CHAPTER TWO

Twenty Years Later

Before his alarm had sounded off in the morning, Jim's eyes snapped wide open. His heart was stuttering, hands clenched so tightly that his nails dug into the flesh of his palms. He'd been dreaming, something feverish and awful that had begun with Frank bellowing curses into his face, then coalesced into the fear he'd experienced the first time an instructor at the Academy of Law had smoked him out.

It had happened a few seconds after he'd stepped into that grand, old building with eleven other kids his own age. He'd been looking around the place in dazed wonderment, unable to believe that it was real, that he was there. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

He'd been enjoying the echoing sounds his feet made on the marble floor and watching trainees, rookies and judges going about their business. His former leery opinion of them had evaporated in facing the reality of their (and now his) world. However, his elated bubble had been burst when one of his instructors suddenly got into his face and chewed him out for over five minutes, in front of everyone, for not paying attention to the situation at hand. Namely, waiting around for said instructor to appear.

Since then Jim had been yelled at and humiliated by his superiors more times than he could keep track of; maybe more often than anyone else who'd ever attended the Academy. Growing up the way he had, his natural setting when someone yelled at him was to shout right back, to give back more than he got. But at the Academy he'd had to learn to hold his tongue and take criticism and insults in complete silence while maintaining a stolid expression. One simply got used to having verbal abuse hurled at them every time they fucked up, but that first time had been so startling and humiliating that he'd never forgotten it. Still dreamed about it, obviously.

Jim's training kicked in when he was fully conscious and his heart rate slowed as his mind accommodated the irrational fear and put it aside, replacing it with a wave of calm self-assurance. He took deep, slow breaths as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of his room. Light seeped in faintly through the blinds covering the windows.

He leaned over and snatched his PADD off the bedside table, checking the time. It was a bit past 0430 hours. He didn't technically have to be up until 0500. When that time hit, it would officially be time to revert to his "regularly scheduled programming".

Sighing he opened up his schedule for the day, skimming through it quickly with a gnawing sense of disappointment. It was a twenty-eight hour shift, and he would be spending all this morning in a city-block court, overseeing the various cases and dealing out judgment accordingly. Fuck!

As zany as it sounded, the truth was that he'd rather spend his shifts dealing out justice in the streets and every single risk that came with it (imminent death chief among them) than have to go through the tedious court procedures. Observing and listening to a bunch of fucked up criminals whining and complaining about how much their lives sucked –as if they truly believed he would take that into account before he sentenced them to however long in the Iso-Cubes– was not Jim's idea of exciting. He'd only done it once before over a year ago now, and had absolutely loathed it.

"Blinds, open," he intoned, reveling in the pinkish glow of early morning light for a second, before deactivating his alarm (seeing as he wouldn't need it) and rolling out of bed. He made it back up as neatly as possible. Every now and again the head of Sector House 18 would perform random room inspections to remind the judges that they were still expected to keep their quarters up to the immaculate Academy standards.

It wasn't difficult for Jim to do as his living quarters consisted of only three sparsely furnished rooms; a combined kitchen and dining area, bedroom and off that a bathroom. It was still a hell of a lot more than most citizens had though and it wasn't as if Jim needed a lot. He hardly got the chance to spend time here anyway.

He brought his PADD to the kitchen with him and considered sending Sulu a message asking what hours he was on for, but decided against it after a second of thought and instead clicked on a short playlist of classics from the year 2057 as he set about his standard waking routine. This involved gorging himself on eggs whites, fruit and once his stomach had settled, doing several hundred push-ups, crunches, and pull-ups using the metal beam in the door frame of his bedroom.

Ever since entering the Academy and then achieving Judge status, Jim's life had revolved around routine and he'd grown mostly used to eating insane amounts of healthy protein everyday, grueling conditioning exercises on top of endless variety of Judge duties. It had been especially difficult for Jim to acclimatize to all the regulations that came with living in a city after living so lawlessly and thoughtlessly as a child. Learning to hold his tongue and obey his superiors had been even more challenging.

Of course, the occasional tryst helped alleviate much of his frustration… there was this one stripper he'd saved a couple times that he was rather fond of. She told him her name was Gaila, but he was pretty certain that that wasn't true. She seemed to regard Jim as her knight in shining armor, which he found slightly amusing. Judge Sulu, on the other hand, found the entire situation hysterical though he always halfheartedly reprimanded Jim for carrying on with an illegal liaison.

