It's a horrible, delicious cliché, but sometimes that's the kind of fanfiction we need! Anderson's a bit of a serious 21-year-old loner (because of her alienating powers). Also a virgin, though that shouldn't be too important.
All movie-verse, though some original characters are mine.
Perpetrators: The Red Hand, aka the Reds, aka the Red Shadow.
Suspected Head: John Sykes, aka Syko.
Location: Sector 3, headquarters believed to be in Block Titan, Levels 120-143.
Contraband in Circulation: Affirmed.
Contraband in Question: Porosofynol, aka "Haze", aka "Aphro".
Manner of Use: Inhalation or sublingual administration.
Judgment for distribution and/or manufacture of Contraband in Question: 30 years in Isocubes.
Effects: Strong-
"Another report, Anderson? Didn't take you for the studious type."
Judge Anderson looked up from the report she was flicking through. "Better the enemy you know than the one you don't, Judge Samuels," she replied to the more senior Judge. "The more I know about the perps, the less they can surprise me on the streets."
"Can't you just read their minds?"
Anderson paused, wary. Since joining the Judges, her powers had become common knowledge. It was something to get used to.
"Hard to read minds when the bullets are flying."
Samuels considered that, leaning against the small corner of her desk not littered with report holo-discs, his ever-present easy smile in place.
"You just need more practice, then. How many times you been in the streets, Anderson?"
She looked down. "Four times, sir. Not including my field evaluation."
Samuels shot her a surprised expression. "Four times? You've been a Judge for nearly six months." His smile returned, "And your evaluation will go down in Judge history, if I'm not mistaken."
Anderson repressed a grimace. Samuels was a friendly superior, a rare thing among the Street Judges, and what from what she heard a good leader, but he was unfortunately the conversational type.
And curious. He insisted on making small talk, "to welcome her into the Division." It was usually a topic like the weather or some new outlandish craze in Megacity One, but sometimes he got curious about her abilities.
"My powers are not entirely combat ready, sir. Like I said, I can't read minds and dodge bullets all at once. I need a partner with me at all times."
"What, any time you patrol?"
"Chief's orders."
"Huh. We're already spread thin on the ground; finding a partner must be tough."
"Exactly."
Samuel s grinned again, the skin around his eyes crinkling good naturedly. "Well, you're in luck Anderson. I go on patrol at 1300." He leaned forward, plucking the report disc from her hands and giving it a little shake. "And I'm in the mood for some drug dealing perps."
They sped down the Judges' Lane on Meg-Way 900, the fifteen lanes of traffic whizzing by in a haze of exhaust smoke and smog. She could just make out the shapes of people inside the cars, the roar of their collective droning thoughts a small ache in the back of her head, even with her helmet on. Anderson was grateful when she finally saw the Sector Exit, her Lawmaster humming as she took the ramp. Samuels' bike passing to her right, and she saw the white flash of his teeth when he grinned.
Anderson shook her head. When she had been a cadet, the Judges had been their unforgiving teachers, beating the lessons into them mercilessly. It was only after a Judge made it to the ranks, she realized, was camaraderie encouraged. Even then, though, Peach Trees made her think that all Judges would be like Dredd.
But there were no other Judges like Dredd.
They pulled up to the crumbling curb inside the massive shadow of Titan. Anderson looked up at it; the dim sun entirely blotted out from this angle by its hulking shape. It reminded her of her childhood block – grim and grey and uncomfortably close to the Wall.
"Samuels to Control. Be advised, Judges Samuels and Anderson have arrived at Titan, 1340."
The calm, professional voice of Control crackled back over his comm. "Roger that."
Samuels turned to Anderson. "Alright. We go through the lower levels, clearing out the dens. Should be just minimal security and junks, quick in-and-out. The only thing we have to be careful of is the drug."
Anderson frowned. "I thought Aphro is smoked."
Samuels laughed. "Yeah, but these perps like to smoke it off the air, if you know what I mean."
"I don't."
