Lex Contra

by ApeUnit

Cits are riled up and aligned against the Judges in the name of Democracy. Judge Roebuck fights his own battle between his loyalty to the Badge and his illicit behavior...Set in the 2012 Dredd verse

Judge Roebuck

" America is an irradiated wasteland. Within it lies a city. Outside the boundary walls, a desert. A cursed earth. Inside the walls, a cursed city, stretching from Boston to Washington D.C. An unbroken concrete landscape. 800 million people living in the ruin of the old world and the mega structures of the new one. 17,000 crimes are committed daily; only six percent can be handled. Mega blocks. Mega highways. Mega City One. Convulsing. Choking. Breaking under its own weight. Citizens in fear of the street. The gun. The gang. Only one thing fighting for order in the chaos: the men and women of the Hall of Justice. Juries. Executioners. Judges."

LEX Contra

Sector 288, September 2089

2230 hours:

"We will not give in! Not until the people have a voic…"

The impact of the Judge's daystick into the man's gut interrupted his declaration. The injured man gasped for a breath, as the pain wrenched through his body. He was a Democrat, like the others who had assembled in the disheveled, claustrophobic office. Their goal was to see the power, held by the Judges, transferred back to the people and the reinstitution of the electoral and democratic process. The office was poorly lit with what few lamps the members could provide. Printing machines hummed in the background; churning out fliers of the group's rhetoric. The pamphlets varied in headlines from, "Democracy Now!" to "VOTE". Their meeting was a clandestine one, as political organizations, such as these, were declared seditious by the Justice Department and outlawed.

"By order of the Public Safety Act of 2080," Judge O'Brien shouted to the dazed and frightened Democrats. "This gathering has been declared subversive and its attendees dissidents to the Judicial System. Those individuals gathered in attendance are hereby sentenced to no less than forty years in the Iso-Cubes for their participation."

O'Brien raised his daystick for another strike on the man. The injured man fell to the floor when the Judge's truncheon impacted forcefully on his upper back. Judge Frederick Roebuck was one of a total of seven Judges who participated in the raid and the second to enter the office. Roebuck stepped over the broken body of the defiant man and approached the next Democrat in the office.

This Democrat looked to be in her early twenties, roughly his age. She had followed the instructions of the Judges to place her hands on top of her head. The rest of the colleagues followed suit in an effort to avoid the treatment showed their defiant comrade. Roebuck, with a forceful hand, seized the girl by her wrist and turned her around. With the girl's back to him, Roebuck pulled a set of flexcuffs from his duty belt. She made every effort to appear strong and undeterred, as Roebuck proceeded to cuff her hands. Roebuck could see right through the façade. A quick examination of the expensive mini-dress she wore and the designer handbag on the nearby table was adequate enough for Roebuck to surmise her background.

"You pissed off at daddy, or did a know it all professor put you up to this?" Roebuck asked the girl, as he professionally patted her down.

The girl remained silent and motionless. All around, the Judges overturned tables and threw their contents about. Several daysticks collided with the printers in order to cease their operations. The six other Judges fell upon the remaining Democrats; eight of them were gathered in the office that night. Roebuck picked up the girl's handbag and began to rifle through it. There was nothing incriminating or illegal in the bag. It contained items any affluent girl in Mega City One would carry, the latest vid-phone, luxury cosmetics, and a large billfold that contained nearly a thousand credits in cash. Roebuck discretely slipped the billfold into a pocket on his flak jacket. He was short of funds of late and needed the money. Once the search of the bag ended, Roebuck placed it back on the table and turned his attention to the girl.

"So how's a girl like yourself end up with this lot?" Roebuck asked.

There was still no response. Roebuck held up the girl's student identification card.

"Maxine Ramon," Roebuck started, "You're a student at the Meg's primary University Campus in Sector One, very nice. Must cost the parents a fortune to send you there, right? Quite the field trip out this way?"

Roebuck did not mind the one sided questioning. It meant less testimony to include in his sentencing report and he would not have to devote a great deal of time to it. He placed a grip on her arm in anticipation of leading her from the scene to the transport.

"So it is a shithead professor who got you involved," Roebuck asked, under the rhetorical assumption.

"Professor Goldstein is a great man!" Ramon proclaimed and put up an expected resistance.

She continued to spew out more Democratic rhetoric, but Roebuck just tuned her out. He began to lead her to the door when his name was called.

"Roebuck!" O'Brien shouted. "Where are you going with that girl!?"

It was something that Roebuck had not expected. O'Brien was a brute of a man. In his forties, he was a seasoned veteran on the streets and about as crooked as they come.

"That's the only girl here and you're running off with her," O'Brien continued. "You aren't even going to give your senior a go?"

"Fuck off O'Brien," Roebuck fired back with a sting in his voice. "I got a mountain of fucking paperwork. I want to get her to the cubes a-s-a-p so I can get it done."

The intentions of Roebuck, this night, had been professional and sincere. He did have a large amount of paperwork he had put off for several days and wanted to get it completed. It took only a short moment for what O'Brien inferred to sink in. Before Roebuck could do anything, O'Brien stormed over and sized Maxine by her other arm. The other Democrats, all males, were on their knees in a line, held there at gunpoint by the five other Judges.

"As senior Judge here," O'Brien addressed his colleagues. "I am entitled to the first go. After that, since Roebuck made the arrest, he can have the next turn."

O'Brien gave a firm tug and pulled Maxine from the grasp of Judge Roebuck. There was a perverted look of excitement mixed with accomplishment on O'Brien's face. The other Judges in the room nodded with approval at O'Brien. Roebuck offered no objection. He knew what right O'Brien claimed. He did not approve of it, but at the same time, took no action to stop it. The girl was not exactly innocent; the Democrat. O'Brien dragged the stunned Maxine Ramon into an enclosed office, separate from the rest of the company.

For several minutes, everyone listened in silence to the carnal grunts and screams that emanated from the enclosed office. The rhythmic pounding was enough to clue everyone to the violation committed. One could see a Judge nudge another in a jovial fashion, as if to display commendation for O'Brien.

The door to the enclosed office opened and O'Brien emerged. He radiated an aura of smugness while he finished zipping up his uniform pants. After a brief revelry in his accomplishment, the other Judges began to pull their prisoners to their feet. A catch-wagon had already been dispatched. The prisoners now had to be taken to the street to await transport to the Sector's Iso-Cube facility.

"You can still have a go, Roebuck," O'Brien smirked. "There's still time, or are you not a fan of the sloppy seconds."

Roebuck ignored the loutish comments made by O'Brien. He was not interested in doing anything to the girl. All he focused his mind on was taking the girl to wagon on the street. She looked pathetic to Roebuck. Her hands were still restrained behind her back and her chest rested on the desk where O'Brien had forced her to bend. Roebuck tried to feel pity for the girl. At one point, not too long ago, this would have thrown him into a rage. Now, he felt himself growing more and more detached from her pain. The girl wept, her cries becoming louder. Her dress was torn in several places and just barely held together. Roebuck pulled Maxine to her feet and lead her to the line with the others, a firm hand on her arm.

The night was hot and the air rancid. The towering Blocks obstructed the view of the night sky. The street was dimly lit by a few light posts. Most of the buildings on the street were boarded up; damaged from a violent anti-mutant riot that summer. The dust was visible tonight. It was thicker than usual, not blinding, but visible. The dust blew in occasionally from the Cursed Earth, the irradiated wastes left over from the Atomic War almost two decades earlier. As the years passed, the dust storms affecting the City grew worse.

There were three Judges on perimeter duty outside. All three of them had sheltered against the side of the catch-wagon, their hands holding cloths to their mouths in order to keep the dust out. The procession of detained individuals was led onto the street and to the rear opened doors of the catch-wagon. The three Judges remained in their sheltered area, unwilling to expose themselves to the dust in order to help.

Roebuck was in the lead position in the line with Maxine. The dust intensified and he was forced to cover his mouth in order to just breathe. The girl began to cough violently. With a forceful heave, Roebuck pulled her to the back of the wagon and helped her inside. The other Judges leading their prisoners did not fare as well. Visibility was rapidly deteriorating and confusion set in. The Judges started to separate from each other, as they became turned around in the blinding dust. The dust storms were becoming more common, but none of these Judges had experienced one of this magnitude this far into the city.

One of the prisoner's saw their opportunity. He felt the Judge's grip loosen from his arm. Though he himself could not see, he was confident enough in his knowledge of the area and the storm's severity to effect a successful evasion. The opportunity presented itself when the Judge let go in order to grab something to shield their mouth from the dust. The prisoner immediately bolted from his captor.

"Fuck!" the Judge screamed. "The bastard's runnin…"

The Judge was unable to finish because they were overtaken by a coughing fit. O'Brien was quick to respond. With considerably more experience than the others, he reacted accordingly. O'Brien activated the infrared setting on his helmet's visor. The visor powered through the dust and allowed him to spot the feeling subject clearly. He then pulled a handkerchief; he had around his neck, up over his nose and mouth, before he gave chase.

"Roebuck, switch to IR and come with me," O'Brien barked over the radio.

The prisoner fumbled around in a panic through the dust. Shortly, he came into contact with the entrance of a building. The only way in seemed to be through a revolving door, a rare encounter in this day and age. The man forced himself through the antiquated revolving door and into the building's interior. He found himself standing in a large interior atrium that stretched upwards for several levels. The walls were covered in graffiti, trash was piled in heaps that lined the corridors, and several fires burned in oil drums to provide modest illumination.

It looked to have been a hotel at one time, this derelict building. The interior, once opulent, appeared moldy and waterlogged; where the fire suppression system doused an inferno and repairs never undertaken. Though in its decayed state, the former hotel still played hosts to guests. Squatters had taken up residence; homeless individuals and families. They all lined the railings in the atrium; roused from their rooms by the commotion caused by the escaped prisoner.

"HELP ME!" the prisoner pleaded at the top of his lungs. "They're after me! Please help me!"

These dregs of society who inhabited this former hotel had all experienced their fair share of harassment from the Judges, be it petty crime or vagrancy. They had enough sense to not intervene on behalf of someone with their hands cuffed behind their back and on the run. None made their way to the man. Rather, they vied for the best possible vantage points from which to watch the drama unfold. It would be their entertainment for the night.

A loud crash was heard. O'Brien fired a high-ex round from his lawgiver and blew a hole in the particleboard that covered an old front window. The masked O'Brien calmly stepped through the rubble and into lobby. The terrified prisoner gave the Judge a look of sheer horror. Roebuck was not far behind, climbing through the blasted entrance. O'Brien, before the prisoner could react further and without warning, raised his lawgiver and fired. The round caught the prisoner in the chest. The wounded man turned and fell to his knees, his back to the Judges. In an unexplained act, O'Brien fired again. The 10mm round from the lawgiver tore into the back of the prisoner, severing the spine as it passed through the flesh. He fell to the ground, dead.

000

Waylon Jennings Block, Sector 288

0900 hours:

There was steady pounding at the door to the apartment. Roebuck lay half awake in his bed, exhausted. He hoped that whoever it was would give up and leave. The shooting had him up all night. He had finally made it home at about six in the morning. With preparations for the raid on the Democrats' headquarters factored in, he had been on duty since eight in the morning the day prior. After several moments, the knocking had ceased. Roebuck began to breathe a sigh of relief. Before he could roll over and return to sleep, however, his Megphone began to ring. It was a tune to a popular song of a vulgar nature that was set as the tone for a specific individual.

"NOW I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE YOU FUCK HEAD," Rhett Marston shouted from outside of the apartment.

It was Roebuck's best friend and fellow Judge. The sleep deprived and now annoyed Roebuck grumbled, as he got out of bed to answer the door. The loud ringtone had given his location away. He made his way to the door, only dressed in a pair of under shorts. The scars on his chest, from the gunshot wounds and marks of experience on the streets, were visible in the streams of light the squeezed between the blinds in the apartment window. Once at the door, Roebuck opened it slightly, intent on finding out what Marston wanted and sending him on his way as quickly as possible. Roebuck opened the door ever so slightly, before Marston forcefully pushed it open and let himself in.

"If you're still in the middle of jerking off I can come back," Marston joked.

"What, you came over to help me finish," Roebuck sarcastically replied. "How thoughtful."

"Hey, you don't need me. You can expect all the ladies now, Roe. You, my friend, are famous!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Roebuck was confused by Marston's last remark. He was sleep deprived and longed to be back in his bed. He could still feel the effect of the five beers consumed when he returned home. The beers helped nurse him to sleep after lengthy and extensive shifts, like the one he just finished. Marston took out his Megphone and opened it to the popular video upload site, MegTube. On the home screen, Marston selected the recently uploaded and trending viral video. The video was shaky and looked to have been taken in an old and decrepit building, one with a large open atrium similar to a hotel. It did not take more than a few moments for Roebuck to recognize the scene.

In the video, a man, with his hands cuffed behind his back, pleaded for help. There was blast and a Judge entered. The Judge, the video recorded, shot the unarmed and restrained man. It showed the man fall dead to the ground. The shooter turned and casually walked away. Roebuck saw himself enter the scene. As he remembered it, O'Brien turned and left Roebuck to check on the suspect. The camera zoomed in on Roebuck, as he knelt beside deceased. His helmet obstructed most of his face, thankfully. In the next few moments, more Judges entered into the atrium and shouted for the onlookers to disperse. The video cut in the midst of that commotion.

"Shit has gone viral," Marston said. "So enjoy your celebrity status, if it doesn't kill you first."

"Are you fucking kidding me," Roebuck stated furiously. "That fucker O'Brien had to not only shoot a perp, but he got himself on camera doing it!"

"Tagline reads 'MegLives Matter, unarmed and restrained cit gunned down by Judges.' Vid already has sixty million views. All the morning news stations have been running the clip. The Public Affairs Bureau is trying to calm public and outrage, while SJS, per usual, is out for blood. I'd keep yourself clean for awhile."

Roebuck was particularly concerned. More and more videos were flooding social media detailing instances of Judicial brutality. When viewed and shared millions of times over the Meg, the videos only served to stir up anger and mistrust from the citizens. Now, Roebuck found himself recorded in an incident.

"Jovis fucking Grud. I can't believe that fucking guy. Didn't have enough fill raping a girl we arrested, he needed to…"

"Woah!" Marston interrupted. "I don't want to hear that part. And, Roe, don't go around repeating that shit. O'Brien is a shithead, but he has been playing the game longer than we have."

"So, why are you here?" Roebuck demanded, still annoyed.

"Well, word went out an hour ago that all hands are needed on deck today. Cits are planning protest marches across the city. Basically, on their Sector's local Sector House. Chief Grossman wants everyone in for crowd control. Thought I'd wake you up before they start blowing up your phone. We have patrol while 'A' Watch takes crowd control."

"Since when do you make house calls?"

"You got me. The all hands on deck shit is happening, but I'm here about the money you owe."

Roebuck begrudgingly took his wallet from the nearby kitchen counter and removed five hundred credits in cash. It was part of the money "confiscated" from the girl.

"You beat the drug dealer to death," Roebuck began. "And I am the one who needs to cover his protection racket."

"Relax," Marston said with a crooked smile. "I think we finally have new scumbag to put the hurt on. He starts coming up with the protection cash, the other guys get included, we all over look Lopez's death, and get paid."

Roebuck left Marston to count the money. The pair, along with a few other Judges in Sector 288, led by O'Brien, collected protection money from a local drug dealer. When the drug dealer happened to offend Marston it resulted in the dealer being beaten to death. The departure of the dealer meant that several Judges in the racket were without payment. The group demanded Roebuck and Marston supplement the income until a new source was located. As Marston counted, Roebuck returned to his room to suit up for the coming day. He snorted a quick line of synti-caine to boost his energy. There was no doubt it was going to be a long day.

000

It took a short while for Roebuck to shower and get dressed. He and Marston were in their Judge uniforms, complete with armor. Roebuck wore his helmet, while Marston had his tucked under his left arm. In his right hand, Roebuck held a cup of synti-cafe he frantically sipped. It was an effort to counteract the alcohol in his system. The two Judges had just turned away from the cafe stall in the atrium where Roebuck convinced the barista into begrudgingly honoring the "Judicial discount".

The atrium was the wide open bottom level in the center of the towering Block. Above their heads, the Block rose straight up for two hundred floors. It was lined with shops in various states of upkeep and abandonment. Graffiti covered nearly every inch of industrial canvas. The litter danced in the breeze blown in by the bustle of people. Vagrants laid claim to every nook and outcropping that offered shelter.

The Judges were headed for the lift to take them to the parking garage where their lawmasters were parked. Roebuck sipped his synti-cafe. The scolding liquid burned his tongue, as he tilted the cup back. The pain was nowhere near that of his head; still pounding from excessive substance abuse. Marston was distracted by his Megphone, as he scrolled through the social network profiles of attractive young women he had let off with warnings. Ahead, Roebuck looked up and spotted something. It was a citizen who stood in front of a short retaining wall that ringed a center section of the atrium. The citizen had his private member in his hand and was in the process of urinating.

"Fucking Grud," Roebuck began. "It's too early for this shit."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Marston said, as he took notice of the man.

At the sight of the infraction, the pair immediately moved to act. The pair walked up to the man. The citizen was completely oblivious to the presence of the Judges. The man must have consumed quite the amount of liquid, for the urinating did not seem to stop. Marston was closest and placed an authoritative hand on the citizen's shoulder.

"Hey asshole," Marston said.

