Cops and Robbers

Cops and Robbers

This is a short story that I wrote up over a couple of days. I will try to write my Marvel fanfic story soon. Please comment below. I enjoy your input.

"All right gentlemen, listen up." Roared the police Sergeant. "We have four targets." He activated a projector mounted on his jeep, throwing the image of a dirty mugshot onto the arena wall. Michael glanced around at the towering concrete walls that boxed them into a large gravel yard. His Sergeant barked at him. "Mike, I am trying to keep you alive out there and you are taking in the scene? Don't blame me if you are roadkill in ten minutes." He crunched over to the mugshot. "This is Madison. He is a small-time thief from Miami with a specialty in convenience stores. He has used handguns but didn't resist arrest." He pressed a remote and the mugshot changed. "This is Samuel. Don't let those spectacles fool you, he is a serial killer with three victims to his name. Likes shotguns and knives." Mike's mind was racing. Would Samuel have a shotgun? It would cost a few thousand bucks to get one into the arena. Sam probably would not be able to afford it, unless he had some high-ranking Syndicate friends.

The Sergeant changed the image again. "Say hello to Weaver." The four police officers smiled despite the tension. Weaver had a hard face. Dirt was plastered over his bald head. "Getaway driver is his bit. We ran him to ground in a Nevada corn field. He knows where his gang's stuff is hidden, so he may get some help." The projector gave a final click. Billy, Mike's partner, sucked in his breath sharply. The mugshot showed a malignant face. Wide, rolling eyes leered above a purple mohawk. The Sergeant frowned. "This is Crazy Eyes Harry. He is a hardcore gangster from Detroit. This rat escaped the Justice Arena two years ago after stabbing one officer and shooting another. He is a mascot of the Syndicate and very popular with the wierdo's. Watch yourself."

The projector darkened. The Sergeant stepped forward and shook the hand of each officer. He stopped at the team leader, Officer Jasper. "You be careful our there kid. Watch Samuel and Harry. Din't forget, every crook you capture means $20,000 for our department and everyone gets time off. But If they get to the Endzone they go free, with all their crimes pardoned. And always remember that you take care of your men, that is what is most important.
Michael stretched and began pacing back and forth as the Sergeant gave some final advice. "Don't freeze up. Our Department is counting on you bringing these men to justice. There are no rules in the Justice Arena. If one of those goons looks at you wrong you shoot him. Watch your back and protect your buddies." The steel door at the end of the yard slammed open, scattering rust chips. Mike sprinted forward and burst out into the Justice Arena.

Before him stretched a two-mile long expanse of city blocks. But it was a lifeless city. The buildings were made of prefabricated brick walls and empty window spaces. But Michael had no time to take in the sight. He glanced at the blue square directly before him. There lay the equipment that the force had bought for his squad, it wasn't much. Four batons, a bulletproof vest and two service revolvers lay cluttered around an old and battered police cruiser.
Mike looked up. Three hundred yards away the four criminals stood by a battered van, their orange prison suits in sharp contrast with the drab brick walls. All but one of them piled into the van. Mike sighed. A few days ago two officers had been shot as they tried to grab their equipment by a kid with a hunting rifle. All four cops had been killed eventually. The crooks had sauntered across the endzone like royalty. That wasn't going to happen this time.

Jasper dashed to the police cruiser and started the engine. "Michael, get a revolver." He yelled. "Billy and Ahmed. Grab the nightsticks and pile in the back." Mike wanted to protest, he wanted Billy to have the revolver. But he was disciplined, the Academy had taught him that much. They told every student about the 32nd match of the Justice Arena, where two police  officers shot each other in an argument over equipment. Ever since that day insubordination had been called a "32."
Mike buckled into his seat and checked the revolver chamber. Those cheapos at the Department hadn't even given him six rounds, only five. And bullets only cost $5 each. Jasper stepped on the gas. The engine groaned, misfired and sputtered to life. The cruiser closed in on the criminal who had been abandoned by the van. Mike saw that it was Madison. He stood dumbly in the road like a deer caught in headlights. Jasper barely slowed down. "Ahmed, hop out and take care of him." Ahmed nodded and opened the door. He was really well-built african dude, we all liked him. Madison barely twitched as Ahmed ran up to him, nightstick poised, he appeared to be unarmed. My partner stopped short. "You do realize you will be executed if we capture you, man, right."? Madison hung his head, his knees were shaking uncontrollably. "I got nothing man. Just do it quick will ya?" Ahmed hit him on the side of the neck expertly, an instant knockout. Madison crumpled to the ground.
We sped onwards after the van. Our cruiser was an old '87 model, barely running. The van was getting farther and farther away. Billy pointed ahead. "Mike, one of those jailbirds piled out of the van by that alley. I'm goin' after him." Jasper looked back at us through the steel grating. "No, Mike goes." Mike frowned. "Jasper, just because I have a gun..." Jasper cut him off. "Are you committing a 32 Mike?" Mike cocked his gun. "No sir."