"The dens are usually hot boxed. I caught some perps on the stuff before and they said it adds a little kick to the experience." Even under his helmet, Anderson could tell he was rolling his eyes. "You need to get out more, Anderson. The kids are doing crazy things these days."
"You inhaled it? Pretty sure drug use is 2 years in the 'cubes, Sir," Anderson retorted, annoyed.
"Nah not me, mostly everyone got their respirators on in time. The Judge leading point got a face full of the stuff, though." Samuels paused getting of his Lawmaker and snickered. "That was a sight. You should read the report he had to write. Hilarious."
Anderson didn't bother asking, because she had been trying to read that report when he'd interrupted. Instead she strode off her own bike, moving toward the looming metal blast doors of Titan.
The civilians eyed them nervously, stepping quickly out of their way. They all had the hunted look of poverty in their faces, though some clearly made an effort to keep their worn clothes clean and their hair washed and neat. Anderson swallowed – one such woman, anxiously pulling her daughter toward the street and away from their path looked so much like her own mother that she felt her stomach tighten. Others milling around were covered in filth, their hair matted around their hair, their lips cracked from dehydration – junks, probably, that had spent their water ration credits on drugs. And then there were a few who glared openly as Anderson and Samuels cut past the blast doors and into the first floor courtyard. These ones, she noticed, were hard; they weren't so emaciated as the general population, with muscles ridging their arms and tattoos ringing their necks.
"Sir, what are the gang tats used by the Reds?" She asked.
"Red handprint on the upper bicep – not original at all, if you ask me – or maybe a red scythe. Sometimes they'll have a hand around the throat, fingerprints usually over the windpipe and the palm wrapping around the nape," Samuels replied easily, looking in the same direction as she was and watching as the gang members melted into the grimy alleys of the block.
Anderson had to give it to him; of any Judge she had met so far, Samuels was by far the best at knowing gang affiliations and symbols.
He saw her look at grinned. "Impressed, Rookie?"
She just barely stopped herself from pulling a face at her superior officer. "Not bad, Sir."
"I'll take it." He moved purposefully toward the elevators. "Let's head up, get this done with. We don't want to be on the Reds' turf too long or they'll start thinking they can take us and that the junker floors are actually important to defend."
"Shouldn't we head to the top, get the gang at its source, Sir? If they're the suppliers and manufacturers, they're even guiltier than the users."
"Be realistic, Anderson. Going in guns blazing, cowboy style? That's just a good way to get us killed." Samuels answered, a note of gravity creeping into his tone for the first time. "Judges are losing the war against crime and getting killed by overreaching isn't going to help anyone."
Anderson stayed silent.
"You're giving us two options –defend or hide."
"Yes, sir."
"What about we attack? Head straight for Ma-Ma."
"Is that an option?"
"Well - she's guilty; we're Judges."
"Sir, with backup inbound, I think we should wait until the odds have shifted in our favor…" She'd paused when he didn't answer. "Wrong answer?"
"You're the psychic."
They stepped into the elevator. It was lit up by two old-school florescent bulbs, one of which was flickering badly. Samuels knocked the button for the 120th floor, leaning in to study the gang graffiti on the panel. The rusty box shuddered once and started to ascend slowly, creaking in protest. Generic jazz started to play through the speaker above the buttons, tinny and not just a little bit grating.
"So what do you do for fun, Anderson?" Samuels asked. She raised an eyebrow. "I sleep, sir. Feels like I can never get enough of it these days."
"Even without patrols?"
Anderson shrugged one shoulder. "I still pull long shifts at HQ. And I have a lot to do - read up on reports, spar with the other new recruits, practice with my…my powers, things like that."
Samuels frowned. "Geez, Anderson. Aren't you 21? Go have a drink with friends or something. The Hall of Justice will wear you down soon enough. No need to do it for them."
"I manage just fine, sir." She didn't tell him that the last time she went to a bar she had fainted. She had been 18, and the roiling, hazy overflow of the other patrons thoughts had made her so sick she blacked out before even touching liquor. She was a bit older now, and a Judge, but she wasn't excited to test it out again.
