A JOB WELL DONE

Officer Kimura stood in front of the ultra-corporate Phren Industries; its neon lights casting an eerie glow over the city.

“I’m on site,” Kimura confirmed into his shoulder-mounted radio. “What’s the situation?”

A voice crackled back through. “Report of a disturbance. Exercise caution.”

Kimura drew his gun and entered through an unlocked side door.

“Police!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the corridor.

Suddenly, a man in a black suit emerged from around a corner.

“Freeze!” Kimura ordered, raising his gun.

The man smirked. “Sorry, Officer. You've been had.”

Before Kimura could react, a second besuited man appeared behind him.

The man thrust a stun-gun into Kimura’s neck. Pain exploded through Kimura’s body, as his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.

* * *

When Kimura regained consciousness, he found himself strapped to a chair in a white room.

Wires extended from his temples to a nearby computer console.

“How the…?” he mumbled, trying to take in his surroundings.

A woman in a lab coat stepped into his field of view.

“Ah, good,” she murmured. “You’re awake.”

Panic surged through Kimura. “What is this?! Who the fuck are you?!”

The woman smiled coldly.

“You're part of our new experiment,” she explained. “We're going to push the boundaries of your mind.”

Kimura struggled against his restraints. “You can't do this!”

Ignoring his pleas, the woman pressed a button on the console.

Agony overwhelmed Kimura, as memories flooded his mind.

He saw himself as a child, playing football with his sister in a park.

“Pass the ball!” he had called out, his voice filled with joy.

The scene shifted to his graduation from Police Academy, his parents beaming by his side.

“We're proud of you, son,” his father had told him.

Another memory surfaced; his first day on duty, standing next to his commanding officer.

“First day nerves, kid?” his commander had asked.

In the present, tears streamed down Kimura’s cheeks.

“Stop!” he begged.

The woman watched him with a satisfied expression. “Congratulations. You're becoming the future of law enforcement.”

“What do you mean?” Kimura spluttered.

“We’re not just testing your brain,” the woman explained. “We’re downloading it.”

Kimura could only sob, as the woman took notes on a clipboard.

“You're going to be the first digitized police officer,” she continued. “Your consciousness will be uploaded to a central server. You’ll oversee the entire city, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

The woman pressed the button again, and Kimura’s body contorted.

“The police department actually commissioned us to create an AI,” the woman revealed. “But, they’ll never figure out the little shortcut we’ve taken instead.”

* * *

Kimura couldn’t be sure, but it felt like he was looking through the computer console’s webcam. The woman in the lab coat stood in front of him, clacking away on the terminal’s keyboard.

One of the black-suited men appeared behind her.

“How’s it going?” Kimura heard him ask.

“He’s nearly uploaded,” the woman replied.

The man glanced at Kimura’s now lifeless body in the chair. “Will he remember any of this?”

The woman paused, a faint smile forming. “I’ve already deleted everything about him being here.”

She started typing again, as Kimura continued to listen. “The city’s new Overseer won’t have any clue he’s even been inside Phren Industries.”

* * *

Kimura's consciousness completed its upload to the dedicated police server. After gaining his bearings, Kimura set about issuing his first command.

"Delta Team,” his digitised voice announced. “Report of a disturbance at Phren Industries. Exercise caution.”

As was now protocol, the SWAT officers followed Kimura’s orders and arrived at the building. They stormed the premises, weapons drawn, sweeping every room as they went.

The officers came across the woman in the lab coat, standing stoically outside her testing room. Flanking her, the two men in black suits provided backup.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” she demanded.

“We have an incident in the building,” the lead officer instructed. “Step aside.”

“This is a confidential area!” the woman berated. “You have no clearance what-so-ever!”

The lead officer spoke into his microphone headset. “Overseer, come in. Advise how to proceed.”

Kimura watched the events unfold as they were livestreamed from the officer’s helmet cam.

“Threat identified,” Kimura instructed. “Neutralise immediately.”

The officers hesitated as they exchanged uncertain glances. However, after a few moments, the lead officer simply shrugged.

