<span style="color: #BF0000"><span style="font-size: 110%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">4:56 PM. Shadow Ln, Lyon District. Utopia.</span></span></span></span><br/><br/>The red beams of the alarm clock flash dimly in the muted sunlight. The dark curtains only allowing portions of the bright light to intrude into the small motel room. Overall, Michael felt very subdued like the sun. Not all together himself, but that was probably the hangover talking. It was for this reason he didn't fancy drinking all the time, this feeling of helplessness. Of course it was more than that. The feeling just sucked. This new stuff, Astroglade they call it? That was some serious shit. Deciding that five o'clock in the afternoon was much too late for anyone to be waking up, Michael moved his feet as swiftly as he dared out of his covers so that they could hang over the side of the bed. Lurching forward, he planted his feet on the floorboards and rose up. His body was not the only thing to lurch. As he moved, his stomach and head screamed in protest, the sensation ripping at him from two directions.<span style="font-style: italic">Yeah...this is crap.</span>He thought to himself. Definitely not an experience he would be repeating any time soon.<br/><br/>A splash to the face, a few Sustipills, and some good ol' oxyproxen had Michael feeling able to hit the streets. He needed to get going too. If he was late reporting in, he would never get that promotion he was hoping for. Stepping outside on Shadow Lane and nearing his bike, he felt in control again. This is where he fit in best. Outside, where he could feel the wind against his face and just ride...he felt free. He carefully straddled the bike, donning his com-helmet and gripping the handles tightly. Michael kick started his ride, coaxing a quick purr from his remodeled engine before taking off down the streets perhaps a little too quickly to be considered "safe". His dashboard readout informed him that he was driving at warning speeds. He smiled, in spite of himself. The only reason he was allowed at speeds higher than posted was because he was Sixth Watch. Grinning down at the magnetic strip road, he accelerated further, crossing into the "Reckless" zone.<br/><br/><span style="color: #BF0000"><span style="font-size: 110%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">5:21 PM. Sixth Watch West, Carson District. Utopia.</span></span></span></span><br/><br/>Michael cursed under his breath. After removing his thumb from the digiclock-scanner the panel sardonically flashed the numbers 1721.<span style="font-style: italic">!!!</span>colored his thoughts. He saw his friend Robby approach him from the side. Stealing a quick glance at the now disappearing numbers, he commented,<br/><br/>"Damn...missed it by that much huh?"<br/><br/>"I don't fuckin' get it. Why do we have to clock in 10 minutes early when we don't even report until half-past five? It makes no friggen sense." Rob just shook his head, smiling slightly though trying not to show it. He moved off to report early. Michael sighed; not that it would have even mattered, probably. He really did want to be promoted. At the moment, Michael was only one step up from the bottom. Grunts became recruits, recruits became officers, and officers became watchmen. But oh, how he wanted to become an officer. Take Rob for instance, Rob had loads more freedom than he did. Plus, he didn't get stuck with the night raids constantly, he just picked them up because he liked the pay. In Michael's mind, they were more of a hassle then what they were worth. Once you became an officer, you received a rank between 1 and 6, 6th rank being the highest. After that there is just Senior and Vice watchmen, two per district. Given that the watchmen were handpicked by The New Order, Michael didn't foster any delusions of one day becoming one. As far as he was concerned, he just wanted a laid back job that would pay enough for him to get a nice VR flat. Virtual reality had made leaps after the 23rd century, and was now primarily used as decor in expensive apartments and homes. One could make any type of backyard or interior they wanted...maybe his could be in a traditionalist style, with an open field and all kinds of animals to look after. A place where he could just live...<br/><br/>A buzzer sounds, and Michael is yanked from his pleasant thoughts. A group of 5th and 6th ranked officers joins the gathering, and the raid meeting has started. After listening to intel gathered from previous raids, the coliseum awaits patiently for the arrival of West district's watchmen. A short time later, the stage doors open, admitting 8 intimidating individuals.<span style="font-style: italic">The Watchers...</span>he muses inwardly. Though this term could be applied to just the watchmen, laymen on the outside of the Sixth Watch generally referred to any enlistee as a watcher. Hushed tones whisper among the soldiers at their arrival, though they are quickly silenced by a wave of the hand from the approaching watchmen. He begins to speak, his tone clipped and commanding.<br/><br/>"Thank you all for joining us, and for providing your service. Truly, there is no greater honor than to take up the fight against Evil. And what is truly evil are those who spit and mock upon all we have built. The deranged, the fallen, the ilk of society...the troubled. Yes my friends, tonight is another glorious night, where Good will once again triumph over the mass of Evil our great city is trying so hard to be rid of. Tonight my friends, we target our beloved home, Carson City. It has come to our attention that one of the biggest warehouses right here in town is currently a haven to a group of troubled, the size of which we've not yet faced. Fear not, my friends, as this is certainly something within the scope of our combined expertise. Tonight, we will be deploying two fractions of 10; one for each rank of each gender. That includes a selected senior and vice watchmen. We're about nothing if not equality. Think of tonight not only as a great opportunity to serve your city, but as an opportunity to prove yourself in the time ahead. Some of you could be looking at promotions based on your actions here tonight.” He paused, reveling briefly in the reaction he has anticipated.