"You know, I worry about you, Anderson." Samuels shook his head, the frizzing florescent glinting off his visor. "You're too serious."
"With all due respect, sir, taking my job seriously keeps me alive."
Samuels huffed a laugh. "Taking it seriously can get you dead just as easy."
"Judge Dredd seems to manage," she blurted out.
Samuels gave her a long look. "Yeah, well, Dredd isn't your average guy."
Anderson lifted her chin. "Neither am I."
Samuels opened his mouth to respond, but the elevator bell dinged, and the doors squeaked open. "Let's go, Rookie," he said, pulling his Lawgiver from his holster, the DNA scanner firing up. "We've got a job to do."
It took them all of three minutes to locate the direction of the first den. The thudding bass was their first clue, the huge red hand painted on the southwest wing entrance way was the second. They moved in, Samuels on point and Anderson guarding the rear. The music grew louder as they made their way into the dim hallways, the beat grinding into Anderson's bones.
Samuels lifted a fist to stop her as they crossed in front of a dark hallway that turned off the main one. He bent down to examine some trash littered on the dirty cement, pausing for a long moment. He hooked it with one finger and lifted it, smirking as he turned to show her.
It was a woman's bra, torn down the center, the clasps still done up. Anderson stared.
What the hell…?
"We're getting close."
The farther down the narrow hallway they went, the filthier it seemed to get. There was heavy graffiti, the grey floor under their boots was sticky, and the air was rapidly becoming more rancid. The music was pounding in Anderson's head, causing her to grip her Lawgiver a bit tighter.
Samuels stopped them again in front of Apartment 131B, the nondescript door fairly rattling in its frame. Anderson felt her heartbeat pick up, the anticipation of a fight lighting up her senses.
"A word to the wise, Anderson; stay out of their heads – trust me, you do not wanna be in these junks' thoughts."
Anderson was about to ask why, but Samuels was already putting his respirator in as he moved, his boot crashing through the apartment's flimsy door not a second later.
She followed suit, slipping the breathing apparatus around her mouth and nose and raising her gun as she stepped in behind him, registering the sharp crack as Samuels dispatched the guards.
First thing she registered was the haze, a greenish tinged smog the stung her eyes.
The second thing she registered was the orgy.
There were people –junkies – on every surface; the floor, the ratty couches, up against the walls, and they were all rutting like animals.
She stared, the respirator almost falling out of her slack, shocked mouth. The blaring music was just barely covering up the sounds of the writhing sea of people, moans and screams and unbelievable profanities . There were other noises too; the slapping of skin on skin, the squelch of body fluid, the creaking of furniture. They were so lost in their own pleasures that the drugged up citizens didn't even register that two Judges had burst into their midst.
Most of them were completely naked, too; the dim lighting just enough to give Anderson a sudden and horrifyingly explicit lesson in what the human body looked like having sex.
Samuels elbowed her, hard, and pointed to the couple nearest her. She watched dumbfounded as he turned to his own targets, and ripped them off each other. The man spun, his shirt (already hanging open) tearing in Samuels' fist. His eyes were completely unfocused and wild as he grabbed for Samuels' belt, pressing himself close. Samuels brought a prompt end to the attempt with the butt of his Lawgiver to the junk's temple. He looked back up at Anderson, and motioned for her to get going.
She holstered her Lawgiver –these junks weren't a threat in their state – and thanked whatever gods there were that she was wearing gloves as she forcibly separated two naked women grinding into each other. She cuffed them both to the radiator, dodging their attempts to wrap themselves around her, their legs falling open shamelessly. She grit her teeth and moved onto the next one – a completely naked Latino man dripping with sweat lapping eagerly at a moaning woman who was alternating between fondling her own breasts and reaching down to rip at her partner's hair.
It took half an hour to get to them all.
Half an hour that Anderson was sure scarred her far worse than anything she had dealt with in Peach Trees. In fact, she was feeling sure she'd rather have another bullet in her side than have to arrest another slimy, wriggling, completely horny drug addict.