“Fuck it,” he lamented. “Orders are orders.”

He flipped the safety off his assault rifle and raised the sights to his eye. “Delta Team, open fire!”

With that, a cacophony of gunshots erupted. The woman and the black-suited men fell to the ground, bullets Swiss-cheesing their bodies.

The officers waited for the resultant smoke to clear, revealing three prone corpses in front of them.

“Threat eliminated,” the SWAT leader confirmed. “Awaiting further orders.”

“Stand down Delta Team,” Kimura imparted from his server. “That’s a job well done.”

POSITIVES AND NEGATIVES

Richards ran limping through the dark city streets, holding a bleeding wound on the side of his torso. Two police officers followed in pursuit about fifty metres behind.

“We’re closing in on the assault perp!” Richards heard one of the officers shout into their radio.

Richards ducked into an alleyway, scanning the darkness for a place to hide.

A faint glow caught his eye, emanating from behind a pile of trash.

He moved the trash to the side, revealing a shimmering rift floating in front of him.

Richards froze, staring at the apparition in both amazement and confusion.

The sound of the approaching police grew louder, startling Richards out of his state of shock.

“Now or never,” he decided, as he hobbled towards the portal.

* * *

Emerging from the rift, Richards found himself in a beautiful, sunlit city.

He stood wide-eyed, marvelling at the pristine streets, gleaming skyscrapers and flying vehicles.

“Is this... the future?” he wondered, as the portal closed behind him.

However, pain stabbed into his side, as blood seeped out of his wound. He tried to continue forward but collapsed to his knees.

Concerned passers-by quickly gathered around him.

“He’s hurt!” one of them shouted, using their phone to call for help.

An ambulance arrived moments later, and the paramedics rushed over to Richards with a stretcher.

* * *

Inside a high-tech medical facility, the paramedics transferred Richards to a bed.

“I don’t have… any money,” Richards sputtered.

An approaching doctor greeted him with a smile. “Don’t worry, just relax.”

Richards put his head back on the pillow, watching in awe as his wounds were healed almost instantaneously.

“This place is amazing,” he murmured, a grin forming on his face.

* * *

Richards stood outside the hospital sporting a new set of clothes.

“I could get used to this,” he said to himself, as he walked towards the heart of the city.

However, as he strolled by a subway, he accidentally bumped into a businessman.

“Sorry, I was—” Richards attempted.

But the irate businessman shoved him.

“Watch where you're fuckin’ going!” the man snapped.

A passing police car stopped abruptly beside them. Two police officers got out and strode towards the businessman.

“Wait, I—” the businessman spluttered.

Before he could finish, the officers drew their guns and shot him without warning.

Richards watched in horror as the man fell lifelessly to the ground.

“What’re you doing?!” Richards exclaimed.

“He committed a violent act and received sentencing,” the lead officer declared.

He holstered his gun and took his phone out of his pocket.

“What’s your name?” he asked Richards. “I need to check if you’re clean.”

Richards was so scared he blurted out his details without thinking.

The lead officer typed them into his phone and then turned to his partner. “Go get him a coffee. He looks a little shaken up.”

As the second officer walked away, Richards could only stand in worried silence.

He looked down at the ground, where the businessman still laid motionless.

The second officer returned and handed Richards his coffee. “Here you go, this’ll help your nerves.”

Richards held the cup, but it started trembling in his hand.

“Record search complete,” the lead officer’s phone announced. “No records found.”

The lead officer smiled. “Looks like you’re free to go.”

“Thank you,” Richards sighed with relief.

He walked away, beaming back at the officers as he left.

However, as Richards turned to take a sip of the coffee, a jogger accidently ran into him.

Boiling hot liquid erupted from the cup and spilled all over Richards.

“My bad, I wasn’t—” the jogger attempted, before Richards violently punched him in the face.

Richards' expression immediately turned to horror as he realized what he’d done.

He turned around again to see the same officers marching towards him.

“Please, don’t!” Richards pleaded, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry,” the lead officer uttered as he and his partner drew their guns. “Everyone knows it’s the law.”

