“Tsk.” Police Chief Rolf scowled as his secretary brought him the daily report, chalky smoke filled his office from his cigar as he scanned the reports. He suppressed a yawn, quickly skimming through each paper to get home early. If anything important happened, he’d learn about it in the morning.

“Another Demon protest.” Rolf smothered his cigar against the report, annoyed he’d have to deal with that nonsense again.

If they were so unhappy about their pay, why didn’t they move to Vanderfall? There, they’d probably treat that trash better. If the Demons lived in his country, they lived by UOP rules. They should be proud to be citizens of the UOP, regardless of their living conditions. Some hell gas should suffice to clear that rabble. The agony caused by the nerve agent would make anyone think twice about continuing their worthless cause.

“Sir! Apologies for the interruption, but there’s an emergency!” His view screen said, flickering on. Sitting inside its frame was a cartoon green-haired girl in a police captain’s outfit with flashing police sirens acting as hair buns.

“Phú. I left my monitor off for a reason. This better be good.” While he could have easily gone through his reports with the AI’s assistance, Rolf preferred the tactile nature of paper. The higher-ups had forced the damnable AI upon his department, believing it would be an enjoyable mascot for children.

But his desk rattled as he abruptly stood up when he caught the AI’s stark expression. “It’s your nephew, Joven. He’s in the hospital. He’s suffered severe brain trauma. The prognosis isn’t good.”

Rolf was already charging from his office to the parking garage. People scattered at the sight of their irate police chief. Above him, a flying monitor followed him, Phú’s hover engines struggling to keep pace.

“He was attacked?” Rolf demanded, mind racing as the AI explained the scant details. “And this Rocke Ralss brat is responsible?”

“Correct. We’re taking testimony from both witnesses.”

“Keep them here. Once I return from the hospital, I want to hear their testimony myself.”

“Sure thing, Cap!” Phú said, giving him a thumbs up. “We’ll squeeze them for everything they got!”

“Rawr!” A roar echoed around the main lobby, officers were struggling to subdue a suspect. The brute was massive and violent, resembling more a wild beast than a human. Even with five officers on him, they couldn’t contain him.

“One moment,” Rolf said, forestalling Phú with a hand.

“Gah!” The suspect howled as Rolf delivered a powerful kick to the face. Stunned, he was helpless as Rolf grabbed him by the skull with both hands and drove his knee into his chin. With a thud, the man collapsed unconscious.

“Thanks, Chief.” Sergeant Halkken said, giving him a thumbs up for the assist.

“Throw that scum into a cell, Jan. Perhaps he’ll calm down after a day or two without food or water.”

---

“By Solv, I...” Rocke shook his head, hoping to wake from this terrible dream. This couldn’t be happening. His stolen car increased speed, zipping between two trucks. Metal squealed as he clipped a truck’s side, leaving an ugly gash in the car’s rear end.

“I appreciate the assist, young man. How about slowing down before you kill us?” the prophet said wryly. “The Sovereign might have saved my life, but I’d rather not risk it again, if you catch my drift.”

“R-right.” Rocke tried to gather his racing thoughts. Had he just killed Joven? No, impossible. It’d only been an ugly head wound. He’d be fine, surely.

“Dear Solv! I’m in a stolen car fleeing from a crime scene!” The full impact of his situation struck him like a brick to the skull, hands trembling with pent-up emotion. He’d just ruined his life, hadn’t he? Rocke doubted his family would think highly of him throwing away everything for some bum. His uncle would be furious about his debacle, maybe even refusing to help him legally through this mess. And Rocke’s dad? He’d rather not dwell on that.

“It’s okay, son.” The prophet said, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze. “We can get through this. The first point, I would imagine, is ditching this stolen car.”

“You’re right.” Nowadays, cars have trackers for just such a situation. It wouldn’t take long for this vehicle’s theft to be reported. After taking a deep breath, Rocke guided Joven’s car to a back alley behind a warehouse. At this late hour, nobody was around. With a hiss, the vehicle parked behind a bin brimming with trash bags.

An idea struck his dulled mind, and his fingers danced across the flying car’s controls. While people usually drove their cars manually, they had an autodrive function. He programmed a course that would drive the vehicle halfway across the city.

