In the quiet of the Washington District night, the silence had been broken by ugly men in stormtrooper uniforms bearing the blue heraldry of the Despot, President Drurustus. Once, a unified America had been a great country. Then, terrifying mistakes were made, each one far more costly and horrendous than the last. After just over fifty years, the nation had split into two parts, and President Drurustus presided over that which he claimed to be the superior half, but was actually far, far worse than the other lands that had gathered around the orbit of California and Minneapolis... the continental drift triggered nation wide by nuclear retaliation was totally unexpected and further messed up the map - half the lands were no longer in their original locations as shown in pre-Despotic Era maps. Not that anyone would have possibly known. All that most people knew was that there had always been a True America Union, and that President Drurustus had always been its Great Leader.This story starts five years before the end of the Despotic Years Era in the Four Brothers universe I previously established Feb 2026... You're reading this in an ASFR website. What did you think was going to happen? Warning: there is also some pretty gag-inducing racism and other ugliness that you may recognise blown up to far more horrendous proportions from what you see on CNN and Bluesky circa 2026. If this is not the escapism you want, I apologise, and please skip at least the first volume of this idea I have...
All they also knew derived from the wisdom and intellect from the Great Leader Drurustus. Some dissidents claimed it was a sham, that Drurustus was as much an ignorant in a well as the rest of the True American Union, and that the New American Union that had claimed half of the other coast of America was the true inheritor of the original glories of America. Nobody truly knew the truth, perhaps it lay somewhere in the middle, much like the Neutral States in the middle of what had been the original America.
This night, a mousy old man was frantically packing and archiving as much as he could of his museum. It had long withstood the predations of the New Regime thanks to the vagaries of things called "Foundations" and 'immense amounts of money' and 'fighting a war for the public sympathy.'. He had gratefully thanked the Minnesotan who had smuggled an impressive high-ratio Hammerspace suitcase. it had looked like a child's small pouch, but was somehow capable of packing an entire library...
The Sexual Education Museum was dying tonight, and he had managed to gather at least all the papers and electronic media that it bore into the pouch in the preceding few days with the help of his other colleagues. They had all fled the city by lunchtime. by lunchtime tomorrow, all of them would be declared persona non grata and hunted down like dogs, the remainders of this once glorious and defended by old money with an interest in the past and educating of people would be razed at the stroke of midnight, under the gathering storm of this night. artefacts shattered, flattened, or smashed, remaining papers sent to the People's Bonfire on the intersection of Drurustus's Alley and Victory Drive. many would cheer the end of the deviancy the Museum posed. it would probably be coopted as another grand house beneath the paw of Drurustus to hold acceptable cultural and historical retellings of the Great Regime. Suitably sanitized, no ugly 'lies'. no [racist slur redacted] or [more racist slur expunged] or any of the other lesser peoples that once plagued this great land. just the great whites. The lesser peoples still had a presence within, but only as people fit for oppression or lesser labors beneath the greatness of the Whites.
Ebenezer frowned sadly. He had spent these final two days carefully picking some of the most culturally important aretfacts the Museum had regarding sexuality and stowed them into his smuggler's bag (for that was what the Minnesotan's gift was - a discreet and dangerously easy way to traffick immense items in a nearly undetectable manner.). To avoid suspicion, he had flagged many items that had been previously scanned in the old days and were likely to retain at least a virtual copy, if not another authentic ancient copy somewhere more enlightened, as sacrifices to the ugly god the Regime had made in its name.
Sadly his favorite items had been impossible to stuff into the bag. When he had used the smuggler's bag to scan them, it sadly informed him that the items were of a nature that rendered Hammerspacing them impossible. Exactly what, it could not say.
They were basically two humanoid figures... one was a dark-skinned female, another was a pale skinned decently muscular male... Both figures had been greviously mauled:
The male was missing most of its head above its roman nose, exposing strange intricately patterned slats and attempts at simulating the structures of the mouth and throat.Everything below that had been preserved amazingly well, right down to an impressive cock.
