The dark, damp hallway was almost silent.

Not the silence that signaled the absence of people. This was the silence of eight armed men trying not to make any sound at all. It was the breath before a battle cry. Captain Elias of the Echo-Purge Enforcers glanced down at his rifle’s safety catch. He knew it would be off, but nine years in the job had built in habits that he could no longer control. Law Enforcer Boot Camp had been filled with hard lessons, especially where weapons were concerned. ‘Check, recheck, and check again’.

 He heard a voice in his earpiece from Echo Command.

‘Echo One, you are clear to breach.’ As the transmission ended, he heard a second voice in the background, a sort of low whisper, but he couldn’t make it out. He shook his head to clear it.

He looked back up and saw that the other seven were looking to him. He gave a reassuring smile and nodded once to the man nearest the door who held a small, metallic device in one hand. On Elias’ signal, he would breach using the tiny explosive, and Elias would be first in the door.

Most team-leaders in the field wouldn’t put themselves in that position. The first person to enter a hostile building was in the most imminent danger. Doorways seemed to draw bullets in like a black hole, in what was termed ‘the fatal funnel’. Despite this, Elias continued to put himself first. It was this, and other qualities, that had enabled him to so quickly ascend the ranks and become the youngest field commander in decades. He specialized in dealing with armed offenders, like the den of Trojans that were hiding, unaware on the other side of the aluminum door.

Today would be his eighteenth raid. He exhaled slowly, and took up his position, at a 45-degree angled to the door, and nodded once again. The lead man gently placed the device against the lock on the door and removed a tab from its center. A thin layer of explosive putty stuck it to the door and three LEDs activated. Elais raised his rifle into his shoulder and sighted down the barrel.

After two seconds, one went out.

Then another.

Elias buried his ear into his shoulder end closed his eyes.

The last LED went dead and the device detonated.

In less than two-thirds of a second, a small wad of magnesium was superheated by the electron-charged thermal pad at an astonishing rate.

At 12,000 degrees Celsius, magnesium doesn’t just liquify, it vaporizes. White-hot, silvered steam obliterated the steel lock.

Before the first pieces of debris had even hit the ground, Elias was moving. He charged through the doorway and went right, in a straight a line as possible.

It was a small room, cluttered with furniture and workbenches. Two more doorways were visible. It was the worst kind of room to clear; Plenty of places for someone to hide. He barked commands ‘Secure those entry points!’ as he made for the far corner of the room. He walked nimbly up and over a low sofa without lowering his rifle even a fraction. As he touched down, he saw movement. A figure in an armoured mask was crouched under one of the work benches, holding a weapon of some kind. Elias pivoted on his front foot like a dancer and went into a firing crouch. Both men fired simultaneously. Elias’ silenced assault rifle made a metallic whirr as it fired a burst of soft-nosed, subsonic bullets. Designed to hit a target and stop, instead of punching through people and walls, they caused the least amount of collateral damage.

The bootleg construction wielded by the criminal had no such considerations. His weapon roared and white flame shot out of the twin barrels. Elias was temporarily blinded, but he felt a searing heat pass over his helmeted head and he heard a wet thud at the same time. Unseeing, he flattened himself onto the floor. Although lying down in a room with unsecured doorways wasn’t ideal, going prone would make him as small a target as possible. Plus, he knew his team was only a few steps behind him.

