The recruits chatted away in the van, en route to their next delivery. Kasia found Sermon more silent than usual; sheepish and distant whenever Luca spoke up. She waited for him to catch her eye, held her thumbs up, and mouthed ‘wicked’. Sermon pouted furiously and looked away.

Luca hushed everyone. His expression turned stern.

“I need you all to listen now. My boss has warned me about our next client, and when he thinks something deserves a warning, it does. The guys we’re picking up from are US expats. They're probably fine, but it's our first delivery with them and we don’t know their political affiliation yet. So keep your heads down.”

Kasia and Curtis nodded. Sermon and Zenia looked doubtful. Zenia spoke out.

“Did you not do any kind of background check on them? It's just that... they don't really like people like me.”

“As far as we can tell they're strictly business, but we're staying alert in case. For what it's worth the recipient seemed friendly enough; guy called Tucker.”

“Tucker!?” Sermon looked to an equally horrified Zenia for reassurance, “bruv they’re gonna be Nazis I’m tellin’ ya!”

“Relax Sermon.”

“Yea that's easy for you to say! Skin lookin’ like a skinny latte... Me and Enbie here have to hear shit from these people every day online!”

The van slowed. Luca winked at everyone.

“Don’t worry. Nothing bad will happen.”

With those empty words, wilfully oblivious to life's ironies, Kasia understood something was about to kick off.

The doors opened.

Another mob of working men, outnumbering the meagre, untrained recruits. Another warehouse, this one stacked with beer kegs, palettes of bourbon, and casks of Californian wine.

Across one wall the US flag draped, intimidating and edgy, looming over the recruits like a loaded gun. On its own it barely evaded the scorn of sensible England. Over this one had been sprayed a gigantic stencil of President Musk, the first autocrat, who had usurped his predecessors first and their democracy second. Kasia learnt about him at school and most remembered his end: the first Martian landing, which through sabotage or simple error had cratered into the red planet. There a bracken field of skeletons lay preserved ever since.

A story parodied on a normal day. Here, his image was creepy and threatening; propped up by modern Americans, who over decades raised the right armed salute inch by inch higher, cementing right wing meme into ingrained truth.

One man stood forward, tall and athletic. Middle-aged, but with a manufactured jaw and hairline. Caucasian, though not truly blonde.

He smiled warmly and held his hand out.

“Tucker.”

Luca looked at the hand. Too intimate too soon. He shook it to be polite.

“Luca.”

“My first time meeting a revolutionary!" Tucker laughed, his admiration apparently genuine, “you know you guys are famous where we're from, right? Like seein' a meme in the flesh.”

Luca smiled, again polite, “we aren't revolutionaries I'm afraid. Just couriers.”

“You mean I can't get a selfie with you guys?”

“I...”

“I'm kidding!” Tucker slapped Luca's arm, then clapped at the recruits, “alright people. We can't stick around for long. Let's keep it movin'!”

The recruits looked to a baffled Luca for confirmation, and got into action. Workers hovered around, curious and questioning, though Sermon and Zenia went ignored. Luca waited by the van as Tucker chatted away, offering advice on the revolution's strategy from the USA's perspective.

Kasia finished unloading and made for the van. Someone approached from behind, jolting her shoulder with a hand.

“Luca! You didn't introduce me to your girlfriend here! Hey honey how are ya?”

That warm smile again; the extended hand. Kasia folder her arms and nodded at it.

“Katarzyna, sir.”

“Katajana?” Tucker frowned, “what is that like Ukrainian?”

“It's Polish, sir.”

His smile widened; his teeth perfect and ivory. His staff ogled from afafr.

“Man, you know you'd be damn popular where we come from - is it okay for me to say that? But I guess you're popular enough here right?”

Shyness weighed Kasia down. She hunched and pointed at Luca.

“Never on my boss's time, sir.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Tucker spun around with faux outrage as his workers jeered; Kasia joined her team at the van. They were all keen to leave, but they couldn't yet. Luca still needed the payment. He caught Tucker's attention and rubbed his thumb and finger together.

“Ah c'mon... don't we get a freebie for our first order?”

Luca breathed in, half sighing.

“These deliveries are tracked. If I cut you a deal, my superiors will send someone bigger than me-”

“I'm kidding! You Brits are so goddamned serious!”

The workers laughed, mocking. Tucker pulled a stack of credit cards out. They were a variety of E-currencies, volatile digital coins prone to scams. They were not what had been negotiated. Luca didn't want to challenge it now, with thirty fascist men circling around him and acting too friendly. He took the cards and signalled his team to leave.

“Hold on a minute.”

Kasia froze. An arm barred her.

“Look uh... I know it's forward and all but... why don't you stay behind for a drink?” Tucker clicked his fingers at the men grinning behind him, “forget about those guys! Me and you.”

“I don't accept,” Luca stepped between them. The other recruits could only watch, too inexperienced to know what to do, or what was about to happen. Tucker squinted, feigning confusion.

“Are you telling me you can't handle one less delivery girl? She's like the tiniest one you got! You don't mind hanging out for a bit do ya Kat? Just hanging out, that's all I'm sayin'...”

His men crept towards the van. Kasia wanted to get inside it but couldn't get around him. She had nothing to say that felt safe. He rubbed his thumb on her bicep and cocked his head.

“What's the matter? Don't you think I'm attractive?”

“I thought you people were all about loyal marriages and happy children?” Luca puffed himself out, “Revolution Britannia doesn't pimp its members out.”

