Broken Windows

A thought hits me as I stare down at the home. It's an odd little knot that sits in my stomach as I tumble with it. It's missing a window. The house is missing a part of its skin, like a body opened for surgery. It's not open or shattered or boarded up, there's just an empty hole where a window belongs. Structurally, it's all the same, but missing a small part of its itself. We're not using the open window. It's not even the house we're supposed to be calling on. Like all civilized guests, we're kicking in the doors.

Our transport hums in time silently along the swarm as we leave that house behind. I can taste them in between my teeth. I'm just imagining it, or so I've been told. It tastes mellitic and gritty. I feel them spark across my tongue in sharp sour. They tell me its 5 until we drop. The street below is silent. The black paint of our collective underbelly hides us anyway. We just have to worry about the wayward cat poking out at us and judging our actions. The rats have much better things to do.

The message hits each of the squad in that same moment. Fingers tighten, shoulders clench, jaw lines set under the glowing helmets. Tactical information, one last rundown of the blueprints, the add-on basement lab, the probably positions of combatants and our routes through. I get to be on the tail of the front breach. My rifle along my back gives a comforting weight, but the revolver on my hip does a much better job, right below my pack of gum. I take a slow breath in, feeling all those little machines break into my lungs. They say I am ready. They tell everyone else I am ready. They tell me that everyone else is ready. We still have to wait for those final two seconds to pass by, just in case something happens and changes the count.

Nothing does.

The doors open and the ropes drop. I am the last one out, as ordered to be. The other transport hovering silently does the same. Officer Shaihk synchs with me as we drop. We are all connected in a vast web of ethereal light, but ours are strongest for the moment.

We have not even a second of time crossing the lawn. The steps come down to a fraction of it, the stack even less, and the breach happening before I can process. The swarm is doing that for me. It moves my fingers and moves my mind. I do not fire. The swarm does not identify anything that needs shot at the moment. The ones before me take care of it. Swears and screams and choking darkness, they all deal with it in their own way. Most go for their own guns in a valiant act of defiance put down before it could ever be a problem. The swarm told the officers that they were supposed to be put down. The helmet showed us the judgement. We just carry it out. I finally fire a shot and clip someone in the leg. I figure that we will need at least one person alive to give the testimony that the physical scene cannot. Officer Shaikh agrees with that assessment and moves to bind. I'm still with my line. We're going to the basement now. That's where the swarm of machines told us to go.

The stack comes together at the threshold, and it breaks before it can solidify in form. The machines and the helmets said it was time to move and the coordination was already done. We're slow, so much slower than the cloud can be. The point breaks the door with another shotgun round and we are moving downstairs, following the tink and dance of a live flash bang. It goes off just as we are about to round the corner. The swarm dulls the impact, and the dance we hold makes the rest shrug off. We move. I move. The extremities we share hold rifles and pistols and take down whatever it is we're supposed to.

We avoid the distilleries. We avoid the glass and chemicals showing a slightly green tint. It's a good lab, really. Well ventilated, but not too open, organized and clear. The Inkosikazi runs a good ship, I have to admit. The men have their own network and training, tight formations made to encircle and trap, but our own network is too fluid. I pull the trigger again and a body hits the floor. It shoves a table and sends a glass vial rolling off the table. I walk forward and plant it back upright. Wouldn't do any of us any good if the evidence is shattered and spilled on the ground.

The basement's clear by the time I turn back to the formation. Not even a minute, not even half, not even a quarter. I ignore the gentle chastisement from my helmet. Blackbrush Precinct still has us beat on time, but that's a dick measuring contest I can do without. A few pained moans slip through the helmet and that's another distress call that I don't deal with. The med response is already coming. I sling the rifle along my back and pull the gum from pack. I wince as it hits my tongue. Orange. Of course, I'd get orange flavor. At least it drowns out the metallic.

I scan and survey and take it all in with a slow steady gaze. The swarm needs calm and collected to fully pull down a clear picture for my world. It's getting every micrometer of movement I took from the jump as I work through the present moment. The layout escapes me. That's for everyone else to parse through. I work the gum and resist the urge to spit it out. It's doing its job. The adrenaline is fading, and my ears aren't ringing. Even the smoke's clearing. The swarm nudges me upstairs to continue my sweep and that's what I do.

