The Psychic Corps

Historically, psychics were regarded as frauds and fakes. That belief lasted until the year 2115. In the beginning of the year, a noted scientist named Dr. Henry Gilbert Wells, found a way to imbue a person with psychic abilities. Using a new technique involving plasma, the first esper-human was created. The success and results were unquestionable. The entire experiment was viewed by the highest members of the scientific board. Shortly after his first experiment, Dr. Wells received a grant from the US justice department. He was given all the equipment necessary to complete his research. Today Psychics are no longer created. The genetic material is passed down through reproduction. The espers today look just like anyone else. They have a range of abilities varying in strength. Most espers are members of the Psychic-Corps. They make up the most effective police force ever seen. My name is John Shepard. I am one of the newest members of the Psychic-Corps. The morning I’m due to report to the Corps. HQ building finds me excited and anxious.
I walk down the street battling with my emotions. Fear and excitement take turns ruling over me as I repeat the phrase in my head, I made it. Having just passed my entry exam, I was finally part of the Corps. Ever since I discovered my own psychic abilities when I was young, I dreamed of doing something helpful with them. I started training myself when I first heard about the Psychic-Corps. By my late teens, I could manipulate objects from almost a half-mile away. I could easily read other people’s emotions and if another psychic entered the room, I would know. Even though my powers made me an outcast, I didn’t mind; I knew I would have a place in the corps.
I enter the building and pause in the lobby to look into a display case. There is a picture of the first members of the Psychic-Corps. They are smiling with the knowledge that their esper abilities would protect them. The description next to the picture tells me a different story. The first twenty psychics were sent into the field with just their minds, and all of them were slaughtered. The creation of psychics raised a lot of issues in the private sectors of life. Many people were afraid of losing the privacy of their minds. Some people were just afraid of losing their minds. Several companies, including electronics and drug industries decided to research and develop products to block or inhibit psychic powers. Shortly after psychics were created, Psi-Inhibitors were developed and released. These devices would block even the strongest psychic. That was the entire point of the device. The stronger the power in a person, the stronger the inhibitors would react. When the Psychic-Corps was formed and deployed against criminals, criminals deployed inhibitors against the Corps. It became evident that conventional methods were needed to support the psychic powers. From then on, all members of the Psychic-Corps were taught basic weapon skills and trained in urban combat. In its second incarnation, the Corps was more like an elite S.W.A.T. team or the Marines. Since its success in Chicago, the Corps was deployed nationally. But the demand for psychics is very high. The Corps is constantly taking new recruits. They practically jumped on me when I signed up for the academy. I was excited to join though; I wanted to try to make a difference.

It was no surprise that during the oil crisis of the mid twenty-first century that the crime rate rose dramatically. Some cities got so bad that the petitioned their mayors to do something. The mayors turned to the Goveners of the state, who turned to their congressmen; thus a local problem suddenly became a problem for the federal government. The government didn’t know how to handle it. So they did what they always do: put it out of sight. In 2100 the federal government commissioned the building of High Crime Sectors. In one fell swoop the government walled off sections of every major city where they believed the trouble lie. Each sector was designated by the order in which they were created; from worst to least worst. Chicago is Sector 3, behind New York and Old Detroit.
For a while, the sectors seemed to work beautifully. With having the problem population walled off, life outside the sectors became very civilized and calm. When the sectors were created, local governments realized they had something better than prison. They realized that any prison worthy offender could simply be relocated to the sector, thus saving on funds for the penal system. Funds could then be diverted to making life outside the sectors more comfortable for everyone. Nobody saw any problems with how the sectors were being used because they served as greater deterrants to crime then prison or the death penalty ever did. The crime rate dropped outside the sectors, making the whole endeavor worthwhile. The downside was what was happening within the sectors while life outside was going great.
