The Edge of Living

[FloatingAroundSpace]

The shouts from the building of fire turned from agony to victory, cheering on those that could still stand as they staggered to their feet, the dead bodies kicked aside as they opened fire down below. Bullets from below came in bits and pieces, the guards scrambling for cover more eagerly than their guns as the hail continued, blood soon staining the ground. There were shouted commands that made no sense as the figures on the roofs scrambled for more ammunition, for more firing power, for more ways to kill. There was no thought of the bodies that would be left behind, no thought for who it was they were killing. There was only the overwhelming smell of smoke and tang of metal from blood that filled the air as shouts came from all sides. Some were out of glee at impending victory and others were out of horror at being mowed down like animals, trapped in some sort of slaughtering cage.


"Leave no one behind!" was the chant that rose above all else as the angry continued to kill. There could be no body left standing, no chest still moving. There could only be death and blood and they would ensure it.


The explosions peppered the alleyway, the weapons that the guards had brought along for safety turning against them and spitting out hot flame and noxious gases in an effort to destroy like they were programmed. A few muzzles were pointed at them and a few shots fired but a response was issued in the form of a storm of lead, causing the attacker to fall back as he was punished for daring to defend.


There was no thought in killing anymore, not for those that held the higher ground. They needed to ensure that they suffered, that they paid for what had happened and what they had done, whether they knew it or not.

 

[HeyGayzelle]

The wounded bodies of SCC guards fell to the floor as their emboldened attackers struck and solidified their terrain advantage. The partial cover which shielded many the guards in the firefight that followed the collapse of their shield now proved useless as their opposition swarmed upon what remained of their shattered formation.


The guards that remained fighting had abandoned the process of reloading their spent weapons. They instead resorted to looting whatever firepower they could from their fallen allies in an attempt to lay down as heavy of a suppressing fire curtain as possible. But the uncoordinated efforts of the surviving SCC guards were nothing compared to the decisive stopping power of their shielded phalanx. The precision and effectiveness with which the SCC martial authorities could utilize their instruments of control almost bordered on being some terrible art. But this was a night where chaos reigned over order and crushed ambitions formented into violent rebellion. There would be no reclaiming the lives lost tonight, and the only questioned that remained was how absolute their retribution would be.


A young woman with her arm soaked in a slick coating of deep red blood picked up a long angular rifle and struggled to depress the trigger with her atrophied finger before the bullet of some unseen marksman rang out and claimed her life. Another guard bearing a similar weapon fired a small launcher slung under the barrel of the weapon and sent three tiny rockets spiraling down the alley in a helix formation. And moments later, they explode uselessly against the metal and concrete obstructions against the alleyway, not even approaching the effectiveness of the HDEP bursts from before. Most recognized the futility of their efforts, yet they still struggled to hold on to the small possibility that they might live another day.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

The sound of bullets and shouting and explosions rattled throughout the streets, down the alleyways of those closest to the fight. They peered out into the dark to see flames lighting up bodies, charring them and swallowing up their darkness and black. They saw the flickers of light as red hot lead poured downwards in a torrential downpour that would not let up, even when nothing moved down below. They listened to the shouts, the screams of no longer the dying but the victorious, cheering each other on to stain the ground red and red and red.


The shapes moved, scrambling down from their positions, jabbing at the broken and peeling away limbs and felled guards, ensuring they were all dead. Some were shot in the head for good measure, their blank eyes telling them nothing of what they felt before they died. There was no horror, no anger, no surprise, no relief.


"Search them," was the command given and they moved to examine the bodies, to peel off weapons that had not been destroyed and to take ammunition left behind. They were to leave the bodies for the next command to see, to send them a message. Red stuck to the bottoms of their shoes as they tread over those they had felled, walking without any care for what they had just done.


Pieces of armor that had not been pierced were removed. Explosions that had not been set off were lifted and examined. They acted like vultures and scavengers, stripping away all that the guards could offer them and leaving behind bare bones and rotting flesh for the next to discover.


By daylight, they would be gone. By daylight, they would know that they had won and that it was soon to begin.


Whatever it was.

 

[HeyGayzelle]

The call to charge roared through the alley with violent energy as the boldest of the frontline attackers surged through final threshold of space that the SCC guards laid claim to. And after the Outer Rim dwellers had completely encircled what remained of Detachments #570 and #314, a final hail of gunfire rained down from every conceivable direction. The last moments of the battle were ruthless beyond words, but the uncharacteristic level of organization exercised by the unruly firing squad felt ceremonial, methodical. The citizens of the outer rim would not deny the opportunity to hold the guards of the SCC accountable for their crimes.


