Mirror's Eye
Chapter III
"Our country is now taking so steady a course as to show by what road it will pass to destruction, to wit: by consolidation of power first, and then corruption, its necessary consequence."
-Thomas Jefferson
Faith trained her gun on the old cop throughout the entire ride. She wasn't quite sure what to do in her current situation. Her instincts screamed for her to never trust a cop, as evidenced by the warm red glow she kept spotting on the handles of the cruiser's doors. In the entirety of her life as a runner, she had always obeyed her runner's instincts, which eventually became manifested within her as it does with all runners, as Runner Vision: a visual mark on all objects that will aid a runner's escape or goals, usually a red glimmer or glow on said object. It was a little sad at this point, the brightness of the red glow emanating from Faith's peripheral vision was beyond the simple hint she usually felt, but more of a screaming urge to escape, escape this cop, escape this hacker, escape back to the hovel she came to call home, to the man she came to call her father, mentor, and big brother.
Merc's radio lied crushed under his deserted seat. As did all the radios of the runners he managed to find and intercept. Merc couldn't sit idly by when something this big was happening. All forms of remote communication that runners used were compromised, and the culprit would be found. All delivery runs were postponed, and some of the best runners out there were put on a search team for any sign of Faith. The streets below had no idea of the chaotic highways filled with frantic traffic flying all around, just above the surface.
"Everybody remember, keep moving, avoid the blues, and above all, find Faith. We find Faith, we may just find out what's been going on," Merc felt young again as he barked orders left and right. The cold night air stung his face as he leapt across a long gap and grasped a pipe, then hoisted himself up the edge of a gleaming black business building. He was followed by several recruits, some of whom he'd known for years and never saw face to face. Despite his bulkier build, his experience as a runner carried him faster than even the youngest of the sprinters.
Back in the silent police cruiser, Faith lowered the gun she had trained at the cop. The car sped along a painfully straight stretch of road through the squeaky clean landscape. The awkward silence was suddenly broken as the middle aged officer spoke for the first time since Faith stole his gun. "My name's Marcus," His words were plain and flat, a blue introduction if there ever was one. His voice loosely masked the air of arrogance behind his position. Faith could easily tell that he did not want to talk, but felt obligated to. He was annoyed at stooping to her level. Regardless, Faith returned the conversation with her own flat response, almost parodying him. "Nice to meet you Marcus, I'm Faith,"
"I can tell you hate me, just like all you runners hate cops. You know, we aren't all corrupt assholes. I've let most runners I've come across scoff free," He certainly got straight to his point. But Faith got to hers even quicker.
"If you weren't a corrupt asshole, you wouldn't be a blue in the first place. I can forgive some people for the choices they make, but most of you are all the same. Shoot, arrest, ask questions later. You don't care what we've been through, what we're doing, why we're fighting these changes that the city has been pushing on it's people, you just care about that nice, big, fat paycheck," Faith grew irritated as she spoke, thinking briefly about her sister Kate, wondering what could have possessed her to become a police officer, what would make her sign her soul away to the same people responsible for the deaths of both their parents.
"Look, I joined the force because I hated the real crimes in this city. The corruption, the murder, the thugs roaming the streets. When that all got washed away and locked up, so did my purpose. Maybe you're the one who asks questions later, Miss Faith," His sarcasm at the end of his last speech struck a nerve in Faith.
"I saw my parents shot to death in the riots. I've been running ever since, and I've been shot, pistol whipped, and have fallen four stories thanks to 'The Force', so you can take your badge and shove it up you're government sanctioned ass. Fucking tool…,"
"And I saw my dad trampled to death in the same riots by a bunch of rampant thugs. I've been drop kicked in the chest more times than I can count by your runner buddies you know. I've also had my arm broken and even ended up shot, by my own gun god dammit! And yet I still let you bastards go! Did you know that we are not only authorized, but encouraged to use deadly force when we encounter 'potential runners'? Ever since the Icarus project took flight, you runners became a social pariah. To us, you runners are supposed to be the drug dealers, the rapists, and the murderers of this city. And sometimes you are. Do you have any idea how many runners were delivering cocaine to their clients, and they didn't know it? Do you know how many of these runners are thieves, perverts, killers? Yeah, I bet you think I'm a close minded fool, but it's you runners that need to wake up, wake the hell up and think about what the fuck you're doing!" As spoke, the old cop's voice became a rising crescendo of anger, growing louder and louder.
