2038

2017 | English | Novellette | Full

(*) Image by Max Pixel, licensed under CC0 Public Domain.

Details

• Year: 2017
• Language: English
• Word count: 13K
• Type: Short story

Text

“Agent Pieroni?”, a voice said.

Martha didn’t hear it, she was lost in her own thoughts: Two, zero, three, eight. 2038, the year civilization was on the brink of self-destruction. Also, her personal locker code. Why was she thinking about that right now? Maybe she was a fatalist after all, as the psychological evaluations often pointed out. Widespread institutionalized corruption was openly accepted then. It damaged the trust of the people in the system, its representatives and even the need of a system itself, and with a fierceness the world had never seen. Those must have been tough times for sure, she thought.

“Agent?”, the voice insisted, slightly increasing in tension and volume.

Two. Zero. Three. Eight. It was also the year MAIA laboratories came up with the chip, wasn’t it? Of course it was, every student at early school learned the date by heart. A lie suppression neurological device, technically named LS-13, everybody called it just “the chip”. Governments didn’t give it much thought before making it mandatory, having billions branded. A well-intended idea, no doubt, backed by massive marketing campaigns organized by no other than the company itself.

Twenty thirty-eight. The date politicians were easily blinded by carefully selected data showing optimistic long-term projections: crime rate, corruption, social frictions… all of them would almost completely disappear after the initial adoption phase, they said. Those people firmly believed a new social equilibrium was at hand, didn’t they? Well, why not? They couldn’t know better then. Maybe she should change the locker code after all.

“Pieroni!”, the same voice shouted. “For Christ’s sake, did you hear anything I just said?” There was an uneven mix of desperation and anger in it.

Martha turned her head slightly, making eye contact with the man. Burly, early thirties, in STD uniform. He looked slightly anxious today.

“Yes, Captain. Bureaucrats, the Zoco.”, she replied as if nothing was out of the ordinary. But she knew it was no ordinary mission. There was something wrong about it, she could feel it somehow. “Exactly. You are to escort a bunch of government officials and reporters during a raid in the Zoco.”, repeated Captain Hogan with visible relief.

STD. The Social Truth Department, a special military unit made of highly-trained, unique individuals ready to get their hands dirty for the sake of society. My unit. What was I thinking? she pondered. Martha didn’t feel special, if anything she had just showed a “natural aptitude to detect lies”, as they said, but then only in the simulators.

Society does not like us very much, anyway. And what are we supposed to protect it from? The misfits living in the outskirts of our cities, the descendants of those who refused to have the chip implanted in the back of their skull? she wondered. The unspeakable, the liars. All you need is one of them to corrupt a harmonious society of gullible, trustworthy people like ours. As they often repeated in training, she quoted almost word by word: They are like a pest, their lies a dangerous disease ready to infect and destroy the current social order.

“…the convoy will then follow this route, and as the STD representative…”, the voice of Captain Hogan, explaining the details of the mission, was like the background noise of a crowded cafe.

STD. They really should have picked a better name. What were they thinking? She smiled to herself. In their defense, we’re not exactly a marketing department, are we? As a special operations branch, we worry about important matters. At least most of the time. But not today.

“Any questions?”, Captain Hogan asked.

He was giving her the assignment nobody wanted. Zoco, the place in town where punks gather to carry out their petty deeds. A massive abandoned rat hole equally miserable and dangerous. The kind of place decent people tend to avoid. She didn’t want to set foot there either.

“Why me?”, she calmly protested.

“You’re the prettiest face in the bunch.”, the captain replied without breaking a sweat. It was the truth, of course, he couldn’t lie. Captain Hogan, like everybody else, was chipped. Or rather, he wouldn’t endure the pain of lying, not for this. “And you know how these people of the press are, they really like a pretty face… even in the obituaries.” That was the man’s attempt at a joke. He was clearly no comedian.

“If you want cuteness why not send the K-9 unit?”, she replied, but Captain Hogan didn’t go with it. “Police usually hands these things well, captain, it’s a no-go zone for us. Why is it they want us there now?”. Maybe she could still talk her way of this one.

“You didn’t join to ask questions, did you? It’s an order, Pieroni, don’t make me repeat myself. Besides, we follow the truth wherever it leads!”

He was dismissing her, repeating the motto of the department in a sarcastic way. A young promising leader, respected and loved by his people, the captain seemed to be fed up with too much honest bureaucracy.

So Captain Hogan wanted her digging ditches and sharing some chow with the troops. The whole operation looked like a media circus, and nothing good ever comes out of those, but she decided to swallow her pride and comply. The sooner it ended, the better.

“Yes, sir. That we do, sir.”, she acknowledged before leaving.

The raid was a stunt, Martha soon discovered. As an STD agent, she had access to more information that regular cops and, one could only hope, the media. She had checked the recent activity logs on her portable terminal while going to the armory to fetch her gun. There was no sign of anything special going on in the Zoco, much less something needing the help of the department. So, her hunch was misplaced, the upper-ups just wanted to be on the news and show off a bit every now and then. She was but a prop in a set, easy job. She closed her locker, turned the knob of the mechanical lock and grinned slightly remembering her previous dark thoughts. No need to change the code for now.

Not long after she was inside a police armored vehicle, clad in full combat attire, enjoying the ride and feeling awkwardly out of place among the reporters and camera operatives. They seemed to be equally excited and worried inside the “tip of the spear”, as the press used to call the Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected (MRAP) truck. She felt like a teacher watching over the kids at a school bus. The drivers seemed to share her feeling.

The expression on the journalists’ faces stiffened as the convoy got closer to the Zoco. Mile by mile the conversation dropped in intensity until there was only silence. A welcome change, she thought. For a few minutes only the hum of the engines could be heard, the occasional bump on the road disrupting the peace.

Then, something brutally hit them from below. It was no ordinary explosion, the truck was lifted like its fifteen tons meant nothing, the little of the outside world that the tiny windows allowed to see quickly turning upside down, while those journalists who had refused to use the seat belts flew around like rag dolls. The landing, quick and violent, put a stop to the chaos.

No home-made bomb would do that to an MRAP, Martha thought, it had to be a military grade anti-tank mine. Or worse.

An awful ringing in her head, all she could hear was a muffled mix of radio messages, cries, and gunfire. Blood was all over the inside of the truck, and just a glimpse of the bodies nearby told her they already had a few dead civilians. Not good. She wasn’t wounded, or at least she didn’t feel any pain. Her combat armor must had protected her from the initial shockwave.

She unfastened the seat belt straps and sharply fell upwards to line up with gravity. Her balance recovered, Martha quickly checked herself for wounds and was relieved to confirm she was largely unharmed. Stumbling like a drunk, she kicked the truck’s back doors and exited the giant metal coffin.

Outside, things were worse. Hell had broken loose on the Zoco, turning it into something like a war zone. Bullets were flying in all directions, explosions could be heard nearby and bodies lied on the ground. Police, government people and journalists alike were covering behind the trucks, the officers shooting back randomly at the abandoned buildings nearby where the fire seemed to come from.

Martha ducked and went for the relative safety of the nearest structure. In the way, she could see two vehicles already in flames, the rest of the convoy not in much better shape. Once she reached the wall, she lied against it, tried to get her breath back, but the dizziness made her throw up instead. Relieved, she breathed heavily a few times.

What a clusterfuck, she thought.

Not too far from her position, a cop was vigorously calling for reinforcements on the radio while covering a cameraman with her body. It was clear the intelligence reports had been completely wrong, these were not ordinary Zoco punks. They had been ambushed by a well-prepared paramilitary force. Who were they she had no idea, but there would be time to find out later. That is, if she made it out alive.