The female had had its hairpiece removed, exposing a more complete series of the same slats that were in the head cavity of the male as well as a unconventionally beautiful face - slightly rounded nose, generously shaped cheeks, big glazed grey eyes and pouty lips. Perhaps some sort of young mother figure... Sadly, her limbs had been torn off at the shoulders and hips, exposing naked wiring and leaky conduits of some sort, her torso merely a pair of full-figured breasts mounted on a lithe frame and vagina tastefully exposed by parted thigh stubs.
Both figures had been salvaged as is, and were popular exhibits as a series of other ancient sex toys had been provided with which to manipulate the figures in certain ways. Whatever functionality they had when fully complete was mostly gone, but they retained their sexual reflexes, quivering and moaning when rubbed or played with in certain suggestive ways. They lacked the brainpower to respond in any other ways, merely those reflexes, when supplied with power of a relatively safe voltage for exhibits.
They had been found in tatters of clothing bearing what had apparently been their names, or some brands. The male had apparently existed as a robot named "Adonis" while the female had been christened "Persephonne." Perhaps they were the names of their robot models - perhaps they were actual given names. Regardless, no part of them had been capable of further enlightment and the previous museum that had held them had exhibited them as examples of the Ancients' seemingly magical capabilities in forging artificial life back in the very old days... Their purpose here had been somewhat as noble - educating people on erogenous zones and basic examples of how one could provide sexual joy to others with careful touch and consideration - but Drurutus had once visited this museum and been disgusted by the 'depravity' of this exhibit... Just after he left, the repeated attacks on the integrity of the Sexual Education Museum had begun as he desired it cease to exist.
Ebemezer frowned sadly, fingering the glasc casing that secured most of the exhibit. Some visitor or staff or other had left a trenchcoat and matching fedora nearby on a bench... they would clearly never be able to come and collect it ever... Shame, really, it had been quality brown suede matched evenly all across the ensemble, suggesting a common manufacturer for both, it was very well tailored to resist the colder winters and warmer summers of the Washington area, and a wallet had been left in it by the owner of the coat, a black who had been left relatively unmolested as a legacy staffer of the previous gentler administration. He had been admiring the exhibit when a FIRE team had come around to randomly terrify anyone not of the Great Whites.
They had always had haphazard methods of choosing whom to merely oppress and whose lives to utterly ruin or even whose lives to end in a direly premature manner... The poor man had been chosen for the third path within the museum. Ebenezer had been there as they had chanted hateful slurs at him even as he protested their actions and showed them the pass that denoted his seniority within [REDACTED].... then they had pulled the trigger, counting each shot with hateful mirth. One, two, three, four, five, six. Each shot into his twitching body slow and deliberate as they chanted the numbers. Only the fact that the standard issue Justice (hah!) pistol carried only five bullets and one in the chamber when improperly handled had kept them from pumping even more lead into the bureaucrat. They had laughed as they examined the shots, the blood... the spray had somehow not tainted the coat, and the flowing red had not overly stained the glass casing of the exhibit.
The janitor had wept as he made several passses to take away all the blood, lacking the specialized cleanup tools of the TRUTHMAKER squadrons that descended on many of these incidents elsewhere to reframe the incidents and create new truths - that a man had been a terrorist, or that a FIRE massacre had never happened in an entire neighbourhood, that it had always been a gentrified classy area for White residence or a speakeasy, or a non-whites' kitchen that served only the worst in barely surviving ration foods and state-sanctioned rotgut to serve as their opiate against the pain of being oppressed. The next day, as they began the plan to keep only a few sacrificial documents and artefacts around that they could hopefully afford to find copies of in another place far kinder, as a distraction for the People's Bonfire, they had found the janitor hanging in his breakroom, a ghastly visage atop a neck throttled by a carefully braided noose that for a rare change had not been in the hands of a White.
