So, funding had been cut. And a weapons shipment had left North but never arrived at Base. And East Complex had swallowed 36 soldiers and forgotten to spit them back out.
There was, at this point, no question over whether these actions were connected. Flashy scare tactics had perfectly aligned to take his best fighting force, then their best weapons, then Sheriff Jay's best personal backup. Of course, the police weren't yet refusing to go on duty, but the Sheriff knew that if he forced them to work without pay, he'd soon lose them entirely. The station had instead turned into a playpen for them to gamble and Sheriff Jay to struggle desperately at restoring their salaries.
Even so, his officers were already turning on him. As it was, Sheriff Jay had stopped being the hand that fed the instant that Deputy Thomas, the bastard, had complained that his paycheck had failed to arrive. No, thought the Sheriff, it wouldn't do to blame Tommygun. Blame whatever state accountant messed up our budget. The Sheriff laughed at the thought of Deputy Thomas orchestrating any kind of plot. Tommy was a sensitive jokester that at least seemed loyal.
Sheriff Jay got off the phone frustrated. State accountants had been oblivious and unhelpful. He heard a bout of laughter through his office door. The murmured words sounded pleasant at the time, if only because the Sheriff felt lonely and didn't know their content. He leaned in to hear.
"...because that's how you really get the job done. Hey, who wants to jump into a burning deathtrap for a key of Jay's..."
Whoever had been talking ceased as soon as the Sheriff stepped out of his office. They were all working diligently, radiating unspoken words and forcefully contained laughter. The Sheriff's eyes swept the room. Deputy Thomas wore a snakish smile - that was just Tommygun for you. The rest looked somber.
"I called accounting." Sheriff Jay said, scrutinizing the face of each officer. "It was a simple mistake. Funding will be returned by tomorrow."
One among them visibly flinched, but had returned to normal when Sheriff Jay sent a glance in their direction. It had come either from Deputy Thomas or an officer gripping her mug with white knuckles, one hand hiding her laughter. She'd need to be interrogated.
After all, Sheriff Jay did not care if his funding was cut. The Nevadan police force was barely effective in any case, and rarely needed. But Sheriff Jay would not tolerate dissidence under any circumstance.
"Officer, would you join me?" Sheriff Jay asked the white knuckled woman. He directed her into his office and shut the blinds. No one would know what had been said in this room.
"Please, take a seat." He advised. She did. "What do you think about the funding situation?" The Sheriff asked bluntly.
The girl looked confused. "Sir?"
Sheriff Jay waited impassively for her to answer. When she didn't, "Should I ask again?"
"No, sir." She shook her head. "I'm just... I assumed everyone felt the same about the funding. What I mean to say is that it's a bad situation. But it sounds like you just got it resolved."
The Sheriff was much taller than her. He also looked stronger, and he sat in his chair as though he owned the room, because he did. He sat as though he owned her. He sat as though he were in charge, and those in charge didn't need to speak. He could leave her in silence, averting her eyes, for as long as he liked.
Sheriff Jay used this luxury. By the time he spoke again, her knuckles were white for a different reason.
"What do you know about the funding, officer?"
It was just a whisper, but the tone was so deadly that water welled in her eyes. She shook her head quickly, unable to articulate a response.
"Did you do this?" The Sheriff asked.
"I'm sorry." She said. "We were talking about you, that's all, I'm sorry, we'll get to work, I know you're disappointed, please, I'm sorry, I wasn't doing anything, I thought it was funny, but we shouldn't have..."
The Sheriff silenced her with a bored hand. "Tell the officers to get out. Use those words."
She stood up with a hunch, grateful to be excused. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry, it was Deputy Thomas, and Jake, and, and..."
"Go."
She did, leaving Sheriff Jay to contemplate her impressive facade. With all her display of emotion, she was a likely perpetrator. She cut funding and laughed about it. And when he lied that he'd regained funding, she had likely been the one who flinched.
He'd make an example of her. That's what he thought as the building was emptied, leaving on no lights but the one in his office. He stared at his police radio on the table and toyed with thoughts of the East Complex while he plotted against that officer.
