ON YOUR TRAIL

The Northern City

The weather took a turn for the worse right from the morning. Since last night, the sky had been choked with heavy clouds, unleashing a relentless downpour. Even now, the sun remained hidden, making it feel like evening had long since fallen. Evening was her favorite time. Or better yet, the night. That was when you could be alone with your thoughts and escape the crosshairs of hundreds of unnecessary stares.

Ignoring the endless rain, Victoria pulled off her soaked uniform beret and carelessly shoved it into her pants pocket. A dark strand of hair had escaped her long braid and was now blocking her view. Brushing it away from her eyes, Victoria walked across the central courtyard of the Academy of Security Forces (ASF). Squinting through the pouring rain, she looked around. Empty. Perfect. Classes were over for the day. Her destination, the research laboratory block where Zoe was waiting for her, was on the opposite side of the courtyard.

Since they were in their final year—or more precisely, their final weeks before graduation—her genius friend had long since occupied one of the academy’s labs. There, Zoe Rozevski tinkered with her beloved test tubes. And from time to time, she “patched up” cadets when they got injured during training or in brawls, which was hardly a rare occurrence.

Victoria’s black cadet uniform, adorned with silver ASF patches, was completely soaked and clung unpleasantly to her body. She shivered as a stream of water ran from her hair down her collar. She tugged at the tight stand-up collar and took a risk, unbuttoning one button while no one was looking.

As she did, her fingers brushed against the “Spy” attached to her neck—that was what the cadets called the device developed by local scientists. They had crammed all sorts of tech into it... But the absolute worst feature was its ability to track the wearer’s location and transmit all their basic physical and emotional vitals. You couldn’t run far with a thing like that; it would rat you out to the administration without a second thought. Actually, worse—the annoying indicator on the “Spy” even changed color depending on the wearer’s psycho-emotional state.

This was what Victoria hated the most. That was why she personally called it the “Traitor.” It was impossible to remove, as it was implanted into the skin the moment the academy entrance oath was taken, right before their post-graduation unit assignments. The thin, small sensor plate didn’t restrict movement and was imperceptible to the wearer, but the mere fact that they were tagged like puppies was humiliating.

However, there was one secret joy in wearing the “Traitor.” And no mortal soul knew about this joy. Well, almost none. Victoria approached the main academy building just to catch a quick glimpse of her reflection. Not to check how she looked—though she looked like a mess thanks to the downpour. Right now, only the color of the sensor mattered. The green indicator meant that Senior Lieutenant Dmitry Levin, her unfortunately assigned supervising officer, was alive and hadn’t gotten into any trouble. Victoria let out a sigh of relief, quietly rejoicing for her friend. For a brief moment, her dark blue eyes brightened, though she didn’t see it, having already stepped back from the window.

Yes, she and Levin had reprogrammed their sensors. Yes, it was madness. Yes, heads would roll if anyone found out. But if Lieutenant Levin made a decision, you could shoot him, but you’d still have to do it. Now, her personal sensor’s indicator showed the status of her supervising officer, and his—through its color—always hinted at what was happening with his ward.

Currently, Dmitry was on another patrol shift outside the Northern City, where the academy was located. Victoria turned around, looking beyond the high stone fence, as if she could see the protective wall behind which Levin was getting soaked in the rain. Alright, she needed to hurry up, finally get to the lab, dry off a bit, and listen to Rozevski’s grumbling. Victoria marched across the courtyard with long strides, her high boots stepping over the gleaming puddles.

“Hey, Veresk!” someone called out from the other side of the courtyard.

Dylan… Damn it, why couldn’t he just let it go, even in this weather? Hearing footsteps behind her, Victoria stopped and turned around. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly, betraying her tension at the sight of several approaching classmates. Why right now, when she was almost there? If she got into another fight, it would inevitably affect her supervisor. She had no intention of causing problems for Dmitry. Anyone but him…

Should she make a humiliating escape? No. They wouldn’t let her walk away. Let them beat her half to death? She didn’t care about her own worthless life. But Levin would be punished for that again. Why was everything so complicated, damn it? She needed to find a middle ground. The lesser evil…

“Keep it brief,” Victoria said dryly to Dylan, glaring at him and the other three cadets from under her brows.

“I thought I warned you to stay out of my sight, Veresk.” The blond guy gave his usual sneering smile.

Beside him, his buddies began to chuckle hoarsely, supporting their unspoken leader.

