With kids, there was no time to waste. Papa was first to find a job after Team Cerberus's dissolution, and the Murphy’s had picked up and moved to Philadelphia. There they found safe residence housing in the third conurbation hump of the MCE. Phillie’s vast burbs once joined to New York’s overflow, formed the densest population concentration in North America, second to Shanghai’s concentric core.
Bonnie had her reservations about the area beforehand, but the promise of a job for Papa had quieted her. The news didn't help -- reports of shooting fatalities during a gangland hit in neighboring boroughs only set Bonnie on edge.
Rumors her sister told her were true -- criminals were bolder in these super-dense cities, and police reverted to tactics that targeted both the innocent and guilty. The cops were no better than the crooks as both demanded payoffs. Local fief magistrates estimated the numbers of weekly arrests to number in the hundreds. Naturally, the media began to compare Megacity East to South California's equivalent -- Angeles and Diego, two rival megalopolises locked in perpetual turf wars. The lawlessness, many pundits argued, stemmed from the bitter standoff between two paramountcies -- Pacifica and TexPax in their tug-of-war for South California.
But here in the Atlantic Coast, governed by the stable Eastern Economic League, conditions were supposed to be safe and prosperous. Bonnie thought otherwise. Every day, the troubles she heard crept closer around her family. Sitting in the new kitchen, she fed her teat to the toddler, the suckling sounds soothing her. Because the more she listened to the news, the more trapped she felt. And things weren't getting easier. Their 4th was due in days, a prospect both joyful and terrifying.
"Is this company safe, Papa?" Bonnie asked, looking up at her husband while he poured his coffee. She still called him by the nickname the boys gave him.
"They got a new contract not so long ago. They're doing good," he said.
"What does that mean? It's not publicly-traded or an AEL Affiliate. If they lose this one contract, they're gone," she said lifting and adjusting her engorged breast for a better position. "And where would we be?"
"You worry too much."
"You don't worry enough," she snapped at him, startling the child, and quickly replaced the nipple before she could cry. Bonnie lowered her voice as the drawing renewed. "Where will we go if you get canned? Me and four kids?"
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He frowned. "What's gotten into you this morning?"
"You kiss their behinds." His wife gnashed her teeth like some rabid rodent. "You do what it takes, Papa."
"Course I will."
"The world is ugly," she said, her voice strained with tension. "The streets are ugly; the sky is ugly."
"You're not very nice this morning."
"You did this to me, Papa." She was on the verge of tears, her emotions on wild swings.
Papa put down his mug, came over and held her. She resisted at first, then fell into him, trembling. He hugged her, squashing the baby in between.
"I'll do everything to keep us safe, you believe me?"
She relented, nodding. "Sorry, I get panicky with mornings like this."
"Stop watching the news, love. It will rot your brain. And it's not news anyway, just a bunch of shouting buffoons trying to scare the bejesus out of you. The old days they call that Fox Journalism."
"Please, don't be late. Go to work." Bonnie urged him with a kiss on the lips as she got up and pushed him toward the door.
Papa left the modest duplex rental, and stepped out into urban din, knowing his wife was right. Bonnie was practical and realistic. Life was precarious and the five of them would be out in the cold quicker than he could snap his fingers. The prospect frightened him and gave him an urgency in his steps.
He hopped in his vehicle, a twenty-year-old electric automobile that still ran on half-charged battery. It had more divots than a golf ball and its yellow paint had worn to the base metal at the edges.
He engaged the auto-drive and merged into street traffic. LIDAR beams spanned out, avoiding rushing cars and busy pedestrians.
Auto-drive sensors picked up a white van pulling off the curb fifty yards back. It followed at a set distance between them.
Two miles ahead was a choke point where pedestrians streamed out into traffic from four different directions. With the auto-Nav's perfect record in collision safety, foot traffic ignored street crossing laws.
The van closed the gap as the bottleneck neared.
Reaching the intersection, Papa's car queued in line waiting for the light to change as dozens of walkers swarmed the streets upon cue to cross.
Holo X-lights counted down the seconds, syncing with every car's drive AI.
5 . . . 3 . . . 1 . . .
Just then, the van behind Papa rushed forward and swung left, blocking his car. The maneuver caused his tires to squeal as the anti-collision system locked up.
The side door of the truck slammed back. Three men in balaclavas jumped out, the lead man with a crowbar, the others with yellow-painted hand weapons. The first smashed the driver's window of Papa's car and cleared the glass shards. The others armed with tasers shot him at point-blank with two full charges of 50,000 volts.
Papa convulsed and collapsed forward in his seat, saliva foaming from his mouth, bowels and bladder opening to soil his pants.