Some of the medics have already arrived and a few of them have even started working. The bodies are lined up and sorted, the gel foam is staunching wounds and giving out painkillers. The swarm gives them tags to work through.

I see a few bullet holes punched through with blood splatters. It's the same as the ongoing renovations down the block. The veil is broken. Inside and outside don't have a line in between them anymore. Little needle holes breaking and piercing and showing the secrets to the world. I see a light go on down the street. The swarm is already alerting the world to go back to bed. There is nothing to see. They should just move along. Even if they live here, they should just move along. An old man in a robe peers through his front door.

The med team arrives and that's the hard part of my job over. All threats neutralized, all preliminary evidence scanned and gathered, all the bullets and casings accounted for. The adrenaline's gone and my swarm is picking up the slack. There's a kid holding a stuffed rabbit from a closed window, curious about all the flashing lights and loud noises. I move to the spot I say I should. I have a perimeter to establish, more walls to put up. The swarm says I can go once everything's done. I just hope the gum lasts that long.

---

My breath tastes orange. My teeth taste orange. I can feel the flavor creep into my sinuses. I'll be weeping orange tears by the end of the night. My sweat will stain every piece of clothing and I'll be trapped in citrus hell. The gum isn't even good enough to blow a bubble. By all accounts, it's a bad piece. But I've kept it close and I'm waiting on the reason why.

I can feel the music through the walls. I can feel it through the floor. The club goes up a good way and down even more. Private rooms and private bars, a maze of light and music and color all to be lost in. Someone's taking a smoke break and I want one of those too. It'd mess with the gum though, so we wait.

A door opens and that's all I need to actually have a good night. The overtime barely covered a pouch on the way over and I have rent. I work the gum one last time. It covers the swarm at least.

"Good evening officer," says the light from the door and I smile. Didn't expect her to carry out the deal.

"Mine's going great," says the other half of the light, "Full house in there. Money hand over fist."

And my little thrill gets tamped down. This makes more sense. It explains her presence. It explains the orange. It explains the long wait.

The Salamander tries to fill the alley with their presence, but it just doesn't work. Too small, too thin. They exist and that's undeniable, but in the gaps and the fringes. A splash of poisonous warning, red and yellow and black, to let everything know to be on edge. They push their hair back. Not like it needed it. Everything's been cut and styled and gelled all nice and neat and even. I pull myself and look to the better half.

Chem's smiling and my heart melts. She actually does the heavy lifting of presence. Liability says the standard issue training baked in my soul. But this is off the books, and I'm already breaking too many regulations. One more isn't going to hurt. She's big. Her swarm has made her big. If I remember right, it was part of the first deal I cut, how the force tweaks and trains the machines to change our bodies. She's also got new ink peeking under her cuffs. Professional and intimidating and I feel the square off coming under a wry smile and a wink.

"Salamander," I say, "Didn't expect you to show up for this one."

"Eh," they shrug, "Figured you were due for a check in, Nora. Make sure that everything's copacetic."

"Why would I be here if it wasn't?"

"Double cross. Triple cross. Double-Triple cross. Duplicity and schemes. That's the business and as straightforward as you are, I think there's a bit of cunning in that jarhead. Chem, would you mind making the alley a bit quieter?"

She nods and flexes and something cracks. That draws the smoker's attention.

"Derik," she says, "Back to work."

"Fuck off," comes the reply.

"Derik, you're making the good officer wait. I could tell her about all those times we've caught you dropping thermini in the bathroom. Or the polymoog tabs you've sold. Or the-"

"Yeah, yeah. Point taken. Fucking ballbuster," he mutters. The cigarette falls and dies under his heel. But he leaves.

The Salamander produces a small vial from the inside of their jacket and puts it out to me. Politely, I take it and hawk my gum inside. They smile. Their eyes glow as their swarm takes in the new information. A soft chuckle comes up from their chest.

