Chapter One

The hate was a viscid thing sprinting in his veins as he

loosely gripped the pistol who's muzzle rested on the bridge of

the Peacekeeper's nose-

The brain behind the molested nose of the peacekeeper wasn't

anywhere close to understanding what was going on nor was it

capable of formulating a proper plan of how the peacekepper

should deal with this unique situation. He didn't understand

the concept of hate- "hate" having been banned and

theoretically eradicated some years before the Peacekeeper was

born. Adrenalin was a contraband drug, and the Peacekeeper

(though he didn't realise this either), had the unique

priviledge of meeting with the worlds' first supplier (and

addict) of hate in nearly a century...

Mike Grange himself didn't really understand why he was an

addict, or how he came to become an addict, all he knew was

that he was "different" than anyone else he knew, and that his

"difference" is what made him feel alive. In his world, he'd

never met anyone else who was alive- the people he met were

like bugs or dogs to him, dead as shit, and about as

interesting to kill. He withdrew the ancient Glock from the

politely confused face of the Peacekeeper and stuck it back in

his waistband with a grunt, then turned on his heel and ran

from the museum with his bag full of ammunition and books. He

slowed after a few minutes when he remembered that nobody would

pursue him, they never did, not when he stole things, and not

even when he'd killed...

Back at his home, Mike dumped the sack of museum booty out onto

the floor of his living space and sorted through the jetsam of

unpopular history. The ammo he quickly resorted into piles of

what he needed (40S&W, 9mm, .308 Nato) and what he didn't have

guns for yet, then he gathered up the books and stacked them

near his living room reader. He sat down and selected a book at

random, thumbing the mem into the caddy.

"Police Arrest Tactics: Phoenix, 2010" flashed breifly on the

screen and then the VR kicked in, sending him into a Police

classroom with a lecturer who gave him a synopsis of the use of

armour, small arms and then let him take a quick spin through

the Hogans Alley with the squad track.. This book had an

extensive section on "Detection and Surveillance" as well, and

within an hour of the lecture, Mike realised that it would be

wise for him to start living on the run, staying away from his

house which the Police would search *first* if they ever got

their asses in gear to arrest him (he thought of the

Peacekeeper he met that morning, and chuckled over the

officer's complete lack of intent to arrest..).

Mike growled and punched the caddy eject button in mid-lecture-

he was suddenly and perplexingly disgusted at the notion that

he'd probably never have to worry about police interference in

his activities, since nobody seemed to notice that what he did

was bad, wrong or evil, in fact, it was rare that anyone

noticed his deviancy at all. it made him deeply angry to be so


BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!.. Peacekeeper Irk Mohab quizzically studied the

image of the young black man shooting at him, wondering at the

motivations of the youth, marvelling at the silky darkness of

the boy's skin and congradulating himself on remembering the

little game simulation that he'd mistakenly checked out of the

library many years ago. Since he had it in "newbie" mode, the

bullets striking him merely made red dots on his body and were

rapidly counted on a display imbedded in the wall next to him.

Mohab drew the sidearm provided with the game's armour and

studied it a minute before turning it towards his opponent and

pulling the trigger. The game paused a moment and the black

youth shouted "Take the safety off, fucking asshole!". Mohab

stared at the boy, wondering why the simulation didn't have his

name properly indexed into it's vocabulary, then he accessed

the config and entered his name and checked the docs on the

operation of the sidearm, discovering that the "safety" was the

lever on the side of the sidearm. Mohab resumed the game, "took

off" the "safety", and shot his opponent in the face. The noise

of the shot only tempoarily distracted hm from the horrific

gore of the boy's head exploding into pulp, and his last

thought before he slipped into a repairing coma induced by his

biocontroller was one of sheer hate for the man who had stuck

the gun in his face that morning.. It was the last hateful

thought he would ever have...

..."Biocontrol computers introduced in the late '40's were

instrumental in changing the role of Law Enforcement in human

society, and by 2055 the UN had eradicated violent crime and

the wars between the corporations by mandating biocontrol

implantation, first in the prison population, then as that move

saw acceptance, implantation into the general population. Now

our role has changed from Punitive to Participatory..." -Mike

kicked out of the training manual with a punch of his very

bored thumb. The rest of him, equally bored with the Police

Training Manuals, decided to go on a shooting spree...