The city was a beast, its lights flickering and shivering in the rain that came down hard and steady. The streets of District 11 gleamed wet, and the shattered entrance to the skyscraper stood like a wound in the cold stone. Anderson stood amidst the chaos, his face hard as cut marble, the projection of him swaying in the downpour like some spectre. Around him, the police swarmed, officers and medics, gathering what they could from the wreckage of what used to be a front door, a few dead bodies, some half-dead.
His commlink buzzed again, the relentless ping of updates, demands, the gnashing of teeth from the district, the Corpo heads, PASIT, even his own officers. He let it buzz. His eyes were on the armoured transport nearby, parked under the glare of red and blue lights, Christopher Newman slouched inside. Depowered. His eyes—once so damn sharp—now dull and empty. Anderson watched him. Couldn’t help but wonder how everything had gone to shit.
"Chief, it's all under control," Ramirez said, stepping up beside him. The sergeant’s voice was steady but it had that crackling edge to it. "Forensics is sweeping the scene. Medics got the injured squared away. We’re ready to move Newman."
Anderson didn’t look at him. Just nodded. “Good work, Ramirez. Keep the press out of this. Last thing we need is more eyes on this mess.” His voice was calm. Too calm, maybe. “Get the team ready for debriefing once it’s done.”
Ramirez moved, barking orders. Anderson's projector hummed forward, floating toward the transport. Newman raised his head, met the chief's gaze through the projection. The human guards stiffened when he moved, their hands hovering near their weapons, but a sharp look from Anderson had them relaxing.
“Chief, I—”
“Save it, Chris,” Anderson cut him off. The words hung in the air, not cruel, just angry. Disappointed. “Do you know what you did? Do you know the mess we’re in now because of it?”
Chris’s jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath his skin. “I’m sorry, boss. You know how it is. I had to do something; there had to be consequences for this, or else, it would just keep happening.”
Anderson sighed, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. His eyes were tired, more tired than he’d admit. “You’ve just bought yourself more trouble than you know.” He let the words sink in, watched the understanding flicker across Newman’s face like the last light in a storm. “You trust me, right?”
Chris didn’t answer right away. Then a slow nod. “Of course, sir.”
“Then you would do exactly as I tell you. No more lashing out; there are better ways to handle matters like this.
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Morning came cold and grey, the sky a steel sheet, rain promising more but holding off for now. Anderson’s boots echoed down the long corridor of the precinct. Yesterday had been a mess of meetings and plans, half of which probably wouldn’t hold up to the weight of what was coming.
His commlink buzzed in his pocket. He sighed, recognising the number before he even pulled it out. Martinez. Anderson took the call, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.
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“Martinez,” he said.
“Morning, Chief. Hell of a situation you’ve got on your hands,” Martinez’s voice oozed smug satisfaction. Anderson could picture his face, could hear the smirk in every word. “I assume you’d be transferring Newman to PASIT custody. The paperwork should’ve been on your desk all night.”
Anderson frowned, but he kept his voice measured. “I’m handling it, Martinez. Chris made a mistake, but under the circumstances, there’s a lot we need to take into account before coming to a final conclusion.”
“Hasty decisions are often the best ones in cases like this,” Martinez replied. “He’s a danger. PASIT is equipped to deal with him. You aren’t.”
“Chris Newman’s been one of my best for years,” Anderson shot back. “One mistake doesn’t erase that. He’ll face consequences, but we’ll deal with it in-house. I’m sure you can explain that to your superiors”
The silence stretched, the tension like a drawn bowstring. Martinez’s voice came back low, hard. “You’re making a mistake, Chief.”
Anderson hung up without another word, letting the commlink fall to the desk with a dull thud. He sat there, staring at the wall for a moment, jaw clenched. "Fucking pest."
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The boardroom in District 11’s precinct was all glass and chrome, sterile and cold. Around the table, the district’s power sat like crows on a fence, holograms flickering against the pale light of the city behind them. CEOs, committee members, the ones who pulled the strings. Anderson stood at the head, his face unreadable.
“Thank you for coming,” he began, his voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. “You’ve all seen the reports. What happened last night was a mess, but it’s highlighted a flaw in how we handle paranormal incidents.”
Linda Vasquez, CEO of OmniTech, leaned forward. “Damage was extensive, Chief,” she said. “I assume you have a plan to prevent a repeat of this incident?”
Anderson flicked the holo-display on, bringing up charts, projections, all the things that made these people feel safe. “Certainly. What happened last night highlighted the need for paranormals under our jurisdiction. Under our direct control. PASIT can’t react fast enough, and when they do, we can’t control how their assets act within our borders. Paranormals offer capabilities far beyond those of regular officers—and in cases like Newman's— even cyber-enhanced ones. This means faster response times, more effective force projection, and a greater overall security posture. Abilities like these, if properly leveraged, could prevent incidents like last night's from escalating; It took PASIT thirty-five minutes to get boots on the ground. By the time they had arrived, Newman was already being transferred into secure containment some hundred meters beneath the surface. Had he been the sort less inclined to obey his chain of command, and Onir not been present, I am sure you can imagine how quickly things could have gone out of hand."
“And what’s to stop these ‘paranormals’ from creating more problems than they solve?” Elena Torres, a prominent member of the district committee, asked. The same district committee that had been trying, secretly, to defund his precinct for the past few months. Amidst her cadre, however, Elena was somewhat of a turncoat, so Anderson was not particularly worried about her line of inquiry.
“We control them,” Anderson replied coolly. “Oversight, checks, balance. We make sure they’re assets, not liabilities. Better than letting PASIT handle it, where we have no control at all.”
"This isn't just about one incident or one officer," he continued. "It's about establishing a new precedent for managing paranormals in our jurisdiction. By doing so, we more effectively ensure that your investments in District 11 remain secure, prosperous, and most importantly, free of foreign influence."
The members at the table exchanged knowing looks. The allure of unfettered power. Anderson knew they could not resist.
Vasquez made a gesture at another CEO, receiving a nod in response. "This plan appears to have merit,” she said. “You have my support."
Anderson nodded, barely letting the relief show. One step closer.
Hopefully, it would be enough.