Before Marston could utter a clever insult, the citizen spun around. The citizen kept urinating. The urine splashed the boots and lower portions of Marston's trousers. Marston recoiled in disgust. By now, the citizen had concluded his urination and stood with an indolent expression on his face. It was evident, from the viewpoint of an objective observer; the citizen was perhaps under the influence of some form of narcotic, most likely syntioum. Marston was infuriated. He quickly seized the cup of scolding synti-cafe from Roebuck's grasp and hurled it into the citizen's face. The citizen recoiled in pain. The burning liquid proving its effectiveness. Roebuck was displeased at the loss of his synti-cafe, however.

"Did you fucking see what he did!?" Marston shouted.

Roebuck shook his head in disgust. Marston shook his legs individually in an effort to cleanse himself of the citizen's urine. The citizen, by now, had dropped to the ground. He held his hands to his face and clenched them to mitigate the pain. A crowd of onlookers began to gather, exited by the commotion. Many took to holding up their Megphones to record videos of the incident. None had captured the actual throwing of the synti-cafe. Roebuck stepped forward to restrain the citizen, as a crime had been committed. The hands of citizen were pulled behind his back by Roebuck, individually. There were, oddly, no screams from the citizen, the narcotics possibly affecting the speech ability.

"For public indecency, public urination, and exposure," Roebuck started.

"You better fucking add assaulting a Judge to that!" barked Marston, as he pointed. "The fuck got piss all over my boots."

"Fine," Roebuck said, and rolled his eyes. "And assaulting a Judge, fifteen years in the Iso-Cubes."

The citizen was far too gone to realize fully what was occurring. Marston was still preoccupied with the condition of his shoes and trousers. Roebuck handcuffed the citizen and brought the man onto his knees. The next step was to call for a catch-wagon to transport the arrested cit to the Iso-Cube facility. The crowd became unsettled. They were familiar with the citizen; he was a simple vagrant whom frequented the atrium. Many regarded the sentencing as Judicial brutality and were outraged at the treatment of their fellow cit.

"Fucking Judges!" one onlooker yelled.

"Meg Lives Matter!" yelled another.

Frenzy immediately swept through the crowd. They had taken to shouting and cursing at Roebuck and Marston. Roebuck stood over the kneeling citizen, his right hand firmly holding the citizen's shoulder. The enraged crowd closed in around the pair of Judges. Marston had finally turned his focus away from the urine in order to addressing the pressing issue at hand. Suddenly, several shots rang out.

The shots were fired wildly, by one with limited firearms experience. The ricochets pinged off of the ground around Marston and Roebuck. The sound of gunfire caused the crowd to flee in every direction; the frenzy replaced by panic. Roebuck and Marston each drew their lawgiver sidearms and braced against the retaining wall for cover.

"10-24. Shots fired," Roebuck shouted into his radio. "Atrium of the Waylon Jennings Block. Judges in need of assistance!"

Roebuck turned his head to check on his partner. Marston slouched against the retaining wall. He looked down at his left hand, as his lawgiver fell to the ground from his right. It was covered in blood and he felt lightheaded. The gunman felt more brazen, as he had taken notice of the wounded Judge.

"Democracy Now!" the gunman shouted.

Several more automatic shots rang out. The perpetrator was armed with a machine pistol. While not terribly accurate, it did cover the area with enough rounds to be lethal. The gunman was exposed and on the move; running and firing. Roebuck knelt, his back to retaining wall, and fired several rounds from his 10mm lawgiver. The rounds found their mark. The gunman twisted and slammed on the ground. The urinating citizen was nowhere to be seen; clearly put to flight at the outset of violence.

There was the more pressing matter of Marston's condition. It was inconsequential to worry about colleting the citizen whose urination ignited the episode. Roebuck helped rest Marston against the retaining wall. There were several holes torn through the front of Marston's flak jacket. The perpetrator somehow had access to armor piercing ammunition for his weapon. Marston was losing a lot of blood. Roebuck pressed his hand to the wounds, to try and stop the bleeding. He got on the radio. Though a traumatic event had just occurred, Roebuck maintained his composure.

"Control," Roebuck said over the radio. "Declaring a Code 99 Red at my location. I have a Judge and the shooter down. Requesting a med-wagon."

The Code 99 Red meant a Judge had either been killed or wounded. It was only sent in the direst of situations. Any nearby Judge, not occupied, was to drop what they were doing and proceed to the scene to assist. The civilians had all scattered; Roebuck and Marston were the only ones left in view in the atrium. Roebuck wrapped his right arm around Marston and held his partner tightly.

The blood began to pool around Marston. The rounds had passed right through his chest and exited his back. Roebuck went to remove the flak jacket in an effort to tend the wounds. Marston waved him off. He had realized it would do nothing; there was nothing anyone could do at this point.

Marston struggled to hold up his left hand, weakly. The first two fingers were extended and the other two curled. He was indicating to Roebuck that he wanted a cigarette. Roebuck understood and pulled a pack of authentic tobacco cigarettes from a pouch on his duty belt. As his partner struggled with his last breaths, Roebuck removed a cigarette from its pack, placed it into Marston's mouth, and lit it. Marston took a long drag; letting the smoke fill his lungs. Roebuck took a cigarette out for himself, and began to smoke. His partner coughed after the drag. The coughing ejected the cigarette from his mouth and onto the ground. Blood dripped down from Marston's lips and flowed down his chin.

"I guess…this is…it," Marston uttered, coughs hampering his speech.

"Yeah," the only reply Roebuck could manage.

"Last time…talking to me, friend. Ought to…think of…something…better to…say?" Marston joked.

"Yeah."

Roebuck was trying to come to terms with what was happening. His training and Judicial discipline kept him calm through the shooting. He responded appropriately and swiftly; neutralizing the hostile. But, his best friend was mortally wounded and sat dying his arms. Roebuck had difficulty processing it. They had been an inseparable pair. Always having the other's back, always getting into trouble together, and getting out. Now, it was all at an end.

000

Sector House 288

Two hours later:

Roebuck sat, detached, in the corridor of the Sector House's medical ward. His flak jacket and uniform were soaked with the blood of Rhett Marston. This was the medical ward in the Sector House where all wounded Judges were brought. Roebuck had even convalesced here after being shot, once. The doctors and medical orderlies raced up and down the hall in attention to their usual duties. The walls were cracked and scuffed, a testament to the building's age. He looked down at his blood stained hands. It started like any other day, but today was interrupted.

There was an unexpected tightening on his shoulder. Even through the shoulder padding of his flak jacket, Roebuck could feel the muscular grip of a hand clench. He looked up toward the looming figure. It was O'Brien. The Senior Judge gave a nod in the direction of the open seat next to Roebuck. It was indication he wished to sit down. O'Brien was the last person Roebuck wished to see, however, it was not an optional encounter.

"Tough break, eh?" O'Brien said, as he casually sat down. "Rhett was a good Judge."

Roebuck was still shocked by what had happened to his best friend, and in no mood to deal with O'Brien. In the event, such as this, a Judge is killed in the line of duty, it was customary for a Senior Judge to be dispatched. It would be the role of the Senior Judge to investigate the shooting and deliver a report as to why and how the Judge was killed. Roebuck figured O'Brien was here for that, but there was something more. O'Brien was also head of the racket several of the Sector 288 Judges belonged to and the one Marston and Roebuck owed money. Tragic as it was, the money still had to be collected.

"You're a real son of a bitch, O'Brien," Roebuck said, harshly.

"Hey, you know how it goes," started O'Brien. "A Judge gets killed and a Senior has to investigate and take account of everything…"

The undertone in O'Brien's voice was blatantly clear to Roebuck. He was outright disgusted by presence of the Senior Judge. This was not an investigation. Everyone at the Sector House knew Roebuck shot and killed the perpetrator. A less enthusiastic Senior Judge would simply copy Roebuck's description of the shooting and submit that as the report on the Judge's fatality.

The detachment felt earlier now manifested into rage. In an act of resentment, Roebuck pulled the bundle of credits from his pocket. The bills were stained with Marston's blood; on his person when the Judge was shot. Roebuck shoved the bundle into O'Brien's chest, aggressively making an owed payment.

"Jovis Grud, Roebuck!" O'Brien responded, as he tried to discretely pocket the money. "Not in full view of everyone!"

Roebuck got to his feet and started to walk. He had to get away from O'Brien, before he pulled his service weapon and shot the Senior Judge. O'Brien too stood up, presumably to skulk off to some unseen corner to count the earnings. The hallway was busy with doctors and gurneys, but Roebuck pushed through. He ducked into a bathroom and found he was alone.

The bathroom was in the same decrepit state as the rest of the pre-war Sector House. The stalls were covered with graffiti left by cynical Judges; the mirrors scratched and covered in grime. Roebuck stood over the sink, with his hands grasping either side for support. He looked in the mirror and at himself, trying to figure it all out. It was a disgusting and pitiful sight. The Judge looking back appeared broken; his world filled with devastation and loss. Roebuck, in his anger, wound up a fist and delivered a punch. The mirror cracked in all directions. Like a deformed spider web expanding from the area impacted.

Sarah, Juliette, and now Marston, Roebuck thought himself. Everyone close to him seemed to end up dead. Marston did not have to die? Roebuck ran the events over through his head, searching for something he could have done, an action he could have taken to save Marston. He could have recognized the shooter earlier or made a clean arrest of the urinating man? The thought tormented Roebuck. His actions, or lack of them, caused Marston's death. Just how he left Sarah at the mercy of her cuckolded husband and his sister Juliette with her drugs, he believed himself responsible for their deaths.

Roebuck fell to the floor, too weak and sick to stand. He crawled to the wall next to the sink and curled up. For the first time, since he was a child brutalized during the Academy training, Roebuck began to cry.

000

The office was bleak and claustrophobic. It more closely resembled a closet than an actual office; requisitioned when more space was needed. There was small desk that took up most of the interior. It was piled high with stacks of case files, actual paperwork. The walls were drab and depressing. The florescent light above buzzed with an irritating electric hiss. This was the office of SJS Judge Clifton, the SJS attaché to Sector House 288.

Judge Clifton was the only representative the Special Judicial Squad, the Judges who Judged Judges, had at the Sector House. He was an older man, whose service predated the war. Once a terror in the SJS world, in his elder years, Clifton's mind had already slipped. Already pushing into his late sixties, Clifton should have been placed into retirement; given the walk preferably due to his condition. Someone higher up in the Department took pity and found him a cozy desk job and permanent attachment to a Sector House. Now, he rode a desk rather than the streets.

Roebuck sat across the desk from Clifton. In the once proverbial hot seat, Roebuck was more annoyed than frightened. He had been here on multiple occasions, with Clifton and Clifton's predecessor. The slow SJS Judge had seen better days and everyone knew it. The Judges took full advantage of the diminished capacity of their internal affairs envoy. The corruption was widespread among the Sector's Judges who had no fear of their misdeeds being investigated. Clifton slowly perused the case file on Roebuck; fumbling with his thick rimmed glasses and struggling to read the text.

"Would it just help if I told you why you wanted to see me?" stated an annoyed Roebuck.

"Ahhh, have it now," replied Clifton. "Frederick John Roebuck, born January 14th, 2065, aged twenty-four, currently a Street Judge attached to Sector 288."

"Really, it says all of that?"

"Why do you ask? Is there an error with the file?"

There was no hope for Sector 288 and Roebuck knew it. If this eldster was the one who had to check up on their ethics. Clifton had an expression of confusion on his face, but that changed when he found the correct section in the file. Roebuck left out an exasperated grunt. It would have been preferable to get into a shouting match with a hard-nosed SJS prick over this.

"Not long since your last visit," Clifton pointed out. "Ran a wife-hitter's face through a car windshield."

"Lost his footing is what happened," Roebuck clarified.

"Yes, quite. Well I see there are two matters that bring you in today."

"Just looking to rack up those stamps, one more meeting and I get a free sandwich."

"If you would please take this seriously, we could get started."

"With what?"

The last question interjected by Roebuck effectively threw off Clifton's focus. The SJS Judge began to flip through Roebuck's file; unsure why that question was asked. It was of some concern to Clifton, as he believed there was a chance an error could have been made. This was the simple trick every Judge under questioning by Clifton employed. Intentionally confuse the old man and disrupt the proceedings. With a quick search, Clifton once again located his notes on Roebuck's recent infractions.

"This is very serious, young man!" said Clifton. "The video of your involvement in an unjustified execution, and the Marston shooting. I've read Judge O'Brien's reports on both incidents, but I want your take."

"O'Brien was senior on the raid," Roebuck began. "I'd go with his account. Didn't really see it once he bolted into the abandoned hotel. I was outside, struggling with the dust storm, when it happened."

"Transcripts indicate you had your infrared active. I may be crazy old man, but in my prime, infrared could power through dust, smoke, anything. Technology sure has changed."

Roebuck had to take the questioning a bit more seriously. It was evident Clifton may not be as forgone as everyone believed. This was especially concerning because the Judges who participated in the raid did not activate their helmet cameras. They had all come to that agreement beforehand; anticipating the situation might get heated when dealing with Democrats. It had proven to be a prudent decision. Somehow, Clifton knew details about the raid that should not exist, if everyone followed the agreement.

"O'Brien's report said there was a gun on the perp," Clifton continued. "That being the case, the killing could be justified. What concerns me is how could the gun have been missed during the pat-down?"

"Beats the hell outta me," said Roebuck. "I had the girl in my custody."

"Hmmm, Maxine Ramon, I believe it was? Seems a bit odd how a girl gets processed through the Iso-Cube control and assigned a cell before anyone thinks to question, how a girl arrested for associating with Democrats arrives with severe sexual trauma? But can't get a straight answer out of a sole. My guess is the guards at the facility took turns on her during the booking process. It happens. Talk about a tight knit group, those Iso-Guards. They don't say nothing to no one."

"You implying something?"

"No, no, just an old man rambling. Where were we?"

"O'Brien," said Roebuck.

"Ah yes!" exclaimed Clifton. "If you are prepared to swear that his testimony was true and free of influence, we can get it entered on the record. Then the PR unit can set to work explaining it was a self defense shooting and not an over aggressive Judge venting his anger in an unjustifiable manner."

The topic shifted to basic questioning about Marston. It was a pretty straightforward explanation and Clifton did not poke apart the account to a significant degree. Roebuck was sure to read both reports drafted by O'Brien before this meeting. It would not be a case of explaining the truth to Clifton, but supporting O'Brien's account of the events. O'Brien's report was the truth, so far as the Street Judges were concerned. Roebuck despised O'Brien, but he would not play the snitch. If O'Brien stated the perp in the hotel lobby had gun, despite being checked and handcuffed, then he had a gun. That is how the Law worked.

000

Waylon Jennings Block, Sector 288

Mid-September:

It had been a week since the shooting that killed Judge Marston. Roebuck had just returned from the funeral ceremony where Marston was laid to rest with honors. He served as a member of the honor guard and helped lower his friend's casket on the belt at the Resyk Facility. It was his final farewell to his best friend and partner.

Now, Roebuck sat at a bar on the fifty-third floor of the Block that overlooked the atrium. It was closest to his apartment on the fifty-seventh. He had taken time to change out of his formal uniform upon returning home before going to the bar. The video of O'Brien shooting the suspect was still trending and the population was still upset. It was prudent to wear civilian clothes and he did his best to conceal his profession. Roebuck was dressed in his fine grey suit, without a tie and shirt unbuttoned two from the top. Though raised and institutionalized in Mega-City One, the refined Brit-Cit roots seemed to hold fast.

It was still early in the evening and the bar was not near capacity. That would change later in the night. The Waylon Jennings Block stood adjacent to the Mega-City University Annex for Sector 288. Therefore, while the Block housed its undesirable element as they all did, it was occupied by a large contingent of University students. Since Roebuck was roughly the same age as the students, he found it easy to pass among their number to socialize and interact with those of the opposite sex.

The Blocks around the University Annex were the only suitable areas within Sector 288 for habitation. While large scale urban development projects struggled to begin the rebuilding process, vast sections of 288 were in a state of abandonment from the riots. Squatters had taken up residence in many of the vacant and derelict buildings. The neglected structures also played hosts to elements, both criminal and subversive, which sought anonymity. The urban decay was rampant throughout.

Tonight, Roebuck had his focus on other affairs. Marston's death still weighed heavily on his mind and he hoped the alcohol would help alleviate the anguish. He had been on a constant duty cycle the entire week due to the civil demonstrations over the video outrage. The University had just resumed classes from summer holiday and the students immediately took to the streets in mass protests. It had been a tedious week of crowd control with only a few hours in between to catch some sleep. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to drown his sorrows with alcohol.

The bartender had just poured Roebuck's second draught of the night. It was a golden pilsner made from watered down synthetic hops; the most adequate beer to be found in Mega-City One. Roebuck looked to his right and saw girl sit down at the far end of the counter. She wore a short, flowing yellow sundress. Her blonde hair was more radiant than the color of the dress. Even from the distance, Roebuck was transfixed by her light hazel eyes and her cute smile. He had to catch himself before making it clear he was blatantly staring.

The girl was seated by herself and pulled out her own Megphone once the bartender had taken her drink order. The audio system in the bar was pumping a slow synth-rhythmic instrumental piece contemporary to the industrial lifestyle in the Mega-City. There was group of young men from the University, four of them, seated at a table in a corner in the bar. The four young men, each with a beer in hand, talked amongst themselves. It was apparent their conversations were lewd in nature and concerned the girl at the bar. Roebuck focused his attention from the girl to the young men. He kept an eye on them since they had come in and ordered their drinks with false identification, as they were under the drinking age set at 21. The job made Roebuck proficient in spotting fakes at a distance.