Those thoughts all were dispersed by the quiet crackle of static. A voice reached his ears just too softly to be discerned. He picked up the radio and held it near, listening for the distinct vocal noise he'd heard a moment before. "Hello?" He spoke into the receiver. "This is Sheriff Jay, who's communicating?"
He paid intent mind, searching the rolling static for that elusive hint of speech. He was listening too closely to notice that the radio was not tuned to any channel at all. Then he found it again, a clear note in the distorted jungle of noise.
Sheriff Jay's left ear rang. He was laying on the floor, clutching his head, a bit of blood coming away on his earlobe. The radio had returned to an ordinary volume, but the words were gone. He listened a bit more cautiously now, worried that the amplitude would spike once more. The static was still there, but the voice had leveled again to an incomprehensible murmur.
But it sounded desperate.
The voice tried again, finally reaching a volume not too loud and not too soft. "SOS, Sheriff Jay, this is the East Complex, please respond. I repeat, this is the East Complex, we are in distress, please respond. Over."
"Who is this? Over." Asked the Sheriff.
"This is..." The volume spiked again, then returned. "This is Unit Kara Harding of Squadron A, North Complex. We were sent to eradicate the hostiles in East Complex. We are trapped underground and require explosive... and medical... assistance. Over."
"Who's with you? Over." Asked Sheriff Jay.
"My group consisted of myself, Units Harry, James, Matt, and... two others... Units Erik and Alex. Only I and Unit James are left. James is in critical condition."
This was news. Sheriff Jay asked the first questions that came to him, stupid as they were. "How can you communicate? How did you find this frequency? Over."
There was silence at the other end.
"Unit Kara? Are you there? Over."
"You're not on a frequency, Sheriff Jay." Said the radio hesitantly. "I can feel... I think your radio is off."
Sheriff Jay checked.
"How are we talking, Kara?" He omitted the 'over'. There was no need.
The radio's speech became faster. "We had to survive." It whispered. "We didn't have anything to drink, we were hungry, the filters were almost gone. James... James had to take Matt's. And then, we were so thirsty, he, said there was one thing we could do."
Sheriff Jay was weighing the dangers against the benefits of sending reinforcements. On the one hand, having lost all East Complex soldiers and Squadron A of North Complex, The Agency would suffer drastically from a failed investment in retrieving these troops. On the other, if many soldiers could be easily returned from the East Complex, The Agency's best force would be regained.
Sheriff Jay decided to hedge his bets. He'd send a small group of soldiers under Unit Kara's guidance. And for the leader of the group...
"Kara, can you communicate to any radio, or is it just mine?" He asked. He was particularly sentimental towards this radio, and he'd rather not send it on his treacherous officer's suicide mission.
"I don't know." Came her meek answer.
"Try it now. Call in to the Nevada Police Radio and file some report - there's no one listening around this time. Frequency 111.01."
Sheriff Jay turned on his radio, already tuned to the proper channel, and listened for the girl's wavering voice. It worked.
By the time Kara had reestablished her special connection with Sheriff Jay's radio, he'd already orchestrated all the finer points of his extraction plan. "Tell me, Kara," Sheriff Jay began after he'd detailed the process of her extraction. "How did you acquire this communication ability? Any other powers come along with it?"
"I..." Kara was interrupted by a loud burst of static. There were gunshots from the other line. "James!" Came her distant screech, feet away from a radio dropped on the ground. "Come on, please, we can't fight them! James, come!"
Sheriff Jay listened, interest piqued. Maybe an extraction would not be so fruitful.
"Fffffuck that." Said a male voice. "Fffffuck their guns. I'll kill... I'll kill 'em with my goddamn hands."
"James!" Kara screamed. More gunshots. The loud crack of bone. Some laughter. The radio was picked back up, and Sheriff Jay could tell by the echoing footsteps that Kara was running down an underground tunnel. Yes, The Sheriff knew just where she was.
It occurred to him to ask if Kara could retrieve the shipment, but attempting such might have been overconfident at that time. "Get to safety, Kara, and remember to contact the frequency I gave you at 0800 hours tomorrow. I know there aren't any clocks down there, so we'll broadcast the time on that channel. Good luck." Said the Sheriff.
