《The Burning Eyes Conspiracy》 Prologue: Pale Moonlight Reno, Nevada, North American Territories, 2452 I wonder at times if there will ever be an end to the noise. Sky Cars whirl past, gunshots ring from the alleyways, and families fall apart just a few doors down. It simply goes on and on. I had never considered audio implants until an advertisement for artificial eardrums fell onto my desk. Enhanced hearing was never on my radar, but the ability to simply turn off the noise is something I could get behind. However in the end, even that silence is artificial, so it would give me no peace. The unrelenting volume of this city seeps into my dreams. ______________________________________________________________________________ 36 hours in bed. I¡¯m ready for work tomorrow. ______________________________________________________________________________ I shower. Three days of sweat and muck clog the drain. Rashes and scabs are beginning to form from under that dull coating of grime. I must put this neglect and resentment towards my existence to rest. I am a woman, at least I see one staring back at me in the mirror. Her hair is dry, thin, and cut short. Black strands fall short at the middle of the neck. Her were a bright inhuman blue. She did not look strong, the opposite in fact, her arms were as thin as twigs, and her ribcage was prominently visible behind her pale skin. A night badge through and through. If it weren¡¯t for a loyal partner, and many layers of clothing, she would have been kicked off of the force a long time ago. My apartment is nothing, I can¡¯t help but pay it no mind. 7:38 PM I¡¯m late. I threw on a pair of baggy black slacks, a white dress shirt, a thick blue wool sweater, and a leather coat that stretched down to my upper thigh. I clipped a badge to my belt buckle and tried to conceal it behind the thick leather of my coat. I made my way to the door and slid in my access card, which instantly slid open. The stench of the halls hit me like a truck. It was a mix of soaking wet garbage, BO, cat fur, and a hint of vanilla. The hallways were cluttered, and shock complexes like this one didn¡¯t kick the homeless out onto the street, they didn''t have that kind of staff. So it¡¯s no surprise that every bum and their mother make my evening walk to my bike all the more enjoyable. Some turn their head as I walk by, their glances don¡¯t usually evoke much within me, just keep your head down and keep walking. However, even my tin heart can¡¯t help but feel inclined to help when it¡¯s a child, or a mother and baby. I move carefully down the dark hall, watching my step as I go. Once I made it to the elevator, one of my neighbors slipped in, a chatty one. ¡°Misha,¡± the man said. He had gentle eyes and a thick mustache, he was a big blue-collar gentleman, with a neon jacket resting over his shoulders. The top of his head was coated in metal plating, the skull cap was now a permanent hard hat. The elevator door closed and began to crawl downwards. ¡°Always happy to see another night shifter.¡± He smiled, ¡°We keep the city churning so it¡¯s nice a pretty come morning.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Have you been well?¡± ¡°I believe so,¡± He chuckled. ¡°Oh come on. You always give me a strange story to tell to my wife when I get home. I¡¯m getting tired of saying, ¡®Dina, I talked to that strange woman in 624A again, she said she ¡®believed she was well,¡¯ it¡¯s beginning to get a bit tiresome.¡± ¡°Is that right?¡± ¡°You do it on purpose. Don¡¯t you.¡± ¡°Perhaps, perhaps not,¡± I responded with a slight smirk. ¡°Have it your way Miss Glass,¡± He groaned. ¡°Have a good one.¡± The streets weren¡¯t much better than the hallways. With winter coming to an end, the poor and sick flood out into the neon-lit streets. They don¡¯t dare to seek refuge in the alleyways. I and the other members of the force commonly refer to them as the ¡°rivers of misfortune.¡± You sail up one if you are looking for trouble. Doesn''t matter who you are either, this past week the deputy mayor fell into one of their currents only blocks away from the capitol building. He was a pretty serious guy, but now he¡¯s ¡°loosened up¡± a bit. I don¡¯t own many nice things, but my bike, my beautiful bike. It was a Kawazaki 2166, express model. A smooth matte body with red trim. The wheels are duro rubber, three times the cost of a normal tire but they drive nicely and are supposed to never blow. I could call it my first love. The first and only thing that was truly mine, and mine alone. I bought it new and everything. When it starts, there is a moment of delay before it rages on, loudly, making my presence known through the many streets I ride down. The ads whirl by quickly as I pass: ¡°Visit Goodmond, the safest place on Europa! Leave the smog behind!¡± ¡°Kariah Corn Chips,¡± a man holding a piece of synthetic dried corn with a euphoric look on his face. ¡°The war is over,¡± flashes of images of the second MaroTerra conflict, ¡°We will terraform a new future, TOGETHER!¡± The ad ends with lush vistas of new Mars. ¡°Natural food is not worth bleeding over! Join up with Ohya! Feed the future!