A torrent of water cascades from the hose, covering rioters head to toe in diluted syrups—trust and elation, happiness and goodwill. The effect is, thankfully, instantaneous. Even heavily diluted, Emotiv’s syrups are as efficient as ever, calming the rioters and making them stop to question their actions. From my precarious position on the concrete, I watch workers give up the fight, one by one.

One man holding a pipe bomb stops to look at it questioningly, a deep frown shadowing his forehead. With a simple movement, he twists the wire on one end and disconnects it before discarding it and turning away.

A gang of teens, who had moments before been smashing cars and shrieking, rush to help the VIPs cowering in alleys and hiding in locked doorways, guiding them away to relative safety.

The chaos stops, riot activity calms, and an eerie silence settles over me, only punctuated by the roar of water coming from the underground reservoir. I’m left alone in the street. Just me and my fire hydrant.

“It’s working,” Melly says over the radio. “Frank is seeing the same.”

Despite our search for Dani and Lena, I allow myself a moment to enjoy this small success. Even as a line of wardens, standing shoulder to shoulder, march along the street towards me.

“Shit.” I turn the hose on them, and the force of the water is almost enough to push them back, causing a few to stumble. But they correct themselves and continue marching, their helmets and uniforms protecting them from the flood of diluted syrups. They hold riot shields in front of them, pushing back against the deluge and creeping closer to me.

“Melly, it’s not working on them!”

“No skin contact. Run, Kyla.”

I shake my head, gritting my teeth. The wardens block my path to Dani. If I can’t get them to give up, I can’t get to Dani. If I can’t get them to give in, the workers I just dosed were sitting ducks. Who knows what they’d be submitted to, empathetic and helpless, peace-loving robots with no fight left in them.

Clambering back to my feet, I clutch the hose to my chest, planting my boots firmly on the concrete and aiming the water jets directly at the wardens. The direct pressure causes more of them to falter, losing their footing and causing a shield to slip, breaking the line—

“Wait!” A warden breaks through them and sprints towards me, waving their arms madly. “Stop!”

The sight is so curious, so unexpected, that I’m thrown for a moment. I could mow him down with the jet, force him to the ground and drown him until the syrups either take effect, or suffocate him.

I shake my head, noting that the single warden has turned to face his colleagues, holding his arms out in a futile effort to stop them from marching onwards. So he’s not trying to stop me, but the other wardens. He takes off his helmet and a warm flush expands in my chest as I recognise his silhouette, his warm brown skin.

“Ike?” I pull the hose aside, diverting the water jet away as the line of wardens stops a few feet in front of him.

He keeps his hands out, but looks over his shoulder. His face is bruised and bloodied, obviously he took a beating thanks to our escape. “Get out of here, Kyla!”

Bile rises to the back of my throat. Everyone wants me to leave, to run away. Why is it that when I wanted no part in all this, everyone talked me into it, and now I’m committed, they’re trying to push me away?

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Caleb frowns, regarding Ike with a grudging respect. “That’s not the whole truth of it. You’re twisting it in your own head now.”

“But it is the truth. Now I can actually help, do something, people keep on telling me to go.”

“Remember what I said?” Caleb continues. “Watch your step, blow your whistle.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “You were the only one who tried to stop me from getting involved. And look where you ended up.”

“Whatever,” Caleb rolls his eyes. “We need to get a move on.”

He points to the street, where Ike shouts something to the wardens to convince them. I can’t make out the words above the roar of the hydrant, which is currently pumping water ineffectually on to the road. But it looks like he’s trying to turn them back.

Most of them have taken their helmets off. Others have dropped their shields. Some of them side-eye me, perhaps noting our cautious standoff.

Most of them have taken their helmets off.

Gripping the hose again, I yank it up, sending a second high arc of water flying into the air. It falls down on the wardens, soaking them in a heartbeat. A few outliers hoist up their shock rifles, pointing them my way and pulling the trigger. The weapons short-circuit, either shorting out completely or malfunctioning beyond immediate use.

Caleb hops up and down at my side like a teenager as I cast another arc of water over the group, finishing the job. Ike is with them, but he’ll be fine. He already sees this whole situation for what it is. Once the syrups take full effect, the entire group will be as harmless as the workers, who are now retreating far behind me, filtering off into the alleyways and damaged buildings lining the street.

“Kyla?” Frank’s irritated voice buzzes from the radio on my hip. “Where the hell are ya?”

Caleb motions to the road where the wardens are slowly picking themselves back up. “Ladies first.”

I drop the hose on the ground and jog up to the wardens. Those without helmets blink dazedly, or take in their surroundings as if they’re only truly seeing the damage and destruction for the first time.

But I don’t stop to watch the reality sink into their expressions. I find Ike, grab him by the wrist and pull him along with me, heading directly through the group, towards Sinclair’s towering skyscraper.

“What the hell is going on, Kyla?” Ike shouts, huffing as he tries to keep up.

“Harding’s got Dani. Lena, too.” I pull him onwards, through Central Square, past smouldering cars and shattered windows.

“Shit. Any ideas where he is?”

I point to the emerald tower ahead of us, soaring above the other high-rise apartments, glimmering eerily in the moonlight. Ike doesn’t reply, but keeps up the pace without me needing to tug him along.

Frank meets us at the entrance, his impatience written all over his face. “‘Bout time!”

He reaches for Ike, gripping his forearm and grinning at him. “Glad to see you, bud.”

I scan around for any signs of wardens, but find the entire square deserted. “Where is everyone?”

“Had a change of heart.” Frank grins. “Managed to talk them into joining forces with us. Wardens, workers, even the damn VIPs. Harding’s up there, alright, some wardens told me. They’re gonna help us clear a path—ah, here they are.”

At this, he points behind us with a satisfied smile.

When I first turn around, my instincts immediately tell me to run. Instead, I stand frozen, taking in the scene.

A crowd of wardens swarm the square, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in black uniforms and helmets, armed with riot shields and shock rifles.

But the longer I look, the more I see differences—individuals without helmets. Others without body armour. Dirt-smeared and dishevelled, they don’t fit in with the usual ranks of wardens. They’re workers.

And then others stand out even more from the crowd, with heavily applied makeup and brightly coloured hair, ripped suits and skirts, broken heels… but armed with shock rifles, their jaws set with determination.

“What the hell?”

“The squad guarding the tower came to their senses once the dose hit them hard enough. I asked them to help us get up there, but everyone else wanted to help, too.”

The crowd in front of me blurs. I hold my breath to stop the tears from falling.

Frank pats me on the back. “It worked a treat, Kyla, just like you said. They just need to stand together, sing their fuckin’ kumbayas or somethin’.”

I nod, unable to keep the smile from my face.

Caleb puts his hands on his hips, grinning at the crowd assembled before us. “Wow, you’re like some kind of superhero!”

Ike gapes at the assembled crowd for a moment, before turning to Frank. “So what now?”

Frank turns to Sinclair’s tower. “Guess there’s nowhere else to go but up there.”