Blackout Protocol

Chapter Five

Sarah sat in her car three blocks from Dr. Raymond Foster's house, watching the clock on her dashboard tick toward 6:47 PM. She'd been here for two hours, studying the street, cataloging exit routes, trying to figure out how this was supposed to work.

If Detective Moss was right, if there really was another activation coming, then somewhere in this city, a cop was losing control of their own body right now. Walking toward this address with a mission they didn't consciously choose.

Sarah's phone showed 6:31 PM. Sixteen minutes.

She'd tried calling the number Moss had texted from. Disconnected. She'd tried running Foster's name through the system. Nothing. The man didn't exist in any database she had access to. No driver's license. No property records. No criminal history.

Which meant either Moss had given her bad information, or Foster was someone important enough to be scrubbed from public records.

Sarah had driven past the house twice. Colonial style, well-maintained, lights on inside. Someone was home. Through the front window, she'd glimpsed a figure moving. Male, middle-aged, maybe Foster himself.

The question was: what would she do when the killer showed up?

If she arrested them, she'd have no proof they were being controlled. No evidence of conspiracy. Just another dirty cop and a dead witness. And Marcus would still be in a cell, waiting for trial.

But if she let it happen, if she watched Foster die, she'd have blood on her hands. And she'd be no better than whoever was orchestrating this nightmare.

Sarah's radio crackled. Normal patrol chatter. Nothing about an officer going dark, nothing about suspicious activity in this neighborhood. Whoever was coming, they were doing it off the books. No backup calls. No logged location.

Just like Marcus at the warehouse.

6:38 PM. Nine minutes.

Sarah checked her weapon. Seventeen rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber. She wasn't sure what she'd do if it came down to shooting another cop, but she needed to be ready for anything.

Her phone buzzed. Text from an unknown number: ‘You came. Good. Don't interfere. Just watch.’

Sarah's pulse jumped. She typed back: ‘Who is this?’

Three dots. Then: ‘Someone who wants the same thing you do. The truth.’

‘Moss?’

‘Not Moss. She's compromised. They're watching her now. This is your only chance to see how it works.’

Sarah stared at the message. ‘See how what works?’

‘The protocol. Watch what happens at 6:47. Record it if you can. You'll need proof.’

‘I can stop this. Save Foster.’

‘You can't. The activation is already underway. If you interfere, you'll die. And Foster will die anyway. All you'll accomplish is alerting them that you know.’

Sarah's hands tightened on her phone. ‘Who are they?’

‘The people who made Marcus into a weapon. The people who've been making weapons out of cops for three years. Watch, Detective Chen. Learn. Then find a way to stop them before they activate all twelve.’

‘Are you also a victim?’

No reply came.

6:42 PM. Five minutes.

Sarah got out of her car, staying low, moving between parked vehicles until she had a clear line of sight to Foster's front door. She pulled out her phone, opened the camera, and started recording.

If someone was coming to kill Foster, she needed evidence. Video proof that this wasn't random violence but coordinated assassination. Proof that Marcus wasn't alone in this.

The street was quiet. Evening in the suburbs. A few lights were on in the windows. Someone walking a dog three houses down. Everything is normal.

6:45 PM. Two minutes.

Sarah's breath came faster. Her finger hovered over the phone, ready to call it in. One call to dispatch and this street would be crawling with patrol cars in minutes. They could save Foster. Lock down the area.

But then whoever was behind this would know she was investigating. Would know she'd made contact with Moss. Would disappear and take their answers with them.

Marcus would stay in prison. The other activated cops would stay weapons. And the killing would continue.

6:46 PM. One minute.

A car turned onto the street. Dark sedan. Driving slowly. Sarah zoomed her phone camera, trying to catch the license plate. It was obscured. Deliberately.

The car stopped four houses down from Foster's. Engine still running. Nobody got out.

Sarah's radio crackled again. Still normal chatter. Whoever was in that car wasn't broadcasting their location.

6:47 PM.

The car door opened.

A woman stepped out. Mid-thirties. Athletic build. Moved with purpose but not urgency. She was dressed casually; jeans, dark jacket, but Sarah recognized the walk. The way she carried herself.

