Capt. Brian W. Manchester, No. 002

8 September 2030

22:29 QCT

Slater collapses against the door, sliding down to the hardwood floor and stretching out his legs. His eyes flutter as he blows a stream of air over his head. He peers up at me and beams. "Not bad, huh?"

The corners of my mouth chase my cheekbones. "That took some guts, talking to the General so directly like that. Just know, if Levi wouldn't listen to you, I would've made sure he did."

He retracts his smile, fiddling with the mark on his arm. "I thought the General liked me. He wrote a really nice letter to me before the ceremony but now it just seems like he doesn't care for me. I bet he's not as kind as he seemed to be."

"Yeah, well, the General is frustrated nowadays. We all are. The Medo has us worried. Don't take it personally." That was the easy answer. Gill can be two-faced on occasion; understanding and humble one moment then almighty and selfish the next. It's something that the kids couldn't comprehend. You would have to know the man.

The way Slater spoke to the General left me amazed. If I said something like that to General Labelle when I was seventeen, fresh off the ranking, I would have never been sent to live with the Medo heathens in the underground prison. My ass would have been on the street in a second. Not that Labelle was a tough guy, but the Imperial Guard had the rules held to a high standard with no room for revolutionaries. Any attempts at individuality were crushed.

But the poise Slater had! Speaking to the second most powerful man in the Empire in front of a company of high officers takes a certain capacity of confidence. Or, perhaps, urgency. I knew this issue was ailing him since before the weekend but, man, has it evolved. This must be a record for how quickly he was able to relay information to someone.

Regardless, I am proud of him.

The Medo has returned. I believed they disappeared from the face of the earth after the Imperial Guard wiped out their first settlement. They never fled the memories of my early days, piercing through my brain with a stake and twisting at night or whenever I saw someone who resembled one of the prison guards.

But now, they're back and more vicious than ever, and they will stop at nothing to bring Oltima down. Even if it means using a teenage boy as their channel.

Slater stumbles to his feet. "I think I should get going; orders from the General."

"Sounds good, kid," I say, leaning against my desk. "Get some sleep while you can. Don't be surprised if Hamilton tells you to come back up here in two hours or so. When he's got his mind set on something, he gets it done at all costs."

He stifles a laugh, restraining it to a broken smile. "I'll keep that in mind." As he reaches for the door handle, he turns to me once more. "Thanks for pulling me in here. I don't know what Levi would have done to me if he got to me first."

"Don't mention it."

His grin shatters through its barrier and he departs to the hallway. The door rests against the frame, revealing a sliver of the outside. A silence dawns across the room.

I must eradicate the Medo from my mind; extract one tumor just to install another. No matter my efforts to forget the Medo of years past, they always return. If only it were so easy to remove those who torment me and see them merely as a threat to the Empire. The other officers have the luxury of their lack of prior experience with the group. I can't say that I'm as fortunate.

The folders on my desk contain files of numerous murder cases throughout the city, all on account of the cult among us. It's strange how the cases seem to stay within the eastern Bluefield line, with only a few exceptions here and there. Bluefield is not a dangerous side of town either; less criminal behavior in some of those middle-class neighborhoods. Could that be who the Medo is targeting?

No, that theory only fits in Queen's City. Throughout the other regions, the murders have been in lower-class sections of the cities or rural countryside. So much for that pattern.

What if there isn't a pattern? Could the selection be random?

A lenient knock on the door streaks into my attention. I keep my focus on the notes before me. "The door's open."

"Captain Manchester, are you busy?" A woman's voice intrudes the space, one that isn't Keira's.

I spin toward the door and my breath falters. "Nicolette, what are you doing here?"

I never thought I would see her again after the night of the Imperial Guard gala. She said she worked to negotiate weaponry with the Guard, but it would be a miracle if we crossed paths.

"I just finished a meeting with the General when he was called down this way. I heard everything Slater said," she professes, "and I think it's wise of you all to finally listen to him. It seems like he's been through a lot."

"Trust me, I know. I'm the one who takes care of him; I have seen what this whole situation has done." I sit on the edge of my desk, studying Nicolette as she approaches me centimeters at a time. "So, how have you been? I haven't seen you in a couple of weeks."

She rests her elbow on the back of one of the chairs in front of my desk. "Nothing new. I should be the one asking you. It seems that right after you left me you already found trouble for yourself."

"Yeah, I got fucking stabbed in the back. Kept me out of action for about a week and I'm here now." I swing my left hand over my body to massage my damaged shoulder. "You know, I can't believe they didn't catch the fucker that did it. Fifty Imperial Guard personnel on-site and not a single one stopped him. Now it turns out he's the leader of the Medo. Could you imagine if someone would have killed him then and there?"

Nicolette retains a closed smile. "Well, that would definitely make things a little different, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe then, he would leave Slater alone."

"Yeah, maybe."

She breaks off from the chair and steps in my direction. I hold my ground, resting against my desk, as she grows nearer. I still remember part of that night we spent together; the way she walked to the record player to find something classical to drown out the rest of the world.

"Something we could enjoy for a while," she said, sifting through the discs.

God, how we enjoyed it.

Nicolette scans the walls of the room. "So, this is your office." She paces toward the glass case with my medals and accolades and holds her hands behind her back. "I'm guessing these are all yours?"

