CHAPTER FOUR

​-Dispute-​

Music blared in the background as Chris watched his sister struggle to form a coherent response.

"You… what?" she asked, stuttering.

"I triggered."

"But… there's like what? A point one per cent chance of that happening? Mom had a compound trigger, didn't she? Isn't that supposed to make it near impossible for any of us to become Paranormals?"

Chris sighed as he pulled his knees up to his chest.

"Well, if we are being precise, it's actually point zero-nine per cent, but that is beside the point." Chris paused for a moment before continuing. "Three years ago, Amelia and I spoke with a counsellor and we were assured that the likelihood I had inherited mom's Meta-Gene was, as you said, near impossible. We were assured that we could have children of our own; that I was as human as they come … This is no longer a matter of speculation, Evelyn. The fact that I triggered means that I inherited the genome. That I am a paranormal. A third-gen at that…

"Do you know what the fertility rate between a Third-gen and a normie is?"

"How should I know―"

"It's zero, Evelyn. Zero."

"That―"

"For the past hundred years, ever since the first recorded trigger in human history, it has always been zero. Amelia and I are as genetically incompatible as any two humans could ever be … All things being equal, it is impossible for Chloe to be my daughter."

"...That proves nothing," Evelyn replied. Chris turned to meet his sister's stubborn glare, his gaze inquiring.

"What?"

"That proves nothing and you know it! We both thought none of us could trigger, yet, if you are to be believed, here you are; knowing that, Chloe is just as likely to be yours even if her mother is a normie. Besides, who is to say Amelia doesn't also possess the Meta-Gene? Everyone knows it is undetectable until after a trigger."

Chris exhaled a tired sigh. "It doesn't work that way, Evelyn. We checked her genealogy a while before we got married and we were able to confirm no recorded trigger cases emerged anywhere in her family tree. Unless Amelia triggered and I wasn't made aware of it―"

"That proves nothing, Chris!" Evelyn interrupted. "...It almost feels to me like you are trying to find a reason to―"

"Don't say that."

"Why shouldn't I? Isn't that what you are doing? Why are you trying so hard to justify abandoning your daughter?"

"You don't understand," Chris replied as he shook his head. "I know the child is not mine."

"How! And stop referring to her like that! She has a name you know! A name you—being the bastard that you are—made me choose for her!"

Chris exhaled. "...Chloe is not my daughter."

"Have you done a paternity test?"

"...No, Evelyn."

"See! You are being ridiculous. If not a paternity test, how have you been able to conclusively prove the rubbish you are saying?"

The conversation came to a sudden halt as Chris contemplated whether or not to reply. Another sigh escaped him as he realised there was no way to get her to understand without putting either of them at risk. It just wasn't worth it.

"I am waiting," Evelyn said, still glaring at him.

"...This is pointless," Chris' said as he turned off the TV. The sudden silence that ensued was jarring to his senses, to say the least, but he quickly grew accustomed to it.

"Hey! I am talking to you!"

"Your things are in the storage cabinet; the one furthest from the exit."

"What―"

"I think… you should leave, Evelyn," Chris interjected without looking away from the blank wall across from him. He refused to face his sister, fearing what he might see. Caring and sweet as she was, Evelyn had always been a prideful woman. She tolerated disrespect from no one.

Not even family.

Predictably, his sister said nothing more as she rose to leave. The pitter-patter of her departing footsteps echoed in the silent room, worsening the hollow feeling in his chest. More than once Chris had to stop himself from calling out to her. More than once he had to stop himself from apologising and spilling everything.

It wasn't worth it, he convinced himself.

There was a bang as Evelyn presumably opened the storage cabinet to get her things. A loud shattering noise rang out immediately after as something fell to the floor, followed by another bang as the door to his apartment was shut violently in her wake.

Chris pushed himself off the floor as he stepped out of his room onto the balcony outside. He stood there staring at the illuminated cityscape outside.

Exhausted.

***​

The Next Day.

Chris awoke to sunlight searing his eyelids. With a wince, he slowly sat up only to sigh as he felt an odd weight curled up on his chest.

"You again?" he muttered, eyeing his freeloading roommate in exasperation. The unwanted guest uncurled its lithe form, stretching as a foul yawn escaped its maw. Chris' nose crunched up in disgust as its breath wafted into his face. Annoyed, he watched the cat saunter off his chest to sit on its haunches by the door to the kitchen.

With a sigh, Chris rose from his beanie bag. "What time is it?" He asked himself, pawing the surface of the cabinet drawer beside him in search of his phone before realising he left it in the storage cabinet in the kitchen. A mumbled "shit" under his breath had him staggering past about a dozen beer bottles and tiptoeing around the shattered remains of a mug for the device. Frantic, he pulled it from the bundle he hid it in before squinting at the lit screen.

09:14 AM.

"Shit!"

Groaning, he grabbed a broom and dustpan before turning his attention to the shards of ceramic left behind from Evelyn's outburst the night before. After cleaning up the apartment, he emptied two cans of ground beef into a Tupperware bowl, sprinkling some salt and pepper over it after coating it with a layer of cheese. The entire concoction was then tossed in the microwave and the timer set for five minutes on medium heat.

Frantic, Chris raced to his bathroom, peeling off his clothes from the day prior before sliding himself under the shower. Five minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. Another five minutes elapsed before he was fully clothed and ready to leave. He pulled the cooling bowl of ground beef from the microwave, scooping a few spoonfuls onto a sheet of kraft paper for the cat before sealing the rest with a lid.

