“We are not Data”
“Behind her, the newly retrofitted OPD drone van hummed softly, launching small quadcopters loaded with non-lethal tear gas pellets and rubberized crowd dispersal rounds. On the side of the van, OPD’s motto had been updated with a slick slogan: “Human Accountability. Machine Precision.”
By 2035, Oakland, CA was experiencing almost daily protests that turned violent, and the city's response had evolved into a relentless dance of escalation and surveillance. As May approached, anticipation hung thick in the air; a city once marked by resilience now braced for disorder, where every demonstration risked becoming the spark for chaos. In this climate, new policing technologies and strategies were put to the ultimate test, as the police navigated a landscape shaped as much by unrest as by innovation — poised on the threshold between hope and havoc beneath the unblinking watch of the Net.
It was now May 1st, 2035 — May Day — and what had started as a labor protest in Frank Ogawa Plaza had metastasized into full-blown chaos. The Oakland Police Department (OPD) had known something was coming. Their AI pattern analysis platform, OMNIA, had flagged dozens of signals in the preceding 48 hours—chatter on dark social networks, purchases of riot gear, a spike in foot traffic along Broadway and Telegraph after midnight.
Sergeant Malia Cortez watched the data scroll across her visor as she stood at the edge of the line on 14th and Clay. Her augmented reality HUD highlighted heat signatures in nearby buildings, pulled real-time feeds from the SkyWatch drone fleet above, and overlaid criminal profiles on anyone with a positive match from the license plate readers that ringed the downtown core.
“East flank reports movement near the Fox Theater,” came a voice in her ear, Officer Jin from Bravo Team. “Group of ten masked, carrying what looks like accelerants.”
“Copy,” Malia said. She blink-clicked on their position, and a SkyWatch drone swiveled to capture high-res imagery, feeding it directly into OPD’s mainframe beneath the Lake Merritt Civic Center.
Behind her, the newly retrofitted OPD drone van hummed softly, launching small quadcopters loaded with non-lethal tear gas pellets and rubberized crowd dispersal rounds. On the side of the van, OPD’s motto had been updated with a slick slogan: “Human Accountability. Machine Precision.”
The plaza was already half torched, glass shattered at the Chase Bank, graffiti sprayed across the historic City Hall building. One of the bronze pillars from the rotunda had been ripped down, used as a battering ram to breach the doors of the Oakland Museum on 10th.
A group of looters streamed down Broadway with stolen tech from the Apple Store. They scattered as a low whine descended — the telltale sound of OPD’s new deterrent drone, the Orca- 12, nicknamed “The Voice.” Its blaring acoustic weapon — just under the pain threshold — swept the street clean in seconds.
Malia’s visor pinged again. A red rectangle appeared over a man at the corner of 12th and Broadway. AI match, 86% probability: Jamal “Mutes” Carter, suspected Antinet cell leader, wanted in connection with the arson at West Oakland BART last year.
“Got a high-value target,” she said. “Bravo Team, intercept and contain.”
The city had changed. After the riots of 2029, when Oakland burned for three straight nights following the botched arrest of a local activist, the city had been awarded federal funding to become a prototype for the Department of Justice’s Urban Surveillance and Enforcement Integration initiative. They called it USEI, but the community just called it “The Net.”
Every streetlamp was now a sensor node. Every BART station a facial recognition checkpoint. The old surveillance tech—gunshot detectors, ALPRs—had been woven into something smarter.
And OPD, for better or worse, had adapted.
Malia had been in the department before The Net. Back when body cams malfunctioned all the time and evidence got “lost.” Now everything was cloud-synced in real time. The badge came with biometric ID, an auto-injector for stimulant or sedative meds, and a live-vitals monitor linked directly to dispatch.
As she pushed through a wall of shouting protesters near the Tribune Tower, Malia activated her suit’s anti-abrasive shielding. Someone hurled a bottle. It shattered harmlessly against the electro-gel polymer of her shoulder pad. She didn’t flinch.
