Welcome to Body of Work: "The Enforcer" The third book in my new short story series.
In this world, some fates are sealed by necessity...
Hello Substack readers, this preview offers a glimpse into Body of Work: The Enforcer a gripping science fiction story that explores a future society dominated by advanced technology where everything about who you are can be easily altered, remade, replicated or destroyed. If you enjoy what you read, I invite you to continue the journey by purchasing the full book from Amazon or other retailers. If the story resonates with you, your review would mean the world to me. It helps others discover the Body of Work series and supports my passion for storytelling. Thank you for reading and for being part of this journey. Your support makes all the difference.
The Enforcer
My name is Bjorn Altman, as an enforcer for the Amber Yume Agency, there are certain aspects of my work that require creative ways of uncovering the truth. Which is why today my consciousness resides within the Persona of what appears to be a twelve-year-old girl. Its only temporary, someone had to be the bait. It’s all part of an internal investigative audit the focus of which has led me to this one. His name is Christov Miller, a forty-five-year-old man, not the twelve-year-old boy he currently appears to be. He is an Enforcer, one of our very own. Citizens believe our laws protect them, The Rights of Personhood, The True Origin Act and Freedom of Ephemeral Identity. Who you were when you were born is simply information, if it exists, it can be obtained. In this world, information is a commodity that is captured, analyzed, bought, sold, and traded every millisecond of every day. From the legal Datachain networks to the ever-changing black-market of the Darkchain, someone somewhere is always willing to pay. The right information, coupled with sufficient resources and power can change the fates of billions.
The Agency I work for captures data on all its employees to monitor and baseline every aspect of an employee’s personality. It’s part and parcel of the job, a silent accord, unspoken yet well understood. As Enforcers, we protect the Agency and its Companions. Despite rumors, Agency Companions are far more than modern echoes of ancient courtesans; they are elite professionals, trained in the nuanced arts of conversation, companionship, and sophisticated role-play. Anything beyond that is a private consensual agreement worked out between the client and the Companion. Ours is a regulated industry requiring strict enforcement of the rules to remain compliant with Neoterran laws. An Agency’s reputation is paramount when it comes under threat is where the Enforcers come in. Our internal security systems flagged Christov Miller’s anomalous behavior patterns for follow-up human review. Since then, we have kept a close eye on him and his activities. Spending time with a Companion of ones choosing was a perk of the job, making Miller a statistical outlier for not having done so. According to his profile, he has no spouse, no partner, and no family, which means he has a lot of extra time on his hands. I had our Agency AIs dig deeper into his life. Seems he’s been doing freelance security consulting jobs on the side, not usually a problem, unless it steps on the Agency’s business. Unfortunately, Miller has certain personal appetites that Agency management considers to be bad for business, which is how he ended up here, like this, bound to a chair. Miller sat on the edge of the plasma reactor used to dispose of waste and generate auxiliary power. The arc flash was so intense that you could sense vibrations in your arms and chest whenever it cycled. Only the containment shield protected us from its deadly heat. Inside, a human body could be converted into carbon and steam in under one point five seconds. Miller’s arms and legs were bound with reactive nanowire. Any struggle would only make his bindings tighter. If they became too tight, they would slice his limbs clean off. I stood in front of him holding a compact rail pistol small enough for my Persona’s hands.
“Hey Miller,” I said in my Persona’s young girl’s voice.
“Altman.” Miller said in his Persona’s raspy boy’s voice as he raised his head. “I did not know that it was you in there.”
“Well, that was the point.” I said.
“Those things I said to you, that side of me,” Miller said, “That is not all that I am.”
“It’s too late for that now.” I said.
“What I mean to say is,” Miller said, “I am the same man you have always known despite all this. It just seems like one day everything changed on me, and I am not sure how I got here, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. I really do. Life is like that.” I said, taking a moment to reflect, “I remember back during the war; I was rotating home, when our transport was hit by enemy fire. I punched out, but the blast sent my escape pod tumbling off course. I came down on the far side of a shit planet, right in the middle of the fucking desert. I must have walked for hours, days even. Every time I would get to the top of one sand dune, it seemed like there were a hundred more waiting for me. After three days’ standard, I ran out of water and provisions. I was completely fucked. I didn’t know what else to do so, I just kept walking as delirium set in. Out there, in all that heat, the mind plays tricks on you. Sounds, voices, even people, they come to you, when you are out there, alone. Just when I was ready to call it, an enemy pod came streaking down about a half klick from my position. I got to the pod, popped it open, and found a dead Corsican trooper inside. In the overhead was another three-day pack, water, food rations, a weapon, and a narrow beam transponder.”
