The World, Unwritten

A newcomer

North America. The Sixth District. Salt Lake City.

Julian Ashcroft stood inside the office building of the Ashmire District Police Department, affiliated with the city’s law enforcement division. He smiled at a middle-aged man and asked, “All set?”

“Yeah, come on in.” The man waved him forward and disappeared into the office on the left.

Julian straightened his clothes and followed.

The office was decent-sized—about seventy square meters—but behind the desk sat only one person. A man in his forties, thick sideburns framing a broad, fleshy face that looked naturally intimidating.

The middle-aged man walked to the desk, placed two folders in front of the bearded officer, and said quietly, “Chief, this is the last one.”

“Physical done?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You can go.”

The exchange was brief. The middle-aged man left, and Julian stepped closer, stopping in front of the desk. He waited in silence while the chief reviewed his file.

Inside the desk area, the man with the heavy sideburns frowned at the papers and read aloud in a low voice. “Julian Ashcroft, twenty-two years old, seventy-five kilograms, six-foot-two… Born pre-Cataclysm, family origin Nevada, Carson City. Heh, not far from Salt Lake City these days. Lived in the Unplanned Zone before applying. Parents missing—presumed dead. No relatives… Huh? Why is your work history blank?”

“Because I don’t have one,” Julian answered with a smile. “Surviving out there was hard enough. You do whatever gets food on the table. No résumé.”

The chief gave a short laugh. “You could’ve made something up. Blank history doesn’t look good in the system.”

“I’ll fill in a couple things later,” Julian said agreeably.

“No history means no prior service. Any experience with firearms?”

Julian shook his head without hesitation. “None.”

“Any criminal record?”

“None.”

The chief paused, set the papers down, and looked up with a faint smile. “Making enough money in a lawless place like the Unplanned Zone to buy a work and residency permit for the Sixth District… You’ve got some stories, kid.”

Julian grinned. “Just lucky. Met a few helpful people.”

The chief—Elliot Vaughn—picked up his water mug, studied Julian for a moment, and nodded. “You look sharp enough.”

Julian smiled but said nothing.

Elliot set the mug down, leaned back with his hands clasped, and spoke plainly. “The Sixth District is special. It’s still under federal administration on paper, but we have a high degree of autonomy—different from the other eight districts. Some areas are… messy. Things we want to fix but can’t yet. As an officer, you’ll need to adapt to the environment here.”

“Understood,” Julian said seriously.

“And whatever your past, while you’re eating at my table—if you’re a dragon, you coil; if you’re a tiger, you crouch. Cause trouble, and I’ll deal with you fast.”

“Chief Vaughn,” Julian said with a chuckle, “I’m here to reduce trouble for you.”

Elliot gave a soft laugh, tapped a few commands into the desk phone, then leaned toward the microphone. After a few seconds, a male voice answered, “Hello, Chief. First Criminal Investigation Team.”

“Is Marcus Vale there?”

“Captain Vale just stepped out.”

“Sending you a new recruit. Come pick him up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Elliot ended the call, scratched his beard, and pointed toward the door. “Wait outside. Someone will come get you. You’ll learn the rules on the team.”

“Yes, Chief.” Julian stepped forward, reached into his pocket, and placed a small black pouch on the desk. “Nathaniel Reed specifically asked me to pass this on. He said getting into the district police system is the hardest job these days. Without your help, I’d still be waiting in line. Just… proper courtesy.”

Elliot picked up the pouch, opened it, and paused at the sight of a diamond the size of a soybean. “Someone out in the Unplanned Zone has connections. Haven’t seen one of these in years.”

Julian just smiled.

Elliot locked the pouch in a drawer and looked up. “Young, but you’ve got some class.”

“It’s all I’ve got,” Julian said, pretending to scratch his head sheepishly.

Seeing the chief wasn’t rushing off to lunch, Julian chatted a few more minutes.

Soon, a stocky young man about Julian’s age entered, standing ramrod straight. He saluted and announced, “Reporting, Chief Vaughn. Third-class officer Sebastian Crowe, First Team—here to escort the new colleague back.”

Elliot patted Julian’s arm. “Do good work. Maybe I’ll see your name at the year-end evaluations.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go settle in,” Elliot said, nodding toward Sebastian. “Tell Marcus Vale to look after the kid.”

One diamond bought Julian less than ten extra minutes—and one vague promise of “look after.”

In the hallway.

Sebastian Crowe walked on Julian’s left, cheerful and open. “Where you from, brother?”