Within the Sectors, there is no law. Gangs operate in force and in the open. After a while of being sectioned off, gangs started to operate like cartels; forming their own rules and ways of living. They started to find ways to move drugs and guns into the ‘civilized’ regions of the country. Suddenly the peaceful life enjoyed by everyone outside the sector became their own downfall. After years of not having to deal with violent crime, the standard police force couldn’t deal with the renewal of violence. Since the conventional police were unable to do the job, it became the Corps’ job to control the Sectors’ outside influence. Regular missions were run into the Sector to eliminate gangs. For any government agent operating within a Sector there is a standing order to shoot first. Yet every time one gang is destroyed, another pops up. It is a losing battle, yet the Corps fights it everyday. The national death rates climb every year. Chicago totals near three thousand a year alone.
A tap on my shoulder breaks me from my thoughts. Behind me is what looks like a desk clerk, looking rather annoyed.
“Shepard,” he asks. “John Shepard?”
I nod. “Yes, that’s me.”
He turns and walks down the hall, waving a hand at me to follow. We come to a halt in front of a metal door labeled, Training. The clerk pushes the door open.
“Go in,” he says.
I enter the room looking around. Aside from a table on my right, the room is empty and almost completely dark. Over the slamming of the metal door, I hear the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered into a shotgun: ‘click-clack’. I immediately project a field of energy around me, and the pellets deflect off and fly to either side to rip holes in the wall, leaving me unharmed.
“Good,” a voice calls, seeming to come from everywhere. “Now, try to get me.”
The table on my right is dimly lit with an overhead light. On it is a lone pistol: an old, well used Glock 17. I grab the gun and eject the magazine; fully loaded with .45 caliber rounds. I jam it back in as I move slowly around the edge of the room. As I chamber a round the light over the table goes out, leaving the room in total darkness. I stand completely still, thinking. I know the exercise I am in, and what is expected of me. The training officer is expecting me to expand my mind to ‘feel’ where he is, but that is not what I intend to do. I know doing that would leave me vulnerable, so I decide to take a different approach. I smile as I let my eyes go out of focus. As I stand motionless, controlling my breathing, the walls of the room slowly come into sight. As I adapt my eyes to see through the darkness, the room takes on a light green hue. Slowly and carefully I start to pace the room. Even with the night vision, my visibility is limited. As I sweep my head from side to side I see the trainer. He is standing near the center of the room with his eyes shut, tracking my movement. I see the glimmer of a shield being projected around him, very close to his body. Even though I can tell this is a man with a great deal of power, I don’t think he knows what I have done. I am sure of it when he speaks, with an edge to his voice.
“Come on Shepard, I don’t have all day. If you can’t do this simple exercise, get the hell out of here.”
His voice is projected so that it seems to come from everywhere.
As quickly and as quietly as I can, I move to his back. Standing about three feet away, I aim my gun at the back of his head. I then project a thought to him. That won’t be necessary, sir. I see his head perk up, receiving my though, and I pull the trigger twice. My double tap catches him squarely in the back of the head. The bullets ricochet off his shield and he throws himself forward, rolling on the ground. The lights snap on, temporally blinding me as I shake off the night-vision effect. The room is bathed in white fluorescent light. On one wall about five feet off the ground there is a window to a control booth. Inside I can see one man. He is dressed in a uniform and wears a rank patch that I can’t make out. From this distance, all I can make out on the man are his bright blue eyes. He presses a button and speaks into the microphone.
“Good work. That’s the fastest anyone has ever completed this exercise. Give Roberts the gun and move out to the ready room.”
I walk over to Roberts and offer my hand to help him up. He looks at me with a smirk on his face.
“Cute trick kid,” he says, as I pull him off the ground. “You did well with this, but don’t get cocky. That’s how you wind up dead.” I don’t reply as I hand him the pistol. He takes is, looking slightly annoyed by my silence. “Ready room is out that door, down the hall to the left. Your vet will be there in a minute.”
“What do you mean, ‘Vet’?”
“Each team has a vetren assigned to it; someone who has been in the field for a while. He’s there to make sure you don’t get yourselves killed. Try not to piss him off.”
He turns away and head to a third door, which I assume leads to the control booth. I exit the door behind me and go down the hall to the ready room.