Strict adherence to every rule aside, Hikaru Sulu was literally the most cheerful, blasé Judge that Jim had ever met, which was kind of weird considering the kinds of activities that filled the entirety days. But it also meant that he was a lot of fun to be around on rare off-duty time. Also, he was a good person to spend time with for mental health purposes if nothing else.

Generally, Jim didn't pal about with other judges outside of having to partner up with them on especially difficult operations. Sulu was the exception. They were both assigned to Sector 18 and lived in the same sector house, which meant that, when they'd discovered a similar sense of humor on top of a genuine passion for their jobs, they'd become Velcro to each other. The old term "drinking buddy" came to mind sometimes, which was more than a little ironic.

To be frank, much of the time, Jim had no clue why Sulu had become a Street Judge. He had passed all the exams and assessments by the skin-of-his-teeth and was recommended by every higher-up to become a hovercraft or space shuttle pilot, or maybe even part of a communications personnel. He was much more suitable to any of those positions, he'd been told constantly. But he'd been determined to achieve Street Judge status, and he'd done so just barely. Jim was infinitely grateful that he had.

Feeling pumped after his workout (too bad it was going to be wasted in court), he took a quick shower then began the time arduous process of putting on his uniform.

The assortment of underclothes, leather and various armored vests that his uniform was comprised of were very restrictive and uncomfortable, but that was a helpful reminder to him that he wasn't merely Jim anymore, not when he wore it. By the time he picked up his Lawgiver and waited for the mechanical clink that informed him his ID had been verified, he was Judge Kirk. The knowledge always made him stand taller, gave him greater confidence. After ordering the lights off, he walked out the door at exactly 0600.

OOO

Dredd didn't get nervous persé, it simply wasn't in his nature. Having spent literally his entire life living and breathing the law and the unlimited ways to use and prevent violence; staying calm and controlled even while staring down death in its various undesirable guises was simple. But in his opinion, anyone who could walk down this dead-end alley (especially as evening was falling) and not feel the slightest hint of uneasiness was either very inebriated or very unintelligent.

An emergency call had been placed from a citizen a few minutes ago, a woman who claimed to have heard shots fired from the apartment complex adjacent to hers. Dredd had only responded because he was in the vicinity and he was aware that it wasn't something most of his fellow judges would look into (himself usually included) as there were so many verified crimes occurring.

After all, it could have been a prank call. The citizen could have been mistaken about the location of the shots. Maybe she'd just heard a group of teenagers messing around with homemade firecrackers. Maybe someone was getting in a little target practice. Or maybe a crime had occurred; a murder perhaps, or someone messing around with an illegally obtained firearm.

The apartment complex (Willow Grove) the citizen had allegedly heard the shots issue from was relatively small compared to the tall grim ones around it. It was relatively small compared to any housing complex Mega-City One actually, topping out at miniscule thirty stories. He'd also discovered upon reaching Willow Grove, that the front entrance had been walled-over along with every single window. From the look of things, it had been done several years ago.

He idled his Lawmaster in front of the building for a minute, earning anxious looks and a wide berth from passersby. He mostly ignored them while he looked up more information about Willow Grove on his GPS. He was unsurprised to discover that the building had been deemed unfit for habitation by Sector 4 Maintenance and closed down. It had had a demolition warning on it for over five years. It was surely inhabited only by vagrants now.

What did surprise him was that the back entrance had been left alone. The only way to reach it was by the alleyway that ran behind the block. Not only that, Willow Grove was the dead-end. It was what would have been termed, in the old days, as suspicious, but Sector 4's layout had always been odd. In fact, many buildings and blocks in it were situated exactly like this one.

With a small aggravated sigh he pulled out into the street again and drove to the end of the block and around one side until he reached the mouth of the alley. He saw that it was extremely narrow, barely wide enough for a car to pass through. It was dark as well. Once the sun had set, he supposed that a person with normal vision (and sans flashlight) would be virtually blind. Driving down there seemed like an exceptionally bad idea, but he accelerated anyway, slowly enough that he would be able to stop if he met a person and not have to resort to veering into a brick wall to avoid a collision.

