Sanctioned (Original. One-Shot.)

Sanctioned

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Commissioned by Patreon Special

Word Count: 1100

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If I were a criminal with a hint brains, I’d do my killin’ in the sewers. Alleys, rooftops, and backrooms are easy to search. Not so much a damn sewer. Down there, everything getting contaminated to hell and back. Shit, whether from men or rats, make it difficult for the lab boys to make sense of things. Those gloved an’ goggle’d boys also don’t pay as much attention when they’re in the deep, stinkin’ dark of the tunnels that funnel a whole city’s worth shit.

But, I certainly don’t mind my criminals being stupid. 

I prefer my jobs like most men like their women.

Plain, simple, and easy.

Or, to be a little more exact, I like gettin’ my evidence, my suspect, and my job done within a single shift.

Preferably without an altercatin’ involved. 

Again, to be a tad more precise, without me having to give clearance to my personal attack dog and see a bigger mess than the one that sent me on my merry way.

“We have arrived.” My personal attack dog is soft spoken. But, givin’ credence to the ole adage of barkin’ meaning a dog’s without bite, that soft voice of his is the herald of a storm. A cold, unfeeling, and dark whisper of storm. I’d fifteen assignments with him. Only three were met peaceable ends. The other dozen left only chunks of the Unsanctioned we’d been sent to apprehend. The tiniest bit of resistance and my Sanctioned turns them into bloody gibs and gobs spread across dozens of meters. Yeah, I liked my jobs plain, simple, and easy. “Investigator Alhambra, do you wish for me to take point?”

I waved him off and clambered out of my seat. I checked my armaments. Non-lethal and lethal. I hoped I’d get the chance to use either of them if things went downhill. One’d keep the idiot alive. The other would make sure their death was painless.

“I must inform you that this is against protocol. It is mandated that you should stay behind me.” Yeah, I know. You tell me that every time. Really, I would like an armored, masked spectre of death between me and an Unsanctioned when I’m off duty. But, hell, my damn job is to try and get people into lock up, judged, and either set free or sent off into rehabilitation. Not have them come out swingin’ thinking they’ve got nothin’ to lose. I wave him off again. “Order acknowledged, Investigator Alhambra.”

And, just like that, I get the littlest weapon of mass destruction hidden away behind me, because of my cloak and the height all the boys picked on me at the playground for. Not a bad use for my “gangly” and “mannish” frame, if I do say so myself. Even if most those wankers would sell their left nut to have a chance at me now. It’s the principle of the thing, really. It’s not a matter of filling out and maturin’ while they turned into little, baldin’ boys with paunches—

“Ma’am, there is a congregation of individuals ahead of us.” So there was. A dozen or so blokes. All hard men ready to make hard decisions while hard. Unsanctioned, especially the vigilante types, kept communities safe. Therefore, when the Unsanctioned fucks up, the community tries to give a tit for all the tats they’ve been given. I’d be impressed... if they weren’t just a motley congregation of wankers who were just going to get themselves hurt. “Do you wish for me to dispatch them?”

Waving my Sanctioned down again, I addressed the biggest and baddest of the lot. Properly, too. I called him sir, told him I was lookin’ for a criminal, and that they needn’t fret. 

“We know you’re here for Santiago. We won’t let you have him. Leave and no one gets hurt, officer. ” Now, why the bloody, fucking hell would you say that. Honestly, you look to be the commendable sort. Smart, well-meanin’, and willing to do what’s right. But, why would you say that you know who the Unsanctioned is when there’s a damned investigator ten meters from you!? “We don’t want any trouble—urk.”

That was the sound of a man’s throat being constricted, while he was held in the air by an invisible noose, as his limbs were bound until he couldn’t move. To the untrained, inexperienced eye, the man would look as though he were suddenly crucified and silenced, as he begins to bleed from his ankles, neck, and wrist. To my eyes, I knew that my Sanctioned acted of his own volition, without my orders, because his protocols state all Unsanctioned collaborators are to be apprehended non-lethally, if possible.

The man would be mincemeat if he’d had a gun in his hands instead of a bat.

But, that’s beside the point.

The strategem’s based off of shock and awe. Make a loud, scary gesture and present it to the enemy. Keep doing it until they route. American Sanctioned are trained to do it. It reduces causalities amongst Unsanctioned collaborators. 

A person can’t be a threat if they’re shittin’ themselves screaming.

Or, ever think about going against the law, if they’re permanently traumatized for the rest of their damn lives.

“Collaborator is captured, ma’am. Approach to only five meters of subject, in case of hidden explosive devices.” My Sanctioned tugged on my sleeve. Behind the mask, that damn helmet meant to keep him safe, was someone who I was responsible for. Someone I needed to keep in check, in line, and intact. Within seconds, without allowing for a dialogue, he’d strung up a man 20 stones of muscle and bone in a whim, and bled him to make his compatriots run. “Did I do well?”

If the world were right and proper, I’d tell him no, and we’d both be able to walk away from this. I could do him right. No, I could do him better, but takin’ him far away from here, and teachin’ him there’s more to life than protocols and regulations and killin’ Unsanctioned. 

But, for a Sanctioned, life is protocols and regulations and killin’ Unsanctioned.

So, all I could do was place my hand on his helmet and tell him that he did do well.

Try as might to focus on the mask, I couldn’t help but know of the smile that was hidden behind it.

“I’m glad I can protect you, ma’am.”

I wished that I can say the same in turn.

May all the gods be damned for not letting me say those words to a boy five years younger than I.