I grimace as I open the door. The ready room is a damn sauna. There is so much tension in the air that I can hardly breathe. The room is full of easily a dozen recruits, all suited up in full body armor and wearing helmets. Each recruit is studying a different weapon, becoming familiar with it. All of them are nervous. They all look up at me as I enter the room. I know I carry myself with confidence and I catch the thought that all of them have: They think I am the vet. One of them sets down his weapon and walks up to me.
“Sir,” he says, extending a shaking hand. “I’m McConner, Private McConner. I’m really looking forward to working with you.”
I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you McConner, I’m Private Shepard.”
He looks at me. “You mean you’re not the vet?”
I laugh. “No. I’m a rookie just like you.”
He drops my hand and walks back to the bench, embarrassed. He sits down and picks up his weapon and resumes studying it. I walk over to the equipment counter. A hole cut in the wall provides room to pass armor and weapons over. The man sitting there is not old, but obviously not cut for active duty. He is out of shape and I detect no Powers from him.
“What’ll it be,” he asks, disinterested. “Full body armor and a helmet, like the others?”
I glance back out toward the room and shake my head. “No, just give me a Kevlar vest.”
The guy disappears for a moment then returns with a vest and hands it to me. “Weapon?” he asks.
“I’m not sure yet. What do you have in terms of pistols?”
He gives me a strange look then glances at a list. “I’ve got an old Smith & Wesson .38, a Colt .45 and an H&K USP 9mm.”
I ponder for a second then say, “Give me the H&K. And do you have a shoulder harness and a couple spare mags?”
The man just grunts and gets up from his stool. He disappears into the back and after a time returns with a bunch of stuff in his arms. He plops his burden onto the counter and sits down again. In addition to everything else, he also provided me with a box of 9mm bullets; fifty rounds. I thank him and take my goodies over to a bench and start to load the mags.
Soon, I become aware of a body standing over me. I look up. The man standing above me has a face that speaks of experience. His blue eyes study me before he says anything. His black hair is long, but not too much so. I notice that he wears a solid black fitted hat backward to keep the hair back. Without being told, I know he is the vet of our group. He continues to look at me.
“A pistol and a vest,” he comments. “No full body, no helmet, no heavy weaponry, why not?”
I raise my head. I know I’m being sized up, so I take time with my reply. “Several reasons; full-body armor limits movement, and a helmet can limit the psi-abilities as well as cut down on vision. As for the gun, well, I like this particular pistol and H&K makes good guns. Plus it’s simple and I know how to use it.”
He nods, but his eyes tell me he’s trying to decide if I’m cocky, or just dumb. “But you don’t know how to use the others?”
“Well I know about the assault rifle there; it’s a pretty standard weapon. But those bigger weapons,” I point around the room. They are unfamiliar to me, and I’ll bet that not many of these guys know what they have in their hands, or how to use it.”
Again he nods. “What’s your name?”
“Shepard,” I reply. “John Shepard.”
“Ah yes,” he smiles. “You scared the shit out of Roberts by the way. That exercise was quite an interesting thing to watch. Nobody tried the night vision before.”
His comment is laced with unasked questions. I decide to answer one. “I like to do things differently.” The vet flashes a smirk and chuckles. “I’m Karl Smyth. But call me ‘Stryker’.”
I nod and slide one of the mags into my gun, clicking it into place. Stryker turns back to the equipment guy and asks him for something. The man looks upset at being bothered again, but heaves himself up and wanders into the back. He comes back holding two guns and a couple more boxes of bullets. Stryker thanks him and turns back to me.
“Here,” he says, handing me one of the guns. “If you like the H&K pistol, then you’ll appreciate this.”
It is another H&K gun, but not a pistol. It’s an MP5, a nice accurate sub-machine gun that uses the standard 9mm round. Stryker also hands me four mags, taped together in doubles. He drops two more boxes of bullets on the bench beside me and walks away.
“Thanks” I call after him. He just waves back with his free hand.