“Unplanned Zone.”

“That dump?” Sebastian blinked. “Must’ve been rough.”

“Little bit of luck,” Julian said with a shrug.

Sebastian nodded and didn’t pry further. In times like these—with food scarce and life cheap—everyone carried secrets.

As they walked briskly, Sebastian explained the basics. The Police Department handled criminal work in the district: public order, investigations, major cases. It didn’t deal with residency permits, immigration, or administrative paperwork. Basically an old-world precinct, just with broader, less specialized duties. Julian’s unit handled everything from street patrols to serious crimes.

Over the next hour, Sebastian gave him the full tour of the five-story building: armory, interrogation rooms, shared workspaces, training area, cafeteria. Julian quickly realized Sebastian was smooth—able to chat with anyone, patient with questions, seemingly warm and helpful on the surface.

A little after two p.m., Sebastian took him to Communications to buy an internal phone. Julian glanced at the counter—one outdated model, ugly design, outrageous price.

“What brand is this? Never heard of it,” Julian muttered, turning the phone over. “Forget it. I’ll buy one outside once I’m settled. Too expensive here.”

Sebastian smiled, glanced at the clerk, then leaned in and whispered, “Better buy it here.”

“Why?”

“No big reason. Communications is department-run, but the counter is privately contracted. Owner’s a friend of Captain Marcus Vale. All new guys buy here.” He winked. “First days on the job, best not to stand out. Phone’s not great, but once your info’s in the system, you just enter name and badge number and it works.”

Julian had survived years in the lawless zone—he understood favors. So he didn’t argue. “Fine. One phone, please.”

It hurt. Julian was notoriously stingy; he’d haggle over socks. But that same tightness with money had kept him alive and allowed him to buy his way into the Sixth District.

Phone in hand, Sebastian led him across the street to a large general store.

Late August, clear sky, yet still bitterly cold—like winter never left. Patches of snow lingered on the ground.

“Does it snow here all the time?” Julian asked.

“Three years straight,” Sebastian replied.

“Damn. Like the world’s trying to kill us,” Julian muttered.

They stepped inside the store.

Julian glanced around, brushed mud off his pants, and remarked, “Big place. Not many customers.”

“Take your time, grab what you need,” Sebastian said, taking a drag on his e-cig.

Julian wandered the aisles. The longer he looked, the deeper his frown grew. After fifteen minutes he hadn’t picked up a thing.

“Not buying anything?” Sebastian asked, walking over.

Julian turned to him. “Man, are you the shill here?”

“What?”

“Everything’s marked up at least thirty percent, and half of it’s fake. I felt one of those quilts—stuffed with steel wool. Hurts to touch.”

“Quality’s not great, but all new guys from the department shop here.”

“Why?”

“Because the owner is Captain Vale’s cousin,” Sebastian whispered. “Designated supplier.”

Julian’s face fell. “So does the chief shop here too?”

“Now you’re just messing with me. Even if the chief wanted to, Vale wouldn’t dare sell to him.” Sebastian rolled his eyes. “It’s only the new guys. Buy here for a couple months, then you’re free.”

“I’m not buying a single day. They’re treating us like idiots.” Julian turned toward the door.

Sebastian hesitated. “You already spent the money to get in—why fight this? Listen, just buy here. Don’t make waves.”

“I gave Captain Vale face with the phone. That’s enough.” Julian kept walking.

“Hey, Julian—listen—”

“You getting a kickback or something?”

“Just buy a little—”

“Buy my ass. The toilet paper’s like sandpaper. One wipe and I’d need bandages.”

Julian walked out.

4:30 p.m.

“Dominic Sterling—the new guy’s here,” Sebastian called cheerfully into Dormitory 2, First Criminal Investigation Team.

Inside the small room—under thirty square meters—six or seven young men sat around a table playing cards. The leader looked up at Julian. “Come in.”

They entered. Julian scanned the space: six bunk beds—twelve berths—two shared metal lockers, personal items everywhere. Cramped but clean enough; no bad smells.

Sebastian made introductions. “Julian, this is Dominic Sterling, leader of Action Group One. Three years on the job, top performer—Captain Vale’s right-hand man. Dominic, meet Julian Ashcroft, our new brother.”

“Nice to meet you, Dominic,” Julian said, extending a hand.

Dominic—bald, sharp-eyed—glanced at the hand, gave a curt nod, and kept his cards. “Where you from?”

“Unplanned Zone.”

Dominic paused. “The Zone? What’d you do there?”