Disparate cheers of celebration and revelry filled the night air in the moments that follow as the ambushers made their way to the ground level and claimed their material rewards with carrion zeal. The strongest and most well-equipped of the group helped themselves to the heaviest of the weapons and ammunition. Others were considerably less picky in what they will take, but were nonetheless elated at their finds. Even an extremely basic handgun in mediocre condition could match the value of several months’ income for those who could only find irregular work in the slums.


And as the first of the attackers started to head off with their respective hauls, a small cluster of overseer drones approached the scene from above and documented the details of the carnage. A few of the slum-dwellers ran off at the sight of the machines while the majority of them took no heed and continued with their business. Some let out battle cries as they took celebratory potshots at the automated patrols. Most were unscathed, but a stray bullet shattered a rotor and sent one from the cluster slowly spiraling to the ground in exaggerated helical sweeps. The machines were not there to attack, only to observe, and they had seen everything they needed.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

"Did you hear?" Honoka asked her sister as they both got dressed in the morning, in a dimly lit room where there were two beds at opposite ends, stuffed with light fabric that could breathe and keep cool during the heat and also retain any that was given off by the bodies pressed to it if it became too cold, technology that they knew of but could only grasp through little pieces.


"The gunshots? Who did not?" Isamu asked, tying her shoes and standing up straight in the room, peering at her sister in the darkness that still rested between them.


"They won," Honoka said eagerly, her own boots heavy against the ground as she made her way down the rickety steps of their small apartment and into the kitchen where she hauled out food that was reheated within seconds by one of the few personal machines they owned. It was something full of nutrients but tasteless, with a vile texture that had taken them both years to get used to. Nowadays, Isamu could swallow it down without too much thought.


"Did they?"


"You heard them," Honoka continued, eyes wide and eager. "You heard their cheers and their victory."


"I heard them shouting to kill," Isamu said darkly.


"That could have been the guards," Honoka sniffed, tossing out the foil package once she had squeezed its contents into her mouth.


"It was not the guards. The guards have orders, not random shouts."


Honoka turned to stare at her sister, eyes narrowing and Isamu wondered what the younger woman saw. If she thought that Isamu was slipping, falling into the dark grasps of the government and those she hated with a vengeance because of what they stood for and what they could do. Some days, her eyes would be dark and her lips would be thin and her hands would twitch.


But then it would fade and Isamu would go about her day, walking to the wall that stood between them and everything else.


"The guards would kill."


"Yes," Isamu agreed, staring at her sister levelly. "They would indeed kill. They are commanded to."


Honoka offered a sharp nod before leaving the door open for Isamu to slip out of and take her time to hike over to the great grey wall, making her way to the post for the day and sighing as she stared out. She did not truly know what happened, but she had heard gunshots throughout the night and shouts of pain and agony alongside shouts and commands to kill and fire. She knew that there was a battle but not who won. Only her sister would hope that the rebels would.

 

[HeyGayzelle]

“Jesus, can you believe this shit?”


Raymond heard the anonymous man’s voice clearly in the sparsely populated café which sat in the lobby of the Twin Nimbus hotel. The floors were black granite and the mugs were white porcelain, both pristine. Soft yellow hues radiated from dome-shaped sconces mounted on walls of lacquered hardwood. A dark blue-grey sky seeped in from large plate glass windows as the world turned and Chicago began to cross over the threshold that separated night from day.


The tired voice of a second man rang through, “I know, a real tragedy. Those people were just doing their job. Imagine just being cut down like that on your way to work. I can’t bear the thought.”


“I know I shouldn’t expect any better from the outer rim, that place is a nightmare. But man, this is like something Heidelberg or Shenzhen. “


The second man replied with a hint of moderation in his voice, “I understand where you’re coming from, but let’s not get hyperbolic. The legal system in Chicago isn’t perfect, though it’s not on the same level as what was going on in Heidelberg. And I won’t deny that the outer rim sprawl is getting out of hand, but the scale of the wealth and population disparity there was exponentially higher than it is in Chicago.”


