>>>>Patrol Enforcers is filmed on location with the men and women of law enforcement as it happens. <<<<
>>>>All suspects are considered innocent until proven innocent in the court of law. <<<<
“Car 845, this is dispatch, do you read me?” asked the voice over the hover cruisers internal radio. Two Colonial Police Enforcers were sitting in the front seat as the hover camera filmed their daily events from within the holding cab that typically separated the arrestors from the arrestees with a metal mesh screen.
“This is Officer Mac Sanchez, we read you dispatch. Whatcha got for us?”
The heavy hover-car traffic of the Vas Remas Urban Sprawl zoomed past the Enforcer cruiser as it went about its normal business whilst on its patrol. As for the two officers, they were filming their daily events in the Old Milltown Shanties of Vas Remas where several massive glass plated skyscrapers were placed opposite to a series of decrepit patchwork brick and mortar manufacturing plants. This contrast was made all the more distinct by an oceanic waterway that bisected the slums away from the colony arcology where the rich and prosperous lifted up their noses at the poor and destitute living bleak lives in the slums.
Alongside the patrol car, wondering along the elevated walkways, were numerous gang members dressed in yellow shirts and baggy pants sagging down to their knees. Several prostitutes were working the corners and approaching vehicles as would be patrons stopped to flash their petty cash. These crimes were common practice in the, Old Milltown, and the Enforcers paid little heed to the small fish. No, there time was better spent cracking down on heavy gang violence, or perhaps keeping the common rabble from offending the colonies rich aristocracy held up in their fancy arcology penthouses.
“We have a report of vagrancy in the Deltoya Projects. We need somebody to check that out.”
“Roger that dispatch. This is car 845 moving to respond. Over and out.”
One of the two officers looked into the backseat where the hover camera was currently filming, his face hidden behind a riot helmet. The man gave a mocking thumbs up, and rotated back around to turn up the volume on cars dashboard com-radio so that it picked up a broadcast from the Oldies Station, 45.784; Bad Boys by the Inner Circle.
Bad boys, whatcha want
Watcha want, whatcha gonna do?
When sheriff John Brown come for you
Tell me whatcha wanna do, whatcha gonna do?
The hover cruiser turned off the colonies sky-interstate as the sun started to set over the horizon illuminating the skyscrapers of the megacity skyline as sparkling colossi. Gangbangers flipped off the patrol vehicle as it passed, cursing at the officers, and slinging their homies hand signs with pride. Some even continued tagging their gang graffiti on the brick walls of abandoned metal refineries as the Enforcer patrol unit passed by with its beams set on high. But the hoodies still continued their criminal mischief uncaring to the potential consequences of their chosen gang lifestyles. They held no illusions that the Enforcers worked for the rich and powerful, and that the rich and powerful simply did not care about their lowly gang graffiti.
They knew that they were trapped in the slums and could never aspire to anything more in their lives other than bleak mediocrity. Such was the fate of the destitute living on a former industrial colony. Where previous generations had shed blood and sweat to build the first habitats, newer generations from off world investment conglomerates moved in to build nanite forges, claiming that they represented a better future for the working man, in hindsight such a lie. Now, the high tech industries had long since superseded the low tech metal refineries and the poorly educated descendents of the initial settlers had paid a steep price for their foolish trust of the rich outsiders.
The gangsters and prostitutes leeched on the off-world business interests as the hard working generation of settlers died out leaving their destitute children with no other options for economic prosperity. All that they had done, built, with their bare hands; was stolen by the off world business community, just like so many other shake and bake colonies.
“I’ve been an Enforcer for six years now on Vas Remas. Right now, we are moving into the Deltoya Projects, which is an extremely unsafe area of the slums,” said the man in the passenger seat.
“Yeah, Vas Remas has had some serious gang problems ever since the old refineries closed down and the colony moved from an industrial hub to a tourist economy. The Megacity is safe, but the slums… forget about it,” continued the driver as he motioned with his hands.
The patrol unit was now passing by a long stretch of palm trees lining a vast sewage trench which separated the trash littered coastline from a vast blue ocean. From their position the Megacity contrasted the slums with its beautiful beaches swarming with mobs of lounging tourists. Such wealth was a flaunted sign of arrogance to the neglected denizens of the Old Milltown.
Just past the abandoned refineries the patrol cruiser entered a large plaza where eight public housing towers were spread out in an octagon. Numerous gangbangers retreated back into their drug dens as the hover cruiser came to an abrupt stop. The Enforcer that was driving cut the units engine and dismounted. The filming hover drone followed both of the two officers through the plaza where they held their taser batons out for display and warning to any who would try and press their luck against their authority. Numerous hoods and the downtrodden poor whispered amongst themselves as the two men ventured onto a side street where a steamer was currently at rest. Hover cars zoomed overhead as the two men approached a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk.
“Spare some change for a starving veteran?” he said through rotten teeth before taking a swig from some drug store purchased booze in a brown paper sack.
“OK citizen, that’s enough, stand up,” motioned one Enforcer with his baton.
“Man, you can’t do this. It’s a violation of my Civil Rights,” said the homeless man as he reluctantly complied in a drunken shuffle. The other Enforcer forced the homeless mans legs apart in order to pad him down, stopping briefly to reveal a bag of ketamine in his jacket pocket.
“Man, you guys planted that on me… It’s my brother’s sister’s uncle’s I swear.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, tell it to the judge vagrant,” replied the Enforcer standing off to the side as he tapped the stun baton in his gloved hand. His partner quickly handcuffed the vagrant and started to forcefully lead the drunken fool into the car.
“This is Car 845,” said his partner over the coms, “We just picked up an illegal drug user with pocketed ketamine at the Deltoya Projects.”
“They planted those drugs! This is an illegal arrest!” yelled the vagrant as he was unceremoniously shoved into the hover cruisers backseat. Numerous people started to wonder forward from their homes as the two Enforcers ducked back into their car and started to drive away.
“Just another day on the job,” said the Driver, as the vagrant kicked his feet against the security mesh that separated him in the rear seat.
“Hey!” he yelled with a slur, “I gotta take a piss! This is police brutality! Police brutality!”
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This story was submitted by JCDenton2012 for the AE Stories Event. Find Details on sending your own Story here.