Stryker walks toward the front of the room as I continue to load up. As I press bullets into magazines, I notice that no one is paying attention to Stryker. Somehow he slipped into the room unnoticed. Stryker sets his gun on a table and begins to load his mags, not saying anything. I turn back to my own loading. Four mags with thirty rounds each is a lot of bullets.
“Okay people, listen up.” Every head snaps up at the command and sound of Stryker’s voice. Now they recognize the vet. I notice that McConner doesn’t walk up to shake Stryker’s hand. Once the room grows quiet, Stryker continues.
“Welcome to your first day in the Corps. We’re not going to spend anymore time training you, because you know everything you need to. You can protect yourselves and engage enemies. Therefore, today’s mission should be a walk in the park. This mission is fairly standard: we’re going in to shut down a cartel. These guys are relatively new, still dealing in just drugs, so we don’t anticipate any heavy resistance. Seeing as how we will be within the Sector the order is to shoot on sight. They have holed themselves up in an old rundown industrial complex, so they do have a well defended position.”
Stryker pushes a button and a satellite image comes on, showing us an overhead view of the complex. There is a main central building and four surrounding buildings, each taking up a different point on a compass. There are barren fields on every side, with one road leading up from the south. The map shows that the industrial complex is about 5 kilometers from inside the Sector wall. Stryker moves in front of the map and continues.
“Now, obviously we are going to approach from the south as it is the only road. As you can see, this site is 5 kliks inside the wall, but I don’t anticipate any trouble getting there. Once we reach the site we will park in this lot. From there it’s a simple mop-and-go operation. Teams will move through the building eliminating any resistance encountered. That’s the basics of today’s mission, now for the tricky part.”
Stryker pushes the button on his control again. A different picture appears on the wall. It’s a mug shot of some guy in his mid-thirties. His eyes have the look of a man who doesn’t care about what he did. His hair has gone prematurely gray, and the receding hairline exposes a pronounced widow’s peak
“This man’s name is Jason Harlan; he is the leader of the gang we are targeting today. However we suspect that he is simply a pawn in the grand scheme of things. It is obvious that there is something going on, as we have seen an increase in both drug and gun trafficking. The fear is that he is getting support from outside the sector. We need to take him alive to question and see if we get anything out of him. A bit of a change from the norm, but someone higher up thinks it’s worth a shot. If anyone kills this guy, I’m sending him straight to the Brass to get his balls busted, is that clear?”
A chorus of “Yes sir!” echoes through the room.
Stryker nods. “Good, then suit up and let’s go. Two men to a car; Shepard you’re with me.”
I follow Stryker out of the ready room with a feeling of pride in my gut. As we walk to the car, Stryker speaks.
“Listen Shepard; on first impressions, I like you. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. Keep your head up, and don’t get shot, and you’ll make it far. Now let’s go.”
I get in the car and we speed toward our destination. All seven cars pull out of the motor pool and form in a line; a caravan of justice.
The HQ building is close to the Sector, so within minutes we reach the outer wall of Sector 3. The guards open the gates and we pass though into No Man’s Land. Around the entire perimeter of the Sector there is a five hundred meter stretch of land with no trees or buildings. Guards with rifles patrol atop the two meter thick wall. The rules are that if anyone is in that area and they aren’t on the road, they are shot under the belief they are trying to escape. The bodies are left as a warning. The stink of rotting flesh is the perfume of Sector life. For that reason, nobody lives within a kilometer on the outside of the Sector, because no respectable person wants to smell that.
In short order, we are on the road into the industrial complex. As soon as we enter the area, I feel my psi-abilities being repressed and an alarm goes off inside the car. Psi-Inhibitors are active. Stryker links up with a satellite map and pinpoints their locations. He grabs his radio.
“All units, there are four Psi-Inhibitors in the area. They are located in the buildings surrounding the center building. Car three, head to the north side of the complex. Car two, the east one is yours. Car seven, take the one on the west. Shepard and I will take the south one. Be careful while taking out the Inhibitors. Urban combat is a different beast than training. Cars four five and six, set up shop on the road. It’s the only way in or out, so guard it. Let nobody past. You may fire if necessary but do not kill the target. Got it? Good. Let’s go.”