It turned out to be a wise decision, as he found it necessary to swerve several times to avoid a myriad of potholes and large, crumbling chunks of blacktop. It looked like some strange beast had come along and gouged out bits of road with its claws then dropped the clods to the side.

The buildings that shared the block and alley with Willow Grove were all occupied and Dredd disliked the way they seemed to lean over him, as if they were going to topple at any second. Every one was well over seventy stories high and filled with countless windows. He knew he was being watched and also knew there was nothing much he could do about it.

It was a relief to reach the end of the alley and he parked his bike several yards from Willow Grove's entrance; a large hunk of scarred, black-painted metal set into the crumbling grayish bricks; and kicked the stand down.

Hoping this whole thing wasn't going to turn out to be a huge waste of time, he stood up and –after adjusting his leg-holster before pulling out his Lawgiver– advanced on the door, ignoring his body's natural impulse to tense when he turned his back on all the other buildings.

He paused before the door for a second, listening intently. Not a sound. But that was hardly surprising considering how thick it looked. Knocking would've been ludicrous, so he closed a gloved hand around the door handle, already making contingency plans for when it refused to open.

It wasn't locked, however. As a matter-of-fact, it swung open easily (not even a creak) when he gave it a slight shove, revealing a long linoleum hallway that was dimly lit by an ancient battery-powered lamp. Said lamp was sitting on a stool only several feet from the door, accompanied by a half-empty water bottle. As soon as he entered the building, his sense of smell was assaulted by the odors of damp decay intertwined with the unmistakable scent of bleach. That was of little concern next to the shouts echoing down from a staircase on his left which clearly led to the second story, and the insistent, thickly accented voice issuing from a walkie-talkie that had been left at the foot of the stool.

Hello! Sean, are you zhere?! Peek up, dammit! Judge! A Judge has just entered ze building Your building"

Someone had obviously their station unattended in favor of the argument that was taking place upstairs. Dredd smirked as he picked up the device, examining it for a moment before turning a small knob on the side which effectively cut off the voice in the midst of delivering its dire warnings.

He decided since he'd already come this far, he might as well take a look up the stairs and see what the argument was about... and how many people were there, as well. The stairs were solid enough, and the coating of dust muffled his footsteps as he took them slowly, voices above growing clearer.

"Nero's gonna have both our hides, you fuckin' asshole. We're done, we're fuckin' done."

"Calm the fuck down, Sean. It's not that big a deal. We'll just say one a them did it. We'll say he wasn't keeping a close enough watch on them and one of em' got hold of a gun and-"

"As if he'll believe that shit!"

By the time Dredd reached the landing, his interest was more than a little peaked. He saw that he was in a hallway nearly identical to the one he'd just left. All the doors were closed except for one on the right hand side, which was thrown wide, golden-yellow light spilling out; illuminating what would otherwise have been absolute darkness. He approached the door cautiously and kept close to the wall as he peered around the frame carefully, Lawgiver set to rapid fire, body tensing in case they were facing towards him.

The room was starkly lit with a bare bulb in the sent of the ceiling. The room was vacant of furniture beyond a sagging suede couch that probably hosted a vast number of insect species and several large, metal crates. Two men had their backs to the door. All he could see were their shaved heads and the backs of their jackets. One was wearing green and had a hand clamped tightly on the shoulder of one wearing white and red, murmuring quieter words in his ear, trying to calm him. Both were carrying AK's of some sort. A third man lay face down on the floor. Bullet holes riddled his body.

The room was just large enough for the corners to be shadowed, which was why he almost overlooked the other occupants of the room.

A group of young children were huddled in one corner, seated cross-legged on the floor, clutching bottles of water in their small hands. None of them could have been over ten years of age. They were staring right at him, eyes huge and dark as they watched him. Many of their faces were twisted in odd, grotesque ways. Extremely prominent bones. Missing noses and lips. Skin so pale it couldn't be explained away by too little time spent outdoors. In spite of all that, they didn't appear to have been mistreated in any way.

His stomach tightened reflexively and he felt slightly cold. He put a gloved finger to his lips, before manually setting his Lawgiver to stun. The men were too engaged in their conversation to pay attention to where the children were looking, and still had their backs to Dredd when he fired stunning shots into each of their backs, causing them to collapse nearly silently onto their dead comrade.