“Okay, now what?” A million scenarios passed through Rocke’s head as his feet landed in the dark alley, almost pitch black from the lack of moonlight. Behind him the car started up on its journey.

Should he turn himself over to the police and plead for their mercy? But Rocke trembled, terrified by the prospect of going to prison. How could this happen? The UOP promised its citizens perfect peace and prosperity. People like him never committed crimes!

“I have a friend who lives nearby. Let’s stop by there to rest. After your day, you’ll need it. Besides, I doubt good decisions are made in a foul-smelling alley.” The soothsayer wrinkled his nose at the alley’s smell of indeterminate bodily fluids.

Rocke watched as Joven’s car sped away to parts unknown. “Okay, lead on.” Some sleep sounded nice. It might sober him up for better decision-making tomorrow.

“Matthias Daliven.” The prophet said, extending his hand. “I haven’t properly thanked you for saving my life.”

“Rocke Ralss.” While a wiry fellow, the soothsayer’s grip was firm, a sharp contrast to Rocke’s more feeble one. Despite his father’s emphasis, Rocke had never attained an imposing grip.

After a slight smile, the prophet led Rocke into a district of Vladus he’d never visited. It shocked him how grimy it was. Didn’t the automatic robotic cleaners come down here? He even noticed some streetlights weren’t working. With palpable unease, Rocke followed Matthias to parts unknown.

“Matthias, is that you?” A woman said. She waved as they entered the shantytown, a makeshift village within his grand city. The lady was an Ottomon, her tribal markings stretching across her middle-aged face in a sharp, zigzag fashion.

To call these huts homes would be generous. They appeared more like tin boxes of thin metal than a house. It shocked Rocke that anyone could live in them. Did they even keep you warm at night? North UOP had harsh winters with meters of snow every year.

“Evening, Maple.” The prophet replied, limping over.

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“By Sovereign, what happened to you?! You’re all black and blue! Did someone hurt you? Angry about your prophecies, no doubt.” Maple said, fretting over the older man. “And who’s your friend? A higher district folk, from the looks of him.”

“Rocke,” he said bashfully under the woman’s scrutiny. Her penetrating gaze reminded him of his grandmother. That woman’s stubbornness could force a building to move if she wanted.

“He saved me from a bunch of hooligans,” Matthias said, giving Rocke’s back a friendly pat. “The Sovereign sent him to save my sorry keister.”

“That’s very brave of him.” The woman’s smile was grateful and full of admiration. It made Rocke somewhat self-conscious, but the glow from her respect felt nice. “Come in. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Maple. You’re a dear.” Matthias said, limping into the woman’s shack.

“Sure thing.” The metal hut was even smaller on the inside, barely larger than Rocke’s bedroom. Yet, its owner maintained it with obvious love, making do with whatever was available. The air didn’t smell as bad as he’d expected. Instead, the fragrance was of cooked vegetables. An old metal stove sat in a corner, and above it were stacks of shelves with different utensils and spices. Two beds sat in a corner, not giving the occupants much room for privacy.

“No use staring, lad. We might be poor, but we manage.” The older woman said. “But make yourself at home. I’ll get you something to eat. You’ve suffered quite the ordeal.”

“Sorry,” Rocke said, blushing. He found a stool next to a fold-up table and sat.

“You’re too kind.” The prophet said, groaning as he pushed himself onto the stool.

“Mom? Are you talking to someone?” A young woman said from outside. “Has Matthias come to visit?”

Rocke gasped as a familiar face slipped into the shack, recognizing the distinctive tattoo markings anywhere. What an impossible coincidence.

“Didn’t you give me a few copper coins a couple of hours ago?” The beggar’s eyes became suspicious. “Why are you here?”

“None of that, Kallane. He’s our guest. Please make him feel at home.” Her mother said.

“He got me out of a nasty scrape,” Matthias said, providing the backstory.

“What happened to you?” Kallane said, alarmed. She examined the prophet, making sure his injuries weren’t serious.

“Don’t fret. I’ll be fine.” The prophet said.