Ebenezer gently held a younger colleague, a White woman whose sympathies had deserted the regime long ago, kept out of trouble only by the Museum's Foundation and the privilege of her own ethnicity. She had loved the janitor, even if he had had too much on his mind and too much depression to reciprocate even as she had tried to lift his spirits with her ministrations and smuggled lunches... The original plan had been to start evacuating staff of the Sexual Education Museum with more privileged staffers like the Museum Section Head that Ebenezer had been.
He had taken one look at the grieving young woman who had loved the janitor in a secret and terrible and illegal love.... "Take her first. Get her on the Streetline out of Washington on my seat. I have additional unfinished business, she could better use my seat on the way out." The Streetline representative had agreed, gently helping her and her luggage to a waiting car that would smuggle her and several members with false papers out of the cordon that had slowly tightened around the Wash District... He stared at the map in his office of the cordon, slowly choking the life of what had been a shining city on a hill, now slowly sinking into the swamp that it had started from. Flashes of the noose that the janitor had donned himself mixed with the the pencil marks denoting how the cordon had shrunk around the Museum District and its holdouts empowered by the Foundation... He would be one of the last members of the Museum community to flee...
He turned around as he heard someone flick a lighter briefly to life... He smiled faintly. It was Level 3 Agent Brandt. Ostensibly a loyal and effective member of FIRE, he had grown disillusioned as he witnessed various injustices... Right now, he was supposedly in his flat, calmly sipping a Lightning Wine smuggled from the Brazilian Coves.... A vidflix loop had been carefully spliced in using tricks taught by the Streetline once they had established his genuine disappointment and desire to assist them, and it seemed that he was merely exercising his privileges to partake in a limited fashion certain enjoyments frowned upon nominally by the Regime, his hands gently fondling a premium State-Sanctioned Love Mate android. The android had also been fashioned to be the most sensual object of desire available within the regime to the higher ranked staffers, but also to report back to the regime, but Sandi had been compromised as well with some help by the Streetline, and would provide a matching alibi... The Agent Bureau that kept random checks for sedition even amongst its most trusted staff would only see that Brandt was carefully fondling her breasts, suckling on her lovehole, fucking her in his couch, sharing sweet nothings with her carefully designed pre-recorded personality responses, now being carefully triggered by a Streetline designed circuit as she lay uselessly on the couch, unable to report the true activities of Agent Brandt right now as she was preoccupied by an excessively high-rate form of lovemaking. A little tawdry, to be sure, but acts that could be handwaved away by the powers of the Bureau if one had been this truly loyal to the Bureau and the Regime.
The illusion would not hold forever. Brandt had quickly slipped out to hand Ebenezer some extra documents he would need as the cordon worsened its oppressive nature. A forgery carefully cobbled to resemble the actual travel documents he would need to infiltrate past the cordon. "I enjoyed our time together, Ebenezer.... I'm so sorry it had to come to this."
Ebenezer appreciated the risk Brandt was taking for him. He would not dally as he quickly ran to the waiting Streetline smuggler, carefully placing himself within a special chamber that would hide him from all but the most exacting screenings, a moderately underclocked Hammerspace - it would not be comfy, but at least it would not crush him to death. He kept silent as the Streetline pulled away to its next stop.
Agent Brandt was about to exit when his communicator suddenly chirped faintly. He sweated... the Streetline had not been able to compromise Agent issue communicators much, but when they did, they could offer a choice of one or two apps out of an array of apps. Naturally, the first app he picked was a shielded comms system that masqueraded beneath the cover offered by the actual secured AgentComm app. The second had been a special radar that detected other Agents of the regime within range during operations that could potentially out them and lead to the end of their careers in the regime and Streetline, if not their liberty or lives as well...
