Andrew was back in that white-padded room. This time, there was no writing on the wall. Hell, there wasn’t even a nightmare. The most terrifying aspect was the bright lights overhead, and the sheer vividness of this dream. Well, if it was a dream, it was a damn accurate one.
“Mister Myers, do you recall anything?”
For some reason, Andrew felt like he was Mister Myers. At least in this dream, he was. “What the hell?” he mumbled. “Can you just let me out already? I have no clue what the hell you’re on about!”
It felt less like he was dreaming, and more like he was watching someone’s life from a backseat away. His limbs weren’t his. His voice wasn’t his. Even his words weren’t his. None of this could be real, yet this felt more real than the most vivid of dreams.
Finally, the door swung open. There was a glimpse of the hallway—tan bricks and distant screams—and then a feared face. “I presume you already know who I am,” the man said. “My name is Captain Jacobs. I work in the police department. You’re familiar with the police, yes?”
Andrew—or Mister Myers—nodded his head. “You broke into my house.”
Captain Jacobs sighed as armored cops, dressed in riot gear, placed chairs into the room. “Mister Myers, have you heard of a man named Rene Descartes? He was a French genius who believed a demon had its finger wriggled in its mind. Every one of his thoughts, he believed, stemmed from that demon.”
Then there was the sound of a powerdrill. The kind you’d find in a store.
“Now, I could go on about how he came to the conclusion of free will, but our current predicament proves that this isn’t the case. Demons are always controlling us. In fact, there’s one controlling you.”
The guards held Mister Myers down as the drill was brought out. No matter how much he wriggled, he couldn’t break out of the straitjacket, let alone overpower the armored police. “Get off me!” he screamed. “Just tell me what you want!”
“Oh, but it’s not something you can tell us,” Captain Jacobs sighed. He personally held the drill with gloved hands. He made sure to wear a poncho and a face cover, like a painter on the job. “Ultimately, I think Rene Descartes was sort of right. There is a way to have free will, to control your demon, but you simply aren’t at that level. We just have to kill you.”
“Th-Then kill me!” Mister Myers cried. “Why do you need a drill?!”
“Oh, this thing?” the captain asked. “That’s just for my own pleasure.”
He inched the drill closer to Mister Myers’s eye, making sure his face feared the rotating screw. In a few agonizing seconds, Mister Myers knew that his world was going to be a painful one. All for something he could never understand.
***
“Cheng! Wake the fuck up!” Singh slapped Andrew awake with the force of a thousand suns. “The numbnuts at higher decided to give us a mandatory brief! Last fucking second, too!”
“Huh? What?” Andrew’s head stabbed with pain, like someone was poking a needle into his brain. Definitely not a good transition from whatever-the-hell his dream was about. But a hangover was better than some surreal execution. “We have a mandatory brief?”
He took a quick look around to find that they had crashed at Singh’s apartment. Smith was sprawled on the couch, Gutierrez was face-down on the floor, and the smell of bleach implied that vomit was recently cleaned up. “Jesus…” he mumbled. “What the hell happened…?”
From his very hazy memory, he remembered Smith sobbing like a baby. For some reason, the words “I loved her!” rang in Andrew’s mind, as did the sight of him trying to piss on the couch. Thanks to a fight with a drunken Gutierrez, or something like that, they ended up passing out before any furniture could be that ruined.
Breaking the peace, Kang blasted through the door with everyone’s uniforms in hand. Somehow, he was already dressed in his beautiful Class A uniform—ribbons and all. “You two, wake the others up and get dressed. We have less than an hour to not look like survivors of a car accident.”
“Shit! Less than an hour?!” Singh shrieked. “And how the hell are you already–”
“I always wake up early,” Kang sharply replied. “Now stop with the question and get dressed.” He tossed her a uniform, then tossed Andrew one. “I’ll brew some coffee for everyone to sober up.”
Andrew sat up as he looked at his Class A uniform. The nametag, Cheng, stared back like a disappointed parent. “Fuck…”
***
It was a meeting where almost all the CDR teams, except CDR-1 since they were active duty, were present in their Class A uniforms. Standing in ranks, they formed up at the center of the conference room. “CDR! Atten-tion!”
Everyone moved as one with a nice snap.
It was somewhat comical to see each member seem so clean and squared away, until it came to CDR-4. Other than the Sergeant, who looked good in her Class As, the rest was a shamble beyond belief. Gutierrez’s stubble, for one, screamed hung-over, just as Smith’s stuttering eyes screamed exhausted.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Seats!”
Each team had a designated table of their own, and with good enough distance from one another for inter-team conversation. For this reason, the Sergeant immediately whispered, “What the hell is with you all? And Kang, aren’t you supposed to keep these idiots in line?”
“No excuse, Sergeant.”
Singh shrugged, “To his credit, Sergeant, they scheduled this last–”
The Sergeant raised her hand. Just like that, she shut them up like a disappointed mother. “When you’re on rotation, even from the moment you’re off duty, you should always expect to be recalled. Imagine if it was something more than just a brief. Imagine if we were being called in for another demon. Do you think we should fuck up like this?”
Andrew felt the disappointment come down like a mother’s spoon. Even though he had the feeling that this was just the standard practice of a team leader disciplining her subordinates, he also felt like she had some genuine frustration. “Next time, put in for leave. Then you can have some assured rest. Is that understood?”
