MiT:Line III, part II

CHAPTER 5

The Agent hunched over his desk as the moon climbed towards its apex in the sky, casting fragmented, glimmering ghostly light into his office. Thunder rumbled, and rain hammered on the rooftop and windows to the same erratic beat as his heart. He drummed his fingers on the table, muttering a string of curses into the empty office building.

He glanced at the clock at the bottom corner of his screen. Almost 3 am in the year 570 A.A.I, After Artificial Intelligence. A dull pain throbbed in his temple.

The holographic image of the art piece stolen from another virtual gallery stared at him, taunting him. "L.A.D.I., can you please tell me where the art piece is now?"

The microphone on the translucent screen pulsed white in acknowledgment. "The suspect has wiped all trace of its location from the cloud," the AI, named logical artificial divine intelligence, said. "It is possible they are storing its coding on a hard drive located on their per-son. Perhaps in their Tempo chip."

"Another dead end." He shook his head. "How can this person be consistently getting away with these crimes? They are clearly too intelligent for me, or I've just completely missed a clue. But they must have a powerful mind if they could break through the programming."

"The suspect sure loves art," L.A.D.I. said in its gentle, feminine voice.

"That's indication enough of a strong mind." "The suspect also likes murder, apparently."

For the next few days, he tried to find evidence of a link between the murder and the petty crime. The only evidence was the fact the suspect was trying to steal the investor's funding for an art piece. Tearing his hair out and his eyes burning from a lack of sleep, The Agent came to the sickening realization that he was nowhere near finding who it might be. The suspect had wiped too much evidence from his crime scenes.

"What should I do, L.A.D.I.?" He asked his AI again one evening. His fingers trembled as he sipped yet another coffee. "Give up?"

"With the subject at large, any member of the public is in peril," L.A.D.I. said. "Do you really want to let this person get away with murder? And run the risk of them committing again?"

He chugged his coffee and grimaced at the too-bitter taste. "No. He could kill again if he's becoming this unhinged."

"Exactly."

"So, what do I do?"

"Perhaps we need to change our tactic. Simply looking at the evidence or lack thereof hasn't been enough, has it?"

The agent simply shook his head and buried it in his hands.

"Why don't we try pondering how a criminal might think?" L.A.D.I. said. The Agent lifted his head, arching his brows. "We have so few criminals.

I hardly know how they think anymore. But I'm sure there's plenty of literature on them from be-fore we introduced the programming."

"Or, you could try really thinking like a criminal," L.A.D.I. said, showing him a graphic of the molecular makeup of the C-5810 that contributes to antisocial behavior and criminal activity. "By getting into their head. Or, more likely, by letting them get into your head. It will give you a new perspective on criminal behavior and offer you a chance to follow in the suspect's foot- steps. Think like a criminal so that you can understand them better."

The Agent's instinct screamed at him to reject the idea at once. How absurd! He didn't want his mind to be contaminated. But this suspect was like a slippery frog in his hands, always falling away from him just when he had it in his grasp. "It's a drastic move," The Agent said. "I will visit the primary facility where they remove C-5810 and inquire about it."

"Do it for him," L.A.D.I. said, showing The Agent a collage of photos of him. Shawn, only person he ever had dreams of spending the rest of his life with. Now all he has are dreams of him for the rest of his life. He couldn't say his name anymore because it was too painful, so he instructed LA.D.I. to refer to the man as "him." Those warm and deep ocean eyes stared back at him, bringing him back to the days when he used to fall sleep reading a book trying to stay awake for The Agent whenever a case demanded long hours, and how fulfilled it made him feel when he finally got home to see him curled up on his side on the couch knowing he was loved enough for someone to do such a thing. Most importantly how he gave his life more of a purpose and another reason for living.

Grim determination sank into his bones, and he clenched his fists.

"I won't let this suspect take away another soul like his."

▼▼▼

The next morning, his eyes still stung from a lack of sleep, but his pulse thrummed with anticipation as he leaned back on the seat of his AI-driven car and headed uptown to the research facility.

