Prose and poetry done at a recent writing class.

“The visiting times have ended,” a nurse said to Jason. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but rules are rules, and you’ll have to leave now. You’re welcome to come back tomorrow morning.”

Jason watched the heart monitor screen fluctuate – up and down, up and down. IV tubing delivered medicines and saline into his daughter Eliza’s arm. Her face bore no emotion.

He was quiet. Eliza’s skin was pale. Jason reached forward, touching her tender lips. He wanted her to talk. To speak to him. To smile. To say hello.

No sounds came out of her lips. She did not move. The steady beeps of the heart monitor continued. Memories flashed through Jason’s mind.

His daughter fleeing his home. I’m sorry, Dad, she had yelled at him as he had watched speechless. A bright flash. A police officer. Put the drugs down now! The officer gesturing with his weapon. His daughter running away as fast as she could. Help me, she had yelled. The officer pulling the trigger.

His daughter falling to the ground. The officer running over. Him, trying to stop the officer from touching his beloved daughter. I’m sorry, sir. The officer had said as she was carried away on a stretcher. It’s my job.

Then, staking out the officer’s home. Relying on his training from his days as a special ops soldier – installing small cameras. Watching him. Swearing that one day, the officer would pay.

He would pay for his daughter with his life.

Jason turned around and left the hospital, a faint smile on his face.

- – – – – – – -

“Attention passengers: the #12 train will depart in three minutes.”

Standing on the North Platform of the Los Angeles Transportation Station, Jason had assumed the identity of Jonathan Adams, an administrator at the train station. He watched the #12 train carefully.

This was the train that Officer Richardson – the police officer that had killed Jason’s daughter – was taking. He was sure of it – Jason had hacked into the Annual Law Enforcement Convention’s attendee list. James Richardson was on the list. He was also a passenger listed on the #12 train.

Today, he was going to die.

It was imperative that no one find out who Jason truly was. Jonathan Adams was him now, he reminded himself. He turned around again as a melody played. “#12 train now departing.” The Maglaser train began to depart from the station, seemingly floating in midair, while in actuality being held up by invisible laser tracks.

Jason watched the 360 degree cameras. A large and burly man stopped in front of him, carrying a suitcase. It was the perfect opportunity. He instantly turned around and ran down a staircase marked “Employees”.

At the bottom, he typed in “J ADAMS” into a keyboard and swiped his ID card. The door opened. Jason was in the Heart.

In year 2396, the Heart of the station was what kept everything moving – a control center of sorts. A line of computers on the wall, workers staring at them, kept the ten nuclear reactors running, and those reactors in turn kept the Maglaser systems working.

All the workers were busy. He was safe. On a large screen above the workers, a dynamic map displayed the status of trains. A moving dot labeled “#12 – LAX to SEA” slowly moved away from a larger block labeled “LAX North”.

His eyes travelled down to a wall of switches, protected behind a glass wall. Those switches controlled the status of the Maglaser trains. Jason was going to shut the trains down with the switch. Two guards stood in front of it, however, armed with laser pulse weapons. They were too strong for Jason to subdue.

Jason walked over to a rack. He swiped Adams’ ID card. Instantly a laptop was ejected into his hands. He grabbed the laptop, swiping his ID card once more, and logged into the framework. He would divert the guards away. Adams was a high-clearance worker. It would help him.

A schematic of the Heart loaded in, with points all across the map labeled with the name of each worker. He tapped on numbers 4159K and 5124P, the two guards protecting the switches, and entered commands for them to divert to a training center.

“4159K, 5124P – by order of Adams, abandon positions and report to TC4.” An automated voice rang out through the Heart. Two lights on both men’s uniforms also flashed on. The two looked at each other, confused, and then started forward.

The switch was unattended.

For fear of power outages, all major switches were protected by hard key locks. No swipe cards or fingerprints were allowed. That meant the lock could be quickly picked.

Over a century ago, traditional lock picking tools were abandoned in favor of automated ones. They were so easy to use and prone to abuse, however, that the government kept a close watch on them.

No matter – Jason had a solution just as well: a special lock picking key and a torque wrench. He gently nudged each pin until he felt the lock open. With a click, the glass door swung aside.