One of the four young men, either gathered the courage himself or was spurred on by his peers, got up from the table. He casually strode over to the bar and sat beside the girl. Roebuck discretely watched the encounter from his vantage point. The pair engaged in a one sided conversation. The young man made every advance, but the girl did not seem to show an interest. She politely deflected his overtures. However, the man persisted; unwilling to be satisfied with anything less than her acquiescence.

Intervention appeared to be the best course. Roebuck was not about to allow the young punk make off with the most beautiful girl he had come across in a long time. The bartender had just finished the girl's complicated mixed drink order and turned to deliver it. Roebuck held a hand to the bartender to stop the man. He leaned over and asked for the drink. The bartender knew Roebuck fairly well, as he was a regular, and handed over the glass with a wink. Roebuck stood, with his beer in one hand and girl's drink in the other.

The young man was desperately trying every pickup line imaginable, but to no avail. It had breached from the point of humor to blatant annoyance. The girl rolled her eyes at the hopeless advances made by the young man. Roebuck approached and forced himself between the young man and the girl. The young man was taken aback by the maneuver and ready to react, with fisticuffs if necessary.

"Hey hon, I got your drink," Roebuck said, as he handed the girl her drink.

"Thanks babe," the girl said, wrapping her free arm around Roebuck's.

There was look of complete bewilderment on the face of the young man. Roebuck turned to the young man and gave him a look of intimidation; frequently employed by the Judge. Defeated, the young man skulked back to the table with his friends.

"Thanks," the girl said. "Every time I come here that has to happen. I can never drink in peace."

"It's a college bar, darling," replied Roebuck. "Expect nothing less."

"Yeah, tell me about it. I'm Lana."

"Roe."

Roebuck pulled back a barstool and sat down. The table occupied by the underage students watched with a mixture of astonishment and contempt. The Judge turned the base of his glass with his fingers. The glass spun, as the beer inside swirled with the motion. Lana had a smile on her face. She found this savior of hers interesting and somewhat mysterious.

"What kind of name is 'Roe'?" Lana inquired.

"It's short for Roebuck, my last name," he replied. "It's what everyone calls me and I guess I am just used to it."

"But you have a first name?"

"I don't like my first name."

"That isn't what I asked," Lana said with an enticing grin on her face.

This girl was unique and set apart from the usual ones that frequented the bar. Roebuck could tell that by her composure. He glanced at the bag that rested on the barstool next to Lana. There were textbooks in the bag. It was an unusual sight indeed, as all printed text had been replaced by digital tablets and downloads.

"What's your major?" Roebuck redirected the inquiry. "Something irregular judging by all of those textbooks in your bag. I thought MEG-U was committed to the paperless initiative."

"You're deflecting," Lana responded.

"You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine. Ladies first."

"Such a gentleman…I'm a Political Science Major."

"How'd you swing that? I thought the Judges banned that course of study years ago? Stirred up too many dissidents."

Roebuck was intrigued by her admission. It was true the Judges in Mega-City One had that major declared illegal. It was the result of too many politically savvy young adults threatening the Justice Department's authority with demonstrations calling for free elections and political change. Those movements still existed, but were far less organized and supported since the ban. The occasional raid on a meeting of Democrats was all that was required.

"Who said I was from around here," Lana said, seductively taking a sip from her drink. "Call it senior year semester abroad."

"Mega-City Two, West Coast girl," said Roebuck with arrogant smile. "So liberal out there."

"Take you that long to figure it out? Now spill."

"Law student. My goal is graduate by spring, pass the BAR by late summer, and be practicing in a firm by this time next year."

"We're going to be at this all night," Lana smirked.

"You told me your major, I thought I'd share mine," replied the legally versed Judge Roebuck. "And I intend for this to take all night."

"Good, because I'm not looking forward to the long walk back to my campus dorm."

Lana had her hand on Roebuck's leg for quite some time. She gradually caressed his inner thigh throughout the conversation. The pair was enjoying themselves and the evening. Roebuck was curious about the books in Lana's bag. All of the digitally downloaded coursework at the University met the Justice Department's stringent censorship approval. If someone was in possession of printed text, it was safe to assume it was of the blacklisted nature. Not that Roebuck was going to turn her in for possession of this contraband, it simply added to the allure. The night wore on and more and more alcohol was consumed by the pair. It loosed their personalities and their judgment.

"It is getting late, darling" said Roebuck. "I only live a few floors up. We could continue there…"

Lana seized Roebuck by the lapel on his jacket. She pulled him close. They were a mere few inches apart when Lana whispered into his ear.

"I'm not sleeping with you until you tell me your first name," she said in an enticing manner.

"It's Frederick," Roebuck answered.

With his answer given, Lana wrapped her arms around Roebuck. The pair began to kiss passionately, slowly. That soon devolved into an exchange more carnal in nature when Roebuck grabbed Lana by her hair. The action only served to excite Lana further. Roebuck fumbled through his pockets for some cash and slammed a small collection down on the counter. It was enough to cover all of their drinks, as well as a generous tip. The pair left in a hurry, ready to continue in a separate location.

000

The pair was just outside of the apartment. Roebuck fumbled with his key card to get the door open. It was proving quite difficult with Lana grabbing and climbing all over his body. With the door opened, Roebuck lifted Lana from the ground. Lana wrapped her legs around Roebuck's waist and continued to kiss; occasionally biting his lip aggressively. Roebuck carried her over through the sparsely furnished apartment and into the bedroom.

Roebuck laid her down on the bed; bending over her and kissing her until she let go. He stood up and began to remove his coat. Lana, at the same time, slipped out of her sundress. She crawled forward to aid Roebuck in unbuttoning his oxford shirt. They worked together and pealed the shirt off. It exposed Roebuck's bare and muscular chest. It was body riddled with scars from gashes and stabs, pot marked by numerous small circular burns, and two gunshot wounds in the center.

Lana did not say a word. The intensity had lessened and she seemed to pause. Not a word was spoken between the two and a silence overtook the room. In a gentle manner, Lana ran her hand up Roebuck's chest. Her fingers lightly brushed over the visible scars and abrasions; feeling every wound. There was a look of guilt on Roebuck's face, as if trying to convey he was ashamed she had to bear witness to his marks.

The mood was not ruined. Lana worked her way up until her face was almost pressed to Roebuck's. They both looked the other in the eyes. Lana raised a hand and gripped the back of Roebuck's neck. She pulled him down onto the bed, on top of her and resumed kissing.

Roebuck had a hand around her back to undo the clasp on the bra. Lana, meanwhile, slipped her panties down her thighs and over her knees. Their bodies pressed together, Roebuck could feel Lana's bare breasts against his chest. He held her tightly, as he entered. Lana moaned with each rhythmic thrust.

The trusting intensified, as did Roebuck's hold. His arms were wrapped tightly around Lana, intimately. Lana dug her manicured nails into Roebuck's muscular back. Come morning, the nails would leave deep, red scratches. For the first time in a long time, Roebuck forgot all of his worries. The only thing he could focus on was beautiful Lana.

000

The blinding sun slipped into the apartment through a gap in the blinds. The intense light blinded Roebuck, as he woke in a haze. The bed was disheveled with the blankets and pillows strewn about. There was no sign of Lana. It was of some concern to Roebuck. He was accustomed to throwing the girls out the next morning. Some expecting his number, failing to grasp the fact this was a one night ordeal. Roebuck wanted to see her again. He put on a pair of shorts next to the bed and walked into the kitchen. A hand written note rested on the kitchen counter. Roebuck picked it up.

Sorry babe, I had an 8am. I should be free for dinner tomorrow night at the retro diner on level 47. Thanks for a fantastic evening ;) And buy some fucking food so I can at least cook you breakfast ya cheap lawyer.

-Lana

P.S. I left my number in your phone, I'll send you a little something later today. XOXO

Roebuck held the note and let out a smug laugh of accomplishment. At least there was something positive in his life. It was a contrast to the harsh day to day reality he lived as a Judge on the streets. The night had been an escape from all of his worries and troubles. Lana Abernathy was that escape. Now that she had gone for the day, the reality began to set back in. He thought about his friend Marston. Marston would have been cheering him on at the bar for that slick pick up maneuver, and would also want all of the details about Lana in bed. It made Marston's passing more difficult.

The dinner would be complicated to work. He was set to work the night shift tonight and tomorrow, the night of the date. Cancelling was not an option, so he would just have to make it as early as possible and then rush to the job. Lana was worth it.

000

Sector 288

0130 hours:

The street was deserted and poorly lit. A few sporadic street lights bathed a small portion of the area in a dim yellow glow. The tall derelict buildings on either side of the street effectively blocked out all illumination from the neon signs and placards affixed to the towering Blocks in the distance. The blue and red lights from a parked lawmaster bounced from the worn facades of the old buildings. A wreck of car, somehow still roadworthy, was pulled over to the curb.

Roebuck stood with the driver at the hood of the car. The driver was struggling to remain upright. The erratic swerving and heavy smell of alcohol on the driver's breathe foreshadowed the impeding charge. Roebuck was actually getting a bit of a laugh watching the driver miserably fail the field sobriety test. The driver would raise a foot and then fall to the ground, or be asked to walk heel to toe in a line, only to suffer another loss of balance.

It was a pathetic sight. While the driver struggled, Roebuck rifled through the driver's wallet. There was very little cash, no more than seven credits and a small packet of synti-caine. It was not a very satisfying haul. Roebuck took a quick snort of the confiscated powder. He immediately coughed and blew out his nose to purge all traces. It was the local brand. A drunk driver in a car as beat up as that, Roebuck had hoped it was pretty criminal with a wad of cash on hand that he stopped, or someone with better drugs. Rather, according to a MEG-U identification card, the driver was a professor at the Sector 288 Annex.

"Alright pal let's go," Roebuck said, as he pulled the man to his feet. "Operating a motor vehicle under the influence, six months in the Iso-Cubes and a mandatory twelve month alcohol treatment program with suspension of operator's license. Right after a year for possession of a controlled substance. "

The sentence was administered and the driver seemed not to be that bothered. He would be once he woke up in a Cube, and sober. Roebuck placed the flexcuffs on the driver and called for a wagon to transport the now prisoner. He had the driver sit down on the curb, only to watch the drunk slump forward with his head in his lap. It appeared the driver was thoroughly intoxicated and not a flight risk.

Roebuck was able to return to his lawmaster to wait. He straddled the bike and pulled his own Megphone from his pocket in order to alleviate the boredom. In order to see his phone more clearly, he removed his helmet and hung it from the bike's handle. There was a notification icon on the screen to indicate a message. Roebuck saw it was from Lana and excitedly opened it. It was picture message, a picture Lana had taken of herself in front of a mirror in only her underwear.

"You like ;)" was the accompanying caption.

This was a welcome distraction from the night's tedium. Roebuck cherished this kind of interruption. It would be too short lived. The driver had managed to get to his feet. Though restrained, the driver grew aggressive and began to shout.

"Fuck the Judges!" the driver shouted. "Fuck all of you!"

"Sit down and shut up," Roebuck barked in reply.

"No fucking Judge has the right to silence me! The Democrats will never be silenced. Hail Democracy! Every time a Judge is killed is another step toward our freedom!"

Roebuck heard that last remark made by the driver. It sent surge of rage coursing through his body. It was personal; Marston's death made it a personal. Roebuck stood up and dismounted his lawmaster. He did not say a word, but drew his daystick from his belt. The driver was still ranting, as Roebuck approached.

A single blow to driver's head with the daystick brought him to the ground. This did not satisfy Roebuck. He began to viciously beat the helpless, restrained, and intoxicated driver. It was a savage attack. The daystick was brought down with all of Roebuck's might. The rage had manifested and taken control. Mercy was an abstract. The blows landed on the driver's face, shattering jaw and then the cheek bones. The strikes, while delivered with full force, were uncoordinated. Roebuck was more concerned about hitting the driver than focusing on where to strike. The daystick struck the driver's back and his limbs. In a vain effort to shelter from the blows, the driver curled up; knees pressed into his chest. It did little to protect him from Roebuck.

Roebuck was a man possessed. He brought the daystick down again and again. The impacts ruptured blood vessels in the driver's face. Blood spattered on Roebuck's flak jacket and uniform. If left to continue, Roebuck would have killed the driver; beating him to death. The violence was interrupted by the wail of the catch-wagon's siren. It was the wagon Roebuck had called in to haul away his prisoner. The catch-wagon pulled up quickly to the scene, as both Judges in the cab observed the beating. The passenger leapt out to grab Roebuck and pull him off of his victim.

"Christ Roe," Judge Connors said, as he struggled to control Roebuck.

Judge Connors wrestled Roebuck to the ground and did his best to hold him down. Roebuck kicked and flailed; wanting to return to the attack. Meanwhile, the driver of the wagon, Judge Nelson raced over to the wounded suspect. She knelt down beside the driver to tend to the injuries. After several minutes, Roebuck was calm enough to be released.

"What the fuck happened, Roe?" asked Connors.

I…I don't know," Roebuck struggled to answer. "I was sitting on the bike, waiting for you guys. The creep began running his mouth about some 'kill all Judges' shit. I guess I just snapped."

"Jovis Grud. I mean we all miss Rhett, but tell me it isn't coming to this?" Connors turned his attention toward Nelson. "How's the creep doing?"

"Beat to hell," Nelson responded. "He'll live…I think."

"For your sake, Roe, he better," Connors lectured. "Fuck, we need to clean this up."

"Look at this guy, he looks like shit. Good going, Roebuck," said Nelson.

It took a few seconds of thinking before Roebuck came up with an idea. While not the most foolproof plan ever conceived, it would get him through this mess. Roebuck turned to Connors. Judge Connors was a large man, built mostly on muscle. That was the key for the plan to work.

"Connors, punch me," Roebuck said.

"What?" inquired a puzzled Connors.

"Punch me right in the face, right where it'll leave a nice shiner. I'll blame it on the creep. I went a little overboard subduing the suspect. The helmet got knocked off, I took a hit, had to get physical. I've weaseled out of excessive force accusations before. It'll be fine."

Judge Connors turned to Nelson. Nelson nodded with a look that indicated Roebuck was crazy, but it was his choice and his badge was on the line. Connors turned back and wound up the punch. Roebuck cringed his face; expecting the imminent hit. In moments, that felt like hours, the punch was thrown. Roebuck stumbled back from the shock. Judge Connors was a big guy and could throw a decent punch. The pain would subside after a short time. The three rehearsed their stories and agreed on a suitable version of events.

000

Mel's Retro Dining

Waylon Jennings Block, Sector 288

1730 hours:

Roebuck sat anxiously in the booth at the tacky themed restaurant, dressed in another one of his fine suits. He was shaded in the strong hue of the oppressive neon lights; effectively a sensory overload. It was the prearranged meeting spot for his dinner with Lana. She was due to arrive any moment. Luckily for Roebuck, he did not have to go straight from his date to the duty shift. The excessive use of force in apprehending the drunk driver earned him a one day suspension. Critical manpower shortages at the Justice Department meant no excessive disciplinary action could be taken to limit the number of Judges on the street. The black eye, graciously awarded by Judge Connors, helped reinforce Roebuck's accounts. Connors and Nelson both corroborated the events. The one day suspension was a token "slap on the wrist". He worried how to explain the injury to Lana.

There was Lana entering the establishment. Roebuck caught her eye, as she scanned the restaurant for the familiar face. She wore a lilac sundress this time; her blonde hair, perfectly done, flowed down to just above her exposed shoulders. Lana was excited and raced over to where Roebuck was seated. He stood up to great her with an embrace. Immediately, Lana's face turned to shock at the sight of the injury.

"Oh my Grud!" Lana exclaimed; concerned. "What happened?"

"I'm fine, just a little trouble getting home last night," Roebuck lied.

"Is everything alright!? Are you in trouble?"

They both took their seats opposite from the other in the booth. Lana was deeply concerned over the black eye on Roebuck's face. Roebuck was trying to come up with a way to play it off. It saved his job in the situation, but might compromise this one.

"I ran into a rough group on my way home last night," said Roebuck. "Ended up with this…"

Lana could tell immediately that he was lying. There was something that did not add up with Roebuck in this respect. She saw the wounds for herself and now this injury. Roebuck was more than a fast talking law student. He was involved in something.

"Oh please!" Lana said, annoyed by his answer. "Those scars all of your body. Not just one, but many. And now a black eye? What is it you really do!?"

"Underground fight league," joked Roebuck.

"Please Roebuck, I'm not in the mood!"

"Do you want the truth Lana?" Roebuck lied; somberly.

"Yes, I would like the fucking truth."

"I'm not a law student. I was, but I dropped out. Problem is I still owe crippling amount of student debt. It's a little hard to find a decent job in this neighborhood, so I have to resort to a few indecent ones."

"What do you mean?"

"I take a few jobs for the local less reputable businesses. Collections, hired muscle, minor stuff like that. Not the safest job, but it pays."

"Great, just fucking perfect. So what, you're a thug? Crim?"