“Delivery for a boss. Mostly daily goods.”

“Runner, huh? Not easy.”

“Nothing special. Just drove the truck.”

“Ah. Driver.” The interest vanished from Dominic’s voice. “Who got you in?”

“Friend made a call. I paid my own way.”

Dominic smirked, eyes back on his cards. “Bought your badge, huh? Fine. Wait for Captain Vale—he’ll assign you. Sebastian, put him in the bunk by the window.”

“Got it.”

“That one inside,” Sebastian told Julian.

Julian grabbed his luggage and the few supplies he’d bought elsewhere and headed in.

“Wait,” Dominic called, spotting the shopping bags. “Where’d you get those?”

“Can’t remember the name—just a shop near the building,” Julian said casually.

Dominic kept playing, face blank, and asked over his shoulder, “Sebastian, did you tell the new guy where we shop?”

Sebastian froze, awkward. He couldn’t throw Julian under the bus in front of him, but lying would make him look bad.

Julian stepped in. “Sebastian told me—said to buy across the street. But things were pricey, and I’m short on cash, so I went next door.”

Dominic let the silence hang for several seconds before saying, “No big deal. Fix your bunk.” Then to the table, “Raise.”

Julian moved to the far bunk and started unpacking.

Sebastian helped, whispering, “New guys always get the upper bunk by the window—drafts are cold at night. Cover up with your jacket for now. When the next rookie comes, you’ll move.”

“I’ve slept outside for months,” Julian said. “This is fine.”

He discreetly pulled two packs of Marlboro cigarettes from his bag and slipped them to Sebastian.

“What’s this?”

“Saw you vaping,” Julian said with a smile. “Don’t have much, but thanks for running around with me all day.”

In an era when food was scarce, real tobacco cigarettes were luxury. Pre-Cataclysm Marlboros? Most people hadn’t even seen one in years.

Sebastian stared. “You got these in the Zone? Marlboro—haven’t seen these forever.”

“Poor places have their perks,” Julian grinned. “I’ll sort the rest. Go do your thing. I owe you a meal later.”

“Thanks, brother!” Sebastian pocketed them quickly.

Dominic suddenly turned. “Well, well—holding out on us with the good stuff?”

Julian hadn’t realized he was watching. “Friend gave them to me.”

“Nice stuff. We’ve never even seen it,” Dominic said coldly.

Sebastian hesitated, then pulled out the packs and walked over, hunched. “We’re all brothers—share, right? One each.”

Julian had given them to Sebastian out of gratitude, not obligation. But now that Dominic had called it out, refusing would make things tense in a room he had to live in. He pulled out one more pack.

At the table, Dominic pushed Sebastian’s arm away. “Too good for me. Never smoked anything that fancy.”

Sebastian froze in place.

Julian frowned at the jab, put the pack back, and resumed unpacking.

One of the players tossed his cards down with a smile. “We’ve got a rule here—new guy works three straight shifts. Tomorrow, day after, day after that—street patrol. No problem, right?”

Julian glanced at Sebastian, who avoided his eyes. It clicked.

“Dominic, how’s the three-day shift work?”

“Back-to-back. Days in the team, nights on the street.”

“Overtime pay?” Julian asked lightly.

“Volunteer work. No pay,” Dominic said without looking up.

“Julian, three days is no big deal,” Sebastian said after a long pause, glancing at the cigarettes in his pocket. “I’ll swap with someone and cover two with you.”

“Real loyal, huh, Sebastian?” one of the others teased.

“We help each other,” Sebastian smiled weakly.

Dominic set down his mug and pointed. “After he gets his uniform, show him the schedule.”

“Got it.”

“I can’t do that shift, Dominic,” Julian said suddenly.

The room went quiet.

Dominic licked his lips and turned. “Every new guy does it. Why can’t you?”

“Bad heart. Can’t handle nights.”

“No problem—I’ll get you some nitroglycerin pills. You’re doing three days.”

“I said I can’t.”

“What, you got two extra balls or something?” Dominic’s face darkened after being pushed back twice. “Everyone does it—why not you?”

“We’re all brothers here—let’s talk it out,” Sebastian tried.

Thump.

Dominic punched Sebastian in the shoulder. “Who the hell’s brothers with you? Shut your mouth.”

Sebastian clutched the cigarettes, head down, stuck between speaking up or walking away.

Dominic stood with four others and stepped toward Julian. “Next whole week is yours. We’ll stop when you have that heart attack. Understand?”

End of Chapter Two