Showing Restraint

The subway car rattled through the tunnels like a restless beast, its fluorescent lights flickering sporadically, casting harsh shadows across the passengers’ faces. Lena sat near the window, pretending to read an article on her holopad. In truth, her attention was elsewhere—on the hum of conversations, the rhythmic clatter of the train, and the faintly metallic scent of the city that seemed to seep into everything underground.

Her neural implant buzzed softly, a notification pulsing in her peripheral vision: “System Status: Nominal. Train ETA: 12 minutes to Junction Station.”

Lena glanced around the crowded car. Most of the passengers were absorbed in their own feeds, their eyes glazed as they scrolled through AR interfaces only they could see. A man in a dark hoodie muttered to himself near the doors, pacing slightly as if the confined space were too much for him. People instinctively shifted away, their unease palpable even in the AI-regulated civility of the subway.

“Potential Threat Identified,” whispered the train’s AI over the public address system, its voice soothing yet clinical. The message appeared briefly in translucent text on every passenger’s interface. Lena tensed. Everyone else seemed to as well.

The man’s muttering grew louder, and his movements became erratic. He slammed a fist against the pole, startling a young woman standing nearby. She yelped, dropping her bag.

“Calm down, sir,” the AI said, its disembodied voice carrying a weight that no human could replicate. “Your behavior has been flagged as disruptive. De-escalation is advised.”

Instead of calming, the man turned toward the AI’s camera—embedded like a tiny, unblinking eye above the door—and screamed, “Shut up! Just shut up!” He lunged for the young woman, who stumbled back, wide-eyed.

“I am going to fuck up everyone on this subway, you hear me!” the deranged man yelled. “I am going to kill you all!”

For good measure, the man slammed the pole again. Twice, in fact as the dull thump reverberated around the subway car.

Before Lena could fully process what was happening, a figure moved swiftly from the other end of the car. A man—broad-shouldered, his posture rigid—closed the distance in seconds. He grabbed the aggressor, twisting him into a submission hold with what looked like practiced efficiency. 

The deranged man thrashed and shouted, but the stranger held firm, speaking in a low, steady voice.

“It’s okay. Stop fighting,” the man said, his tone laced with authority. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lena’s heart pounded as she watched. She saw that the man applying the hold had a shock of tightly curled blond hair poking out from under his beanie cap. Strange the things that you pick up on in the eye of the storm. 

Others in the car shifted nervously, some clutching their belongings tighter. A few began recording with their implants, their gazes darting between the subdued aggressor and the ceiling-mounted AI cameras.

Then, the train AI spoke again, its voice sharp now: “Excessive force detected. De-escalation measures unnecessary. User: Dale Porter flagged for intervention. Authorities have been notified.”

The stranger who was subduing the aggressor— his name Dale, apparently—froze for a fraction of a second. “What? Are you kidding me?” he muttered, still holding the struggling lunatic. Dale’s face tightened as he looked up at the nearest camera.

“He was attacking this young lady!” Dale shouted, his voice echoing in the confined space. “I stopped him!”

The aggressor, now slack in Dale’s grip, gasped out, “I didn’t… mean anything. Let me go. Please.”

The AI’s response was immediate: “Release the individual. Compliance required.”

Dale hesitated, glancing at the passengers. Most avoided his gaze, their expressions a mix of fear and discomfort. The young woman who had been targeted whispered a shaky “thank you” to Dale, but quickly retreated to the far end of the car.

Lena felt her throat tighten. She wanted to say something, to step forward, but her legs felt rooted to the floor.

“Unbelievable,” Dale muttered, releasing the man. The aggressor stumbled to his feet, rubbing his arms and glaring at Dale before slumping into a corner seat.

Dale straightened, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender. “Look, I’m not resisting,” he said, speaking directly to the AI. “But this is insane.”

The train slowed as it approached the next station. Lena’s neural implant buzzed again: “Warning: Law enforcement presence ahead. All passengers must remain seated until authorized to disembark.”

She scanned the car. Everyone was tense now, their eyes flitting between Dale and the subway doors. The young woman who had been attacked looked on the verge of tears. The aggressor sat silently, his head down, his shoulders shaking in a way that suggested either laughter or sobs.

The train jerked to a stop. The doors slid open, and two enforcement drones hovered into the car. Their sleek black exteriors reflected the overhead lights, and their red optics scanned the scene with chilling precision. Behind them, two human officers entered, their expressions neutral but firm.

“Dale Porter,” one of the officers said, his voice amplified by the helmet’s communicator. “You’ve been flagged for unlawful use of force. Please step forward.”

Dale sighed, his hands still raised. “I was protecting someone. Check the footage.”

The officer didn’t respond, instead gesturing for the drones to move closer. One of them emitted a low hum as it projected a holographic display of Dale’s profile, highlighting his military background. Another projection showed the incident, replayed from multiple camera angles.

