A thought hits me as I stare down at the home. It's an odd little knot that sits in my stomach as I tumble with it. It's missing a window. The house is missing a part of its skin, like a body opened for surgery. It's not open or shattered or boarded up, there's just an empty hole where a window belongs. Structurally, it's all the same, but missing a small part of its itself. We're not using the open window. It's not even the house we're supposed to be calling on. Like all civilized guests, we're kicking in the doors.
Our transport hums in time silently along the swarm as we leave that house behind. I can taste them in between my teeth. I'm just imagining it, or so I've been told. It tastes mellitic and gritty. I feel them spark across my tongue in sharp sour. They tell me its 5 until we drop. The street below is silent. The black paint of our collective underbelly hides us anyway. We just have to worry about the wayward cat poking out at us and judging our actions. The rats have much better things to do.
The message hits each of the squad in that same moment. Fingers tighten, shoulders clench, jaw lines set under the glowing helmets. Tactical information, one last rundown of the blueprints, the add-on basement lab, the probably positions of combatants and our routes through. I get to be on the tail of the front breach. My rifle along my back gives a comforting weight, but the revolver on my hip does a much better job, right below my pack of gum. I take a slow breath in, feeling all those little machines break into my lungs. They say I am ready. They tell everyone else I am ready. They tell me that everyone else is ready. We still have to wait for those final two seconds to pass by, just in case something happens and changes the count.
Nothing does.
The doors open and the ropes drop. I am the last one out, as ordered to be. The other transport hovering silently does the same. Officer Shaihk synchs with me as we drop. We are all connected in a vast web of ethereal light, but ours are strongest for the moment.
We have not even a second of time crossing the lawn. The steps come down to a fraction of it, the stack even less, and the breach happening before I can process. The swarm is doing that for me. It moves my fingers and moves my mind. I do not fire. The swarm does not identify anything that needs shot at the moment. The ones before me take care of it. Swears and screams and choking darkness, they all deal with it in their own way. Most go for their own guns in a valiant act of defiance put down before it could ever be a problem. The swarm told the officers that they were supposed to be put down. The helmet showed us the judgement. We just carry it out. I finally fire a shot and clip someone in the leg. I figure that we will need at least one person alive to give the testimony that the physical scene cannot. Officer Shaikh agrees with that assessment and moves to bind. I'm still with my line. We're going to the basement now. That's where the swarm of machines told us to go.
The stack comes together at the threshold, and it breaks before it can solidify in form. The machines and the helmets said it was time to move and the coordination was already done. We're slow, so much slower than the cloud can be. The point breaks the door with another shotgun round and we are moving downstairs, following the tink and dance of a live flash bang. It goes off just as we are about to round the corner. The swarm dulls the impact, and the dance we hold makes the rest shrug off. We move. I move. The extremities we share hold rifles and pistols and take down whatever it is we're supposed to.
We avoid the distilleries. We avoid the glass and chemicals showing a slightly green tint. It's a good lab, really. Well ventilated, but not too open, organized and clear. The Inkosikazi runs a good ship, I have to admit. The men have their own network and training, tight formations made to encircle and trap, but our own network is too fluid. I pull the trigger again and a body hits the floor. It shoves a table and sends a glass vial rolling off the table. I walk forward and plant it back upright. Wouldn't do any of us any good if the evidence is shattered and spilled on the ground.
The basement's clear by the time I turn back to the formation. Not even a minute, not even half, not even a quarter. I ignore the gentle chastisement from my helmet. Blackbrush Precinct still has us beat on time, but that's a dick measuring contest I can do without. A few pained moans slip through the helmet and that's another distress call that I don't deal with. The med response is already coming. I sling the rifle along my back and pull the gum from pack. I wince as it hits my tongue. Orange. Of course, I'd get orange flavor. At least it drowns out the metallic.
I scan and survey and take it all in with a slow steady gaze. The swarm needs calm and collected to fully pull down a clear picture for my world. It's getting every micrometer of movement I took from the jump as I work through the present moment. The layout escapes me. That's for everyone else to parse through. I work the gum and resist the urge to spit it out. It's doing its job. The adrenaline is fading, and my ears aren't ringing. Even the smoke's clearing. The swarm nudges me upstairs to continue my sweep and that's what I do.
Some of the medics have already arrived and a few of them have even started working. The bodies are lined up and sorted, the gel foam is staunching wounds and giving out painkillers. The swarm gives them tags to work through.
I see a few bullet holes punched through with blood splatters. It's the same as the ongoing renovations down the block. The veil is broken. Inside and outside don't have a line in between them anymore. Little needle holes breaking and piercing and showing the secrets to the world. I see a light go on down the street. The swarm is already alerting the world to go back to bed. There is nothing to see. They should just move along. Even if they live here, they should just move along. An old man in a robe peers through his front door.
The med team arrives and that's the hard part of my job over. All threats neutralized, all preliminary evidence scanned and gathered, all the bullets and casings accounted for. The adrenaline's gone and my swarm is picking up the slack. There's a kid holding a stuffed rabbit from a closed window, curious about all the flashing lights and loud noises. I move to the spot I say I should. I have a perimeter to establish, more walls to put up. The swarm says I can go once everything's done. I just hope the gum lasts that long.
---
My breath tastes orange. My teeth taste orange. I can feel the flavor creep into my sinuses. I'll be weeping orange tears by the end of the night. My sweat will stain every piece of clothing and I'll be trapped in citrus hell. The gum isn't even good enough to blow a bubble. By all accounts, it's a bad piece. But I've kept it close and I'm waiting on the reason why.
I can feel the music through the walls. I can feel it through the floor. The club goes up a good way and down even more. Private rooms and private bars, a maze of light and music and color all to be lost in. Someone's taking a smoke break and I want one of those too. It'd mess with the gum though, so we wait.
A door opens and that's all I need to actually have a good night. The overtime barely covered a pouch on the way over and I have rent. I work the gum one last time. It covers the swarm at least.
"Good evening officer," says the light from the door and I smile. Didn't expect her to carry out the deal.
"Mine's going great," says the other half of the light, "Full house in there. Money hand over fist."
And my little thrill gets tamped down. This makes more sense. It explains her presence. It explains the orange. It explains the long wait.
The Salamander tries to fill the alley with their presence, but it just doesn't work. Too small, too thin. They exist and that's undeniable, but in the gaps and the fringes. A splash of poisonous warning, red and yellow and black, to let everything know to be on edge. They push their hair back. Not like it needed it. Everything's been cut and styled and gelled all nice and neat and even. I pull myself and look to the better half.
Chem's smiling and my heart melts. She actually does the heavy lifting of presence. Liability says the standard issue training baked in my soul. But this is off the books, and I'm already breaking too many regulations. One more isn't going to hurt. She's big. Her swarm has made her big. If I remember right, it was part of the first deal I cut, how the force tweaks and trains the machines to change our bodies. She's also got new ink peeking under her cuffs. Professional and intimidating and I feel the square off coming under a wry smile and a wink.
"Salamander," I say, "Didn't expect you to show up for this one."
"Eh," they shrug, "Figured you were due for a check in, Nora. Make sure that everything's copacetic."
"Why would I be here if it wasn't?"