The latter was now beeping faintly. Curses, they were only supposed to have started sweeping through this Museum district an hour later! He took a deep breath and started climbing the stairs for the top floor. seeking to escape and reconfirm his alibi back home. If they found him here, it would be a mismatch. He would be asked to explain how he could have been both at home fondling his robotic surrogate, and yet also here several miles away in the Sexual Education Museum on a night with no shift assigned to him to work beyond "duty standby". He could probably fudge that he felt something was off, that he needed to look in, but even that might still elicit scrutiny that would eventually break his false facade of always chanting "Glory to Drurustus"....
He despised this double life, wished he could truly be true to himself and stick it to the Bureau and the regime. But everyone knew what happened if one abandoned their posting as an Agent for reasons other than retirement or disablement. It was rarely a pretty end, and often very premature...
=========================================
A lightning bolt struck the Sexual Education Museum's roof spike, supposedly intended to serve as a safe path to earth for any lightning... sadly the tumult especially after the death of the janitor had led to some neglect of the wiring within the museum... What was once a low-voltage cable set that carried a safe voltage to the sexual Pre-Ancient era effigies suddenly became a raging ultra-high voltage carrier of several million amps for several seconds before burning out... but in those few seconds, something unexpected happened... The spike of power had flowed into both effigies... they began to twitch and whirr faintly, both male and female coming to some semblance of life... a spark of lifelight glowed in the female's eyes as she established some important facts in her mind, but the damage sustained had damaged many things and corrupted her memories... She spoke in a strange language briefly as previously dormant tendrils extended out to feel the immediate vicinity, eventually finding a more stable standard-voltage power outlet and a network connection of some sort to a massive repository of data that had so far survived the purges, though probably not for much longer as the IT admins that had faithfully maintained it up till the last member was evacuated by the Streetline had set off a slow self-destruct to deny the regime the true histories and data that had been carefully stowed away gradually on several Streetline travels out of Wash District.
The truth would be found elsewhere, and the True American Union could no longer doctor it and present a rosier picture of the current or past history of the Union. But for the moment, it still existed here, in a form the female effigy could access. The effigy proceeded to drain the internal data network of as much as it could find... the details of the languages now used in this locale, maps of the nearby area, facts about the Wash District untainted yet by the regime, other info that the regime might declare embarassing or seditious and seek to erase, including a heavily compressed and still uncompromised archive of the informational haven known as Wikipedia prior to the True American Union's cutting of infolinks with the rest of the world... Her brain sucked it up like the love child of a firehose, a black hole, and a premium whore providing the best oral communion in the world ever, even as it repaired itself, the protective casing that kept it safe, and layered a mane of pale blue straight satin hair that fell all the way to just below her underboobs and covered several critical connectors and buttons behind its ears as they shielded up behind concealing panels that were also slowly repairing themselves.
Other tendrils felt for others of its ilk within range, soon locating the male effigy that had lain next to the female. A brief interrogation led to something resembling anguish and dismay, as it found that the male effigy had only stored crucial data from the project that had created them as well as its capabilities... the personality and memories of the individual that the effigy represented were mostly gone, save for a few root keywords as used to generate its initial capabilities and identity.... The female effigy shed a ... tear? but it could not possibly be emotional. they had not been designed to be emotional in any way that could potentially destabilise their functions... Perhaps it was exhaustion from running at a emergency overclock to recover... The female effigy recovered fast and negotiated with the remains of the male effigy that still retained some basic function - it would inherit its reproductive organ for secure storage and later use, as well as its root keywords in order to replicate aspects of its previous functioning that still remained viable after its fatal damage... its various components would be utilised to repair and enhance the female effigy... the exhibit case cracked as it distended slightly from its original lithe form, attempting to fully incorporate the male effigy's components to repair itself where needed and enhance or retain the male effigy's parts for later use or upgrades to itself... as a result, a formerly lithe and pert female became a healthily curved woman. Not a morbidly obese individual, but of a healthily matron-like build with generous breasts and hips and a decently indented but not wasp-like waist. The only possible minus would be that she was of one of the lesser peoples, but this was a value judgement by bigots and if that was omitted, she would be a certain kind of perfection in the eyes of many men.... Eventually she dropped down to the ground amongst the plasti glass shards of the cracked exhibit case in a sort of faint... a comatose goddess seeking to slowly recharge her energy storage, totally vulnerable to the next individual who found her, whirring and beeping faintly.