“The fool has been prophesying again.” Maple poured a thick broth into wooden bowls and placed them on the table. His mouth watered, despite being a simple affair made from vegetables, mostly celery from his guess. “Like those uptown fools will even listen to him.”

“Someone needs to warn them,” Matthias said, pulling his spoon to his mouth. “The Sovereign tells me they must be warned before judgment. They need time to repent.”

“Brave, silly Matthias.” The older Ottomon woman shook her head.

“And are you a repenter?” Kallane asked, eyeing Rocke with interest.

“Naw, I don’t believe any of that,” Rocke replied, trying the soup. It was excellent and flavorful, much to his surprise and delight. It helped remove any lingering effects of the drinks he’d had earlier.

“Yet you helped me,” the prophet said, raising an eyebrow. “Against your own friends, no less.” This caught their hosts’ attention, increasing their curiosity about what had happened.

Rocke’s hands covered his face, the futility of his situation crashing down on him. “I’m a wanted man now.”

“It was the Sovereign’s will. He put you there to help me,” Matthias said, his words kind.

“Thanks for ruining my life, Sovereign,” Rocke replied, not hiding his bitterness.

“This life is temporary. What we do for the hereafter matters more. The Sovereign will judge us for our transgressions. Being a good person isn’t enough. Unless we confess our sins, they hang over us like a noose.”

“Sure,” Rocke said noncommittally. He’d heard this speech countless times from his grandmother, too. She was the only person in his family that ever believed in the Sovereign. The controversy had gotten her kicked out of the family.

“Now Matthias, let’s not scare away our guest,” Maple said, scolding her friend.

“Tsk. Seems no one wants to hear the truth,” the prophet said, his tone going sullen. “It’s like I’m talking to myself. 40 days isn’t enough time!”

Why bother then? Rocke wanted to ask, but decided against it. It wasn’t his job to tell people what they should do.

“Well, I’m proud of you. Someone needs to speak out! The Uupies need to understand there are consequences for what they’ve done. Making us live in squalor while they live in palaces!” Kallane spat on the dirt floor, her tone venomous. “When judgment comes, they’ll get everything they deserve!”

While disapproving of her tone, the prophet patted Kallane’s hand. “I’m proud of how much you care about your people, Kallane, but don’t allow your anger to poison you. The Uupies are human too. I was once one of those snooty uptowners.”

The prophet was an uptowner? What poor luck drove him to become a prophet of a dead religion? Despite himself, it sparked Rocke’s curiosity.

“Tsk. You’re different. You’ve always had a heart.” They’d clearly had this argument hundreds of times. Rocke shifted uneasily in his seat. He’d never realized how badly the Demons despised his people.

“Dessert?” Maple asked too loudly, trying to break into the awkward mood.

“That sounds lovely,” Matthias replied.

“Sure.” His host gave them each a sweet cake. Despite its simple flavor, and small size, Rocke enjoyed it. When Maple left with her daughter to do the dishes out of a basin, it left Rocke mostly alone with the person he’d lost everything to save.

“Are you okay?” the prophet asked, catching Rocke’s forlorn mood.

“What should I do now? I have no future.” While his uncle had money, he doubted he’d spend a copper to defend his disgraced nephew. Joven’s family had even more powerful connections. His father was a powerful local politician who aimed to become Vladus’ mayor.

If Joven survived, Rocke would suffer only a short jail sentence. If the big man died, Rocke’s uncle wouldn’t dare fight that to save his own political skin. He’d consider it wiser to toss away his nephew like useless chaff. Like his father always said, it’s a dog-eat-dog world.

“The Sovereign will provide,” Matthias replied cryptically.

“Sure. Thanks for the meal, but I should go,” Rocke stood up.

“No, stay the night,” Maple replied.

“You’ve been too nice. If I stay, you’d only get in trouble.” Where he’d go, Rocke hadn’t a clue. He couldn’t bear these good people getting hurt because of him.

“No, you’re staying. It’s dangerous at night in these parts, especially for Uupies.” Maple’s tone was emphatic.

“Yeah, everyone here knows Matthias is a friend and holy man, but a rich Uupie like you would get sliced to bits in seconds.” Kallane’s frosty glare sent a shiver down his spine.