"Don't make a mess," Chris warned as he grabbed his things and bolted out the door for the elevator. Within minutes, he was in Roadman's cabin.

"Ayo, Bigman. You OK?" Roadman asked in place of a greeting.

"I am fine. Just forgot my phone in the kitchen so I didn't hear the alarm."

"Ait. For a moment there, man was worried you done got shanked. Glad to know man still has a job. Homebase or Patrol?"

Chris shook his head in amusement. "Patrol, but we need to pick up the new kid first. What's his name again?"

"The blonde one with the naff-lookin' glasses?" The car asked as it pulled out of the parking lot. Chris nodded.

"Andrew Lopez. Kid's dodgy as hell."

"What do you mean?" Chris asked, one of his brows rising curiously as the car turned at an intersection before joining the primary traffic heading north towards the station.

"Come on big man, you're telling me you don't find that kid suspicious?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Roadman."

"How can a yute his age have no drip? Like none at all? That's sus as fuck, Bigman!"

A chuckle escaped Chris as soon as his mind caught up to interpreting the lingo. "Now you are just being mean."

"Honest!"

"...Just don't bully the kid, alright?"

"Sure thing, boss."

It wasn't until a while later that they arrived at their destination. Roadman slowed to a stop outside the police station as Chris drafted a text message before sending it to the junior he was supposed to pick up. Bored, he stepped out of the car to stare down the deserted driveway at the unending traffic just beyond it. Turning to look the other way, he faced the station, his gaze travelling nearly the building's entire length up. The building had not changed much since he was first transferred over from District 9. The absolutely colossal structure still pierced the smog-choked skyline. Its exterior was still a cold and imposing fortress of steel and concrete, with angular lines, sharp edges, and dark, reflective glass that cast distorted reflections of the chaotic city below. Being the only building in sight not absolutely littered with neon lights and holographic advertisements, it stood as a foreboding silhouette, stark against the perpetual smog. The multitude of helipads and massive antenna arrays that littered its tip were hidden away just above thin, low-hanging clouds. It was large, significantly larger than most stations from other districts. It had to be given it was designed to manage a population peaking at nearly twelve million this year.

Spoiler: Reference

Chris remembered when he first deployed, straight out of the academy, wide-eyed and naive. He was grown now. Looking back he couldn't help but smile. Those were simpler times.

Better times.

Chris heard him before he saw him. His gaze flickered downwards to catch the glass door to the lobby sliding open with a nearly imperceptible hiss. Andrew stepped out, his gaze wandering

"Good morning, sir!" the boy greeted as he caught Chris' gaze.

"Morning Andrew," Chris replied, sliding back into the car. "Get in."

"Yes, sir!"

***

​

Their first call came over the radio three minutes later: A domestic dispute between a problematic couple at the edge of the city. Chris sighed and flicked on the siren, the wailing sound parting the sea of traffic as they sped toward the scene. By the time they arrived, the pair, supposedly, had already resolved the matter. Chris left them with a stiff warning and a threat of a minor fine should they be reported for a noise complaint again. Upon returning to Roadman, the family was flagged for moderate surveillance should there be a repeat, or powers forbid, an escalation to the use of violence.

As the day wore on, they encountered a myriad of situations – a lost child, a fender-bender, and even a cat stuck on a ledge. The last one was transferred over to the fire department the moment Chris spotted the critter some fifty meters on the side of a building. He still wondered how the silly thing got up there.

A few minutes before the end of their shift, Chris' radio crackled to life as he received yet another call.

"Bravo-6, this is Dispatch. We have a situation downtown at the Crestview Financial Trust Bank, 235 Main Street, Anytown. We've got a protest obstructing the entrance. They're refusing to disperse. Please respond."

A sigh leaked from Chris as he fiddled with the radio hanging from his chest. "Dispatch, this is Bravo-6, copy that. En route to the Crestview Financial Trust Bank, ETA—he pauses to glance at Roadman's console—four minutes. Do we have any additional information on the size, nature and demeanour of the crowd?"

"Bravo-6, we have reports of approximately fifty protesters. It appears to be a NMSM group. They appear peaceful, but they are obstructing the entrance and causing a significant disruption. Please proceed with caution."

"Copy that, Dispatch. Will proceed with caution. Do we have any available backup units in the area?"

"Negative, Bravo-6, all other units are currently engaged. You are the closest available unit."

"Understood, Dispatch. We'll update once we're on-site."

"NMSM, sir?" Andrew asked as Roadman changed lanes to get them to the site of the incident.

"Yup," Chris grunted. "Stupid commies."

"Commies, sir?" Andrew intoned, seemingly not recognizing the term.

Chris raised a brow as he glanced at the younger man. "Grew up under a rock, didn't you? Commies... Communist? You do know the No More Superiorities Movement is a communist group fighting for "equality", right? "

"...I thought they were socialist, sir," Andrew replied hesitantly. Chris chuckled in response.

"Don't tell anyone I told you," the corporal said in a mock whisper, "but in a world like ours, is there really a difference? I doubt any of their members have ever opened a book before because if they did they wouldn't be members. Or maybe they are just stupid. Or both."

The junior officer didn't know how to respond.

"Either way, communism might be the new vogue, but remember kid, like all trends, it would eventually fade away into obscurity."