To Lena’s frustration, the replay began only after Dale had already engaged the aggressor. The context—the muttering, the man’s fist banging repeatedly against the pole, the lunge at the young woman—was absent.

“This is utter bullshit,” Dale said, his voice rising. “You’re not even showing the full story!”

The drones beeped in unison, and the officer stepped forward. “Sir, resisting will escalate the charge. Come quietly.”

Lena’s chest tightened as Dale’s jaw clenched. For a moment, she thought he might fight back. Instead, he exhaled sharply and lowered his hands. “Fine,” he said. “But you’re making a mistake.”

As the officers led Dale off the train, Lena found herself staring at the aggressor, who was still slumped in his seat. His face was pale, his hands trembling. No one spoke to him. No one intervened to say what had really happened. To speak up for Dale who had stepped forward, thinking he was protecting a young woman under attack, and potentially all the other people in the car.

The train doors closed, and the subway lurched forward again. Conversations resumed in hushed tones, and passengers returned to their feeds, their discomfort quickly buried beneath layers of distraction.

Lena, however, couldn’t just get back to what she was doing. Her gaze lingered on the empty seat where Dale had been, her mind racing. She’d seen the whole thing. She knew what had happened. And yet, the AI’s verdict had rendered her observations irrelevant.

Her neural implant buzzed again: “Report Submitted: Incident Resolved. Your cooperation is appreciated.”

She dismissed the notification with a swipe, her fingers trembling. This wasn’t resolution. It was something else—something wrong.

Lena’s heart was still racing as she opened her holopad and began searching. There had to be a way to access the full footage. There had to be something she could do.

Because if the system could fail someone like Dale, who would it fail next?

**********

The buzz of fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Dale sat in the stark, featureless room, the table in front of him bare except for a small holo-projector. His reflection in the one-way glass across from him was as rigid as his posture. The military training that once served him so well now felt like a mockery of the values he had just tried to uphold.

A soft chime preceded the door opening, and a middle-aged woman in a sharp gray suit entered. Her hair was pulled back tightly, her expression was stern. Certainly, judgmental as she looked at Dale. The holo-projector flared to life as she took her seat, displaying a rotating 3D timeline of the subway incident.

“Mr. Porter,” she began, her voice smooth but clipped, “my name is Emily Greaves. I’m your public defender. I’ve reviewed the AI-generated evidence, and I need you to understand that we have an uphill battle here.”

Dale felt his blood begin to boil all over again. “I don’t need a lecture. I need someone to tell the truth. I thought you are here to help me fight back against this bullshit!”

“Mr. Porter,” Greaves said, unfazed. “Please calm down. We live in a world where the truth is subjective, I’m afraid. Especially when the system dictates what counts as admissible evidence.”

She swiped her hand across the holo-interface, enlarging one clip of the altercation. It showed Dale restraining the man, his grip firm, the aggressor struggling weakly. There was no sound, and the preceding minutes—the threats, the violence—were conspicuously absent.

“This,” she said, gesturing to the frozen frame, “is what the AI has flagged. ‘Unnecessary force applied after the threat was neutralized.’ Unfortunately, that’s the official record.”

Dale slammed his fist on the table. “Neutralized? He was about to attack that girl! The system has it wrong. Where’s the footage of him throwing a punch? Or screaming at the entire car, cursing and threatening to kill everybody? Or slamming his fist on the pole? Where’s the part where he lunges at her?”

Greaves studied him carefully. “The AI didn’t record that as actionable behavior. Its threat-detection algorithm didn’t categorize it as imminent danger.”

“That’s insane. It happened right in front of everyone!”

“And yet, without corroborating data from the system, your testimony holds little weight,” she said matter-of-factly. “Every passenger on that train deferred to the AI. They didn’t intervene. They didn’t step up for you. That’s how it works now, Mr. Porter. The system speaks, and people listen.”

Dale slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “I did what was right. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

Greaves hesitated, her gaze softening slightly. “I’m not saying you should. But the court isn’t interested in what’s right—it’s interested in compliance. We’ll argue that your actions were justified under the circumstances, but you need to prepare yourself. This is about more than you now. Public debate is already spiraling out of control.”

She tapped a control on her wristband, and the holo-projector displayed a cascade of news headlines:

“AI Justice: When the System Gets It Wrong”

“Subway Hero or Vigilante? Public Divided Over Dale Porter Incident”

“Aggressor Claims Excessive Force: System Vindicates Victim”

Dale leaned forward, his brow furrowing. “Wait. ‘System Vindicates Victim’? They’re calling him the victim?”

Greaves nodded. “The narrative is shifting. The system categorized you as the aggressor based on the footage. Without proof of his behavior before you intervened, you’re fighting an uphill battle in the court of public opinion, too.”