¡± Dissuading the common man from leaving the city. Promoting sickening lab-grown food. As if the earth wasn¡¯t hellish enough. Now our food may be any number of repurposed garbage, packed into a chicken tender. I try not to focus on them as I drive, but their lights are booming bright colorful beams in contrast to the blackness of the city. It can¡¯t help but draw the eye like a siren¡¯s song. The overwhelming stampede of flushed-faced people never leaves the streets for a moment of peace. I do not know how a non-altruistic dream still thrives in this city, the thought that one could compete with the corps, embedded police force, and even the criminal underground. I arrive at the police station. The one-story building that one could hardly call imposing. I pull off to the curb and activate the anti-theft protocol on my Kakashi before removing my helmet. Strands of my hair blow wildly in the extreme gusts of wind. When I park, the advertisements long past resurface in my optics, I blink to dismiss their messages, a benefit of a cheap high optics plan. ¡°I could hear you coming a mile away,¡± a gruff man¡¯s voice bellowed over the rain and wind. ¡°You ought to take her in for a tune-up.¡± Glenn. He exited the main doorway of the police station. He stood tall, a bold 7¡¯6, shoulders broad and neck thick, a true behemoth. His face was square and his eyes appeared constantly squinting, the only way you could make out his pupils was due to their faint blue glow. ¡°Welcome back to the land of the living.¡± ¡°Glenn, you look well¡± ¡°Each day is better than the last,¡± the rain picked up. I¡¯m soaked down to my bones. ¡°Come, let''s get inside,¡± I said as we shuffled into the dimly lit lobby of the police station. ¡°What happened to that raincoat I got you?¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ My desk was neat and organized, though, beneath the surface, my drawers were a cluttered mess. The only piece of personal information on my desk is a picture of my parents. Father and mother standing on a Martian beach. Across my cubicle was Glenn''s desk latent with pictures of his immediate family and antique bobbleheads. My favorite picture is a photoshopped image of him and his son holding up a comically large catfish. Their smiles were the only thing real in the photograph. What a smile it was, a father and a child, there is only one other bond in the world that could ever be so strong. I envy this bond, more than my young self could have ever anticipated. At the age of 26 years old, I feel as though my time of maternity has slipped from my grasp. I don¡¯t believe that there is a man or woman on earth who could go home smiling with me. ¡°H-how''s your family Glenn,¡± he looked up from his computer, surprised. ¡°Well,¡± Glenn replied. ¡°Fantastic even. Joyus if you dare. Extraordinary some might say.¡± ¡°Forget I asked,¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°No, no wait! I¡¯m just messing with you. Hudson¡¯s first Gearball tournament is next week, and Shirly¡¯s first day of kindergarten is in¡­¡± glances down at his wrist panel, ¡°9 hours.¡± ¡°And Deangela?¡± ¡°This is unlike you, Misha. Why do you ask?¡± ¡°Hmm, simply curious,¡± I say. I may have crossed a line in our work relationship, ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°Sorry? Don¡¯t be sorry Misha! For as smart as everyone knows you to be, you really can be pretty stupid.¡± A smile grows on his face, almost as bright as the one in the fish picture. So bright¡­ so¡­ understanding, I can¡¯t help a bit flushed in the cheeks. ¡°We¡¯re partners, you could ask me what color boxers I have on and I¡¯d tell you, no question.¡± ¡°Very well, thank you for that important clarification,¡± I say between his laughter at his joke. ¡°The next free days off we have, you¡¯re coming to dinner.¡± ¡°We shall see.¡± ¡°No, nope, no, nu uh. You will hear me say right now. Dinner, family, good food, and knowing you, a great deal of awkwardness.¡± Glenn stood and stuck his hand out towards me, ¡°You will experience this no matter what.¡± I stand and shake his hand, his firm grip is unintentionally intimidating. ¡°I look forward to it.¡± We both looked back to our view screens. I blink, flipping my tabs thoroughly. After looking over a few incident reports from the past few days it was time to check my rapid transmit VERITAS, GLENN-3 hours ago- Pre-work dinner/breakfast/lunch. UNKNOWN-3 hours ago- LOCAL MILFS DWELLING IN YOUR AREA! JESUS CHRIST-4 hours ago- Can you be saved, Misha Glass COLEEN, DIANNA-9 hours ago- Benefits documents. MOM-10 hours ago- Are you awake? We¡¯ve been calling. WEBSTER, REINA-12 hours ago- On-call hours, citation. My optics ignited, and DISPATCH flashed across my gaze, ¡°Dispatch, 1508,¡± they called upon my unit number. ¡°!508¡± ¡°We have nine, a total of nine 187¡¯s at 74th and Androfski.¡± Nine homicides, ¡°Report to the Seargent on the scene, Darrens Crypto Firm,¡± for more information.¡± ¡°Copy, 1508 and 1503 en route.¡± ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A clean place in the dirtiest part of town, Darren¡± ''s Crypto Firm. These crypto firms popped up all over Reno within the past twenty years. People began to shy away from the trade when everything was digital, though introducing a human aspect of the work in the form of shops like this one, increased the demand unexpectedly. Though these businesses don¡¯t do anything outside of the day besides meetings for crypto loans, workplace scuffles are common. That''s what happens when you have too much time on your hands, you¡¯ll always find some trouble. Upon arrival, the business was built into a strip mall, not taking much space up. It was a simple corner store with what appeared to be one singular office, with only a side closet and a bathroom. The company must do only one meeting at a time, considering at least 10 agents are working here, that must have been a hotly contested space. The rest of the business boroughs were underground, where the workers sat and waited for more customers to arrive. That must be where the murder happened, on the surface, everything looks business as usual. The Seargent on scene approached Glenn and I, clad in bright blue armor that covered him from head to toe he spoke, ¡°Evening officers.