All units, we have an armed robbery in progress at the downtown stockpile. Targets are hot, repeat, we have hot targets confirmed on site. Targets are armed and dangerous, identifiable by black clothing and balaclavas, hostages a possibility. All available units to proceed to site. Dose up, God speed.

I rolled out of bed and stuck the radio onto my belt as I pulled my combats on. The sun was just rising over the city as I looked out of the windows of my fifth floor apartment. It was times like these that I hated this job. And it was for times like these that I loved it too. I strapped on my body armour, holstered my sidearm and shock knife, laced up my combat boots, and stuck an energy bar in my mouth. I grabbed three syringes and took a dose. Super pure, enriched compound flooded my bloodstream. The public don’t have access to this mix. It’s reserved for the Augmented Threat Response Unit. That’s us. The rest of the force just call us the Narc Squad, but we’re no normal drug unit. We specialise in tactical action against HEAT crime, or crime where targets are dosed up or ‘hot’. Of course we needed better drugs to beat those already using standard HEAT to enhance their criminal activities, that’s why we get the enriched form of the drug. Faster, stronger, smarter, tougher. Augmented. That’s us.

My name is Koichi Shioda. Half Japanese, half American, named by my Japanese mother. The elder of two brothers by a year and taller than my ototo by an inch and a half, apart from that difference we look pretty much the same. If you hadn’t guessed, I’m a member of Narc. I joined because of my father. Not because he was a part of the unit himself, but because he was a criminal. He became addicted to HEAT, turned to crime for the money to fuel his habit, and eventually got mixed up in some serious $*$^ and got himself killed. My mother took my ototo and I back to Japan after that, aged twelve and thirteen respectively. We reacted differently. Travis became a layabout, a standard delinquent. Wasted his sporting and academic talent fighting and playing truant on the streets. I went the other way. I worked hard academically and joined the sports and martial arts teams in school. When we graduated one year after another, I joined the Tokyo Riot police and he joined a local pharmaceutical company. He arrived just in time to be posted to the USA to join the distribution office for their big drug, no prizes for guessing which drug that was. After I passed my basic training with the Riot police I left for the US as well, in order to fight against and ultimately bring down the HEAT crime that had driven my father to his death.

There’s a little history for you.

*          *          *

Bullets whined across the parking lot as my squad car skidded to a halt outside the warehouse. I hopped out and took cover with my squadmates.

“What’s going on?”

“There are only four of us here so far. There are at least five suspects, and they’re hammering us with small arms fire. We’ve got two battle rifles between us but they’re bound to get away if we don’t get any backup soon!”

“I’ve got a third rifle in my car, I’ll take it and try to flank them and get into the building through a side window or something, you guys try to keep them pinned down here!”

I took a second dose, took my battle rifle and pegged it.

The colour and contrast of the scene flushed out as I ran and the double dose pulsed through my arteries. The sun was cresting the horizon and long shadows fell across the parking lot. The booming crack of my squad’s battle rifles and the hiss of a smoke grenade to cover my approach roared out mixed in with the chatter of the enemy’s own bullets. A chunk of concrete exploded at my feet and a nine millimetre round pinged away past me. The smell of cordite, gunpowder, adrenaline and the burning potassium chlorate smoke filled my nostrils as I slid down on one knee out of the smoke, past my enemy’s blind spot and around the side of the warehouse.

I backed up against the wall, listening. The rattle and tinkle of shell casings indicated the enemy were using small, high fire rate weapons, probably Uzis or cheaper imitation models. We might’ve advanced decades ahead with HEAT but in the end the cops and robbers still settled their disputes with high velocity burning lead. I snapped the safety off my rifle, and flicked it to semi-automatic fire. It was chambered in a heavy magnum round, I had twenty shots per magazine. Hopefully I wouldn’t need to use that many. I checked and loaded the underslung shotgun. Three slugs slotted into place with a satisfying shluck. I moved up to the side door. I pulled a respirator over my mouth and took a deep breath. It smelt of rubber and filtered air. I pulled out a gas grenade and held it in my left hand, my right hand holding my rifle in my shoulder. Eyes up. Go.