“And I believe I warned you about the same thing,” Victoria threw back at him. “Looks like I’ll have to explain it one more time…”

Her classmates’ intentions were crystal clear. It wasn’t the first time. And it wouldn’t be the last. She barely smirked, clenching her rain-slicked fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. Well, there were only four of them today. Perfect…

***

Streams of rain danced on the black armor shielding his shoulders and chest. Dmitry wiped the cold moisture from his unshaven face, leaving a bitter taste on his lips. His light-brown hair had been soaked through for a long time, something he no longer paid attention to. Their group had just arrived at the latest sector assigned to the Northern Patrol, and now they had to deal with the aftermath.

“Why does this always happen on my shift?” The second officer, complaining about the weather, nervously yanked his helmet off his short, reddish hair. “No, Levin, I’m serious! I just wanted to finish the rounds and go home. Just once! Damn it!”

“Stop whining, Nick. These are outsiders. They didn’t request patrol clearance, otherwise, command would have contacted us. Call the others in.” Dmitry left his wet helmet on the massive black motorcycle.

He then walked over to the Southern Patrol group that had arrived before them. Giving orders to the forensics team, their captain waved a hand at Levin and warned, “Watch your step, Dimitry.”

Levin lowered his gaze to his boots just in time. Mixing with the rainwater, a crimson puddle was spreading across the ground, contrasting with the sparse, short grass rustling in the wind. He had almost stepped right into it.

“Damn…”

The remains of the deceased were scattered all over the area. Dmitry quickly covered his mouth with a leather-gloved fist, urging his stomach not to turn inside out. No matter how much he braced himself for such sights, he could never get used to them. He turned toward the massive bridge looming over them in the dark and took a few ragged breaths, finally focusing.

“What exactly did you lose in our territory, Captain?” Dmitry’s voice sounded muffled and quiet.

The young man standing before him held onto the narrow brim of his black hat and looked at Levin. His aristocratic, flawless features were accentuated by an expensive black suit. The wind caught the edges of the Southerner’s coat, and Dmitry felt chilled to the bone, even under his worn uniform jacket.

“I was almost certain you would say ‘my’ territory, Dimitry. You cling too fiercely to this piece of cursed wasteland.”

The Southerner elegantly shrugged his shoulders, getting on the exhausted Levin’s nerves. Dmitry ignored the remark, repeating his question:

“What are you doing here, Vidal?”

The captain fell silent, watching the clear raindrops drip from the brim of his hat.

“I won’t waste your time, Dimitry, nor mine. It’s unnecessary. I must admit, there were circumstances that forced us to bypass certain protocol regulations.”

“And what would those be? Because right now, our patrol is heading this way. You don’t have much time for explanations.” Dmitry coughed into his wet fist.

The cursed water was everywhere.

“You forget yourself, Lieutenant.” The captain indignantly tugged at his coat collar.

“And what about wasting my time?” the patrolman inquired coldly.

Javier Vidal pursed his lips, restraining himself from continuing the pointless argument they inevitably fell into whenever they crossed paths. He stepped back toward the sparse brush. Inside the long metal crates, washed by the relentless rain, lay the bodies of several victims. Dmitry stepped closer, following the direction of the captain’s hand.

His stomach rebelled again. The lieutenant averted his eyes to Vidal’s cold profile. The Southerner removed the glove from his right hand. Then, closing his eyes—which flashed gold in the headlights—he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. A moment later, he clenched his hand into a fist and touched his heart. This brief farewell ritual struck a chord, and Dmitry let out a heavy sigh.

“Four, Dimitry. Four of my men...” Javier said abruptly.

Unable to bear it, he fell silent and sharply began brushing the water off his wet coat. The patches on the torn remains of the victims’ clothing left no doubt: the dead were Southern Patrol officers.

“What were your people doing here, so far from their authorized route?” Dmitry asked grimly.

“Their vehicle stalled. About ten kilometers from the bridge.” Javier waved the glove he held toward the dark rocks. “Communication with the city, as you know, is still down. The tower remains damaged.”

“And how did they end up here?” Dmitry wearily continued to press.

“We received intel that a pack of Level One carnivorous creatures had appeared near the settlement. My men were tracking the beasts. I presume all the way from the swamps. But the patrol never checked in. We had to follow their trail,” Javier explained, putting his wet glove back on.

Dmitry ran a hand over his face, then heavily rolled his shoulders. Yes, the Wasteland—as the city dwellers usually called it—was home to many strange creatures. Many of them, including the so-called “Wolves,” were classified as Level One and were deadly.

Perhaps the Southern Patrol had been tracking them in an attempt to secure the local roads. And by some tragic twist of fate, the patrolmen themselves became the prey of the carnivorous beasts. It was a bitter loss. Dmitry perfectly understood the Southern captain’s feelings; he had lost his own comrades more than once.