“But you aren’t in the revolution! You said you were couriers! And would your bosses raise a scene with us over one girl!?” he returned to Kasia, “I asked you if you think I'm attractive or not.”

Kasia's throat was too tight to speak. She looked down and nodded. Tucker palmed her waist with one arm and raised his other out, leading her away from her allies, still smiling wide.

Something clicked on his head. Luca's taser. The rest of the recruits inched forward, off-guard and hesitant.

Again the workers mocked them, confident and aggressive. Tucker pulled a slab of chrome out, gently batted Luca's taser away, and held him at gunpoint.

"It's Called a Desert Eagle. My great-grandaddy's, christened in Iraq. I got more firepower in my hand right now than anything you British bastards are capable of using."

As quickly as they had moved forward, the recruits fell backwards. Luca held his arms up in surrender, just as incapable of acting. Tucker lowered his gun.

"Luca. Buddy. I'm pretty good at what I do, okay? I want repeat business with you guys. I want a professional working relationship. And I'm not a bad person! Kat and I are gonna have a few drinks, I get to hear a revolutionary's story, and she can go back to work tomorrow. Is that seriously a problem?"

Kasia saw it in Luca's eyes. Resignation. In Sermon's, fury with no solution, as Curtis looked on dumbstruck. Zenia's eyes welled with remorse. Of all Kasia's allies it was she who had least backed down.

And they all orbited the victim uselessly. Kasa thought about Eva, what she was willing to risk to better her daughter's chances. She thought about what even one of these men would do to her in a single night, and how unlikely it would stop with their manager. When she chose to join the revolution, she accepted she might have to do bad things, or have bad things done to her.

She exhaled. Her breath shook with fear.

"It's okay Luca... I'll stay..."

Luca stared at her in shock. She looked frightened but serious, willing to do what was necessary. It was only on him to accept it, and leave her behind. Tucker snickered, shooing away his cheering, raucous colleagues, as he took Kasia in his arm.

She met his gaze. In his confidence, he saw in her intense eyes the opening notes of lust.

Only she heard the soft hiss. Only he caught the glint of silver.

She brought her knife between his legs, and turned it on him.

* * *

Gemma lurched out of the bedroom, wrapped in a dressing gown and wielding an empty teacup. She rattled it at Scarlett.

“I've only just got back…” Scarlett huffed and grabbed the cup, “you aren’t half milking this recovery period. Will it end soon?”

“You’ve been gone for ages... why didn’t you come home last night?”

“Femsoc had a drinks thing and, you know how it always ends... I didn’t want to come crashing in and wake you up.”

Scarlett reached for the kitchen counter, but Gemma gripped her bicep, gentle but firm.

“You know I'm fine with us keeping things open, normally. Now’s one of those periods I could do without you sleeping-”

“I didn’t do anything like that. You know I wouldn’t,” Scarlett saw Gemma's suspicion and gave her a pursed smile. They stood leaning against one another for a minute, until a phone rang. Scarlett stepped back and frowned.

“Nothing open?”

“It’s Luis. He’s sending me a small case to keep me occupied. Make my tea and don’t drink it.”

“Will you tell him I feel sorry for him?”

“You can't fool him. He knows exactly what you are,” she flicked Scarlett’s cheek, “begone.”

“You begone,” she blew a kiss. Gemma ducked under its orbit and shut herself in the bedroom.

“Luis.”

“Gemma. How’s the headache?”

“Feels like a bomb went off.”

“A bomb did go off! You slept through it. Now then: I’ve gone through your caseload and fished some small fry up. Option A: two drunk bachelorettes kicked out of a taxi, one physically assaulted.”

“B?”

“A string of muggings outside Kennington park. Serial offender.”

“Any pattern with the victims?”

“Almost certainly random.”

“Isn’t there anything about that Penthouse girl getting caught with her dog?”

“That case was delegated away while you were off duty.”

“Someone pinched it this morning then.”

“…I admit that your analysis covers the facts.”

“Was it delegated by yourself, to yourself? Are you poaching my decent cases while I’m down Schulz!?”

“Delegated cases are at the discretion of the Superintendent, and not to be discussed with unassigned detectives unless the case merits it. But I will say this Alderton: yes...”

Scarlett heard mumbles in the bedroom sounding like banter. She envied the partnership between Gemma and Luis; something she would never see in her own life.

She finished Gemma’s tea and reclined along the sofa, closing her eyes and imagining their upcoming honeymoon. They walked hand in hand through some paradise - any paradise - free from politics or factions or people. The sun was hot, without the shameful sting of climate change; the rains cool, without the choleric floods of English rivers.

But Luis kept appearing behind them, hopping about like an imp, playing an annoying ditty on a shrill flute. Scarlett's dream was ruined. She snapped out of it and dug around on her friends profiles for content, eager to be distracted by someone else's scandal.

Gemma finished her call and returned, flopping over Scarlett's lap. Scarlett tussled her hair.

“Found your case then?”

“A nice simple one. I'll make a start on it in a minute.”

“I was going to give you a massage..." Scarlett blew through her lips, "You can work instead if you really want...”

Gemma wriggled around and groaned, "can I not have both!?"

Scarlett made a show of protesting, then relented, flipping her over and kneading her stress away. Gemma focussed her mind on the case: a landlord harassed by tenants, one threatening the woman's child. An insignificant report, barely worth a detective’s time.

Until Gemma connected it to the violent taxi driver.

She couldn’t yet see the assailants, but of the woman’s many properties one estate caught Gemma’s eye before even Luis could see it.