"Bring medicine." She said with a choke. He could tell she was crying. "Bring a medic. Bring everything you have."
The Sheriff nodded inaudibly, pocketed the radio, and donned his winter jacket. The nights were getting cold in Nevada.
Sheriff Jay drove home to an unexpected sight. Lights were on in his house, casting warmth against chilled air. He took his Colt into his hand and unlocked the door. Along with steaming warm air flooded out the scent of apple pie and cinnamon. He shut the door quietly behind him, as he didn't want to be noticed. But, entering the foyer, he'd already attracted attention.
Ellie never was shy. A slender arm lazily beckoned the Sheriff from the sofa, and he followed it, holstering his revolver. "How'd you get in here, pretty girl?"
She flicked him a little key. It was from under his welcome mat. He tossed it onto the coffee table and reclined in the soft chair beside her. It offered him a nice view of her shapely form, one leg stretched on the couch, one knee propped up on the cushion, one hand resting on the floor, the other across her bare breasts. Sheriff Jay's eyes were drawn between her legs.
"I didn't know you cooked." He said, breathing in the scent of the kitchen. She closed her eyes, and he watched the rise and fall of her chest. "You know I don't want us meeting at my house. You should've gone to that apartment."
"I only go where you tell me, Sheriff Jay." She said. She slunk off of the sofa and stood, stretched, went to the kitchen at the sound of a timer. Sheriff Jay heard a pie taken from the oven and set to cool on a rack. When Ellie returned, she straddled the Sheriff's lap, legs dangling over the arms of the chair. "Tell me where to go."
He tried to kiss her, but the escort only teased his lips with a light touch and pushed him firmly against the chair's back. She put his hands where she wanted them and cupped his cheek, proceeding with a sarcastic facade of conversation. "How was work today, Sheriff Jay?" She asked.
He vented funding cuts and burning complexes, then stopped himself at the second one. Sheriff Jay didn't trust Ellie, and it wouldn't do to tell her too much. Although, she probably didn't care enough to remember it after.
She prodded him to continue, asking about the East Complex. He told about a carjacker and an overarching plan to disable his forces, and even about the message he'd send when he put a dissident officer into a building that had released no man who'd entered.
"Why don't you bargain with this mysterious carjacker? Wouldn't that be less wasteful than throwing more resources at him?" She asked.
The Sheriff was caught off guard. Ellie never had opinions and she never made suggestions. This seemed wrong.
"I'd rather win than concede." Was his only answer. Sheriff Jay smiled, expecting to receive the eye-roll that Ellie always gave in place of a laugh. But she surprised him again.
"But it might be a choice between concession and loss. Then, would you rather lose?" She asked.
The Sheriff's ire was beginning to spark, and embers of suspicion had turned to rolling flames. "Why do you care, Ellie? Why did you -" Ellie interrupted him with a kiss, and he forgot what he'd been about to say.
"Oh, Sheriff Jay, I don't care about your guns and games." She said, running her hands down his neck, his chest, his pelvis, his crotch. "They aren't the games I like to play."
His suspicion had been quelled, and he let her take him to his room, where he stumbled on her pink purse before tumbling into bed. She got on top, because she was a top kind of girl. After they finished, she lulled him back into conversation, mocking Sheriff Jay's enemies as being so far beneath him that they were hardly worth fighting. He agreed huskily, and they went again. After a few hours she'd brought him to the brink of exhaustion, but she was as strong as ever.
"Do me a favor, Jay." She said, lips in a pout. That was odd. She'd never called him that before. "I need to be truthful with you. Things are getting a bit rough at work. Flow isn't so nice as he was when I met him, and... well, things are getting rough. I'm tired of Daddy Flow, and I'm tired of my work. You're the only client I enjoy anymore, and... to be honest... I've developed some feelings for you, Jay." Her voice trailed off, and she looked away from his eyes. "And the favor I want to ask is that you not get hurt."
The Sheriff was not certain about the implications of her statement, but if she thought she'd be leaving Daddy Flow for him, she was... well, maybe she wasn't mistaken. Sheriff Jay had never considered her to be more than what she was, but in all likelihood, being an escort was just the surface of her persona. Sheriff Jay'd never gotten to know someone like her before, and spending more time with her became an intriguing fantasy for a moment. He wondered what she was really like. He wondered if underneath the escort she was the same as other women that he detested. He wondered if she was truly as unique as she seemed now. "How do I not get hurt?" He asked her softly.