Soon enough, he sat on one of the shining seats in Dr. Dharma's office. He had a variety of holographic screens around the room depicting data- bases, graphs, and even a photo of his orange cat. The Agent waited for the doctor to enter the room with jittery fingers. He shouldn't have had two coffees this morning.

"How can I help you, Agent?" Dr. Dharma said as soon as he stepped in- to the room. His long, white lab coat was like a superhero cape from one of the old-fashioned comic books.

He flopped into his ebony leather seat and eyed The Agent with cat like eyes, sharp and scrutinizing.

The Agent gathered his wits and leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. "I was wondering what might happen if C-5810 was concentrated and introduced to the brain?"

Dr. Dharma raised his brows and shook his head, convinced he had misheard The Agent. "Well, such a thing has not been done," he said with a click of his tongue. "But I suspect it would be dangerous. The effects would probably include anti-social behavior, with some mental illness comorbidities such as mania. It could even cause permanent brain damage."

The Agent rubbed his chin. "But those are only probabilities."

"I wouldn't want to risk it personally," Dr. Dharma said, tapping the chip attached to his temple. "I'm happy with what's up here. Wouldn't want to ruin it."

The Agent smiled. "Of course not. Your brain is far too precious for that."

Back at his office, The Agent marched straight into the elevator. activating the doors, using His Tempo chip, which was one of the first major wonders created with the ability to harness and direct the intention of the energy in the wake of The Final War of Man.

There has never been any hard scientific text explaining with confidence or certainty on how the same energy that can cook food without heating the appliances, powers every nation in the world free of charge, can take all of the data and information housed in those Tempo chips and transfer exactly what you were looking for or wanting information about, without even saying a word and beam it into your mind or whatever device you feel like you want it to go. All the while being noninvasive.

He once read that the initial prototype for the device was to be called IntraPulse and was supposed to be surgically implanted when it was going to be globally sanctioned for mass production. That was until one day the inventor was watching a news documentary about a well-known conspiracy; that the discovery of free energy is what led to the global destruction caused from all nations battling over who would control it, and how the corporations that used to own and regulate the private power sector got together and behind the scenes conspiring to find and destroy the source of free energy.

It is written that the engineer wished he never had to see another show about any-thing that ridiculous for the rest of his life. At that moment unfamiliar messages popped up on his tv screen stating that all media regarding any presentation promoting unfounded ex-planation or opinions without containing factual evidence to substantiate such matter on all historical subjects have been filtered from being broadcast in your home.

That is when he discovered they just need to be close to the mind. He thought it was funny, the governments who spent all that time and money convincing people that having the surgery was going to be safe and the most important decisions they make, weren't as amused.

In the translucent tube with holographic windows that gave a glimpse into the world outside while he shot into the sky even though the elevator was in the middle of the building. It felt and looked like they were in a small ship tearing towards the sun. He skipped his own floor and headed straight for his director's office, which was higher in the building.

Director Anthony Arthur was an anomaly to the agent. As structured and no-nonsense as he was, the man had a hint of recklessness. The agent remembers one of his first meetings with his director in which he admitted to having the AI computer removed from his Porsche because he didn't like his speed to be governed.

He stood still as a sculpture, staring out at the city from his floor-to- ceiling windows, his back facing the double doors that slid open as The Agent approached. His superior sipped his coffee. "What brings the bureau's top agent to my office. Have you come to tell me you found the murderer?" He didn't even glance at The Agent.

"No," The Agent said. "But I have an idea. A proposal, if you will." Director Anthony tightened his shoulders. "You should have the suspect in prison by now. It shouldn't take you so long. We don't have as many criminals in our city as it is."

"This one is a slippery bastard," he said, hiding the irritation from his tone as he stepped up beside the superior. The pair gazed out at the storm rolling over the city, gobbling up the spires and tips of the tallest towers in its grey clouds.

"So, what's the proposal?"

The Agent squared back his shoulders, bracing for the immediate rejection. "What do you think about me taking a concentrated version of the C- 5810? It will mean I can think like the suspect and, hopefully, better track his movements."

Director Anthony almost spat out his coffee. "You cannot be serious."

