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briefly glanced at the stack of files sitting on his desk, before turning in his chair to look at the view of the night sky through his office window. Outside, it was clear and cloudless, the cityscape of Mega-City One granted an eerie, spectral light by the bright moon.
    It's three-quarters full at most, he thought. With all the chaos on the streets, you would have sworn it was a full moon night. Right now, the entire sector is in the middle of the worst recorded crime wave in ten years. Assaults, homicides, futsies; every kind of violent crime is way above the seasonal average and rising. It's been that way for the last three weeks. Almost ever since Justice Department made the first public announcement they were moving the Sector House.
    He wondered if the two events could be related. The building he currently occupied was due to be demolished in a month's time, to be replaced by a newly built facility elsewhere in the sector. Already, Sector House 12 was operating at minimum staffing levels as personnel and equipment were transferred to the new facility in preparation for the move. Could some unknown party be trying to take advantage of the situation to create chaos as part of a wider agenda? Franklin dismissed the idea. Everything he had seen over the last few weeks told him there was no hidden hand at work. Crime levels might be up, but the statistics showed the causes of the crimes in question were so commonplace as to be almost humdrum: domestic disputes, fights between neighbours, arguments in the street that spiralled out of control and turned to violence. They were ordinary crimes of the kind a Street Judge saw a dozen times in the course of a normal shift. Crimes born of the frustrations of four hundred million people living right on top of each other with no room to breathe.
    No, if the current crime wave had any deeper cause, it was simply that public awareness of the Sector House's imminent closure had served to undermine the subtle balance of power in the sector. A Sector House was more than just a building to the citizens of Mega-City One. It was a plascrete symbol of the Justice Department itself, a daily reminder of the Law that ruled the city. While in reality Sector House 12 was only moving, psychologically to the citizens it did not matter. Even the idea of a Sector House closing suggested an element of impermanence to the forces that controlled their lives. It weakened the hold the Justice Department had over their minds, diminishing a vital bulwark that helped to keep the worst excesses of the human soul in check.
    Making a mental note to order an increase in street patrols and crime swoops to remind the citizens of Sector 12 just who was in charge, Franklin tried to return to his paperwork. It was no good. Even now the comms-feed was silent, he found it hard to concentrate. The restless thoughts churning through his head would not allow it.
    I suppose the closure had to happen eventually, he told himself. Sector House 12 has been in operation more than fifty years. Things have changed a lot since then. There's new technology, new forensics, new threats. To keep pace with those changes, they've updated the systems in these old walls so many times the entire Sector House is little more than a jury-rigged hotchpotch held together with glue and spit. Frankly, the place is so decrepit it's a wonder it doesn't just collapse. When I think of how often I pushed for a replacement Sector House to be built. When I think of all the time I spent in meetings and before committees, pleading for resources. Through it all, through every budget hearing and planning session, I never realised I was digging my own grave. I never realised, once they finally decided to give in and build a new Sector House, they would also want a new Sector Chief to go with it.
    There was a letter sitting in the drawer of his desk, written on official stationery headed with the Justice Department seal and signed by the Chief Judge herself.