"Well, Jay, I think I want to be with you, but..." She wiped away a tear. "I can't stand to lose someone else. I can't take any more heartbreak. I don't want you to fight so hard. I don't want you to get people mad."
The Sheriff had never seen this side of Ellie before. It was especially exciting to see that after she'd showed her feelings, she was perfectly capable of reigning them back in. She now wore the same face that she always did, only wet from a tear.
Wait. What did this request really mean? She didn't want him to get anyone mad? Who was she talking about?
He remembered her earlier suggestion, and a knife wrenched in his gut. "Why did you come here, Ellie?" He asked, ice plain in his voice.
"You told me to." She said.
He stood from the bed and buckled his pants. "I don't know what interest you have in this matter, but you'd better take your clothes and get out of here. Now." He didn't hear her move. "Do you hear me? I told you to leave now."
She shifted. "Fine." She said. "But what about my payment?"
"I didn't ask you to come here, girl, you aren't getting a penny." Sheriff Jay heard a distinct texting sound followed by the note of a sent message.
"I just told Daddy Flow where I am. And I'm not leaving until you pay me. 150 is the standard rate." She spat. Sheriff Jay wasn't afraid of Daddy Flow. Daddy Flow was outnumbered and hopelessly outgunned in the face of the Sheriff.
The Sheriff turned and smacked her in the face, knocking her to the sheets. She gave a small whimper and began visibly trembling. He had hurt her. He was struck with an immediate desire to give her consolation, but instead put venom in his voice when he told her, "Stay as long as you like. You aren't getting shit from me."
The Sheriff needed a drink. He was on his way to the living room when he heard a rustling behind him, then the click of a hammer. He turned to see Ellie, still naked, pulling a long pistol from her pink bag. He couldn't see her face under a curtain of silky hair. It was at this moment that Sheriff Jay recognized the experimental Sub-Laboratory weaponry that his escort was holding, and realized that his anger had been horribly misdirected.
When she raised her head, her tears were dry and her eyes were black.
"You're an intelligent man, Sheriff Jay. I learned long ago that I need intelligent men, and that I can't keep them intelligent and force them into service at the same time. So you're going to make a deal with me, whether you know it or not. You may as well hear my conditions before you escalate our conflict." Ellie said in a voice that wasn't her own.
They think they can manipulate me through her, because they don't think I'd harm her. Thought the Sheriff. Maybe this will send a message.
"I'd have you shoot me before I made any deal with you." He said. He grabbed her forearm and gun and pulled the barrel against his stomach, jerking her off balance. "Go ahead." He said when she'd steadied herself. "Shoot me."
The Sheriff was not expecting her to shoot him. He soon learned of the wonders of Agency technology, though, when the bullet exited his back and ended up under a few feet of dirt in his backyard. However, he did not clutch in pain at his stomach. He pulled his revolver and shot her wrist in one motion. Blood poured from a severed artery, spilling over her experimental weapon.
She kicked his bullet wound and he crashed through the door, falling onto the living room carpet. She straddled him again, but this time to pin him down, and wrapped her hands again around his neck, but this time to choke him.
"Give in to me. Now." She demanded. He grabbed a thick lock of her hair and yanked her head back, exposing the taut skin of her neck.
He nearly kissed it.
Instead, he threw her to the ground and stood. His gun hung loosely by his side as he watched her back away on all fours into the foyer. "Wait!" She begged, eyes returned to their ordinary color. "Please don't."
Her head painted the door behind her, and a few holes in her chest ensured her death. Sheriff Jay didn't know what conditions the black-eyed creature could survive.
The Sheriff allowed himself no remorse, and the girl no pity. An aggressor in one's own home ought to be dealt with violently, that's what his father would have said, the bastard. But wrong as he often was, his father would've been right then. The girl - or, whatever was manipulating her - had tried to coerce him into cooperation, extort his aid in whatever psychotic plan had killed the entire East Complex and any who entered.
