It took Henry about ten minutes to jog to his workplace, his mind racing along with him. Memories of the night Ashley died kept repeating, but three refused to leave him. One was of Rowan, sobbing as he held his blanket in a small bundle, everything covered in blood. The second was of Rowan in the maternity ward, watching over Chicory, newly brought into the world. His eyes were unblinking, wide with shock. The third was of Lily, furious and in tears, telling him that he was the one supposed to be dead. It had been almost five years since then. A wave of guilt swelled in Henry’s chest. When Henry finally snapped back to reality, he realized he was tightly gripping the door to his work. The building had been what was called a “Strip Mall,” but Gerald had the individual spaces combined into a single office for a bounty hunting outfit named STREET SWEEPER, INC. 

In Mirage, after the syndicates had carved it up and the Ultras set up shop, they eviscerated whatever law enforcement remained after they settled their war. Most of the good officers ended up getting recruited by both groups, leaving the civilian police force neutered. In addition, the syndicates brought in criminals and the Ultras attracted them too, stretching a thin police force even thinner. Sometimes the syndicates and the Ultras would aid the police, but only when it’d be in their benefit to do so. When he was a little kid, Henry thought he’d end up a syndicate enforcer like his dad, but a new line of work popped up. 

With police overwhelmed, plus the Ultras and syndicates doing nothing to help the residents of Mirage, people started sending out mass messages asking for help when they were the victim of a crime. Many of these requests offered favors or rewards to whoever fulfilled the requests. Since people were becoming desperate for resources, this led to a wave of vigilantes taking to the streets, and almost anyone could have a request put on them. Henry remembered a time his dad had been ambushed by two kids trying to fulfill a request on him. He never talked about what he did to the kids.

After a while, this started causing a lot of pandemonium, and the syndicates grew concerned that this would disrupt the balance of power amongst themselves and the Ultras. To keep the situation under control, the syndicates strong-armed the police to put a system in place, which became the Bounty Request System. Anyone could still make a request, but it had to go through the police and be verified before getting posted as a bounty. Although there were a wide variety of bounties, only licensed bounty hunters could pursue capture/kill ones. 

The licensing process wasn’t difficult, after all, Henry was able to get his before he turned 17, but if you didn’t follow the bounty hunter’s code of operation, you could end up in trouble. You could also get into a lot of trouble if you went after the wrong person. Legends started forming around stories of unmatched hunters and criminals who killed every hunter that went after them. In his youth, Henry had wanted to be one of the legends, but now, he worked for the fourth highest-rated outfit in the neutral district. Currently, he looked like either an idiot or a weirdo as he just stood there, holding onto a locked door.

With a sigh, Henry had the cerebral assistant use his access key to open the door, but it was rejected. He tried again. Rejected.

Unmute “BOSS.” 

There were no new messages.

ME : I’m here. Keys not working.

BOSS: I’m restricting your access.

ME: Am I in timeout?

BOSS: I’m debating if I’m going to fire you.

Henry rolled his eyes and scoffed.

ME: Okay, now you’re the one wasting time.

BOSS: Don’t get smart with me. I have every right to fire you.

ME: Yeah, sure, but you won’t.

BOSS: YOU THINK YOU CAN SAY THAT TO ME AND FACE NO REPERCUSSIONS!?

Henry sighed again.

ME: Gerald, this is going to be an easier conversation to have face-to-face. Please let me in.

There was a pause as Henry noticed the “message being typed” indicator in his vision appeared then disappeared multiple times. Suddenly he heard the front door unlock.

BOSS: Straight to my office. 

Henry swung open the heavy metal door and headed inside. The inside of the building was composed of painted concrete blocks, old linoleum tile floors, and old ceiling panels. Despite not being dirty, the place felt dusty. Smelled it too. A “Tabby” feloid manned the reception desk, completely deadpan as he stared at the computer screen in front of him. Henry walked by without the two speaking to each other and passed through a set of double doors. Henry came into a massive hallway with various desks and tables that were filled with Henry’s coworkers. Some were researching bounties, others were eating, and some were taking a nap. Henry had a few people wave or call out to him, and he waved back, but he didn’t stop to chat. Turning to his left, going past a conference room and a handicap bathroom, Henry arrived at Gerald’s office. With a few knocks, Henry heard the door unlock and he let himself in. The inside of Gerald’s office was reminiscent of a very old style of police office. Faux-wood trim and decoration covered all the walls and the floor was a greenish mustard-colored carpet. Although Gerald’s faux-wood desk wasn’t massive, its shape caused it to take up most of the floor area. Sitting behind the desk was a very annoyed-looking “Polar” ursoid. It was Gerald.

