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unforgiving on surgically repaired bones. He takes a drink, surveys the destruction. The warehouse is so barren and destitute; an unfitting tomb.
    And he’s supposed to treat them with decency?
    “This is not a crime scene, let’s get that straight,” Marcus says. “This is a molestation. The crime that you refer to is much greater than it appears, grander than you imagine. These sons and daughters came here of their own volition and forfeited their rights as humans. They have no dignity, they do not exist.”
    Marcus steps closer, Anna at his side.
    “So says the law, Sergeant.”
    “I don’t agree with the law.”
    “You serve it.”
    “A part of them is still human.”
    “How many more of these scenes do you want to see?” Marcus raises his voice, looks at all the men and women in uniform. “This could be your sons and daughters next time. Are you willing to accept that? Because I am not!”
    His voice rings off the walls.
    “You object to exposing these imitations of God’s children? They are no more sacred than objects carved of wood. They succumbed to temptation, gave themselves to earthly desires, and reveled in lies. Open your eyes, all of you. Smell what is all around! That is not the stench of decayed flesh but the degradation of the soul.”
    Marcus inhales, deeply.
    “Breathe it in, remember it! Because if we do nothing about this today, it will become the smell of tomorrow. Earth will become a mausoleum of the human soul. I, for one, cannot accept that.”
    His footsteps click, back and forth.
    “I am your only hope. Take your men outside, Sergeant, and do not question me again.”
    Anna opens the door and moves the screen for the crowd to see inside. Shouts and curses find their way inside.
    Marcus folds his hands behind his back, stands as straight as his hunched back will allow. “Give the world your gravest apologies but no more. I will call if I need you.”
    The men and women begin their exodus, stiffly. Paul remains staring down at Marcus. He is the last to finally move. He stops at the white screen.
    “There’s a girl,” he says. “She’s the only survivor. I’d like to take her to her mother.”
    “Certainly,” Marcus says. “I have a few questions for her, that’s all.”
    Paul disappears behind the screen without being forced to do so. The door hammers shut in the metal frame, the closure echoing with a sense of finality. The crowd’s anger is muffled. Marcus closes his eyes, allows the stillness of the moment to settle before muttering a command.
    The bricks begin undressing the corpses once again. The only sounds are the shuffle of their soles. Once a body is completely nude, the agent stands over it to visually capture it—head to toe. It is turned over and repeated.
    “Your estimate?” Marcus asks.
    “We can fabricate all these bodies in two days,” Anna says.
    “Good. Three days, then, will be all we need.”
    “Correct. Do you want to interrogate the survivor?”
    “Perhaps later. I’d like to explore what’s in the back.” Marcus starts down the first aisle of bodies. “Oh, Anna.”
    Marcus half turns, his neck feeling stiff.
    “Leak my speech to the bloggers out there. I’d like the world to hear it, too.”
    He continues his uneven pace toward the back of the warehouse. Sometimes he surprises himself with such spontaneous wisdom. The world needs to know he is not the bad guy.
    He is quite the opposite.
     
     
     
     

5
     
    Cali Richards fumbles with the tack room doorknob. The latch is stuck. She has to put the metal pails on the floor and turn it with both hands. She kicks the bottom of the old door, swears she’ll get that fixed.
    She’s been swearing that for ten years.
    The former nanobiometric engineer turns on the faucet, lets the water run over her wrinkled and spotted hand. Her arthritic knuckles are knobby. She shoots some soap in the stream and lets the bubbles rise over the pails.
    An old song comes on the radio, reminds her of days