And the Sheriff would not tolerate the former.
Slowly, wearily, the Sheriff walked to his room and retrieved Ellie's pink bag. It was filled with silly things: makeup, money, knives. The Sheriff pulled out her cell phone and took it back to the foyer. He read the last three messages.
9:54pm to 'Flo' - Come. Afraid.
The Sheriff almost laughed. She was just as terse in text as she was in person.
6:32pm to 'Flo' - At Sheriff Jay's house. Unusual. Be nearby.
Yes, it was unusual. Sheriff Jay would have to sever his connection with Daddy Flow due to the abnormality of the situation. So when he read her next text, received at 1730 hours, he dropped the phone to the floor, screen shattering on the hardwood. He pulled his own phone from his pocket and dreaded what he'd find.
5:30pm to 'Ellie' - Wait at my house. Key is under the doormat.
No.
Sheriff Jay had not sent that.
What?
Sheriff Jay had not sent that.
His phone had never left his person that day. He'd felt it in his pocket or seen it in his hand at all times. The Sheriff could only think that someone had accessed it remotely, but he was the only one who knew his passwords. Except, of course, for his carrier, which had direct access to its clients' messaging systems.
The clock struck ten, and there was a knock at Sheriff Jay's door. "I'm a bit busy." The Sheriff said. "Come back later."
"I think I'll come in now." The door said back. Sounded like a woman. "Flow wants to talk to you."
"Flow can talk to me later. Leave now." Demanded the Sheriff. There was silence for a moment, then Sheriff Jay's door came off its hinges and crashed on the floor. In the permanently open doorway stood a cordially dressed woman and what looked to be a gun-wielding bodybuilder.
The woman's jaw dropped when she saw Ellie.
The bodybuilder stood impassive, another Agency gun in hand.
"Whatever deal y'all made, y'all shouldn't'a made it." The Sheriff's accent came gruff when he was angry. It was the only indication of such: His face was as inscrutable as ever.
"Brutus." The woman said, and Brutus raised his gun. The woman was soon gaping at two fresh corpses.
"Why don't y'all run and tell your pimp what happened." Goaded the Sheriff. She took the offer with gratitude.
Sheriff Jay would take care of the bodies later. What he needed now was a stiff drink. He poured himself a fifth of Scotch, no ice, and took it with his apple pie. The first bite was crumbly and sweet, teaching him of a girl who cooked with too much sugar.
He let the radio drone while he drank, if only to keep away the quiet. But it reminded him of nights in his apartment, so he tried the television. But he saw women all over the screen, so he let the silence return. It was broken by a tone from his cell, then three more in rapid fire.
10:02 from 'D.F.' - you broke my property
10:02 from 'D.F.' - you're a dead man, sheriff
10:02 from 'D.F.' - i'm coming for you soon
10:03 from 'D.F.' - expect me
Sheriff Jay began to consider the implications of Ellie and Brutus's weapons. It dawned on him that the missing shipment of weapons had correlated directly with Ellie's newfound firepower. The Sheriff started to wonder not only if Daddy Flow had taken Jay's shipment, but if he was also behind the recent funding cut in his department. And maybe even the disaster at the East Complex.
But, why do whatever Daddy Flow had done to the escort? Why knowingly send her to die, then upset himself over it? Was the pimp merely looking for a reason to fight? Of course, the girl had tried to convince him to cooperate with whoever was causing all of these problems. Maybe she was truly intended to be successful.
Further confusing would be the sudden interest in dominance that Daddy Flow would have shown. For years, the pimp was a good companion to all of his clients, and his primary client was a large benefactor of his operation, so why turn to fire and theft? Nor did the Sheriff understand what the girl had said about 'needing intelligent men'. This seemed to be an assault far larger than some pimp's desire for power. Most likely, Ellie was just a small piece in whoever's game was being played. A small piece who'd attempted a big move. And Sheriff Jay had thwarted it.
He gave himself a mental pat on the back for having the fortitude to end the play without hesitation. And tomorrow, he'd strike another blow against his invisible enemy by giving one of its agents a burning, East Complex death.
He fell asleep with glass in hand.