One button, the Main System Shut Down, was all that was needed to shut down all the Maglaser systems. Hundreds of trains would seemingly fall from the sky. One police officer will have died as he rode the train to his convention. Finally, Jason would receive revenge for his daughter.

But is it right to sentence the innocent to death too? Jason thought in his mind. After all, by shutting it down, thousands would die too.

That officer deserved it. It was his fault, Jason decided. He pressed the button. Now he would finally die.

He was wrong.

Instantly a light flashed on behind him, alerting the engineers. He should have noticed it, but he didn’t. The glass door swung shut behind him. Only then did alarms begin to sound.

“Sector 58. Decoy switchboard activated.”

Three guards ran over to him, pulling out laser pulse weapons. He was caught, and he was going to die. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Jason pulled out an explosive, attaching it to the glass wall, then carefully turned it so it wouldn’t hit him as well. He detonated it instantly. The shrapnel hit a few wires and one of the guards – a success.

“Communications circuit down in Sector 58,” the loudspeakers announced but he didn’t care. Already, he was running for the exit. Determined to get through, he ducked around machinery.

A laser pulse singed his shirt as the guards began firing shots at him.

He ran even faster.

- – – – – – – -

The heart monitor’s steady beats quickened. Somewhere down the hall, an alarm sounded. Nurses hurried over to the room, checking the IV tubing.

“Someone, inject some sedatives!” a doctor yelled. A nurse grabbed a syringe and injected them into Eliza’s IV.

The beeping slowed.

- – – – – – – -

Jason ran faster than he had ever run before. He felt the wind against his skin as he tore through the Heart. Alarm bells were sounding. Too many.

He tore through an emergency exit, running up the staircase. He was outside now, back on the station. He could smell the fresh air now. He could see the skyscrapers in the distance.

He was free.

But the North Platform of the Los Angeles Transportation Station was locking down. Passengers looked around in confusion as the #95 train, about to leave, abruptly slowed down and returned to the station. The exits were shut down.

“Please stay calm,” a loudspeaker said over and over again. “A lock down has been ordered by LAPD and should not affect you.” In downtown Los Angeles, a CBS news crew was heading out to investigate.

Back in the Heart, employees monitored the status of trains. On the large map, a dot labeled “#95 – LAX to JFK” left “LAX North”. Abruptly, it halted, a message flashing up next to it – “Returning to LAX North due to a Code 54 Breach”. The dot slowly moved back.

Around it, #46 (LAX to HOU), #72 (LAX to RDU), and #17 (LAX to DFW) all did the same. The “LAX North” box glowed a bright red, indicating total lockdown. And further out on the map, “LAX South” and “SAN North” (San Diego) glowed yellow, indicating partial lockdown. An urgent supervisor spoke with the FBI on the phone.

It was a state of pandemonium.

- – – – – – – -

The #12 train slowed down, and then completely stopped.

“Attention passengers,” a loudspeaker announced. “A security hazard has been detected. Stay calm while this train returns to the station.”

Officer Richardson looked around in confusion. What was going on? He shifted uneasily as the passengers looked at him – he was in full uniform – as if he knew what was going on.

“Unit Alpha fourteen to HQ. What’s going on at LAX North?” He enunciated clearly into his radio.

“HQ to Alpha fourteen, switch to private,” the police headquarters radioed back. Richardson put in his earphone. “Terror attack. Code 54 breach,” answered the headquarters.

Code 54, Richardson thought, stunned. An attempted terrorist attack.

Glancing around at the passengers, Richardson announced, “Everyone, I’m in no position to make any orders, but please stay calm. We have a bit of a problem here.”

- – – – – – – -

Jason ran through Station 62, tearing through the crowds. Cameras locked on to him, automatically following his body. In a SWAT team’s MCC (Mobile Control Center) in the back of a black van, quickly driving to the station, five men watched Jason run through the crowds.

One of the cameras captured a face shot. In seconds, he was identified as Jason Witts – former Special Operations soldier – single and the father of Eliza Witts, who was currently in Intensive Care at the Los Angeles Medical Center.

