Houston, Texas.
Being citizens of the state that possessed the most good ol’ American yeehaw, the rioters that had been stopped by the LEAs only paused for a brief moment. People who had moments before been intent on punching, kicking, and biting each other into shallow graves looked at each other, nodded, then turned to face the new threat.
Nobody knew, nor did it really matter, who fired the first shot, but soon, everyone in the crowd with guns had begun raining bullets on their perceived enemies. It didn’t matter if it was the police or the LEAs, anyone who stood in front of the rioters was deemed a mortal enemy and supporter of the megalomaniac who had taken away their freedom.
Even the unarmed rioters were picking up stones and throwing them with all their might. Most of the thrown stones fell short, but it was the thought that counts.
While receiving the bombardment, the LEAs remained still as sparks flashed on their exterior armor and the distinct whine of ricocheting bullets rang out, but was drowned in the much louder sound of an ongoing barrage of fire. The only thing the LEAs moved were their heads, which were scanning back and forth, tracking the attackers and tagging them with their committed crimes and estimated penalties for those crimes.
*Forty-seven civilians injured. Requesting emergency evacuation to the nearest medical pod. Forty-eight... forty-nine... fifty.... All local police forces down. Requesting emergency evacuation to the nearest medical pod,* the hive mind operating the LEAs reported to central command.
*1479 perpetrators marked for arrest when the countdown ends. Charges: 899 with multiple counts of assault with a deadly weapon with intent to injure, harm, or commit murder. 188 with multiple counts of assault with intent to injure, harm, or commit murder....* The LEAs continued their report to their central command, which was overseen by Gaia’s newest subordinate AI, Themis.
Themis collated the information and passed it to Gaia, who noted it and distributed it to the rest of the AIs before passing the initial judgment on the violent rioters: guilty. That was the likely verdict, but a trial must still be held. Themis noted the evidence gathered by the LEAs and added the trials to judges’ dockets pending their retraining on imperial law.
All of that happened in a fraction of a second after the rioters began shooting at the police and LEAs, who were still in the middle of their sixty-second countdown.
Twenty-one seconds remained.
……
NSA Supervisory Special Agent David Stratton, having left his position as the leader of the mob, was watching the fusillade from the safety of a nearby office building. His binoculars were trained on the LEAs, who were barely visible through the sparks and dust kicked up by ricochets and outright misses.
“Why’re they just looking around?” he muttered to himself. “Isn’t it common sense to end a countdown when the person you’re counting down opens fire on you? Fucking morons!”
He focused his binoculars on the crowd, their internal parabolic microphone picking up the shouting past the rapidly dwindling gunfire; it seemed the yeehaw crowd had run out of yeehaw and was resorting to using their words. “Coward! You’re trading your freedom for fear! You see them just standing there and doing nothing and think they’re better than us. But you’re just falling for their intimidation tactics! They’re just bullies!” one of the rioters yelled at another, who had come to his senses and decided to go home.
“They can’t do shit to us, you’ll see!” yelled another.
“To hell with your freedom! Your freedom isn’t worth my life,” the retreating man said, picking up his pace in an attempt to get as far from ground zero as possible.
He made it all of a block before running into the police cordon that was set up to block the rear of the rioters, where he was subjected to another good old fashioned American specialty: police brutality. But that was a story for another day.
……
“Ten... nine... eight.... Two... One.” As one, the LEAs drew their charge rifles and released their safeties, switching them to stun. “Drop your weapons and lay face down on the ground or you will be fired upon!” the lead unit yelled. “This is your last warning!”
An electric whine sounded as the charge rifles finished their initial bootup and power cycle.
Some people in the crowd threw down their weapons and followed instructions, but most refused and continued firing, still to no effect.
The LEAs who had taken station on the rooftops to the sides of the rioting crowd were the first to open fire, sending accurate, single shots down on the rioters who were still standing and panic firing at anything they saw. LEAs, downed police officers, perceived silhouettes in the windows of nearby buildings, and even other rioters were taking fire. Some of the more sinister people in the crowd were even specifically aiming at those “compatriots” of theirs that had surrendered, considering themselves enacting justice by eliminating traitors.
But that final, last gasp of resistance was soon put down as charge round after charge round impacted their targets, releasing enough electricity to overwhelm their nervous system and dropping them to the ground, stunned and unable to even generate a coherent thought, let alone move around.
Once the rioters were all taken down and peace returned to the surroundings, the LEAs moved among the crowd, snapping stun cuffs that sent a constant, low-level electrical charge through the wearer’s nerves that prevented them from mustering any real strength around the wrists and ankles of the arrestees.
......
Agent Stratton saw one of the LEAs looking in his direction and decided that it was time to retreat. He gathered up his recording devices and vanished deeper within the building, heading to a bathroom where he applied some facial putty as a hasty disguise. He tore the seam on the inside of his suit jacket, then reached in and pulled out a wig that would change his US Marine Corps standard-issue “high and tight” crew cut into a more bland men’s haircut that wouldn’t even stand out in a crowd of one, then applied a thin layer of foundation powder from a makeup compact that would blend the putty and hairline to look at least a little bit more natural.
He took off his suit jacket, pants, and dress shirt, revealing a polo shirt and slacks of a different color, then walked out of the bathroom and joined the nearest crowd in the building that had formed once the shooting died down.
NSA Supervisory Special Agent David Stratton had disappeared, replaced by the white-collar worker, James Smith.