With quick efficiency he secured their wrists with zip-cords under the curious gazes of the mutant children and commed into Control, keeping a watchful eye on them. "Dredd to Control. Do you have a lock on my location?"

"Affirmative, judge," a cool female voice answered. "Sector 4, sub-sector 9. The condemned Willow Grove apartment complex. Is that the correct location."

"Affirmative. Send backup immediately and a meat wagon. I have a body for resyk, two perps for questioning and ten mutant children who look like they may have been held captive. There may be more perps in the building and there are definitely more in the vicinity, They have a clear line of sight on Willow Grove. Location unknown. Please notify the Chief of the situation."

"Copy, Dredd. Backup is on its way. We will notify Chief Pike at once."

The children watched him impassively as he stood vigil by the door, and he watched them impassively in return as he waited for the promised back-up to arrive.

OOO

Hanley looked apprehensive and with very good reason, in Nero's opinion. He felt his lips pulling back into their customary snarl. "Again, Han? Fucking again!" He kicked out in a short fit of rage, upending the small table that held his dinner. The glass plate smashed, sending spinach and tofu flying. Water splashed everyone in the vicinity along with tiny chips of glass. Most didn't flinch, much too used to their boss's outbursts to be startled after all these years.

Hanley grimaced at the nickname but wisely decided not to mention it. Nero breathed deeply and closed his eyes, bringing his fingertips to his temples to rub away a nonexistent headache. He only did it now out of habit as the debilitating migraines that used to plague him had been cured almost ten years ago, but the familiar action calmed him like nothing else could… Well, that wasn't entirely true. All his enemies headless and gift-wrapped for him would have gone a long way toward calming his mind, but that was simply wishful thinking, and too much of that was extremely dangerous. It could make one complacent.

"Zhere v-vas nozing ve could have done-" one of his new recruits began, looking extremely upset, then frightened at the furious look Nero shot him.

"You could have done your fucking jobs," Nero snarled, gripping the armrests of his chair tightly. "But no, you allowed a Judge to fucking prance into the building and confiscate our property." There were no words strong enough to describe his ire. Another consignment of guns and children lost. He considered having all the people who stood before him burned alive (excluding Hanley, of course), but it just seemed like a lot of work on top of everything else. Besides, he would need every hand available to find a new place that it was safe to use as a holding area and then have it set it up. He could afford to lose the apartment complex in sector 4, but he hadn't fucking wanted to. The place was a perfect location: out of the way, generally Judge-free with a few inhabitants who could be paid off cheaply to keep their mouths shut… or so he'd thought.

Nero had fought hard for the turf he'd won and didn't want to surrender it. Hanley should have known better than to leave newbies in charge, even for a day. They hadn't earned their stripes yet. nor proven their loyalty.

"But sir, it wasn't just a Judge. It vas zhat one. Judge Dredd." The boy stumbled over the "r" a little, in a way that Nero knew his wife would have found endearing. All it succeeded in doing was pissing him off more.

"Do you really believe that I give a fuck which Judge it was? They're all the same in my book. Now, what ought you to have done?" he asked the idiot boy who had spoken. He looked to be about fifteen; if he hadn't been so brilliant, he would have been working in one of Nero's prostitution rings instead of joining his crew. He was the most amazing shot Nero had seen with a sniper though which was why he'd had the boy taken from East-Meg Two and recruited him to his cause in the first place. He was regretting that decision now. To think... Dredd could have been out of his hair (hypothetically) if Chekov hadn't frozen up.

"Killed ze Judges, gotten ze veapons and kids out of zhere ASAP and zhen contacted you," he answered immediately, looking apprehensive and guilty, fidgeting with his gun. There was a small red line on his neck where the strap had dug in. He'd been stationed in the apartment building across the way along with five other sharp-shooters to keep an eye out for situations like the one that had transpired.

"That is correct," Nero said, voice dripping with feigned patience. "What I want to know is why you didn't follow protocol." Why had Hanley left this idiot in charge? Chekov may well've been brilliant in many aspects, but the drive to do whatever was necessary for the cause wasn't one of them. "Now two of my men and all those kids are being taken to the Justice Department. If my men are interrogated, who knows what they'll say. I don't even know how much they know! Not only that, we lost three-hundred arms today, along with a shit ton of ammunition. This is unacceptable." He tapped his fingers against his armrests thoughtfully and no one spoke.