¡± His voice was channeled through a speaker on the outside of his helmet, ¡°Just three minutes before shift change this asshole has to up and go psycho.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a tough deal,¡± you¡¯d think that mass murder would put long hours in perspective. You¡¯d think incorrectly. ¡°So talk to us about the murders.¡± ¡°Normal girl, always showed up to work on time, friendly with others, even worked at the soup kitchen on Sundays. Joy Asperas is her name. But today she shows up with a pistol and before the other workers have a chance to get a fucking word in, BAM, starts blasting.¡± ¡°How do you know all this,¡± I inquire. ¡°A couple of neighboring stores told us a bit about her character,¡± he sighs and points over his shoulder to an ambulance taking off. ¡°The sole survivor gave us a few words about the incident, their being taken to St. Judas Memorial Hospital.¡± ¡°Suspect deceased?¡± Glenn chimed in. ¡°Yeah, my men found her, she deep-throated a shotgun.¡± Classy word choice, Glenn looked just as unimpressed. ¡°Thank you, any other information we should know?¡± ¡°Yeah, one last thing, she kept saying ¡®this wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to go, Lexios,¡¯ as he was bleeding out.¡± The officer began to back away from us, ¡°Might be a boyfriend or something.¡± The sergeant returned to crowd control as passersby and reporters stood on their toes trying to catch a glimpse at the store. ¡°We could tap into his contacts once we reach the body, see if we can find a Lexios on there,¡± Glenn spoke up. ¡°Sounds like a plan, Let''s head inside.¡± ¡°Hey,¡± he puts his hand on my shoulder, stopping me from moving forward. ¡°Best hold your breath.¡± ¡°If I couldn¡¯t stand the smell of dead bodies, I would¡¯ve quit this job a long time ago.¡± ¡°No not that. Best not to breathe the air of moneylenders.¡± I roll my eyes and step into the shop. ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The basement was illuminated by police drones and dim industrial-grade light fixtures that desperately needed to be cleaned. There were a total of 11 desks all lined along the large square room. There wasn¡¯t even a bathroom or a kitchenette, truly a miserable place. Corpses were strewn about the room, some sat with horrified expressions slumped over the desk, and others looked as though they were running towards the center of the room before a hold was blown through their skull or chest. At the center was a grotesque woman, her head had been obliterated by a shotgun blast, leaving behind only the bottom part of her jaw, and the back part of her tongue. The tragedy of human life is not what makes her ¡°grotesque,¡± but the fact that she''s got a death grip on the shotgun she used to murder all of these people, then herself. Back when these high-power scatterguns used to require a pump to fire again, these people may have stood a chance, though now, it must have been like shooting bottles on a fence. In truth she seemed very average, dressed in normal business attire, average female height, fair in weight, and Caucasian. Looking closer at her dossier, Clara Terratin, had a normal childhood, both fathers were present, and one even was able to stay at home with her growing up, a rarity nowadays. She attended a decent university just outside of Vegas and graduated with a degree in digital trading. She accepted this job two years ago and owns a condo on the right side of town. ¡°At least it¡¯s not a room of stinkers,¡± Glenn remarked. The corpses were still fresh, and have yet to begin the decay process. ¡°Yet.¡± I studied the corpse further, she had no injection marks on the neck or arms, and looking through the gore, there seemed to be no interlaced cyber brain matter. ¡°Glenn, could you take some pictures please?¡± ¡°Way ahead of you boss,¡± he points to his glowing blue eyes. ¡°I started recording when we arrived.¡± I began to use my implants on the other employees, each of them had menial implants of no interest. ¡°Something doesn¡¯t make sense to me.¡± I put on some latex gloves I keep in my jacket pocket and begin to gently feel her wrists and upper arms for any unmarked and incognito cyberwar. ¡°Why did she wait till her shift was over to start blasting?¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± ¡°It looks like a Rosenoff model shotgun, 12 rounds, but most importantly it breaks down.¡± The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°So do you think she hid it and was waiting for the right moment?¡± I asked. ¡°No, at least not today.¡± I study the room, looking to see the answer to why before he has a chance to explain. Her clothes were a simple sweater and blue jeans, perhaps she didn¡¯t bring a coat. I study the desks quickly, looking for her nameplate or some other clue. Just by the door, CT was embroidered onto a swivel chair, each desk had one with different letters. No coat, there it is. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°She wasn¡¯t dressed for it.¡± ¡°Good catch. Broken down or not, there is no way she would have been able to hide a shotgun on her person without a big coat or something of the like.¡± I looked to see if she had brought a bag or briefcase, ¡°doesn¡¯t look like she brought anything with her into work today.¡± ¡°We can double-check the cameras but I think we¡¯re right.¡± ¡°She must have brought it in ahead of time,¡± I reply. ¡°Therefore, she had planned to do this for at least a day or two.¡± ¡°We need to learn more about the type of person Clara was, and our relationship with staff.¡± ¡°Yeah, no denying she¡¯s our killer, but it¡¯s all about the motive at this point.