In a collective sigh, the group muttered, “Yes Sergeant…”
The meeting subsequently started as soon as everyone was in their ready seats. Chief Williams stood at the podium, the Captains at his sides, and the Lieutenants in the back. Even Lieutenant Bates was there, he was sure to give a quick wave to the CDR team.
“As you all know, this threat of Pentagramists is still at large,” the Chief began. His voice echoed throughout the room as he spoke with the blister of an older man. “Each CDR team has had run-ins with the group, though CDR-4 has had the privilege of seeing their so-called Beasts. As we know, Sergeant Yang has excelled as their team leader, and was prepared to nearly give the ultimate sacrifice for the good of this city. Please give her a hand.”
Everyone was silent—some grimaced—specifically since the bionic arm dirtied the statement of giving a hand. But after someone started applauding, the rest of the room followed suit. They almost forgot Chief William’s slip of the tongue.
Once the noise died down, the Chief prepared to step away from the podium. “Sergeant Yang and I have had many worthwhile discussions ever since the first encounter with the Pentagramists. Sergeant, the floor is yours.”
The Sergeant moved to the stage in professional order. She stood straight at the microphone, made eye contact, and spoke clearly. “I thank you all for working well with our sudden schedule. The discussions I’ve held with the Chief have primarily regarded the evolution of CDRs, their place in the future, and its necessary adaptations now.”
She clicked a few buttons to turn on the presentation. “During the 2030 Transformations, world experts believed that the whole issue would be resolved in the prospect of months. Today, years later, we realize this idea is incorrect. As a result, we should learn more about our new long-term enemy.”
A slide or two in, she was able to show images of the DRD—the electric wire— and the few captured demons. “With the help of the lab and CDR-4, we were able to personally test some new equipment in a series of missions. We’ve been able to capture three medium-threats and nine low-threats with this technology. This allows for scientists to study the minimally understood threat, while also providing some closure for victims.”
The next slide was a little more exciting. Specifically, it was the automated gatling gun, the railgun, the thermite flamethrower, and more toys for the toolbox. “As for escalation, we’ve realized that our current firepower may not be enough for a demon as powerful as a Beast. As such, we’re required to reequip our men and rethink our strategy.”
Afterwards, she showed a well-drawn diagram of the current CDR team structure. “At the top of any team is the team leader, who is directly supported by the assistant team leader. Underneath them is a breacher, a technician, and two gunners. This has been the way we’ve done it. And it’s not enough.”
Murmurs came from all around as the Sergeant continued to the next slide. In the new diagram, the CDR team—which once composed of only six people—now consisted of twenty. “The team leader and assistant team leader will be supported by three fireteams. Each fireteam will consist of one fireteam leader, one recon, one breacher, two gunners, and one medic.”
A cough interrupted the presentation. Everyone looked to find Captain Jacobs, who had accidentally gotten too close to his microphone. Andrew gagged at the mere sight of him—no thanks to his earlier dream.
“Sorry about that, but did I hear you right? A medic?”
“Yes, sir.”
He moved his hands around in confusion. “I don’t see the need. In a given situation, we have medical staff nearby. Why can’t the current six-man structure just lead them over.”
Andrew looked around at the other CDR teams. They gave disgusted looks at the captain, who seemed to have little to no CDR experience, let alone police experience. How the hell he got to such a position boggled their minds.
“The current six-man structure is inadequate,” the Sergeant summarized. “The current CDR teams aren’t equipped to assist injured civilians, chase a demon, and secure an area. As of right now, the six men either have to be split up or grouped together. Either case is extremely dangerous.”
“Sure, it’s dangerous. That’s why you signed up,” the Captain said.
Andrew didn’t know how the Sergeant was staying calm under this pure stupidity. Surely if Singh was on that stage, she would’ve already smacked that dumb ass in the jaw. The Sergeant really was someone to admire.
Fortunately, the rest of the presentation didn’t have many more interruptions. The Sergeant went into specifics like equipment, money, and potential risks. “Tripling the size of each CDR team may seem drastic, but may be necessary with the current environment. Now, Captain Jacobs, do you have anything else to add?”
“Yes, though they’re just restatements of what everyone’s thinking,” he said. “To triple the size of each CDR, one would need to increase the slots from basic training, which would require reorganization from the United States. Now, given that New Changan is not an official territory but an independent city-state, it would require a whole politics of its own.”
“I’m aware,” the Sergeant said. “It may require a local basic training that could fulfill the same requirements. Given the current severity, and the time constraints, I would recommend recruiting from the police department.”
“Ah, so now you want to merge the CDRs with the police. Now, isn’t that what I’ve been begging weeks for?” His corner of friends seemed to chuckle with him, but no one else. It was the same as listening to some idiot jabber bullshit.
The Sergeant had to keep her usual poker face as she said, “That is not what I’m proposing. As of right now, the police force doesn’t have the equipment nor the command structure for the existing CDR team to seamlessly integrate themselves. Given the necessary tactical agility of independence, as opposed to the bureaucratic sluggishness of a large organization, I believe the CDRs should currently remain independent. Once there are enough trained personnel, then perhaps there can be discussion of integration.”
Nothing to reply with. Nothing to add. The Captain remained sitting like he had already won the argument, despite no one thinking so.