The Whispers

Chapter 3

April 21, 2019                           11:28 A.M.

     The man sat in a dark room with his feet propped up next to the keyboard. The man was not in a particularly good mood today. Surrounding him were multiple monitors; some were showing the views of the various city surveillance cameras, though most were currently trained on the city square and the execution about to take place, while the rest displayed the findings of the cameras new brain scanners. Multiple brain waves danced in his vision, it was almost hypnotizing.
     The mans focus, however, was on the execution. His attention as rapt as the audience there in person.
     His stomach turned and he hated himself for it. The child is a Flame survivor - he reminded himself - a monster, an abomination, and a blight upon the world.
     Death was too good for the likes of it.
     He hardened himself against the unwanted feelings the scene dragged up in him. He remembered what the Sergeant had told him: They're nothing but conniving scum. Killing them is a pleasure and great source of pride.
     The man now turned his gaze towards the brain scanners, as he was supposed to be doing.

Any and all suspicious brain activity was supposed to be reported.

     That was the rule.
     Best to make a well-intentioned mistake than remain silent in doubt and allow the vermin to run free.
     As of now, all the civilians were showing normal brain waves. Or as normal as they could be, given their present show. Naturally, there were some spikes, but that was to be expected in this scenario. Wether they be as a result of fear or pleasure was neither his concern nor in his job description to know.
     The brain waves he was to look out for were noticeable - they would be large spikes and at a constant rate. However, in this piss poor town the man doubted there'd be any. It's a miracle we've found as many as we have -
     His thought was cut off by a sudden flare in brain activity. It was bright and pulsating, but also fleeting.
     Immediately, the man sat up correctly and got the individuals identification number. He wasted no time in searching the corresponding monitor, displaying the city square, for the source of such a wave. He slumped in his seat when he found it. It. It was the Flame survivor currently about to be executed.
     A last ditch effort at escape I see, he thought. The cuffs must be weakening, for the beast to get that much of a wave out. A pitiful excuse of an escape, he laughed. But then he went deathly still as he realized his mistake.
     It's not an escape.
     He quickly went back to the monitor. The Sergeant still had his gun pointed at the miscreant. No one in the crowd was rioting. It was still cuffed.
Why use that last burst of power? The man mused. He squinted at the screen.
     "Who are you looking at?" He asked aloud. He traced its gaze across the monitor with his finger, it was an elementary method and not at all accurate, but his heart rate picked up nonetheless when his finger landed dead center on a girl. She looked to be a teenager, in her hand some unknown bundle.
     She was scared.
     The mans eyes flicked to the identification number floating over her head, 27, and then pinpointed her brain wave.
     He stared at it. Then continued to stare at it for longer than necessary. He wasn't prone to surprises or shock, but there's a first for everything, he thought ironically.
     Honestly, he didn't know why he didn't notice it earlier. Her waves were considerably larger than the rest, the telling spikes barely there. It was a beacon, a Flame. And an untrained one at that, he thought. Given her age, someone must want her hidden.
     "Oh little flame," he crooned, "you've strayed too far in the dark."
     In the square, the pest's body fell on its side as red blood flowed.     
     Immediately, the girl's - the Flame's - spikes flared to uncharacteristically high levels. To levels reserved for the largest threats to society. Powerful, the man realized, it's powerful.
     And it was leaving.
     He quickly called it in. The Sergeant picked up on the third ring, "What is it Stevens?" His voice sounded irritated, no doubt due to the fact that he, Stevens, had interrupted his post-bloodshed high.
     "Sir," he replied. "I've got one. A girl. Looks around 16 or 17. Her brainwaves-" he gritted his teeth. He absolutely despised referring to Flames as anything other than its. "-Her brainwaves," he began again, "I initially thought them to be SK level, but-" his voice fell short.
     He paused, gauging the Sergeants response. It was deathly silent.
     Steven swallowed and continued. "She showed signs of being at a W level sir," he finished.
     The steady breaths on the other end were the only indication that the Sergeant was still there. He paled.
"Sir?"
     "Are you sure?" He replied, his voice clipped and sharp.
     Stevens hesitated. "No."
     I'm dead, he thought. There's no room for doubt in the Extinguishers.    
     He held his breath.
     When the Sergeant replied, it left nothing to be desired. "Follow her and report back immediately."
The line went dead.

....................................................................................

     Stevens was in no way prepared.
     The girl - the Flame - was already gone and he had to rewind the tape just to see what direction she'd gone. South. Plus, he'd forgotten his handheld brain scanner and had to ask for Charlie's as he was walking out of the building.    
     Then he ran.
     His mood decreased even more so as he was met with rain, the unrelenting kind that soaked through his clothes and deep into his bones. Still, he ran.     
     Eventually, he had long since left the gravel and pavement of the city and now trekked a dirt road, he spotted a small figure in the distance. A bundle of cloth in its hand. Gotcha.
     He made his footsteps silent - an ever greater task to accomplish in the mud - as he trailed it, yet he doubted his presence would be noted regardless. It was soaked from head to toe and walked aimlessly, detached. It made his job all the more easy. He picked up his brain scanner and aimed it at the back of her head.
     The SK levels the thing had displayed earlier surfaced once again. He looked a frustrated breath, maybe it was a fluke. A stubborn part of his brain initiated though, the machines are never wrong. His gut agreed. This girl is a whisper; for all he knew, she could already be in his head, making him see these false waves, if her earlier spike was any indication at her power.    
     He was underestimating her, he realized. Mistakes like that get people killed.
     He put away the brain scanner, it was useless should his suspicions be correct. He slowed his pace and observed the creature before him, weighing his options.
     I'm not to engage. Those were his orders. He wasn't prepared to do so anyway. He was to report back to the Sergeant but all he had was a gut feeling and no proof. It's not enough, he hissed. It was untrained, of this Stevens was sure, but it had power. Often times power and inexperience made for a fatal combination.
They couldn't do a live execution. Who knew what the beast would do - could do - if provoked. No, he thought, her death has to be private. Swift and precise. No mistakes. They couldn't risk mistakes in this case.
     Stevens made his decision. He'd follow it home. An address would be enough to sate the Sergeant, and with that information they could come and be done with the task quickly. The problem would be cut down before it could even begin. It was good.
     It took longer than he liked, but eventually the Flame walked into a cinder block house on an abandoned street. He had an address.
     Stevens hunkered down behind some very tall weeds and called the Sergeant. "Sir," he began, his voice breathless with excitement. "I've got an address. I advise you send over an-"
     The Sergeant interrupted before he finished. "What were her brain waves, Stevens?"
     He sighed. "SK," he said quickly, "but sir I am confident in my earlier statement that we have a whisper in our midst and I have an address-"
     "That's enough Stevens," he replied. "You're concern is well placed and your persistence is to be admired, but we are not taking immediate action on this matter. Is that understood?"
     "Sergeant," Stevens interjected. If he could just explain -
     "Is. That. Understood?"
     Stevens remained silent, gritting his teeth.
     There was a groan on the other end. "Good," the Sergeant began, "now that that's been said, I'm sending a team of men over to your location right now."
     Stevens had to fight to keep the surprise out of his voice. Twice in one day now. "I'm sorry, sir?" He stammered.
     "I want solid proof of your suspicions Stevens."
     He opened his mouth to speak.
     "But more than that," the Sergeants voice now carried a lethal edge. "I want a weakness."