Nero brought a hand to his face rubbing over the stubble that only grew on the left side of his jaw, waiting as the lava that was his anger bubbled down to a dull froth. He really wasn't in the mood to kill his own men today, even if a few had displeased him. Not even Chekov.

He spun his chair around abruptly, grabbing his PADD off the table and setting it in his lap, quickly opening up a digital map of Mega-City One and zooming in on various sections, studying the statistics. "Sector 11 doesn't host any of our operations but sector 12 does," he said just loud enough for everyone crowded into the small room to hear. "After cleaning up this mess," he leveled each person with an individual glare, "we're going set up a holding area in 11. Hanley, you know the clean up drill, so supervise it and assign our friend Chekov here to an operation that he can't fuck up." Hanley gave him an ironic salute him that had Nero grinding his teeth. Nero seriously thought about having him scourged sometimes. If any of his men needed a fucking lesson, it was Hanely. "You, Glen, get me more dinner. Everyone else, just get out of my fucking sight. Now." They all scrambled to obey, Chekov looking extremely relieved.

He took a deep breath after the room was cleared and took out his PADD. He typed a quick message and sent it off.

Three of my men were taken into custody today.

Make sure they don't make it to interrogation

Ayel replied before Glen even returned with more food.

I'll take care of it right away, sir.

What about the children?

Nero's brow's lifted in surprise. Bad news traveled fast indeed.

Get them back if you can, but it's not a priority.

They're all deaf and illiterate. We should be fine.

After receiving an affirmative, Nero allowed himself to calm down. Everything was going to work out and a few setbacks were only to be expected. But at least one thing was going right today. He was beginning to suspect that Ayel was the only reliable man he had.

OOO

It turned out that, thanks in large part to a divorcing couple whose financial and property assets were extremely fucked up, Jim ended up spending nearly the entirety of the daylight hours at that damned city-block court session. He had a headache from the endless shouting and accusations and was tempted beyond reason to use one of the pain-relief hypos he had on him, even if they were supposed to be used specifically in emergencies.

He swung a leg over his Lawmaster and started the engine, relaxing into the familiar feeling of it rumbling to life beneath him before tapping through his GPS. He picked a backup request that was only several blocks away.

"Backup requested in sector 17, sub-sector 5, Lowry's shop. Hostage situation. Any Judge in vicinity, please respond."

"Judge Kirk to Control, I'll be at Lowry's in five." It only a couple blocks away and didn't sound like it would take very long to sort out, though one could never be entirely certain. He remembered Lowry's quite well, having eaten there on occasion when he'd first moved to the city. That was before he'd learned that what they advertized as a beef sub was, in fact, not made with beef after unearthing a long, pinkish tail from his sandwich.

"Copy, Judge Kirk. We've informed your fellow judge that backup is on the way."

Though the sub-sector streets were crowded, citizens were smart enough to keep out of his way. Jim appreciated that, even though he knew it was more out of fear than respect.

When he turned down the street that contained Lowry's, he wasn't surprised to see that quite a crowd had gathered. The way citizens tended to flock to active crime scenes was absolutely ludicrous to Jim. It was like having a fly buzzing in your ear when you were seriously trying to focus your attention on something. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it, as they were all standing back the required distance and melted away at Jim's approach… only to converge again moments later.

Jim parked his bike beside the other judge's and dismounted, checking his Lawgiver before joining the judge he was supposed to be assisting at the closed entrance to Lowry's. It was a short, very narrow building that looked like it had been forcibly wedged between the two larger structures on either side of it. Someone (the new proprietors, most likely) had apparently found the gray bricks a bit of a bore to look upon and painted over it in neon blue, complete with magenta swirls and a cherry red door. Even through his helmet, Jim found it painful to look at.

To his surprise and (albeit momentary) relief, he saw that it was Judge Sulu who'd commed in the request for backup. It had been a while since they'd last seen each other, as their schedules hardly ever aligned.

"Jim! Shit, am I glad to see you! It's been way too long!" Sulu didn't relax his position by the door, Lawgiver at the ready, though an almost smile quirked his lips. "Five perps, one injured from a shot to the shoulder, three hostages. Armed with handguns. No automatic weaponry, thank fuck! How're you doing?"