Just as the officers were about to open fire, another rift opened up behind Richards. The officers were so gobsmacked that they didn’t fire.

Seeing his opportunity, Richards ran towards the portal.

“No time like the present!” he yelled as he dove headfirst into it.

* * *

Richards landed with a thud as the rift spat him out on the other side. He stood and took in his surroundings, surprised to see a completely ruined city.

“Wait,” Richards exhaled. “This isn’t…”

He looked around and saw the portal seal shut.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

“Hey!” a voice shouted.

Richards turned and saw two shabby men strolling towards him, both wearing tattered police uniforms.

Richards dropped to his knees.

“Oh, god,” he pleaded. “I only just got here!”

The men looked at Richards quizzically.

“You OK, bud?” one of them asked. “No need to be actin’ all crazy.”

“Matter of fact,” the other chimed in. “You look like a guy who knows how to handle himself.”

Richards got off his knees. “I’ve been in a few scrapes before.”

“Great!” the first responded, as he reached to the rear of his waistband.

He pulled a rusted gun out and held it out towards Richards. “We’re always looking for some extra muscle. Might be able to salvage a uniform for ya too.”

“Seriously?” Richards muttered as he reached out and took the gun. “I guess every place really does have it’s positives and negatives.”

THE LAST THING I EVER DO

Woods entered the derelict building, shaking rain off his trench coat and fedora.

“Spill it,” he ordered. “And don’t get any of it backwards.”

Jean sighed, droplets still beading off her hooded military cloak.

“This might be hard for you to hear,” she lamented. “But, you’re the one who’s been helping to make the women disappear.”

“What?!” Woods exclaimed. “That’s ridiculous!”

Jean pulled out a file and handed it to Woods. 

He opened it and saw photos of him with the same missing girls that were pinned to his notice board. 

His mouth hung open in disbelief. “But… I don't remember any of this!”

“I know,” Jean replied. “It’s because they’ve been mind-wiping you with some kind of strobe device. It makes you forget you’ve found any of them.”

“Who?!” Woods exclaimed.

Jean's expression darkened. “Your employer. They’ve been using you to find vulnerable girls so they can take them.”

“Take them where?” Woods questioned, tears forming in his eyes.

“To a facility,” Jean responded. “They were using them as test subjects. But I managed to save them. That’s why your boss sent you after me.”

Woods' face filled with relief. “So, that means it’s over now?”

“Not quite,” Jean indicated. “I’ve got something else to show you.”

Jean reached into her cloak again. 

In a swift motion, she drew a gun and aimed it at Woods. 

Before Woods could react, a single shot echoed through the empty building. 

Woods slumped to the floor, blood gushing out of his gut. 

Jean holstered the gun, her face a mask of cold dispassion.

“Sorry, Woods,” she uttered, disappearing as she reactivated her optical camouflage. “But this is the only way to end it.” 

* * *

Woods returned to the rainswept alley, finding it empty again.

“Show yourself, Jean,” he demanded. “I know you’re here somewhere!”

“Well done, Woods,” Jean’s disembodied voice declared. “I’m impressed.”

All of a sudden, Jean materialised in front of Woods, just as quickly as she had disappeared in the video.

Woods smiled to himself.

“Took me a while to figure it out,” he confessed. “But that’s an optical camouflage cloak, right?”

Jean smirked back. “Of course. Best way for a girl to stay hidden.”

Woods’ smile turned into a hard stare. “Why are you following me?”

“Because someone has to finish it,” Jean countered.

Woods rubbed his brow. “Finish what?”

“It’s not safe here,” Jean whispered. “Meet me in the derelict building around the corner in five minutes.” 

* * *

Back at his office, Woods connected the mini video-camera to his laptop. The laptop screen flickered to life, showing footage of him from various angles.

“What the…?” he murmured as he sat forward in his chair.

He continued watching the footage, seeing himself entering the motel and the bar. A video then appeared of the alley.

Woods’ eyes widened as Jean placed the camera on the top of the trash can and then disappeared into thin air.

* * *

After another cigarette, Woods showed Jean’s photo to a homeless man a couple of streets over.