Out of solidarity, or maybe desperation, Martha drew her sidearm and fired a couple of pot shots at the same window the female cop was pointing to. Useless, as expected, but it made her feel back in control, and that was a good thing.

The cop was now shouting at her radio something about a nearby sniper that was doing real damage when her head was blown up by a bullet, fragments of bone and brain flying all around. The press guy lost it, producing an unearthly sound and falling into a fetal position, his eyes looking at infinity.

Something snapped inside Martha’s head in that moment. Enough is enough, she thought. As an STD agent, she knew she should get control of the situation, coordinate with the police officers to get the civilians into the buildings, bring them to safety and wait for reinforcements, but for some reason she couldn’t do it.

Instead, she rushed into the nearest structure, gun in hand, ready to shoot first and ask later, like an action hero of some 80s Hollywood movie. What am I doing? she wondered. I have no idea what we are up against, this is a rookie mistake.

The adrenaline pumping, she quickly climbed several floors of stairs, going directly for the roof where the presumed sniper would be located, or at least easier to spot. She stopped just before the exit door, panting, ready to storm the place. Three seconds later she kicked the door, rushing into an empty roof.

Disappointment quickly took over and she suddenly felt very tired. Relaxing her stance, she sighted.

“Why so sad?”, a man’s voice asked from behind.

Martha quickly turned, rising her gun.

“Hold it there, honey!”, a second man shouted, pointing a combat shotgun at her face. Three heavily armed, rugged men were coming up from the same stairs she had used before. T-shirts, beards, sunglasses. Ex-military? Contractors? She couldn’t say, but it was clear she had messed up, missed them on her way up.

“We’ll take this, officer.”, the third man said while expertly disarming her.

“Look, reinforcements are…”, she started to say, but a sudden, intense pain in the back of her head knocked her to the ground. She had been hit from behind by a fourth, sneaky bastard. Everything began to turn black and she felt her strength leave her body.

“What we do with the lady, Billy?”, she heard from far away, the pumping of her heart painfully echoing in her head.

“Hell if I know, go ask McFarland.”

The press did not take kindly the killing of their own. Despite being mostly a police operation, the next few days were a relentless attack on the department, overstating the presence of STD agents and their responsibility.

As for Martha, her wounded pride hurt more than her head. The last thing she wanted was to be lectured on her first day back after medical leave.

“You just handled me a PR nightmare, Pieroni, and it’s not even my birthday! What were you thinking?” The captain asked as if Martha was paying attention, but her thoughts were far from that office, reenacting the raid in her head over and over, looking for answers that were not there. “You’re a highly trained STD agent, for crying out loud! What in the world could explain going rogue like that?”

“The Zoco is a volatile place, sir, turned out to be that day.”, Martha replied without thinking.

“Volatile, my ass!!”. Captain Hogan was really pissed, his usually pale face turning slightly red with anger. He was about to continue, but in the last moment he overcame his own frustration. As a good leader, he showed restraint. There was no point blaming Pieroni alone. “I knew you weren’t ready for field work, it is my fault too. Anyway, it’s a huge embarrassment. The press in not happy, the citizens are not happy, the mayor is not happy, and nobody’s laughing upstairs either…”

“I’ll resign if that’s what they want!”, she angrily interrupted, again, without thinking.

“After this mess, I’d take it without hesitation, but you’re off the hook. Your head is too small for the guillotine, if you know what I mean. Right now, public opinion is like a hungry beast, and it demands more than a low-grade agent to be satisfied.”

Something in the way he said it made Martha suddenly realize Captain Hogan was going to be the one taking the blame. Not fair, she thought, it was bad intel.

“We need to investigate this new player, captain, McFarland.”, she changed the topic. “Now it’s not the time to pay attention to bureaucrats throwing stupid decisions at us.”

“Too late, Pieroni.”, he said. “At least for me. They think those maroons weren’t worth the mess. And, obviously, that I’m not up to the task.” Then, he got up and seemed to go for the door, but stopped to stare at the window for a second.

Cimarron. The old Spanish word for feral animals that were once domesticated. Now, common slang for those who had willingly gone back from civilization to barbarism. Without a sanctioned medical procedure to extract the chip –-something inconceivable at the time– those who had survived the painful removal of the device by their own means immediately became outlaws, easily recognizable by the nasty scars left on the back of the neck.

They are like a pest, their lies a dangerous disease ready to infect and destroy the current social order. Martha remembered the words by heart. How could their arrest be considered worthless?

“Those were no common ‘roons, sir, but a goddamn private army!”, she protested. But the captain did not react, as if it was his turn to not listen to her, so she insisted. “It was a well-set ambush. This McFarland guy was ready for us!”

Captain Hogan didn’t care anymore. He left the room without even looking back.

The new captain didn’t care, either. A pen pusher called Schiff, a man of a small frame and smaller ambitions, he didn’t want anybody working on anything remotely related to the incident. On his first day speech, he made clear that his goal was “to focus on repairing this department’s good reputation in a time of great need”. He is a political appointee after all, so there’s really no reason to be surprised, Martha thought.

“Pieroni, you may want to check this.” It was Hori, taking her out of her boredom-induced daydreaming. She hadn’t been assigned a new case for days, perhaps captain Schiff’s –-or Sniffy, as they called him on his back– way of punishing her.

“What is it, Masa? If it’s another video of a cat licking lemon I’m not interested.” Martha replied harshly. She had been obsessing about McFarland ever since the raid and was rarely in a good mood.

“Not this time, I promise. It’s serious stuff.” There was tension in Hori’s voice.

He handed her a folder, a police report by the looks of it. Martha quickly glanced over the first pages.

“A female victim, in her 30s, body dumped like garbage in a back-alley.” There were not so many murders nowadays, but they were still considered a common occurrence. After all, few people outside of a police interrogation booth get asked if they have killed someone recently. “Why am I looking at this?”

“Keep reading.” Hori answered.

“A bullet at the base of the skull… a cimarron’s favorite spot.” It was a statement in itself, the place where the chip is located. As if saying: We don’t care about your arbitrary rules or your oppressive tools, we can overcome them. We have ways.

“Exactly.” Hori interrupted her train of thought. “And it’s not the only one.” He seemed to be unable to contain his excitement. “There’s been five more murders this past couple of weeks, if you combine all the city sectors, and all of them have the same signature. We are still waiting for ballistics, but I know a guy there, we play this online game together and well, he tells me all of them come from the same gun.”

“A serial killer?” Martha was genuinely surprised.

“Yes!” Hiro’s shouted. “Well, probably. Isn’t it exciting? I can’t even remember the last time the department had one!”

“Me neither.” was Martha’s only answer.

The next day things got worse: a new body had been found, this time a police officer. Same bullet at the base of the skull. Everyone seemed agitated, and she was quickly rushed into the side by Hiro the moment she saw her.

“What is going on?” she asked.

“It’s you, Pieroni!” Hiro answered. “Well, your gun. Wasn’t it taken at the Zoco?”

“Eh? Yes, but…” Martha didn’t know how to react.

“Agent Pieroni! Could we talk in my office, please?” a new voice inquired across the room. It was Captain Schiff’s.

“Yes, sir.” Martha replied while looking at Hiro.

“I tried to warn you, Pieroni.” He whispered.

Once in the office, she noticed that although it was the same room Captain Hogan had used, the feeling was different. Not that Hogan had much decoration, but it still had some military feeling to it. This was a bureaucrat’s nest, with bookshelves full of guides and regulations. Right now, there were a few folders spread over the table.