"Interesting," he says, "Good layout, double distilled, and I think they're starting with a new strain. The Capo is going to want this. And dear Inky is going to want your clearing procedures."

"For what good they'll do her," I sigh.

"I'll tweak them, don't worry. Give her something to chew on and make sure it keeps her teeth dull. Hate for one of my favorites to get caught up in her own supply."

I grunt and wait some more. I hate dealing with them personally. The rigmarole has to go on until they complete a minor vivisection before me. I could be anywhere but here. At least Chem is here. She works something out of her shoulder, and I get a glance at her stomach. Old ink and tattoos there, but I think the piercing is new. The metal, not the hole. She catches me looking and I don't play coy. She rolls her eyes, but they still land on me.

"Well then," the Salamander says with a sharp clap, "Good work. Good stuff. And good something else. Finder's fee and quality bonus are coming your way."

The swarm trills in my head as a number goes up in my wallet. I quirk my lips. Despite all the pomp and circumstance, the Salamander is surprisingly above board. That's rent taken care of, plus most of my food and water. Couple other odds and ends that will need taken care of, but there's bound to be another raid. There's always another raid. The Salamander is smiling, and I don't like the look of it.

"Y'know Nora," they say, "I keep track of a lot of things."

"I'm aware," I say. My hand is creeping to my hip. Chem's watching that, but she knows where this is all headed. I'm not going to pull. The Salamander could certainly say some things that would get me there, but he's not going to say anything like that.

"And today is a very, very special day," they continue, "A miraculous day. A stupendous day."

"Just invite her in, boss," Chem says, "It looks like rain."

"Fine, Spoil my fun. It's our anniversary. So, I figured, as a celebration of our working relationship, you can drink for free tonight. And only tonight."

And that does calm my rising paranoia. I do like drinking. I do like drinking for free. And as much as this spot isn't really for me, I'd hate to be rude. I move forward, only to get a hand to my chest. I stop and try to intimidate Chem. She just smirks.

"If you're coming in," she says, "Then I need to frisk you."

"Do you really," I ask.

"It's policy," The Salamander says, "Never know whose packing. I'm heading in. I think I felt a few drops."

I try to act indignant. Of course, I'm packing. I was reaching for it not a minute ago. But it's also fair to get frisked. I do not resist. Resisting only makes things worse.

Chem does make it fun though. It starts off routine and normal. A quick outline of my figure, but as she goes south, she gets a bit handsy. They stay on my hips for a moment, moving me and pushing me. I push back, not violently, but I make her work. She smiles. Her hands go to my ass and squeeze. I suppose I could have something there, but the piece is on my left side. It's staring her dead in the face. I spread my legs and she goes up. I like where they stop. I could also use a few things in there at some point, but later. Not now.

"You're clean," she says.

"Are you sure?" I smirk.

"No, but you also have enough sense not to pull it out. So, you get to keep it. Like a treat."

I smile and she gets the door for me, like a gentleman. Her eyes are decidedly ungentleman-like, but despite the moniker, this is not one of those establishments. It's a strip club at best.

It's loud. The service hallway tries to muffle more of the noise, but it can only do so much. There's something to it, probably. One more sense to ignore since everything it can pick up on is just useless. It makes the drinks stronger and the colors brighter and the scent of colorful bodies full of drink something tolerable. And it is getting to me. It's deep and heavy, rattling the foundations. My swarm is already trying its best to pick it apart, but it can't cut through an iron weight. It just sits on me with my heartbeat. I can feel Chem close though. She makes sure that I keep falling into the trap. She makes sure I can't escape. I get the door this time, although I wish I didn't.

I just got flash banged. There's no other explanation. The music is full force and I feel it down in my soul. My joints already hurt. My vision is blurred by the rainbow lights dancing across the ceiling. The swarm tries to dull it, but it doesn't understand. There are no gunshots, no grenades, no body armor. I should be fine. My base nervous system should be able to handle all of this. I t can't. I feel something bump into me. It's Chem. Her dark hair centers me and I keep moving. I think she's laughing. I can't hear anything, so I assume that's what it is. A hand taps my shoulder and I follow it to a staircase.