“And besides,” the second man continued, neither of them had the tech that we do now. One of my friends works at Obrien Systems and while there’s only so much she can tell us, you would not believe the place they set her up with. Hell, she’s not even one of the higher ups. And you and I both know that there’s no way they can throw down those kinds of salaries unless they’re using that tech to get ahead in a big way.”


“Right, I understand where you’re coming from, but you have to consider…”


But Raymond checked out of this conversation as he finished his mug of coffee and made his way to the door that led out to the street. He slept little after last night’s news came in. But it wasn’t fear or anxiety that kept him awake, merely the need to prepare. Raymond knew that he would be expected to oversee another intra-organizational inspection well before his orders came in. His superiors had scheduled him on one of the restricted access vac trains regularly utilized by SCC officials on business. He would then arrive at the SCC outpost primarily responsible for assembling the operation and begin the lengthy process of filing reports and conducting the inspection itself.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Anthony had been saddled with the unenviable task of figuring out who it was that had died. The two squadrons that had been sent out and then mowed down in a bloody massacre needed to be registered as "Defunct" in the system and then he had to go through and ensure that the examination of the bodies did reveal matches to those within the detachments.


The bodies were the worst part.


Usually, they would use DNA from the bodies but due to the fact that there was blood splatter everywhere, there was fear of cross-contamination and as such, DNA was being extracted from deep tissue such as bone marrow or even the spinal cord and brain. X-rays were being performed to see if they could figure out if there was any anomalies that might have been registered in the files of the now fallen soldiers. The numbers that the machines spat out at Anthony told him that they needed a DNA match, a bone structure match, and potentially a dental screening to ensure that the members were indeed those that died. The explosions caused by the grenades and energy carriers had stripped away flesh and identifying tags on some of the bodies, eating away at the dark suits that were not build to handle the high impact of their own wearers' weapons, given that they were designed to be light and allow the guards to move quickly. As such, Anthony needed apparently three levels of verification, all at over a 85% match in order to fully declare someone from the squadrons deceased from last night.


It was a grueling task, especially since many of the bodies had been tampered with afterwards, their weapons stripped and even some of the armor that had not been destroyed taken away. Identifying tags were charred on clothing and weapons had been destroyed or were reported missing.


He could have been swearing up a storm, cursing the rebels up and down, but he did not. After all, he was given mission to exterminate. In a less gruesome manner but the end result was the same; bloodied bodies that could not be identified and were reported as missing instead of deceased.


There was supposed to be someone coming in that day to help him, briefly, with the reports. Someone by the name of Raymond, or something along those lines. Hopefully, he wouldn't start asking Anthony questions too early.

 

[HeyGayzelle]

Raymond arrived at one of the administrative service concourses at the vac train station and allowed the biometrics module nested in the wall to take his readings before a blast-resistant automatic door slowly drew its two heavy sections apart. Raymond walked through and entered a small, sterile-looking lobby of concrete and glass. The room was as pristine as the café from before, but there was no vanity in its And yet a distinct atmosphere of intent permeated the room as one of the vac trains silently drew towards the station. A small airlock quickly partitioned off the section of track attached to the terminal before a sharp hiss of air rings through the chamber. And after that, the translucent tube of the vac train track and the sliding doors of the train cabin opened.


Raymond entered and found that the cabin was already filled with a number of dour-looking SCC authority figures of various ranks and stations. The train’s windows were shrouded in a grey coating that was opaque from the exterior, but translucent from the inside. Raymond found an open seat towards the rear of the cabin and lowered himself into a heavily padded seat upholstered with synthetic blue fabric as the mechanisms of airlock and sliding train door closed and opened, respectively. And after a few moments, the vac train noiselessly put itself into motion and built up speed. Rows of white lights flickered in the windows for a few moments before disappearing into nothingness.


And when Raymond and the other passengers arrive at their destination, they exit towards another station and administrative concourse with an identical design as before, but this one is faded and broken, weary from years of use and abuse. The public sections at the station were in even worse condition. The hallways and terminals were sparsely populated, with security personnel seemingly outnumbering travelers. Travel restrictions and limited curfews followed in the wake of the previous night’s attacks, though many had likely chosen to avoid traveling in this area simply out of good sense.


The walk to the scene of the incident was short, and the streets were even emptier, with the immediate area partitioned off by heavily-armed guards. In the early daylight, the scene in the alleyway told of violence and suffering that was difficult to assess with words. After scouring the on-site profile, he caught sight of someone who matched the profile of the person he was looking for. He slowly approached the other man.