Then came the flashpoint.
At the corner of 17th and Telegraph, a Tesla CyberHaul was overturned and set alight. The flames lit up the old Cathedral Building like an inferno backdrop. Crowds surged forward, adrenaline peaking. Live feeds exploded — Twitch, Xstream, even old-school Instagram.
Hundreds of digital witnesses, broadcasting rage in 8K.
OPD drones fired gas pellets, arcing white clouds through the streets. Above, one of the SkyWatch units caught footage of an armed subject crouching behind the Fox Theater’s marquee. The real-time algorithm flagged it immediately: weapon match, known priors, possible intent to fire on officers.
“Alpha Team,” Malia barked, “weapons hot — non-lethal only. You are green for intercept.”
One of the newer tools, the “Trident,” zipped forward. It was a robotic dog equipped with a collapsible taser cannon and net launcher. It didn’t bark. It just ran, fast, like a nightmare born from MIT and homeland security’s fever dreams.
The man raised the weapon.
The Trident fired first.
Taser spikes snapped through the air. The man convulsed, dropped his gun, and was netted before he hit the sidewalk. No death, no lawsuit, no hashtags.
Malia leaned against a reinforced barrier outside the Kapor Center, catching her breath as the drone feeds began to calm. The fire at the Tesla was out. Looters dispersed. Arrest teams were processing suspects using portable DNA kits and fingerprint scanners. The plaza would be locked down within the hour.
A ping again. From Dispatch.
“Sergeant Cortez, report to Ops Center. You’ve got a visitor.”
Inside the OPD Real-Time Crime Center on Washington Street, deep in the concrete belly of a former courthouse, Malia stripped off her visor. A man in a dark suit stood waiting. No badge. No name tag.
“Good work out there,” he said. “You’ve done your city proud.”
She didn’t respond.
He nodded toward the wall of monitors. “We’re scaling USEI. L.A. and Chicago are next. You’ve proven the model works. Contain, control, predict. We want you to help lead the expansion.”
Malia turned toward the screen. A map of Oakland pulsed with activity — hundreds of red and yellow pulses — lives reduced to probabilities, behaviors rendered as forecasts.
“People still bleed,” she said.
“Sure,” the man replied. “But not as many.” He offered a sterile smile, then turned to leave.
The moment he stepped through the secure door, the main screen glitched. Not a flicker — but a takeover.
The OPD’s master feed was overridden by a live stream.
A young woman stood defiantly atop the 12th Street BART entrance, illuminated by floodlights and drone glare. She held a sign, hand-painted and trembling in the wind: WE ARE NOT DATA. She wasn’t alone.
Dozens — no, hundreds — stepped forward from the shadows: students, street medics, clergy in stoles, union workers still in their vests, elders holding candles. Protesters surged back toward the plaza, emboldened. Drone alarms flared, but no one flinched.
Onscreen, facial recognition faltered. Names didn’t resolve. Profiles were blank.
A message scrolled across every screen in the Crime Center, hijacked from within The Net itself: THE SYSTEM SEES SIGNALS. WE ARE SENDING A MESSAGE.
Malia stood frozen, saying nothing.
Behind her, techs scrambled. Outside, sirens began to scream again. But Malia didn’t move.
She stared at the young woman on the screen, her face defiant against the digital storm.
And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly – she reached up, and turned her visor off.
Reflective Questions
What are the ethical implications of using predictive AI and real-time surveillance to police public demonstrations?
How does this technology affect civil liberties like privacy, freedom of assembly, and due process?
Does the increased reliance on drones, robotic units, and non-lethal weapons reduce violence — or simply change its nature?
In what ways does the story explore the tension between public safety and government overreach?
How does the story portray the human cost of technological policing — for both officers and civilians?
Does Sergeant Malia Cortez represent a conflicted figure, caught between duty and moral uncertainty? How could she best resolve that conflict?
What does the ending suggest about the future of protest and resistance in a hyper-surveilled society?