“Okay.” Rocke’s tongue caught in his throat.

“We have a spare mat you can use,” Maple said kindly. She offered the same to Matthias too, and he accepted the offer with a grateful nod.

Rocke grimaced, disliking sharing a cramped room with three people. But it wasn’t like he had much choice. He’d lost any claim to comfort when he’d attacked Joven. He hoped by tomorrow, things would improve.

---

“Explain again what happened?” Rolf said, getting into the witness’s face. The young man was a scrawny thing that flinched under his piercing gaze.

“Like I told you. My friend Rocke went crazy and just attacked Joven. It’s nuts. There wasn’t any reason he did it!” Sweat trickled down Marshion Parra’s face.

“He messed up, you mean?”

“Sorry?”

“Last night, Joven was at the bridge for a purpose — discarding trash.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The prophet, kid. That’s the reason my nephew was near the bridge late at night. It was to dispose of a nuisance who's been disturbing public peace.”

“We’re just talking about that?” Parra said, surprised. “Openly?”

“Yes.” The boy flinched at the tone of Rolf’s voice. His men wouldn’t dare betray him. Besides, no one would care if that traitor died. “Answer the damn question. Where is the prophet?”

“Rocke stole him away. Took Joven’s car.”

“Better.” The picture of the scene became clearer. Joven asked his friends to join in the fun. But this Rocke kid wasn’t as keen about it. The situation escalated, and Rocke struck Joven with a baseball bat to defend the prophet. Panic struck, and he fled with the injured soothsayer in the nearest car.

“Phú, my nephew’s car has a tracker. Locate it.”

“Got it!” The AI said, her monitor flashing before switching off.

If the kid was stupid, he’d keep running with the stolen vehicle. It shouldn’t be hard to trump up some charges for the prophet so he’g get locked away in some cold prison somewhere. Death during a fake escape attempt was another promising idea. Still, it was nothing compared to when they caught…

“Sir,” Halkken said, bursting into the interrogation room.

“What? I’m busy.” But the sergeant’s face told Rolf everything.

“It’s your nephew. He didn’t make it. The brain damage was too severe. He passed ten minutes ago. I just learned about it.” Halkken said in obvious dismay. A lump caught in Rolf’s throat. Despite the grim prognosis, his nephew had still been alive when he’d left the hospital. His sister’s wailing still tormented him, guilt stabbing into his heart like a knife. It’d been his fault the boy had gotten hurt.

After a brief silence, Parra uttered something stupid. “I’m sorry for what happened. He was a good friend.” The brat howled as a fist impacted his nose.

“You little brat. Don’t you dare speak of my Joven!” Rolf channeled all his rage into his words, an avenging angel. “He had a bright future. He was going to be police chief one day, but you allowed him to die. You allowed that Ralss kid to hurt my boy!”

“I...” Parra trembled, words failing him.

“I’ll leave you be,” Halkken said, motioning to leave.

“No.” Rolf regained his temper. Although he'd enjoyed venting his fury on this pathetic whelp, he wasn’t Rolf's true target. “Throw him out of here, and none too gently.”

“Understood,” Halkken said, nodding.

“Phú!”

“Yes, sir?” The AI said as the room’s monitor reactivated. “I overheard what happened, Chief! My deepest condolences!”

“Shut up. We’ve got work to do!”

“What’s the plan?” PhúLAX, or Phú or short, asked, her voice chipper as always. “Are we going to hunt that murderous scum down and make him pay?”

“I like the sound of that.” Halkken said, amused. Rolf’s heart soured with pride at his officers’ sense of justice.

“You read my mind.” A devilish smile spread across his features. “Put a city-wide APB on this Ralss kid. Shoot on sight with stun weapons, highest level.” The weapon was powerful enough to make an elephant twitch in erratic spasms. The agony would be pure misery. “But I’ll handle the rest myself.”

“Of course, chief.” Phú gave a salute. “Your blood. You deserve to avenge him.”

“Damn right.” Rolf left the pathetic Parra whimpering on the floor. He had a job to do. He’d burn down half of Vladus if need be. No place could protect Joven’s murderer from him.