However, that was not necessary. The Purist just gave a dismissive wave of his hand and turned his attention back to the man on the ground. My feet started moving and so did my mind. Eventually, both things quickened to a jog, and then a run. My body wanted to be as far away from the situation as possible, but my mind refused to leave it until I forced myself to calm down and focus on my patrol. I slowed to a walk.

As I walked, I saw a gathering of people in the distance. I zoomed my display in, and I saw insignias of the New Toronto Patrol Force on their backs. I returned to a normal field of view, and started to run towards the gathering.

As I arrived, puffing, the other members started to notice me.

"Well, Cairne finally decided to show up!" one of the members called out.

"Hey, I forgot that my day off was tomorrow, not today. Lost track of time," I replied, breathing heavily.

"Lucky this is your only time doing it so far, Alex."

"Yeah, I know, Bruce. No need to tell me. The boss would kill me if I kept doing this."

I heard a chuckle coming from Bruce's helmet. "He already wants to kill us all. Just needs a reason to." We all laughed at his joke. Once the laughter died down, the head of the division spoke up.

"Alright, listen up!" He said just below a yell. We all listened intently. The division head thrust his hand out toward the ground, and an image sprawled onto the dirt. It was a terrain map of the Agriculture section. A variety of different shades of green splattered the image, with gray representing other sections of the city.

The division head snapped his fingers, and a small section of the map faded to red.

"See this area? This has been, according to several reports, a high-risk area for poachers. People just can't seem to stick to their own land, have to steal from others." The division commander shook his head before continuing, "I need a team of three to go in, do a bit of recon, and report back. Volunteers?"

I raised my hand, as did Bruce and a couple of other patrol members.

"Cairne, I want you to take Luckman and Willings," the division head said, pointing to Bruce and a patrol member named Bryan, "You all are the gentlemen that are going in. It is a high-risk area, so do not expect to just waltz in and start taking notes. It is not all bad, though. You might even finally get a chance to use those rifles. I know, we usually do not encourage the use of them, but who knows? Good luck."

The three of us who were going in for reconnaissance nodded, and started towards the area marked for observation.

"As for the rest of you, it is business as usual..." the division head's voice faded as we walked out of earshot. When we were about fifty meters away, Bryan nudged me on the shoulder. I looked at him.

"How's your girl?" He asked me.

"She's alright. I'm still not entirely sure if she wants to kill me, though," I responded jokingly, and we all chuckled.

My history with Skye before we hooked up had been a little rocky-nix that, very rocky-with the two of us thinking one wanted to kill the other, among other things. Mainly thinking Skye wanted to kill me. Nevertheless, despite a good heap of pain, misunderstandings, and yes, murder attempts (although, it was not ever Skye who was trying to kill me, it was someone else), we found out that we really loved each other. For the past three months, though, we had been very happy together. In fact, ever since we got together, there had not been a single murder attempt between us. Call me stupid all you like.

Our small group of patrol officers kept moving, talking occasionally. Eventually, we reached the designated area, as reminded by our global positioning systems built into our neural implants, wirelessly connected to the helmets. As the alert flashed on my HUD, I grabbed my weapon and readied it. A half second later, the other two took the cue, and readied their rifles as well.

The designated area was easily recognizable, as trees sprung up seemingly out of nowhere, forming a distinct barrier. The scenery within the wall of trees was a dense orchard. Plentiful underbrush littered the ground where there were no trees, no higher than my thighs. It did not appear to be a danger area, since there was no one out in the open. Of course, no one was stupid enough to run a poacher base right in the Patrol Force's line of sight.

The obvious solution to this problem was to activate infrared vision. I did so; however, there were no heat signatures. Smarter than you would think, I thought. Then, another thought rolled into my head: Maybe they are underground. I caught myself before I went any farther. I remembered I was on a reconnaissance mission, not one to search and destroy.

I turned and faced the other two members of my fireteam. I may have had these two under my control, but a good leader acts as if he is part of the team. No, a good leader is part of the team. That is what my father had used to say. Still did.

"Alright, it looks clear, but that doesn't mean no one's there. We'll have to do a thorough search, though, as directed," I told them. They nodded in agreement. "Remember what the head of patrols said? 'Best part of a soldier is the thing between his ears. Use it.' As for the search, let us not rule anything out. Split up. Holler if you find anything."

My two companions nodded once again, and we moved into preset positions for an area reconnaissance mission. Adjusting for search area, of course.

We began our search, and for five whole minutes, we found nothing but foliage. Until I heard a thud that sounded different from the normal sound of footsteps in greenery. Oddly metallic, and just loud enough for me to notice. I looked down and cleared the foliage directly beneath my feet. What I revealed did not belong there in the slightest. A metal panel, about a meter wide, with a scanner meant for a handprint welded to its surface.