They stepped into the hall once all the perps were cuffed and relatively subdued. Samuels pulled out his respirator, a shit-eating grin already in place. "That was a nice left hook you executed on that perp with the dreads, Anderson. He was out cold."
"He grabbed my chest, sir." Anderson shuddered. "That whole situation was horrible. Why didn't you warn me?"
Samuels laughed out loud this time. "My policy is to throw the rookies in the deep end. You either sink or you swim."
"Or," Anderson retorted, her nerves frayed past correct conduct, "You just wanted to have some fun."
"Who, me?" Samuels clapped a hand on her shoulder, leaning in so she could see him wink through the helmet. "Come on, we've got to call it in and keep heading up."
"Up?" Anderson could just feel the thousand yard stare forming on her face.
"Oh, yeah. Five more floors, kid."
The second floor was equally bad – the perps were younger though, teenagers just stupid enough to think it would be exciting to walk the edge between drug addiction and recreation.
A girl no older than fifteen and still in her school uniform had rubbed herself frantically against the support pole Anderson had cuffed her to, begging for sex, tears of frustration leaking from her eyes.
"It hurts them, after a while," Samuels told her on the elevator ride to the next floor. "Orgasm releases hormones that neutralize the chemicals in their system, brings them down from the high. Coming off it slowly – well, apparently it's not the fun time these punks are looking for."
By the third floor, Anderson was more or less numb to the naked flesh and harsh sounds, though she still flushed when a junkie her age pleaded to put his face between her legs and "show her heaven."
She slapped him with an extra six months for aggressive speech toward a Judge. For fuck's sake! She'd fumed silently in her head once they were back in the safety of the elevator. She'd never even seen porn before (prohibited at the Academy, also heavily regulated by law), so being tossed into this roiling storm of sex dens was scraping her nerves down to dust.
The fourth floor was the sweatiest by far and the dirtiest. The room was hot as an oven, and everything was covered with black plastic, even the windows. There was one woman servicing twenty men, and the ones that weren't getting any action at the moment were either touching themselves or touching each other. It was raw and animalistic and the most sexual thing she'd ever seen in her short years, including the last three floors. Even with her mind focused on her job, Anderson couldn't help but feel a stab of low heat in her belly. She bashed it down brutally.
The man currently thrusting into the woman had his muscled back to her, her legs clinging to his hips. Anderson removed her Lawgiver from her belt, manually setting it to Stun.
She preferred to order perps to surrender before she used violence, but with her respirator in, she didn't have that option.
She fired, the Stun Slug spreading ripples of electricity over his body, making his muscles convulse.
She expected him to slump over, unconscious. She expected him at the very least to be immobilized.
She did not expect him to jump to his feet, howling like a beast, and tackle her at the knees. She fired off another shot but the unexpected attack knocked her aim off, and the bullet went careening into the ceiling.
"-pretty little Judge, gonna taste so good, gonna feel so good around my cock-"
He was snarling and spitting obscenities into her face, his eyes half-mad with lust.
She struggled, ramming her knees into his sides, but he was huge and strong and the Aphro in his system must have shut off his pain receptors, because he wasn't even flinching at her blows.
His thoughts crashed into her mind, his proximity driving them like a nail beneath a hammer into her skull. He was fucking the female Judge, her mouth open and twisted in pain, her eyes full of tears and fear-he wanted to make her bleed-
Then Samuels was there, hauling the man away, crushing his neck in a brutal headlock.
Anderson jumped up after them, a second before the already mangled door crashed open behind her.
"You motherfuckers!"
"Kill the fucking Judges!"
"Syko!"
She whirled and got off three shots before the gang members lifted their weapons, the men crashing to their knees in pain.
The chaos was too much even for the Aphro addled junks to ignore. They moved forward as one, screaming wordlessly, hands scrabbling at her uniform. She dropped the closest one with a brutal kick to his naked groin, and shot two more.