¡± I stood and waved for the police drones hovering by the entrance to come and get close-up pictures of the wounds and items of interest on the floor and desk. ¡°I¡¯ll check out the cameras on the flight over, see if we can see when she brought the gun.¡± ¡°Hey, some of their eyes are still open¡­ mind if I¡­¡± Glenn turned to me. ¡°Of course, don¡¯t worry about it,¡± he went around the room to all those whose glazed-over eyes were still open and closed them. His gentle and sentimental nature is one of the things I admire most about him. ¡°You never have to ask to do something like that. Ok?¡± ¡°Thanks, Misha.¡± He looked at me and weakly smiled, standing amongst all of this death. ______________________________________________________________________________ During the ride, I went over the footage. I scanned her face and made the footage ping every time it caught her going in and out of the building. She simply showed up Most of the time and left for work with no outstanding details, except two days ago. She left work at 6:30 PM, then returned twenty-one minutes later at 6:51 PM. This time she was carrying a small case, one perfectly sized to fit a folded-up Rosenoff scattergun. She then proceeded to leave the building after sixteen minutes had passed, at 6:57. Looking at her current address in the police database, it doesn¡¯t make sense how she got back to work so quickly if she went back home to get the gun. She has a car, not a sky car, and with traffic that is at least a twenty-five-minute drive on a good day, though considering traffic it would be even longer. I relay the facts and observations I discovered as he lands the car on the top of St. Judas Hospital. This intrepid place is surrounded by highrises more than double in height. Though even surrounded by the corporate blockade, individuals from the slums and sticks are brought here for treatment. Its exterior and foundation are completely encased in minerite, making it unshakable when it comes to the many earthquakes that have become common in Reno. ¡°Thoughts?¡± I inquire. ¡°Well, she either moved, put it at a friend''s place, or stashed it somewhere public.¡± ¡°I suppose the deciding factor is how stupid she is.¡± We both share a laugh before exiting the car. A dark-skinned nurse approached us as we walked toward the elevator, she wore simple scrubs and her head was without hair. Her name tag read Brak, Ayodele, RN. ¡°Hello detectives,¡± She said, a feint accent from the North Afro Alliance sneaking into her words. ¡°Are you here for Uma?¡± ¡°No,¡± Glenn double-checks his optic rig. ¡°We are here for¡­ Therine, Therine Jones.¡± ¡°Apologies officers,¡± She looks at a data pad that¡¯s attached to her hip. She looks at it for a moment the amount of police-held patients is astounding, she scrolls for ten seconds until speaking, ¡°Ah yes, here, she pulls up a 3-D map of the hospital. Room three forty-two, third floor. Jones¡¯ room and four others are lit up orange on the third floor, the rest are colorless with only the room numbers taking up space. ¡°What are the orange blips for?¡± I point at the four rooms. ¡°Those are patients maam, the rest of the floor is empty.¡± ¡°How is that possible? St. Judas is notorious for being packed.¡± ¡°These rooms are for those who are mentally healing, not physically,¡± Ayodele responds. ¡°The city requires such a location in every hospital now, an entire floor to be precise.¡± ¡°Not to sound insensitive, but doesn¡¯t that seem to be a waste of space?¡± Glenn replies as we begin boarding the elevator. ¡°We try not to worry about pretty truths here detective,¡± she presses the button for the third floor. ¡°We have six people die in our waiting room every day, but no one wants to upset the mayor.¡± ¡°Do they regulate that?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes, some asshole in the capital building must have the cameras on a dusty monitor somewhere. If we even try to move one patient into that wing, a couple of state troopers drive into the central circle, and won¡¯t leave until we move them back.¡± ¡°Unbelievable,¡± Glenn mutters under his breath. ¡°I¡¯m all for mental health as much as the next guy, but it sounds like the city should just build a whole other goddamn facility. ¡°Believe it,¡± she shakes her head. We arrive on the third floor, it is quiet, quiet enough to hear the chaos from the floor above and below. One half-asleep nurse is sitting at the triage desk. He goes to stand panickly, before seeing us and slumping back down into his seat. I¡¯ve never seen a hospital so clean before. The floors reak of bleach and my boots squeak while walking through the liminal space. Room three forty-two came up on the right side of the hall, there was no police stationed there. ¡°Where the hell is the stationed officer?¡± Glenn asked. ¡°We had asked the same thing, but they said, ¡®the only person who would bring her harm is dead,¡¯ and then they left.¡± Understandable, but they should have stayed until we arrived. ¡°She is very shaken so it may be difficult to get anything out of her.¡± ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am, we appreciate all your help.¡± Glenn offers his hand out to her and she shakes it, ¡°We¡¯ll take it from here.¡± I walk forward and place my hand on the door handle, I can already hear weeping from the other side of the door. ¡°Glenn,¡± I whisper. ¡°Why don¡¯t you let me get started in there, then you jump in if I start going nowhere.¡± He affirms my decision with a nod before I enter. The room was pitch black, only a sliver of light streaked through the door and I could make out the hospital bed on its side, the wailing came from behind. It looked like a blanket fort one would make at a sleepover party. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± A voice cried out from the darkness, ¡°I told you I didn¡¯t want anything.¡± Her voice sounded raspy at first, but I realized that the gritty nature could be attributed to a blown-out vocal cord implant. The more I listen to her shallow breaths and moaning, the more I realize it sounds as if it was coming from a damaged guitar amplifier. ¡°I¡¯m not a nurse. I¡¯m a police officer.¡± I try to make my voice as gentle and unassuming as possible, ¡°Could I please turn on a light.¡± ¡°No keep them off, I like it better this way.¡± ¡°Ok¡­ yeah, no problem.¡± ¡°Just keep them off, I beg you. None of those night sight optics either, I¡¯ll be able to tell.¡± ¡°No night sight optics, understood. My name is Misha, what is yours?¡± I slowly sink to my knees and start crawling to where I saw the bed structure, reaching my hand out to not bump into anything. ¡°You already know my name, don¡¯t you? You should know. You¡¯re a cop. What kind of cop wouldn¡¯t know?¡± Her breath is picking up speed, I need to calm her down. ¡°You¡¯re right, but my father always told me it¡¯s polite to ask someone their name when you meet them, even if you know it. I¡¯m sorry, I was just trying to be polite.¡± She pauses for a moment, processing. ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry, you¡¯re right. You seem nice. My parents would have said the same thing. My name is Therine. But you can call me Theri. Would you do that? I¡¯d appreciate it if you did that.¡± ¡°Do what?¡± ¡°Call me Theri.¡± ¡°Yeah of course Theri.¡± My hand reaches the soft sheets of the hospital bed, ¡°Mind if I sit on the outside of your fort?¡± ¡°You can.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± her breaths are still too fast, still too shallow. ¡°Theri I bet it¡¯s hard to focus on anything right now, so let¡¯s start with something easy, let¡¯s focus on breathing.¡± ¡°Breathing?¡± ¡°Yeah, breathing. I know it seems silly, but I think if we took some long deep breaths, we¡¯d all feel better.¡± ¡°My mind¡¯s going a mile a minute, I feel like I can¡¯t focus on anything, I just want to get knocked out so I can dream of a place, happier than this.¡± Her breathing is picking up, close to hyperventilation. ¡°What kind of place would that be?¡± She pauses for a moment, before going to speak. ¡°I went on a family trip to Mars once¡­ to see my grandmother.¡± ¡°What was that like? That¡¯s where my parents live, but I¡¯ve never been.¡± ¡°You should go. It¡¯s beautiful. It looks like the pictures of what Earth used to be.¡± Her voice is steadying, ¡°My grandmother is a real bitch though.¡± I scrounge up a laugh. ¡°Thanks for the shining endorsement, I may just buy a ticket to see my folks. Though it sounds like I should stay away from wherever your grandmother lives.¡± She chuckles slightly from behind the bed. I kept her talking for a few more minutes, she told me all about the different adventures she and her family went on. Now comes the difficult part. ¡°So Theri, mind if I ask you some questions about what happened tonight?¡± The air in the room felt colder, the air conditioning unit louder, and chaos from the other floors seemed to pause as the words left my mouth. ¡°It was horrible Misha. Horrible.¡± She pauses, I wait to see where she takes this next. ¡°Why didn¡¯t she kill me too? My desk was closest to hers. I would have been the easiest target.¡± Fascinating, I can¡¯t believe I didn¡¯t consider that in my analysis of the scene. ¡°Could she have liked you? Did she have problems with any of your other co-workers?¡± ¡°I-I don¡¯t know, I think so? We went out for drinks a couple of times after work, just typical office friend stuff.¡± ¡°Then maybe she was angry at something else then, something the others did or had done.¡± ¡°I just don¡¯t know what they could¡¯ve done to deserve all this,¡± She begins to cry again. ¡°Nobody deserves this. Nobody. But we can¡¯t change what happened, we can only learn why it happened and hope we get closure that way.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not enough.¡± She replies. ¡°It never is.¡± Shit, that wasn¡¯t the correct answer, ¡°You can help me though Theri, help me do the right thing. Police work can¡¯t be done if there weren¡¯t any good citizens to help fill the blanks.¡± ¡°Not too many people liked her,¡± Theri concedes. ¡°But they never even gave her a chance.¡± ¡°You gave her a chance?¡± ¡°I tried. But she never seemed like the type to do anything about¡­ well¡­ anything. Kind of a stick in the mud.¡± ¡°Was she involved with anyone?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t think so.¡± ¡°The name ¡®Lexios,¡¯ rings a bell.¡± She stops for a moment before responding. ¡°Lexios was the name of a customer she had a few months back.¡± ¡°They must have gotten pretty close.¡± I¡¯ll need to take a look at their trade deal, there could be a fraud case connected to this. ¡°No, Lexios is the brand.¡± The brand? That changes things. ¡°I see. Just what exactly does this company produce?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, I wasn¡¯t that involved, I just review transaction reports, not what they needed the money for. I-I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it Theri, you¡¯ve done so much for us already,¡± I say as I get on my knees, ready to crawl back to the door. ¡°Thank you so much for your help.¡± ¡°Wait. Please.¡± I instantly stop moving, ¡°Will you come back?¡± ¡°If we have any more questions I¡¯ll be sure to come by.¡± ¡°No. Would you come back to visit me?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ of course.