“I saw her go that way,” the man revealed, pointing to a nearby alley.

“When?” Woods pressed.

“About thirty seconds ago,” the homeless man explained. “It’s bricked up in the middle though, and she ain’t come out yet.”

“Thanks,” Woods murmured as he slipped the man a few bills. He strode into the alley, but it was empty.

“That goddamn, lying son of a—,” Woods began, before noticing a mini digital-video camera perched on top of a trash can.

* * *

Woods drove through the neon-imbued streets. He parked his car outside a rundown motel and approached the clerk.

“Seen this woman?” he asked, showing the clerk Jean’s photo.

The clerk shook his head, trying his best to avoid eye contact.

Woods then entered the bar next door, where the air was thick with smoke.

“This girl been here?” he asked the bartender.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “She was in here asking the same about you. Did you exchange pictures or somethin’?”

Woods’ expression morphed to one of shock. “You sure?!”

“Yeah,” the bartender confirmed. “She wanted to know where you hung out.”

Woods scuttled out of the bar, lighting a cigarette to try and ease his bewilderment.

* * *

Woods sat at his cluttered desk, the photo of Jean in front of him. A city map lay spread out, marked with various locations. 

Woods took the photo and studied a notice board on the wall. It was crowded with notes and photos of other women.

“I hope I can find you, Jean,” he remarked to himself. “Because I sure as hell couldn’t find the others.” 

* * *

Woods rubbed his eyes until the blotches started disappearing.

“Sorry, about that,” he said to the man with the umbrella. “It’s never happened before…”

“You are the guy that finds people, aren’t you?” the man pressed.

“This the first time we spoke?” Woods replied, as he glanced around the deserted street corner.

The man held out a photo. “This is the woman. Her name’s Jean.”

Woods took the picture and studied it. Jean grinned brightly, like she didn’t have a care in the world.

“She got any enemies?” Woods inquired.

“None that I know of,” the man replied. “Please, just start looking as soon as possible!”

“Don’t worry,” Woods uttered, as he slipped the photo into his coat pocket. “I’ll find her, if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

A WORKAROUND

Officer Parry, a rugged cop in his mid-forties, patrolled the crowded city streets. His eyes caught a digital screen displaying wanted criminals. To his surprise, one of the faces on the screen looked exactly like him.

“What the hell?” Parry muttered, stepping closer.

As he scrutinized the image, the resemblance became even more uncanny.  

* * *

Parry made his way through police headquarters. He entered an office where Michaels, a stern woman in her fifties, was buried in paperwork.

“Captain, we have a situation,” Parry reported.

Michaels looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What's the problem?”

Parry showed her a picture of the doppelgänger on his phone. “This guy, Roger Glen, he’s my exact double!”

“Is this a joke?” Michaels inquired, as she squinted at the picture.

“No!” Parry insisted. “Put me on the case and I’ll track him down.”

“Did you even do a background check on him?” Michaels queried.

“Glen’s got a long criminal record,” Parry revealed. “He was even picked up for burglary a few days ago.”

“Interesting…” Michaels replied, regarding Parry over her glasses.

“There’s more,” Parry continued. “I checked the city's CCTV for the past week, and the facial recognition only detected me. I had to look manually and found Glen walking into an abandoned sock factory earlier today.”

Michaels thought for a moment and then reluctantly nodded. “Alright, go after him. But keep this quiet. We don't want anyone panicking.”

* * *

“This is it,” Parry muttered to himself, as he stood outside the sock factory. He entered the building, his service weapon drawn.

He spotted a figure in the shadows and approached cautiously.

It was Roger Glen, sitting in a chair, calmly smoking a cigarette. Apart from Glen’s Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, he appeared identical to Parry.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Parry demanded.

“Me?” Glen asked, his voice exactly the same as Parry’s. “I'm your complete opposite.”

* * *

In a dim interview room, Parry interrogated Glen. Glen sat serenely, despite being handcuffed to a table.

“Who's behind this?” Parry challenged.

Glen could only grin. “You really have no idea, do you?”