***

The camera drone panned across the crowded news studio, capturing a lively debate. On one side of the panel sat Dr. Marcus Jenson, a graying, bespectacled AI ethicist, gesturing passionately. Opposite him was Riley Stokes, a tech executive from HaloSys, the company behind the subway AI system.

Moderator Serena Vale leaned forward, her polished voice cutting through the noise. “Dr. Jenson, you’ve been outspoken about the risks of over-reliance on AI in public safety. Are you saying the system failed in the Dale Porter case?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Jenson replied, his tone measured but firm. “This is a glaring example of why AI cannot fully replace human judgment. The system ignored crucial context—gestures, tone, even patterns of escalation that any human observer would recognize as threatening.”

Stokes interjected, her smile tight. “The system followed its protocols, Serena. It’s designed to analyze data impartially, without the biases that humans bring. Mr. Porter acted outside of protocol, and the system flagged that. It did its job.”

“But its ‘impartiality’ excluded critical context,” Jenson countered. “The aggressor’s actions weren’t flagged because the algorithm deemed them non-threatening—an oversight that nearly led to violence. If Mr. Porter hadn’t intervened, who knows what might have happened?”

Stokes’s expression didn’t waver. “If Mr. Porter had trusted the system, law enforcement could have handled the situation without escalation. Vigilantism undermines the system’s credibility.”

The audience murmured, and the drone captured Serena raising a hand to calm them. “Riley, HaloSys has faced scrutiny in the past for similar misclassifications. Are you confident this system is foolproof?”

Stokes hesitated briefly but recovered. “No system is perfect, but this technology represents the best of what we have. One high-profile incident doesn’t invalidate its successes. The vast majority of flagged incidents are resolved peacefully, thanks to our AI.”

The debate raged on, splitting public opinion. Clips of the altercation played on repeat, each network spinning it differently: Dale as a hero, a threat, or a cautionary tale.

***

Lena sat hunched over her desk in her cramped apartment, the glow of her holopad illuminating her face. She had spent hours combing through forums, anonymous tips, and underground networks. The footage she had seen on the train kept replaying in her mind, but the missing moments haunted her.

She clicked on a private chat group titled “FreeData Collective” and typed:

“Looking for unfiltered footage from Junction Station, Day 14, 18:32. Subway car 18A. Will compensate.”

Moments later, a reply appeared:

“System-secured feeds are restricted. You’ll need a ghost key.”

Lena frowned. A ghost key—a device capable of bypassing HaloSys’s encryption—was expensive and illegal. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keys. Was this worth the risk?

Her gaze drifted to her window, where the city skyline loomed, dotted with surveillance drones. The AI had failed, and someone had to expose it. Dale’s fate depended on it. She typed back:

“How much?”

The reply came instantly:

“50,000 credits. Payment upfront. Meet at Terminal 5, 22:00.”

Lena’s pulse quickened. That was more than she could afford, but she knew there was no turning back. As she shut down the holopad, a single thought echoed in her mind:

If they control the truth, they control everything.

***

Lena stood in the shadow of Terminal 5, the air thick with the oily tang of train grease and urban decay. A lone figure emerged from the gloom, their features obscured by a hood and tinted visor. Lena couldn’t immediately tell if the person was male, female or something in between. They held out a small black device: the ghost key.

“50,000 credits,” the figure said, their voice modulated to a low rasp.

Lena hesitated. Her life savings had already been wired to the untraceable account they’d specified, leaving her with little more than a sliver of hope that this wasn’t a scam. With trembling hands, she took the device.

The figure leaned in closer. “You know what you’re doing?”

“Not really,” Lena admitted. “But someone has to.”

The figure chuckled darkly and disappeared into the shadows. Clutching the ghost key, Lena hurried home, her heart pounding with fear and anticipation.

***

Back in her apartment, Lena connected the ghost key to her holopad. The device hummed softly, its interface springing to life. She entered the incident details: Junction Station, Day 14, 18:32, Subway Car 18A. A progress bar appeared, accompanied by a warning: “Unauthorized Access Detected. Proceed?”

Lena tapped “Yes.” Seconds stretched into minutes as the ghost key bypassed HaloSys’s encryption, each beep of the holopad feeling like a countdown to disaster. Finally, a folder of raw footage popped onto her screen.

Her breath caught as she replayed the incident. This time, she saw everything: the man in the hoodie slamming his fist on the pole, shouting loudly and threatening to kill everybody, and lunging at the young woman. The aggression was undeniable—movements charged with violence that the AI had inexplicably failed to flag. It was clear that Dale had acted to protect others, his intervention swift and necessary.

Lena felt a mix of relief and anger. The system hadn’t just failed Dale—it had failed everyone. She packaged the unfiltered footage into an anonymous file, attaching it to a message for FreeData Collective:  

“The truth needs a voice. Make sure this is heard.”