"Exhausted," Jim answered, not without humor. "I've been in court for basically my entire shift. Yourself? No need to explain the layout. I've been here a couple times. Did you give them no choice but to run in here or are they just completely brainless?"

"I'm dog tired. And yeah, these perps are pretty fucking brainless; but to be honest, I don't think they're too familiar with this sub-sector. They were probably crossing their fingers for a backdoor. This shouldn't be too much of a hassle. I just need someone to go in with me."

There was no back entrance to the place, no second story, no windows. The only way in and out was through the front door, which meant no easy escape route for the perps. However, it wasn't a cakewalk for Judges either, considering that there were no cameras on the inside. No way to see what was awaiting them.

"What's your plan?" Jim asked.

"I already gave them the spiel about giving up their hostages and the consequences if they refuse. I've received no response. Unfortunately, throwing in a stun grenade then barreling inside to take them out is the only plan I can think of."

"That could adversely affect the hostages as well," Jim said doubtfully.

"I am aware of that, Jim," Sulu said with slight annoyance "but the Justice Department isn't going to send more backup for a situation this trivial."

That was certainly true, so Jim conceded the point. "It's your show, Sulu. Just tell me what you need me to do."

"Just toss a stun grenade inside when I kick the door open and then come in shooting with me. If that's too much of an effort on your weary bones, just let me know and you can fetch me a glass of ice water instead," Sulu said with faux dickishness. It wasn't that hot today, but all the layers of their uniforms combined with constant physical exertion always left one boiling.

"It's not as if it's rocket science," Jim deadpanned and after a moment they both grinned briefly. It was commonly known that Jim had excelled in the rudimentary classes back at the Academy. Not through any particular passion or interest, but simply because he had a good memory for shit like that. Montgomery Scott from hovercraft and space shuttle engineering, and Spock from Tech liked to remind him whenever they crossed paths, that if Jim ever felt like retiring from judge life (though that was impossible) he would be more than welcome to join one of their divisions. They would give him an excellent recommendation, they claimed. They'd both taught him at the Academy at different points.

Jim extracted a stun grenade from his belt and programmed it to delay for thirty seconds. He held the round mechanism in his palm carefully, thumb pressing and holding the button that would start the countdown when released.

Seeing that Jim was prepared, Sulu reached out a hand and grasped the door handle, turning it slowly. Then (in a movement that probably seemed very abrupt to the onlookers), Sulu's leg swung around, kicking the door open hard. Sulu leaned away from the entrance as Jim flung the grenade inside right before the door slammed against the opposite wall and jumped back into place, snapping shut. Curses and ineffective gunshots echoed from within.

Before the grenade even went off, the door was yanked open again and a young, dark-haired man darted out, looking sweaty and panicked, shoulder a bloody mess. A gun was clutched in one of his white-knuckled hands and he brought his arm up when he saw all the people standing in front of him. But in his mad dash, he'd overlooked Sulu and Jim entirely; run straight past them as a matter-of-fact, too intent on what lay ahead. The man didn't even get a chance to aim at the citizens before Sulu had planted a bullet deep into the back of his skull.

Shrieks erupted from the watching crowd and Jim heard the sound of many feet stampeding away (fucking finally) as the man –propelled by his forward momentum– landed on the ground face-first with a sickening crunch and skidded across the cement, leaving a short bloody smear behind. The gun he'd been carrying clattered away and Jim didn't hesitate to retrieve it.

The incident lasted only a few seconds, and by the time Jim was back at the door and tucking the gun away to be dealt with later, fresh yells, screams and gunshots (all muffled) sounded from inside Lowry's. The stunner had obviously gone off.

Sulu wasted no time in shouldering through the door and bounding inside, his Lawgiver raised to shoulder height. Jim was close on his heels, eyes assessing the situation in a mere second.

On the left was the dining area where all the tables were bolted to the floor (a smart move on the part of the owners) but several plastic chairs were overturned and a mess of glass from shattered plates and cups littered the floor. Two of the four remaining perps were on the ground in that section, fumbling with their weapons dazedly. The three hostages (a man, woman and a child who looked like she was their daughter) were close by, but too far for the perps to use as human shields. The girl had cut herself badly on one knee and the woman had obviously been trying to staunch the bleeding using her own previously white blouse before the stunner went off. The man's ankle was twisted at an odd angle and his face was completely bloodless. The three regarded Jim and Sulu with the same expressions of dazed terror the perps wore.