Gerald had had a very rough life growing up, and his body showed it. Henry didn’t know the exact details, but Gerald had gotten caught in the blast of a car bomb when he was a child. It had taken most of his lower body, right arm and lower jaw. He would have died if his family hadn’t managed to procure some artificial organs, back before the people of Mirage called them “Grafts.” Unfortunately, the ones they were able to get a hold of were lower quality and Gerald had never been in a financial position as an adult to be able to get the less robotic models. Instead of having a proper jaw, he had this conical structure that wrapped around his neck and face, preventing him from being able to turn his head. Henry could hear his wheezy breath through the device’s microphone. Half of his forearm and hand was exposed machinery. As for his lower body, it was basically a motorized wheelchair that held various medical devices to help in his day-to-day life. The man was probably twenty years Henry’s senior, and he looked older with all his bare, sagging skin.

Henry quietly entered the room, closed the door behind him, and sat in the chair closest to Gerald’s desk. He noticed the IV needle in Gerald’s arm. Most likely immune suppressant. The sound of Gerald’s breathing filled the room as they stared at each other. Henry decided to make the first move.

“Gerald, I’m sorry I lost my temper this morning.” Henry paused in case Gerald had a response. There was a slight delay with his microphone, but it seemed that Gerald had nothing to say yet. “I would be pissed off too if someone told me that, but sometimes, you piss me off something fierce too.” Gerald glared at Henry and his breathing quicken, but still, nothing was said. “I worked my ass off for you, Gerald, because when I came looking for a job, I knew I was a gamble hire for you and that put a lot on me to prove I’d be worth it. I have put up with a lot of bullshit while I’ve been here because I didn’t want to lose that chance. I thought by this point, I had earned enough trust that I could take my kids to school for fuckin’ once and it not be a problem. Was I wrong?”

Henry waited while Gerald tapped his metal fingers against the desk, then, with a click, Gerald’s microphone crackled to life.

“WHO.IS.THE.BOSS?” Even when Gerald wasn’t yelling, the microphone was loud and imposing. Henry leaned forward, eyes locked with Gerald.

“You.”

“WHO. DE. CIDES. THE. SCHED. U. LE?”

“You.”

“WHY. DID. YOU. NOT .TELL. ME. YOU. WOULD. BE. IN. LATE?”

“I figured as long as my patrol had their orders, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“BUT. IT. WAS. FOR. ME.” Gerald closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his unmodified hand, the IV tubing swaying as he moved his arm. “HEN. RY. IF. I. KNEW. YOU. WOULD. BE. LATE. I. COULD. HAVE. WOR. KED. A. ROUND. IT.” Henry rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Alright, yes, fine. I should’ve told you. Fine. But hounding my team about me and then they turn around and start hounding me isn’t going to get me here quicker.” Gerald opened his eyes.

“I. ON. LY. DID. THAT. BE. CAUSE. YOU. BLOC. KED. ME.” Gerald let out a robotic sigh. “HEN. RY. WHEN. I. HI. RED. YOU. YOU. SE. EEMED. LIKE. YOU. WAN. TED. TO. CHANGE. BUT. DO. ING. STUFF. LIKE. THIS. RE. MINDS. ME. OF. THE. OLD. YOU. AND. I. DON’T. WANT. THE. OLD. YOU.” The two men stared at each other. Henry leaned back in his seat. 

“I just want to be a good dad to the kids, Gerald.”

“AND. I. RE. SPECT. THAT. BUT. I. AL. SO. WANT. YOU. TO. RE. SPECT. ME. AND. THE. WORK. I. AM. DO. ING. HERE.” Gerald leaned forward, the metal of his hand scraping against the desk as it supported his weight. “DO. YOU. WANT. TO. KEEP. WOR. KING. HERE. HEN. RY?”

“...”

“...”

“...Yes.”

“THEN. TWO. CON. DI. TIONS. ONE. IF. YOU. ARE. GO. ING. TO. BE. LATE. A. GAIN. TELL. ME. WHEN. YOU. LEARN. AND. TWO. IF. YOU. DON’T. AND. I. ASK. YOU. TO. DO. SOME. THING. I. WANT. YOU. TO. DO. IT. A. SAP. FAIL. TO. DO. SO. AND. WE. WILL. HAVE. A. NOTH. ER. TALK. LIKE. THIS. CLEAR?” Henry felt like he was being scolded by his old principal. 

Guess it was better that than when dad scolded me.

“Understood.”

“GOOD. NOW. A. BOUT. THE. NEW. RE. CRUIT.” Gerald picked up a tablet and began navigating through files and applications.

“I’m not sure I want a new recruit. Reggie, Boris and Sasha are fine, but Aimee, Luke and Diego are a handful.”

“WHAT. DO. YOU. MEAN?. DI. EGO. LEFT. YOUR. PA. TROL.” Henry was stunned.

“What!?” Gerald looked up from his tablet. He seemed surprised. “Since when!?”

“SINCE. THREE. DAYS. A. GO. HE. DID. N’T. TELL. YOU?” Henry shook his head.

“Did he join another patrol?”

