The Officers

Episode Two

Empires gave way to nations. But what will nations give way to?

Welcome to Agora, an anthology of super short stories set in a world where the public sector is dead. A universe that’s governed, not by corrupt politicians, but rather faceless corporations.

——————————————————————————————————————

The rain poured on the windshield like a million stray bullet casings. It made no sound from inside the Beam Cruiser. But Officer Priya Singh liked this noir aesthetic so much, she demanded her vehicle play rain noise from the subwoofers. 

Bean Police Cruisers™️ were one of the few vehicles inside the Agora outfitted to be completely off-grid. No ads. No tracking. No metadata. This obviously gave Enforcement a huge advantage in subduing the few subversive elements they would encounter within their careers.

A burglary at the Commissary? Those dumb enough to attempt it would soon find out their getaway had duped them, locked them inside a four-wheeled cage with an endless queue of nostalgic reruns. Old world shows like Friends to sedate the subversives until Enforcement arrived. 

But what Singh saw now — in the haze of red neon emanating from the bodega — was not going to be solved so efficiently. She looked at her partner, Jared Freeman, uneasily.

Mr. Saleh’s brains splattered on the register. And counter, and pretty much everywhere within a ten-foot radius. Singh couldn’t understand how this had even happened. How the killers had so brazenly committed a violent crime. Somehow they had gotten away with it, but with all the tools at Enforcement’s disposal, it wouldn’t take much to catch them. 

Singh parked in front of the convenience store, and quickly exited the vehicle. The roads were desolate. It was Bean Day™️ tomorrow, thank Agora. Consumers would be getting a good night’s sleep in order to take advantage of the door-busting sales tomorrow. She had only a few hours before the campers would make their way along the entrances. 

Nobody on the force was trained in handling such violent crimes, but this was only Jared’s third or fourth time out on patrol. Singh had years of experience behind her — habitual physiological and psychological mechanisms that allowed her to detach from the situation. Jared saw long intestines. She saw a long night ahead.

“Who do you think did this?” Freeman asked.

“ANTICO, probably.”

Priya had singled out the black-garbed group because she hated them. Priya was the highest ranking woman of color on the global force, which caused Agora to use her in its annual safety campaign — because of that, she became the face of the very thing the Agora represented and ANTICO threatened most — stability. 

Since her newfound celebrity, she had received plenty of validation — fans asking for her autograph. Millions of likes on her #QueenSingh post. And a few endorsement deals from arms and vehicle manufacturers. 

But it also made her a target of Agora’s ridiculously small underbelly. Vandalized billboards with trivial drawings like Satan horns. Anonymous manifestos broadcast on old world technology like radio — urging fellow consumers to take a stand against her. 

Although these threats desensitized her to an extent — gently warping her views of those she swore to serve, they never made her feel like her life was in any danger. 

The situation she found herself in now, on the other hand, could prove extremely disastrous — if she wasn’t careful. 

Jared put on his Beanwear™️, and looked at the convenience store. The AI glasses glowed in hues of dark purple and green as the lenses gently zoomed into his area of focus. He was about to set a pin location for backup.

Singh cried out, “Stop!”

Freeman quickly pivoted his head — unsure of what to do next. 

“Put those away, right now.”

Freeman lowered his glasses, perplexed, but without hesitation.

Singh signaled Jared to enter the bodega, they didn’t have much time. 

The fluorescent lights illuminated the body — no longer leaving anything to the imagination of the two officers. Singh suddenly remembered how visible Saleh had been from thirty feet away inside the car — she rushed to turn the lights off. 

“Use your night vision,” she said.

Jared couldn’t help but feel annoyed that she had told him to put back on his glasses. 

“What’s going on?” He asked.

Singh was busy at work, shuttering the store with a chain pulley that lowered metal bars around the entrance. The few curtains the bodega had, she made sure to close.

Her anxiety waned in the comfort of shadows. She could address Jared’s question. 

“I don’t know how else to say this,” Singh stalled, “but we’ve got to hide it. Make sure nobody knows this ever happened.”

“What? Why?” 

“It’s complicated.”

“I grasp things quickly,” Freeman retorted. 

Singh sighed heavily. She had no choice but to explain — diplomacy was the safest option for now. 

“You’re young, not thinking about retirement, so I don’t expect you to understand, but if this gets reported, I’m screwed.”

Freeman gave a puzzled look. 

“Quick learner, right.”

Singh cursed the Agora school system under her breath. The charters had focused too heavily on the humanities — personal branding, influencing, and creative advertising. They never taught practical things like how the stock market worked, couponing, or why renting is better than owning.

It was time for a rudimentary lesson.

The officer sat on the counter, Saleh’s cerebral cortex inches from her thigh. From the way Priya was postured, Jared could see a second, smaller gun tucked into her inside jacket pocket.

“Agora gives us shares of businesses when we are born,” Priya said.

“That we can only access after thirty years of working,” Jared responded.

“Exactly. And those shares are indexed to?”