“You are clear to fire,” a controller said into a mike in the MCC. A helicopter flying over the station targeted Jason. A single shot was fired.

Jason was running. Suddenly, he stopped. It seemed as if the world was turning away. Perhaps gravity wasn’t functioning properly. That would be funny, wouldn’t it? He looked down.

Back in the MCC, the controller received a response from the helicopter.

“One tranquilizer dart, bullet code Oscar Delta Bravo one five nine.” On the screen in the MCC, “Bullet – ODB159” showed up on the screen. The words “Successfully hit target” appeared next to it.

Jason looked down at himself again, dizzy. Something dark red was blossoming across his chest. A strawberry milkshake, perhaps. Jason liked milkshakes.

He fell onto the floor and blanked out.

- – – – – – – -

In the Intensive Care ward at the Los Angeles Medical Center, patient 491’s – Eliza Witts – eyes opened. Doctor Petrov’s pager sounded. It announced a message to him –

“491 regained conscious.”

- – – – – – – -

Jason woke up. He tried to move his arms, but became suddenly aware that he could not move his body. There were no handcuffs or bindings, yet strangely he could not move. A tranquilizer, he decided.

A police officer came in. He had a clean shaven face and had a solid built body. Jason stared at him. He seemed oddly familiar.

“You Jason Witts? The crazy man that tried to blow up North Platform?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing on.

“I want you to know how much trouble you’re in right now. Your actions caused ten stations to shut down, and we had to mitigate one million passengers. Do you realize how hard that is? And then our brain analysts looked up why you wanted to blow us all up. And, man oh man, I’m surprised.”

The identity of the police officer hit Jason before he said it.

“I’m Officer James Richardson, Jason, and today you tried to kill me.”

- – – – – – – -

Eliza sat up, confused on her bed. A nurse ran into the room with a cup of water. Opening Eliza’s mouth for her, she forced the water down her throat. “Drink it,” she said. Eliza had no chance to reply.

The nurse checked her vitals and then withdrew her IV. They spread a jelly on the IV location, stopping the bleeding. Some kind of medication labelled “Post-IV” was injected into her arm.

“I want to talk to my dad,” Eliza said – the first words she had said in three months. She was surprised her voice still worked. Her eyes seemed woozy but shone with a fierce determination.

“I want to talk to my dad,” she said again.

“All right, honey, just let me look up where your dad is.” Typing in Jason’s name, she hit Enter on the keyboard.

Jason Witts – Currently under ARREST at the Los Angeles Detention Facility.

Eliza’s face fell as she watched the nurse’s face contort in surprise. The nurse looked at Eliza. “Honey, there’s – there’s been a small problem and you can’t see your daddy just yet. But it will be okay, all right?”

The nurse clicked the “More information” button out of curiosity.

CLASSIFIED under H.R. 3162 Patriot Act.

The Patriot Act – the terrorism laws passed hundreds of years ago. But what did it have to do with Eliza’s father?

- – – – – – – -

“Richardson,” a man interrupted, barging into the detention room. “Terribly sorry, but I’ve got news.”

“Oh, let me hear it,” the officer snarled, eyes still on Jason.

“The – uh – Witts has an urgent request,” the man said, backing away from Richardson. He was an intern at the Detention Facility, and it was his second day. He wasn’t expecting a terrorist.

“His daughter woke up, and she wants to talk to him. We have her on the phone,” the intern said to Richardson.

Jason’s eyes widened. After so many months, had she finally woken up? Eliza? She was alive?

He looked at the officer. “Please,” he choked out. “Please.”

Richardson turned to Jason. His fist was clenched as Jason and Richardson locked eyes. But then something happened.

The officer’s eyes softened. He slackened his fist.

“Of course he may,” he said, pressing a button. Looking at Jason, he smiled at him. “You did just try to kill me, but maybe you aren’t the heartless man I thought you were.”

Jason smiled back. “Thank you.”

Behind him, a video chat initiated on the wall. Eliza’s face appeared, worried.

“Dad?” Eliza’s voice came through. “Dad, are you in a detention facility? What’d you do? Are you okay?”

Jason choked back tears. Eliza’s eyes widened.

“Baby,” Jason said, “I’ve never been better.”