“This time, the attack happened very close to the city walls. The ‘Wolves’ didn’t kill in their own territory, but out in the open, which is uncharacteristic for these creatures,” Dmitry noted hoarsely. “They strayed too far from their usual hunting grounds.”

“They didn’t do this to hunt, Dimitry. Not out of hunger,” Javier muttered.

“Do you understand what that could mean, Captain?”

Their opinions differed, as always, but Dmitry considered the Southerner’s words, trusting him to a certain degree.

“They left the bodies by the bridge. Like spitting in our faces!” Javier stated with sudden sharpness.

“These beasts are mindless,” Dmitry argued. “Their behavior couldn’t change so drastically. I understand your shock, Vidal. But things are different. We need to search the area.”

“Do not tell me I am wrong, Dimitry!” Javier warned darkly. “As for the area...”

“Son of a bitch!” Nick’s voice cut off the captain’s words. “They just tore them apart... Damn it! When are these freaks finally going to go extinct?!”

“Podolsky, shut your mouth!” Dmitry angrily snapped at his partner.

Ignoring the order, Nikolay slapped him on the shoulder.

“You’ve got nerves of steel, brother!” Podolsky nodded at the green sensor indicator on Dmitry’s neck.

His own was already slowly turning red, indicating his rising emotional stress level. Catching himself, Dmitry pulled up his jacket collar, hiding his neck.

“How do you do it? But look at this.” Changing the subject, Nick handed him a tablet. “I just did a sweep of the perimeter.”

Dmitry examined the photos. A distinct black stain marked the ground, spreading out in a radius of about five meters. The grass and other vegetation had been burned to ash.

“Not a trace left of whatever got fried here. And it happened recently. The ground is still warm despite the rain. What were you really doing here, Captain, before you got caught?” Podolsky asked mockingly.

Javier gathered the last shreds of his self-control and shoved his fists deep into his coat pockets, afraid he might use them.

“Captain?” Dmitry turned to him, expecting an explanation.

“‘Liquid Sun’. That’s what they call this weapon in the Wasteland. If a capsule accidentally breaks, nothing remains. It destroys everything organic. It burns for mere seconds, but the temperature is like hell itself,” Javier explained indignantly.

“If someone wanted to destroy evidence, why use the compound so selectively?” Dmitry could now clearly see the burned spot on the ground.

“Whoever it was, they didn’t touch the victims’ bodies. Only...” Javier slightly turned his head toward the crates holding the remains of the dead patrolmen.

“Only?” Dmitry frowned, following the Southerner’s gaze.

“I do not know, Lieutenant. After using such a compound, it’s impossible to take samples. And it infuriates me. And if you, Nicolas, allow yourself even one more comment in my direction, I promise you major trouble!” Vidal raised his voice, which rang out in the hanging silence.

Realizing he was caught between two fires—since Dmitry had mentally already sided with the Southerner—Podolsky exhaled, choosing not to say another word.

“That’s better.” Dmitry heard several vehicles pulling up nearby. Their backup had arrived. “The Northern sector will take over this case now, Captain. I suggest you speak with our superiors. I have no doubt you will offer your full cooperation and receive all necessary updates on the investigation...”

He was forced to stop mid-sentence as a familiar prickling sensation flared up in his neck, exactly where the sensor was attached. Damn it! Why now of all times? Apparently, something had happened back in the city with his reckless ward.

“What is wrong with you? You are pale as a ghost.” Javier moved toward him, but Dmitry stopped him with a gesture and stepped back.

“Must have eaten something bad...” he muttered, now overwhelmed with anxiety for Victoria.

“I get it, man. Everyone’s got their own demons.” Nick smirked, chewing on something and tossing the wrapper pieces onto the wet ground.

“What?” Dmitry turned away from the headlights, hiding the indicator, which had undoubtedly turned completely red by now.

“You’ve got a delayed stress reaction,” Nick kept babbling. “I’ve seen guys like that. They laugh, walk around like nothing happened. And then, when it’s all over, they puke and drink all night. So you’re just a slowpoke, Levin!”

“Yeah. Exactly. I’m a slowpoke, Nick,” Dmitry quickly agreed, just to get him off his back. “We need to go. You’ve reported in. Our work here is done for today...”

“Lieutenant!” Javier’s voice caught up to him right by the motorcycle.

Dmitry turned around, holding his helmet.

“I stand by my words. They did it on purpose,” the captain said dryly.

Levin merely gave him a silent nod.

“Do not be so reckless! You are only human...” Javier cursed quietly, pursing his lips.

“That’s right.” The officer’s brown eyes narrowed, hiding behind the dark visor of his helmet. “Just like you, Javier.”