Justice
Rain began to erupt from the invisible clouds high above London in the charcoal sky. The acidic drops bubbled as they hit the pavement, boiling like a thick treacle. A human stumbled along the street, his head swinging from side to side like a swaying lantern. The sound of a gunshot was still prickling in his ears as gasps of precious oxygen fled from his lungs. He passed an alleyway where a group of bedraggled humans huddled around a canister that glowed with an emerald flame. Their white, telescopic eyes followed him, almost examining the man for valuables. He tightened his grasp on the steel briefcase, and quickened his pace.
It was another dark day in London. It was always dark in the twenty sixth century, except for the minimal hours of twilight granted in the summertime. A handful of peculiar folk still wandered the streets; diving into taverns and boarded buildings at regular intervals to avoid the oppressing gloom. A lone electrical lantern gave a faint radiance on a corner of a terrace, illuminating a small, splintering fence that defended a forgotten chapel. A car swerved into view, hovering inches above the asphalt, the soft humming breaching the silence in the street. Three large letters dominated a central panel of the machine. AG COP - Anti Gravity Crime, Order and Punishment. A metallic neck appeared from a window, and craning to examine the area, its eyes glistened like crimson pebbles; searching. The spectral pupils caught sight of an unusual man who suddenly vanished into the fog; the car pursued and dissolved into the silence.
*
Torturing calmness encapsulated a single figure that struggled in a wooden chair, restrained by thick wires and a filthy piece of cotton gagged his jaw. The man with a shining briefcase unlocked the door and entered holding a rusty revolver in his right hand. The crude metal rose, pointing straight at the silhouette which now writhed about in panic and alarm. A single bullet crashed into the wall, then crumpled pathetically to the floorboards. The door slammed. Distant footsteps echoed as a pattering of feet fled down the staircase...
*
The clock tower gazed sadly over the majestic turrets of the houses of parliament, with their glittering windows and marble statues that stood solemnly, staring back at the continual progress of the clock. The human wheeled around a corner of the tower; which was crumbling over time and falling apart along with its ancient city. In his relief to see his destination, the man strolled over to the bridge. The wind dropped to a calm breeze. It stroked through the man's hair and ruffled the collar of his coat. Sweeping down the bridge and playfully buffeting the briefcase that knocked gently against his leg.
He stood there on the bridge for at least half an hour, allowing the wind to comfort him while he gathered his thoughts. One hand was clasped to the flaking iron; the other was still glued by sweat to the handle of the metal briefcase. His task was complete; he had killed the man, committed murder, and escaped. He suddenly detected a soft humming noise close behind, floating on the other side of the bridge. He felt four eyes gazing into the back of his skull, four cold, red eyes. His own quivered in fear, still facing the open estuary that lay before him. A fresh pulsation of his heart began to throb against his ribs.
He couldn't escape. The COP bots would be closing in on him, deadly, silent assassins approaching for the kill, the catch. He couldn't run. His legs were lead columns that hung lazily from his torso, not even humans could escape from COPs. He couldn't breathe.
Falling.
He threw himself from the bridge. His shadow plunged towards the black river, a stranger, a nobody, welcomed by the glossy brown that licked its lips for another victim of depression and anxiety. Still clutching the briefcase, he hugged it to his chest like it was a child, his only bond with freedom, and continued the descent to the Thames. He hit the water like a bullet to the head, his whole body crumpling from the crash. The splash. The final breath of air sucked from his lungs by the impact dealt to his chest, a cruel blow.
The water allowed his escape, floating along with the current still cradling the metal in his arms. Falling away into an even greater darkness than which he had escaped. For many years, the human race of London was in the dark, of both shadow and knowledge from the spiralling descent of their nation into restriction and slavery. The bionic grip of law holds society by its throat; justice is death to those who defy.