Cop walk. You learned to spot it after a few years on the job.

The woman didn't look around. Didn't check her surroundings. Just walked straight toward Foster's house like she'd been there a hundred times before.

Sarah zoomed the camera tighter, trying to get a clear shot of the woman's face. But she kept her head down, baseball cap pulled low, features obscured.

The woman reached Foster's door. Rang the bell.

Sarah held her breath.

Through the front window, she saw Foster's silhouette approach. Saw him check the peephole. Then, incredibly, saw him open the door.

He knew her. Foster knew his killer.

The woman said something. Foster stepped back, gesturing her inside. The door closed behind them.

Sarah waited. Counted seconds. At thirty, she started moving toward the house.

The mystery texter had said not to interfere. Had said she'd die if she tried. But she couldn't just stand here while a man was murdered fifty yards away.

She was halfway across the street when the gunshot cracked through the evening air.

Single shot. Clean. Professional.

Sarah ran.

She hit Foster's front door hard, weapon drawn. "Police! Open up!"

No response.

Sarah stepped back, aimed for the lock, fired twice. The door splintered. She kicked it open and swept inside, weapon up, every instinct screaming that this was a trap.

The living room was empty. Television on, playing some news program. Coffee cup on the table, still steaming.

Sarah moved toward the back of the house. Kitchen. Clear. Dining room. Clear.

Then she saw the study.

Dr. Raymond Foster sat at his desk, head tilted back, single bullet wound in his forehead. Blood pooled on the papers spread in front of him. His eyes were open, staring at nothing.

And standing over him, weapon still raised, was the woman from the car.

Sarah aimed at her center mass. "Drop the weapon! Now!"

The woman turned. Slowly. Mechanically.

And Sarah's blood turned to ice.

It was Detective Rachel Moss.

The same woman who'd warned her in the parking garage. The same woman who'd told her about the twelve activated cops. The same woman who'd said she didn't want to be a killer.

Moss's eyes were blank. Empty. Like nobody was home behind them.

"Moss." Sarah kept her weapon trained. "Put the gun down. You don't want to do this."

Moss's mouth moved. Words came out, but they sounded wrong. Flat. Emotionless. "Target neutralized. Protocol complete. Awaiting next assignment."

"Moss, listen to me. You're being controlled. Whatever they did to you, you can fight it. Just lower the weapon."

Moss's gun swung toward Sarah.

Sarah didn't hesitate. She fired three rounds. Center mass. Textbook.

Moss went down hard, weapon clattering across the floor.

Sarah moved forward, kicked the gun away, checked for a pulse. Weak. Fading. Moss had maybe minutes.

"Moss. Rachel. Stay with me." Sarah pulled out her phone, dialed 911. "Officer down. Shots fired. 2247 Oakwood Drive. I need paramedics now."

Moss's eyes flickered. For just a second, something came back into them. Awareness. Horror.

"Chen." Blood bubbled at her lips. "I couldn't... I tried to stop..."

"I know. I know. Just hold on."

"The others." Moss gripped Sarah's jacket with failing strength. "They'll activate the others. All of them. Tomorrow. They know you're investigating. They're going to…."

Her eyes went blank. Her hand fell away.

Sarah checked for a pulse again. Nothing.

Detective Rachel Moss was dead.

And Sarah had killed her.

Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer. Sarah stood, looked at the scene. Two bodies. Her weapon fired. And absolutely no way to explain what had just happened without sounding insane.

Her phone buzzed. Text from that same unknown number: ‘You did what you had to. Now get out. They're coming for you next.’

Sarah looked at the message, then at the bodies, then at the front door where red and blue lights were starting to paint the walls.

She had maybe thirty seconds before the patrol arrived. Thirty seconds to decide whether to stay and face questions she couldn't answer, or run and become a fugitive alongside Marcus.

She looked at Foster's desk. At the papers soaked in his blood. One of them had a logo. Meridian Institute.

Sarah grabbed the papers, stuffed them inside her jacket, and ran for the back door.

Behind her, the sirens screamed closer.

And somewhere, eleven more cops were walking time bombs, waiting to activate.