As soon as he finishes speaking Stryker guns the motor and whips the car into a lot in front of the south building. We pull up in front of a short three story building. We hop out with weapons drawn. I quickly notice that Stryker is carrying the Glock 17 I used in the training exercise and has the other MP5 slung on his back. My pistol is in my hand, safety off. Without waiting, I assume the point position; casting Stryker a look to be sure he has my back. Stryker nods. Slowly I walk up towards a window to the left of the main doors and peer inside. All the lights are off, so I can’t see a thing. Using the butt of my gun I break the glass and reach inside to open the window. I climb in check the room. I’m in an empty coat room and the door is closed. I motion for Stryker to enter the window while I watch the door. Once Stryker is inside I move to the door and check it; locked. I step back and deliver a strong kick to the door. As it bursts outward, I spin to the side. No sooner do I move than a burst of gun fire splinters the wood. Coming up from behind me Stryker steps into the doorway and fires three rounds. I hear the clatter of a gun hitting a floor, quickly followed by the thump of a body. Stryker moves out of the coat room and I follow, covering his back. We pass by the dead thug and I take a second to look at him. To me he looks like anyone else, just more unclean due to where he lives. His weapon is an old MAC-10, something small and inaccurate over a long range. Man, I think as we walk on. If they are all armed with that shit, this will be easy.
Over the radio we hear, “North side down.”
Stryker replies, “Good work, join the team on the south road.”
Stryker threads his way through the machinery to a stair well at the back of the building. We climb the stairs to the third floor. Stryker listens for sounds on the other side of the door, and then speaks into his radio. “All teams report in.”
“East side still up.”
“West side down, joining Road team.”
“Road team reports all quiet.”
Stryker looks at me. “Ready?”
I nod. Stryker opens the door and peers out. The third floor seems to be administrative. There is a collection of cubicles and a few offices on the far end of the floor. Otherwise it is an open space. Two of the offices are dark with the shades pulled, but the middle one has the lights on and from across the floor we could see a body moving back and forth. Stryker crouches down and starts to move across the room. I follow, checking the cubicles as we pass. Within a minute we are on the other side, right outside the offices. Quietly I creep to the door and crouch down in front of it. I lean over to look through the window. It really isn’t an office, but a conference room. There is a long table in the middle of the room, and a lone man pacing on the far side of the table. He doesn’t notice me and I sit back upright. I wait till I think his back is turned before acting. I quickly stand and throw the door open. The man turns to face me without bringing his gun up, startled by the noise. My gun is already up and I fire as his eyes go wide with surprise. The bullet catches him in the chest, making him fall against the wall and drop his gun. He is trying to stand back upright when I line up a second shot and fire at his head. The impact slams his head back against the wall while simultaneously blowing out the back of it. His body slides down the floor, leaving a smear of blood on the wall. As I step fully into the room, Stryker goes to the back when the dead thug is. He motions for me to come to his side, so I walk around the length of the table. I’ve seen dead men before, but I’m not too eager to look at the first one I created. As I round the table, I look to the floor. Sitting on floor not three feet from the dead thug is the Inhibitor. I have never seen one and had always figured them to be big. However it is only a small box with a little rotating dish on top of it. Stryker holsters his pistol and swings his MP5 to the ready. I hear the snick of the safety being released and he points the gun at the Inhibitor.
“Strange,” he says, “that something so small can be such a big pain in the ass.”
He pulls the trigger, letting loose a burst. The three bullets tear into the Inhibitor, throwing up a shower of sparks. As the dish stops rotating, I feel my Psi-abilities rush back to me. Stryker takes in a deep breath. He grabs his radio, “South side down; joining road team.”