It was unmistakable Lana was upset. Her mood had altered dramatically since greeting Roebuck at the table. The news did not sit well with her, but Roebuck could not expose the fact he was a Judge. Relationships for Judges were forbidden by the Department. These encounters required a life of secrecy and lies. Roebuck gently rubbed Lana's hand, as she rested it on the table. She was starting to cry a bit and the tears formed in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Lana started, as she wiped away the tears. "I learned my ethics professor was arrested by the Judges last night. He was apparently beaten to a bloody pulp and charged with drunk driving and assaulting a Judge. He's going away for fifteen years; can you fucking believe that shit? The Judges are fucking tyrants. I fucking hate them all. I'm sorry, that's had me bent all out of shape all day. Then I come here and see your with that shiner and find out you're involved in Grud knows what. I don't know, Roe. I just don't know."

Roebuck said nothing; a bit startled at the revelation. He was certain the professor was the one he had arrested and sentenced; the one responsible for Roebuck having to obtain a black eye to cover his misdeeds. It was Roebuck, the Judge, who Lana scorned and despised. She had no idea. In an effort to help soothe her anguish, Roebuck gently caressed her hand. In a quick turn, Lana recoiled from the touching. She stood up from the booth and turned to Roebuck.

"I'm sorry," said an upset Lana. "I don't think I can continue seeing you. What you're involved in, who you're involved with. I'm sorry. First my professor, now you're bruised like this, those scars you have. I…I can't do this."

In an instant, she was gone. Roebuck sat back in the booth, in the part where the bench and wall intersect to form a corner. The flash of lights filtered the true color of the restaurant. For several minutes he pondered the events. It seemed to happen so quickly. One moment, Lana was excited to see him. The next, she turned into a Judge hating cit, just like the rest of them.

It was devastating. Lana was his escape. He had spent the last two days thinking only about her and it made him happy. Now, what was there to look forward to? The rest of the night belonged to Roebuck, but he did not feel like returning to the bar. The food had not been ordered, so Roebuck discreetly got up and quietly left.

000

Roebuck sat alone in his sparsely furnished one bedroom apartment. His job kept him extremely busy he rarely had time to sit and watch the tri-d. In fact, Roebuck had never bothered to pay for the tri-d satellite channels and relied on the free antenna service of network programming. In keeping with Mega-City One's normality, there was nothing of interest on the tri-d.

The drugs had run out, but the beer was in ample supply. Roebuck had taken off his grey suit and hung it his closet with care. He did cherish his wardrobe, the Brit-Cit side of him clearly. To pass the night and drown his worries, Roebuck opened another beer. He was about six beers in to the case that rested next to his spot on the couch; dressed in shorts and sleeveless undershirt. The host on the nightly news program was rambling about some killing somewhere and people upset about something. Roebuck did not care.

The solitude was interrupted by several knocks on the door. It caught Roebuck's attention. The first thought on his mind was the SJS. The internal affairs Judges of the SJS always enjoyed random checkups on Judges authorized to have housing outside of Sector House dormitories. The beer consumed and in his possession would likely lead to stern disciplinary action if it truly was the SJS; alcohol consumption being forbidden for Judges. Roebuck decided to answer, regardless.

The knocking continued. Roebuck drew nearer to the door. The buzz from the alcohol started to take affect and he cared not if it would get him into trouble. In an act of defiance and the impending discipline, Roebuck flung the door open. He was shocked by who he saw.

Lana stood alone in the hallway. She looked upset; the mascara running down her cheeks from the tears. Before Roebuck could utter a word, Lana grabbed him with an embrace. The two began to kiss, though it was Lana who initiated.

"I couldn't be alone tonight," Lana said, taking a moment to pause.

"I'm glad you came," said Roebuck.

Roebuck shut the door. They both held each other tightly. The feeling of being in Roebuck's arms brought comfort to Lana. She could not stand being away from this man. It was his allure and the strange sense of comfort he offered. He was protection from the ugliness of the world, he was Lana's escape. Lana led Roebuck to the bedroom; happy to be with someone comforting for the night.

000

Shop Mart – Level 17

Waylon Jennings Block:

The sprawling grocery market occupied the entire western quadrant of the seventeenth level. Its seemingly endless aisles were packed with synthetically processed foods; the treemeats, Grot Pot meals, munce, and a whole variety of genetically manufactured and basically edible sustenance. It was strictly synthetic food; the markets that sold "actual" foods were located in the more posh Sectors. They were not cheap. The immense size of the market required an entire Block quadrant in order to serve the 75,000 residents of Waylon Jennings.

Roebuck pushed the shopping trolley around with a frustrated expression. He only shopped on a rare occasion; usually filling up the trolley with single serve, self contained, instant meals called Grot Pots. The flavors of the meals did not matter, as they were all manufactured in the same factory, from the same artificial base. They all tasted the same after a while. Other times, Roebuck survived on restaurant take away or the Sector House's cafeteria. Today was unusual; he was on the search for ingredients.

The seductive note is what drove Roebuck to shop. Lana offered to cook him a meal, but there was nothing suitable in Roebuck's refrigerator for a proper meal. The upbringing in the Academy taught Roebuck a great many things, except how to cook. Judges had no use for cooking; a trivial hobby. The only Judges that cooked were the ones on the long range patrols in the Cursed Earth. Those Judges needed it when it came to frying up a mutated squirrel in the middle of nowhere. The offer to cook was something new for Roebuck.

The venture to the market was an experience in and of itself. Lana was in class all day and Roebuck had the night shift that evening. The lie Roebuck told claimed he would be out all night, "working". Lana agreed to spend the night at Roebuck's apartment and cook breakfast when Roebuck returned in the morning. This was Roebuck's first time searching a grocery store following a list of ingredients. The size of the market and the new encounter had Roebuck's temper up.

The young Judge was dressed in civilian attire; a long overjack covering a plain shirt and basic jeans. The overjack concealed Roebuck's off duty Walther in its shoulder holster. In an inner jacket pocket was a fifth of whisky he also carried. While walking amongst the stacks of munce and Grot, he pulled out the liquor and took several nips. He took the drinks in spite of strict rules against open containers in public places and looks of disapproving cits. An hour of wandering, alcohol consumption, and a half filled trolley had Roebuck thoroughly irritated.

The juvenile antics of an intoxicated Roebuck began to manifest. He knocked items off of their places on the shelves, moved cereal packages into the freezers, and slipped boxes of contraceptives from the pharmacy into the trolleys of unsuspecting patrons. The immature chaos and disorder he caused did little to accomplish the acquisition of the items on the list, but he was having fun. The fun intensified when confronted by an overweight stock boy, who asked Roebuck to refrain.

"Yeah, fuck you, you fucking fattie!" Roebuck hissed and chastised.

Roebuck overturned a carriage of munce cans that accompanied the overweight stock boy in his duty, as a final affront. The Judge merrily continued his drunken march down the aisle. A quick glance at the fifth showed it was empty. It had been full when he entered the store and pilfered it from the liquor section. Having consumed the alcohol without purchase, Roebuck stuffed the empty glass onto an adjacent shelf. There was an odd feeling, like he was being watched. Roebuck felt it, as he pulled his hand back after the concealment of the empty fifth.

At the end of the aisle was a man dressed in a long overjack. Roebuck turned over his shoulder to catch a short glimpse. The man was far enough away to make recognition a bit difficult, but he looked familiar. Roebuck knew him from somewhere. Once his eyes focused a bit more, the man was gone. A hard and unforeseen punch to the stomach nearly laid Roebuck out.

"Go a call about a drunk and disorderly," the voice responsible for the punch said. "Some drunken asshole has been walking around, fucking with shit and harassing shoppers. That's a mandatory…"

The voice abruptly stopped when Roebuck turned look at who delivered the blow. Roebuck had slumped to his knees and clenched his chest. The bullet wounds still caused him pain when aggravated by trauma. The fist was covered by a Judge's issued glove that was illegally modified and hardened on the knuckles, so as to cause more pain. O'Brien stood there; gloating at the fact.

"Well shit, sorry about that," said an insincere O'Brien. "Didn't recognize you dressed like a geek. Are you seriously shopping?"

O'Brien directed the attention toward the trolley, as he offered an obligatory hand to pull Roebuck to his feet. It was a compromising situation to be found in, however, O'Brien would not bring charges. He would most likely remember the occurrence and bring it up in the future when it suited his own ends best.

"You…got me," replied a winded Roebuck. "I like…to cook…fucking turn me over to SJS."

"I always figured you were a fucking spug," O'Brien joked. "And you got balls, kid. This drunk right now, when you have night shift tonight? That should be fun, enjoy the hangover."

"I've made it through worse."

"Yeah I bet. You know there's a fucking Megphone app that will do the shopping for ya. Just place your order and let the stock boys fill it and they'll have it all ready for ya. None of this indignant pushing a cart through the store. Mingling with the cits. It's unbecoming."

"Great, thanks for telling me, but I just love aimlessly wandering around like a jackass."

The banter was simply Judges letting off steam from the stress of the job. Although, Roebuck was in civilian attire and the scene could be interpreted differently. While O'Brien punched and then stood over Roebuck to gloat, a group of University students watched. They saw what had happened, but were not close enough to listen. A genetically modified tomato whizzed past O'Brien's ear.

"Fucking Jay," one of the students cried. "Leave the cits alone. Meg Lives Matter!"

O'Brien turned around, a look of rage mixed with perverse excitement radiated. One of the students had reacted too quickly and thrown the tomato. It was more to get the Judge's attention and distract him from assaulting the presumed cit. O'Brien pulled his daystick from the belt and held it extended at his side. With a quick glance, he turned to Roebuck and winked.

"Who fucking threw that!?" O'Brien shouted. "You spugs are dead if I don't get a Gruddamn answer!"

The cadre of students bunched together, vainly hoping to find strength in numbers. O'Brien stormed toward the students. The daystick clenched firmly in hand and ready for blood. Roebuck did an about-face and walked away from the scene. He could not afford another brutality charge, especially one while off duty. Taking the advice and outright frustrated, Roebuck abandoned the half filled cart and pulled out his Megphone to place the grocery order. There was Lana to fill his mind and fantasies. The pair planned to be seeing a lot of each other that week. In the background, the sound of screams filled the store, as daystick shattered bones and dissidents cruelly quashed.

000

Sector House Briefing Hall

Sector 288

One week later:

The tired Judges of the overnight shift shuffled into the amphitheatre like hall that served as the briefing room. The Watch Commander for B Watch, the night shift, would go over crime statistics, special bulletins, pass-downs from the A Watch, or general gossip. It was a bit of a shock for everyone in the room to see O'Brien assume his place at the podium, the one reserved for the Watch Commander. O'Brien was not dressed in his tactical gear and duty kit, rather, he wore the blue Judicial service uniform; the gold stitching on the shoulders indicating his rank. Evidently, O'Brien had been promoted.

There was not a more corrupt Judge suited for the position. It would give O'Brien free reign over all of the Judges on the night shift to do as he pleased. O'Brien had a hand in just about every form of extortion the Judges could put on criminal and citizen alike. Every drug dealer and pimp in the Sector owed protection to the Judges in order to remain in business. Now, O'Brien was setting himself up as a real kingpin. O'Brien had somehow managed to evade the SJS's investigation for the viral shooting video to become Watch Commander. That was justice in Mega-City One.

Roebuck was seated in the rear of the briefing room. In the very last row were two seats that had always been taken by Roebuck and Marston. The pair would intimidate any rookie Judge foolish enough to occupy the seats. It was discouraging for Roebuck, as he sat. The seat next to him, once held by Marston, was vacant. It served as Roebuck's memorial to his fallen comrade and best friend. He drove off anyone who tried to sit. O'Brien was several minutes into the briefing, but Roebuck was not paying attention.

"We're seeing a lot of activity from those so called 'Democrats'," O'Brien lectured. "A phony 911 call for assistance led two Judges over in Sector 58 to a deserted alleyway. When the Judges arrived, they were ambushed by several armed assailants with automatic weapons. The bastards left 'Democracy Now' fliers on their bodies."

The briefing room was in an uproar over the news. The anger manifested by the Judges in attendance was palpable. It was truly disparaging. The Judges were being targeted by the very citizens they were sworn to protect. It was a cit that saw their opportunity to engage in violence and killed Marston; shouting some Democracy nonsense. It was a political game the Chief Justice and the Council of Five played with the citizens at the cost of the lives of their Judges.

"So I want everyone to hit the streets hard," O'Brien continued. "We own the streets, not the creeps, and definitely not these fucking Democrats. They so desperately desire a war, let's show them why that would be a mistake; to fuck with us. Crack a few heads, persuade the cits that politics isn't worth it. We mourn the loss of our comrade, Rhett Marston, at the hands of these activists. Let his death not be in vain."

The invocation of Marston's name stirred up the Judges in the hall. They were ready to act on O'Brien's words; to use fear and intimidation to quell any political dissidents. Roebuck felt the call to arms in Marston's name was an insult to his friend's memory. "Democracy Now" was just a popular chant citizens would yell just to piss off the Judges. It did not necessarily mean they were connected to a Democrat ring. Roebuck could not find any evidence to link Marston's shooter to the Democrats. The shooter was repeat offender and served multiple sentences for violent crime. He was just a pissed off individual who overreacted to what he observed as Judicial brutality.

"…And Judge Roebuck," O'Brien's address caught the young Judge off guard. "If you are not planning any suspensions in the near future, you will assume my former spot as Section Leader for the Southeast."

The announcement grabbed Roebuck's attention from his distracted state. The news was a surprise. A Section Leader had five Judges under their command and they were responsible for law enforcement within a predetermined division of the Sector. In Roebuck's case, this was the Southeastern Division of Sector 288. The position had its leadership duties. If the Judges were planning a raid in force, Roebuck would be expected to lead. In the day to day role, the Judges under Roebuck would simply turn in reports to him and he would pass them up to the Watch Commander. The Judges all had their patrols and deployments, so Roebuck would not be micromanaging.

"Judge Roebuck," O'Brien began. "Since your Section is sort on manpower, with the loss Marston and yours truly moving up, I'm pulling Connors from wagon duty and assigning him to you. That should have you near enough to full strength."

O'Brien shifted the briefing and now discussed the day's patrol deployments. Roebuck lost focus, not out of boredom as previously, but from the sudden promotion. It meant more power, but also more work and more scrutiny. The promotion was not a reward for Roebuck's performance. It was solely O'Brien exercising control over Roebuck, to keep the young Judge in line. If O'Brien was to consolidate his hold on the Sector's extortions, he needed a cooperative Roebuck. Roebuck took money, bent the rules, and abused his authority. O'Brien could trust Roebuck in that regard, but Roebuck often played by his own rules and often for himself. That unexpectedness threatened what O'Brien sought to accomplish.

The briefing came to a conclusion and the Judges were dismissed. They filed from the briefing hall and towards the motor pool; ready to start the night's patrol. Roebuck waited for the hall to empty. He wanted a word with O'Brien. At the podium, O'Brien wrapped up the notations he made on his electronic tablet and began to power down the large display screens. The final Judge had left the hall and Roebuck stood up. He stormed down the steps to lectern and O'Brien.

"That's real fucking funny O'Brien," a near enraged Roebuck stated.

"You watch your fucking mouth, son!" O'Brien immediately fired back. "You are addressing your superior and I will not tolerate insubordination!"

"You can kiss my ass with your fucking insubordination threats. What the fuck is this about!?"

There was short pause. O'Brien needed to calm himself before he lost his temper, as was customary. It was not prudent to lose it on Roebuck, especially. He calmly picked up the tablet and approached Roebuck. In an act of parley, he wrapped an arm around Roebuck's shoulder in friendship.

"Walk with me," O'Brien said in an affable manner.

The two Judges, O'Brien and Roebuck, walked down a hallway toward O'Brien's new office; the one reserved for the Watch Commander. The hallway was aged and decrepit, much like the rest of Mega-City One's prewar structures. The grime had stained the walls in a new and permanent hue of mustard yellow. The tile floors were cracked from heavy wear and no repairs, despite the dozens of work orders submitted. O'Brien spoke to Roebuck, as they walked.

"We're living in uncertain times," O'Brien started. "The cits are riled up and united against us. They have the idea that this 'Judicial experiment', as they call it, needs to come to an end. They say it is time we return to old ways; the Democratic process. Well, we know what the barbarity of Democracy brought us. A Third World War, billons wiped out in a single day, the planet reduced to radioactive wastes, and us survivors, huddled in our Mega Cities scattered across the former countries."

"I was five when it happened," snarled Roebuck. "I remember the shit show…and the Academy's indoctrination."

"This is a friendly chat Roe. No need for hostility. I've decided, in light of recent events with the passing of Marston, to forgive your debt. It was Marston, after all, who killed the dealer. I find it unfair you're being punished for his actions…Look, the point I am trying to make is that you're a good Judge, a smart Judge. You say what you have to say, but you know when to keep your mouth shut."

A few Justice Departmental personnel walked past Roebuck and O'Brien; paying them no attention. These were the clerks and administrators who, while not sworn Judges, took care of the daily operations and paperwork of the Sector House. They knew who O'Brien was and what he was capable of, so they found it in their interest to ignore the conversation. Roebuck and O'Brien had arrived at the doorway to O'Brien's new office. The one reserved for the B Watch Commander. Before O'Brien stepped inside and dismissed Roebuck, he continued,

"The Southeastern Division comprises the MEG-U annex for this Sector. Those college kids are away from home for the first time with their parents' money. That means drugs, vice, you name it. Certain individuals are kept in place to meet the demand, and the Judges walk away with a percentage, of course. Plus the setup you have in Waylon Jennings Block puts you right there. So branch out, meet Young Charles, and collect a few payments. You're my man in the field. Just remember, Lex Non Potest Peccare."