Michael leaped out and dashed headlong into the alley. The cruiser's backfiring motor faded away and a strange silence descended. He trotted over the asphalt, his own heavy breathing pounding in his ears. Mike turned a corner and stopped cold. Not five yards away Samuel was trapped in a dead end. Mike stepped forward slowly. "Put your hands on your head and kneel." Samuel started babbling. "I can't, I can't. Please let me go. I just want to live." Mike took another step forward, revolver raised. He looked into Sam's eyes, frightened rabbit's eyes darting about behind fragile spectacles. He saw the sweat trickling down his neck. Samuel noticed his glance. "Please, I just want to live, like you. What did they say I did? They are lying. I never hurt anybody. Will you let me go? I just want to live." For a moment Mike felt torn. Then he saw Samuel looking at something beyond him. He risked a quick look. Thirty feet up hovered a television drone, its camera capturing every moment of this scene. His friends in the force, millions of people glued to their virtual television sets, and his wife, she wouldn't let the kids watch this televised murder, but she would be there. Worrying about him.
Then Michael felt anger, a deep fury welling up inside him. They were playing with him. None of this was real. These criminals had already been caught, they were guilty. But just because the rich kids wanted to make a buck, just because everyone in this cash-soaked, hyper-capitalist world wanted a real cops-and-robbers show, he was here in a fake city, risking his life and his family's happiness. Pointing a gun at a unarmed man in glasses.

Michael gritted his teeth. He was torn between anger at his manipulators and a reluctance to kill. Samuel moved towards him, shaking and weeping. Something about this set alarm bells ringing in Mike's mind. He gripped his gun tighter. "Stand back. Get down on the ground." Samuel kept coming, less than a yard away now. One hand raised to ward off a blow. Mike saw the other hand slide behind his back. He aimed at Samuel's heart and fired.Samuel twisted around and slammed into the asphalt. Michael saw the butcher knife that he had hidden behind him, tied to his belt. Another second and that helpless little man would have killed him. Michael sank to his knees. He wanted to hide somewhere, away from the camera drone, from the world and from himself. The sound of a automatic weapon spraying bullets came to him. He forced himself to move, rose to his feet. His legs stopped shaking. Perhaps this was just a cruel game. But his squad was in danger and they needed him.

Michael emerged onto the street. It seemed like he had been in that alley for days, but it had been barely sixty seconds. Ahmed was dragging the unconscious Madison back to the blue zone. Three hundred yards ahead the police cruiser was piled into the van. Mike jogged towards the wreck.
 Beside the police cruiser he found Jasper kneeling beside Billy. His partner had been shot in the chest. Jasper was trying to stop the blood from flowing out. "It was Crazy Harry, Mike. That psycho has a assault rifle and a belt of hand grenades. He waited around a turn and shot Billy as came around. My gun is empty. Weaver is high tailing it for the endzone." Michael saw him from the street, a small figure receding into the distance. "Samuel is dead." Jasper nodded. "Well that is good news. Mike. I need you to go after Harry." Mike turned red. "No sir. I can't. I just about let Samuel kill me. I'll stay with Billy, he's my partn . . ." Jasper spoke through gritted teeth. "Don't do this to me. I am your superior. A chief's first duty is to him men. You think I don't want to hunt Harry down? I must stay here and keep Billy alive until the round ends and medical help arrives. Take my bulletproof vest. Find Harry and kill him. I will send Ahmed after Weaver once he gets back." Mike wordlessly buckled on the vest. Jasper caught his sleeve as he turned away. "Mike. I'm counting on you. Be careful out there." Michael nodded and entered the alley beside the van.

Even though it was midday in the Arena a forbidding gloom hung over this garbage bin-riddled place, shaded by the brick non-buildings. Mike walked forward, gun drawn. From every shadow and window Crazy Harry's insane eyes seemed to leer out at him. He felt his legs start to shake again and forced himself to keep moving. A garbage bin lid creaked behind him and he spun around. Nothing was there. Then he heard a chuckle of laughter further down the alley. Harry was not running for the endzone. He was going to hide and kill cops.