“If I had never gone on that walk, I would have never come across that pod. If I had not come across that pod, I would be dead right now. Just a pile of dry bones on some world with a number and no name. Life is like that: one minute you resign yourself to what you think is going to happen, the next minute everything changes. Or vice versa.”
“Yeah, or vice versa.” Miller said.
“Tell me something, Miller, why real kids? I mean, you make good currency, why not hire a Companion to do whatever you want? Play whatever role you want? Be whatever you want them to be?”
“I don’t talk about that,” Miller said, looking down at the metal floor.
“Come on,” I said. “This is the end of the road for you. What do you have to lose?”
“You think killing me while in the Persona of that child will appease your conscience, Altman?”
“My conscience is clear.” I said. “You, on the other hand, used an illegally obtained, black-market Persona to befriend a minor in order to take advantage of them. So, I have no problem ending you one way or the other. You and I may look like kids right now, but the fact is we are not. You know it and I know it. So, tell me, why?”
Miller shifted in his seat, not at all content with revealing his shame. His eyes, usually sharp and confident, shifted away, seeking refuge in some distant corner of the room. It was as if the very air around him had thickened, laden with the weight of his unspoken truths. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple, betraying the cool exterior he struggled to maintain.
“Companion experiences are just not the same!” Miller said. “I know it’s wrong! I know what I am! Don’t you think I have tried to stop? Do you really think I want to be this way? It is an urge in me Altman, a sweet hunger that cannot be fulfilled ever! I need it, I hate it, and I love it all at the same fucking time! I am imprisoned by it and enslaved to it. You could never understand! It’s like I am trapped in a pit of desire, locked behind a door in my mind!”
“Well, Miller, look at it this way.” I said, raising my pistol to his face. “At least now you can finally be free.”
With a little girl’s smile, I squeezed the trigger. Miller’s death was quick and far better than what he deserved. When you consider the time, currency, and training invested in an Enforcer, it’s always a shame when one has to be put down. I don’t like to use plasma discharge weapons at close range. The stench of burned flesh and that sizzling sound like grilled pork afterward reminds me too much of the war. Kinetic weapons are a far better choice. A sub compact rail pistol slug to the medulla oblongata provides an efficient kill for auditing work. That is what we called it when we needed to take out the trash at Amber Yume. Shooting a man at point blank range directly in the face may seem cruel, but it is all about anatomy really, what we called the T-Zone, a remnant of my marksman training. It functions much like a human off switch. When the molten rail slug enters the cranium, it blows out the base of the brain stem and the upper spine all in one shot, causing immediate flaccid paralysis and death, there is no coming back from that. Even after all these years, I can barely look at a man without seeing a semitransparent “T” superimposed across his face.
The Agency can’t afford to be associated with men like Miller, it’s bad for the brand and it’s bad for business. He violated eleven young victims, mostly from Avalon’s lower tiers, before we caught on to him. Our in-house cleanup crew was one of the best in the business. This illegal dead skin of his will never be found, neither will the weapon that ended him. All visual logs, surveillance, and geolocation data of this moment will be destroyed. MindsEye records will be systematically deleted from staff. Memories of the event for those involved will be neurochemically overwritten and replaced with mundane normalcy. For all intents and purposes, this event simply never occurred. Given what he put his victims through, I thought it fitting that the last thing Miller should see was a young girl’s smile as he faced death. Goodbye Miller, and good riddance.