O'Brien concluded with a sinister grin before he slammed the office door. Roebuck stood alone in the empty hallway. The clerks and administrators had all hurried off to their desks and their never-ending work. Judge Roebuck figured he had better get on the streets and make contact with O'Brien's network. Since he was effectively the new "bagman", the other Judges in the Sector would make sure his task was carried out.

It was a peculiar remark that O'Brien had ended his lecture. It was an old maxim on sovereign immunity the Justice Department had modernized and drilled into the heads of their cadets from a young age. It instilled the righteous mission of the Judges to police the citizens. The Law was infallible; it could do no wrong. O'Brien was in some way justifying the collections to Roebuck. The enterprise was sanctioned. Roebuck could not help but laugh at O'Brien. His Watch Commander should have gone with 'Arbiter'. The Law was infallible, but not Judges.

000

Skid Row, Sector 288

Midnight:

The Row was a hive of activity tonight. This was the alley, lined on either side by derelict structures, which ran between the Sector's two worst housing slums. It was Wednesday, the day the welfare payments from the City were deposited into the accounts of the cits across the Meg. Now every junkie, deadbeat resident, or idle cit had the means to purchase narcotics and alleviate the turmoil of daily life. It was near impossible to get a vehicle through the Row. It was choked with pedestrians; shuffling to their preferred dealer. The alley was blocked by wrecked vehicles and littered with mounds of trash.

Judge Roebuck figured it would be prudent to make a collection tonight. It would be a show of force to demonstrate the collections were to still occur, should there be any call for force. Judge Connors had been summoned to assist Roebuck in the endeavor, as he was a brute of a man and intimidating. The Judges sat on their parked lawmasters and surveyed Skid Row from their location. They were situated on an elevated pedestrian footbridge that overlooked the Row. The footbridge crossed over a section of Skid Row, with a concrete staircase to access the street below.

A modest wind blew through the Sector; bringing the occasional patch of airborne dust. The bits of paper rubbish were picked up by the wind and tossed about. Roebuck and Connors dismounted their lawmasters and left the bikes in secured mode. They proceeded to the access staircase for the Row. The staircase zigzagged downward from the footbridge to the street, with the occasional homeless vagrant asleep or junkies shooting up on almost every landing. The steps were covered in discarded garbage that had collected and never cleaned. The surfaces were tagged and marked with graffiti, either a tag marking gang territory or tasteless works of post-post-modern art.

As the Judges descended the staircase, they were intercepted. It looked to be a teenager, no more than fourteen or fifteen. His clothes were stained and torn, but offset by oversized gold chains around his neck. In the teen's hand was an AK-174U assault rifle. The kid had a rather scrawny in build, a product of malnutrition that came with being a youth on the streets of Sector 288. The assault rifle seemed disproportionate to the teen's features.

"Hey, you the Jays?" the teen asked, uncomfortably turning the barrel toward Roebuck.

"Watch where you point that shit!" Roebuck snapped; seizing the barrel of the rifle shoving in a safer direction.

"Yeah, it's you," the teen replied. "Me Skinny. Come, I'll take you to Young Charles."

Skinny turned around toward the downward direction of the staircase. With a wave of his hand, Skinny motioned the Judges to follow. Young Charles was the one they were to meet; he was the contact for the collection. Following the murder of Sector's last kingpin, O'Brien moved in to establish Young Charles as the new drug lord and Judges' gimp. Adjacent to where the staircase ended on the street level was a backdoor entrance to an adult video store.

000

The adult video store was an obvious front to conceal the Sector drug cartel's operations. The bottom floor, the actual shop, was the typical setup for all manners of perverts attempting to discreetly purchase pornography and various sexual implements. Offensive neon lighting nearly blinded all those inside. A few adventurous creeps had taken to openly masturbating, as they casually browsed. Judge Connors was having a bit of difficulty containing his laughter at the glimpse of these shoppers; obtained as the pair of Judges ascended a flight of stairs to upper level of the shop.

The upstairs level was completely different from the façade below. It was bleaker; the walls were cracked and smashed through the next room in some places. The floor boards creaked and sounded as if they would give out after the next step. Armed men, covered in tattoos, appeared to stand guard at every nook and cranny. There were tables in some of the rooms on the upstairs level. Around which were seated dozens of the most repugnant topless women, covered in tattoos, needle marks, and scars even Roebuck could not determine, counting piles of credits and arranging them into organized stacks. In others, the women were packaging drugs into portions for distribution. This entire building was just a very tiny percentage of the massive vice empire within Sector 288. The set up was more of a show for the Judges; the cartel would never meet a Judge in a building of actual significance. If the deal ever faltered, the cartel could settle for this front falling into the hands of the Justice Department.

The Judges were to ensure Young Charles held the drug distribution monopoly in Sector 288 by targeting the competition. In return, the Judges were compensated for their efforts and Young Charles agreed to minimize any and all drug related violence. This was the arrangement with Young Charles' predecessor and now with Young Charles. The arrangement suited Young Charles; he was making far too much money to be bothered by the fact he was informing to the Judges. Money always had that influence.

Roebuck and Connors were led into the room where they were to meet Young Charles. The first sight that caught the attention of the Judges were three University students. The three students were kneeling; held at gunpoint with their hands bound behind their backs and gags in their mouths. There were two males on either side of a female student. Their affluent attire and age gave away the fact they were students, as did the fact one of the men wore a University hooded sweatshirt. Young Charles held his arms outstretched in angered manner. Roebuck was not amused by this game.

"What the fuck is this!?" Roebuck demanded.

"Hey, you guys say you're supposed to be looking out for me!" replied Young Charles. "The boys catch these creeps selling around the dorms and habs 'round the college. I thought we wasn't supposed to expect no competitors."

"Just these three?"

"Nah they got others. Like a lot of others. These was just the three we could catch. And no violence like you said. That's why we bring 'em here."

This was a more serious matter. The University students came from families with money. Only families with money could send their children to University. Roebuck knew Young Charles made a mistake by bringing the students here; by letting them see the involvement the Judges had with the dealers. He knew the three were not leaving alive.

Roebuck walked over to a table where the belongings of the students had been laid out. He was postponing the inevitable; still working up what was needed to pull the trigger. There were three backpacks on the table with the contents emptied. A pile of confiscated small bags and vials containing powered synti-caine and liquid syntioum, both highly addictive and potent hallucinogens, was separated from the rest. Roebuck picked up one of the small bags of synti-caine and opened it. He dipped his pinky into the fine powder and brought it up to his nose. With a strong snort, the powder was inhaled.

Well Gruddamn!" Roebuck exclaimed. "This definitely isn't yours. It ain't from this Sector."

"What?" questioned Young Charles.

"Your shit, Charles, is just that, shit."

Young Charles felt a bit insulted by the remark. Roebuck discretely stuffed several packets of the synti-caine into his pocket, eager for something more pure and effective than the garbage peddled in this Sector by the cartel. In addition to the drugs, there were the usual accoutrements of a college student, Megphones, textpads, note-tablets, and a stack of fliers.

The fliers caught Roebuck's attention. He picked them up and started to flip through the papers. The students let out muffled grunts through their gags, as if they were protesting the Judge's actions. The fliers he had seen before. The slogans were printed on them calling for, "Democracy Now" and "Right to Vote, Right to Govern". These were propaganda pieces for the Democrats. Roebuck clenched his fists. With one of the fliers in his hand, he stormed over to the row of students.

"Where the fuck did you get these!?" Roebuck questioned authoritatively.

There was no response, though gagged none of the students made a sound. Roebuck seized the first male student on the left. He brought the young man to his feet and pulled the gag out of his mouth. The goons of Young Charles' cartel removed the gags of the other remaining two students. The Judge had his face uncomfortably close to that of the student. The young man could see his own terrified reflection in the visor of the Judge's helmet.

"I'm going to ask you again," Roebuck threatened. "Where did you get the posters?"

"Fuck you, Judge!" the female student called out. "Don't tell him shit!"

Roebuck threw the male student to the ground and trudged over to the girl who spoke. He crouched down to her level and looked her in the eyes. Due to the visor, she could not fully look back. He grabbed her neck with the strong grip of his right hand. The girl did not seem intimidated. Roebuck tilted her head from left to right, to more closely examine her and demonstrate the control he held.

"Why can't he talk to me?" Roebuck questioned, in a manipulative tone. "Is there something I'm not supposed to know?"

The girl said nothing. The silence overtook room. All eyes were on Roebuck, as the cartel goons were keen to see what happened next. The evidence was all there and all too clear. The Democrats were active in the University and selling drugs to raise funds, and possibly distribute their message. The girl's eyes examined the Judge, and grew wide when she read the name on the badge. Roebuck was in the midst of threatening the girl. His fingers clenched tighter around her neck.

"Not a talker," Roebuck said. "I'm sure I can find a way to get you to talk. I could have the boys take you into the next room for a bi…"

"Roebuck!?" the girl said. "You're Roebuck? You're the one…"

The grip tightened as hard as Roebuck could. The girl felt her air cut off and was suddenly unable to speak. She gasped for a breath only to have it denied. This was a reaction on Roebuck's part. He had secrets he needed to keep and it was evident this girl somehow knew Lana. It was best she not be allowed to speak.

Roebuck shoved his arm forward and threw the girl onto the ground. He rose to his feet, as she coughed aggressively. There was pistol tucked in the Judge's belt on his back, which he drew and pointed. It was an unregistered handgun, guaranteed not to leave a traceable ballistics pattern. Roebuck fired a round at the girl. The round impacted her head and she slumped to the floor after a violent reactionary wrench. He turned the pistol on the student to his left and right; executing both.

"The bodies need to disappear, not a fucking trace," uttered Roebuck. "And you call us next time, before you go taking down University students."

Young Charles smiled from ear to ear. It was a sadistic grin of excitement from what he witnessed. The goons all nodded with approval. There was always some form of entertainment when doing business with the Judges. The collection had turned out to be far messier than Roebuck would have liked and he was not at all delighted by the actions he just took. They were necessary, however. Roebuck turned to face Young Charles.

"Just put the creds in the bags," said Roebuck. "And we'll be out of here, until next week."

000

Waylon Jennings Block

Sector 288:

Roebuck laid back in the bed, thoroughly exhausted. Lana was there next to him, and still energized. They had been going on and off for the past few hours and she was enjoying every minute of carnal excitement; unable to get enough. Lana settled down into Roebuck's arms, her bare skin pressed against Roebuck's wound ridden body. This was all Roebuck looked forward too, and not just the sex. It was more than just sex; it was his escape from the cruelty of the job, the streets, and the society he was indoctrinated into.

Lana's phone began to ring and it interrupted Roebuck's thought. She rolled her eyes, an indication she was going to answer. The phone continued to hum loudly, as Lana climbed out of bed. In doing so, Lana seductively climbed over Roebuck in an effort to taunt him into another round. He did need more energy; Lana was insatiable and required every ounce of vigor.

Roebuck sat up in the bed and grabbed a small rectangular mirror from the bedside table. There were three lines of a powered substance neatly organized into rows. This was synti-caine Roebuck had taken during the collection several nights ago. It would have come from out of the Sector. The students peddling it would not have been able to purchase large, distributable quantities from the Sector 288 cartel. That was one of the stipulations the Judges made with Young Charles.

The synti-caine currently being sold by the monopoly drug dealers in the Sector was just about the poorest quality. It had been cut so many times with household products that most batches would kill you long before it gave you an adequate high. Roebuck needed that high and an energy boost. As Lana answered her phone, Roebuck dragged a rolled up credit note along one of the lines. The powder was sucked up the note and into Roebuck's nose. He shook his head once the line was completed; the drug immediately taking effect.

"Hey girl, what's up?" Lana answered. "No, I still haven't heard…She should've called or texted…I've spoken to her dad yesterday, he hasn't heard from her…Yeah, what good do you think the Judges will do?...They're a bunch of corrupt assholes, they won't give a shit…yeah, I'll let you know what I hear…bye."

Lana terminated the call and set her phone down on the dresser where it had been charging. There was distressed look on her face, Roebuck could tell. He passed her the mirror tray and credit note. Lana took the note, as Roebuck held the tray steady for her to inhale a line. The potent drug took affect with Lana shaking from the recoil. Roebuck placed the tray back on the table. Lana settled back under the sheets and pulled Roebuck's arms around her body.

"Something's up?" Roebuck said, trying to empathize.

"A couple of friends of mine are missing," replied Lana. "Classmates from the University. One is a close girlfriend."

"What like girlfriend, girlfriend?" Roebuck humored.

"No, best friend, you perv," Lana chastised jokingly.

"Hey a guy can dream."

"Yeah keep dreaming, we're not bring a third into bed."

"You're no fun…So what's up?"

"Ugh, I don't know. They've been missing for a few days. I think it might be bad because they've all disappeared at the same time. We've been worried about it, but we aren't sure who to go to about it."

"The Judges aren't an option?"

There was a silence on Lana's part. She did not respond to the question. Roebuck knew right away there was something more. Lana and her friends were afraid to take the disappearance of their classmates to the authorities. That usually meant involvement in something best kept withheld. It was fair to assume the three were the ones Roebuck had murdered at the cartel's drug house. The students were selling drugs to finance their Democrats activities. That is when the realization came to Roebuck.

"Look, Roebuck," Lana started. "I feel like you need to know something about me. The ones missing, my friends, and myself, we're involved with a group."

"What kind of group?" Roebuck inquired, but knowing the answer.

"The kind not exactly tolerated by the Judges. It's a political group. We're trying to restore rights to the citizens."

"Wait, so you're a fucking a Democrat!" Roebuck said, as he burst into a fit of laughter.

Lana punched him in the arm. It was an effort to get him to stop laughing. She was furious at his childish reaction.

"It's not funny," Lana responded. "We're fighting everyday and we suffer casualties. I was hoping to ask you for help. Being you're connected to a less than reputable network, you might be able to ask around about my friends. But I see it was a mistake telling you anything."

"Oh hon, I'm sorry," Roebuck said, acting sincere. "I can ask around, I know some people who hear things. But the creeps I deal with aren't the political type. Like you said, less than reputable. I'm not sure what they would know. Were your friends involved in anything illegal? Apart from politics."

"I didn't approve of it, but I was out voted at the last meeting…We came to the consensus that selling drugs to the slackers and losers around the University would help us raise funds. And we've seen a lot of cash come in, but the trouble isn't worth it."

"From what I know, the drugs are controlled by a cartel in this Sector. The protection jobs I work, we really don't have many dealings with them. But I do know they're very territorial. Your Dems setting up shop on their territory must've pissed them off. I'd take the selling somewhere else, out of the Sector. If you want to avoid trouble. I hate to say it Lana, but I think the cartel grabbed your friends. And if that's the case, they're dead by now."

Lana had a horrified look on her face. The tears began to form on the edges of her eyes. She buried her face into Roebuck's chest and began to cry. He wrapped his arms around her in an effort to comfort. There was a lot to process on Roebuck's part. The Democrats stood for everything the Justice Department taught Roebuck to despise. Lana was a member of a group that actively sought to overthrow the Judicial system and return the City to the pre-war democratic process. Roebuck ran his fingers through her blonde hair in a soothing way. He went over things in his head. It was even more crucial he hide his identity as a Judge. There was something more concerning on Roebuck's mind. The fact he was genuinely falling for Lana.

"Next meeting," Lana said, as she lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. "Come with me? It would mean a lot."

000

Zoom Train, Sector 296

October 2089:

Roebuck genuinely felt in love. He had seen Lana just about every day since they met and things were getting serious. It was to a point that Lana was effectively cohabitating Roebuck's flat at the Waylon Jennings Block. A few weeks had passed since Lana's disclosure of membership with the Democrats. In that revelation, she had invited Roebuck to a meeting; something he could not attend without serious repercussions from the Justice Department. For the time, he had effectively dodged having to go by coming up with one excuse or another. Now, he was at a point were no more explanations for an absence could be made. Roebuck would be at the next meeting, that very night.

Lana and Roebuck were aboard the cross-sector zoom train after a day out. It was effectively a formal date for the couple after Lana complained their relationship was purely sex and drugs. Roebuck could not risk being identified by anyone in Sector 288, so it was imperative to take Lana out of the Sector. They spent the afternoon seeing the genetically replicated animals at the Zoo of Extinct Species. It had been a trip that brought joy to Lana and a smile to Roebuck at seeing her happy.

The train carriage was moderately packed with commuters. A lack of seating meant Roebuck and Lana had to stand and hold onto the balance bars above their heads. This was of little consequence since it was an express that made few stops. Lana had a smile on her face and had not taken her eyes off of Roebuck since they left the Zoo. She was happy to spend the day with him and that he agreed to come to the Democrat meeting that night. It would have been the perfect day if Roebuck had not brought his Walther in the shoulder holster. Lana did not like guns and did not like the idea of Roebuck carrying one. He was still a Judge, even if that fact was kept a secret, and did not trust the citizens of the City.