And awoke to the stench of morning corpses. It may have been a mistake to let them dry on the floor, but Sheriff Jay was the Sheriff Jay, after all, and he wasn't likely to be investigated. A gate around his yard kept his neighbors from seeing two problems through his open doorway. It was 0600 hours. He dragged them into his backyard where he burned them in the fire pit, then mopped the blood off of the floor and walls. It didn't take too long. Only thirty minutes work required to seamlessly remove two people from Nevada.
Only a few people showed up to work today. It was Friday, after all, and they still hadn't been paid. Among them were Deputy Thomas, the probably treacherous police-woman, and a few other unimportant people, all equipped with plenty of cards to play and words to shoot the breeze.
One of them was not equipped for the day's task. "Officer." Said the Sheriff to the police-woman. "You have a very important task today. Head to North Complex for your instructions."
"What's my task?" She asked.
"To become the greatest hero in SINPD history. You might save up to 32 people today." 36 units had gone into the complex, but Unit Kara had already confirmed four of them dead. "Tally-ho."
An hour later, the police-woman and her small group of North Complex units, selected from the prestigious Squadron A, (formerly Squadron B), would be heading into the facility. Sheriff Jay wanted to give his officers a show. They needed to see the results of dissidence. He tuned their radios all to the frequency he'd given Unit Kara so that they could listen to the ensuing havoc at East Complex.
Kara's voice connected them all with bell-like clarity. No 'overs' would be needed today. "Okay, officer." She said. "Enter the barracks at the center of the complex. Prepare for hostile forces."
The officer reported that her group had entered the building and was sweeping the first floor.
"Now, descend to Floor B2. Use the stairs. Once you're there, there's a hidden door at the end of the hallway. Take some time to find it."
Two floors and half a hallway's worth of footsteps.
"What is that?" Came a voice through the speakers. "What the hell is that?"
Someone vomited over the radio.
"Bodies." Was the response. It came from a shaken officer.
"These," said a member of North Complex's new Squadron A, "are the bodies of Erik and Alex. I played pingpong with them in the Rec Room."
Everyone was very quiet. "They're dead." Said Kara. "You can go around them."
"How did this happen?" Asked the officer. "Who killed these men?"
"The things we're fighting against." Said Kara automatically, the loyal soldier in her showing its face. "They aren't a who, they're a what. And you all are the only ones who'll stand against them: Good Agency units."
The sound of a body swishing on its noose came through the speakers while the units slid past. Ever the thorough reporter, the officer described the body swinging from the ceiling, the brainless corpse leaning against the wall, and even the lone finger on the ground.
Soon enough, the group had arrived at the hidden door. "Should we open it?" Asked the officer.
Kara was silent for a moment. Splashing water sounded through the radios, then what seemed like a violent struggle. A string of pops. A grunt. A death.
"Yes." Kara said through heavy panting. "But hostile forces are extremely likely. Stay vigilant."
"It's very cold." Remarked some group member when the station heard a door creak open. He was quickly warmed up by a spray of hot bullets.
The police station filled the next minutes with open jaws and tightly clenched fists. Shots and cries echoed from the radios.
"Find the open grate!" Kara yelled.
"Run, run, run, get away from the cells, shit, shit, get in that cell, kill it kill it kill it fuck its got me fuckfuckfuckfuck, we have to get out of he-, fuckfuckfuckfuckfu-, it's right there the grate is right there it's-, fuckfuckfuckfuck..."
The sound from the radio became little more than a babble of voices, only a few words discernible through gunshots and shouts. When a unit died, his radio stayed alive, and everyone on the frequency could hear what was being done to his body. Kara attempted to shut off this function, but didn't succeed until the group had exited the prison. Six radios were shut off, and two units were stuck alive in a cell, so Kara guided them down some other route.
This meant that there were four left alive in the group of the ten that had entered. Six had died in their first brush with battle, likely due to their combat inexperience. The Sheriff held no wonder whether the other four would fall.
Someone in the station vomited into their trash can. Whoever it was was the only one to do so, but everyone else had equally disgusted looks. Everyone but the Sheriff.
Kara guided the group of four together again. "Do you see tire tracks going down the tunnel? Good. Follow them all the way until the crashed truck."