Faith opened her mouth to yell back but found herself wordless. She looked at Marcus and for the first time, noticed the scars on his face, namely one on his neck that looked like a removed tattoo. Did he used to run? Before she could even question him on the matter, the dispatch radio squawked to life.
"Officer Ray, we have a disturbance up high, code one 'C' 'R' five, an interception will be necessary at 251 Marx street, repeat, code one 'C' 'R' five, intercept at 251 Marx street,"
Faith smirked. "What now, Mr. Marcus Ray?" She felt somewhat relieved, saved by the bell in a way.
Marcus grimaced and growled his next words. "1CR5… ICRS. Short for Icarus. Seems there's a severe commotion with some runners nearby and they need my help,"
"Officer Marcus, you are to do as you were just ordered by your dispatch, be sure to allow Faith to leave the car. You are to stop two blocks away from 251 Marx Street. Faith, you are to proceed in the opposite direction and bring your bag to the rooftop of 100 Marx Street. You currently have seven minutes exactly to reach your destination"
The radio blared once again, the mysterious, cold, female voice emanating from its speaker, sending a twist of fear to both Marcus and Faith's stomachs.
"I guess this is where we split up," Marcus muttered flatly. Faith now recognized the flatness as exhaustion, not haughtiness. She momentarily felt guilty. She wanted to talk more, but it seemed that they were getting nothing but green lights the entire drive. Before she knew it, they were there, two streets away from Marx street.
Marcus got out of the cruiser and popped the trunk open. He rummaged through its contents, donning a black helmet with a thick face guard, a plated navy blue vest, as well as matching shin and fore arm guards.
"You're a Pursuit," Faith realized out loud. Most Pursuits were ex runners or specially trained swat members who could run even better than the most experienced and dedicated runner. The tell tale signs added up in her head. Marcus was a runner some time in his past.
"There's a lot you assume about cops Faith. Hope I don't run into you again, for your sake. Get out of here, before she calls again,"
Faith gave Marcus one last glance before sprinting down the street and into an alley. She sprung from a wall and onto a nearby fire escape's ladder. She balanced on a clothesline and tottered from it to a nearby balcony, then clambered onto a rooftop. Prepared to head towards 100 Marx Street's roof, Faith also saw the newly renovated mall in the distance. She came face to face with a small T.V. screen sitting in front of a couch, hooked up to a generator, just sitting outside. The T.V. turned itself on, which Faith no longer questioned. On its screen, a complex web of images involving Faith, Kate, their parents, the riots, almost every moment in Faith's life up to that point was displayed. The cold female voice spoke from the small T.V. set.
"This is you Faith. We have been watching you for a very long time. You have been activated for a reason."
As the woman went on to say something else, a brick smacked into the screen, glass and sparks spluttering across the ground. Faith whipped around to see who the culprit was before the brick even made contact. Who she saw brought her both a sigh of relief and an intense fear that penetrated her chest and shook her deep within her spine as she realized what had just happened.
Merc stared at her with a confident smirk as two other veteran runners caught up to him.
"Hey there! Got half a pizza waiting for you back at home, you in?"
A piercing repetitive beep screeched from Faith's bag. As she struggled to open it, she realized with great horror what was inside. It was a timed signal flare. Time seemed to slow. Seconds became minutes as Faith dashed to the edge of the rooftop of 100 Marx street before the timer hit zero.
Three. Faith was nearly there. If this signal flare went off, it would attract enough bad attention to get everybody riddled with bullets or tazed into submission.
Two. Her foot reached the edge. Her arm reared back as she prepared to hurl the bag with all her might.
One. Her arm arched and the bag followed.
Just as she freed the strap of her fingers' grasp, the device inside the bag fired a bright red flare, a piercing siren reminiscent of an air raid signal screaming as the flare rocketed into the cool night air. Two nearby rooftop doors smacked open. Pursuit cops immediately broke into a sprint towards Faith, Merc, and the rest of their group. In the distance, the sounds of chopper blades beating the air and gunfire cut through the silence of the night. This was more than just a trap. This was a full scale war on all runners, something Faith, Merc, and the entire city was unprepared for.