Three men in police uniforms entered a downtown skyscraper, heading for the fifth floor. The commander consulted a small tablet: Jonathan Meyer, forty-five, dark brown hair, blue eyes, a scar behind his right ear—cyber crimes.
The front desk offered no resistance. The men moved with unnerving purpose toward the elevators. On the fifth floor, the tallest man paused, isolating an anomalous scent. He moved with predatory grace toward Meyer's desk.
"Mr. Meyer," he spoke, sharp and devoid of warmth.
Meyer's back was still turned, his shoulders radiating tension.
"Why?" The single word was all Meyer uttered.
The officer rested a hand on the man's shoulder, lifting him with surprising ease, and steered him towards the elevator. The 'why' was irrelevant. His orders were clear.
The group of four exited to a large coach bus idling at the curb. Meyer, silent and resigned, found an empty seat. Marking the name off their list, the officers surveyed the growing, fearful assembly.
"Let's move on," one stated.
The next target was The Den nightclub, a pulsing knot of sound and light.
Inside, Jess Deen, bright blue hair flashing under the strobes, danced in a revealing dress. She held a shot glass in one hand, a beer bottle in the other, a smoke pressed between her fingertips, grinding against the second officer on the team.
His hand shot out, grasping her arm with a grip that immediately bruised. He dragged her through the crowd. Jess tried to fight, but his other hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her protest.
He hauled her through a dimly lit exit door leading to a narrow alley. She was too deep in the shadow for anyone to see or hear her struggles from the street.
He bodily tossed her onto the bus. She landed hard and scrambled up, green eyes wide with terror and rage.
"Sit," he commanded, his voice flat.
She stumbled to a seat. The officer stepped off, giving the driver a nod.
The bus moved to a suburban park. A moment later, one officer boarded the bus, holding a weeping two-year-old girl named Judy. The little girl clung fiercely to a worn, stuffed bear.
"It's okay, sweetheart," the officer murmured, his tone soft and entirely different from before. "We're just going for a little ride now."
He scanned the fearful faces on the bus, then spotted a weary-looking older woman. He walked down the aisle and placed the wailing child gently next to her.
"Take care of her," he instructed the woman.
He then stepped back to the front. The driver closed the doors.
The commander looked over the bus's collected cargo, his expression cold and detached. He checked the short list in his hand one last time.
"Who's next?" he asked.