The third and fourth perps had managed to drag themselves behind the counter on the right, where a plastic case usually displayed a selection of sandwiches. "Left," Jim barked, turning in that direction and aiming, leaving the perps behind the counter for Sulu to deal with, knowing he'd prefer it that way.

The two perps in his sight were still struggling to raise their guns and Jim took them out easily, one with a carefully placed lethal shot to the abdomen and the second (attempting to take cover ineffectually behind a chair) with a bullet through the temple. The shrill, sobbing screams of the little girl resounded in his head, setting his teeth on edge.

He heard Sulu fire several shots from his right and a cut off yell. Jim shifted his stance to the right, eyes training on the counter and the remaining perp. "You should all exit the building immediately," he advised the citizens, who were just sitting there and gaping like a trio of guppies.

A second later, it was all over. The last perp jumped up, gun at the ready and managed to discharge one final shot, face twisted into a mask of desperate fury. A sound of impact followed by a faint gasp. Jim ignored the feeling of the body sinking to the floor beside him accompanied by soft gulping noises; concentrating on sending a bullet into the perps delicate, unprotected wrist. It exploded in a shower of blood and bits of pure, white bone. A bloodcurdling scream erupted from the young man's throat and he collapsed to his knees trying to hold his shredded skin together, tears streaming from his bulging eyes.

Jim stalked toward him, heavy boots crunching on glass and a few packets of straws, kicking the perp's fallen pistol aside and dragging him (still sobbing) by his good arm out into the dining area and securing him to one of the tables. The citizens hadn't made themselves scarce, but had regained their feet. They looked to be in bad condition though, so maybe it was good they'd stuck around. After ensuring that the perp carried no additional weapons, he went to check on Sulu before contacting Control.

Sulu lay in a growing pool of blood, helmet askew. His Lawgiver still clutched tightly in his hand. Jim knelt beside him and probed the ragged wound in his throat gently. It was hopeless; Sulu couldn't even speak beyond making the wet, choking sounds that occurred every time he attempted to draw breath.

Jim removed Sulu's helmet and set it aside, then with a heavy heart he took off his own. Sulu looked up at him, blinking rapidly. He looked as calm as Jim hoped he would be whenever he faced death for real, the expression in his dark-brown eyes resigned rather than fearful.

He clasped Sulu's free hand firmly and spoke calmly, refusing to get choked up. "Do you want me to end it?" Sulu shook his head and Jim nodded in return, staying silent for the five minutes it took Sulu to die, more than aware of the fact that he should be behaving with more caution.

When at last, Sulu's gurgled breaths ceased entirely, Jim stood and donned his helmet again before slowly advancing with carefully restrained wrath on the perp, whose sobs had quieted into whimpers of pain. He was very young, no older than nineteen and he cringed away when Jim stepped into his bubble of space, staring down at him.

Everyone knew what the sentence was for murdering a Judge, but Jim didn't trust himself to speak the necessary words. He raised his gun until the barrel was within an inch of the man's face. The perp's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively, mouth gaping open wordlessly. The sparse growth of reddish-gold hair covering his upper lip and chin combined with those wide, brown eyes made him look ten years old.

"You're the fucking devil," the perp squeaked, "You're the f-fucking d-devil. Why don't you keep th-that helmet off so I can look at y-y-your face while you m-murder me, huh?"

Jim's mouth curled into a snarl as his restraint broke. Instead of beating the perp's head in with the butt of his gun as he wanted so badly to do, he directed the violent hatred he felt into the finger that pulled the trigger of his Lawgiver and the bullet that embedded into the perp's brain.

The girl was crying hysterically again, sending frissons of pain through his skull. Jim commed into Control without further delay, requesting a meat wagon and a Med Unit to care for the injured citizens, informing them that a judge had been murdered. It took ten minutes for them to arrive and another ten for Jim to write up a quick report on his PADD and send it in to the Hall of Justice. As everything was being cleaned up and put back into working order, Jim was walking back to where he'd parked his Lawmaster, averting his eyes from Sulu's bike.