“Anthony Kinsley?” Raymond inquired as he drew near. “Raymond Ochs, Ministry of Interior Security,” he continued as he produced an identification card with a photograph that matches his appearance; tall and bronze-skinned with a shaved head and sharp green eyes.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Anthony turned his head from his position by another individual, dressed in white and in clothing that would repel fluids and allow him to tread over the bodies without contaminating them. He had been commanding those in the white suits for a while to pick apart the bodies, the blood splatters, the bones that had been left behind and give him a reading, damnit. The underlings were trying, he knew, trying their hardest as they had never seen something quite like this either. He knew it was jarring to them, to see people they thought invincible, at least against a measly pack of scrappy rebels. But he also knew that the rebels had been said to have trapped the guards, forced them against a wall or in this case, between two walls and a door.


Anthony stood up with a grunt, walking over to the other man and examining the identification card, glinting at him in the dull sunlight. He stuck out his hand to be shaken.


"Hello Ochs," Anthony said, his eyebrows furrowed against the dust that was already settling due to the smog from the factories. He had never really spent a prolonged period of time in the outer ring, sometimes being sent out to verify that the teams were prepared. His job sent him out to do a lot of things that he felt as though someone else could do, but his job description was essentially one of a handyman, continuously looking after a small group of people and tracking their movements.


"A right pity, what's happened here," Anthony continued. "Dead on the ground, bloodstains in the building when we went to see it," he said, gesturing to the brick behind him, with dark soot against some of the windows. "They put up the fight."


He did not specify which side.

 

[HeyGayzelle]

Raymond momentarily took in the scene with renewed interest as he put aside his identification card for the time being. He surmised that the forensics team seemed to be having the worst of it as far as the investigation was concerned, at least for now. The alley was absolutely littered with the material remains of the previous night, from the burnt-out pockmarks scarring the walls to the long shards of broken glass that looked as if they were bound to the asphalt with cheap burgundy paint. The early morning humidity carried the stench of decomposition through the air as Raymond looked towards the team of technicians hunched over behind arrays of field testing kits, portable consoles, and sample containers. By any reasonable standard, the amount of forensic evidence in the alley was staggering, but the investigative value of most of it was insignificant. Even for a team of experts, the task of filtering through all of it seemed immense.


“Yeah, this certainly was no ordinary tussle between the locals and the patrols,” Raymond finally replied. “The window of opportunity for an attack like this was small. Reinforcements would be on the scene within seconds, a minute or two at most on an ordinary patrol, but this was an ad-hoc operation where support was limited. The initial call was distorted as well. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was the first time many of those people in that crowd had even fired a gun, but at least one party knew what they were doing here.”


In many ways, vetting the operational security of the outer rim outposts would be no easier than scouring the alleyway for evidence. The combined scale of the SCC’s security operations were immense, and issuing draconian sentences for defection and subterfuge could only persuade so many to maintain their loyalty.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Anthony hummed his agreement and turned back to the scene. As soon as the alert had gone out, another squadron had been sent out to restrict access to the area. From there, they had been ordered to spray a thin coat of a mixture designed to embalm body parts to prevent decomposition and potential contamination by outside forces. He could only imagine what their reactions were, to see blood and body parts and the dead all around them, dressed in uniforms they wore with weapons that they had.


"I want to say that this had to have been planned for months on end," Anthony said. "There's already people muttering about how this could be an internal mission gone awry." He lowered his voice, "You know how the higher ups can get when it things start to stir up about positions and transferring."


On occasion, someone would be transferred out of a cushy seat within the inner rings and stuck in the outer ones, as punishment or a "Transfer" as they liked to call it, done quietly and quickly and making everyone else's hair stand on end. Lately, there had been a lot more action from the outer ring and as a result, many people had begun to whisper about a change coming to the line up of commanders.


"I don't believe it," Anthony said, leaning back and frowning. "This mission was scheduled to examine a potential stash of weapons located nearby, apparently from a tip a group that had gone by earlier had gotten. At least, that's the ink on the paper."

 

[HeyGayzelle]

“Sounds like a sufficiently open-ended explanation to serve as the official story for the time being,” Raymond replied as he placed his hands on his hips and continued examining the scene. “My dossiers on supporting and auxiliary staff were pretty sparse this time around, and in my experience, that’s as good as an indication as any that they’re running this tight; need-to-know basis and so forth.”