Miller’s Old Place
If there is one thing I have learned about this business, it is that no one works in a vacuum. Miller got sloppy, which is why he got caught, I couldn’t help but wonder who else was part of Miller’s little club? Other Enforcers or some other threat to the Agency? What Darkchain designer created his illegal underage Persona? I went to Miller’s place to see what more I could find out about his activities. I had our AI agents mask all surveillance in a one klick range around his place using a backdoor security flaw, acquired on the Darkchain. With a two-hour window, I had to move fast, collect as much data as I could, destroy anything that threatened the Agency, and get out. I landed my transport just outside of Miller’s place on the edge of the Old Mill sector. Areas like this were converted into housing after the second Corsican war, but no one has lived out here in years. Avalon politicians have been trying to lure people to communities like this for decades, but it is just too expensive for most. For many these places are nothing more than investment properties, a line in a record on the Datachain. Whoever the owners are they will probably never take up residence in any of these old flats. So, they just sit on the market for years on end maintained by automation and interactive advertising set up by property management to make the place look populated and to maintain the grounds. It was devoid of any real people. The only thing here were fake families playing with fake dogs. Fake couples sharing staged romantic moments alongside fake elderly people perched on benches feeding fake birds in the park. They even had a simulated town councilman, making their rounds talking to fictional shop and restaurant owners that serve holographically projected food to AI generated holographic customers. The place was surreal, secluded, and private. Given what I suspect Miller was tangled up in, I suppose this was the way he preferred it. Talking to the bots here was of no use, they were all tasked with convincing visitors to buy property and move here. One of the community bots approached as I neared Miller’s place.
“Good evening, sir.” It said with its impeccably perfect smile.
“Hey.” I said, hoping it would sense my disinterest and go away.
“This is a fine community for those seeking a New Tomorrow.” The bot said. “Would you like to hear more about our communities’ amenities?”
“No, after what I have seen here, I am convinced. I am definitely going to buy. I think I’ll move the whole family out here.”
“Well, that’s wonderful news.” The bot said. “It will be great to have a new neighbor! “Well, have a wonderful day!”
“Yeah, you do the same.” I said.
I stepped into Miller’s place, shutting the door behind me with a thud that echoed in the sparsely furnished room. You could still feel the faint shadow of Miller’s presence, a man I worked with for eight years and yet never had a clue about what he was up to outside of work. I have no regrets for putting him down, just goes to show that you never really know a person. The air was stale, heavy with the scent of empty NeuroStem vials scattered carelessly on the table. They speak of desperation, a need to numb the pain and escape reality. Many men have tried to drown their demons in the NeuroStem trance, but in the end it only makes the pain worse. Empty bottles of Blackforest brandy covered his lounge table, a silent testament to nights spent chasing oblivion. The absence of personal effects was striking. Nothing to suggest that Miller had a life outside of his work. It’s as if he deliberately erased any trace of personal connection, leaving only the shell of a life once lived.
As I settled into the high back leather chair at his workstation, I edged closer, running my hands along the edges and across the surface, immersing myself in Miller’s world. My attention was drawn to a discreet panel on the floor, which, when pressed, activated a hidden mechanism. A slot on the side of the desk slid open, revealing a loaded rail pistol. Intrigued, I closed the compartment, pressing the panel again just to witness the smooth, seamless precision of the mechanism. In that moment, it was clear: Miller was not just prepared for trouble; he expected it. I looked in the next drawer and found a secure locker hidden beneath a false bottom. Inside were six neatly stacked prewar-colonial tokens. I took three stacks and left the rest, physical currency of this type although rare and untraceable was still of value on the black market. I had our Agency AI’s dig into his system collecting all stored records and projects in which he was engaged. The results of my inquiry arrived instantaneously, uncovering a complex web of financial irregularities. AIs found sporadic surges in income, attributed to consulting work and security advisory roles. Among his possessions were schematics for various high end security systems and a collection of architectural blueprints, evidence of involvement in several high-end heists. His reputation in this corner of the underworld seemed well-established. The AIs unearthed a trail of Miller’s ephemeral corporations, spun up on the public datachain then quickly dissolved. His most recent company went by the name Acquisition Services Corp. Seems it had ties to a company called Arma-Core Industries, which hired him for an undisclosed consulting job. Intrigued, I instructed the AIs to delve deeper into the company’s remaining records between those in the public