===================
Agent Brandt had heard a small commotion from the ground floor and turned back to check despite the danger of being found out... He was shocked as he found a naked brown-skinned woman with pale blue long hair that partially concealed her bountiful breasts and large dark brown areolae lying on the ground. He frantically looked around and found the coat and fedora, which provided sufficient cover to her compromised modesty.... then blinked hard as he found that either he had become extremely strong, or this big beautiful woman was surprisingly light for her healthy, almost motherly form. He did not have too much time to reestablish his escape, but he started running as fast as he could back up the stairs to the nearest fire escape, even as he heard other personnel crack open the last protective gates and doors of the Museum and swarm in to establish and catalogue the Museum's holdings for the purpose of utterly annihilating every last bit of its 'deviant lies' and 'illegal artefacts'. He barely managed to get out one of the windows assigned for such a purpose with the comatose stranger he had evacuated, trying to spare her from a similar fate as he would have met if he had been a black man in the same spot and time. Agent Brandt had a heart of gold and while it had been tarnished out of necessity by many of the things he had to do to preserve his double life, much of it still remained...
====================
Level 4 Agent Jerome smiled as he walked into the museum's ground floor, pointing this way and that to the blue-banded stormtroopers accompanying him. "You know the drill, FIRE men." He paused briefly as he noted one of the FIRE team assigned to him was actually a woman, and as if to present a picture of egalitarianism, corrected himself. "Excuse me... FIRE men and FIRE women... if it moves,capture it for later interrogation or shoot it if it presents sufficient danger to you...." The FIRE team laughed - you have to recall that they had some pretty lax definitions of being 'in danger' that literally led to them shooting legacy bureaucrats merely for being black and standing in prosecuted museums and many other innocent public places - and one of them fired up a firethrower.
These men and women with black hearts were not here to fight a fire. they were here to cause one!
They were supposed to do recon, collect all prohibited items, and transfer them to the nearest People's Bonfire to whip up the loins of their supporters and nearby neutrals, and cause dismay and fear in those who would hide behind intellectualism to resist them. Agent Jerome champed for faster advancement to the top, and he would crush anyone who stood in his way, he had no time for the slow way of destroying this museum. He expressed this clearly with an order that did not exactly gel with those given by his higher ups... "Burn all papers. Smash all artefacts that you can break. Let's wreck and destroy this place!"
The FIRE woman suddenly raised her hand. "But Agent Jerome, our orders were to transfer all deviant lies and prohibited artefacts to the nearest People's Bonfire to whip up support and terrify the resisters -"
Jerome calmly walked over to the FIRE woman, examining her fine toned form that even the bulky unisex stormtrooper uniforms failed to entirely cover up... He noted her name: FIRE Agent Level 9 O'Mailey... then backhanded her suddenly, the blow causing pain and shock through the allegedly useful but actually useless terror facemasks all lower level agents were mandated to wear. "Did I FUCKING STUTTER, AGENT?!" He would not even deign to give her the respect of addressing her by her tagged name. "There is a series of events being ordered here that will end in the destruction of all this deviancy, I am merely accelerating the timeline to save the regime some time and resources. Now... DO AS I SAY OR I WILL BUST YOU DOWN TO A LEVEL SO LOW, YOU WILL BE MANAGED BY A MALE SEXBOT IN A UNIFORM AND SERVE ONLY ITS BASEST PRE-RECORDED DESIRES AND ITS COCK!"
O'Mailey nodded weakly... The Prosecution Unit Alpha (PUA) leaders had inculcated some rather negative and potentially damaging practices amongst the FIRE teams - one of the major ones had been a disrespect for FIRE women. When you saw a FIRE woman slowly throw off their terror mask with permission as they reached Level 5, you had to understand they had been through four times as much in the way of disrespect and obstacles to their progress... this should have engendered a new level of proper respect for them, but even there, there remained an unhealthy level of more of the same negativity to their presence within FIRE.