The crowd takes a bit to learn how to handle us, but they do. A few more shoulders to shove out and bodies to move, but they manage. The stairs muffle more of the noise. She was laughing. I figured that much. But she's also suggesting a drink or two, synching her swarm with mine and letting the back end know how to handle me now. It mostly responds by getting out of my way. The stairs lead down and even more of the club overhead is left behind.

It's quiet down here. There's still music and it's still good at giving off a mood. It's better than I thought it would be. The entertainment also does a good job of that. Dancers on stage, slowly moving along their poles. That's nice. That's really nice. I get another tap on the shoulder. I'm blocking the flow of traffic. That's bad. I need to be courteous of the other patrons, even with my important status. The bar is open to me. There are open chairs and other patrons watching the show. I really have everything I need right here.

"I have to go back up top," she says, "Bar's been told about you. Order whatever you want. Stay as long as you want. Just let me know when you leave, so I can update the system."

"Hmm," I say. There's a wonderful blonde on stage now and she has wonderful control of her hips.

"Figured. I'll be around. There's other security staff around. Call them or me if anything happens."

---

I'm drunk. I like being drunk. Not in the same way as a glass of water, but in the way where my head spins softly and every thought comes down to a muddled cloud of fog. I'm having a good time right now, I think. There's a wonderful set of hips in my lap, gyrating and grinding, and a pair of nice tight breasts in my face. Shame I can't touch any of them, but that's the rule. I like rules, sort of. I can respect their purpose. And this is one I don't mind. I don't like it, but I respect it. There's also an odd urge to bite and nip, but I push that down too. So many things I can do, and all I can do is take another drink. It's empty, but the ice has a good little slush going.

They must be heavy. Round and smooth and big and heavy, the thought keeps swirling in my head as my swarm keeps telling me the time. It says I should sleep. I say I should keep getting excited and teased over a deep valley of cleavage. I say I should stay here forever, change dancers at some point and see how I feel about asses. I imagine I would enjoy them. I imagine I would enjoy thighs and lips and arms and everything really. The dancer turns and I find out I like backs as well.

Even more so when she bends over and takes her weight to her hands. Her legs creep up my body until I am face to face with that wonderful little gap. It's right there, behind a thin layer of synthetic fabric. I could just rip it off with my teeth. I could just dive right in. My drink is forgotten. There is a body here, shaking and jiggling and keeping me entranced. I could do it. It's a rule, a silly little rule. I have power. I could break it. She's rolling her body, and everything is drawing me in deeper.

"You're still here?" a voice asks me. I grunt a bit and that's a good enough answer.

"She's a VIP, right?" the dancer asks, "She's really well behaved for a VIP. They tend to get handsy. She's been a good girl."

I grunt again. I don't disagree, but I'm not sure that's the right phrase. The dancer slowly unwinds from me, and I am left bare and cold in the world once again. I need another body on mine. Chem has one. I could use that. I look up at her and she laughs again.

"Nora, sweetie," she says, "I'm surprised. You can do hurt puppy dog a little too well."

There's a bit in me that whimpers and pouts. The drink slurs it a bit, and Chem laughs. I like it when she laughs.

"Stahli," she says, "I think the good officer here has had enough for the night. You can head home."

Stahli nods and blows me a kiss before sashaying out of my life. She should keep doing that but stay still at the same time. I want to watch her, but she keeps getting farther and farther and farther away with the tip I gave her. A door hides her from me. Now I have a Chem to look at.

She's tired. Understandable. It's almost dawn and she's had a full shift behind her. I might have one in front of me, but I think it's just an on-call thing. Pretty sure. I'll have to check at some point. Before I can forget the swarm actually confirms I have nothing planned at all. That's amazing. That's incredible. I don't like how it made my drunken mess of a mind all neat and tidy, but Chem's stretching again. Her shirt rides up. Piercings and ink and colors and hints of something more.

"I take it you had a good night?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say, "Not really my kind of place, but there's something to it."

"If the boss had their way, it would all be that first floor. Had to be dragged through broken glass to consider a little more low-key place for high rollers. Think we had the front man for Red Letter here tonight."

"Didn't notice."