<br/><br/>“Now that I can hear you are anxious to get started, don't let me hold you back! Go with the knowledge that you are doing what's right, that you are showing the world what we can do. What we are about. Please look to your section commanders who will have the selection list. Once your assignment is confirmed, gear up, and move out."<br/><br/>The unknown watchmen concluded his speech, and boy what a stir it left in its wake. The watchmen were actually going to join the ground task force on the assault? It was unheard of. The watchmen only mobilized when action was strictly necessary. "They must really want this place bad..." Michael said aloud. He could see Rob moving his way through the throng of excited officers to join him.<br/><br/>"Hey, didja get in?" He asked, the glow in his eyes making it plain that he had been selected.<br/><br/>"I'm not sure," he began "I need to check real quick." Waving away his friend, he moved over to his section commander, a 5th rank who was looking particularly sour, more so than usual. Seems someone wasn't to be joining them this night. As Michael pressed through a mixed crowd, some beaming, most seething, he caught the eye of a sadistic looking watchmen off to the side of his lead commander. She openly glared at him, her face scrunched up like she was looking at a troubled.<span style="font-style: italic">S'not my fault you didn't get selected, bitch.</span>He thought. She just must be angry. When he reached his commander, the man turned automatically, a sneer on his face ready to decline yet another hopeful member. Then his face fell.<br/><br/>"Oh, Thomas. You've...been selected. Congratulations." He mumbled, with an appropriate amount of chagrin mixed in with the contempt. Michael grinned openly. Finally! Another chance to prove himself. Having been a recruit for some time, this could finally be the opportunity he needed to enter the realm of the officers. Briskly making his way back to Rob, he attempted to shoot a smug glace towards the nasty watcher he'd seen earlier, but she was gone. When he was back in his friend's presence, Rob clapped him on the shoulder with joy.<br/><br/>"I knew it! Your smile says it all man. Common, let's go suit up!" Nodding, Michael followed in tow behind his friend, ready to start out on a great adventure.<br/><br/><span style="color: #BF0000"><span style="font-size: 110%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">5:56 PM. Carson City, Carson District. Utopia.</span></span></span></span><br/><br/>Michael's exosuit rippled with power around his extremities. His core felt invincible with the strong titanium alloy covering his vital parts. He smiled, joined by the other 9 members of his squad, all moving in formation towards their destination. The arrived quickly, the exosuit practically allowing them to glide across the buildings' surfaces, giving them the fastest route towards the target warehouse. When both fractions had arrived, Michael had the chance to look around. The watchers in their group were two of which he'd never seen--but then again, he'd never had a plethora of opportunities to observe them, either. Looking over at the female group, he recognized the recruit at his own level and then...<span style="font-style: italic">her!</span>It was the female watchman who had glared at him earlier. She wasn't paying him any mind now; her eyes were only for the accompanying male senior watchman in his group. They eyed each other meaningfully, counting down time until breach. 60 seconds...<br/><br/>"Rob, who is that girl watcher over there, the one with the crazy eyes?" Rob didn't even look up from his arm panel; it was the 3rd ranking officers who were going to detonate the explosives.<br/><br/>"That crazy bitch is Ren. They say she's killed the most troubled on the west side--people call her the blood countess."<span style="font-style: italic">Ouch.</span>Michael thought. That sounded harsher than my first read of her. "Every time she makes a kill, she always has a report detailing why it had to be done: they weren't responsive, too combative, yada yada. Some people say she laughs when she does it, too." Michael cringed, glad his friend wasn't watching to see. Sympathy for the troubled, in any form, generally wasn’t tolerated. It was no secret that the Sixth Watch was responsible for the majority of trouble homicides. The best a troubled could hope for is being locked up in one of the better containment facilities, awaiting a cure. That's why Michael was in this to begin with. He wanted to get rid of the troubled who were harming innocent people, and help cure the ones who were truly scared. It was a demanding job, but hopefully one that would get easier with time. 20 seconds...<br/><br/>"Why, you weren't thinkin' of datin' her were ya? I mean I know she's nice to look at, maybe from behind, where you can't see her eyes and all..."<br/><br/>"No, no!" Michael cuts him off. "I was only asking because she looked at me funny earlier; like she was mad at me or something." Rob actually broke his concentration and looked up from his control panel. He gaped openly at Michael. Clearly whoever Ren was mad at did not have a happy ending. Michael swallowed reflexively as Rob looked back down to concentrate. They watched the count decrease.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Three...two...one...</span>BOOM!