"Nope, half of them are stolen."

She glares at me, masking levity. "Good, because I didn't believe they were your own, anyway. How many are there, twelve?"

I press the bottom of my rough palms on my desk. "You know, Nicolette, I don't think you came here to make small talk."

"Okay, fine. I wanted to ask you something," she declares under her breath. Her gaze connects with mine, piercing through me like bolts. "I want to see you again."

"Yeah?" The word flows from my gut, the bottom of my lungs.

"I do, yes," Nicolette asserts, placing her hands on her hips over her black button-up blouse. "Not many men I meet seem to be as interesting as you are. I like talking to people, you know, but most men just want to fuck. At least you showed me the time of day."

The ends of my lips turn upward. "So, you think I'm different."

"Different. But you're still a man. And men-" She sighs, sitting on the arm of the chair. "Look, what I'm trying to say is this: if you would like to see me again, we can arrange it. But I'm not just going to be a sloppy hook-up. I want to get to know you better, not just in bed."

"Fine by me. I could take you to dinner if that's what you want."

"So it's mutual?"

"Seems that way."

She rises from her seat and twists her head in what appears to be slight disbelief. "You don't feel like I'm forcing you into this, do you?"

I cross my arms with a shake of my head. "Not at all. It'll be nice to catch up."

"And to think I used to despise men in the Imperial Guard; I wouldn't even let them come within ten feet of me."

"I'm glad to be the one who changed your mind, then."

"Woah, don't get ahead of yourself," she remarks. "Just because I think you're a decent person doesn't mean the rest are off the hook. Some are still disgusting."

My nose crinkles as if I caught a whiff of the filth she speaks of. "Disgusting? How so?"

"As if you would ever understand. Many of the young guards are touchy, many more like to harass the women at major parties like the Imperial Guard gala. It's like they're entitled to anyone they meet now that they think they have a place in society. If only they understood the kind of acceptable manners in front of us in the higher class, maybe we would give more money to the Imperial Guard."

"I was getting worried; you hadn't mentioned how much you hate the Imperial Guard in a while."

She raises her eyebrows and looks me up and down. "Almost all of them, you know."

"Of course, that's exactly what you meant."

"You think you're really funny, don't you?" Nicolette throws a mocking grin in my direction. "One day, talking like that is going to get you slapped across your face."

"Oh yeah? Like who?"

She meanders toward me, straightening each inch of her expression. A band of blonde hair strands dangles along the side of her face, though she does not swipe it away. "Try me."

I nod, pushing myself onto my desk. "Whatever you say."

"I'm glad we understand each other." She steps away from me, guiding herself to the chair on our right. "Still up for that date?"

Date? "I haven't changed my mind. I would love to go."

Her grin stretches as wide as it can go, ear to ear. "Great! I'll give you a call when I'm available and we can pick a date." She backs up to the door with unwavering regard for me. "Oh, by the way, you let me know if Slater needs anything weapons-wise when the beasts come. He'll know." Nicolette passes a playful wave and scurries into the hallway.

I lay back on top of the folders with my head tilting over the opposite edge of my desk. Staring into my drained leather chair as the weight cascades to my head, I draw an acute breath through my nose. What a pathetic state I am in.

There was nobody after Abby, at least that's what I thought. When she passed ten years ago, the effort required for me to get out of bed was far too immense. My life was over; the woman who waited for me to be free was gone forever. No one could ever match the love she had for me, so I cloaked myself from the rest of the world once I discovered my strength again. Never again would I touch another woman for as long as I lived.

Until now.

The halfway point since Abby's death was Keira, who pulled me away from the brink and a frozen demise. The Imperial Guard was both what brought us together and what now pushes us apart. No one else could understand my struggle that this occupation brought, but the perfect situation could not last forever. Moving on from Abby felt like a burning stab in the back; moving on from Keira will be the sting as the blood mingles with the air.

Nicolette Binet is an odd case in terms of those more privileged than most. Wealth will always be their number one priority and that is all they possess. For Nicolette, riches lie beyond the monetary amount. The value of life strikes her. She is as open-minded as she is beautiful, and there is something captivating in that.

But how could I be so blind to neglect Keira through all this? Our afternoon along the river last week spoke volumes on how she felt about Nicolette. I don't acknowledge that her reaction was out of envy, but instead, out of disappointment. She wants me to do better than the most successful woman in the Empire, but she is the one who holds that key, one that I cannot take from her. Keira must be the one to open the door for me.

And that leads me to Nicolette.

What the hell am I getting so carried away for? Five years have gone by without love interfering with my work, and I have been successful in focusing on it ever since. How is it that a woman, one I spent one night with, could steal my hardened concentration with such ease? Is my vulnerability impending upon me?

Maybe that's just it: I need this date.

I reach underneath my cumbersome corpse and retrieve one of the case folders. General Hamilton wants strategic maneuvers for the incoming Medo creatures by tomorrow morning. Seven sharp. I cannot remember the last time I was ordered to create tactical plans for our troops. I'll need a map of downtown Queen's City; that is always the first move.

After that...I don't know.

I rest the open folder over my face, and all the notes tumble onto my chair below me. I don't bother to watch them slide to the floor as I shut my eyes in the dark tent. Let's hope I can dream of something to present to the other officers because staying awake through this horrid nightmare will never help me.