Parry slammed his fist on the table. “Answer me!”

Glen laughed. “You're in over your head. They’re in control of everything...”

“Who the hell are ‘they’?” Parry responded, becoming irate.

Glen locked eyes with Parry. “Since we’re in the same situation, I’ll throw you a bone.”

Glen motioned for Parry to come closer. When Parry complied, Glen uttered in a hushed tone; “Start by looking at the top of your own totem pole.”

Parry thought for a moment and then stormed out of the room. He marched down the hall and barged into Michaels’ office.

“No more bullshit!” Parry demanded. “What the fuck’s going on?!”

“What are you talking about?” Michaels replied calmly.

“Did you clone me?!” Parry bellowed.

“Clone you?” Michaels replied, barely looking up from her paperwork. “Have you lost your mind?”

“But why does Glen look and sound like me?!” Parry shouted.

Michaels peered at him with a mixture of pity and resignation. “He doesn’t look and sound like you. During your annual medical, we injected some deepfake nanomachines into you. The technology overlays a pre-selected set of physical and vocal attributes onto anyone suspected of a crime.”

“What?!” Parry exclaimed.

“You’re well aware of the rise in complaints about police brutality,” Michaels explained. “The deepfake tech can create empathy for the alleged criminal if we overlay the officers' own characteristics onto them. For this example, we narrowed it down to just you and Glen.”

“So, you’ve been using me?” Parry questioned.

“Of course,” Michaels replied bluntly. “And now, I need to use you again. Glen needs to disappear. Permanently.”

“Why?!” Parry asked.

Michaels stood up from her desk. “Because, I agreed to let him go if he played along with my little ruse. However, the nanomachines are still only at their test stages, and we can’t have Glen blabbing to anyone about them.”

“Why do you think I’d do anything to help you now?” Parry chimed in.

“The deepfake tech can also overlay your traits onto every person you come across,” Michaels elucidated. “So, if you want to actually see your wife and kids again, you should probably play along.”

* * *

Glen knelt on a riverbank in the outskirts of the city, his hands cuffed behind his back. Parry stood in front of him, pointing his gun at Glen’s head.

Glen sobbed, tears streaming down his face.

“Please!” he begged. “I did what Michaels told me!”

Parry looked at Glen, seeing his own face crying back at him.

He hesitated, guilt overwhelming him.

His hand began to tremble as he looked into his own bloodshot eyes.

“I can’t do it,” Parry finally relented, lowering his gun. “I guess this deepfake shit really works.”

“Oh my god…” Glen exhaled. “Thank you!”

Parry sighed. “But, if this makes officers turn a blind eye, then isn’t that…”

He trailed off as a realisation slowly crept up on him.

Parry put his hand over his eyes and then aimed his weapon at Glen again.

“Doesn’t matter how good the new tech is,” he stated, wrapping his finger around the trigger. “They’ll always be a workaround.”

ONE LUMP OR TWO?

“Mr. Sharpe, I have a job for you!” the man shouted.

Sharpe opened an eye, not bothering to lift his head off the couch.

“How the hell did you get in?” he asked, somewhat perturbed.

“The door was unlocked,” the man explained. “And it is the office hours as displayed…”

Sharpe took a second to absorb the information before sitting up.

“Sorry,” he offered. “I must‘ve forgot to drop the latch when I came back from the bar last night.”

He stood up, rubbing his brow to stimulate his brain. “You said you had a job?”

“Yes,” the man responded. “I need you to find someone who claims he’s immortal.”

Sharpe let out an involuntary snort. “Alright, who put you up to this?”

“This isn’t a joke Mr. Sharpe,” the man rebuked. “His name’s Marcus Grey and I need you to track him down immediately.”

Sharpe grabbed a glass and filled it using the sink next to his desk. “Sounds like a load of crap.”

The man took out an envelope brimming with banknotes.

“I came here because I heard you were the best,” the man imparted, turning towards the door. “But if my custom isn’t welcome…”

Sharpe put a hand on the man’s shoulder and ushered him back to the couch. “I’m sure we can arrange something, Mr….?”