Roebuck was feeling on the deviant side, as he looked Lana up and down. The train bounced, as it sped down the tracks. Lana was knocked into Roebuck and he put his right hand on her backside. After a few more moments, Roebuck slid his left hand into the front of Lana's tights. It was a discreet movement and the other passengers appeared oblivious. Lana was startled at first, but then excited. Roebuck's hand then went into her panties and he began sensually rub her beneath. It was exciting; to behave in this deviant manner in a transport full of people. Lana bit her lip and tried to remain steady, as the sensation flowed through her body. Roebuck kept it up for several minutes, until a commuter passed by and gave condemning glance. The pair, Roebuck and Lana, laughed at the incident.

The zoom accelerated after leaving the station. A few cits exited and few more boarded. Not in adequate numbers to free up any seats, but the space in between was relatively cleared. A noticeable man boarded at the stop, homeless by the appearance of an overstuffed backpack and ratty attire. He was also barefoot.

"Excuse me please," the homeless man addressed the apathetic carriage. "If you could please spare any creds. I'm hungry and want to eat. I also have no shoes for my feet. Please spare some creds for me."

The homeless man began to approach everyone around and ask for money. Roebuck put an arm around Lana to keep her close. He turned his head away from the homeless man. If he ignored the man, there was a better chance he would leave them alone. The homeless man continued to solicit donations from the passengers, none acquiesced. It was apparent the beggar was losing his patience and becoming increasingly hostile. Roebuck tightened his grip on Lana.

Both Lana and Roebuck were dressed proper. Roebuck wore his grey suit, Lana's favorite, under his overjack. Lana was in a long shirt with tights, boots, and a vest, as it was autumn and the weather changing. Their dressed appearance brought the attention of the homeless man. He approached and Roebuck shielded Lana; looking away. The carriage jolted from the natural curvature of the track it followed. The jolt lightly bumped the homeless man into Roebuck's back. The unintentional contact caused by uncontrollable circumstances sent the homeless man into a furry.

"Why the fuck did you push me, mother fucker," the homeless man shouted at Roebuck. "I'm fucking homeless and hungry and you can only push me!?"

Roebuck stayed silent and kept turning Lana away from the sight for her protection. He hoped the homeless man would lose interest and wander off. It had no effect and only provoked the beggar further. The homeless man continued his tirade. It served to only annoy Roebuck.

"Just because you have money, you pick on me?" said the homeless man. "You have creds to spare!"

"Why don't you fuck off!" retorted an angered Roebuck.

"Oh you fucking proper boy! Gimme a feel of your pretty girl and I'll leave yous alone."

The homeless man put out two hands and shoved Roebuck. It was an attempt to grope Lana, however. The assault was the final straw. Roebuck had been more than patient with the beggar, but his hand been forced. It had been an attack on Lana. This was an action Roebuck could not abide. The homeless man kept trying to reach Lana. She was terrified, and clung to Roebuck with all of her strength. Roebuck let go of Lana, positioning himself between her and the homeless man, before winding up a punch.

The heavy right hook from Roebuck knocked the startled homeless man to the ground. The stereotype would have everyone believe a proper man incapable of an act, but Roebuck was only playing the part. The homeless man fell to the floor of the carriage, stunned. Roebuck immediately leapt into action. He drew his Walther from the shoulder holster and knelt to the homeless man's side; gripping the beggar by the shirt and pressing the barrel to his head.

"You keep your fucking hands off of her," Roebuck ordered. "You fucking homeless piece of shit. You even look at her and I'll blow your fucking brains all over the floor of this carriage. Next stop you're getting off and you better not even think of using public transit ever again, got it?"

The entire carriage was silent. The only noise heard was that of the wheels on the rails, as the train sped along. Everyone was either in shock or looked on with voyeuristic curiosity at the scene. Roebuck released his grip and stood up. The homeless man crawled at first, but then scurried away and eventually crossed into the next car. Lana was visibly terrified at the encounter and starting to cry. Roebuck put his arms around her, to console her anxiety.

"Shhh, it's ok, he's gone," said Roebuck.

"That man…" Lana replied. "You would have killed him?"

"Only if I had to. I think he got the message. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, I promise."

Lana buried her face into Roebuck's shoulder. It was to conceal her tears, and running mascara, from everyone else in the carriage. Roebuck held her tightly to his chest and massaged her back. At the next stop, every sane person exited the carriage, only a few loons remained, but they kept to themselves. There was ample seating available and Roebuck decided to take advantage. He helped Lana over to a bench seat and the couple sat down. This was an alien experience for Lana and it had her very distraught. However, it was a typical encounter for Roebuck. The job demanded he play the bully on occasion and he was quite good in the role. Lana rested her head on Roebuck, as he placed an arm around her shoulders. The occurrence did not make Roebuck out to be frightening in Lana's eyes. It demonstrated that he would be there to protect her no matter what, and reinforced the fact that she was falling in love.

000

Democratic Party Headquarters Chapter 288

Sector 288

2000 hours:

The meeting hall for the Democrats was an old storage complex. It was beneath a wrecked warehouse that had been abandoned during the riots. This district of the Sector was devoid of inhabitants and the risk of detection was far lower. There were about six hundred persons in attendance, mostly students from the University. A cabal of University professors sat in a row on a makeshift stage. One their colleagues stood at the podium and rendered an eloquent speech that called for democracy and equality. The subject rather bored Roebuck and he was quickly losing interest. It was pure indoctrination, a skill liberal professors seemed to possess when in the presence of impressionable young minds.

Lana clung to every word spoken with enthusiasm. She grasped Roebuck's hand and held it tighter when a political statement was made. It was utter nonsense to Roebuck. The statements were pure fantasies concocted by the professors. There was no undoing the Justice Department, the Law, the status quo.

"…and in one month, we launch Project Liberty," the professor said with passion. "We join our brothers and sisters across the City. With arms in hand, we take to the streets and reclaim our Democracy by force!"

The entire room erupted in thunderous applause. Roebuck was at a bit of a loss to the details of the proposed "Project Liberty". To blend in with the crowd, he joined Lana and the others who cheered in jubilation. Lana had an elated expression on her face; excited that Roebuck was participating on this level. The speech was concluded, as was the meeting. The students dismissed from the lecture. Lana seized Roebuck by the hand and led him to meet the speaker. It was purely against his will and he would have preferred to avoid the encounter.

"Professor Goldstein! Professor Goldstein!" Lana shouted, grabbing the Professor's attention. "Professor Goldstein, this is Freddy Roebuck, the one I told you about."

Roebuck had to reluctantly shake hands with the Democrat Professor. It was an act he did not wish to participate. The short and balding Professor gave an enthusiastic look at the young man, secretly a Judge. Goldstein was dressed in a worn sweater and poorly coordinated scholarly outfit. The shirt did not match the trousers or the sweater, though it was an overall distressed shade of olive.

"Ah so you're the Roebuck, Lana can't seem to stop fantasizing about!" said Goldstein.

"Pleasure," Roebuck said, subdued.

"So Lana tells me you're a troubleshooter of sorts?"

"I tend to keep busy."

"Oh he is so modest," said Lana. "He studied law as well. I'm trying to get him eligible for the BAR."

"Well in that case," started Goldstein. "A man of your qualification brings a lot to the Party."

"I'm all for the cause," replied Roebuck.

Another faculty member desired a word with Goldstein and he excused himself from the conversation. Roebuck gave a contemptuous scowl before he turned around. He seized Lana by her upper arm and led her away. Lana was confused by this sudden action. The two bolted over to a corner away from prying eyes.

"What the fuck was that about!?" Roebuck demanded. "You told him about me, about what I do?"

"Freddy, you're hurting my arm," Lana replied, upset.

"Lana! What the hell? You can't go around telling people about me."

"Why not? You have to do what you have to. So do we. You could be an asset. Why are you ashamed? I'm not ashamed. I love you Freddy."

Roebuck immediately released his grasp. This was a surprise and Roebuck had to think about it. It was the first time Lana had said she loved him; it was the first time anyone said that to Roebuck, and meant it. Her declaration was a serious one. Lana stepped forward and placed a hand on his cheek. She pulled Roebuck in and kissed him; staring into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I should not have told him," Lana replied. "And I'm sorry about that, I don't want to seem like we're going too fast."

"No, don't be," said Roebuck. "I love you too."

The two kissed again and held each other for several moments. Roebuck was startled at his admission. It was combination of the fact he said it and the fact he meant his words. He thought about his time with Lana and the happiness it brought. A life with her would be wonderful. The only problem being it was strictly forbidden by the Justice Department. The lies and sneaking around had miraculously worked for over a month. It would be impossible to keep this up forever. Either Lana would learn the truth, or the Judges.

Roebuck stood outside the door to the women's restroom with Lana's bag under his arm. He waited patiently while she was inside. Everything ran through his head, as he weighed his options. The options were few and all seemed to end very badly. A shabby looking student stumbled toward Roebuck. The intention of the student was to initiate a conversation. The student was dressed in a dirty trench overjack, ripped jeans, and he worn a shirt with "Drokk" printed across the front. A contrast to the well dressed Roebuck.

"Have you read that chapter on Roger B. Taney for class?" the student asked; discreetly pointing a snub-nose pistol into Roebuck's gut.

It would have been a typical question for student to ask, but a recognizable one for a Judge. Roebuck knew he was in trouble. The question was a code phrase for one Judge to identify another. There was bound to be trouble if Roebuck ignored the question.

"No, I'm hung up on the fallout caused by Justice Scalia's death," Roebuck answered.

"Perkins, Wally Squad," the man whispered, the pistol withdrawn. "I thought I recognized you, Roe. Didn't realize this was joint venture. Thought I was running solo, oh well. What Sector is the Judge yous with from? You twos pretty convincing."

"We're working a drug angle," Roebuck lied.

"I didn't know you joined the Wallys. Good on ya. Last I heard yous was promoted to O'Brien's old gig. Glad to see you got out from that. I knew that must've stunk. So what is it, transfer to 289's Wallys? I know McAllister over there, good guy. I thought I knews all the dames in that outfit, but I guess not. She's a real looker. Yous a lucky guy convincing her to make it authentic like."

The Wally Squad was the plainclothes unit of the Justice Department. These were the Judges who infiltrated the populace and conducted undercover operations. Perkins seemed to be chatty one. The Wally Squad members were always talkative. It seemed he was not informed in regards to Roebuck. That was not unusual; Wallys spent more time in the field and mingling with the cits that they were often out of the loop with Judges' scuttlebutt. Street Judges rarely interacted with the Wallys, as a means to help them maintain their covers. Perkins talked himself into believing Roebuck had transferred to an adjacent Sector House and joined the Wally Squad. This was bad.

"Hey bud, I need you to get lost," said Roebuck. "The girl I'm with isn't a Judge. She's a connection to ring I've been tracking. I somehow ended up here. Didn't realize it was your investigation. I'll duck out. It's your show."

Perkins nodded and patted Roebuck on the shoulder. He sauntered away and toward a group of students to mingle. Roebuck's heart was racing. This was the first time he had been this stressed and anxious in long time. Lana had stepped out of the restroom to find a pale Roebuck. Immediately, she was concerned.

"Freddy, what's wrong?" Lana asked. "You look sick."

"We need to get out of here," Roebuck replied.

000

Roebuck's Flat

Waylon Jennings Block:

The entire ride back from the Democrat meeting Roebuck was severely anxious and irritated. Lana was concerned because of Roebuck's state and when he would not respond to her questions. When they reached the door, he threw it opened and stormed inside. Following immediately behind was Lana. Roebuck grabbed a beer from the fridge and chugged it only a few seconds. The beer finished, he reached into the open fridge again to grab another.

"Baby, what's wrong?" asked Lana. "Freddy, you're scarring me."

Roebuck did not reply. He pulled a bag of the synti-caine from a kitchen drawer and poured it onto the counter. The powder formed a small mound. Quickly, Roebuck lowered his face into the pile and inhaled. The drugs burned the lining of his nose, as Roebuck flung his head back. He was visibly shaking and extremely stressed from the encounter. Lana leaned in next to Roebuck and held his hand.

"You've been a wreck ever since we left," Lana said. "You aren't yourself. What happened?"

"The Judges," said Roebuck. "That group has been infiltrated. There was one at the meeting. One of the undercover Jays."

"Are you serious!? How do you know he was a Judge?"

"Because I know! You have to trust me Lana. We cannot go back there."

Lana pulled a credit note from a pocket in Roebuck's suit pants. As Roebuck tried to calm down, she casually rolled it into a tube and snorted some synti-caine from the mound.

"If you don't want to go to the meetings just say so," said Lana, annoyed. "You've been avoiding every meeting you could. Now, this act, seeing Judges. You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"I'm not play acting, Lana," said Roebuck, his eyes wide and scared. "I've had my run-ins with the Judges. It comes with my line of work. We have to watch out for the undercover ones especially. There just wasn't something right about this guy."

"Babe, you're overreacting. I'm sure there couldn't have been a Judge, not there. I don't understand why you have to act this way? I support you. I don't ask questions about those scars and what you do. You've hurt people, like that man on the train. You've done worse, but that doesn't matter. You wouldn't hurt me. Now, could you please just support me in what I do? Isn't that fair?"

Roebuck was still shaking. His clenched the beer can, as he fumbled with the tab. Lana calmly took the beer from his grasp and opened it. The cold beer was finished in a few gulps and he motioned for another. The can crumpled when he squeezed. There more than concern on Lana's mind. She had never seen him in this state. Roebuck was afraid. Of what she was not sure, but it was real.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," Lana said to Roebuck.

Lana took Roebuck by the hand and led him to the bedroom. She helped him out of his suit and into the bed. It appeared Roebuck was not in that state for sex tonight, much to Lana's chagrin. She lay down next to him and rubbed his head in a soothing, calming manner. Roebuck began to tear up.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" asked Lana.

"The scars," said Roebuck.

"What?"

"You mentioned them. I never did tell you about them."

"I haven't asked and I never will pressure you."

"They're cigarette burns, from when I was ten."

"What happened?"

"I lost my parents in the war. Being orphaned, those of us that did not pass the Judge aptitude tests were sent to juvenile housing facilities. Christ, they had so many orphans they didn't know what to do with us all," Roebuck told a partial lie. He grew up in an institutionalized setting, but he did pass the aptitude test.

"Freddy, I'm so sorry."

"They used to play this game at night, the older kids. They'd come into the dormitory and tie us face down to our beds. They would light up cigarettes and then extinguish them on our bare backs. They kept it up until one of us started to cry. They would drag the crying one from his bed into the bathroom and hold their head under the water in the toilet bowl. They would hold him there until he nearly drowned, all the while burning his back with cigarettes. Then all the older boys would take turns hitting the crying one; punches to the face until he stopped crying. You learn fast how not to cry. And they tried everything they could to get you to."

"Oh my Grud, Freddy!"

Roebuck dropped his head to the side and closed his eyes. It was painful to think back to his childhood; growing up in the Academy. The older cadets brutalized him and his classmates. The story was true. They played those games, to torture the younger cadets and help toughen them up for the streets. The only time since those days cried was the day Marston died. Now, the drugs and alcohol had his mind twisted along with the events of the night. The stress had pushed him over the edge and he broke down.

It was a horrific story. Lana was appalled by the treatment of Roebuck, at such a young age having to endure all of those horrors. She ran her hand over the marks on his chest. There were so many small circular burn scars. Every disfigured patch of skin she felt his pain. He had stepped up on the train to protect her and now she had to protect him, because she loved Roebuck.

000

Sector House 288

Four days later:

Roebuck sat anxiously outside of Sector Chief Grossman's office. He was dressed his duty fatigues and flak jacket, with his helmet resting on the seat. It was evening and he was about to begin his overnight patrol when he was summoned. The summons had come out of the blue and Roebuck was unsure what the Chief wanted. Everything seemed a blur since meeting the Wally at the Democrat meeting. He was regretting the two lines of synti-caine he snorted before coming into the Sector House. The drugs had his eyes bloodshot and his body anxiously tapping. His overall demeanor was irritable and impatient, with a bit of paranoia. Grossman's aid, Judge Golovchenko, or the "bear" as he was sometimes known, looked up from his desk.

"Oh look, Roebuck is back to see principle," Golovchenko teased in his accent.

"Oh look, the fucking bear hasn't sucked enough cock today," Roebuck fired back. "You fucking Sov mother fucker."

The outburst was a bit unexpected. The drugs were potent today and already altering his state of mind. Roebuck held his head low and started cursing to himself, softly. His foot was tapping uncontrollably. There was a ringing in the waiting room, but he could not determine the source. He looked to his left and, out of nowhere, Judge Perkins from the Wally Squad sat down. Perkins was not in his civilian attire, but a Judges uniform. This was not happening and indeed it was not. After a shake of the head, Roebuck's vision blurred and then cleared. Perkins was not there, it was a hallucination.

The room seemed colder, as if the temperature had dropped significantly. Roebuck believed he could see his breath, but that was impossible. His breathing started to pick up and he shivered from the nonexistent chill. Something was not right; only two lines of synti-caine could not cause this level of distress. He had forgotten the small hit had taken in the locker room of the Sector House, as he dressed only a short time ago. Then he had some more when he was alone on the lift coming up to see the Chief Grossman. There were several packets of the drug still in his pocket.

"Roebuck!" Chief Grossman interrupted. "In here, NOW!"

Chief Katherine Grossman was a commanding figure in the Department. She had been brought in last year to clean up the Sector House and reshape the Judges in 288. Despite her distinguished career and abilities; some toys just cannot be mended. Grossman slammed the door after Roebuck entered. She directed him to take a seat, as she stormed to hers behind the desk.