The Lawmaker beeped ominously; empty on Stun ammo.
Shit Shit Shit. She couldn't give a voice command to change the setting with a respirator in, and neither did she have a second to change it manually.
She exploded into action, attacking the naked aggressors with her fists and her boots and the butt of her gun. The Red Hand members were ignoring her for now, leaving her to the junks while they went for Samuels.
Through the naked bodies she could see him grappling with the huge gang member, his gun hand mangled.
One of the junks grabbed her by the hair, yanking down viciously so he could snarl into her face, "Suck my cock, princess." Anderson head butted him, the crack of his nose reverberating above the din.
The second one went down, however, there seemed to be another to take his place. They were surrounding her, ripping at her armor, hair and skin, not seeming to feel the pain that she was dealing them.
And they weren't getting tired either. She swung and kicked, her muscles getting perilously heavy. One of them went low, and made a grab for her boot. She dodged, barely, but was thrown off balance.
The junks saw the opportunity and took it.
They swarmed her all at once, a wall of flesh and howling sound. They dragged her down underneath them, tearing with a frenzy into her armor and clothes, holding her down, spreading her legs.
Fear sparked through her.
She managed to tear one arm lose from their grip and ripped her respirator out. "Incendiary!" she screamed, and pulled the trigger. The flares ricocheted off the narrow walls, the black plastic trash bags taped there bursting into flames. Men were screaming, too, the burning shrapnel melting the skin off their bones. The pressure holding her down immediately disappeared.
Anderson leaped up, jumping over convulsing, burning bodies to Samuels' position. The smoke from the blast and the fires made it impossible to see three feet in front of her.
Something burned in her throat as well, something sickly sweet. The Aphro.
"10-24!" She shouted into her comm as she searched for Samuels in the bedlam. "Judges under fire! Requesting immediate back-up to my GPS."
"Affirmative. Back-up to your position confirmed, five minutes."
"Samuels!" Anderson yelled, dodging the spasming body of a bloody, charred Red.
A heavy hand shot out of the smog and grabbed her shoulder. "Standard!" she shouted, aiming.
And almost shot Samuels in the chest. He fell heavily against her, nearly knocking her off her feet. Again. She steadied him with her free hand, and immediately noticed the sticky wetness under her fingers. He was wounded.
"Let's get out of here." She half dragged Samuels' body out of the pandemonium and into the hallway. "We have to make it back to the main elevator."
"Not the elevator," he wheezed as she pulled him down a side hallway. "That'll be the first place they look for us. The second it passes one of their floors, they'll put enough bullets in it to take out a gorilla." He groaned as she staggered a little under his weight. "We'll be like sitting ducks."
"Samuels, stop talking." Anderson grit out. "Anymore words and your wound is gonna get worse."
"Worse…Fuck!…worse ways to die."
"No one is dying today."
She hustled them down three more corridors, expanding her mind across the block level, checking for pursuit.
They were coming all right. Their minds were baying for some Judges' blood. Wanted to kill the fuckers who burst in on their turf, attacked their boss, killed their comrades.
"We gotta get out of sight."
She pressed her mind into the apartment closest to them. Three minds inside. The next one had four. The third one down was empty. Jackpot.
She slid Samuels down the wall. He groaned at the movement, the visible skin of his face pale, his mouth drawn tight in a grimace.
Anderson slid a bobby pin out of her hair. Sometimes the locks on the poorer levels were old and had simple mechanisms. She jiggled the pin in the door, hoping.
The gang members were audible now even to her ears. "Where those pigs at!? Syko wants 'em alive!"
"Anderson," Samuels muttered.
"I know, I hear!" She twisted the pin in the keyhole.
The lock clicked open. "Yes!"
She hoisted Samuels, shoving him inside and shutting the door behind them. Not a second too late; the heavy stomp of the Reds sounded outside as they sat crouched against the frame, holding their breath.
When she was sure they'd gone, Anderson lifted Samuels again by the arms and helped him stagger into one of the tiny bedrooms. He collapsed on the bed, face twisted with pain. "Think these people will be back soon?"