“You can call me Harlan,” the man replied.

“OK, Harlan. Lemme take a couple of aspirin, and I’ll start looking for your everlasting man.”

* * *

As Sharpe’s splitting headache began to clear, he immersed himself in the search for Marcus Grey. He combed through databases and chased down leads across the city.

The trail wove through decades-old records and the faded memories of people Grey had met.

Sharpe interviewed an elderly woman in a modest apartment, her recollections painting Grey as an enigmatic figure.

A shopkeeper shook his head, remembering a time long past when Grey had been a regular patron.

A police officer, swayed by a few bills, slipped Sharpe a crucial lead; Grey's last known address.

* * *

Standing before a weathered townhouse, Sharpe straightened his tie before knocking.

The door creaked open to reveal an old man, a hint of caution in his eyes.

“Can I help you?” the old man asked.

“I'm looking for Marcus Grey,” Sharpe replied.

The old man raised an eyebrow. “Why do you seek him?”

“I'm a private detective,” Sharpe explained. “I’ve got some questions.”

The old man scrutinised Sharpe for a few moments, before fully opening the door.

“Come in,” he offered. “It’s been a while since I’ve had company.”

Sharpe stepped inside, scanning the cluttered living room. “How long have you lived here, Mr. Grey?”

“Long enough to see this city change,” Grey chuckled, gesturing for Sharpe to sit down.

Sharpe took a seat, intrigued by some historical photos on the wall. “You seem well-travelled. Ever witnessed any notable events?”

Grey’s smile faded slightly, his gaze distant. “I've seen my share. History has a way of finding me.”

“Have you ever had any near-death experiences?” Sharpe pursued.

Grey’s expression turned serious. “That’s a very unusual question to ask.”

Sharpe hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “This may sound dumb, but someone hired me because they think you’re immortal.”

Grey laughed out loud. “Immortal?! That's a good one!”

He leaned towards Sharpe, his face filled with sincerity. “I assure you, my friend. I’m just a regular old geezer.”

As the words left Grey’s mouth, the front door burst open. Harlan stormed in, holding a silenced pistol.

“Enough of this shit!” he bellowed. “Hand it over!”

Sharpe stood frozen, shock etched into his features. “Harlan?! How did you—”

“I knew a hungover bum like you wouldn’t notice me tailing you,” Harlan interjected, as he pointed the gun at Grey. “And didn’t I tell you to get the device?!”

Grey raised his hands slowly. “Alright, alright. Nobody needs to get hurt.”

He walked over to a bookshelf and opened a hidden compartment. He took out a small box, opening it to reveal a curved white headset.

“This is what you came for,” Grey stated.

Harlan inspected the gizmo, his eyes wide with fascination.

“How does it work?” he asked.

“It's a culmination of my life’s work,” Grey explained. “It enhances cellular regeneration, continually prolonging life.”

Harlan's satisfaction was palpable.

“This changes everything,” he muttered.

Without warning, Harlan shot Grey in the head. Blood splattered, and Grey slumped to the ground.

“This device probably doesn't account for a bullet through the brain,” Harlan quipped, as he aimed the gun at Sharpe.

“And with that Mr. Sharpe, I must bid you adie—”

Harlan stopped in disbelief as Grey stood up.

Grey took a deep breath. Somehow, the bullet hole in his temple healed and closed shut.

“Nice try, young man” he uttered, before raising his hand.

Grey snapped his fingers and Harlan's head exploded, sending brain and skull flying everywhere.

Sharpe stared in horror at the carnage, unable to talk for a few seconds.  

“What the fuck was that?!” he finally managed.

Grey smiled, a small glint in his eye. “Let’s just say that this device has some... side effects.”

Sharpe’s mouth hung agape with shock. “Was that tele-fucking-kinesis?!”

“That, my friend,” Grey began. “Was a good excuse for a cup of tea.”

He scuttled off towards the kitchen, casually dodging pieces of Harlan’s head as he went.

“Do you take milk?” Grey asked, as he filled up an electric kettle. “And is it one lump or two?”