Footsteps, and comments on the sheer number of bodies lying around the tracks. "This is a massacre." Someone said. The group walked only for a few hours, never meeting any of the dead ends that Kara had. The police station was kept engaged by harsh battles of ever increasing frequency. The officer reported that their ammo had run out and that they'd be fighting with only their knives. The officer reported on the incredible strength of their enemies. The officer reported on the death of another group member.
Eventually, the officer reported on seeing the same thing as Kara: The inside of a specific stone cavern. The Sheriff wondered if they'd truly make it out now, if they were moments from blasting through the ceiling of the tunnel and climbing the rubble to a location a few miles from the East Complex. Then he heard a crackle on the radio. He first thought it was radio static, but the longer he listened, it seemed to sound closer to fire.
"Officer Eila reporting to base." Said the deathbound police-woman with a quivering voice. "We are out of ammunition. There are too many of them to fight. This... this will be my last report."
There were no gunshots to be heard.
"Over and out."
The Sheriff turned off his radio, content just to watch the faces of his fellow police force as they witnessed the punishment for treason through agonized radio waves. They all stuck with the sound for the final minutes of their colleague's life, but there were no cheers of encouragement, no smiles. There were only blank stares as a dissident officer turned to a confirmed kill.
Gradually, the radios shut off.
Heads were held in hands, a trance overtook some.
There was too much shock for tears.
"Officer Eila made a valiant effort." Said the Sheriff solemnly. "It's a shame that some of her friends weren't here for her last moments."
This struck a deep pang of remorse into Sheriff Jay's officers, until, "That's bullshit," slipped from Deputy Thomas's mouth.
Sheriff Jay gave him a calculating glance. "Her death?"
"Those creatures are like a virus." Said the deputy. He was still very quiet. "An incurable virus. One that 36 of the best men in the world couldn't fight. They don't 'think', Jay, they aren't the 'enemy'. They're just... a force of nature. They're a certain death. And you knew that."
The deputy was quiet again. Then he stood up straight, knocking back his chair. He made his way to the door and left without a word.
No one reacted to Deputy Thomas's speech. Sheriff Jay could only watch as they processed it, wondering just what level of evil their chief had attained.
As if to grind even deeper the salt that Deputy Thomas had shaken onto the Sheriff's wound, he burst in again through the door, barely containing a righteous fury. "Well, it turns out that I can't leave." Deputy Thomas said through his agitation. Some heat was seeping past the cracks of his quiet tone. "All four of my tires are slashed."
At this, the deputy stalked back over to his desk, kicking his chair out of the way and slapping his hand down on a piece of paper. "Is it because of this, Jay?" He asked, brandishing it like a weapon. "Is it because we've been fucking with you a little bit? Fine, then, if it gets my goddamn tires slashed by a goddamn child of a sheriff, take the goddamn thing! You'll never see another one like it, Sheriff fucking Jay!" He crumpled the photo and threw it at the Sheriff's feet. "Because I'm done here. I quit."
Sheriff Jay had a feeling that this wasn't a two weeks notice.
"Can anybody with intact tires give me a ride home?" The deputy asked with venom. He was immediately offered aid by everyone in the office. In turn, each of them left, every one giving Sheriff Jay a loathing look.
Sheriff Jay was alone again. He bent over and picked up the piece of paper from the floor. It was a picture, crumpled now, of the Sheriff entering a hotel room with a prostitute. It was an unexpected photo, seemingly taken from a security camera of the hotel Sheriff Jay had so often visited. In retrospect, thought the Sheriff, assuming that Officer Eila had broken funding was a far conclusion to jump to. He went to Deputy Thomas's files and searched until he found the one he was looking for.
The NA-667 was a form of necessary submission once a month for all SIN government services. Without it, the results could be drastic for certain branches of government. Knowing this as a simple, basic fact, Sheriff Jay had sent in the form about two weeks ago. Yet, here it was, laying in Deputy Thomas's first drawer.
Then the Sheriff remembered. Just like Ellie, Deputy Thomas had tried to convince him to deal with the ones who'd attacked East Complex. The Sheriff could tell that Tommygun was the only one involved in his own tires being slashed. And now Sheriff Jay had lost his police force and his most valuable Agency assets.