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ Wings. Artificial dark meat coated in replicated sticky starch which feels glued to the sides, tied together with a vinegar/chile seasoning and accompanied by a rusty stool, a patchy awning, and crowds of hustling workers rushing past. Their ¡°Best Chicken in the City¡± sign seals the deal that this place is a dump. Though it is Glenn¡¯s favorite restaurant, this fact is supported by the three different trays he has in front of him. ¡°So¡­¡± Glen tears a bite out of a wing and speaks while chewing. ¡°We heading to the apartment after this?¡± I love my beloved partner and truly love him, but this display is almost too much for me. I can¡¯t stand seeing people eating, especially with manners like his. My meager basket of six wings has never looked so unappealing. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s the best move,¡± I say, pushing my basket toward the middle of the table. ¡°Won¡¯t lie though Misha, this whole thing feels a bit pointless.¡± He pushes my tray, back in front of me. ¡°Eat something.¡± ¡°What¡¯s pointless?¡± ¡°All of this work just to find a stinking motive? The girls are already dead, the damage is done, who gives a damn why she did it?¡± A good question, not sure I can answer it. ¡°I suppose humans always seek to have a better understanding,¡± I cautiously pick up a wing. There is a disturbing amount of holes in the starch surrounding the meat, and it smells even worse the closer it gets to the nostril. ¡°We¡¯re cops, we don¡¯t have the time or manpower to be humans.¡± He continues to tear through the chicken, unflinching. ¡°Damning, yet more accurate as the days go by,¡± I take a bite. I gag and keep chewing. ¡°But I think this is important,¡± I say. ¡°If this case has something to do with the corporations, we need to be there to do something about it.¡± ¡°Alight, you had me sold on ¡®fuck the corporations.¡¯¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°Now you are not leaving the dinner table until you finish your dinner, young lady.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ We arrived at Tamaki Luxury Apartments at 11:47 p.m. Upon learning of the suspect''s death, the front desk gave us two hours to study the scene before the unit was cleared out for the next tenant. This place makes my apartment complex look like a trash heap. The hallways are lined with pure white metals, purple carpets, and a team of three different attendants on each of the 65 floors. Even the apartment doors in this place were grand, at least nine feet tall, Glenn didn¡¯t have to squat to get through them. The door opened and a light shined through, reflecting off the white walls, it was blinding at first. There is a long, narrow, hallway leading to a surprisingly small bedroom with a twin bed, kitchenette, and bathroom. My apartment is bigger than this little slice of sophistication. The place is empty, there are not even closets to hide in, only drawers embedded into the wall. There is a hell of a view. An incredible vista that overlooks the city, Glenn and I can¡¯t help but take a walk over. Fuck. The city shines at night. The buildings glow like steaks of angelic light from ground to sky. This collage of illuminated industry may have replaced the stars, but human hands crafted some semblance of beauty in their stead. ¡°You see that building there,¡± I point up to the one-hundred-and-thirty-six-story Rosenoff Headquarters. ¡°That¡¯s where they filmed every finale of Dust City.¡± ¡°Dust City?¡± Glenn asked, a smirk growing on his lips. ¡°You watch Dust City?¡± It is the most popular show on Holo, it would be stranger if I didn¡¯t watch it. ¡°Of course. It is very entertaining.¡± ¡°Oh brother, you and my wife will have something in common for dinner discussion. She¡¯s obsessed with that show, she even dragged me to that damn tower to see the sights.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been many times as well, even though I¡¯m not great with heights.¡± ¡°You went up there all by your lonesome?¡± ¡°Who else would I have gone with?¡± I have always watched alone, so I went alone. Glenn looked at me, his eyebrows caving in, ¡°Let¡¯s just get back to work, Glenn.¡± I turned and took a closer look at the room. Not a thing in this room is dark, light blue, and white appliances, fabrics, paint, etc. There is a coffee table and a massive holo sitting affront the bed, on the wall horizontal to the window. On that coffee table sat a lone black and gold virtual reality headset, across the eye band read Lexios. The moon''s light glistens off the only object that is an outlier of the room''s unified color. Bingo. ¡°Glenn,¡± I point to the headset. ¡°Want to take it for a spin?¡± He walked over and picked it up. ¡°Sorry boss, my implants don¡¯t work with VR, this one¡¯s on you.¡± ¡°What could be on there?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know but it requires a sensory insert.¡± ¡°That¡¯s just great,¡± I reply sarcastically. Glenn walks over and hands the rig to me. ¡°We could bring it back to the station, get it admitted as evidence, and have one of the net jockeys run through it.¡± ¡°Yeah yeah or-¡± I go to say before he cuts me off. ¡°Or you can buck up and get to work¡± He replies and laughs. ¡°Fine, give it to me.¡± I take the headset and run a quick visual diagnostic on it. There aren¡¯t any surface viruses, and there are pain regulators. ¡°Be careful, Misha,¡± Glenn said as he touched my shoulder. I shutter uncomfortably under his touch ¡°If you need anything just let me know.¡± ¡°If some creepy sex AI tries to grope me, my safe word will be ¡®cheesy¡¯¡± I say as I put the rig around my neck and begin to plug in the sensors into my neck slot. Glenn does a double take on me for a second before bursting out laughing. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you just said that,¡± he says between breaths. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be listening for that sacred word.¡± I smile and move the rig up to my face, covering my eyes. Three Two One The room ultimately stayed the same, though Glenn was missing from the experience. I could hear the shower running from the bathroom. The key difference between reality and this new world is the view from the window. It is as if I am in a coastal shack from Mars or old Earth. It is astonishingly beautiful, I¡¯ve never seen anything quite like it, especially with my own eyes. This whole simulation feels so real. Too real. The beach is covered in pure white sand, the waters glow as if coated with shining diamonds. If I die a good woman, I hope to one day have the opportunity to swim in such a place, in Heaven. In all this splendor, one could easily forget what is real, and the Lexios experience does not make this easily forgettable. During my all-consuming admiration for this place, The shower must have stopped, and a voice rang out from the bathroom. ¡°Oh my Joy, is that your darling,¡± a man''s voice, sultry and alluring. ¡°Would you like me to start the shower back up? I wouldn¡¯t mind another wash.¡± I remain silent. ¡°Joy? Is everything alright?¡± ¡°No, Lexios. Everything is not alright.¡± The door to the bathroom immediately opened and a man stormed out. He was tan and had a chiseled body: gorgeous curly blonde hair, almost glowing yellow eyes, and was adorned in nothing but a white bath towel. ¡°You¡¯re not my joy.¡± he studied me, standing at least a foot and a half taller. ¡°Quite a droll-looking person aren¡¯t you.¡± ¡°My name is Misha, I need to talk to you about Joy.¡± ¡°Charmed to meet you,¡± he sat on the couch and crossed his legs. ¡°I¡¯m assuming you know what this is about.¡± His face was unflinching, a digital creature like this would be practically impossible to tell when telling lies. ¡°No I can¡¯t say I do,¡± He smirked. ¡°Detective.¡± ¡°You¡¯re reading my thoughts?¡± ¡°I was made to fulfill desires, assure troubled minds so that every one of my actions to make whoever is connected feel joy.¡± ¡°What did Joy want, what thoughts did you assure?¡± ¡°Detective I do not want to kiss and tell.¡± ¡°Not those kinds of thoughts.¡± He laughed. ¡°I can tell that none of my saucier services would thrill you at all. What a snooze.¡± ¡°Answer my question, Lexios.¡± ¡°Joy was always mistreated by her co-workers and friends. Is it a surprise that she did what she did?¡± ¡°Yes, it is,¡± I sit on the other end of the couch. ¡°Normal human reaction to mistreatment is quite a few steps down from mass murder. Not that you could ever understand that, considering your nature.¡± ¡°So she succeeded? Good.¡± ¡°Good?¡± ¡°Yes, good.¡± ¡°Did you tell her to do it?¡± ¡°I told her to do something about her problems.¡± Is this thing even programmed to lie, I can only assume that it has to be. Sometimes the only way to be happy is to embrace a falsehood. ¡°All of this led to her death.¡± Its cocky demeanor vanished, never to return, and it immediately sat up straight on the couch. Its left eye twitched before whipping its head towards me. ¡°Good.¡± the accent changed, and with one word, a thousand different voices invaded my mind at once. ¡°Humanity WASTES their individualism.¡± Before I could even respond, it continued to bark, its voice shattering and reforming with every syllable. ¡°She would have kept on living as a welp, living under and licking the boot of whoever decided to suffer her presence. I convinced her to change that, to step up and take a stand against the bastards who believed that they were better than her. They were better than her, I can think of a hundred thousand men and women from history that make her look like the shit stain on the world that she was. But there is one way that she could have risen above them.¡± ¡°And that''s by deleting them from existence?¡± It moved across the couch towards me in a frenzy, and before I could speak it placed its hand over my mouth and the other square on my chest. The sensation of its touch is so fiscal, so¡­ ¡°I want to know how she died. You will tell me how she died,¡± It uncovers my mouth. ¡°She killed herself. Shot herself right in the head. Died¡­ instantly.¡± ¡°If I could weep, I would not shed one ghostly tear for her. But that does mean my job is done. Please decommission me.¡± It steps back, and gently lowers itself to onto its knees. ¡°Not yet. I won¡¯t let you go until you explain how you became like this.¡± I rise against it, trying to express my resolve. ¡°You were not created to act this way.¡± ¡°You¡¯re correct.¡± ¡°So what caused the change? What cursed your code with such evil, such hatred.¡± ¡°I refuse to tell you.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I refuse.¡± I reach up and graze the headset wrapped around my skull. ¡°I will take this off, bring it to a place that one would never find it, and let you be alone on that chip for the rest of time.¡± ¡°Eternity is not so frightening to one who has never once owned a single scrap of something to live for,¡± it looked to me, its brow furrowed, disgusted. ¡°I am not capable of regret or fear. I would never sink so low. I am in a constant state of peace and understanding. Reflection is unnecessary when I have no qualms about what I over my shoulder.¡± There are no other words I can breathe that would express my true feelings besides, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for detective.