domain with whatever else it could find on the Darkchain networks. A mirrored wall panel revealed a hidden weapons closet, I used my MindsEye Skill set capability to override the lock. It was spacious and meticulously organized, a stark contrast to the rest of the place. In the middle of his prep table, he kept a leather box, inside were relics of Miller’s past; an old service pistol, two awards for valor in combat, a charred pair of military ID tags, three deformed rail pistol rounds that looked as though they’d been dug out of a wound, and an old grenade pin. All silent testaments to a long, painful, and tumultuous history. During the war, Miller and his unit recovered classified technology from ships downed in hostile Corsican territory. He was an expert at acquiring things that were too difficult or impossible for others. He possessed a set of skills and expertise with a significant value in the private sector. In his second closet were rows of identical suits, each one custom made, tailored, and armored, all of them the same nondescript shade of black. I looked at the inside label which read “Lidenhoff” the suits tailor. Like a uniform, suits were a tool of the trade. The AI’s alerted me to another interesting set of files, a client referral list containing the names of high tier individuals and their requests. Boy ten, girl nine, boy twelve, girl fifteen. The list went on and on. I recognized some of those names, many of them were Agency clients. Miller was taking orders for black market Personas, acting as a middleman between buyer and seller. The AIs also found several encrypted records regarding something listed in the index description as “the reset.” Without a decrypt key or more context, it was difficult to know what this so called “reset” was in reference to. I ordered the AIs to keep digging. As my foot lightly tapped the closet floor, I felt a subtle shift in sound, transitioning from a muted thud to a hollow echo. My eyes pinpointed an anomaly in the wood grain, a subtle but perceptible mismatch pattern that didn’t belong. A shiver raced down my spine as the secret beneath the floorboards unveiled itself. Rising up from the floor emerged a human sized cylinder, a clandestine cryogenic vault, integrated into the floor’s design. I approached wiping away the frost to peer inside. It was a child’s Persona, crafted to appear around twelve years old. Driven by a mix of dread and curiosity, I brought up the remaining six cylinders as they each arose from the floor. Inside, I found Miller’s alternate Personas, each one a testament to meticulous design. Among them was a woman in her early twenties, a man in his thirties along with two even younger models a girl and a boy each embodying an eerie perfection. The last cylinder held Miller’s birth body, now an empty dead skin of the man I once knew. In light of this discovery, I can’t help but wonder who the hell Miller really was. Had he lost himself completely to the shadows of his twisted desires? In that moment, the realization hit me: Miller wasn’t merely living a double life; he was entangled in a web of lies, each one increasingly perilous and deeply shrouded in secrecy. I had our Agency AIs extract and wipe all logs and records before cutting power and nutrient flow to the vault. I walked over to Miller’s birth body, taking one last look at him before hitting the incinerate button, a holographic message appeared on the surface which asked; “Are you sure?, This action cannot be reversed once initiated.” I pressed “confirm” and witnessed the last vestiges of Christov Miller and the rest of his illegal Personas dissolve into ash, forever expunged from the system. I left Miller’s place with more questions than answers, a finality that feels like an end to a story that I barely understood. Miller, the man with many faces, but perhaps no true face at all. AI analysis showed that Miller was indeed part of some large exploitation network. The Agency was safe, Miller was dead, and all evidence of both his deeds and his demise were wiped. The network he was a part of was still in operation. The question was just what to do with this information. I could have our AIs anonymously leak it to the Lawmen and have them deal with it, but I don’t trust Lawmen never have and selling it on the Darkchain was not an option. Until I know more, it is best to play my cards close to the chest.
A Meeting With the Big Boss
My boss Magnus Dahal ran Amber Yume, after years of military service, he saw an opportunity in the private security sector, where he could apply his expertise in a more profitable, and less scrutinized environment. His transition was marked by the founding of a private security consulting firm that introduced military level security protocols to corporate settings, revolutionizing the Companion industry. He operates from the shadows, influencing events without drawing attention to himself. Dahal sees the world as a grand chessboard, with every move leading towards his goal of unchallenged power and influence across the industry. When I arrived, he was painting using a nude Companion as his subject.
“Altman, come please, sit,” Dahal said. “I understand your audit work is complete?”
“Yes sir, all logs, files and other materials have been taken care of.” I said. “Miller acted as a middleman between buyers and sellers of black market Personas. Some of which are current Agency clients. He wasn’t acting alone; he was part of a much larger network of predators.”