“I believe this is the first time we meet, Agent, my apologies for that. There’s been a lot going on the past few weeks and I simply don’t have the time to meet everyone.”

“I understand, sir.” Was all she managed to say. What was that about my gun? She was still shocked to learn what McFarland had done with it.

“Good, good. I hope you understand what I’m about to say it’s only a professional matter. The gravity of the situation makes it an imperative, for the sake of the department if nothing else…” Sniffy’s discourse felt like a rehearsed sermon, and still he managed to look genuinely invested in its content. The man had some talent.

“Was it my gun, sir?” Martha went straight to the point. She didn’t know how to handle this kind of situations.

“Ah, I see you are up to date, Agent.” the captain ignored her interruption. “Yes, I’m afraid the ballistic results are irrefutable. That personal weapon you lost at the Zoco has been used in all those horrible murders. In this case there is but one thing for the department to do: to suspend the responsible agent, indefinitely. We all understand being partially responsible for these atrocities must be a terrible feeling, so you will surely need some time to come to terms with it, but the department’s reputation is at stake here, and it’s better to set up an example in front of the citizenry. Nothing personal, I hope you understand.”

Dullness finally got to her. She wasn’t quite used to the ostracism, and even less to sitting at home doing nothing. She opened a bottle of whiskey that had patiently remained on the table for days. What did she buy it for again? Ah… Irish coffee, she remembered. Except that she didn’t have any coffee. She had been staring at it for a long time, lost in her thoughts while the paper-thin walls of her apartment let the screams of a lady in 4B getting some action. The usual crap. This one, though, was having a good time and the moaning made Martha turn green with envy.

That guy never sleeps alone, he knows what he’s doing… If only there was time to get laid! Martha pitifully thought as she drank a first, bitter shot.

She certainly had the time now, Captain Sniffy had made sure of it, but she was not like any other people her age. She was an STD agent. Personal sacrifice came with the uniform. The thought filled her with rage.

Hours passed slowly as frustration settled in and she swallowed another gulp of the drink. Those dead cops and civilians had become the most uncomfortable subject in any conversation, even for the usual straight talkers. Media and society in general had turned their backs on the case, changing the topic, forgetting the whole thing as if it never happened. The victims? Nothing but collateral damage. As long as those filthy liars wouldn’t interfere with daily life it wasn’t worth to act. Time to move on.

That’s it, she thought in anger. Maroons thrive in our time. We tolerate them. In the old days, when they saw one, they purged.

She was becoming obsessed with the name McFarland. Every time she whispered it was like a sudden pain, burning from inside, leaving a bad aftertaste. Martha had been hoping for him to strike again, despite the regrettable loss of innocent lives. If he made a wrong move, one that even politicians couldn’t ignore, there was still a chance the public would force them to act. Any sign that would put her back on his track would help too.

That had been her hope at least, but he was a smart one, and had done nothing of the sort. McFarland seemed to know well that after a dramatic event the government would hold their horses, wait until they had everything figured out. So, nothing had happened after that last murder, she was left to rot in that tiny apartment that felt more like a cell.

“Societies tend to create laws that make people feel good about themselves, you know? All those well-written speeches, full of good intentions and big words that we don’t even understand mean nothing, they’re just the means to get public support.” She was mumbling on the floor, badly intoxicated. “The law passed, they fade like the evening sun!” She loudly laughed, embracing desperation. “Advertisement, too, does its part, right? Portraying products in the best possible way… we know it’s all fake but we still buy. Why is that, you say? Maybe they know well we like pretending more than doing.”

Talking to herself, her mood changed to a more dramatic and cynical tone.

“What would be the point of the department, then? Aren’t we supposed to catch liars? We’re the liars, I say, we’re lying to ourselves!”

A sudden sharp click in the hallway caught her attention. She knew well by then the nuances of the building’s nightly routine of snoring, midnight visits to the toilet or the fridge, and sex. And that sound was something different, standing out like a note out of tune. A thief, probably. But maybe one of those killers from the raid had followed her. She quickly reacted, grabbed her gun and went out to the corridor to make sure McFarland got the message.

Sadly, she didn’t realize how drunk she was. With a blurred vision and almost no reaction capacities, trudging instead of walking, she clumsily pointed the gun at the first thing that moved in the corridor.

The shadow turned out to be the screamer from 4B, leaving the place, and the woman screamed alright once she saw a messed-up Martha pointing a gun at her, the eyes of a lunatic filled with murderous intent. The stallion he had for a neighbor showed up then, alarmed by the noise.

“It’s OK, honey, she’s a cop.” The man said trying to quiet down the frantic noise. “I’m sure she has a good reason to get out with a gun in the middle of the night like a maniac, right agent?” He added looking directly at Martha, demanding an explanation.

“Yeah, dude, she has.” Martha answered without thinking. “This bitch is particularly loud. Keep the standards, neighbor, and we won’t have a problem.”

Then, Marta slowly walked backwards to her apartment, still aiming at the woman. The door closed, she could hear the girl run away as quickly as she could. Through the peephole she saw him stay there for a few puzzling seconds before getting back to his place, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

“Stupid me! I just blew my chances to get laid tonight” she thought downhearted.

The loud cocking of a gun behind her head waked her up in no time. There was someone else in the apartment. How could that even happen? Getting ambushed again, in her own home no less? She was clearly losing her grip.

“Nicely done, Hori.” She muttered thinking her partner was the only one crazy enough to pull that stupid trick on a suspended, drunk, armed agent. “But still silly.”

“I’m no cop, lady.” A menacing, almost sinister voice replied. “So don’t get cute on me.”

She was still holding her gun, and about to move her finger closer to the trigger when the man –no woman could own that ominous voice– noticed and pushed the barrel of his own weapon to her head a little harder. “Nothing would bring me more pleasure, believe me.”

“Believe me” Martha thought. Only maroons used that kind of expression, a remnant of a previous time. Real concern spread over her face as she realized he was likely there to kill her, just like the other cases. The man took her weapon away as she stood, still dizzy, facing the door. She couldn’t even see him with the corner of the eye.

“What do you want?” She dared to ask.

“I’ll do the questioning, Pieroni.” He replied without emotion. “What do you want with McFarland?”

“I want to kill him.” She replied fearlessly, finally letting out that fire she had been harboring for weeks.

“It’s so easy with you, people!” The man chuckled behind her. “Sometimes I forget you can’t really lie…”

She could smell his horrid, cheap cologne while waiting for the bullet to come. Mixed with the tension and the alcohol she suddenly felt the need to throw up.

“We don’t want to.” She proudly said instead.

“Sure.” He said with sarcasm. “Are you going after him?”

“I’m suspended, moron! But don’t worry, someone else will do the job. McFarland and his minions will rot in prison. I can help you, though…”

“Shut up! We’re not in one of your interrogation rooms, with all those scanners and shit… It’s your head against the wall now. You don’t make the rules here, you follow them.” He shouted, making it clear he didn’t like the STD or the way they manage things. Being a cimarron, probably an escapee, no one could blame him.

There was a growing trend among the young generation, one that questioned the STD methods, and even its existence. Some explain it as a reaction to the brutal ways of the past, an overwhelming psychological backlash that makes young people feel ashamed, but to Martha they were just pampered cowards.

“If you’re here to kill me, just do it. But spare me all that complaining, will you? I tire of your filthy lies.” She replied filled with the confidence of a dead woman. She had fought all her adult life against those lying outcasts after all, and there was some pride in that.