We make our way back to our car and drive the short distance to the main parking lot where the rest of the team has set up a makeshift barricade. Most of the guys are sitting on the hoods of their cars. Only a couple of them are still holding their weapons, the rest are leaning against the cars, out of reach. I notice McConner leaned up against a car, his back to the building. He is holding his weapons low, but ready. One of the other rookies is on the opposite side of the cars, facing the building. He is slowly walking towards it, turning his head from side to side. Watching him gives me a funny feeling, and I cast my thoughts out, searching for something out of place. The four rookies that were in the north and west buildings are busy talking about their accomplishments while those who set up the barricade look on with jealousy. “Man,” says one of the four, “you should have seen it. I got that bastard right between the eyes. Pow!”
“Anything going on out here?” Stryker kept his voice plain.
“It’s been quiet” replies one of the original road team. Everyone can tell he isn’t happy that it’s been quiet. He’s itching for action. He is one of the few still holding his weapon.
Stryker nods. “Doubt it will stay that way.”
The rookie on the other side of our barricade starts to head back towards the cars. I notice his eyes are vacant; he is probing the building, just as I am. I see his head snap up and note that Stryker’s does as well. I close my own eyes, and feel movement in the building. Five men are moving into position on the third floor, outer wall. I open my mouth to shout a warning, but I am cut off by the crackle of a radio.
“East side inhibitor is down. We’re rejoining the road team.”
I can sense that something is about to happen, and Stryker does to. As he speaks into the radio, I project a though towards the other group.
“Get out of there now!” yells Stryker.
-RUN- I project.
“Huh? What’s going on?”
That is the last thing the east side team gets a chance to say. The building to the east explodes and we dive for cover. I dropped where I was standing, but several of the others had to twist themselves off of the cars. Some ended up on the wrong side of the barricade. Immediately after the explosion, the windows of the third floor are shattered outward. Through the rain of glass comes a hail of gunfire. Three of the rookies are riddled with bullets before they can scramble back over the cars. I pull myself into a crouch and take cover behind a car. Once there, I take a second to try and regain my composure. Thank god for Kevlar and cars, I think.
None of us except for Stryker have ever been in a fire fight. We had the training exercise, but that was a completely different thing then being under this lethal rain. I can feel my heart beating in my chest as I am paralyzed with fear.
“Shepard!”
I look over toward the sound of my name. Stryker is looking at me. I don’t respond. Stryker stands and fires off a few bursts towards the building. I’m not sure if he even hit anything.
“For fucks’ sake Shepard,” he yells, ducking his head down again. “You just going to sit there while they turn us into swiss-cheese? Get your ass in gear and return fire!”
I nod and grab my MP5, clicking the safety off. Quickly I poke my head around the front of the car, taking in the situation. The windows on the third floor are broken out and suppressive fire comes from some of them. The five men are moving from window to window, firing as they go. Their fire is successfully keeping us in cover; nobody can actually get a clean shot. Every time Stryker stands up, he can only fire off a quick burst before the incoming fire makes him take cover again. I look around at the other rookies. McConner is huddled behind the next car, wincing at the impact of bullets on the car. I yell over at him,
“McConner! Be ready.”
He looks over at me, not sure what I mean, but nods. I glance over at Stryker, who is reloading and quickly project my plan to him. He just nods, saying nothing aloud or in my head. I take a deep breath to calm myself. As I exhale, I jump up and pull the trigger of my gun. I’m not aiming at anyone in particular, but at all of the broken windows. Stryker is next to me doing the same thing. The gunfire from the windows stops as the enemy is finally forced to take cover. I cast a look toward McConner, who is also standing. His weapon looks like a rocket launcher, but it’s about half as long. The front of the barrel is a construction of tempered glass with a crystal inside. McConner brings the weapon to his sholder and aims at the third from of the building.
-WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?- I ask him.
-HELL IF I KNOW- he replies, and pulls the trigger. A green ball of energy flies from the end of his gun to slam into the building, blowing out the window along with part of the wall. There was also a scream, letting us know that there is one less man with a gun up there. The unexpected recoil from his weapon made McConner stagger back a few feet. Before he can return to the cover of the car, gunfire from two of the windows cuts him down. In a flash of anger, I fire at one of the windows until my magazine runs empty. Again I hear the screams of pain as bullets tear through flesh. Three of them left, eight of us. I duck back down behind the car, thinking.