Immediately, I performed a quick series of visual commands in front of my face, and gave an order message to my teammates to get to my position immediately. We called the technique "hollering."

Within seconds, I heard the sounds of foliage crashing, and I knew without even seeing it that my companions were on their way over.

"What did you find?" Bruce asked. I waved them closer.

"It's a panel. Handprint-activated." I replied.

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Well, I wouldn't blow the thing open. We don't want to announce our presence unless we have to," I said as I examined the device. "Maybe we can-no, that wouldn't work. Any ideas?"

For the next two minutes, we stood there, trying to figure out what to do about this new panel, passing ideas back and forth, eventually rejecting them all. The wildlife provided some relatively relaxing background noise, which aided in contemplation. However, none other than a metallic screeching coming from the panel interrupted the soundtrack of the wilderness. Bruce, Bryan and I readied our weapons simultaneously, jumping away from the panel as we did so.

The panel started to move. Tilting on a hinge, ever so slowly. Those even a kilometer away would have heard the loud metallic creak generated by the object. I kept my sight trained on it, not willing to risk my life so easily.

When the panel reached a certain point, approximately an eighth of the way up, I put my hand under the panel and lifted it the rest of the way, the other two keeping their weapons trained on whoever decided to open the hatch.

Which turned out to be no one at all. Behind my visor, I cocked my eyebrow. How could it open with no one underneath it? I thought. Then, I remembered two words: Remote, and control.

I leveled my rifle, and climbed down the now visible ladder. The climbable chunk of metal stopped about six meters from ground level. Given the fact that whatever natural light that came in through the panel was the only visibility available, I decided to turn my HC-AR77B's flashlight on. The illuminated area turned out to be an underground room, crudely built, about five meters in length by five in width; a door stood on the opposite end, I assumed it lead to the rest of the base. I quickly determined that there were no enemies visible, and waved the other two in. When I turned back, I took a closer look at the place and found it looked... Ransacked. Various items littered the floor in a completely random fashion, as if someone had rifled through them and did not bother about the condition of the place. Collections and trails of blood stained the earthy walls and floor, and bits of clothing stuck to the pools and streaks of crimson.

I walked in slowly, my rifle at the ready. I heard the dual muffled thuds of my teammate entering the hideout. I did not stop moving. Again, I did not take any chances. Someone had to have opened that door. Eventually, I crossed what would have been the threshold of the first room, had it been equipped with a proper door. I snapped quickly to my left, and then to my right, the light of my teammate's flashlight gleaming off of my weapon, revealing the matte grey contours of the rifle.

I saw no movement. However, what I did see made me stop short.

A plate of glass lay on the floor. I moved towards it, and picked it up. I knew what it was. The city had a development with augmented reality, and decided to implement it in various things. Including leaving messages, which this glass plate obviously intended to do. I braced myself for whatever the scan code left, and performed the reading procedure. In about a second, the message flashed in front of me, and stayed where it was. The message read: "Rat hole has been searched. All Neuromages have been dealt with."

I stood there, reading the message repeatedly. The words, "Rat hole" stuck in my head. Purists. It had to be them. No one else would be targeting Neuromages and insulting them like that. I shook my head slowly, sighing. The poachers were Neuromages.

I put the panel down, closing the message as I did so. "Check for stragglers!" I called out, and my team rushed towards the door, followed by myself. A minute or so of running brought us a man rushing-or, rather, stumbling-towards us. His neutral coloured clothing was ragged and dirt patched his black hair. An obvious poacher. Immediately, three barrels aimed at the man, including my own. However, I heard more footsteps behind the man; I immediately readjusted my aim farther into the tunnel. The revealed figure was not another poacher, as I had thought, but a Purist. Unlike the ones that I had seen earlier, a sleek white helmet covered his face.

Before I could even open my mouth, the Purist spoke, in a near-robotic tone. "He's ours," was all he said.

"I'm sorry, but we have rights to capture any poachers we find," I replied coldly.

"And we have rights to capture any Neuromages we find."
I squinted, and looked at the rifle he held in his hand. I recognized it immediately. It was a plasma rifle, loaded with a hollow heat-resistant round. The rounds had electric charges, so they produced a plasma of very high temperature. Thus, it was a weapon far superior to the standard kinetic weapons issued to the Patrol Force. I knew if I disagreed further, I would get a plasma bolt right in the face; the heat would have melted my faceplate through and through. I would not be able to do squat about it, as the Purist's armour would be able to withstand a massive amount of kinetic weapon fire.

I sighed, and turned on my heel. My companions took the hint, and followed me out of the hideout. I left the poacher in the hands of the Purists, and I ignored the protests and screams of pain as I climbed the ladder out of the place.