Within hours, the footage was leaked across all the main platforms. Social media erupted, with hashtags like #AIJusticeFailed and #FreeDalePorter trending worldwide. Commentators demanded answers, activists called for reform, and public opinion began to shift. But for Lena, the fight wasn’t over. Was there a way for Dale to get justice?

***

The courtroom was packed, the tension thick as Dale’s trial entered its final day. On one side, HaloSys lawyers argued that Dale’s actions were reckless, endangering the aggressor’s life and undermining the system’s authority. On the other, Dale’s public defender, Greaves, fought to present the leaked footage as admissible evidence.

“This new evidence is critical to understanding the context of Mr. Porter’s actions,” Greaves argued, projecting the unfiltered footage onto the courtroom’s holo-display. “It clearly shows the aggressor engaging in threatening behavior that the system failed to flag.”

The HaloSys attorney, a sleek, youngish woman with measured speech, countered. “This footage, obtained illegally, cannot be considered reliable. Even if it were, the system acted according to its programming. Mr. Porter’s failure to trust that programming is the true issue here.”

Dale, seated beside Greaves, leaned forward. “The issue,” he said, his voice cutting through the room, “is that your system made a mistake. I didn’t act out of malice—I acted to protect people. If that’s a crime, then we’ve lost our humanity.”

The judge, an older man with tired-looking eyes, rubbed his temples. “The court will deliberate on the admissibility of this evidence.”

As the room emptied for the recess, Greaves turned to Dale. “You’re making an impact, but don’t get cocky. The system doesn’t like to admit failure.”

***

Meanwhile, the leaked footage continued to dominate headlines. Activists organized protests outside HaloSys’s headquarters, demanding transparency and accountability. Former victims of AI misjudgments came forward, sharing their stories of wrongful detentions, ignored threats, and dehumanizing interactions with the system.

At the same time, a smear campaign against Dale emerged. Clips of his military service were taken out of context, painting him as a violent vigilante unable to leave the battlefield behind. Lena watched it all unfold from her apartment, her stomach churning. She wanted to speak out, to reveal her role in exposing the truth, but fear kept her silent.

Her holopad pinged with a message from FreeData Collective:  

“Nice work, but be careful. They’re watching.”

Lena glanced at the window, where a surveillance drone hovered briefly before zipping away. The message was clear: no good deed went unnoticed.

***

The courtroom was silent as the judge returned to deliver his verdict. Dale sat motionless, his face a mask of calm despite the storm raging inside him.

“The court has reviewed all evidence, including the newly submitted footage,” the judge began. “While the method of obtaining this footage is legally questionable, its relevance cannot be ignored. It is clear that the AI’s threat-detection system failed to identify the aggressor’s actions, leading to an incomplete assessment of the incident.”

Lena, seated in the back of the courtroom, exhaled sharply, her hands gripping the edge of the bench.

“However,” the judge continued, “this court must also consider the broader implications of undermining AI governance. Mr. Porter’s actions, while well-intentioned, violated the principle of compliance with system protocols. Therefore, we find the defendant—”

The judge paused, and the room seemed to hold its breath.

“—not guilty of excessive force. However, Mr. Porter will be required to complete a compliance retraining program to ensure future adherence to AI regulations.”

The room erupted. Dale’s supporters cheered, while HaloSys representatives exchanged tense whispers. Dale stood, his relief evident as he shook Greaves’s hand. But his victory felt hollow; the retraining requirement was a thinly veiled punishment.

***

In the weeks that followed, the fallout from the trial rippled across society. Public trust in AI governance took a significant hit, with calls for stricter oversight and human checks on machine decisions. HaloSys announced plans to “improve” its threat-detection algorithms, though critics dismissed it as a PR stunt.

Dale returned to his quiet life, though he couldn’t escape the spotlight entirely. Interviews and book offers poured in, but he declined them all. “I’m no hero,” he told Greaves. “I just did what anyone should’ve done.”

Lena, meanwhile, found herself drawn deeper into the world of activism. She joined FreeData Collective, using her skills to expose other AI failures and advocate for transparency. She remained anonymous, wary of the risks, but the work gave her purpose.

One evening, she received an encrypted message from Dale.  

“Thank you. Whoever you are.”

She smiled, her resolve strengthened. The fight wasn’t over, but for the first time, it felt like they were making progress.

***

Months later, a new law passed requiring human oversight for all AI adjudication systems. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a step toward accountability. Lena watched the announcement on her holopad, the skyline of the city sprawling behind her. The drones still hovered, the AI cameras still blinked, but for the first time, she felt like they were being watched, too.

She closed her holopad and turned away from the window, her mind already racing with the next battle to fight. The system might have the power, but now the people had a voice. And Lena intended to make sure it was heard.