Spoiler
Synopsis
In the wake of the global economic crisis, and the coalition government coming into power in May 2010, the UK went through a period of turmoil. Government cuts were seen in all sectors: education, healthcare, military. One of the worst hit was Scotland Yard. Front line policing was impossible to afford, less officers were available to respond to emergencies, and crime steadily rose.
Public outcry bought about new legislation, allowing private sector security companies the same legal powers as the Metropolitan Police Service. This resolved some issues, but by 2018 many companies had become corrupt, initiating crimes in order to 'solve' them - profiting both from the crimes, and solving them. These groups, called "Takers" after the old English "thief-takers", have created a system of law and disorder almost inescapable to the British public.
In the wake of the global economic crisis, and the coalition government coming into power in May 2010, the UK went through a period of turmoil. Government cuts were seen in all sectors: education, healthcare, military. One of the worst hit was Scotland Yard. Front line policing was impossible to afford, less officers were available to respond to emergencies, and crime steadily rose.
Public outcry bought about new legislation, allowing private sector security companies the same legal powers as the Metropolitan Police Service. This resolved some issues, but by 2018 many companies had become corrupt, initiating crimes in order to 'solve' them - profiting both from the crimes, and solving them. These groups, called "Takers" after the old English "thief-takers", have created a system of law and disorder almost inescapable to the British public.
Smoke dances in upward spirals from his lips, trapped in the beams that shine down from the streetlights. It provides him with some brief beauty to help forget the deed just done. A respite from the ever-worsening course his life seems to be following.
He looks down at his hand, wanting to take another drag from the cigarette. The butt is smeared with red from his initial fumbling with the packet. That sight snaps him back into the present. In the pouring rain he keels over onto his knees and vomits. His arms quiver trying to steady him as he expels the last hour of his life out onto the pavement. Blood is washed from his hands to merge with the pool of sick.
In the surrounding puddles his reflection is distorted, the constant torrent of rain warps his face into some kind of monster. Tears roll down his face, but are masked by droplets from the sky that slither down his body from head to toe. The rain tries it’s hardest to clean these filthy streets, to rid them of the depraved vermin that roam them and of the heinous acts they commit. It is trying to rid the streets of him.
A line of spit dangles from his lip, stuck to his chin like the snot of a baby that has yet to learn to control it’s own body. Unable to bear the world around him, a world he has helped to create, he runs. He needs to get home. He has done his job and will get his pay. Tomorrow this will just be another file on McFarlane’s desk...
___