Raymond shuffled to the side with a few steps and made way for a trio of white-suited medical technicians bearing hermetically sealed forensic bags and containers. It wouldn’t have surprised Raymond to learn that his involvement in this investigation would simply amount to operating as part of a redundant team whose findings would essentially serve as a form of quality control, possibly some reports to file should any of the administrators need official data that paints a more convenient picture of this incident without the accountability and authorization concerns of outright forgery.


“But seeing as I’m not looking to move out here permanently, I’ll wait until we have some reliable data to look at before pointing fingers upstairs,” Raymond said as he concealed his sarcasm with a mask of stolid stoicism. Lack of transparency was simply an omnipresent fact of his occupation, but the two-sided mirror of bureaucracy was a complication that was unlikely to make the investigation any easier.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Anthony glanced beyond Raymond for a second, staring at the men and women moving about, collecting evidence in shiny metal tongs and peeling away bits of rubble to examine flesh and blood, taking snapshots to be poured over later. Their suits didn't squeak but rustled with each move and a sheet of plastic covered their faces to avoid any contamination through their breaths.


"Mmm," Anthony said, the only response he gave to the man's statement. "It's just the general riff-raff around," he said. "You know how people get when something goes wrong; start pointing fingers and for a lot, the easiest fingers to point are upwards, to commanding officers."


There had been no attack so large-scale and so devastating in terms of life and loss to the guards or the government before. The occasional shuffle would still result in at least one or two people being hauled away, kicking and screaming, no doubt to be broken down to learn more. He knew that there was blood behind the scenes when it came to these sorts of clean ups, too, that the members that sat in comfy chairs would shout and scream and pull hair in order to get in the clear. Those that were untouchable for the moment would always gaze down upon them, viewing their scuffle before plucking out those that appeared most guilty, whether or not the evidence dictated so. More often than not it did, but sometimes, it was for ulterior motives.


"I can tell you that it seems that all those sent out are here," Anthony said, "or at least the body count stacks up. Meaning that there is a good chance no one here knew this would happen."

 

[HeyGayzelle]

“It’s understandable,” Raymond said in response to Anthony’s comment, “the updated authority hierarchy and chain of command protocol tests they issue these days are pretty dense. Can’t exactly emphasize the importance of paperwork to the grunts and then not expect them to hold the administration’s feet to the fire when something on the ground level goes wrong in the worst way. They’ve fared the worst of it already, so far as they see it,” Raymond finished.


Raymond didn’t doubt that someone would be held accountable, probably in a very public fashion. Accountability and responsibility were often interchangeable, as far as the administration saw things. Although in reality, they were often quite different. Nonetheless, Raymond knew that this was not the type of incident that could be erased with a tidy cover-up. They could lie about the numbers, but the material facts of what had happened could be plainly apprehended by anyone who lived within half a dozen blocks of the scene. The staging of the attack was likely an ordeal in its own right. Simply amassing the firepower to take on the fight would have been a feat for the residents of this sector.


“Have the equipment losses been tallied so far?” Raymond inquired. “And are the other caches in the immediate area accounted for?”


Aside from the symbolic act of defying the administration, the leavings at the crime scene indicated to Raymond that the attackers were primarily interested in the hardware, though many of the bodies that still remained on the ground had been almost picked bare. The loss of any sensitive equipment was a point of concern to Raymond. In the hands of some hapless layman, the badge of a deceased guard was more likely to trigger an alarm at a metro station or some other public place and lead to a swift arrest. But to an expert in reverse-engineering and biometrics cyphering, a compromised badge could lay bare the dynamic cybersecurity heuristics utilized by all the SCC forces operating in this section of the outer rim.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

"Caches are accounted for," Anthony said. "Seems like they either couldn't access them or didn't care to. I doubt that they ignored them; it's one of the main reasons on paper why the group was sent out and they had to have gotten wind of where they would be.


"The equipment, however, is another story."


There were bodies practically stripped of clothing, guns missing from holsters, grenades and flares emptied from belts.


"It'll probably take us a while to tally up everything that was lost, but it seems that all weapons that hadn't been damaged had been taken. Blast range guns, modified flyers, even grenades are missing. Any bit of clothing that hadn't gotten melted onto the bodies was taken, too. Like they were scavenging for anything they could get their hands on."