“Tempting thought, trust me. But you’ve got lucky this time, agent Pieroni, for some reason the boss likes you. He wants you to know that your STD department is barking at the wrong tree. He had nothing to do with those murders.”

Trust me, she said to herself again. How could she trust a man pointing a gun at her? A cimarron, no less…

“What do you mean?” Curiosity got the best of her.

“Something is wrong with the chip.” He replied right before hitting her hard in the back of the neck.

She fell to the floor, barely hearing the man leaving the building like a ghost.

The next day, she woke up with a nasty headache that wouldn’t go away for a while. She promised herself to properly thank the cheap cologne’s lad next time she saw him, when she could actually defend herself. The pain was terrible but it also meant progress.

“It seems you have a knack for getting into trouble, agent Pieroni” Captain Schiff said once she reported the incident directly to him. They were both in his office and he didn’t seem to like the news, judging by his grim face. “Have you already checked that wound with Medical? You are still suspended, so you would have to pay for it, of course, but we don’t want any more lawsuits that we already have, do we?”

“No, sir, we don’t.” She replied like a robot.

“Those unions are killing me, you know…”

Captain Schiff rose to his feet, started to walk around the room talking about who-knows-what while she kept herself silent for a change. Last night’s unexpected guest had said some interesting things. He had said McFarland wanted her to know the chip was compromised, and that he didn’t murder those people. He had also said that he liked her, but that would certainly change the minute she’d put him under arrest, or worse. As he surely must know, a lot of things can go wrong during a raid.

“I don’t like this… this McFarland character, nor the potential damage an investigation on him could bring to the department. I like the paperwork, don’t get me wrong, but all the reporters, the unnecessary news… After what happened last time, I don’t think there’s a way to benefit from it. Politically speaking, of course…”

Sniffy was battling with all those inconvenient minor details, making excuses up while all those unfortunate souls cried for justice. As for Martha, they didn’t let her sleep at night. At that moment she couldn’t feel more upset at him and his stupid regulations, she really wanted to punch him in the face, but she wanted McFarland more so she kept her mouth shut.

“I’m not suggesting we open an investigation, sir.” She interrupted.

“No?” He looked rather relieved. “What is it, then?”

“Just let me ask some questions here and there, nothing more.”

“I see. But if it’s not official I’m afraid I cannot provide any support, guarantee your safety, you know that.” He suggested, clearly worried more about hospital bills than anything else, but she didn’t care. “That means no partner. After that fiasco in the Zoco no one wants to pair with you, anyway, so…”

“I understand.” She stood up, ready to leave and go to work. The feeling stimulated her, making the headache tolerable.

“And, agent Pieroni, one more thing…” He added just before leaving, still with a worried face. “Be discrete, if you please.”

She didn’t care if the whole department blamed her for the Zoco’s messed-up operation or if they wanted her to hang for it. She would happily swing for a while if that would put Hogan back in the captain’s chair and McFarland six feet under, but to be lectured by a damned bureaucrat that had never been near any real action made her blood boil. At least she was hitting the streets again instead of rotting at home.

First stop was MAIA Laboratories, but without the badge she was soon left waiting in a video-room filled with children. It was the centenary of the chip next year after all, and schools all over the country were sending their kids to learn more about it.

Sitting there for hours, Martha painfully watched all kind of propaganda videos about 2038. There were even some old advertisements mixed in, too: “Increase your promotion chances, get chip-certified now!”, “The best way to make you and your partner truly honest!”. What the…? It must have been quite a time to live, she thought, as the documentary cycle started again for the next class. The lights went off.

“Science says we learn to lie soon.” The narrator’s voice was clear and well-articulated. “Some even as young as only two years into the world. A cynic would say it is adults who corrupt children with their white lies and their daily behavior. After all, science also says that adults lie at least three times over a ten minutes conversation with a stranger! Yes, you heard that right, once every three minutes, kids. So, why do we do it? The simplest answer would be to avoid hurt feelings, the fear of violence or to gain some benefit. Maybe, some say, in the past, living in a community was safer than being on your own, and a cry drew the attention of the group, even if fake. In short, it was necessary to keep the trust. With time, though, it evolved into common courtesy. But that still leaves the question: Why would parents lie to their children? Again, science explains they do it as a last resort, when every other attempt to convince the kids has failed. No more reasoning with the little ones, just twist the truth a bit and…”

“This is the part when the kids laugh” she thought, and right after the class openly laughed, as if ordered to by an invisible hand. She was tired of the waiting, and had seen enough reruns to be fed up with the mockery. She got out and asked again.

The pretty lady from before had ended her shift, there was a young male secretary sitting in her place now. Not much older than the kids in the room, he didn’t hide his disgust of the STD when she told him about the urgency of the matter and her ties with the department. Probably brainwashed by the new rebellious political trend, as many others his age. They only knew evil through videos and talks after all, none of them had any idea of what was going on outside their perfect bubbles and they could afford to hate the department.

“Dr. Miller will receive you as soon as he can, miss.”

“I insist. This is important.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you.” He crossed his arms with an almost insolent smirk on his face.

Martha got back to the video-room, barely containing her frustration, but it was not exactly the best place to regain her composure.

“…so, we like dishonesty, it is useful and gets you there quicker. But lies also make the world a horrible place… We’ve seen it in the past. But no more, thanks to MAIA Laboratories!”

The voice kept going for a while, but Martha couldn’t take it anymore and left the room soon after. This time, though, she abruptly grabbed the kid by an arm, twisted it a little bit, huskily enough to show him real pain.

“Call the doctor now, boy…” she threatened, “…or you won’t be crossing any arms for a while!”

The scared kid struggled to make the call with his free arm, and stayed in shock, silently avoiding eye contact after that.

Dr. Miller finally came when the children were leaving the video-room. They had a moment before the next group came in.

“Are you all right, Tommy?” He asked with genuine concern. “You sounded disturbed over the phone.”

“No, I’m not. She assaulted me, and it hurt.” Tommy said without breaking a sweat, massaging his shoulder. “Honest little bastard”, Martha thought.

“What is going on here?” Dr. Miller asked surprised.

“I am agent Pieroni, from the STD department, and I need to speak to you right now.” she said.

“All right, all right, agent, what is it about?”. Dr. Miller seemed confused.

“It’s the chip, it is not working anymore.” She said out loud, in a very non-discrete manner.

Dr. Miller’s face turned green instantly, and Tommy’s too, but he signaled her to follow him back to the now empty video-room.

“It’s OK, Tommy. Don’t you have a date or something?” He politely suggested the kid to go.

“No, sir. My shift won’t end until seven.”

“Well, you can go now.”

“But my shift…”

“Don’t worry about the shift!” Dr. Miller almost shouted before joining her in the video-room. Tommy got out of sight reluctantly, muttering something.

“Listen, agent… Pironi, was it? There’s nothing wrong with the chip.” Dr. Miller said, as if trying to reassure her. Or himself.

Lights went off again, no one had stopped the programmed documentaries from starting again. Tommy’s fault, probably. This time the narrator was a female.

“MAIA Laboratories designed the LS-13 in the turbulent year 2038. Placed in the back of the skull, it is able to stop lies before being said…”

“What even makes you say something like that, agent?” Dr. Miller asked her very seriously. “People could panic!”

“Somebody told me.” Martha said, the memory of the horrid perfume coming back to her. “The source is reliable.”

“To make a lie the brain needs to hold two conflicted pieces of information: the truth and the lie, and replace one with the other without anybody noticing. That is, there has to be no physical reaction of any kind.” The voice continued in the background.