Stryker looks at me, “We’ve got to get inside. Out here, we won’t last.”
I nod. “How the hell are we going to get there?” I motion to the parking lot, which is ten meters of open ground, and might as well be a mile for the chance we have of making it across.
Stryker just smiles. –ROOKIE- he thinks. “Everyone listen up. We’ve got to get inside that building. We’re going to make a break for it. Gregor! Johnson!”
“Sir,” come the replies.
“You two have assault rifles and they will work better for this. As we run, I want you both to lay down some fire on those upper windows. That should give us some cover. Don’t forget to run as you fire, we’ll need everyone inside. Now, is everyone ready?”
“Yes sir!” We all reply.
“Then let’s go.”
Gregor and Johnson stand up and fire at the windows. The rifle fire tears into the walls making the enemy duck for cover as we all run across the parking lot. As we near the door, one of the rookies kicks it in. We enter the building and find ourselves in a wide open lobby area. Directly across from the door is a receptionist counter. There are doors leading to restroom on the left side of the lobby, and on the right side is a hallway. We enter the lobby, fanning out to give us the greatest visual coverage. Stryker snaps his fingers and points toward the reception counter. Simultaneously all of us stretch out our thoughts toward the counter. Huddled behind it is a young man with a gun; his thoughts are all but audible. He has been told to guard the door against enemy incursion. He was given an old but working AK-47, and never expected to use it. Then the Corps kicked down the door he was told to guard and now he is cowering in fear.
As we sense this mans thoughts, Stryker bellows out a command.
“Stand up slowly and drop your gun.”
The man stands up, raising his gun high above his head in full compliance. Without being told to, he puts his gun on the counter and pushes it away from him. The clatter of it hitting the floor breaks the heavy silence. His eyes show the sheer terror we all feel from him.
Stryker takes a step forward, “Where is Jason?”
The man shakes his head. Stryker takes another step forward. I see him switch his gun to the ‘Semi’ setting. “Where is he?”
Again the man shakes his head, so hard it seems like it will fall off. Stryker steps forward again, bringing up his gun. He is no more than 3 meters away. “Last chance,” he says. “Where is Jason Harlan?”
For the third time, the man shakes his head. His mouth starts to move, trying to force words out. Stryker pulls the trigger and a bullet hits the man in the chest. He falls, gasping. The rest of us look on as Stryker turns away. “Sector Scum,” he mutters under his breath.
“Alright,” Stryker says, addressing us. “We can assume that there are still active hostiles in this building. There are at least the three on the third floor, and our target. Now we’re going to cover all the bases here that we can. Gregor, Johnson; I want you to do what this guy was doing: guard this door. Don’t let anyone out. Shepard and I are going downstairs, because I have a feeling that’s where Jason is, hiding like a coward. The rest of you, go upstairs and take out those assholes that were shooting at us. They’ve done more damage then I anticipated, and have pissed me off. Take care of them.”
The six of us move down the hallway, leaving Johnson and Gregor to guard the door. At the end of the hallway there is a stairwell across from the elevators. Opening the door reveals a standard double-back stair case, heading up and down. Stryker and I start down while the other four look nervously upward.
“Don’t forget to sweep each floor as you go,” said Stryker. “We know of those on the third floor, but there may be more. Be careful.” The four men nod and head up the stairs. Once we get down to the basement Stryker opens the door and steps out of the stairwell. The basement is more of a service area. There are several pieces of heavy machinery arrayed about the room. Whatever it is, most of it is on and creates enough noise to mask footsteps, so neither of us are attempting to be quiet. As we split up and walk though the equipment I feel around with my mind, trying to find any sign of life. From the furthest corer of the room, I feel a presence and sense thoughts of fear, trying to be masked. I can’t tell who it is and before I can figure anything out, the person stands up. Almost too late I realize what is happening. Stryker is looking away from the corner where this new person is, and I shout to be heard over the noise.
“Get down!”
