Chapter 1: Persistence

November 23rd, 2200, 0800 Hours: I suppose I should begin with what exactly I'm doing down in this wasteland. The International Underground Authority was created under United Nations Law in February of 2187. Its job, according to the IUA's charter, was to "provide for the security and welfare of those living in the newly constructed underground cities around the world", a difficult task to say the least. Many of its officers were killed in the line of duty, either trying to quell riots or stop street wars in the maze of concrete and reinforced steel that made up what was left of our civilization. In this apocalyptic wasteland, the IUA was desperately needed to keep order, but as the end drew near many officers abandoned their posts to be with their families.

That was five months ago. Since the Argo returned and began the process of restoration, the once teeming underground cities have become desolate, barren of any official residents. However, the word "official" is all but lost down in these dimly-lit streets. Drug lords, organized crime, and corrupt politicians see Sub-Kyoto as a haven, free from any governmental control. After all, the world above is busy dealing with putting itself back together. They hardly notice those conspiring to tear it back apart.

That's where I come in. Well, actually, that's where we come in. I'm part of a three person squad that operates out of an old police station in sector 17 of Sub-Kyoto, the area formerly known as "the slaughterhouse". Here, we represent the only authority from the UN Attorney General, whose office sits literally a few hundred stories above ours. Since the cities were vacated, our force has been cut back significantly; now us three are the only officers left in the entirety of the city. My squad mates are-

"Talking aloud while writing is something that some people find quite annoying." I looked up. Alastair Thornton, our equipment specialist, sat on the other side of the cramped office in a faux leather swivel chair. Evidently I had been murmuring what I had been writing out loud. I blushed slightly.

"Damn it. Sorry man, you know I do that a lot." He looked at me consolingly. He was distinctly British in virtually everything that he did-he was Oxford educated (Begrudgingly, as Cambridge had been blasted into nothingness during the war) and held a PHD in Nano Robotics. Currently his favorite tea was unavailable due to rationing, so he held a cup of piping hot water in his left hand, and a copy of A Tale of Two Cities in his right.

"Not a problem Sam. You know I'm writing my own book." Like the opening of a dam, the creative juices poured out of my mind and onto my paper. I returned to my pen and datapad.

I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Sergeant Samuel Hudson, call sign "Alpha". I've been in the underground cities for over 15 years now, originally I was stationed in Sub-Chicago, but I was transferred here to Sub-Kyoto only days before the great fire that killed most of the former's residents swept through the shanties that once made up a proud city. After Sub-Kyoto was officially abandoned in 2200, I was assigned as the leader of the UTAH (Underground Tactical/Aerial Holdings) squadron based in sector 17. My squad mates are-

"Sam, I know My Life Underground is going to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, whenever they reinstate those, but if you haven't forgotten, we happen to be on duty right now." I sighed audibly.

"Damn it."

"What?" Malaya Castillo, my second-in-command stood by the doorway in her combat slacks. A 26-year-old Filipino, she had been sent to Japan just before metropolitan Luzon had been struck by a Gamilon radiation bomb. A veteran of the Cosmo Navy, she was assigned to a torpedo destroyer as a gunner but was pulled to desk duty before Operation M. I met her shortly thereafter and took her in as a squad mate. Most of the time she acted as my squad's better third, keeping Alastair and I's masculinity (and the associated behavior) in check. Suffice to say, she wasn't a stick in the mud either. Just more of a big sister type, the one that I never had.

"Sorry Malaya, once I get started it's really hard to stop." She grinned wickedly.

"Now isn't that what I heard the girls at the pub said about your performance last shore leave?" I blushed again. My love life wasn't exactly public domain, much less legend or lore, but Malaya still poked fun at my grading system. It was unique, to say the least.

"You're just pissed that I rated you a B+" She huffed dramatically.

"Oh really, Mr. hotshot?"

"Don't feel too bad. I mean, I use a sliding scale." I retorted. Alastair looked up from his book.

"Cut it out you guys. We've got monitoring to do here." Alastair, always the uptight one, didn't get Malaya and I's sense of humor very much. Or if he did get it, he didn't appreciate it much.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, monitoring empty corridors and rat-infested garbage bins. I'm surprised that High Command hasn't pulled us out to one of the more dangerous Sub-Mets yet." Alastair shrugged his shoulders, not even bothering to look up from his book.

"Yeah, like Sub-Beijing. How many officers have they lost so far this month?" I looked back over at Alastair, hoping for some sort of response.

"I forgot the exact amount, but still, dealing with small-time kingpins and shoestring sex rings is a lot easier than fighting our way through entire complexes filled to the brim with gun-toting criminals."

"I suppose. It's just that-wait, I've got something on the monitor." I cheered in delight. Alastair sighed in relief.

"Thank God."

"Hold your praises boys. This looks a bit serious."

The screen Malaya was pointing at told it all. Through the grainy and blurred image I could see four people, three brandishing high-caliber pistols, the other apparently unarmed, walking down a corridor around three blocks from our station. Two of them had shaved heads and wore black trench coats, the other two wore skywheeler uniforms, complete with the necessary rebreather helmet and metal-spiked leather outfit so typical (and necessary) for hoverbike operation. On their backs were emblazoned the logo of the Death Adders, one of the most notorious hoverbike gangs in the area. From the look of it they had parked their bikes above ground and made their way down here on foot.

Evidently the two groups were of differing factions, so I reckoned this was either a drop, an execution, or a duel. After a little debate we settled on the former. Through the hidden security cameras dotting street corners and the dimly-lit porches, we could see that they were moving towards the southwest, away from our station and towards the old zoo at the far edge of town.

"Alastair, get a lock on those men. Report their location to the DA's office and keep in contact with their movements." I turned to Malaya. Her hand was already on the door leading to our armory. I smiled.

"Suit up."