Gimme yer fuckin' water twatface!
Krale stared at the hydro-mugger, known as dro's in the metropole, and shook his head.
Didn't you hear me, fuckface, gimme that water!
Krale continued to sip his bottle and glare at the dro.
You're fuckin' asking for it fucker!
The dro lunged from his bus seat towards Krale, screaming his head off.
You're gonna die fuckmother!
Krale leapt over his rail and got the drop on his would-be mugger, booting him up the arse and sending him head first into the vehicle's side window, where his face met glass and glass won.
The agile Krale got off the bus and made a quick turn into a back alley, where he reached a keypad and touched the screen with his tongue.
He then spoke.
Krale, Officer, Aqua Force 2.
The door opened and the policeman, one of the good ones who never took a dime, entered a corridor leading to a huge operations room. Consoles beeped and maps of the city flickered on vast screens. They were maps of gangs. Drought gangs.
These criminal syndicates extorted the already struggling bottling companies and diverted the city's only water supply, bottled desalinated ocean water, for their own nefarious gains, selling the stocks onto the highest bidders in other stricken states, usually to the mega rich who could afford to pay.
Too many officials and officers turned a blind eye and it made Krale sick to his stomach.
As a result of the corruption the citizens suffered even more in what was already the worst and most prolonged drought in a century. It had lasted twenty years and had ripped civilized society apart.
Nations warred over scarce water resources and gangs ran lines across territories. There just wasn't enough of it. Anywhere. It never rained. Not any more.
Get delayed again Krale?
His dodgy lieutenant was always on his back about something or other.
Some young dro tried it on.
Get the better of you?
What do you think?
Sir!
Sir!
It was a daily panto Krale and his gaffer played out, an irksome but manageable pain in the ass in a world of dwindling resources with big ass problems getting bigger every minute.
You're up on the hill today Krale.
What? oh come on boss, not the Cloisters. They're fuckin animals!
Well, you'll fit right in. Take Birds with you. The new greenhorn and a prick of a goody two-shoes like you!
Oh for fucks sake Lieutenant! Birds! The rookie! You gotta be joshin' me!
Get your weapon. Get your water ration. Take Birds and fuck off up the hill. Report back anything untoward.
Untoward? Everything about the Cloisters gang is untoward. Fuckin' hillbilly river killers always on the make.
Take the boat up the Hudson.
They own it, the Hudson, they own the fuckin' river or had you forgotten ... Sir?
Take that tone with me Krale, you streak of Bronx piss and I'll bust you back to fuckin' boy scout!
I'm the fine champagne in your otherwise drab life Lieutenant and you know it!
Krale, if you were the last glass of Bolinger on earth I still wouldn't drink you. Now fuck off!
Officer Krale felt nervous about the assignment. The Cloisters gang were nutters. Cops left them alone, so why send him and the risk-drenched Birds. If he didn't know any better he'd think the Lieutenant was trying to get him out the way.
He logged out an ancient Winchester, his weapon of choice and good luck charm. He grabbed a bottle of the good stuff and dragged Birds from the photocopier.
Stop making copies of your lily-white arse Birds and follow me you dumb rookie.
They signed out a patrol boat at the Precinct jetties and boarded.
As Krale pushed the lever he noticed a party of businessmen disembarking nearby at the Mayor's city harbour. The boat was liveried EXTRACTA.
Fuckin' suits! I can't stand em!
Birds agreed because that's what he thought he should do. A beat with the legendary Officer Krale was both a privilege and a nightmare rolled into one. A jam doughnut sprinkled with glass. He was excited and bricking himself at the same time.
C'mon Birds. Ever seen Apocalypse Now? We're going up the Hudson straight to Hell! Mark my words, you're going to shit yourself today. Just follow my lead, keep schtumm and Birds ...
Yes Officer Krale?
... Watch my fuckin back!
The two aqua policemen zoomed up the brown skush of the old river, contaminated to fuck and held onto tight by the crazy Cloisters gang based high up on the famous hill beyond the Big Apple.
They'd be watching. Krale just knew.
It turned out to be an uneventful voyage up the drink, which worried the seasoned cop even more. His spidey senses were tinglin' like herpes.
Mooring up, the partners gingerly stepped behind the hoary walls of the hill citadel.
They could see gang members arguing in the courtyard over some sort of gizmo.
It was then Birds sneezed.
The gang turned.
Oh you fuckin' greenhorn Birds!
Krale tensed and positioned his repeater on the wall.
Drop it Cop! Drop the antique!
Krale swiveled to see a thin, gangly, tattooed creature with black teeth pointing one of two huge Magnums in his face.
The rifle was placed on the ground.
Walk coppers!
The two policemen trudged forwards towards the group who had been arguing.
Well looky here! Two fuckin' five O pigbags! What you doin' this far out you nosey little piggies?
Checkin' if the City's shit floats upstream too.
Ah, a wise ass. Krale isn't it?
Now how the fuck would you know that scumboid?
Krale was unnerved.
You're the golden boy. We all know you. Mister Honesty. And you must be the new recruit eh?
Yes, Sir, I've been fast tracked.
Krale poked his partner in the ribs.
Birds!
Ah, yes, Birds! The Rookie! How apt! Fast tracked eh! In the right place at the right time and ready for new challenges eh! Well we have one for you Birdbrain. In fact we were just discussing whether you could be our guinea pig. And guess what, it is you!
With a single movement the gang leader pressed what looked like a small rifle with a large canister hard into Birds' waist, where it made a pop sound as if something had been punctured.
