Seeking Justice

Seeking Justice

(submitted to SFFWorld.com for October 18 Flash Competition)

By Mike Pollock

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Enveloped by the warmth and darkness of her deprivation chamber, Agent Carmine Gilles let her consciousness drift until the brilliant light of the world’s Collective Consciousness came into focus. Floating, as if adrift in space, she hung above the wild knot of strands. Each thread leading to a different person whose thoughts and actions showed up with a kaleidoscope of different colors.

“Quite a few Reds today.” Her partner Agent Roman Turek commented. His avatar floated beside her, and she followed his gaze to where a pocket of bright red strands signaled a large number of individuals thinking odious thoughts.

“Afternoon, Agents.” The customary, unknown voice chimed in as a Command Operator spoke into their earpieces.

“Morning, Command.” They replied in unison, a shared smirk passing both of their faces.

“As you’ve already noted, we’re monitoring a cell of Red strands. Possible terrorist cell. We’d like you to monitor and report.” The Command agent provided their short briefing.

“Roger, I’ll engage.” Agent Gilles replied. With her will focused, she prodded one of the brightest strands like a needle searching for a vein.

Soon she began seeing images; residue from thoughts and ideas. Searching through them was tedious but quickly she found herself staring through the eyes of another human being. In front of her, men in white painter’s suits were loading bulky drums into the back of an unmarked white van.

“Je suis compromis!” The man she observed through shouted, and she was ejected with a violent thunderclap. As she struggled to regain her composure, Turek rushed to her side.

“What the hell was that?” Turek exclaimed.

Just beneath them, the knot of red strands began winking out of existence. One by one they disappeared until there was nothing left. Their absence stood out in stark contrast against the rest of the Collective.

“They know we tapped in, they managed to cut the feed.” Gilles replied through panting breaths. “They are coming here. I saw it right before they kicked me out, they’re coming to this building.”

“That makes no sense, this isn’t a public operation.” Turek replied.

“Irrelevant, we’ve run a simulation and based on the general area, we think we have maybe 10 minutes before they arrive. Agent Gilles, can you direct a response team?”

“Damn right I can.” She replied, shaking herself out of her bewilderment. With renewed vigor, Gilles and Turek both engaged in a furious hunt through the surrounding area. Images swept past like a television screen flipping quickly between channels. A woman, held at gunpoint in an alley way; a man reacting to a fender bender in traffic; a child’s scream as their car is cut off by a large white van.

“Got it!” She cried, jumping from strand to strand, hunting for someone else in the area. Through the eyes of bystanders, she watched as the van weaved in and out of the dense Miami traffic. Skipping up on the curb, it ran a red light and nearly hit a box truck.

“Location?” Command asked.

“Right now, they are just exiting the Brickell area, now west on Flagler. They’re doing their best to beat the traffic. Can you highlight a local response team for me?”

“Yes, we can. We scrambled a handful of teams around the area a few minutes ago. Agent Peterson and his crew are closest.”

Below her, a handful of strands lit up a bright gold, signaling the location of the team.

Without any introduction, she plunged into Agent Peterson’s strand of consciousness and found herself viewing the interior of a standard issue government vehicle.

“Agent Peterson.” She heard her voice come over the hijacked speakers inside the vehicle. “This is Agent Gilles, I’m monitoring a Red Level attack as we speak, less than three city blocks north of you.”

“Thank you Agent, how’s traffic.”

“It’s Miami,” she replied, as if that explained everything, “but if you head west, then turn north on 27, you should intercept in front of the Walgreens in Little Havana. It’s an unmarked White Van, Command should patch a license plate, but you’ll know it when you see it.”

She watched as they set off, deftly avoiding traffic as they sought the fastest route to their engagement point. Each light stayed green for them as Command cut them as wide a berth as they could manage. As their SUV neared the intersection, she felt her own heart rate spike in anticipation.

“We have visual, everyone brace for impact!” Agent Peterson exclaimed just before they hit the side of the white van as it ran another red light. In slow motion, she watched as it upended, flipping several times before coming to rest on its side.

With practiced efficiency, the armed Agents all sprang from the vehicle, weapons at ready. She shifted her perspective so that she was looking at the Collective again, its swirling strands now showing mostly a fearful green, with a few curious yellows mixed in.

She returned to watch the action from a point of view perspective just as the gunfire started. The hail of bullets sent bystanders running, their screams of terror painting her own soul with rising fear. A man beside hers recoiled from a strike, and she screamed in spite of herself.

The battle was brief, though it was furious and bloody. As quickly as it started, the gunfire stopped, replaced by the distant wailing of a car alarm and the patter of Agent’s boots as they approached the van. From Agent Peterson’s point of view, she saw the carnage first hand. Laying among the bodies was one surviving man, his blood hands clutching what looked like a detonator.

“I shall look down with pride after…” he began, but his monolog was cut off by a well-placed round.

“Threat neutralized.” The agent replied, and Carmine let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. As her relief rushed in, she felt her grip on consciousness slip, and she barely registered the congratulations as she lost it completely.