 

[HeyGayzelle]

“I’d wager that they couldn’t crack the caches for the time being,” Raymond replied with a small hint of satisfaction. The fact that none of the active caches had been compromised was the best piece of news that Raymond had heard so far, yet he still understood that complacency would not serve this investigation well. Just because the caches were presently accounted for did not mean the security credentials for the caches had not been compromised. But carelessly changing the credentials in the interest of security could have just as easily been a trap in its own right. The decentralized nature of the investigation meant that a single double agent could place the operational integrity all SCC units in the outer rim at risk.


Raymond took a moment to collect himself before continuing. “Might not be your jurisdiction,” he said, “but have you heard anything regarding any of the surviving assailants? Patients at local hospitals with injuries that potentially match the profile of the attack, shaking down the local back alley docs, hear anything like that yet?”


The graphic aftermath of the attack suggested that some of the assailants were liable to expire from their injuries shortly afterwards barring some form of medical information. Dermapatches had been the staple of battlefield medicine utilized by the FCC. The large patches came preloaded with antiseptic and anesthesia which intelligently distributed their dosages at fixed intervals based on the physiology of the patient and the extent of their injury. While they came far from completely eliminating pain, the patches could nonetheless allow someone to temporarily endure an otherwise immobilizing injury and see significant results in a matter of days rather than months. But while the patches were trivially easy to use with a basic degree of effectiveness, their use also necessitated its own form of medical intervention to inhibit the destructive effects that the patches could have on the liver, pancreas, and kidneys of the patients. Synthetic transplants were readily available to those in the inner sectors, and even a lower-class citizen considered to be in good standing could acquire one at an exponentially steeper cost. But to those in the outer rim, it would be a futile effort. Many would likely be left with little choice other than relying on the outdated methods of centuries past to tend to their injuries.


(Apologies for running a little late on this, I got caught up with a work project and pulled an all-nighter, so that took up like 98% of my screen time for the day.)

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

((No problem, I understand.))


"Not my jurisdiction but there might be a call out right now investigating such things," Anthony said, turning to the notepad he clutched in hand, a translucent and thin pane that only recognized and moved to his touch. It was designed to be lightweight, easy to carry, and difficult for potential rebels to see as it would only reveal its screen to those at a certain angle. Anthony supposed it was a decent upgrade from the clunky pads from the past, but he was getting old and it was getting easy to loose it. Perhaps he should ask for one of the new hover-pads that was installed on a band that one could wear on their wrist. It was much harder to misplace if one wore it all the time, and it awoken to only its owner's touch as well and was only visible to those at a certain angle. However, it was supposed to be for field workers and Anthony left his desk for only the most dire circumstances.


He pulled open a screen that listed the task that he had for that day, alongside notes of who else was on the team. Someone had been designated to look over all hospital admissions from that day. Anthony knew that the computer would do all the work, scanning through the admissions and tossing out any that seemed unlikely, like stab wounds and what appeared to be drug overdoses. Tapping on the individual and pressing on the green "STATUS" listed under their name, it showed that they had caught only four individuals that could potentially be from the incident.


"Only four likely candidates right now," Anthony said, glancing up at the man before him. "They'll probably be grilled soon and piss themselves from fright."

 

[HeyGayzelle]

“I’m curious whether they’ll be able to wring any leads out of those four,” Raymond said. “I have no doubt the interrogation process will be sufficiently thorough, but they might not even know anything, and they know damn well that they’re in no position to negotiate on sentencing. Hard to expect sincere cooperation from any informants who believe they’re wagering for a standard execution or exile at best.”


But the criminal justice system of the SCC held numerous bargaining chips that made the prospect of long-term incarceration a far direr situation than a clean death. Though the attackers outnumbered their prey by a considerable margin, simply amassing the collective nerve was probably a feat for the untrained outer rim residents. Many were ready to die, but those with less fighting zeal undoubtedly took comfort in the knowledge that they could flee should the fight take a turn for the worst. But the possibility of escape was now gone, and those four would likely wish that they had been gunned down the night before, when they still had the chance to die as martyrs.


Forensics might have been the messiest aspect of the investigation so far, but Raymond did not feel any envy for the media and publicity teams who were expected to relay a public account of the incident which was both solemn and sanitized. Raymond hoped that the higher-ups would recognize the nature of the incident and not shoot the messengers this time around, but he expected that at the very least, some of them would be subjected to transfers in the near future.