I follow my own advice and as I drop, I realize that was a stupid thing to do, because Stryker turns to ask me what I said. Before he can speak, I hear the boom of a large handgun over the machinery. The bullet hits Stryker in the middle of his back, thankfully where the Kevlar vest is thickest. He quickly drops to his knees, gasping for air. Three more shots ring out, bouncing off the equipment. My mind is still stretched out, and I feel the body move away. I cast a look toward Stryker. He has picked himself off the ground, but is still crouched low, looking at me questioningly.
-WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?- Stryker doesn’t bother trying to actually speak.
-I THINK THAT WAS JASON- I reply, motioning toward the back corner where the shot came from.
Stryker turns around again and starts toward the corner. When we get there we find a heavy metal door that is slightly ajar. Peaking in, we can see that there are no lights. I smile to myself as Stryker pushes the door open with his hand. It swings inward, and from the darkness comes another gunshot. The bullet hits the door with a resounding clang, and puts a good sized dent in it. Stryker nods and moves into the room, crouched low. I follow, pushing the door closed behind me. Total darkness settles in the room. As quiet as I can, I sling my MP5 onto my back, and pull my pistol. I stay low, and feel Stryker move off to my left. Once again I let my eyes go out of focus. Gradually, the familiar green hue begins to fill my vision. I move off to the right, towards where I think Jason is hiding. I stay low and pan my head back and forth. The room we are in is quite small, and within a minute I find our target in the back right corner of the room. He is standing with his back to the wall, gun in his left hand held out in front of him. His eyes are closed; I figure he is listening intently to try and hear our movement. I allow myself to smile, knowing that the day is all but won. I reach out with my mind, and gently wrap it around the gun. It is as if I have another arm and hand; I can feel the texture of the gun. The shape of the barrel tells me it is an Israel Desert Eagle, and judging from the sound and bullet holes, I guess a fifty caliber. I wrap my mind tightly around the gun taking hold of it without moving it. I am at least a meter away from Jason, but he didn’t know where I am. I tense up my legs getting ready to spring. From the other side of the room there came a noise of something falling. I guessed Stryker bumped into something. Jason jerks his head away toward the sound. I spring into action. I run toward Jason, using my right hand to bat his gun up and away. At the same time I use my mind to pull the gun in the same direction, wrenching it from his hand. It flies through the air as his head turns to face me, a look of surprise and horror on his face. I don’t give him any more time to react as I punch him in the stomach. Jason doubles over and I bring my hands down on the back of his neck. He collapses forward onto the ground. He is breathing, but I know he is out for a few minutes. I yell to Stryker, “Jason is down. He’s out cold.”
“Good,” Stryker replies. “I’ll find the lights.”
I close my eyes and dissolve the night vision as Stryker flips on the switch. The light is blinding. Jason is on the ground, and I roll him over with a foot. As he starts to come around, I put a foot on his chest and point my gun at him. Stryker comes over and looks down at him. He grabs his radio and speaks into it. “We have the target. How is everyone else doing?”
“All enemies neutralized sir. We’re all waiting in the lobby.” I can’t tell which of the rookies is speaking, but he sounds pleased with himself.
“Good,” says Stryker. “We’ll be right up.”
Jason looks at the both of us. Thoughts of bribery and escape fill his mind. Stryker reaches down and hauls him to his feet. He looks at him. “Someone wants you alive buddy, so don’t say a damn word or try anything stupid, and you’ll stay that way.”
Stryker puts a pair of cuffs on Jason, and pushes him toward the door. I run back and pick up Jason’s gun, holding it in my left hand; I like it. Stryker gives me a strange look.
“What?” I say. “It’s a good gun, why waste it?”
Stryker smiles as we walk. “Whatever NightEye, just don’t shoot yourself with it.”

We get back to our cars and shove Jason in the back. Those of us left drive the cars back to headquarters. The ride back to me is a blur. I’m too caught up in reflection. I did it, I thought. I survived my first mission. More than that, I got a call sign. Stryker must have really been impressed with the night vision trick. Something tells me I have a long successful career with the Psychic-Corps ahead of me. I can feel it.