My first reaction to the gun was an intense rush of fear, but I stayed glued to the spot. Counsellors are trained from day one to not react during dangerous or potentially life-threatening situations. It’s important not to startle the client, after all.

“Mateo, put the weapon down.”

Despite the serene tone of my voice, my heart was thumping inside my chest and adrenaline was surging through my limbs. I could control my outside as much as I wanted to, but my lizard brain was still going to scream at me to fight or run. It was human nature.

I felt the gun’s barrel wobble against my side. Mateo’s hand was shaking. I wondered if he’d ever killed a person who wasn’t a client. I wondered if he’d actually ever killed a client.

“I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

That was a lie. I had no idea if the protector was going to shoot me.

Mateo swore and pushed the gun harder against me. I could feel the bruise beginning to form under my inner suit.

I heard a beeping coming over my headpiece. Mateo must have been receiving it too. I thought he was going to tell me to ignore it, but he nodded his head at me.

We both accepted the incoming message.

“Calling all units, return back to headquarters for an impromptu meeting immediately. Attendance is mandatory. If you are currently engaging a client, please return once the matter has been attended to for a recording of the meeting.”

I felt the weight of the gun being removed. Mateo said nothing as he returned to his automaton. I was speechless. He wasn’t even going to threaten me to stay quiet about what had just transpired.

Still shaking, I returned to my exoskeleton and began the flight back to headquarters. Have you ever nearly been in a traffic accident before? That heart stopping feeling of having been inches away from getting t-boned by a truck. Then, after the blaring horns and shouting voices, you start the drive home and it all just feels like a blur. That’s how I felt as I flew back to the landing bay of the Department of Psychological Defence. No, it was how I felt even as I made the journey to the DOPD’s auditorium by the monorail.

Without giving it much though, I plopped down in one of the many seats in the u-shaped amphitheatre. I could hear the whispers of other people around me, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Most of them were high-ranking ground admin, I imagine. Scientists, logisticians, psychologists and anyone else vital in keeping the DOPD afloat. Only a small percentage of the people gathered here were task force personnel like me.

Eventually, an older woman in a lab coat walked on stage and the crowd grew silent.

Behind Dr. Pradhan sat a tired looking Dr. Bourne wearing a grim expression on his face. Sitting beside my mentor was a man in his early 60’s wearing a full suit and tie. His red hair had dulled with age and he had a thick greying goatee that encircled his lips and pointed off his chin.

“Colleagues, thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to meet with us today.”

Dr. Pradhan glanced around the room; her red lips pulled into a tighter frown than usual.

“To explain the current situation, I would like to introduce Sir. Issac Larmore to the stage.”

The older man stood up and stiffly made his way to the podium. He gazed forward with emerald green eyes before speaking.

“As I’m sure you are aware, there has been a great number of attacks against clients over the past several months.”

My stomach twisted into knots as the director of the DOPD spoke. All I could think about was Mateo and that dead client on the news.

“As members of a government department that strives for confidentiality and integrity, I ask that what I am about to tell you does not leave this theatre.”

I saw him glaring knowingly at someone in the stands. Was he looking at Mateo?

“You, with your optical interface on.”

I heard an audible gasp from a few rows above me. The look in Sir Larmore’s eyes made me too anxious to crane my neck. The director’s eyes narrowed with contempt.

“What’s your name?”

“S-Sails. Morrigan Sails.”

The owner of the voice sounded as though they were struggling to fight back tears. The director continued to speak, his tone unwavering.

“Well then Morrigan Sails, go back to your desk and start packing. If you’re not out of my department by the time this meeting is over, you’ll never find employment in Ardour again.”

I heard quick footsteps going up the stairs and the sound of the heavy doors swinging open and shut.

“Anyone else?”

Nobody dared to utter a sound.

“Good. Now, as I was saying before I was impolitely interrupted…”

He pressed a button on the small remote he’d taken out of his pocket. Behind him, several photos appeared on the screen at the back of the theatre.

“These are eight clients who we contained from October of last year right up until two weeks ago. Different ages, different catalysts, different temperaments. All of them have gone missing over the past week.”

There was a filthy old woman with sorrow-filled eyes; an unkempt teenaged boy with cuts on his face and an air of brooding hate; and a man in a business suit with tears dripping down his red cheeks.

The director proceeded to give information on each client, but all I could focus on was the photo on the bottom right. A girl with bright eyes, a confused expression, and a pink bow in her hair. I can still remember brushing the fluff out of the child’s lock.

It was Chloe.