Dr. Miller looked at her, intensely.

“If there was something wrong with the chip, agent, would I be standing here, acting so normal? Of course not! The chip is designed to punish liars, increasing the charge every time until… well, you know, until the body can sustain life no longer. That’s the reason pathological liars don’t exist anymore!”

Martha thought about it for a second. It might’ve been brutal at first, no point denying that, but for those people the utopia was closer than ever. They self-imposed a collective death sentence, only avoidable with a true change of behavior.

“Nearly half of the brain is made up of white matter, composed of connective tissue that carries electrical signals from one group of neurons to another, like bridges or wires. There is also grey matter, where the critical thinking happens. Those bridges connect the different parts of the brain.” The voiceover continued while Dr. Miller waited for her reply. “For a good lie, a narrative creation is usually needed. Distorting the facts, mixing true statements with false ones, and so on. As information, memories and experiences are stored all over the brain there is a lot of activity in those bridges during the making of a lie. The incredible technology of the LS-13 chip detects that unusual activity and releases a painful shock…”

“Are you all right, agent?” Dr. Miller seemed worried.

“What about those who were born after the chip?” Martha finally said, going with her gut.

Dr. Miller shook his head as if he couldn’t even conceive the notion. “All the… maroons, as I believe you call them, died a painful, miserable death long ago. If, by any chance, they got to reproduce their sons and daughters would be equally doomed. As an STD agent you already know that, don’t you?”

“What was that?” She thought. “A gracious little piece of disapproval?” That new political trend was getting intolerable, were they questioning the existence of the maroons too? Maybe she was too sensitive those days, but she didn’t buy Dr. Miller’s skepticism.

“The nature of the job, doctor.” She said. “Could you indulge my curiosity?”

“Genetics is not my field of expertise, agent Pironi, as an engineer I can only reassure you about the flawless design of the LS-13.” And just like that, Doctor Miller excluded himself from any responsibility.

It was getting late when she left MAIA Laboratories, the sun was already setting down. It had not been a wasted trip despite all those long video-relics, she had confirmation there was nothing wrong with the chip. Who would’ve thought? The cimarron had lied. A truly strange feeling, being lied to was something not everyone could experience in this age.

That alone should have been the end of her quest, but something still smelled fishy. Dr. Miller had acted kind of uneasy after hearing the rumors about the chip. Maybe there was something worth to investigate after all? Martha had no one waiting at home, so she decided to continue her enquiry, just a bit more. Even if she knew it was a terrible idea, especially after dark, her second stop was the Zoco. Mistakes were piling up so fast that one more couldn’t really make a difference at this point.

The place felt even more spooky at night: it was a dead town. “Fitting”, she said out loud to regain some confidence before setting foot in the area, flashlight and gun in hand. “I’m looking for a ghost.”

Despite its reputation the Zoco had been once a beautiful place, filled with life and bursting activity. That had been long ago, of course, but looking at it now, empty of life, gave it a strange mystical attraction. She wondered what had happened, what makes the heart of a city turn dry, decay and eventually be dismantled, forgotten. “Maroons, no doubt” She thought. “And they could be anywhere looming over me at this very moment.”

She felt a sudden itching at the back of her skull. Instinct, or maybe the chip, warning her about the snake pit she was walking into. The message was clear: no more thoughts about the past from now on, you need to stay alert.

After some wandering, without even realizing it, Martha found herself in front of the building where she had been ambushed during the raid. She stopped at what seemed to be the very same spot where that cop had died from sniper fire, judging from the bloodstain on the pavement. A flashback of that precise moment made her shiver, but she quickly regained her focus. She was determined to find McFarland, to make him pay. Using her gun, he had made it personal.

She got in.

Martha cleared the stairs once more in her way up, just as she had done that day, but more aware this time, warily checking every nook and cranny. Looking again, she noticed there really had been no clear place to hide for those thugs, they just appeared when the time was right. “I was pumping adrenaline like crazy and might’ve overlooked something.” She thought. “Ghosts don’t exist, not even in the Zoco.” She quickly reached the roof. Empty as before.

A sudden, nearby noise startled her to the point of turning the flashlight off. She didn’t want to become an easy target, that sniper, or someone like him, might be around. A few seconds later she heard the same noise again, clearer this time. There was someone else in the building!

Martha leaned over the ledge of the roof, glancing down. The street was as empty and quiet as before. No patrol cars could be seen or heard in miles. No backup. “I can’t guarantee your safety”, the words of captain Schiff came back to her as a reminder of the “tough love” of the department. She wanted to get even by solving the case, that would hopefully shame one or two bigshots upstairs.

First time on the field she raced into danger unknowingly. This time, however, she was ready. Filled with confidence and purpose, Martha slowly walked down a few floors until she found the source of the noises. She pointed her flashlight –and gun, in the typical police stance– at its direction.

A kid was messing around the room.

“This is no place for kids.” She warned. “What are you doing here?”

The boy couldn’t see her, blinded by the strong light.

“I’m looking for my dog.” He answered while blocking the light beam with his hands.

“Really?” She kept the light on his face on purpose, the gun cocked. No distraction would get to her twice. “I’m an STD agent, boy, are you sure that’s all?”

Martha carefully approached him, quickly checked the back of his neck. No scar. That helped her relax a bit.

“OK, what are you doing here?” She insisted.

“I’m looking for my dog, ma’am.” the kid said once more, as if it was not clear the first time.

But he was lying, she could tell. His body was stiff, the upper body especially tense, and he had changed his tone to a politer one, as if expecting to gain her trust with good manners. His breath was heavy but he was also trying to compensate, to distance himself of the situation. An occasional touch of his nose was the final telltale.

It’s called “The Deception Code”, it features all the possible signals to catch a liar, both physical and behavioral. Civilized societies need a way to spot the liars before they can outsmart the law, to benefit from it. STD agents are trained to do exactly that. Without proper equipment such as eye saccade trackers or MRI brain scanners they rely on observation. Ultimately, all comes down to experience. She had obtained excellent results in the simulations and very good reviews from the senior trainers, but the kid was no hologram. Still, her gut was telling Martha she was right.

“You are lying.” She said, surprised. She received a headshake in return. “How’s that even possible?”

Then she got closer, and the kid saw the gun, realized that unlike him she wasn’t fooling around. He froze in fear.

“One more time, kid. What are you doing here?” She asked. But he wasn’t in a cooperative mood. If something, he looked terrified and guilty as sin. “You’re coming with me.”

She had no authority to do it, but the boy didn’t know that. So she illegally arrested him.

Agent Masa was sitting at his desk that night, eyes lost in a relentless amount of delayed paperwork when Martha unexpectedly walked in, just as she would have done any other time. Well, except for the kid besides her.

He looked at her with surprise, then at the kid. Twice.

“Wow, that guy in your building is really something!” Hori joked, “You have a kid now?!”

“Very funny. Night shift?” She asked him in return.

“Captain’s idea. He’s rescheduling everyone. Just look around.” He said rolling his eyes up. “Last time I saw you you were suspended and thinking about giving the guy a call…”

“I need Extraction 3 clear for interrogation, Hori. Can you do that for me? This little fellow needs to clarify certain things.” She quickly changed the subject while tapping the kid’s head, who could do nothing but clench his teeth.

“You’re going to get me in trouble now? Are you on duty? Special assignment or something? Can you tell me more about it?” He wanted to stay out of the captain’s radar, if possible, but also knew his partner well, how secretive and stubborn she could be sometimes. He would not get anything out of her. “All right, all right, no questions. I’ll see what I can do.”