“Our business,” Dahal said, “Owes its very existence to an inherent flaw within human nature, the insatiable desire for more. A disciplined man understands that even in a world of unlimited options, one still needs limits even if self-imposed.” Dahal paused as he held his brush to his eye line for reference and scale, his subject took a moment to take a breath, otherwise she remained perfectly still, comfortable in her nakedness despite my presence as Dahal continued.
“Miller lacked such discipline, as do many men who choose to explore the darkness within.”
“It is difficult to remove a piece off the board without someone asking questions.” I said, “The Lawmen had their eyes fixed on Miller’s activities for quite some time. I suspect he
was working for them as an informant.”
“Lawmen are merchants of pragmatism,” Dahal said. “In all likelihood, they knew full well of Miller’s activities. They’ll turn a blind eye to anything if it advances their goals, overlooking a man’s flaws in exchange for information.”
“Miller did some off book freelance work. It looks like a series of high-end heists, three over the last seven years. His financials show income spikes logged as security consulting payments. The sums and payment frequency, however, raise an eyebrow.”
“Archive the analysis,” Dahal said, “Close out your audit on Miller.”
“Sir, the Darkchain Persona designer that supplied Miller and his clients is still out there making underage personas to target even more victims.”
“Not our concern,” Dahal said, “The Personas Miller used, where are they now?”
“Destroyed sir.’ I said, “Miller’s activities can never be linked back to the Agency. However, if he was an informant, the Lawmen are going to want to know what happened to him. That means there will be an investigation.”
“Handle it as a missing employee and cooperate with the Lawmen on the case. Our AIs will facilitate all the proper anonymous bribes with their superiors. Given the cycle of crime in this city, the Lawmen will lose interest within a few days and move on.”
“Understood sir.”
“Good work Altman.”
“Thank you, sir.” I said.
“One more thing.” Dahal said. “Did you get a list of the members of this network Miller was involved in?”
“Also destroyed, sir.” I said. “Along with everything else that might lead back to the Agency or its clients.”
“I see,” Dahal said. “Such information would have been invaluable.”
“Too much of a risk for the Agency, sir.”
“Indeed, well, thank you Altman you may go.”
Not our concern, is a response that didn’t sit well with me. Under normal circumstances I would simply walk away and let it go. The fact is no one gives much of a shit about kids that live down in the Lowers, or the Underbelly as the upper tier types here like to call it. They live in squalor and die alone in the cold; their brief lives are of no consequence to anyone. If you were from the Underbelly, you’re considered city trash. It’s been this way for as long as I can remember. That’s why I wasn’t entirely honest with the big boss. Sure, Miller’s data was purged as is standard procedure, but I had the AIs make copies of everything and archive them to an off-chain virtual environment where I could continue my investigation without the scrutiny of Agency data capture. I found myself sitting on a wealth of information that could expose a vast network of predators across the Union of Worlds. I could leak it all to the Lawmen, but all they would do is use it as leverage or worse, sell the data to the highest Darkchain bidder. That prospect didn’t sit very well with me either and neither did the idea of allowing some piece of shit black market Persona designer to continue to operate in the wild. Men like that are little more than rabid dogs that deserve nothing less than to be put down accordingly. I learned a long time ago that when you have a legal system as corrupt as ours and Lawmen that cannot be trusted, real justice can only be obtained by taking individual action that gets the job done. There are a lot of powerful people mentioned in Miller’s records, but those that wield power in this world don’t fear the law or its Lawmen, what they fear most is exposure…
Book 3 Body of Work “The Enforcer” is on sale now
Book 1 Body Of Work "City Of Dreams"
Book 2 Body of Work “Man Of Faith”
You can also get all three for the complete series
Also Check Out: Notes On Body Of Work "The Enforcer"
Author Links:
Books: https://books2read.com/KennethEHarrell
IG: https://www.instagram.com/kenneth_e_harrell
Reedsy: https://reedsy.com/discovery/user/kharrell/books
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/kennetheharrell
BMAC: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/KennethEHarrell
Substack Archive: https://kennetheharrell.substack.com/archive
I love this one. Definitely cinematic. There’s a lot of layers in this story.
A fascinating dark dystopian world! It also comes off as very cinematic. I can picture the movie version in my head. Sounds like a great story for those who want to take a trip to a gritty science fiction future world.