Will 1
I run my navy-gloved hand through my short, almost spiky blonde hair, allowing myself a smile as I look through my wallet at the ticket I have. One ticket to San Fransisco, the shining paradise, escape from the rat trap of New York. And to my Miranda who I've been saving up to follow. Her artist's soul was able to leave this hell sooner than I... She also left before the restrictions got so tight. But I was able to obtain a job transfer to work in the police there. Next to my ticket is my ID, showing my serious, strong face with its sharp jaw line and high cheekbones, pale skin and ice blue eyes, and firm, set lips. My name, William David McCain, my age, 25, my years of service, 7, my place of birth, Chatham, New Jersey, my current residence, an apartment in the Tribeca section of town.

I slide my wallet shut and back into my pocket before pulling my white helmet on and pulling down the clear shield. I straighten the collar of my cop's uniform before straddling my scooter and driving off, around my patrol route. I start up at the Frawley Circle, on East 110th st. and Fifth Avenue, west on 110th st. to the Douglass Circle on Frederick Douglass Blvd., south on the Boulevard to the Columbus Circle on Eighth Avenue and Central Park South, and then east to the park corner on 5th avenue again. In short, circling the park. From the Grand Army Plaza on that corner, I head into the park and through the paths. It is a simple, low risk job and I'm about to be switched off of it but I was put on it while I was recovering from the gunshot wound I took subduing a quarrel. Both men involved were arrested an an officer was killed. I was decorated for my services, but it wasn't nessescary. If I hadn't taken that wound, some other cop would have.

I go off on my rounds. Uneventful, the benches lining the park walls littered with homeless with their bags of stuff. No long coats this time of year, not worn anyway. Some have them with them, as they don't want to have to get a new one come winter. The homeless population has tripled since 2050 and the cities have been hit the hardest. The streets are quiet, though. I turn at the first two circles, and then at the third. I hit the corner, at that end of the park, and something seems... off. A few extra police troops are stationed at the Ritz Carleton, for the Senator's visit, but the air is wrong. The patrol cars are empty.

I drive over, park my scooter, and walk up to the door. I glance over my shoulder at the video camera mounted on the streetlight behind me, look back to the door. The fancy hotels have the largest security complexes these days... I pull my gloves off and put them into my pocket, holding my hands out to access the palmscan. It blips oddly, but lets me inside. I walk into the foyer and look around.