Someone started screaming. He blinked hard, and could see once more, though a haze of tears. The Trojan was slumped forward, a series of holes visible in his chest. Echo Purge was moving through the room, a perfectly choreographed flow of movements. Four moved to cover the two doorways, making sure no one could come through until the team was ready to move again. One of them kicked the fallen Trojan’s weapon away out of reach as he moved past, without giving the dead man so much as a glance. Two moved to their wounded comrade. He had composed himself somewhat and took a knee, conducting box-breaths. Elias stood and saw what had happened. The bootleg weapon known as a Slagger was not uncommon. A repurposed mining device, it fired lumps of molten metal or ‘slag’, short distances. It was devastating in enclosed spaces. The wounded policeman had been hit in the bicep. The slag had instantly melted through the ballistic armour that could withstand most conventional projectiles. The man’s lower arm was dangling by a thin piece of bone. Part of the slag had cooled, giving his ruined bicep a kind of cyborg look. The pain must’ve been terrible. His teammate administered a swift fentanyl injection directly into the man’s neck and he went limp moments later. He was fortunate, in a way, because although his brachial artery had been severed, the molten metal had cauterized it as well, meaning that he wouldn’t bleed to death. The arm itself could be repaired, with time. Elias crushed his eyes shut once more to clear them and pointed to the man who had administered the injection.

‘Argus, stay with him and call for a medievac. Once he’s clear, start turning this room over. Be thorough, but keep an eye out for booby traps.’

Argus nodded obediently, ‘Captain’.

Elias waved at the other man, ‘Theo, with me. We’re going to take this first door,’

As they walked across the cluttered little room, the supposedly dead Trojan groaned and tried to roll over. Without breaking stride, Elias swept his rifle across his chest and, one-handed, fired another burst directly into the wounded man’s neck from less than two meters away. Bright blood gushed against the wall as the right sick of the man’s neck disintegrated and he collapsed. 

The second and third rooms were clearly living quarters, although no Trojans could be found in either. Elias frowned. Their intelligence had estimated between 3-5 people inside the building, and the surveillance drone had confirmed that only minutes before Echo Purge had entered.

The room was filled with contraband items, Elias could see. Ancient CD players, Analogue cameras, cookbooks from nations that house dangerous ideologies, all manner of electronic devices without SIM cards and therefore, no accountability for the users. And… a stack of thin, colorful books on a shelf. He strolled over and glanced at them. They were obviously children’s books, but he only recognized one. It had been banned fairly recently, a grinning juvenile in all green on the cover; Peter Pan. The words of the Minister for Education echoed in his memory as he recalled the banning statement.

‘A cautionary tale of delusion. A boy who refuses to mature, leading others — especially children — into a fantasy world where guerilla warfare, disobedience, and anarchy are disguised as freedom. The so-called 'Neverland' is a metaphor for rejecting duty, law, and reality itself. Peter Pan is a narcissist, a kidnapper, a threat to democracy itself.’

While his team began to search cautiously and methodically through every drawer, cupboard and box that could be seen, Elias crouched beside the Trojan he had shot. He was dead now, there was no doubt about that. Thick, arterial blood coated the floor around him, so that it now stuck to Elias’ boot. He pulled the armoured mask off the corpse, to reveal the features of an old man, his face twisted in pain from the shots to his torso. The man was missing a part of his right ear. It was an old injury, long since healed over. Cartilage reconstruction was a straightforward procedure, this man must’ve been off-grid and out of the system for quite some time.

Elais cocked his head to one side, trying to determine if he recognized the man from any ‘Most-Wanted’ pages. A headache began to throb behind his right eye, but it subsided quickly.

A word came through his radio earpiece’

‘fa…ult’

He frowned; unsure he had heard properly. It wasn’t a voice so much as a word made from static.

‘Fault’

Elias quickly responded.

‘Command, this is Echo One, say again your last message.’

The voice on the other end was confused, but remained formal.

‘Echo one, this is Command. We have not transmitted.’

He pulled his small display tablet out to look at his system diagnostics. Interference was rare in such a sophisticated comms system, but not impossible.

 After running the diagnostic, which came back as ‘All Operations Normal’ a message flashed in his helmet visor.

Soft, blue letters filled his vision.

‘S-y-s-t-e-m-f-a-u-l-t-y’

*

The following morning, Elias stood in front of all his peers and quite a few superiors. He was being awarded another medal, this time for ‘the swift and uncompromising delivery of justice’. He was distracted. His headache was back and there was a faint whine coming out of the PA system that ran through the police precinct. Every morning announcement that morning had been punctuated with an annoying, tinny whine.