O'Mailey bent down to start locating possible safe points to throw fire onto the museum's fittings and assets from... then she noticed something off about the flooring... it felt... too warm for marble that had barely even begun to experience burning... Perhaps it was just her anger slowly simmering from the disrespect she had been accorded...
================================
As the FIRE team whooped and started burning the place floor by floor starting from the top, Jerome noticed something off.... some sort of faint bloodstain was on the floor - but the blood was... some sort of reddish silvery fluid? He ran a finger in the stain and pinched the fluid between the fingers of his gloved hand, wondering as it displayed a certain murky movement and viscosity that did not resemble actual human blood in any way.... How curious. He found the plastiglass case shattered, quickly checking his communicator for the database of prohibited items in the museums that had been surrpetitiously logged across the Museum District over two years before the persecutions began.
He soon found the missing artefacts... the case had previously contained a few sex toys as well as two semi-functional pre-Ancient Age effigies with sexual reflex actions. He wrinkled his nose. of course.... the degenerates who ran this place would probably venerate such a disgusting religious collection and attempt to evacuate it... but they had been of such bulk that smuggling them would prove to be an impossible task given the very tight inspection regime now encircling the True American Union. They would turn up eventually again, and be sent to the Bonfires to be burnt as deviant art....
A faint crackle reached his ears, and suddenly the entire Museum burst into flames inexplicably, sending large embers crashing around the ground and onto the team. They had been named FIRE, but the stormtrooper gear they wore only made them fire-resistant, not fire-proof. Neither did they make the team crush-resistant or crush-proof.
O'Mailey had decided to surmount her rank by the standing rule of prioritising team member safety or capture of important flagged individuals, overriding Agent Jerome despite his outranking of her. "EVERYONE, EVACUATE THE PREMISES. YOUR LIVES COME FIRST!" As she did so, she glanced at Jerome, sneering slightly. He would be ruined. They would convene an enquiry if even one member of FIRE was wounded or killed during this kind of work, they would find he had exceeded the authority granted to him in flaming this place rather than relocating its items to the bonfire.
Jerome saw this and snapped, untabbing the strap that kept his own Level 5 Minus issue Justice pistol secured against hijack. He levelled it and pulled the trigger. If O'Mailey didn't survive this dangerous time, he could shift plenty of things onto her. It would be his word as a Level 4 agent against that of a level 9, one who was a woman to boot. He would come out at least unhurt or even earn more credit to ascend his way to the top... He would-
He would do absolutely nothing else of the sort, as a particularly large ember smashed right down on Agent Jerome, killing him outright. It was now the word of a Level 9 Agent who had prioritized the safety of her comrades against a dead Level 5- agent who could now say nothing or do nothing to O'Mailey. She liked those odds, she mused as she cracked the emergency exit systems on the nearest lobby doors and stumbled out, gasping through the respirator in her terrormask - another small mercy really - and collapsed in front of some actual firefighters - not FIRE men, who had come to attend the location on hearing of the fire outbreak. Her shoulder was bleeding, but she was alive, and she now had a fighting chance to make hay out of this sun shine... but first...
O'Mailey screamed at the white hot pain of the Justice round that had been intended to hurt and kill armed and dangerous threats to the regime. No thanks to some "stupid gun discipline" on the part of Agent Jerome, at least one bullet had been "misfired" in the chaos that had possibly ricocheted around and managed to find her shoulder by mistake in a part of her armor that had not exactly been as robust as it was supposed to be.
This was the report she would offer when they interrogated her about this disaster after she recovered from fainting... and so she fainted.
