Killmington, Hellaware

In broad daylight, the sound of the Spheremachinegun rattled the residents. Shell casings from the weapon rained down on the pavement. The rounds tore through flesh like wolves gnashing at a rabbit. The woman holding the gun walked with a leisurely gait, just waiting to go in for the kill.

Blood marked the streets just as another makeshift memorial sprung up replete with white teddy bears and roses. Blood splattered on those items, too. The woman’s figure could be determined. Height, five eleven, six feet in heels; weight, one hundred fifty pounds. She could be described but not caught. The machinegun she toted was unlimited in rounds due to the SphereApp she hacked through with stunning code.

She weaved in and out of spots with the sun glaring down on the street. This agent of evil was precise with her aim but indiscriminate with her targets. The sound of the rounds was muted thanks to an advanced suppressor. Once she reigned down Hellfire from her death device, she just strolled into a Spherecar and drove away.

In Wilmington, Delaware, with a population of about a hundred and fifty thousand entering into the 2040’s, gunplay like this ripped at the crux of the city. Mostly African American men, women, and children died in the streets gravely nicknamed Killmington, Hellaware. Much like the surrounding locales of New Jack City, Killadelphia, Pistolvania, Bodymore Murderland and Washing-a-ton of Dirty Clothes. Police Chief Cordelia Phillips made every attempt in her meetings with the press to be brief, pointed, and open. Now, she stirred her hazelnut coffee.

“How many bodies today…so far?” She asked her Chief Deputy Amanda Corver.

“Forty six.”

Cordelia didn’t blink or stop sipping her coffee. This was a low figure compared to the stack of corpses that numbered in the eighties and nineties during the summer months.

“We still are doing the PR. Patrolmen are on the beat talking to neighbors. We’re still overseeing turkey drives.”

“We’re still handing out turkeys to the ‘hood?”

Amanda nodded. “It’s time we also supply schools with backpacks and Spherephones. Next year.” Spherephones like all Sphereproducts consisted of ball like devices that could change the weather, provide travel, and provide therapy for the mind through sound waves, or maim and kill. The Internet, of course, remained the main draw as kids and the kids forever recorded themselves dancing, singing, and getting shot, unfortunately on such items.

“I think if we can make a plan where there will be increased pressure on the legislature to increase the severity of punishment for these crimes, we should have that number diminish,” Cordelia pointed out.

“We’re just worn down and without the proper equipment. I mean drugs are legal. Prostitution’s legal. But the body count is still there because of the lack of thought,” Amanda mentioned. She fixed herself some coffee as well with her Spherphone.

“I’m going to investigate that with my Soul Detectives. They should be able to peer into anyone’s psyche and find out their hurt. That pain, that irrationalism that they exhibit that makes them want to pick up a spheregun and mow down the block is what I am considering.”

Amanda looked glum. Then, she picked up her head and chimed, “We could use those detectives and combine them with our tactical teams. We’re tracking down one woman. Whoever the Hell she is, she’s disturbing my own soul. With one working on the head and the other on the body, we can make some gains.”

Cordelia finished her coffee. “I get that. The spiritual and the physical focus ought to bring us to some sort of peace in these streets.”

“Streets have no—” Amanda started.

“I know, but love isn’t the solution. It’s applying the proper amount of force in retaliation for the start of physical coercion. That’s why I became a cop. I knew from the jump that emotions tie into it, it’s about the unreason that can be found in the streets. You said it yourself; the so-called vices are legal and tax free on income and consumption to boot. It’s a mental problem.”

“We go out there in front of those Spherepress lenses and tell them that and they’ll never understand. Not a lick. We should keep our ideas under wraps until we can fully flesh out the entire scheme.”

Cordelia used her Sphere to adjust her tidy uniform. The distinguished nature she projected was not lost on Amanda. The number two in charge looked at her boss. A rush of pride filled her being. Cordelia looked for her stars and pinned them on with expertise.

“I think you’re right, Mandy. Once we hit those Spherelights and truly get a sense of what the media has been hounding us about, we should be alright. We can’t roll out the plans just yet, no. Gradually, we should have the power to overtake these brutes in the street and restore them for the betterment of the Wilmingtonians.”

“If not for anything but to get rid of that vicious moniker that has stuck around for decades,” Amanda remarked.