“Indexed?”

“They go up or down based on, what?”

“Oh, crime.”

“Not exactly, that’s a common misconception. They are indexed to an algorithm based on property values, stability, and yes, to some extent, crime.

“Ok?”

“I’m getting there, promise. We have no say in the shares we get — like mothers and fathers. Perfectly randomized, but there from the beginning.”

“Sure.”

“Want to guess which company is most represented in my portfolio?”

Freeman finally understood, “Saleh’s Bodega.”

The chain convenience store was founded by Rashad Saleh in Brooklyn — right on the cusp of the new world. It started with one dilapidated property, but now boasted locations in every district around the world. They imported all the Instagram worthy moments — neon signs, bacon egg and cheese, 1.95 OneCoin fee ATMs, and of course fat fluffy cats to brush your legs while paying. Mr. Saleh even decided to clone himself, so he could greet customers at every location. It was a huge expenditure to recreate him — but proved a valuable asset for Saleh’s parent company, Bean™️. The bodega man was literally a timeless cultural icon.

Singh, satisfied with Freeman’s understanding, leapt off the counter, and began to put on gloves. 

“Priya, I’m sorry, I really am — but…” Jared couldn’t find the words to finish his thought.

“You won’t help me?” Priya asked.

Jared shook his head no.

“You know he’s a clone, right?” She gave one final effort of diplomacy.

Freeman nodded yes. “I’m sorry, a life is a life — and justice is justice. We need to find Mr. Saleh’s killers — clone or not.”

“Those CSR films have really gotten into your head.” Priya sighed, not happy about what she had to do. 

She pulled out her gun and fired. 

What happened next, neither could have predicted. Jared, mid-breath, body clenched as a beartrap, stood. There was zero pain. No warm blood in between his fingers. The gun fired — a combustion had surely taken place. Yet, there was no bullet or wound to place.

Even though Jared would spend the rest of his life attributing it to dumb luck, there was a very logical explanation for what happened. Planned obsolescence. 

The guns were manufactured by a company called Rainbow™️. Since crime had dropped so severely with the dawn of the Agora, the demand for bullets had as well. To solve the difficult task of keeping margins high, but bloodshed low — the company designed their best-selling products to deteriorate over time.

Enforcement knew this, of course, and had set protocols that made sure officers routinely changed their ammunition. Seasoned vets like Singh, however, had grown to ignore the protocols that did not seem practical.

Unfortunately for Priya, Jared was a fresh recruit, with finer attention to protocol — and most tragically, newer bullets.

Uncontrollably shaking, Jared lifted his gun and lined it up to Singh’s forehead. Priya stammered, trying to articulate a reason why he shouldn’t fire, but the unusually smooth-talking personality found herself speechless. She lunged into her inside jacket pocket.

Jared closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger. 

It was hard to distinguish where Mr. Saleh’s brains ended and Priya Singh’s began.

***

After a shower, some coffee, and a few swat-at-the-nightstand phone calls, Jared found himself at the precinct, inside the lounge.The One with the Prom Video was playing on the television; Jared breathed in and out to the cadence of canned laughter. 

All those people laughing are dead. 

The morbid thought was cut short. The CEO of Enforcement, Nathan Burke, had walked in. Jared stood up to shake his hand, and Nathan reciprocated cordially with a smile and nod. He signaled the young officer to sit back down. Jared complied, making sure to turn off the television as he did so.

“I read the transcripts of your account. I’m sorry, son.” Said Nathan.

There was an awkward silence. The CEO continued.

“Humans put through these conditions are like exposed wire — ignore them, and sooner or later you’ll regret it,” he said. “But autonomy — choices — that’s what welds a person's soul.”

Jared didn’t quite understand the metaphor, but nodded approvingly nonetheless.

“So I give you one now,” said Nathan. “We file your account with the Inspector General, and an investigation commences — now that will hopefully find you justice for Mr. Saleh, and  solidify your innocence. Which nobody is doubting.”

Jared felt a bit of relief at what Burke had last said, surprised the CEO had made such a clear endorsement of his innocence. But then he remembered there was another choice being offered.

“Or, you could just go home now,” explained Nathan. “Pretend this was nothing but a bad dream. Keep your job, get a new partner, and put it all behind you.”

“Why would I do that?” Jared asked.

“Because if you don’t, sixty-five million people will lose their retirement. I know Priya gave you a lesson on the stock market, but what she didn’t tell you, is that stocks aren’t just shares of businesses.”

Jared squinted, trying to get to the bottom of Nathan’s inference.

“People. Personal brands,” Nathan continued. “It’s all up on the exchange. The price of stock in Priya Singh broke records this morning — and millions of seniors are depending on it staying that way. If she died from a heart-attack, it’d take a dive. I can’t imagine what it would look like if the public found out what really happened.”

Jared took a few seconds to process. The choice Burke gave him wasn’t a choice at all. 

The young officer stood up, shook his superior's hand, and walked home.