=============================
Brandt sped away from the scene in his manually driven car, tuning in to the Bureau Radio band to track events and prayed that he had not been detected in his flagrant actions for the Speedline... he blinked and marvelled at his good fortune as the news broke out of a sudden fire outbreak at the Sexual Education Museum. Some damn fool hotshot agent beneath his ranking had probably desired to push harder than his orders had permitted. When the Bureau took a more cautious approach to ransacking rather than directly destroying a targeted building, more often than not, it was with good reason and genuine concern for the FIRE teams... you couldn't exactly replace a good yesman that easily, right?
Brandt had the necessary credentials to reduce possible harassment to his person. and given his rank, there was an implicit understanding that a naked black woman in a trenchcoat in the back seat of his vehicle was likely an expression of a desire to further indulge in one's desires to rape and ditch a member of the lesser races. Frowned upon, yes, but easily handwaved when it occasionally happened at this level.
Brandt didn't attach his lights. He was trying to reduce his footprint, not turn himself into a center of attraction. Anyone in the know who checked would probably just see a agent travelling during off-shift from some enjoyment outdoors for the night. It would take an especially canny agent with strong suspicions to cross reference with his other holdings and notice he was in more than one place at the same time... a real red flag. But at his level, he was mostly beyond reproach and would have to literally be caught holding the evidence of his treachery in order to fall into trouble.
Brandt ran thorugh several issues in his mind as he pulled up to his private apartment. High level agents could request free lodgings anywhere in certain very well-provisioned apartments specially for Level 3- agents or Level 5- agents.Alternatively, they could request a lodging allowance and either pocket the difference or make it up out of their own pay for any home of their choice.
Brandt pulled into the car lift of the Geheim Apartments Block... The lift sensed his car's identity and slowly conveyed him to the 5th floor, depositing his car into the parking lot just outside his apartment before closing and locking down the ornate lift doors to keep his car or himself from falling down by mistake into the well of the lift....
Brandt took a deep breath, before walking into his home. There were several reasons to choose this building besides having to slightly top up his lodging allowance with a modest part of his salary to secure this place for the next two years or so.
The first was that the building did not have Bureau cameras littering the apartments. At his level as an agent he had every right to demand they shut off the cameras as long as he wasn't officially under investigation for any suspicious activity or alleged crime, and this building doubled down as the owner had claimed certain legacy rights that included the right not to run the required power and networking to sustain Bureau oversight, Those additional wires would have caused a fire anyway - not very good publicity for a formation that supposedly wanted to focus first on the welfare of its people before chasing after the criminals of society....
The second was what just had happened. it was always so nice to be able not to worry about where he would park his jalopy before entering his apartment. That was a rare privilege and one usually reserved only for level 0s. Level 0s would probably have gotten a apartment with the same trick without having to resort to a topup of their lodging allowance from their salary, but he was not going to squabble about being gifted with an unfair advantage like this in his after hours life.
Brandt wasn't going to move the comatose woman immediately, first he had to go in and pretend to be finished with making love to his Love Mate... probably for the last time - he had decided he was going to sacrifice his queen to establish a firmer alibi in the chaos of this night's events. He tiptoed into his apartment, where his Love Mate "Mary" was lying still, executing the Streetline modification that falsely declared that Agent Brandt had immense sexual stamina and fingers and tongue and cock all over and in her. He quietly slipped his blazer and trousers onto a hanger in his clothes closet, as well as his work issue fedora, before slowly striding over with an unlit cigarette. in only his underpants, sighing a sort of lament.
If you excluded the fact that she was a 24/7 informant available for the Bureau to access to determine if his behaviors were suspicious (even if circumvented by the Streetline mod and the fact that she could not report back when deactivated for reasonable amounts of rest by the Agent), she was a bit of an unattainable type beauty - hourglass figure, perfect voice, beautiful hair that regularly refreshed as long as you returned her for maintenance every few months... She did have a few corners cut here and there in her lifelikeness if you looked hard enough, but if you didn't nitpick she was as real and reliable and loyal as any woman an Agent could have. And now she was about to go away...
================