"Look, the suspect is smart. He's been able to get away with every crime so far, and I worry he will start getting too confident and commit more heinous crimes," The Agent said. "We are nowhere near figuring out who it is. And if this man continues to commit crimes, the public and other officials might question the success of the Reformation. It will prove that people can break through the programming. It could take the entire system down."

Director Anthony heaved a sigh. "You really think he's broken through the system?"

The Agent swallowed the lump in his throat. "I am confident that he did. How else will he have committed murder?"

A string of curse words flew from the superior's mouth. "If your theory is correct, and some people have managed to break through, do you think… no… can you guarantee that you will bring him down and keep this quiet?"

"Yes."

"We can't afford for this to get out. Rumor and gossip are our biggest enemies. Fine. You can try the concentrated C-5810," Director Anthony said, hanging his head. "As long as you can keep this quiet.

"I won't let you down," The Agent reassured.

CHAPTER 6

As he hastened back to his office, a calm wind blew through the holographic park. It had been several days since The Agent's painless procedure introduced the concentrated C-5810 into the brain. A group of young men loitered outside a café, laughing and causing a ruck-us. The classic side effect of those having been programmed. While they could no longer commit crimes, they loved to be obnoxious and let everyone know of their presence.

The agent tutted to himself as the earthy smell of coffee curled around him. Chop-tops, he thought to himself; this was when criminals who opted for the reprogramming were referred to by the law-abiding public, knowing he couldn't utter such a derogatory slang aloud.

But then, another thought crossed his mind. Wish I could throttle them. He stopped in his tracks. The holographic grass glowed beneath his feet, and his heart leaped. What the hell was that? He shook his head and wondered if he needed to submit his Tempo chip to the government for an update. It was likely a glitch.

He broke into a whistle and continued his way to the foyer of the Bureau building. Colloquially referred to as Inceptors, agents scurried around like ants displaced from their marching line by poison. Moving this way and that, the Bureau headquarters was always a hive of activity, catching the odd new criminal who needed to undergo reprogramming or be sent to pris- on. The agent hastened to the elevator at the back of the foyer, and someone slammed into him, spilling their coffee on his chest. He cried out as the boiling liquid seeped through his shirt and burned his flesh.

"I am so sorry," the fellow Inceptor blurted, heat filling their cheeks. "Let me get you a towel."

"No need," the agent said, waving his hand in dismissal. But something in him jolted, and a feeling he'd never experienced before bloomed in his ribs, as hot as the coffee itself. Fury.

Startled by the feeling, he shouldered past the poor, flustered Inceptor, and rushed into the elevator.

▼▼▼

The Agent stared at the plethora of documents and crime reports across the multiple screens in his office. He scrunched his nose, still reeking of coffee. "Nadine," he said as she quickly entered the room. "I will be heading back to the prison today to visit our friend Mr. Yost again. I'm still suspicious of his syndicate members, so I will try questioning him again."

▼▼▼

When he returned to the office that afternoon, there was a smug smirk on his face.

"What?" Nadine said, arching a brow.

"I have decided to monitor any visits to Mr. Yost," he said, rubbing his hands together like a fly landing on spoiled fruit.

"Did he say anything interesting?" She asked, typing something into his computer.

"I told him I needed his help and couldn't do this alone. Then he said," the Agent paused.

"What did he say?" Nadine probed.

"There was one thing he knew I could do alone. His exact words were, 'Go fuck yourself.' "The Agent finished.

Nadine was choked trying to restrain laughing at her friend. "How did you respond to that one?" She asked.

"I've advised him I will be questioning some of those former members. But he was convinced none of his men were involved in the crimes. He kept reminding me that they are reformed and incapable of crime or anti-social thinking."

She shrugged. "I suppose our next steps will be to keep watch on the surveillance you have set up with his visits."

The Agent and Nadine sat down at their desk to monitor a visitation. A young man with a strong build and a backward baseball cap strolled in, his shoulders rolled back, and a calm look on his face.

"Good to see you, Nathan," David said, his face brightening at once as if the young man was pure sunshine. "I haven't seen you in a while, son."

Nathan sighed and scooted the chair forward, leaning against the table. "I've been busy with work, and you know how it is."

