room, period. Those that were firing on and around the younglings had stopped, heads turned to the front in some mockery of a unison, until all eyes were square on Christian and Frank.
Frank, too, was spooked, until he turned around and saw Christian's form looming over him. He breathed a sigh, relief etched into every line on his prematurely aging face, and turned back to face the inquisitorially minded mob forming before him. The aliens in the room walked forward, some still holding the weapons in their hands, until one got close enough to the dropped fellow to be able to touch him. He bent at the thorax, sadness evident, and touched his fellows face, nudging his head with a finger. Hoping against hope, it seemed, that he would wake up.
They filed forward, each touching the body, each mourning the falling of one of their own. Even the bound and tortured younglings hanging from the west wall drooped their heads, some out of relief and some from genuine sorrow at the passing of the adult. Christian stepped back, tears welling in his eyes at the outpouring of emotion and support of one of their own, forgetting for the time being about the torture and suffering he and Frank had halted.
Christian tapped Frank's shoulder, intending to tell him that they should quietly withdraw, only to find Frank pulling away from his touch.
“What the hell, man?” was all Christian could sputter out of surprise.
Frank turned to his partner, red at the eyes.
“Commander Radfield? Commander Radfield?”
Rough hands shoved Christian's shoulder, waking him up from the intense daydream that had gripped him whole. He shook his head, feeling the tears left over from the previous situation still welling up, brought about by the intense flashback and knowing what was coming next. He didn't want to relive that scene, never wanted to think of it again, didn't even want to acknowledge that it had happened if need be.
To keep from thinking of it, he focused on his situation at hand. He was just awoken forcefully... By who? Christian spun his head around to acquire the answer to the question.
His world went black. The thick bag covering his head cut off all sight and sound, leaving him deprived of everything but touch. He struggled at first, whipping his handcuffed arms about in an effort toat least feel his attacker, but came up with nothing. The bag was drawn tight around his neck, cutting off the oxygen supply inside. Christian's frantic breathing and overexertion finished the job that the bag started.
Christian passed out within one minute. He didn't feel the needle enter his arm, didn't feel the Sombisol as it was being injected, didn't even feel the van ride... taking him to his next destination on the hellish rollercoaster his life had recently become.
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