Anderson shook her head as she carefully unzipped his armor and the uniform underneath. "On vacation."
"That's incredible that you can tell that with your mind."
"Thanks, Samuels, but actually I just noticed that they have a lot of old unopened mail by the door. " The bullet wound looked pretty nasty; it had gone through his back, just underneath his armpit, probably ricocheted off a rib, and had come out the right side of his chest. She wondered how much internal damage there was. The hand was bad, too – at least three broken fingers, the skin torn open. It looked like that giant –Syko -had gotten hold of them with his teeth when they were fighting. She wished she had stronger disinfectants. She set to field dressing the wound, swabbing it down and stapling it shut and splinted the fingers as best she could. "Lucky I didn't set you on fire."
"Heh. Nice one, Anderson. Too bad that stunt came with inhaling a shit-ton of Aphro."
She'd forgotten. "I have six and a half minutes before it kicks in, sir. Back-up should be here before then."
"Sorry 'bout this, Anderson. Who would have thought the one day we pick to do a routine cleanup of the low-level dens is the same day the boss decides to patronize his own establishment?" He grinned half-heartedly, his lips ashen. "You ever break a mirror, Anderson? You seem to be good at getting into situations."
"Not that I know of, Sir. I'm just naturally lucky that way."
"Well, bad luck has to run out sometime. When back up comes, make sure ya tell 'em…tell'm to -" Samuels's words slurred for a second, before his helmeted head went limp, consciousness finally abandoning him.
Anderson was left in silence, her heartbeat thudding in her chest, the gravity of the situation suddenly much more suffocating.
Should she knock herself out before they arrived? No, the back-up would just revive her. She looked at her watch. Five minutes, twenty seconds since she'd made the call. Time was running out. Should she tell the back-up to knock her out? That might work.
Five minutes, thirty seconds. Her head was feeling fuzzy. Fuck! Keep it together, Cassie.
She stood up and paced. She hoped it was a female Judge. It somehow seemed less embarrassing to say, Hey, I accidentally inhaled a bunch of aphrodisiac narcotics, please knock my lights out before I try to fuck you! to a fellow woman colleague than a male one.
Anderson tried to control her breathing. It didn't work.
A fist pounded on the door. Relief shot through her. She moved to the door and braced herself to the side, her Lawgiver set to armor piercing. "Identify yourself." She called.
"Dredd, Sector 13," came the familiar growl, muffled slightly by the door. "Responding to a 10-24 of two Judges."
The relief turned to cold horror, freezing her to the spot. There were hundreds of Judges in this sector alone. Why, why, why did it have to be Dredd? She looked up to him, respected him. Didn't want to explain to him how she ended up with sex drugs in her system and a shot up partner-
Her fingers trembled as she turned the lock, as she pulled open the door. Five minutes, forty seconds.
Dredd stepped inside quickly, Lawgiver in hand, blood spattered across the front of his armor. "Anderson." He didn't sound at all surprised to see her there. "Sorry I'm late – some perps on the first level were looking to shoot up some Judges." His voice was as rough as usual, sending shivers racing down her spine. "I'm guessing you would be the reason for that."
He glanced around, taking in the surroundings, probably deciding if the tiny apartment was defensible.
"Sir, I-" her voice came out as a barely a squeak.
"Where's the other Judge? What's his status?" Dredd asked, turning his gaze back on her, his visor gleaming even in the near black of the apartment.
"I-I need you to hit me," Anderson stammered, ignoring his question as a terrifying rush of heat flooded her stomach. "I m-mean stun me, knock me out."
Her watch beeped. Six minutes.
Dredd's customary frown deepened. "Explain, Anderson."
"Drugs!" she gasped, her legs trembling as the heat crashed through the rest of her body, tightening her nipples and tingling in her fingertips, her control slipping alarmingly.
Dredd was stepping closer, reaching to steady her. "Are you wounded?"
"No, y-you need-oh."
Six minutes, thirty seconds.