“NO. HE. SAID. HE. WAS. JOIN. ING. A. BLOCK. BUS. TER.” Henry was dumbstruck.

“I don’t fuckin’ believe that kid.” Gerald let out a noise. To people not familiar with him, they might assume it was a cough or wheeze, but Henry knew that was a laugh. “What?”

“YOU. DO. SOUND. LIKE. A. DAD.” Gerald laughed again before setting the tablet down and pushing it toward Henry. “WELL. HERE’S. A. NEW. KID. FOR. YOU. TO. WORRY. A. BOUT.”

Henry slid the tablet closer and his eyes fell upon the new recruit’s application form. Their name was Mercy Kariuki. A female feloid, age 26. Henry scrolled to the section with their ID photo. She was a “Cheetah” and was quite attractive. Although she had a massive scar that seemed to wrap around the right side of her face, her appearance and the bundle of dreadlocks sitting between her ears made her seem more fit for model work than bounty hunting. Henry went back to her credentials. She only had gotten her license a few days ago, which meant that, at most, she applied for the license about two weeks ago. Her work history was bizarrely empty with the only entry being “Civilian Armed Corps - Montreal Anti-Corpo Riots.” That gave Henry some pause.

“Wait…wouldn’t she have been…”

“NO. TICED. THAT. TOO?” Henry looked up to Gerald. “YES. SHE. WOULD. HAVE. BEEN. NINE. FOUR. TEEN. BY. THE. TIME. IT. END. ED.” The wheels in Henry’s head began turning.

“So either she’s a child soldier or full of shit.” Gerald nodded in agreement. “You give her a firearms test?”

“OF. COURSE.” Gerald swiped a finger across the tablet and it displayed a recreation of the digital target. “DID. IT. WITH. THE. STAN. DARD. PISTOL. FIF. TEEN. ROUNDS.” Henry looked down and was shocked. The targets were rectangular images that had a humanoid figure projected somewhere on it. Of the fifteen rounds fired, eight hit the target, and only three of those actually hit the humanoid. None of them hit vital areas. 

“Well, if this is what the CAC had going for them, not surprised they lost that fight.” A thought clicked in Henry’s mind and he looked up at Gerald.

“WON. DER. ING. WHY. I. HI. RED. HER. IF. SHE. IS. THIS. BAD?” Henry nodded a few times. “SHE. ASK. ED. TO. DO. A. NO. THER. TEST.” 

“Same weapon?” Henry wondered if she had needed to recalibrate her grafts, but Gerald shook his head.

“SHE. WAN. TED. A. DIF. FER. ENT. WEA. PON. A. AN. TI. MA. TER. IAL. RI. FLE.” Henry stared blankly at Gerald for a few moments before looking back at the tablet. Tapping the icon for the next target, this digital target only showed one spot where it had been hit: dead center of the head.

“How many shots did she fire?”

“EIGHT. AND. THEY. ALL. CON. NEC. TED.” Henry scanned the target for any other hits but he didn’t see anything anywhere else. It took a few moments to click with Henry what he was looking at.

“This screams whisperer.” Whisperers were a recent breed of hackers that could work with Europian quantcode that formed the backbone of modern Earth technology. Despite having such an impressive skill for working at modern tech companies, many had side jobs as spies or hitmen. They were highly sought after individuals for criminal activity due to their skills in infiltration, graft modification and cyber warfare. Some whisperers ran solo or teamed up to make small squads, but they were primarily used for stealing and sabotage. The main thing that unites whisperers was that they always practiced a ritualistic approach when it came to their work. Some folks thought they had actual magical abilities, while others, like Henry, thought it was just for show. “You check the test terminal for interference?”

“YES. BUT. I. FOUND. NOTH. ING. WON. DER. ED. IF. MAYBE. HER. GRAFTS. DID. SOME. THING.” Henry went back to the application and checked the grafts she listed. All he saw was the limbs, a cerebral assistant, an artificial eye, and to Henry’s absolute confusion, a secondary heart, but nothing to specify make, model or function.

“Without knowing what specific kind of grafts she has, it’s hard to say for certain.” Henry looked up to Gerald, who had an expression indicating he’d like Henry to elaborate. “Alright, so, let’s say she came into these tests with grafts that specialize in using high powered rifles, and nothing else except that type of weapon works while it’s active. That could explain the poor pistol test, but it seems like a bad idea to not request the rifle test from the start so you didn’t have a test that makes you look bad.” Henry swiped back to the target recreations. “The other thing is most grafts that can be calibrated for firearms adjust based on the weapon being used, so she’d have to deliberately mess with her own graft to lose functionality but make it more specialized. Just seems like a really bad idea.”

“I. KNOW. A. FEW. PEOP. LE. THAT. IN. DUL. GE. IN. BAD. I. DEAS.” Henry couldn’t help but smirk.

“Did you do any other tests?”