His plots had failed, his schemes had fallen through. The Sheriff was left with nothing but enemies on every front. His only ally was The Agency, but The Agency was in the process of being violently castrated. Maybe he could save it. Maybe he could help it before it was destroyed, use it to regain some semblance of power.
He returned home with this on his mind. Even with all the enemies around him, at least he still got to live in luxury. He imagined the drinks he would pour, the movies he could relax to when he got back.
He entered his house. He found his luxury gone, his bottles smashed, and his television cracked. Everything breakable was broken, and even unbreakable things like the floor were bashed with hammers and shot to splinters. A text came to his phone. Just Daddy Flow asking if the Sheriff was enjoying his renovations.
He took a trip to Base Complex, praying to any god that would listen that it wouldn't be sending black smoke into the sky. It wasn't, so he used his ID to pass the steep gates and enter the front building, Base Headquarters and Communications. He was an honored guest at The Agency, so there was no need to set up an appointment. But the CEO of The Agency was nowhere to be found. Nor were the Base Complex Director, Task Director, or anyone else that the Sheriff needed. He found this while asking the secretary for a meeting, and realized that although the Complex was not burning, it had been crippled in far more subtle ways. The soldiers of North Complex still remained, though. Not nearly all of the new Squadron A had been sent to East Complex with the probably-not-dissident officer, so plenty of firepower was left at the Sheriff's disposal. But when the Sheriff asked about this, he was given some very poor news.
"I've been told that our remaining units are being held carefully in reserves until they've undergone further training. We're operating at a deficit of units as it is. We can't afford to send any more on threatening missions at the moment, at least not until we've rebuilt our militia. I'm very sorry Sheriff Jay." She said with a look of earnest regret.
The Sheriff was running low on options. "I need these troops very badly." He said. "For self defense. Not very many of them, even. But my life is in danger. Please, tell me. Is there anything I can do?"
The secretary sighed. "I was told... strange events have taken place, Sheriff Jay, I'm sure you're very aware of that. Little as we'd like to show it, the Agency has fallen on hard times. Half our board of directors is... just gone, in the sense that we can't even find them. But the owner of the Agency does have a deal he might cut you."
"What is it?" The Sheriff demanded.
"The Agency has lost most of its structure. Shareholders are vanishing from thin air, and more than anything else right now, what we need is intelligent men. The owner told me that whoever can lend support to The Agency will have access to its full resources, and he's said that unlikely as it was for you to join, you'd be his favorite candidate to control what's left of The Agency. He'd leave all major decisions up to your discretion - he truly believes in your ability to repair our system. And, I assume that in your situation you might be more open to the idea."
This required little thought on the part of Sheriff Jay. The resources of this organization were being handed to him on a silver platter, and all he had to do was assume control. "If I were to accept, what responsibilities would I have?" He asked.
"You'd be required to follow any instructions that the owner gives you, but I'm told that this would be minimal. This might include sending your troops after certain hostiles or devoting funding to certain areas. Again, he trusts you to take care of things." She said. The Sheriff could tell that The Agency's owner hadn't thought Sheriff Jay would truly hear this offer. But the event had aligned in perfect position to save the Sheriff.
"I accept." He said without hesitation. "Let the owner give me any order he wants. I'm beyond happy to trade the police station for The Agency itself."
The secretary smiled. "We're beyond happy to have you."
"The only other thing is that my home is no longer livable. Can The Agency provide accommodations for me?" He asked.
The secretary stood. "All three of our Complex Directors are gone. You can house yourself in any one of their B1 floors... well, except East Complex, for obvious reasons. In fact, the B1 room here would be ready to house you immediately."
Sheriff Jay breathed in the air of a new start. He accepted, and let the pretty secretary lead him to his luxurious floor. He wasn't sure exactly what Agency position he'd accepted, only that he was in control. He decided to retain the title 'Sheriff', as he'd grown fond of it in his years of policing SIN.
"Say, I never learned the name of The Agency's owner." He told the secretary.
"He's a bit enigmatic. Your stereotypical eccentric millionaire." She joked. "We just call him Mr. A."