Martha waited for Hori to pull that favor off when she finally realized everyone was talking behind her back. Her colleagues were paying too much attention to them.

“Have you lost the father, too?” One of them asked mockingly.

“You’re an idiot, Reynolds, I don’t get how they even let you carry a gun.” She dismissed him as fast as she could.

“I didn’t know you had a son.” A female secretary said lowering her voice in solidarity. “You look so young! I wonder at what age you got pregnant.”

After a few minutes, that felt a lot longer under the watchful scrutiny of the whole floor, her wish was granted and the room was finally set. Hori had managed to convince someone to let her in without proper access. She could always count on him.

“Let’s begin with the easy part, shall we? What’s your name?” She started as soon as they got in. No time to waste when you’re bending the rules.

“Collin. Collin Thomas.”

“All right, Collin. What were you doing in the Zoco?” She asked.

After a few tests, the results were problematic. The machines concluded he was telling the truth every single time. He knew nothing about McFarland, the sniper or the guy abusing cheap cologne. The dog’s name was Sheila, a German Shepherd with all the documents in order, and she was still missing. The parents corroborated it by phone. How could that be? Why didn’t the chip react? She knew he was lying. Was something wrong with the chip then? Was something wrong with her, perhaps? And what about that “natural aptitude to detect lies” she had been told about? Was that a lie then? Her gut said: jail the kid, but science disagreed. As much as she thought about it there was only one explanation left: he was a pathological.

STD had not a special name for pathological liars, no agent had crossed paths with one in a long time. As Dr. Miller had said, they all died lying. There are still some old cases to study in the academy, though. If successful liars generally did better in life, from an evolution standpoint those who mastered the skill were destined to be the leaders of society.

They could keep track of the contradictory pieces of information needed for a good lie better than anybody else. They had more white matter in the prefrontal cortex of their brains, like 25% more. This allowed them to sustain the lie longer, suppress their emotions better, read the person that they were lying to faster and with more accuracy –opening a direct path to manipulation–, they experienced no remorse and had no fear of the consequences. Masters at self-deception, they could whole-heartedly lie because they believed their own lies in a whim. Science portraits pathological liars in such a way that students think of them as mythological creatures, powerful beings of a long past to be feared and admired.

Collin didn’t seem particularly powerful or scary, but a pathological liar would count on that. If the kid was one, the first of his kind to re-emerge from the ashes, she would have bitten more than she could chew. It could be a shifting moment in modern history. It was a big “if”, she knew that, but still worth pushing the boy a little bit further.

“You know something about that raid, don’t you? Something that you don’t want to say…”

A beep from the machine gave her hope. A subtle increase in body temperature, it could mean something. Martha was trapped in her excitement when Captain Schiff slammed not only the door, but her only chance to get something out of the suspect.

“What do you think you are doing, agent Pieroni?” He witheringly asked. “Questioning a minor without his lawyer present? You are not making my life easy, I have two parents right now at my office asking me about some damned dog!”

“The dog is missing, sir.”

“Are you out of your mind or just looking for an excuse to be fired?” The captain was pissed. “Who is this kid?”

“He knows something about the raid.”

“Legal doesn’t care about that case, agent, let the boy go now or I’ll be diving in lawsuits before you get to collect your first welfare check!” He realized then everybody was listening, tried to pull himself together a bit, used his best command tone. “Am I being understood, agent?”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded in a submissive way.

“All right, then.” The captain sighted in contempt, ready to forget the whole thing if the parents would let it go, too. He could live without a few bad headlines.

“But…” She wanted to voice her concerns.

“But what?”

“If I’m right the boy could be in danger, sir, we can’t put him on the streets now.”

“Should we trust your lingering intuition, then?” He nodded at first, giving her some hope, but then he shook his head. “I don’t think so. Let him go. I’ll assign an STD protection detail but that’s it. No more leniency with you, Pieroni! Go home. And stay there, you’re supposed to be suspended!”

“Yes, sir.” She replied against her own wishes.

“Without pay.” The captain left, leaving the door open for the curious to quickly glance inside.

“Back to prison” She thought for a second. “I’m a screw up.” McFarland and his army of thugs would continue to viciously kill whoever they wanted and not a single soul would move a finger to stop it. Best of all? She could watch the butchery from Archives, downstairs into the dungeons with the weirdos, where she would make a new addition to the team. Field days were over for agent Pieroni. It was not the best of feelings. She didn’t want to endure it anymore but the battle had been lost, or rather, didn’t even begin, thanks to politicians.

Unless… She did something about it. Martha wasn’t ready to sit at home once again, and she had had enough useless punishments. Someone had to act and she knew her way around. As much as that pen pusher would love to do it, Captain Schiff had not made her suspension “without pay” status official yet, her codes were still valid. She could easily get Collin’s personal information and know who would be assigned to the protection detail. It would be a violation of a direct order, sure, but bureaucrats wouldn’t fight that war and McFarland knew it well. Someone would have to do it instead.

“One more pair of eyes never hurt during a watch.” She thought as she arrived at the kid’s home, a low-rent blue collar neighborhood in an area close to the Zoco. That German Shepherd had the nasty habit of getting away, if she had done it too the day of the shooting Collin must have witnessed something, maybe the sniper’s face or even McFarland’s. If the bad guys learned about it, he would become a target. On the other hand, he was also living bait, and she couldn’t afford to lose that chance. She checked the nearby buildings one by one looking for any sign of her sniper friend, without success. It took her most of the afternoon.

The place was deadly quiet when she got back to the street, so she decided to check with the guys in the patrol car parked in front of the apartment building. Terry, who was OK, and Reynolds who… well, was a brainless bigmouth with an unusual sense of humor.

She knew she shouldn’t be there but also that they wouldn’t mind some conversation at the end of a long shift, so she casually approached the car. It was empty. First thought that crossed her mind was to look for the closest doughnut store. However, Terry was on a protein diet since January, taking the commitment very seriously, and Reynolds didn’t like to fit the cliché. Her chip was itching again. She felt it just like in the raid, and knew that McFarland was around. Martha grabbed her gun and walked into the building exhilarated by the thrill of the hunt.

In the first floor, an old woman opened the door of her apartment as soon as she set foot on the hallway.

“What is going on?” The old lady asked.

“I’m an STD agent, ma’am, please go back to your house and close the door.” Martha said, lowering her voice.

“STD?” The woman repeated, right before casting a venomous look and barricade herself in.

“A noisy old cow, but who cares?” Martha thought, she couldn’t afford to lose sight of the rest of the corridor. For what she knew, she could expect company at any moment.

Second floor was a winner. Collin lived there with his parents and the dog, if someone had been able to find it. Martha was breathing heavily while getting closer to the apartment, looking back occasionally to make sure her six was clear. “Fool me once…” she calmly thought. The last steps felt like walking on the moon.

The door was half-opened and there was a blood puddle on the floor. She could see it from her position. A strange fear overcame her: what if she was already late?

A horrible scene welcomed her. Blood was everywhere, splatted on the walls, on the furniture and even the ceiling. Terry and Reynolds were there, their throats sliced from ear to ear. The parents and the child lied there too, they had suffered the same fate. No sign of the dog, though. Lucky girl.

Martha fought against her revolving stomach, covered her nose instinctively to protect herself from the powerful stench. She checked the rest of the place, but there was no one else alive. The killer had already fled through a window and the emergency stairs, probably. The sound of sirens wailing in the distance, a far cry to honor the fallen agents, waked her up. “Captain Schiff wouldn’t understand, better to get out of here.” She said to herself.

