Stray Cat Strut

Chapter Seventeen - Mall Cops

“The last federal police force collapsed some weeks before the government proper did. In its place various states, new state-nation-alliances, and city-states hired private companies to take care of law enforcement. These came at a variety of rates, levels of professionalism, and levels of corruption.

--The Rise of the Mall Cop, published late 2037

***

I didn’t know what to do with myself, which was, unfortunately, something of a common occurrence.

What wasn’t so common was having so many things to do and also not knowing which one to focus on. I had to find out what all these people were planning on doing, then I had to check on the kids upstairs and escort them down, then... then we’d see.

There had to be two, maybe three hundred people in the parking garage. Most of them clumped up in little groups next to pillars and parked cars. Office drones, mostly, with some kids mixed in, and a few androids that seemed at a loss for what to do. I even saw Bitchbot spinning in circles off near the far end. It was a wonder that anyone had bothered to keep that bot active for so long.

One group off to the side looked important, a guy in a security officer’s uniform, knee pads and vest and all, was talking to a few others who looked like office drones and teachers. He was barking orders, the growl of his voice audible all the way over where I was.

I started walking over but was intercepted by what looked like two of the three stooges. Sue me, the orphanage only played movies and shows that were copyright free.

“Hey miss,” the fat one of the pair said. “That’s a fine gun, but I’m afraid you’ll need to hand it over.”

I eyed him up and down, from his self-assured little shit-eating grin to the frumpled jumpsuit with a logo over his shoulders. M’all Cops, Only The Nicest. He had a gun strapped to his hip, a fancy thing with a light, what looked like a laser pointer and a tiny scope atop it, all done up in matte black. It matched his little tacticool bulletproof vest.

His partner, taller and skinner, had the same getup, but his vest failed to cover a good chunk of his abdomen.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“It’s for your, and everyone else’s, safety,” he said. His grin turned ugly. “Wouldn’t want us to confiscate it.”

“Look, dipshit,” I whispered. I made sure not to reach for my gun, I wasn’t bulletproof... yet. “I need to talk to your boss over there, coordinate shit, then I’m off.”

“You can be off after you’ve given us that gun, and after we’ve frisked you. Don’t make our lives harder than they are.”

I licked my lips and cursed the little guy in the back of my head. “Myalis, is there a way to announce who I am?” I asked.

“My name’s not Maya, kid,” the man said.

Of course. Do you wish for me to ping the local servers and announce your presence? This cannot be undone I’m afraid, but it might help. Most human interest groups understand the value of assisting a Vanguard in a time of need.

“Go ahead,” I said.

The man ahead of me tilted his head and looked towards my ears. “You talking to some el--”

Everyone in the room paused, discussions cut out for a moment. I saw old school phones vibrating and eyes going glassy as people looked at screens I couldn’t see.

Then every eye in the room turned my way.

The stooges in front of me took a couple of steps back, both of them going rather pale.

“Myalis, what did you send them?” I hissed.

Your current profile and disposition.

“Can I see it?” I asked. The looks were unnerving.

“Why is it fucking pink?!” I asked. Then I stared at the picture of myself with a big grin giving the viewer a thumbs up. It wasn’t even a proper photo but a looping gif. “And when did you get that?”

I created a simulation of your appearance based off of observed reflections, public profile images and local camera feeds. It was simple to make your model pose as desired.

“It’s cringey,” I said. The stares took on a whole new meaning. I think half of them thought it was some sort of prank. “Change it, please.”

Very well. I will try to create something more serious and befitting of your station.

Everyone winced again.

“For fuck’s sake,” I whispered. “Show me first next time.”

Oh. You only had to ask!

“Do you get off on embarrassing me?” I wondered.

Yes!

I felt my eye twitching.

The security chief looking guy stomped over to me and saluted. “You’re Cat?” he asked.

“Guess so,” I said. It wasn’t time for fooling around. “You’re in charge here?”

“As in charge as I can be,” he said. “You have orders?”

“Honestly, no. Tell me what you need and I’ll try to provide. Can’t stay here forever. There’s a large group two floors up. I’m going to escort them down here. We were thinking we could grab a hover bus and fly out of here.”

“That...” He paused, licked his lips and generally didn’t seem to like the idea. “Our protocols are to stay and protect the building and its inhabitants and workers until we’re relieved.”

I snorted. “Did you catch a glimpse of the city? The only relief you’re getting is in a grave. If you make it to a grave and not some aliens stomach.” I shook my head. “There’s no staying here.”

He frowned. “If you say so, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” I asked.

He shrugged. “All samurai are granted the rank of Captain by default. You technically outrank me.”

I blinked. “Well shit, that’s handy. You guys need guns and such?”

“We’ve got hold-outs meant for crowd control. Rubber bullets don’t do much against xenos. We do have some actual guns, but not enough for the men I have here, less for those that are volunteering to help. We’re planning to sweep the building soon, get everyone onto this floor, but I can’t do that with pea-shooters.”

I bit my lip and considered that. “Can your rubber bullet guns handle normal rounds?” I asked. I wished I knew more about guns to be able to tell without asking. “Also, do you have a name?”

“Simmons, and... yes, we should be able to.” He pulled the gun at his hip out of its holster and yanked the magazine out and then did something to pull a bullet from the gun. He showed it to me, black tip over a copper casing. “These things are meant to hurt, not kill. Lower powder charge per bullet and all, but it’s in standard nine-millimeter. We could fire normal rounds but our slides might burst off. Our tasers are shit and I wouldn’t want to approach one of those beasts with a baton, regardless of how much they pay me.”

“Right,” I said as I took his magazine and twisted it around. “Myalis, got any ammo available, or would giving them new guns outright be better?”

A case of standard nine millimeter rounds, with slightly reduced powder charge would cost you one point.

I raised an eyebrow. “How many bullets is that?”

Five hundred. Their lethality would be reduced, but my projections suggest that they would still be effective against the lower ranked Antithesis.

“Shit,” I said. “At that price, uh, I’m at twenty-seven?”

You are.

“Give me two cases and, uh, three of those Foxteeth.”

New Purchase: Foxteeth Model D x 3
Points reduced to... 12

New Purchase: 9mm Reduced Charge Rounds - Case of 500 x2
Points reduced to... 10

Boxes started to appear around my feet and I saw Simmon’s eyes light up with pure gun-nut joy. I didn’t like losing so many points, but it might pay to make a good impression.