"Do you care to explain yourself, Roebuck?" said Grossman, rage in her voice.

"I…I…" Roebuck said at a loss. He was unsure what he was asked.

"Three fucking days in a row. Three fucking days of brutality complaints against you. You respond to a shopping mart where security apprehended a shoplifter, should be a probation charge. Instead, you beat the kid into a damn coma!"

"Wait…what!?"

"That was Tuesday. Wednesday you were serving a summons on a cit for unpaid parking tickets. Any reason you threw him down a flight of stairs. Fucking unpaid parking tickets, Roebuck?"

"I…I…can explain…"

"Shut up Roebuck, I'm not finished. Just yesterday, you inflicted another beating. When the catch-wagon arrived, you told the Judge driving that the citizen's crime was a poorly coordinated outfit. Are you fucking serious!?"

Grossman lowered her head and began to massage her temple. This was to calm herself down. The room was silent. Roebuck was alarmed at what the Chief said. He had no memory of those events. The past four days had significant gaps, as he tried to recall events. His usual routine of strictly drinking off duty had been replaced by heavy usage of synti-caine, both on and off the job.

"Roebuck, I don't know what to do with you," said a disappointed Grossman. "You get a brutality charge here and there; we suspend you for a day. It's forgive and forget. But three days in a row? Now, you're ready to head out on patrol where you'll do Grud knows what. You were a good Judge once, Roebuck. I don't think it's fair to throw you to the SJS. I can't spare the manpower. So, two weeks of in house suspension and daily sessions with a Departmental therapist."

"Yes ma'am, I understand," Roebuck acknowledged, apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"The cits are riled up about excessive force and the Democrats are only fueling that fire. So, we just need everyone to calm the fuck down. Go home and get some sleep. Report to Golovchenko at 0600 for a desk assignment. Dismissed."

That was the end of the lecture. Roebuck got up from the chair and stood to attention. Grossman waved him out with a flip of the hand. She returned to the list of Judges on her desk. There were several after Roebuck that were due for their own lectures over various infractions. It was the only way to punish the Judges. There was a City-wide shortage of Judges and every last body was needed on the streets. Only a serious, heinous offence would have a Judge turned over to the SJS, and that was purely at the discretion of the Sector Chief.

Roebuck stormed out of the office. His blood was still pumping and his body shaking. Golovchenko gave Roebuck a dirty scowl, as he walked past. Roebuck returned the look with the gesture of his middle finger raised and shoved toward Golovchenko. After the exchange, he continued toward the elevator and boarded the lift once it arrived. The doors shut, but Roebuck knew he was not alone. He turned quickly to his left and saw Judge Perkins.

"Oh yous on the desk duty," said Perkins. "How ya think O'Brien will like that? I though yous was his bagman in the field?"

"Shut the fuck up! You aren't real!" Roebuck shouted, as he dropped his helmet and covered his ears.

"Why yous gotta be that way Roe? I'm plenty real. Anyways, yous only lucky dog. Daytime hours sitting behind a desk. Means more time with yous girl."

The elevator chimed when it stopped at a floor. The image of Judge Perkins vanished, as the doors opened. There was O'Brien waiting to board. He did not allow Roebuck to exit. Instead, O'Brien stepped into the lift and pressed the button to patrol level. Once the doors closed and the lift began to move, O'Brien flipped the emergency stop switch. The lift came to a sudden halt. Now, O'Brien could have a confidential word with Roebuck without the hassle of interruption. Quickly, O'Brien seized Roebuck by the edges of his flak jacket and slammed him against the wall.

"In house suspension!" screamed O'Brien. "What the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea how badly you've fucked things up? You'll forfeit half of your share for every day you're suspended."

O'Brien was furious. The Watch Commander's face was bright red from the rage. If Roebuck was not on the street, then the collections could not be made. In the drugged up state, Roebuck had missed the Wednesday collection. A missed collection only served to anger all of those involved. Roebuck's pupils were noticeably dilated and his skin was pale. He shivered in O'Brien's grasp with a brow covered in sweat.

"Jovis Fucking Grud, Roebuck," O'Brien started. "You're high aren't you!? Fucking junkie! Here of all fucking places? This is her doing isn't it!?"

Somehow, O'Brien knew about Lana, but how much did he know? O'Brien released his grasp and Roebuck fell to the floor. The inside of the lift appeared to be closing in; his head spinning.

"A Democrat, really?" said O'Brien. "You could have any side piece you wanted, but it had to be a Democrat. You end it, Roebuck. End it today."

The lift resumed moving after O'Brien powered it back on with the switch. Roebuck placed a weak hand on the railing attached to the wall. He pulled himself up to his feet, though he fought to maintain his balance. O'Brien had a disgusted look on his face. Perhaps it was Perkins who made contact with O'Brien. He informed the Watch Commander about Roebuck and Lana. They could have also been spotted together at the Block by someone off duty. Perkins might have been staking out Roebuck; shadowing his movements.

The chime indicated the lift had arrived at the floor. It was the level the patrol operations were based. This is where O'Brien had his office and where he was headed to work on reports. He swiftly exited. Roebuck lingered for several moments. The drugs were proving to be far more potent than he had expected. He mashed the button for the garage level. The plan was to get to the motor pool, get his lawmaster, and go home. The doors shut and lift descended to the lowest level.

"Way to go big guy!" a familiar voice exclaimed. "You are hitting one fine piece of ass."

Roebuck turned around at the sound of the voice. He was shocked by the sight. Leaning against the wall of the lift, casually scrolling through his Megphone, was Judge Marston. This was impossible, Marston was dead. He died in Roebuck's arms.

"Oh come on, aren't you glad to see me?" said Marston.

"No…No. This isn't fucking happening," Roebuck said anxiously. "You're dead. I was there. These fucking drugs!"

"Yeah, well think of me like the clap. No matter how hard you try, you just can't get rid of me. But joking aside, this Lana situation is getting serious. Never pictured you as the family man type, but hey, you were always full of surprises."

"Shut the fuck up! You aren't here, this isn't real, I'm having real bad fucking trip."

"Now Roe, is that any way to talk about your best friend? We've seen some shit, done some shit. But, bullshit aside, I think we need to talk about this Lana problem."

"We aren't talking about anything because you aren't here!"

A contingent of judicial clerks had gathered around the open door to the lift and stared. The lift had reached the bottom floor and the door opened without Roebuck noticing. The clerks found the Judge shouting, but he was alone. Roebuck staggered forward and pushed his way through the group. He had to just get the lawmaster and go home. No more drugs, not for a while.

000

Lana was surprised to find Roebuck entering the apartment. He had only been gone about two hours; heading to the job was where he was supposed to go. Luckily, Roebuck had enough stability to discretely park his lawmaster in his private parking unit and change out of his uniform in it before he came up. His attire was disheveled, noticeable because he was always a sharp dresser. The sweat covered his face and his hands shook uncontrollably. It had been of some difficulty to operate the keypad to open the apartment door.

"Oh my Grud Freddy!" said an alarmed Lana. "What's wrong!?"

Roebuck's vision was obscured. He blinked a few times only to see Judge Perkins there in the apartment. Perkins had the refrigerator door open and helped himself to a beer. Roebuck was in disbelief and rubbed his strained eyes. The second his vision cleared again, Perkins was gone. There was no trace of Perkins having ever been there. It was another hallucination. Lana put an arm around Roebuck to hold him up.

"Baby, what's wrong?" asked Lana. "I thought you had a job tonight? What are you doing home?"

There was no response from Roebuck. He threw both arms around Lana and held her close. It was comforting to just hold her in an embrace. Lana brought Roebuck over to a stool at the kitchen island and sat him down. She poured him a glass of whisky which he downed in an instant. Another was poured and Roebuck took his time with the second glass. Meanwhile, Lana took out the small bag of synti-caine the couple kept in the counter drawer.

She emptied the contents in front of Roebuck and divided it into two neat lines. Then Lana rolled up a twenty credit note and handed it Roebuck. Instinctively, and against better judgment, he leaned forward and snorted one of the lines. The powder burned, as it traveled through the nasal passage. The room seemed to stabilize after that hit; everything appeared clear. He tried to hand the note to Lana for her to take a line, but she declined.

"Thank you, hon," said Roebuck. "What can I get you? Some wine, a cider?"

"No. No drugs, no alcohol," Lana replied. "I'm good babe, but thank you."

Roebuck finished the glass and placed it down on the counter. Lana helped him up and led him into the bedroom. The lovers climbed under the sheets, Roebuck had his arms wrapped around Lana. He was exhausted from all of the stress. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. There was the disciplinary action at work and now he was having hallucinations of a Wally Squad Judge and his dead friend, Marston.

"We could go home?" Lana interrupted the silence. "Come with me to Mega-City Two. Everything out there is far less stressful. The West Coast Judges tolerate Democrats; they're far less fascist than the ones here. We'll run away and disappear. They won't track you down out there to collect your student debt. You can give up the mob work and go back to school. University is free out there, the City pays tuition. You pass the BAR, I'll get my diploma, and we'll start a genuine life."

"I wish it were that simple," Roebuck replied.

"Why? Why can't we go?"

"Some pretty connected people would object to my departure."

"Fuck them. Who gives a fuck what they say!? Roebuck is mine; tell them they can't have you."

The last remark by Lana brought a smile to Roebuck's face. There might be reason to Lana's mad plan to run off to Mega-City Two. It was Lana's hometown after all, but they did have a Justice Department. The Mega-City Two Justice Department would act if informed a Mega-City One Judge deserted his post a fled. Brit-Cit was an option Roebuck pondered. He had connections there, but it meant dealing with his repugnant brother.

The lies Roebuck told were becoming more and more difficult to maintain. Now, O'Brien knew and O'Brien heard everything. Someone else knew, it was Perkins, but whom else had he told? Roebuck shut his eyes. He was exhausted. Lana was already asleep in his arms. After a few last stressful thoughts, Roebuck drifted to sleep.

000

Endgame:

Judge Roebuck was seated behind a clerk's desk at cubicle. It was one cubicle within a maze of dozens at the Sector House. The other cubicles were occupied by the clerks, Judges medically unfit for duty, or ones who were serving an in house suspension. The work was repetitive and dull. Mostly, Roebuck was stamping and signing off on official summons, warrants, and court orders. Since he was a Judge and the paperwork just required official issuance by a sworn officer of the court.

It had been several days of this rather boring desk assignment. The alternative of being turned over to the SJS was less ideal, so he endured. There were benefits to this disciplinary action. He had to report at six in the morning and was dismissed at six in the evening. This allowed his nights to be spent with Lana, as opposed to the overnight patrol shift. She welcomed the change in his schedule, which he explained as a business expansion that required he be out while businesses were open. Lana skipped the most recent Democrat meeting; electing to stay in that night and spend time with Roebuck.

At one in the afternoon, every day, Roebuck had to report to the assigned therapist for his ordered evaluation. The therapist was a scrawny, nervous, middle age psychiatrist the Justice Department contracted to evaluate Judges. Roebuck tried his best appear as sane as possible during the sessions. It was a difficult proposition when he would see Judge Perkins seated next to the doctor, mimicking the psychiatrist's body posture and movements. Perkins was always in a Judge's uniform when he appeared to Roebuck; never in the civilian clothes.

The doctor had been successfully convinced, or his weak constitution intimidated enough, by Roebuck to give a favorable diagnosis. Roebuck was diagnosed with a case of combat stress that caused outbursts of brutality. The doctor claimed it arose from the loss of Marston and being overworked. It was diagnosis that was deemed treatable and, after sufficient rest, Roebuck could be returned to active street patrol. Roebuck was shocked by how well he navigated the counseling. Nothing about Lana, O'Brien's rackets, the habitual drug use, hallucinations, or paranoia was mentioned or came into question.

At the recommendation of the doctor, Roebuck's desk assignment had been extended for another week. He did not mind. It gave him time to calm down and think things over. A few minutes devoted to work were counterbalanced by most of the day spent working on his next move. Roebuck had to come up with a plan about what to do with Lana. Seeing her had evolved beyond the discreet sexual liaison between a Judge and cit. They had both fallen in love and developed strong feelings. Lana was perfect for Roebuck. She seemed to tolerate, even encourage his habits. For the first time, in a very long time, Roebuck was happy. He could not break things off. The game they played grew more dangerous at every turn.

"Hey Roe," a voice said. "Hey Roe, you listening to me?"

Roebuck turned to see who was behind the interruption. The chair swung and Roebuck could see the one responsible. Judge Connors leaned against the opening of the cubicle. He braced a forearm against the top of the cubicle wall at the entrance.

"You missed a real shit show last night," Connors began. "Took down a whole Democratic Party Headquarters we did. Right here in Sector 288. Do you believe that shit?"

"No, had no idea," said Roebuck, trying to retain sanity.

"Mostly fuckers from the University, fucking college kids. They were planning Operation Libertarian or some whatever the fuck they were calling it. Get this, they were planning to overrun the Citi-Def armories at various Blocks around the Meg, capture the weapons, and use them for a genuine coup d'etat!"

"Well, good on ya."

"Oh man wish you could have been there. We executed on the professors on the spot for treason. Nothing like an evening putting bullets through the heads of cits, kneeing and pleading in front of ya. Ugh gives me a hard on just thinking about it. But Gruddamn I'm exhausted. Haven't been to sleep yet."

"So what's going in the rest of the City?"

"Well, Judges in about every Sector are hitting suspected Democrat meeting halls. Citi-Def units were put on alert and ordered to fortify. On the bright side, the plans for armed insurrection gets them the terrorist label. It's shoot on sight! Guess that coup ain't happening."

"Guess not."

"Oh by the way, here's your cut for the week. Sorry, it's a bit light but rules are rules I guess. I'll see you around. O'Brien said he needed me for something, Grud I'm fucking wiped."

Judge Connors placed a large and bulky manila envelope on Roebuck's desk. The manila envelope was the same employed for inter-departmental mail, so it could easily blend in the Sector House. Roebuck quickly placed the envelope into a satchel he brought with him to the office. The envelope contained his weekly share of the collection from Young Charles, with his dues for the suspension subtracted. Four thousand credits instead of eight was not that bad. It far exceeded the few hundred a month stipend issued by the Department. The day was not even half over and he still had the required doctor visit that afternoon; only a few more hours to trudge.

000

The day had concluded with little excitement. The interruption and delivery of payment by Judge Connors had been the highlight. The visions of Judge Perkins had subsided. It had resulted from a combination of the anti-anxiety prescription issued by the doctor and the cutting back of synti-caine consumption. The hallway to his apartment unit was empty and quiet. Many of the units on this level of the quadrant were vacant. As was customary, he changed out of his uniform into civilian clothes before this point. Something was amiss, as Roebuck inserted his keycard into the lock panel and turned the handle. There music blasting loudly from the stereo inside; one song on a loop. It was an oldie, the Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor by Ludwig van Beethoven. He opened the door and stepped inside.

Instantly, there was sharp pain on his upper back and Roebuck felt himself being tackled to the floor. Two large men held him by either arm and dragged the stunned Roebuck into his living room. Handcuffs tightened around his wrists, his arms restrained behind his back. He tried to fight back from his position on his knees, but their hold was too great. A hand gripped the back of Roebuck's head and tilted it upward. Roebuck saw Judge O'Brien standing in front of him, with Lana bound, gagged, and laying in the center of the room. Judge Connors held Roebuck by his left arm and a loyal Judge Khan had his right.

The sight of Lana in that condition, possibly harmed, sent Roebuck into a frenzied state. He thrashed about violently; trying to shake his captors loose. O'Brien stepped forward and punched Roebuck square in the jaw. It was tremendous hit that left Roebuck in daze. The resistance subdued and he became compliant.

"I am so glad you could join us Roebuck," O'Brien started. "It's a shame that it had to come to this, but you were fucking warned. I distinctly remember telling you to end it with the girl."

Lana's eyes were opened wide. She was at a loss about what was happening. These Judges had arrived unannounced and forced their way inside. They bound her and began to question her intensely about Roebuck. The questions they asked were peculiar. It seemed they knew Roebuck well, on a professional level.

"We had a little chat with your Lana," O'Brien continued. "You never told her. Come on Roebuck, how long do you think you could have kept this going? This is the inevitable endgame. You can't go against the Law, you are the Law. And she, well she's a Democrat."

"What the fuck do you want, O'Brien?" said Roebuck, the rage building inside.

"Roebuck, no, no, no. We aren't negotiating. You've done a very, very bad thing. It's a shame Lana will have to pay the price for what you have done."

"FUCK YOU!"

Roebuck grew increasingly violent in his resistance. He was like a wild beast, desperately trying to escape the captors that held him in place. Khan threw Roebuck to the floor. Connors effectively had to kneel on Roebuck's back to keep him in place, with his lawgiver pressed into Roebuck's head. Lana was terrified by the unfolding events. She knew, by now, Roebuck was a Judge.

The signs all seemed to indicate that fact. He was always away and working at odd hours. The gun he carried and did not hesitate to brandish, the knowledge of the law, the stress, the injuries, and even the apathy when dragged to the Democrat meeting. O'Brien confirmed it while they waited for Roebuck to get home. The news was devastating. He lied and manipulated her the entire time. Yet, despite the revelation, she still loved him.

"You should really hear the best part," O'Brien continued.