Then, she smelled something else in the room, a horrid, familiar perfume.

“Don’t turn around.” A voice ordered from behind. The guy with the cheap cologne, again. How good was he, anyway? If he had been inside the house the whole time he had considerable hiding abilities, if not he was silent as a bloody snake. Either way, he had got her again. She knew enough about him to not play the hero.

“Did you do this?” She asked, pointing at the butchered bodies around.

“This mess? Of course not, I’m an artist.” He proudly answered.

“Then, who?”

“STD, sweetheart, your people.”

“You’re lying! Why would the department want these people dead?” It really made no sense.

“Maybe, maybe not. No way for you to know.” He replied amused. He clearly enjoyed seeing her like that, filled with doubt.

“But you’ve been a naughty girl, Martha, asking uncomfortable questions here and there, making people aware of the situation and that’s something they don’t like. Erasing all witnesses is standard procedure, but this…” She imagined him pointing at the corpses. “I don’t know, there is a lot of passion in this tableau, so to speak.”

“What are you talking about?” She was confused, so much that she didn’t pay attention to the closing sirens or how much she hated that cologne.

“I told you: the chip doesn’t work anymore.” He said it like he was crushing a bug. “They’re lying to you, Pieroni, and they’ll frame you for this.”

Martha thought of Dr. Miller and the meeting at MAIA Laboratories. If the ghost -as she decided to call him- was right, the doctor had lied to her face without the chip reacting. Could it be true? Unfortunately, Collin had done the same, so who knows how many others were keeping the charade. If the chip didn’t punish liars any more, and people was noticing by the minute and quickly adapting, the whole society could collapse. Crazy as it sounds, there was room for a conspiracy.

“You have to go, lady.” The ghost warned her. “They’ll be here soon enough.”

“What about McFarland?” She asked. “What’s his role in all of this?”

“The boss fights for freedom. I respect that.”

“Freedom to lie?”

“Freedom to choose.” He said. Cops were almost there, judging by the loud sirens. No more time to think. “Now, get out of here!” he urged, “I’ll take care of everything.”

Her knees didn’t buckle, even if she felt the whole world crumbling under her feet while running away. To the street first, through a back alley then, and finally towards the rising sun. Liars, the city could be infested with them.

“Wait a minute” She said to herself. “Never trust a cimarron, remember?” It was rule number one in the STD manual. She couldn’t keep making the same mistakes all over again. “If McFarland had nothing to do with it, why were those innocent people gunned down with my weapon?” The ghost didn’t mention a word about that. The most reasonable explanation was that he was lying. McFarland wanted her into the action for some reason.

She was not special, she knew that. Sadly, being a rookie made her gullible enough to fell for such an easy manipulation. The ghost had likely murdered the whole family himself, and the agents, too. If McFarland was now a freedom fighter, why couldn’t the ghost be a knife artist too? He had lied to her again, and she did not even realize it until now.

The world was spinning faster lately. She thought about calling Hori, look for advice from a person she could trust, but she was not ready to drag him to career seppuku. She thought about calling captain Schiff too, but that would only complicate things, chip or not he wouldn’t believe a word she said. Without any other ideas, she finally went back home.

“Hey, neighbor!” The guy from 4B was waiting for her under the threshold. He looked horny, gorgeous too. “Want to check the acoustics?”

“You don’t scare easily, do you?” She asked back, their last encounter in mind, or at least the few things she remembered. It was a desperate attempt to save face.

“Only of a bad laid”, he answered, visibly amused.

For a second, Martha felt some relief. She wasn’t holding the whole weight of the world over her shoulders anymore. She was flirting, like any other girl her age, and she didn’t care about maroons, STD conspiracies or McFarland’s plots. She just wanted to get laid and forget everything.

“Well, why the hell not?” She dared to accept the invitation in the flip of a coin. She could use the attention that night.

They started making out when a sudden noise interrupted the action. Chaos and confusion followed as she heard a group of people rampage through an apartment nearby. Her apartment.

“What’s going on?” The guy from 4B -never got his name- asked while going to look through the peephole. “There’s a lot of cops out there. Were you planning a party?” He turned to her to get his answer directly, amazed and amused at the same time, but he didn’t get to see her hitting him with a bed lamp. He went down almost immediately, the outside noise becoming louder as a helicopter got closer.

“Maybe you aren’t that good.” she whispered to the unconscious man, sadly accepting she had blown her chances with him forever. Then, she looked through the peephole too. There were cops and STD agents all over the place, even Hori was there. It was painful seeing him joining the witch hunt, but perhaps he was there trying to help her. Or he was a liar too.

But it was time to act, not to ask, just as in 2038. “They will knock on the door soon enough” she thought dressing herself as quickly as she could. “I guess I have to become a ghost myself now.”

The following day it was all over the news. “STD agent gone rogue, two agents and a family of three killed.” was the main headline, with variations of course as the press was getting more and more gruesome details about the murders. The old lady was also found dead at her apartment, diagnosed as a heart attack as there were no signs of violence. The brutal death of the Thomas family was too much for her, reporters were telling the viewers, but the ghost had said he was an artist, and she had no doubt the poor woman’s death was no natural event. He said he would take care of the situation, and apparently, he was not lying about that.

The city was angry, everyone was looking for her. The ghost also predicted they would frame her for the killings, so Martha hid as well as she could, waiting for him to return. At that point, he was the only one who would help her, if not for the grace of his heart for the respect he claimed to have to his boss. She was convinced McFarland wanted her alive, and so he would find her when the time was right. Before then, she got comfortable among the lowest scum in the only place no one under Schiff would ever search: the Zoco.

It was hard to survive there, maroons were nomads and never slept two nights at the same place. They were not afraid of raids, as one could think, but of their own. With no food or supplies, they were forced to steal in the city. Those incursions often ended up badly. If not gunned down by the STD or the cops, once they got back treasure in hand, brawls often erupted between them.

They lived in a constant state of mistrust, each one of them a filthy liar. It was unbearable for any citizen, even more to an STD agent. Martha kept to herself most of the time, but now and then it was inevitable to cross paths. She later learned that McFarland had some influence amongst maroons and had declared her his guest: untouchable. The Zoco, however, was a huge place and McFarland’s voice could easily be unheard in some of those hidden corners.

That awful experience made her understand better the people from 2038, and get even more committed to the cause. Order had to be restored before they all ended up living like distrustful beasts.

One day, she was checking one of the thousands of abandoned houses to crash for the night when she felt something unusual, a slight change in the air that cut her thoughts short. Martha had been waiting for it.

“I know you’re there.” She said out loud. “Are you McFarland?” She cut to the chase.

“No.” The ghost replied from within the shadows.

“Then I want to meet him, face to face.” She grew tired of talking to the air and she wanted to feel back in control for a change.

“All right.” He replied, after giving the idea some consideration. “You ought to do one more thing first. To earn his trust, you understand?”

“Something criminal, you mean.”

“In case you didn’t notice you’re already a criminal, Pieroni.” He replied., amused by the irony.

Then he told her what was expected of her.

“No way. I won’t kill a cop.” She said angry enough by the notion to tempt fate and think about shooting him, if only she could guess his location.

“The boss won’t force you to do it, he’s giving you a choice. To be honest, I don’t give a shit but you don’t have any friends left, sweetheart, think about it!” He said before dissipating into thin air as silently as usual.