Suddenly Birds screamed for his life and turned to his partner.
His face turned blue.
Krale!
Kraaaaaaaaaaaaaale!
Within a split second Birds was gone. He had been sucked whole into the device held against him.
What the fuck!
Krale staggered.
Jesus H!
The gang leader crowed.
Where the fuck is my partner you scumbag?
Why, he's right here officer!
The hoodlum pointed to the large glass canister on the end of the weapon. It was full of fresh but slightly pink water.
What the fuck are you talking about shit for brains! Where's fuckin Birds?
I told you copper, he's right here. I've extracted all the water from his piggy body and the rest of the shit is on the ground.
Krale stared at the water speckled with red flecks and at the pile of God knows what at the gangster's feet. And then he saw his badge. Viscous and melting.
Birds!
Krale felt sick to his pit but worse was to come.
The gang boss released the big bottle and took a long swig.
Wow! That's some fuckin tasty fuzz pop right there!
He wiped his lips with his arm and passed the bottle around.
Yep, the human body's more or less water Copper and you're gormless rookie has just been extracted! It's a whole new fuckin ball game!
The sickened officer was bundled into his boat and tied to the wheel.
Tell any other upstanding pals in blue like you - a rarity I know - there's a brand spanking new way of drinking now, courtesy of our friends in Extracta, so watch out. We're thirsty as fuck!
Krale's patrol boat limped down river and he managed to nudge the steering enough to dock at the Precinct, where the lieutenant met him.
Where's Birds Krale?
He's croaked. Gone. Liquified. As if you didn't know.
After being debriefed for an hour Krale drank his ration, but spat it out at the thought of his partner. He should never have agreed to take him up river. Never.
And then he remembered.
Extracta.
Those fuckin' suits where on a boat with that written on the side.
Those fuckin' business and science types. I hate those bastards. I'm going to fuckin' find out what they're up to!
Krale grabbed a revolver and crept over to the Mayor's jetty. The boat marked EXTRACTA was still moored. He stowed on board and hid.
Before long the party returned.
The obvious top suit shook the Mayor's hand.
It's a deal Mr. Mayor. We take your street bums and homeless and sell you their extracted water at a fair price. It's a win win and we start tonight. Just pay off the cops.
Krale couldn't believe what he was hearing. Citizens being consigned for water extraction. Like his partner Birds. Jesus H. Christ! It's an abomination! And the Precinct is in on it!
The business boat speeded out to sea, past the last of the desalination plants that was still working. Just. The rest had caked up with salt and petered out. The final shipment of ocean water was in the city now and steadily running out. Rather than invest in the plants' upkeep the Mayor had made a deal with these fuckin devils!
Krale fumed. The 1 per cent every time. Screwing the rest of us. Bleeding us dry. Sucking the life out of us ... Literally! They'll pay, these greedy techno twats.
Docked, Krale saw that they were on an island. Behind was an enormous plant emblazoned with the now gruesomely familiar EXTRACTA name. Beside it were millions of empty canisters stacked up, like the one on the gangster's water gun, only much bigger.
The top suit spoke into a tannoy.
At your stations! The first cargo of the City's filth is en route! Thus is not a drill! We go live tonight! We start the extractions!
Krale secreted himself inside the plant and desperately tried to figure out how to gather some evidence for the Press or else no one will believe him. It's just too damn far fetched that these dickheads are turning people into water!
At least he could get hold of one of those water guns and a small canister and set out to find one. Some paperwork would be good too. A copy of the deal signed by Mayor Fuckwit would really do the job!
Sneaking through the taps and valves, Krale heard the first screams and felt the liquified destitute pouring through the pipelines at his side. Canisters everywhere began to fill with that same disgusting clotty water. It was like the dairy from Hell and Krale was in the thick of it.
In the distance JCB's were scooping shrieking people from the cargo ships straight into the extractors. They screamed for their lives as their very contents were wrenched out and decanted, their clothes, skins, teeth and guts spewed out into vats, which would eventually harden and be sold to the thousands of fast food joints around the city as a cheap meat extract. Another win win.
Krale struck gold in a side office when he found a water gun and canister all badged up with EXTRACTA. More than that, he found a hold manifest for the first shipment.
Scum, hobos, tramps and bums. 1,000 pieces. Agreed by the Mayor.
Bingo! Fuckin' A. This would fry that elected shitstain and bring this whole temple of shite down with it.
Not so fast Officer Krale!
A beretta was pointing straight at him.
Krale couldn't believe his eyes.
You!
Me!
I fuckin knew it! You're bastard bent!
Yep!
But, it's mass murder!
'Bout time!
You can't mean that! You're a fuckin cop!
And a damn good one Krale. I know my place and I know when to look away. Unlike you, you inquisitive dickfuck. Those Cloister cretins fucked it up, so now I've got to deal with you or else Extracta will deal with me!
You'll deal with me old man?
Yes.
May I ask how you fuckin' corrupt twat?
Like this!
With lightning speed the Lieutenant jammed a water gun into Krale's midriff and flicked the switch.
You should have kept your nose out Officer!
Noooooooooooooooooo!
But it was too late for Officer Krale.
You were always a pesky fucker Krale. Never on the take and now you've gone the way of the birds! Ha ha! I told you, I wouldn't drink you if you were the last glass of champagne on earth. But a nice fresh bottle of water! Now that's different!
The lieutenant downed Krale's body-water in one huge gleeful glug.
Aaaaghhh!
My, for a goody two-shoes wanker, you're a real thirst quencher Krale! You really are!
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