Michael stopped, he detected a whirring sound. He turned slowly and saw the camera drone filming him. It was giving away his position. If it had not been strictly against the rules he would have shot it down. A small object sailed through the air and clanked against the wall beside him. It was a steel ball covered in serrated fragments. It was a grenade. Mike hurled himself away and rolled behind a garbage bin. An explosion shattered the brick around him. Dozens of red-hot splinters zinged through the air, bouncing off the metal bin. Mike was shaken but not hurt.
He rose to his feet and ran through the cloud of brick dust. On the other side he found that the alley turned a corner. Slowly he turned the corner and found that the alley ended against the fifty-foot concrete wall that surrounded the arena. His ears, still ringing from the explosion, did not hear the quiet tread of sneakers as Harry moved towards him. He turned to retrace his steps just as another grenade rolled towards him. There was nowhere to run. Mike ran forward, grabbed the grenade and threw it through a window. Brick dust billowed out and filled the alley. Mike vaulted through a ground-level window into a hollow house. He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. The brick dust parched his throat. His vision was blurry. If he did not get water soon he would faint.

Michael staggered through the house and out another window. His feet struck something that clanked and he looked down. Two grenade pins. Harry had been here. Mike reeled and leaned against the wall. He rallied his strength and headed down the alley. He turned a corner and saw, out of the corner of his eye, a sneaker-clad foot go around a bend in the street. Michael raced down the street and around the corner with reckless speed, determined not to let his tormentor get away. Just in time to see the sneakers disappear again. He came around another corner and saw Crazy Harry dart behind the next corner before he could get off a shot.

Mike pulled up short, his tired mind racing. Harry was not fleeing from him, he was leading him somewhere where Mike would be helpless. Then another grenade rolled around the corner. If Mike had kept running it would have been right behind his legs. He leapt into another window space as an explosion filled the alley. Mike's legs were wobbling again, but from fatigue. He forced them to obey him, to carry him across the building and out another window. He got to his feet and saw his target slip across a street and into another alley. Mike took several ragged breaths and entered the alley.Harry was waiting at the end of the alley, his assault rifle aimed at Officer Jasper.

 Instinctively Mike raised his gun. Harry moved behind Jasper, denying Mike a shot at his cranial vault. Jasper stood very still. "Mike, listen. There are only three ways this ends. One is Harry leaves with me as hostage and gets away, and I won't let that happen. Second is Harry shoots me and you kill him. Third is Harry shoots you and I kill him." Mike's hand shook, his gun wobbling off aim despite all his training. "How is Billy?" Jasper swallowed. "He's dead." Behind him Crazy Harry cackled with glee. "You dumb cops, we should be hunting you down instead of the other way around. Some day its gonna be like that, buncha cops dumped in the Arena and we get to hunt 'em. My bosses are gonna give us real good stuff. Machine guns, rocket launchers. You wanna know why you always lose? You suckers always stick together, while guys like me? We look out for number one and got nothin' to lose."

Jasper gritted his teeth as Harry twisted his arm behind his back and began dragging him away. "Mike, you know what you have to do." Mike shook his head, his voice cracked in his dust-dry throat. "No sir, don't do this." His commanding officer walked backwards slowly. "You have a family Mike, you have kids who depend on you. Now do your duty." Jasper turned like a snake and belted Harry over the head, the same moment as rifle fired five bullets into his chest. As Jasper fell backwards Mike fired, he hit Harry in the arm. As the criminal spun around he shot him in the back. Harry fell down dead. Mike kept firing until all five bullets were gone. Then he threw down his gun and knelt by his officer. There would be no last words. Officer Jasper was dead.

Police Officer Michael Waller sat silently in the medical helicopter beside the bodies of two criminals and two policemen. Weaver had been caught and would be executed along with Madison. Michael gazed out impassively at the sprawling metropolis of New Washington, the paramedic handed him headphones, yelling over the engine that it was a call for him. He put on the set and the world went silent. Then he heard a voice, the voice of his wife. "Mike, are you all right?" Tears rolled down his cheeks. "Sherry, I'm here." He coughed and took a sip of water. "Don't worry baby. I'm coming home. I love you so much."

At the Federal Networking Association's main offices on Court street A leering leech named Keelman leaned back in his chair, dictating a memo for his secretary. "Michael has the right qualities for a Arena officer. Savagery, skill and pent-up emotion. We will find a way to retain him for mid- to high level events. Begin researching friends and family connections." He smiled like a tiger baring its fangs. "He may need some persuading."