I cracked the door and tossed the smoke in. Count of one, two, three. Crack! Hiss! The noise exclaimed from inside. Go in. Both hands supporting my rifle I swept in at a crouch. My eyes swept the entrance and my muzzle followed. My periphery covered the immediate surroundings. Crate after crate of HEAT was stacked and packaged up to the walls and ceiling. The light of the morning sun lanced in through the high windows cutting beams through the dusty atmosphere. The gas grenade was releasing a colourless agent which would nullify any HEAT type drug and initiate a forcible comedown. The violent shift would render most enemies incapacitated. Imagine breaking an addiction with all its side effects, the nausea, the convulsions, the psychological and physical impact all coming at once. It would turn a user weak at the knees. This is what happened to the men in the warehouse. They dropped to their knees, shaking and sweating, their eyes rolling, guns clattering to the floor. I kept my rifle trained.

“Five suspects incapacitated by gas. Bring in backup and we can get them processed.” I then addressed the men. “You are not being arrested, you are being subdued and will be processed in accordance with special Narcotics law. Any attempt to resist will be met with immediate subjugation.”

They probably didn’t understand any of what I’d said in their state, but it felt cool saying it anyway. Makes you feel like a righteous avenger, a superhero, just with a gun and a licence to use chemical warfare.

Tyres squealed from out back. $%@@. I’d missed someone. I slammed out of the door just as my squadmates opened fire on the van as it tried to power away out of the parking lot. I reacted as trained. I brought my rifle to bear, the tyres of the vehicle highlighted in sharp focus. I held my breath and my crosshairs kicked and my rifle reported. The stock dug into my shoulder as it recoiled and I resteadied it. The chamber spat out a smoking cartridge and I pulled the trigger a second time. Three of the van’s tyres burst. The others had been just as accurate as I had. It skidded across the street and mounted the sidewalk, slamming into a building. Three men exited the vehicle, two from the front seats, one from the back, and took off in different directions. I set off at a sprint and fired the underslung shotgun at one of the retreating backs. A booming thump echoed out as the weapon spat out the three 12-gauge rubber slugs I’d loaded it with. Two of them struck the target in the back, dropping him. I dropped my rifle and charged him. It would have been simple enough to hold him there with the threat of being shot dead but something of my brother stirred in me and reckless bravado took over. He struggled to his feet and reached into his grubby jacket. Whether he was going for a gun or a knife was irrelevant, I palmed him in the jaw, stunning him, and sunk a punch into his kidney. He was lifted from the ground and exhaled sharply. His breath stank of cigarettes. He grimaced in pain, I could see his eyes screwing up through the eye holes in his balaclava. He swung back at me, desperation and fear taking over. I spread my hands and parried his punch, twisting his arm and spinning him as he overbalanced. I dug my knuckle into a nerve point running along the artery in the forearm. I knew the pain would spiral up his arm and cripple any sense of balance he had left. His knees buckled from the paralysing attack and I looped my forearm under his chin and slammed him to the ground and choked him out. He kicked and jerked and twisted until he blacked out. I cuffed him and dropped him.

“One more for interrogation.”

Other squad cars were arriving now. They could clean up and do the reports. I’d done a near perfect job. No fatalities, multiple suspects in custody for interrogation and processing. Cops one, robbers nil. !*^* yeah.

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Author guidance for This story

Warning: contains graphic sex, violence and drug abuse.
I find my best writing tends to occur in the early hours. Consequently I found myself writing this between the hours of midnight and four between Sunday and Monday. It was real fun to write though. I'm not sure where I'll take it or what sort of plotline I can draw from it so any suggestions are welcome. This is also my first vague foray into the realms of sci-fi so do feedback on how you thought I did and where improvements can be made. Many thanks. Enjoy.

updated Apr 11 '11 by Geebs