O'Brien knelt beside Lana and brought her to her knees. He placed a firm grip on her throat to keep her head straight and pointed at Roebuck. The two lovers looked each other in the eyes. They felt connected and separated from the literal hell that surrounded them both. O'Brien pulled the gag from Lana's mouth, so she could speak. Before she could, O'Brien ran his tongue up her cheek; tasting the beautiful woman. The action only infuriated Roebuck, who remained in place because the barrel of lawgiver was pressed to his head.

"Go ahead Lana," said O'Brien. "Tell Roebuck your big secret. We shared his, now you share yours!"

The sentence was concluded by a deviant smile on O'Brien's face that was directed at Roebuck. Lana had tears streaming down her stunning sun tanned cheeks. Her eyes were red and swollen from the distressed crying. After several moments, she was able to steady herself enough to speak.

"…Freddy," Lana nervously began. "I'm pregnant."

The news had effectively come as a shock. Roebuck did not know what to make of it. All manner of thoughts raced through his head. First, was complete surprise. His mind jumped to excitement, he was excited at the prospect of being a father. Then reality struck, the cruel truth about the life he lived. The Justice Department forbade these relationships and demanded celibacy from all of their Judges. He would never be allowed to know his child; it would be taken away and placed in the foster system. Roebuck would be sent to the penal work farm for the disgraced and criminal Judges. Lana could expect an obstruction of justice, perverting the course of justice, or a combination of the two. She would spend the next two decades in an Iso-Cube and then face deportation back to Mega-City Two.

"Oh would you hear that!" O'Brien taunted. "Roebuck is going to be a father!"

"Lana…I…I didn't know," said Roebuck, tears forming in his eyes.

O'Brien reveled in the amount of power and control he possessed. Both lovers were his and enjoyed every moment of their torment. He slid the gag back into Lana's mouth before she could utter a response to her Fredrick. Roebuck's eyes were wide and scanned between Lana and the encroaching O'Brien. O'Brien had stepped forward and delivered a kick into Roebuck's chest with his steel toe duty boot. In the wound that had never quite healed. The blow had managed to crack two of Roebuck's ribs.

It was a delightful action for O'Brien and he walked back to Lana. O'Brien picked her up and brought her to her feet. He examined her with a ravenous gaze. Lana's hands were also cuffed behind her back. She had been outnumbered, overpowered, and could offer little resistance to these brutes who stormed into the flat.

"You've broken the rules, Roe," started O'Brien. "But don't fret; we can help get you back on the righteous path. This will help reinforce which team you play for. As senior Judge and the superior officer here, I am entitled to the first go…"

"FUCK YOU, O'BRIEN!" Roebuck shouted.

Roebuck convulsed and thrashed; doing everything in his power to wrestle free. Connors and Khan were both of a far larger build. They pressed down with all of their strength, and all of their strength was needed to keep Roebuck pinned to the ground. O'Brien seized Lana by the nylon lounge pants she wore. With a hard tug, O'Brien ripped the fabric that covered her lower body. Lana stood there, exposed and terrified. The barrel of a lawgiver pressed harder into Roebuck. He knew they would pull the trigger, it was no bluff.

One shot it and the torment could end right there. If he chose that escape, he would abandon Lana. All Roebuck could do was watch the assault. It was what O'Brien wanted. O'Brien threw Lana onto the adjacent couch. She trembled in fright, as O'Brien peeled off his flak jacket and unzipped the front of his pants.

Roebuck could only watch the violation in contempt and horror. O'Brien thrust himself into Lana repeatedly. It was a savage assault. Though gagged and restrained, Lana was silent throughout the entire ordeal. O'Brien was taking a sick pleasure in his perverted work. He was always turned on by force. The sight was becoming too difficult to bear. Roebuck watched the woman he loved, the one carrying their unborn child, violated. There were no words to express his anguish.

O'Brien grunted loudly, as he reached his climax. The rhythmic pounding ceased and he stepped back. Lana was curled up on the couch and in shock. Both Connors and Khan kept Roebuck immobilized. O'Brien tightened his pants and turned to address Roebuck, specifically.

"For collaborating with a terrorist organization," O'Brien started. "Perverting the course of Justice, and obstructing a Judge in their practice of the Law. Lana Abernathy, I sentence you to death."

Not a moment was allowed for O'Brien's sentence to be processed. There was no time for Roebuck to object, fight, or even say goodbye. O'Brien raised his lawgiver and fired. The burst of rounds tore through Lana's body. The sound of the shots was masked by the loud music. The blood flew from where the rounds impacted. Lana was killed instantly. Her body slumped to the floor and her eyes were open. The hazel eyes stared at Roebuck, lifelessly.

LANA!" Roebuck screamed.

Connors and Khan got Roebuck up and onto his knees. He was between a state of rage and panic. Right before his eyes, O'Brien murdered, no sentenced, Lana under the Rule of Law. It was justified in every way. She was a member of a terrorist organization that planned an attack against the City. O'Brien walked over to Roebuck and crouched down, so they were both at eye level.

"How did you really think this was going to end?" O'Brien began. "We aren't allowed to love, to have families, children. We did you a favor, Roe."

The whole world appeared to be falling down around Roebuck. He was still tightly restrained. O'Brien was sending a message to Roebuck. The duty he owed was to the Law and his fellow Judges, not this woman, not his family. Roebuck was far too distressed to take in the words. The sudden emergence of another figure from the bedroom caught Roebuck's attention. It was Judge Perkins, dressed in a flak jacket and duty fatigues.

"You fucking rat, Perkins!" Roebuck thrashed again. "You fucking rat!"

"Perkins? Hank Perkins from Wally Squad?" O'Brien questioned.

"That's the fucker! He's the fucking rat responsible for this."

"Hank Perkins was killed last spring, remember? Shot up by a bank robbery crew he infiltrated. You were the one who found his body."

How could O'Brien's words have any truth? Judge Perkins was standing there, right behind the crouching O'Brien, smiling. They surely could see him? Perkins was not in plainclothes, but dressed as they were. He even had the distinctive scratched black and red Judicial helmet tucked under his arm. Yet, in another look, he was gone.

"How can you not see him?" said Roebuck. "He's right fucking there!"

"Shit Roebuck," replied O'Brien, after turning to look for a phantom Perkins. "You're worse than I thought. How much caine are you doing? Do you not remember coming into my office? You sat yourself down right across from me and told me about the Democrats. It was your information that led us to the ring, which tipped us off to their citywide 'Project Liberty'."

Roebuck had no memory of the encounter. It was, for Roebuck, time to play the role of the unreliable narrator. There was truth in what O'Brien had said, he did meet with Roebuck. Roebuck had come into O'Brien's office, sat down, and revealed everything. He exposed the Democrats, the date of their planned operation, and even how it was through Lana he discovered this information. This occurred in the three day span Roebuck had trouble recalling. The one he spent in a heavily drugged state. The span, in which, the beatings had occurred.

There was no Judge Perkins, not in the sense Roebuck had encountered. Perkins was a mere hallucination, a product of the drug abuse and intense stress. The synti-caine was a powerful hallucinogen and memory loss was a recorded side effect. In a paranoid state, Roebuck had admitted everything. He was beginning to realize his folly.

"You really need to cut back on the caine," said O'Brien. "Shit fucks with your mind. I was worried when you started rambling about Lana taking you to the Democrats. I thought she was some ass you were hitting on the side. But you had to go and develop feelings for her. You even put a fucking kid in her, Christ Roebuck! You're so cained up, you have no idea what the fuck is going on. I had a hunch you couldn't break things off with her. It's a shame we had to do it for you."

Roebuck had put a stop his resistance. Now, he was overcome with all of the revelations and events in the short amount of time. It started with the news of becoming a father, followed by the death of his beloved, and now learning he was responsible for everything. The mind could only handle so much stress, and Roebuck had already surpassed its limit. Connors released his grasp, but Roebuck offered no resistance.

"We need to get the body moved," said O'Brien to Connors and Khan. "The execution won't look so justifiable if the medics find her here, in Roebuck's apartment. Housing registry shows two studes in the apartment down the hall. Charge 'em with terror, ex 'em, and dump her body there. Three terrorists suppressed for the report."

Khan passed O'Brien a bag of synti-caine they had found when they first searched the apartment. Roebuck knelt there motionless and silent. O'Brien, though barbaric, believed he was acting in Roebuck's best interest. Removing Lana from the picture would safeguard Roebuck's position as a Judge. Like it or not, Roebuck was in O'Brien's debt. O'Brien poured the synti-caine into a pile on the floor. This was the moment Roebuck lost consciousness.

000

The rain was heavy and fell in an unrelenting torrent. Roebuck was seated on the curb in the alley. The towering Blocks glimmered in the night sky, their neon interrupting the darkness. There was no outcropping to shield Roebuck from the rain, the water soaking him through to the bone. The throughway was blocked by dumpsters and debris. Steam rose from the manhole covers and partially obscured the sight. He was seated in three-way intersection; the street ran to his left and right. Ahead, the intersecting street seemed to stretch on to the unforgiving City. The letters "Waylon Jennings" glowed on a massive Block in the distance.

Roebuck was still shaking and completely unaware how he arrived in this deserted alley. There was a gun in his hands; the slide locked back indicating the magazine had been expended. It was his Walther and he dropped it upon recognition. His hands were bruised and covered in blood. They stung terribly, as he pulled a few glass shards from his knuckles. He was in his grey suit with an emptied pistol and bloodied hands; no clue how he arrived in this spot.

The clicking of boots on the pavement startled Roebuck. There were two steps and click, as if the figure were approaching slowly with aid of cane. He looked up to see a figure draw near. The figure approached slowly; obscured by the plumes of steam. The rain splashed in Roebuck's eye and distorted his vision. The steps slowly grew louder and the figure closer. When the figure only a few feet away, Roebuck saw it was a Judge, but dressed in the black weather-overjack of the SJS. The SJS Judge approached the seated Roebuck. It was the elder Judge Clifton; hunched over and supported by the cane.

Every step taken by Clifton seemed to straighten the man. His back tightened and he stood upright. The cane was still utilized because Clifton had a terrible limp, more likely the result of a grievous leg injury than age. The most startling sight Roebuck observed was Clifton aging. Right before Roebuck's eyes, youth returned to Clifton's face. By the time Clifton stood above the astonished Roebuck, he looked to be forty years younger.

"This seat taken?" asked the younger man.

Roebuck shook his head in disbelief. He shivered in the cold rain. The younger man sat down next to Roebuck; controlling his descent by leaning on his cane. It was not an easy feat for the younger man with his crippled leg. Roebuck gawked, speechless, at this transformation. The past few hours had been overwhelming for Roebuck and this was something else. Actually, Roebuck had no idea how long it had been since Lana had been executed. A thought of violence surged through his head, too quick to analyze, but it felt like a memory.

"Not my day, huh?" Roebuck sighed. "I am crazy."

"Actually, this one is real," replied the younger man. "I am really twenty-nine."

"But…But…You're the old man from SJS? How long have you been here?"

"Convincing isn't it? I merely projected a mental image into the minds of those around me of feeble Old Clifton and no one doubted any of it. Quite the ruse."

In another look, Clifton's uniform had changed colors. It was now the shade of Judicial blue. The bronze shield on Clifton's left breast had changed as well. It simply read "PSI" in place of a last name. He was one of the Justice Department's Psychics and a member of the elite PSI Division. The revelation hit Roebuck harder than any knife or bullet wound. The Psi possessed psychic abilities, mind reading, manipulation, psychic projection, and powers Roebuck could not even fathom.

"Cole Merrimack," the Psi introduced with an outstretched hand that was ignored. "You've been a tremendous help to us Roebuck. You helped us take down a ring of corrupt Judges in this Sector."

Merrimack placed a firm hand on Roebuck's shoulder. It was a gesture of friendship and empathy. Roebuck tried to shrug it off. He looked at the wounds on his hands. The blood was streaming from the cuts where the glass had been embedded.

"So I guess you know everything?" said Roebuck, defeated.

"Rest assured, O'Brien won't be getting out of this one," replied Merrimack.

"I'm not a fucking rat. You can send me to the damn farm, but I won't go down for ratting out O'Brien."

"You seem at a loss, Roebuck. The blood, the gun?" responded Merrimack. "Please allow me…"

The air seemed to grow heavy and Roebuck's head felt an intense pressure. The visions started to run through his mind. These were not implanted memories, but genuine ones. Merrimack was recalling the memories suppressed. Roebuck was back in the apartment with O'Brien. Connors and Khan had just left with Lana's body; to plant it as evidence in another apartment. O'Brien leaned down and released the handcuffs. That is when the violence started.

Roebuck set upon O'Brien like a wild beast. The thirst for blood, the rage occupied his mind. It was Merrimack who planted those thoughts; turning Roebuck into a savage. Roebuck tackled O'Brien to ground. The move had been unexpected, as O'Brien believed Roebuck far too distraught to act. The fists alternated, as Roebuck landed punch after punch onto O'Brien's face. The sound of bones that comprised the facial structure could be heard to crack.

A strategically placed knee to Roebuck's gut, on the part of O'Brien, caused him to recoil. O'Brien stood up; realigning his broken and bloodied jaw. He reached down and lifted the stunned Roebuck by the lapels of his grey suit. Then, O'Brien brought his head forward; bashing Roebuck's nose with the impact of the forehead. O'Brien repeated this method of attack several times before he threw Roebuck onto the kitchen counter.

O'Brien turned quickly to look for a weapon. The lawgiver was out since the ballistics would make an explanation too difficult. He spotted an end table with a glass top. Immediately, O'Brien seized the table and lifted it over his head; ready to deal the death blow. Roebuck mustered the will to fight; the thought of violence overtook all others. The table came down. In a moment of rage, Roebuck threw a fist through the glass. The shards flew in every direction, some embedded in Roebuck's knuckles. The frame of the table collapsed; effectively useless now. The fist collided with O'Brien's already wrecked jaw.

Both Judge's were bloodied and beaten. The urge to kill was still heavy on Roebuck's mind. The urge to avenge Lana was influenced by outside methods. The fire burned in Roebuck's eyes and he wanted nothing more than to tear O'Brien to shreds. O'Brien was winded and his age showed. He was slower than in years past; the hits more painful. The vision turned to a haze, the psychic link distorted. In the next moment, Roebuck was on top of O'Brien, having thrown him to the floor. He had his hands wrapped around O'Brien's head and his thumbs pressed into O'Brien's eyes. O'Brien screeched an awful howl, as blood welled in the eye sockets.

The eyes were gouged and O'Brien fumbled about on the ground, blinded. Roebuck felt weakened from the combat. He felt around for a weapon, anything to kill O'Brien. A large shard of glass from the end table caught his eye. Roebuck clenched it, the shard cutting into his palm, as he tightened his grip. The blood covered his right hand, as he raised the pointed shard up. Again and again, Roebuck stabbed O'Brien. He stabbed O'Brien in the throat repeatedly. The blind Watch Commander convulsed from the wounds; he was dying. The blood streamed from every breath O'Brien managed. There were only a few before the breaths ceased. Roebuck dropped the shard. His hands were torn, his body breaking down. There was something in his head that told him to continue. Some suggested planted that told him there was work to do, Connors and Khan. Roebuck limped into his bedroom and opened the dresser drawer. It was where he kept his Walther. He picked up the Walther and went to confront the others.

"And that is how it played out," Merrimack interrupted.

"Jovis Fucking Grud!" exclaimed Roebuck in a panic. "I fucking did that!"

"With a little encouragement from Psi Division. You see, we have been interested in you for some time. You possess a unique gift, Roebuck."

"I'm the perfect stooge?"

"You put it so bluntly. While you lack psychic abilities, you do have psychically compatible mind that synchs well when communicated to by other Psi's. Throw in the rampant drug abuse and you only made it easier for us; your mind more susceptible to suggestion. It was nothing major, no takeover mind control. Just a nudge here and there. A suggestion planted, a memory manipulated."

Roebuck felt like he was losing touch with his sanity. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Psi Division had been manipulating him, for how long he did not know. They surely knew everything about Lana, the drugs, the corruption, everything.

"So what happens now?" Roebuck inquired, fearing the repercussions.

"You're being transferred to Sector 301," said Merrimack. "In the North-West Hab Zone. We have to put you somewhere out of the way. You are too connected to unfavorable elements here."

"I know what 301 is. Dumping ground for the useless and shit Judges. Wonder which one I am?"

"You're a valuable asset to Psi Division," replied Merrimack. "We wanted O'Brien. We were on to him for some time, but needed him guilty in the act. Now, he's been dealt with in a manner that can keep the corruption under the rug, so to speak. The Democrat tip off was just a bonus, good show."

"At the cost of Lana," Roebuck snickered.

What did Lana's death mean? It was becoming clear to Roebuck that Lana was a pawn in this game. Merrimack rose to his feet with some difficulty from his injury, and began to walk away. Roebuck sat there motionless; deeply reflecting on everything. He wondered how much of their romance was the result of Psi Division's mind games. Did she truly love Roebuck, or was that emotion merely a planted one?

"How real was Lana?" Roebuck called out.

"As real as your mind can recall," responded Merrimack over his shoulder. "But who can trust the mind these days. We'll be in touch."

The figure of Merrimack disappeared into the plumes of steam. The rain fell with an unrelenting intensity. There was nothing left on Roebuck to soak. The blood began to wash away and flowed away in small trickles on the ground at his feet. His mind drifted to thoughts of Lana, the happy thoughts. She was his escape from the filth and ugliness that was Mega-City One.

000