Section 17: Pieces in motion

The precinct buzzed with activity, a hive of organized chaos. Enforcers strode through the halls, their uniforms catching the light from the fluorescent lights. Signs of the recent attacks were everywhere: broken glass crunched under their feet in some corridors, while others swarmed with maintenance workers restoring damaged infrastructure. The fallout from the attacks had pushed every department into overdrive.

The cybercrime unit was in full swing, its agents immersed in a storm of data. Holographic monitors hovered mid-air, displaying streams of code and surveillance feeds. Neural interfaces glowed faintly as the agents transferred terabytes of intelligence between the precinct’s Network and their own cognitive databases.

Behind closed doors, Director Lysa Hale observed classified reports projected in front of her. The holographic display reflected off her sharp eyes and darted across intercepted communications, citywide surveillance snapshots, and Enforcer movement logs. Her gum chewing was a telltale sign of her nervousness.

“Incoming figure. Identified: General Voss.”

The AI voice of her neural assistant, Sala, was crisp. Hale gave a slight nod as the door to her office slid open. General Torran Voss entered, his heavy boots muffled on the carpeted floor.

“Director,” Voss began without introduction. “We’ve intercepted an encrypted signal from our CI near Sector 17—close to the outskirts. It confirms a meeting of several criminal organizations.”

Hale’s eyes narrowed as she dismissed the holographic display with a flick of her wrist. “Sector 17? That’s the industrial zone. If they’re mobilizing there, something big is going down.”

“Agreed,” Voss replied. “I’ve sent Grade C scouts to monitor the area, but I recommend deploying a specialized unit. If we wait too long, we risk losing them.”

Hale leaned back in her chair, her mind already calculating the risks. “Proceed. But this mission needs surgical precision. And for the love of God…keep it quiet. We can’t afford another public debacle.”

A flicker of something crossed Voss’s face, an uncharacteristic hesitation. “I have just the agents in mind.”

4 hours later: 12:05 P.M.

Vega and CIX stood in Hale’s office waiting for her to finish a conversation on her phone. Vega’s arm was freshly bandaged from her recent injuries, but her expression was fierce and determined. CIX shifted uneasily, his posture stiff.

Hale gestured for them to sit. She chewed her gum thoughtfully, popped it into her hand and tossed it toward the corner. A sleek vacuum bot zipped in to dispose of it, a small mechanical chirp signaling its approval.

“We’ve received credible intelligence about criminal activity in Sector 17,” Hale began, her tone clipped. "We believe multiple factions are involved. This isn’t a standard mission, so we are going to need all personnel on standby.”

“Sector 17?” CIX interjected, frowning. “That zone is crawling with workers and machinery. Pinpointing a meeting will be like finding a needle in a haystack.”

Hale’s gaze pinned him in place. “I am aware, Agent. The mission is mostly recon, we will engage when necessary.”

Vega leaned forward, her tone brisk. “We’ll need additional agents for support if we’re engaging multiple targets.”

Hale’s expression didn’t waver. “the two of you are not in charge of the operation, you will handle logistics. Take note of any exchange between the targets and secure them.”

The abrupt shift caught both agents off-guard. CIX started to object, “But—”

Hale silenced him with a stern glance. “You know your mission objectives, coordinate with the leading agents. Dismissed.”

Without another word, she returned to her neural display. Vega and CIX exchanged a look—equal parts frustration and confusion—before leaving the office.

Near the sprawling industrial zone of Sector 17, Grayson and Tala stood beside a dormant warehouse. Their civilian clothes blended into the surroundings, a deliberate effort to avoid suspicion. The team was patrolling the surrounding area, communicating through comms. The air carried the acrid scent of oil, sweat and welding fumes, punctuated by the rhythmic clang of hammers against anvils. Sparks rained down from the welding torched, illuminating the dirt-covered faces of the workers. "Move over, you ape!" one worker shouted, his voice hoarse from yelling. "I need room to swing this thing!"

Tala, however, was growing impatient by the minute. She paced near a stack of rusted scrap metal. “Are you sure this ‘old friend’ of yours is coming?”

Grayson leaned casually against a pillar, a faint smirk on his face. “He’ll show. He owes me a favor.”

The low rumble of an approaching vehicle interrupted their exchange. Both turned toward the sound, spotting a sleek black hovercraft gliding toward the warehouse. The setting sun reflected off its tinted windows sending a blinding flash of light toward the workers. They squinted, shielding their eyes as it passed then got back to their work.

Grayson raised a hand, signaling his team to remain in position. The hovercraft came to a halt, and its door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. A tall man with a goatee stepped out, his white suit, a stark contrast against the grimy backdrop. A red tie hung loosely from his neck, and the brim of his hat cast a shadow over his face.

“Grayson,” the man greeted, his voice smooth yet wary. “It’s been a while.”

“Dominic,” Grayson replied, stepping forward and clasping the man’s hand in a firm grip. “I didn’t think you’d keep me waiting.”

Dominic’s eyes scanned the area, his gaze sharp. “The Directorate’s got every sector crawling with Enforcers. You picked one hell of a time for a reunion.”

Grayson chuckled. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I need access to the old Network archives.”

“That’s a tall order. Can a guy sit first? Sheesh. What do you even want with those?" Dominic’s brows furrowed. “Last I heard those archives were sealed after the Jackal operation was shut down years ago.”

“Grayson’s smirk deepened. “Let’s not play games, Dominic. I know you’ve found a way in.”

Dominic hesitated, then straightened his tie. “Fine. I might know somebody who knows somebody. Information like that isn’t cheap. What’s in it for me?”

Grayson nodded to Tala, who stepped forward carrying a matte black briefcase. She placed it on a crate and unlocked it, revealing its contents. Dominic’s eyes widened slightly as he saw stolen Directorate codes, holographic blueprints of classified facilities, and encrypted files marked with the Directorate’s insignia.

“Impressive,” Dominic murmured, his tone laced with intrigue. ”I’m assuming that was you in the precinct last week. But why risk so much for access to the archives?”

Grayson’s tone turned serious. “Because I’m looking for someone. And I think you know exactly who.”

Dominic’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “Alright. You really think he is the one behind the murders?”

“Don’t you?”

Unbeknownst to Grayson’s team, a cloaked drone hovered nearby, its silent sensors capturing every word. The feed transmitted back to a hidden Enforcer outpost, where a shadowed figure watched the scene unfold.

The pieces were in motion, and the game was only just beginning.