Darik Skymann looks out at the burnt and blackened landscape from behind his night-vision goggles. The whole of his vision is painted a sickly green through those specialized lens. He wishes for the days long gone, when a person didn't have to look through night-vision goggles to see the once proud city in the middle of the afternoon. The sun used to shine on the chalk white and gray buildings that once stretched for miles. He sighs as he continues his watch over the city. He is a hardened man of twenty but he feels like he is fifty. His tight muscular frame sags under the weight of the dull black survival pack. He removes his hat, running his fingers through the sweaty locks of his wavey brown hair. It feels like an oven out here, he swears that the temperature must have reached double digits today. As he rubs his hair, sheets of sweat shower his shoulders. This provides a small amount of relief from the stagnant heat. He replaces his hat, wiping his drenched brows. He pulls a small hand-held device out of his pocket. It is a GPS device that gives him an accurate idea of what the weather is like. It is standard issue and has protected him from getting severely dehydrated many times in the past. A red pair of numbers flash before his eyes. They read:
Date: January 15, 2084
Humidity: 83.9%+
Temperature: 102 degrees+
He clicks off the device, swearing under his breathe as he replaces it in its proper holder on his belt. He takes out a small plastic flask, taking a swig of cool, freshwater. He wipes the water from his chin, grabbing the radio attached to his belt.
"Come in Central Command, this is Lieutenant Skymann. I am moving over to Sector 5673, and stand watch over there. There is nothing happening in this area."
"We read you. Proceed to your next watch."
"Have you scanned any Drug Faction activity yet?"
"Centraxx didn't find any when it conducted a thermal scan of the area earlier today. But take extreme caution our snitches are overheard rumors of a coming turf war."
"I'll take that into consideration, Central. But as you know, I can handle myself pretty well when the chips are down. Lieutenant Skymann over and out." Darik says, as he hangs up the radio.
He flips up his night-vision goggles as he begins his descent from his temporary watchtower. He had been standing high atop a huge pile of crushed stone mixed with litter and odd shaped pieces of metal burnt beyond reconition. The nylon suit he wears keeps his body from being ripped open as his tough gloves do the same. The gravel crunches beneath his hard rubber boots as he draws his service nine-millimeter semi-automatic Beretta out of the worn leather holster dangling from his belt. The air sings with the sound of him cocking his weapon. Bits of broken glass crunch beneath his boots as he moves foreward. He looks left and right and then left again before arriving at his vehicle. He turns his back to the door, as he has done many a time previous gripping his Police ID with his left hand. He has done this so many times, he can do it in his sleep. He inserts the thin plastic card waiting for the small pinging sound that lets him know that he has been granted access. A small hiss of air-conditioning hisses out from the dark recesses of his vehicle.
He slides into his seat as the door hisses behind him. He inserts his ID into the ignition switch making the car roar to life. Its puncture proof tires bounce over a wasteland of rocks, debris, animal bones and massive blast holes left by various missile impacts. He wonders if there will be any music this time when he turns on the radio. His ears are filled with the blissful sounds of static.
It figures that when this city died, all the radio stations were damaged so badly I guess they will never get them repaired. he thinks as his mood doesn't really improve.
He switches off the radio, concentrating on driving through this urban battlefield. He glances over at a pair of monitors mounted to the dashboard. Each one gives a different readout for the various functions of this vehicle. One is for fuel, the second one for engine functions, the third for the cabins pressure systems, and the fourth controls/activates all the weapons present within the vehicle's durable shell. All he has to do is tap a certain section of the screen and this patrol vehicle becomes a rolling arsenal. Among its weapons are surface to air sidewinder missiles, four heavy-mounted machine guns on the roof, and two automated grendage launchers along with two gatlin guns mounted in the trunk area. The whole outer shell is diamond hard titanium infused with the strongest laboratory kevlar ever created. The whole underside is infused with enough kevlar material to withstand a pleasant stroll through a tighly packed minefield. It is also made to withstand multiple electric shocks and a small nuclear blast from thirty feet. That's not saying that the person would survive such a blast, but this vehicle sure would. This is your ordinary run of the mill police vehicle of the day. There was good reason for the police to be cruising around in such well-armed and well-armored monstrosites. After the government fell, the Drug Factions took over quickly and violently over the course of a night. The police could barely control the situation after the Federal Government fell when the White House was the attack of a volley of missiles.