Night had fallen now and all the lights in the city were coming on, giving the familiar streets and structures a slightly ominous, phosphorescent cast. Jim wanted nothing more than get back to his sector house and sleep off this dejecting day. The crowd had truly dispersed for the most part, excluding a group of rowdy teenagers sitting on the roof of a building across the street. Their legs dangled over the edge, and they kicked the heels of their sneakers back against the brick. They were laughing loudly and swigging bottles of orange soda. For a piercing moment, Jim felt a wistful longing to join them. Considering the fact that he was not only a Judge, but also nearly thirty it was doubtful that they would let him participate even if he gave in to the insane urge.

"Hey, Judge," a petite, blonde girl shouted down at him in a jokingly come-hither voice, waving wildly in greeting. This set off a round of wild laughter from some of her friends and terrified shushing from the rest. Several of them reached over to cover her mouth with their hands.

Any other day, Jim probably would have smiled and been tempted to shout something cheeky back, but he couldn't even bring himself to crack a smile as he sat astride his bike and started it. He'd just gotten to the end of the street when his Comm beeped.

"Important message for Judge Kirk of Sector 17."

"Copy," he responded listlessly, giving himself a mental kick in the ass for not sounding more alert.

"Chief Judge Pike orders you to forgo your usual duties and present yourself at the Hall of Justice tomorrow at 0500 hours."

What the hell? "Copy. Inform the Chief that I'll be there," he said, guiding his bike down the Judge Causeway and driving back to his sector, keeping an eye out for traffic violators.

He had no idea what the Chief could possibly want to see him about and wasn't really all that curious about it, but it would be nice to lose himself in whatever it was tomorrow. Maybe it had something to do with the mutant situation. He doubted it. The more older and experienced judges were dealing with that bullshit. But one could dream.

Due in large part to the fact that everyone driving a vehicle was very careful to obey traffic laws when they saw him approaching in their rear view mirrors, he was able to make it to his sector house in a decent amount of time without having to pull anyone over. The sector house was a wholly unremarkable-looking fifty-story building that shared the same exterior as many others in Mega-City One. It was the closest he had to a home though, and seeing it in all its lackluster grayness never failed to relax him.

He guided his motorbike down into the underground parking station, acquiescing to the standard eye and hand-print scans. He parked in his designated space, shutting down his Lawmaster so it wouldn't activate until he gave it a voice command tomorrow morning. After another round of identification assessments, he was able to take an elevator up to his floor (3rd) and enter his living quarters (C27).

Upon closing the door behind him, Jim halted, pausing for a long moment in the kitchen. He swayed slightly as his body gave up the fight and allowed the mixture exhaustion and despondency that was always waiting in the wings to creep up and wrap gentle tendrils around him, caressing him like a familiar and welcome lover.

"Lights, sixty-five percent," Jim said wearily, pulling off his helmet and setting it on his standard-issue, black hardwood table, practically stumbling his way to the bedroom. He took off his uniform and put it away in the closet, too tired to clean it just then. He would take care of it when he got off his next shift. He stripped out of his underclothes and threw them down the laundry shoot.

Instead getting his ass into the bathroom right away, he sat naked on the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands and pressing his thumbs against his eyes. Colors of red, purple and blue bloomed and faded randomly behind his closed lids. He didn't cry though. He hadn't done that since he was eight and wasn't sure he remembered how.

He'd seen more judges die than he could count in the eighteen years he'd spent at the Academy and the two in active service, but this was very different. Way too personal. He was ashamed to realize that he might sacrifice any number of those if it would bring Sulu back. The small burst of restless energy brought on by his self-loathing propelled him to the bathroom. He programmed the water temperature in his shower to much higher than normal in an attempt to cleanse himself physically and mentally of the day, short as it had been, surprised when the heat didn't sear the flesh right off his bones.

Later, after stuffing himself full of calories that he'd work on converting to more muscle early the next morning, he crawled into bed and watched an old movie on his PADD before reaching into his bedside cabinet and extracting the relatively new sleep-hypos that the Medical Division issued to the judges who preferred them over the traditional sleep-machines.

He measured out a dosage that would give him a solid six hours of sleep then plunged it into his neck with a slight wince. There was just enough time for him to lean over and toss it into the trash-dispenser by his bed before waves of tantalizing obliviousness rolled over him, dragging him under willingly.