"God's work, I hope," David said. "How is everything going? What have you been up to lately?"

"I'm writing a book about Leonardo DaVinci," he said, which caught The Agent's attention. "The man has been dead for thousands of years, yet his art is still in holographic museums, visited by torrents of people. I find his work quite fascinating. I wish we could bring him to life in our time. I wonder what he would do?"

"You have always been a smart cat," David said. "Also, just letting you know they are monitoring our conversation."

Nathan shrugged. "Oh Ryan Lynch, your new special agent, buddy? I suppose he has a job to do. He needs to keep an eye on people who are still capable of committing crimes, such as your-self. Dad, I will never understand why you decided you'd rather be in this holographic box than out here with me."

"Posterity, son. I want to be an example for everyone who doesn't want to change who they are. Real freedom is being yourself." David said with a low chuckle. "Anyway, I am sure you will absolutely blow people's minds away once you finish your story. I'd love to read it when you next come in."

The Agent, watching from his office, put his head in his hands. "It seems innocent. Just a chop-top kid with a supportive dad."

They waited another week until the next interaction with Nathan and David. A dull headache bloomed in The Agent's head. "I hate to admit it, but I'm no longer suspicious of the father or son," he said to Nadine.

She jolted, stopping her holographic doodling, having clearly zoned out from the lackluster conversation between father and son. "The kid is innocent. But I'd say we keep monitoring David for other visits, and perhaps you should visit his former second-in-command. See if he has anything interesting to say."

Agent Ryan Lynch nodded. "I agree." He tapped around on the screen until the address popped up. "I'll go right now."

▼▼▼

The Agent's AI-controlled vehicle arrived at the front steps of the residence shortly after. He tugged at his sport coat, checked his hair, and then knocked on the door. Such an ancient, before AI custom that humanity had yet to shake. The door slid to the side, and a voice called out from inside. "Come on in!"

The Agent pulled out his holographic badge from the Tempo chip and let it hover by his face as he traipsed into the living room. A middle-aged man perched on his couch was watching a four-dimensional film. Floral scent oozed from the hologram as the couple in the movie lay down on a grassy field.

"Mr. Jackson, I am going to cut to the chase," The Agent said. "You were the second in command in The Ars Syndica. Are you and your cronies continuing where the big boss left off? Stealing artwork and funding?"

Mr. Jackson arched his brows and let out a braying laugh. "I've been clipped," he said, holding his hands in defense. "My brain no longer lets me think of crime."

A strange darkness crept into The Agent's brain, and he, without realizing it, plucked the kitchen knife from the counter as he marched into the room, hiding it behind his back as he sat on the seat be-side the second in command. "Reformed, huh?" He swung, and the knife plunged into the man's thigh.

He let out a strangled, gurgling scream and lurched forward. "What the hell are you doing?" He said with a hiss, whimpering as scarlet bubbled out around the embedded knife.

What have I done? The Agent wanted to scream. But his body seemed to act against him, and the knife remained in the man's leg. "Who else could I ask? You must know and cannot lie since you claim to be reprogrammed."

Tears ran down the man's scrunched face. "The guy who was below me in the syndicate order. He might have been a failed reform. But that is just my suspicions based on how he acts. A little too angry sometimes. I wonder if the doctors gave him the wrong injection or something."

The second in command tapped his Tempo chip and fired the address into The Agent's chip. He ground his teeth. "Thank you." The Agent said politely.

"This isn't legal. Even if you are a BMI agent, I'll see you go down for this!" Jackson bellowed.

Panic suddenly engulfed Agent Lynch's mind. What he did was unbe- coming of him-self, and he would most definitely be stripped of his position and arrested.

Without a second thought, he ripped the knife out of the man's leg and plunged it into his neck. "What have I done?" Agent Lynch whispered. This had to be an effect of C-5810, he thought.

As he watched the man bleed out while his eyes faded into a glossy stare, one thought popped into his head.

I did what I had to do. He could have destroyed my life, and after what I went through, having chem 5810 put in me to find and take this bastard down, I will face the consequences of my action only after I bring this man to justice. Before he can bring the syst