Doubts were eating her from inside out for several days. She took an oath when becoming an STD agent after all. That hadn’t changed, Martha hadn’t changed, she had been betrayed. She finally realized the choice had already been made for her. There was no other option: either hide in the Zoco for good or comply and expose the conspirators. She was no quitter and was tired of running. She had to keep walking the road McFarland had laid down for her, but she would never kill a cop. He wanted a kill and he would get it, sure, just not entirely in his terms.

The target lived in the upper side of the Golden Valley, the best location in town. The mansion was well guarded. Martha watched for a while hidden beyond a tree line in the forest nearby. Rich people often like to be isolated and enjoy their wealth without disturbances. She was in no hurry, there was no home to go back to. As the ghost pointed out, she had become a de facto criminal and had no friends left. Uncovering the conspiracy was the only way left to her.

She found a weak spot on the wall surveillance system, where cameras seemed to be out of angle and there were no guards around. “That’s it!” Martha told herself. “There’s no turning back now.”

Soon enough, she was perched over the wall and silently jumping down inside the mansion’s garden. It was mostly dark, with just a few more minutes of daylight left. She decided to wait, but then heard a voice calling from the bushes.

“You! What are you doing?” An old gardener appeared in sight, asking in complete perplexity.

Martha hadn’t counted on a diligent worker staying so late, she froze on the spot, feeling guilty and made out. She didn’t want to kill any more than requested but she couldn’t afford to choose anymore. Her hand mournfully headed towards the STD combat knife she had hidden on her back.

“You’re ruining the plants!”

She glanced down to see the damage and got out of there quickly, even if that would make little difference. The gardener nodded satisfied enough, though, and went back to the bushes where he had come. She sighted with great relief before getting into the den of the beast.

Martha got in without further trouble through the kitchen’s door, after running across the endless yard, melting with the shadows as often as possible. Her luck changed then, she almost bumped on a domestic employee.

“Sorry!” Martha apologized as if she had nothing to hide.

“Who are you?” The young girl asked in return. She couldn’t have been working for too long in the house, but Martha was a new face.

“I’m… I’m with security.” Martha lied, while nervously waiting for the chip to punish her, breathing heavily.

Nothing happened.

“Ah, OK” The girl had glanced at her black clothes and military attitude and assumed she was right. She then got into the kitchen, leaving a perplexed Martha behind. She had felt nothing, not even tickles in the back of the skull.

“Something is definitely wrong with the chip.” she thought, secretly enjoying the feeling of impunity. “McFarland was right from the beginning!”

That encounter alone had convinced her of the righteousness of the cause, galvanized her determination enough to see the whole thing through.

The man didn’t see her when he entered the office. He didn’t have the skill nor the training. And much less, the spirit. He never had a chance. A ghost came out of the shadows, grabbed him from behind with military-style precision. He felt the tip of the knife aiming for his heart through shirt and skin and he panicked, reflectively trying to get away. He found soon enough he couldn’t. He was weak, soft.

“You’re making a big mistake!” He mumbled once he lost hope of breaking the strong grip. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, I do… Captain.” Martha whispered in his ear.

“Pieroni?” He was terribly confused. “Is that you?”

Captain Schiff, or Sniffy as everybody called him behind his back, would be the chosen one. Nothing personal, she hoped he would understand. He was not really a cop, but technically speaking he was. His sacrifice would have to be enough for McFarland and she would keep her oath. A perfect solution. Plus, Captain Hogan might have a chance to regain his rightful place once the wimp was out, right? Who knows, maybe the department would even have a reason to forgive her!

“Pieroni? I need to speak to you.” The captain was trying to gain some time, obviously, to make a connection. Just like the manual reads. “I can help you…”

“Don’t bother, captain, I’m here for a reason.” She said pressing the blade a little bit further into his back. “The chip is not working and you all know it. This is a conspiracy and you’re a traitor!”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Pieroni, I.. I can help you! I really mean it!” He pleaded desperately. But she knew well bureaucrats, they would do or say whatever it takes to save their own skin.

“I follow the truth wherever it leads, sir, nothing stupid in that.” She indulged herself for a change. “Speak now or shut up forever!”

Captain Schiff was trembling like jelly, and Martha found him even more disgusting, if that was even possible, but he was not a fool. He pulled himself together and regained some confidence once he thought he had a winning argument.

“Do you want the truth, agent? Even if you can’t handle it?” He asked, with increased hope in his voice.

“What are you talking about?”

“I won’t say another word until you free me. I can’t breathe.” He demanded.

“Is this a negotiation now?” Martha asked rhetorically, but she let him go anyway. She was in no hurry, and those answers were worth the risk.

“See? We can still behave like civilized citizens.” The captain was feeling more confident by the second. He even dared to throw a comforting smile at her.

“Talk!” She grabbed her gun now, pointing it at him.

“You’re a lunatic, Pieroni, you know that?” He reacted badly to the increased tension. “A lunatic and a failure…”

Martha cocked the gun and Captain Schiff understood the warning. She was in no mood for that kind of talk.

“Everyone agrees in the department, that’s why I launched my own investigation.” he said. “Yes, on you.” He added as soon as he saw her confused face. “Do you want to know what I’ve found?”

He went to the drawer without asking for permission and the sudden movement broke her numbness.

“No, no. Don’t get cute on me!” She said, just as the ghost would’ve done.

“It’s a gun, yes, but it’s not loaded.” He explained while getting out an evidence bag. He showed it to her, left it on the table, and rose both hands to reassure her of his good intentions.

Martha approached him, looked at the plastic bag with the STD logo on it. Inside, there was a gun alright.

“It’s yours.” The captain added triumphant, as he realized his chances of getting out alive were improving. Ultimately reason, logic, and a little bit of authority would prevail. “You never lost it, we found it at your place among other evidence. Your prints were also all over the bodies in that kid’s house…”

The captain began to talk more fluidly as he was telling her every detail of the investigation, but she was already far away. McFarland must had put that weapon at her place for the cops to find, there was no other explanation. Why the man would want her charged with all those murders while at the same time trying to help her was a question he would have to answer directly to her. But, thinking about it, the captain lying made more sense. The department, after all, was the one desperate to get rid of the witnesses, they were trying to cover the whole thing up and she had no doubt MAIA Laboratories were behind all of it.

“…there were no snipers at the roofs of the Zoco, no paramilitary forces ambushed the raid, you put an explosive on your own truck! There is no shadowy McFarland character, either. Listen, they exist only in your head, you are delusional.”, the captain was saying when she returned to reality. “The chip works perfectly fine, agent Pieroni.”

“How can that be even possible? You’re lying through your teeth right now!”

“Because, and this is the more astonishing part of the investigation, you’ve never been branded.” He waited a second to check her reaction and continued with a grin, disgusted with the upcoming notion. “Somehow, you’ve been able to fool Medical all this time, entrance and regular checks alike. That is remarkable by itself, but you’ve done the same with your personal life, without anybody noticing, since who knows when. Do you understand! You are a pathological, the first one since…”

The sound of a gunshot cut his arrogance in the blink of an eye. Martha blew his brains out, tired of all the lies. He would’ve said anything to keep breathing and the chip wouldn’t do squat. That was all the proof she needed. Dogs started barking outside.

The deal was done, she had earned McFarland’s trust. It was time to finally meet the man. Who knows? Maybe he was a looker and she could get laid after all. She smiled at that prospect.

“Lies and more lies, Sniffy, a dangerous road.” She took her gun back and looked at him one last time. “Somewhere along the way it makes you believe you’re telling the truth.”

Martha warily left the office and went out to the garden, blending with the night.

THE END