Someone was shaking his hand. It was Commissioner Forbes.

‘Keep it up, Captain.’ The tall, bullish man leaned in close

‘See me in my office after this, I have an… assignment for you.’

Elias hid his confusion well. He merely nodded as the Commissioner moved away to make his speech and complete the ceremony. He showed images of the raid, including graphic images of the deceased Trojan. For the first time in his career, the sight of a person he had killed filled Elias with a sudden cold sweat. He tried to focus instead on the commissioner as commended Echo-Purge for their ongoing efforts to stamp out the terrorist organization that ‘plagued’ their Nation-State, and democracy itself.

Elias endured a round of backslaps and handshakes by his coworkers. His headache was now accompanied by pangs of nausea. He excused himself and headed for the commissioner’s office.

His hand was raised to knock when a voice from within interrupted him

‘Come in, come in.’

He opened the door to see the commissioner behind his desk, accompanied by the man who presumably had spoken. He was dressed in a military uniform that was entirely black. Internal Intelligence, thought Elias. The man’s face was as severe as a cliff face. Not exactly evil, but dangerous and unforgiving.

The commissioner spoke.

‘Elias, this is Inspector Trask.’

The barest hint of a smile crossed the man’s features as he extended a slim hand. Elias shook it. Trask’s fingers were cold and dry.

Trask didn’t waste any time. ‘Captain. I work for Internal Intelligence. Specifically, in the treason division. Currently, we are investigating the disappearance of one Naomi Anderson, a data analyst from Metro5.’

Elias’ professional interest was piqued, his headache forgotten. ‘Disappeared?’

Trask nodded. ‘We have no reason to assume any foul play has befallen her. But she is under suspicion of smuggling state secrets.’

‘What secrets? And to whom?’ Elias asked.

Trask and the Commissioner shared a glance. Even though it was the commissioner spoke first, it was clear to Elias that hie was deferring to Trask before he spoke. Whoever this Inspector was, his authority trumped even the highest-ranking officer in the city.

‘The state secrets are, well, secret.’ The commissioner forced an awkward smile. But the ‘whom’ is where you come in.’

Trask took over. ‘We believe that Ms. Anderson is a Trojan sympathizer at the very least, if not a fully active member of the group. As the most active field commander, we have requested that you be moved on secondment to ascertain her whereabouts.’

The way he said the word ‘requested’ made it clear that it was not at all, a request.

Elias was surprised. Although officially a police-officer, he was closer to a solider than a detective. Trask seemed to read these thoughts.

‘Although this is a little out of your usual area of expertise. This is a matter of some urgency and therefore we felt it called for an officer of your… tenacity.’

The commissioner grinned approvingly. ‘He’s never let one get away. Not even as far as the back door.’

Trask’s eyes flashed in what might have been a smile.

‘So, I’ve heard.’

He turned to directly face Elias. ‘A briefing has been sent to your inbox. You have the rest of the day to become familiar with the case, collect whatever items you need for undercover work, and then you’ll meet me at the Hobson Street overpass at 2000 tonight.’

‘You?’ Elias began

‘We’ll be partnered on this case. As I said, it’s urgent.’

And without another word to either of them, Trask simply walked straight past Elias and left.

The commissioner shifted some papers around on his desk.

‘Best get to it lad. The Internal Investigators aren’t famed for their patience.’

‘Yes sir. Thank you. For the opportunity’ Elias felt that this was the right thing to say.

The commissioner stopped and looked directly at him.

‘Don’t be so sure.’

Elias was about to say more, when another flash of nausea hit him. He excused himself and then made for the bathroom where he splashed some water on his face. In the mirror, he could see bags forming under his eyes. No, not bags.

He leaned in closer to the mirror.

 They were, markings? Dark blue, like veins under the skin, but patterned in squares and straight lines. They were very faint. He heard, no felt a voice again. It was just at the edge of hearing, but it was definitely there. Just two words.

‘Find. Her.’