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
unappreciated.
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...