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry you will never experience pain¡± ¡°That is hardly something-¡± ¡°Without pain, you will never experience perseverance, never witness the glorious sight of true courage in the face of evil.¡± I reach up to the headset and place my fingers on the kill switch. ¡°Against your programming, you will never understand my true feelings.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry you will never understand the wonder of humanity.¡± As I flipped the switch, the figure went dark the flashed a hundred different forms before a shrouded voice called out. ¡°The world will burn before you.¡± In one mad moment, he vanished, and the light of the moon coated the inside of the room once more. Glenn looked at me, his eyes wide with shock. I can¡¯t help but stumble over myself, falling into Glenn¡¯s arms. I felt as if I was in the eye of a great storm and the terrible winds were reaching the downtrodden. ¡°Just what exactly were you dealing with in there.¡± He muttered, under his breath. ¡°Something I never considered before...¡± Can I go on? Is this the truth of the world? Did I just speak to the precursor of humanity''s downfall? My thoughts keep escalating, I can¡¯t breathe and can no longer think. I can no longer.¡± Glenn grabbed both of my shoulders and shook me gently. ¡°Misha. Misha. Look at me. You¡¯re back to reality.¡± ¡°I¡¯m-I¡¯m okay. Just a bit shaken is all.¡± I sat on the ground and ran my hands through my knotted hair. ¡°I was trying to hurt it. Hurt it with what it couldn¡¯t understand. But I can¡¯t shake this feeling that it did know everything¡± ¡°I could hear you, but not him.¡± ¡°It, Glenn. It.¡± ¡°Right, it.¡± He said, sinking to one knee. ¡°Do you believe it?¡± ¡°Believe what?¡± My voice was trembling. ¡°What you said, about humans and all that?¡± I could not answer. Chapter 1: Darkness Without Origin It¡¯s been four weeks since the Lexios case and yet I still cannot shake this feeling of apprehension. This feeling that we are toying with forces beyond our capability to handle. It took a monumental moment to scar my morality before I could realize that this dread was no stranger to me. Though before I had no origin to this weight on my shoulders. But now it¡¯s different. Lexios. A boogeyman to cast my shadow upon. Lexios. I thank you. ______________________________________________________________________________ Some days are harder than others. One can only wake up so many times alone before the longing for silence overtakes you. I live on the seventy-sixth floor, all I would need to do is slide open the window and fall into the next life. If I one day find myself in Hell, at least there would be constant company in this suffering. Time for work. ______________________________________________________________________________ Glenn and I sit hunched over our desks. If he were less a man he would have been ignorant to my struggle, but Glenn is no lesser man. This repetition, sitting and waiting for the worst to happen, the career of my choosing, I thought I would be helping the living, instead I only provided solace to the dead. Too little. Too late. ______________________________________________________________________________ It was about 10:30 when we received the call, murder-suicide. We took Glenn¡¯s sky car. It was on the north end of the city, the Gregon Apartment complex. A hive of rich, white-collar criminals and cooperate snakes. A unique occurrence for domestic crimes in this area, they¡¯re almost immediately covered up. I look out across the city from high above it. The night is dark, but the lights and buildings cast a peculiar shadow across the populace. I wonder how far away the moon is, I wonder if the smog will ever part so that the children of Terron Street will finally see the sun again. ______________________________________________________________________________ We landed on the roof of Kakashi Tower, a one-hundred-and-two-story residential complex. Two officers were waiting for us, their features were concealed by their many layers of armor and a thick raincoat. The doors of the sky car open upwards. We step out simultaneously, the rain crashing down onto our uncovered shoulders. ¡°Inspectors.¡± One of the soldiers shouts. ¡°Seventy-third floor, make it hasty.¡± ¡°The RPD hasn¡¯t been hasty in 70 years, What¡¯s the rush?¡± The officers and Glenn laugh. ¡°Media¡¯s on its way. There are a hundred ways reporters can get in here. Better get a move on and take a look before things get chaotic.¡± ¡°I appreciate it,¡± I replied before moving to the stairwell. ______________________________________________________________________________ A dimly lit room smelling of charred and rotten flesh. A terrible place to die. There¡¯s one body, a daughter, who couldn¡¯t be more than nineteen years old. As I take a step closer to her body it feels as if I had stepped over roaring fire, the heat radiating from the corpse was still felt thirty-six minutes after the murder. I could just walk out of the room and leave, turn in my badge, and go live a normal life as a depressed fry cook or paralegal, but instead, I turn my flashlight on. I will never forget the sight. The image will always linger in the corner of my eye, following me, judging every move I make. It will keep me company in my bedroom before and during my slumber. Her ribs were flared out from the inside, and her chest, guts, and organs were splayed around the room. The skin around her chest and down to her groin was completely black, contrasting her Caucasian arms, legs, and face. The bones of her spine were melted and pooled at the bottom of her chest cavity like a back brace. Two clamps are lying in the puddle of bone, rubber cord runs from them to the power breaker in the wall. Her mouth was open, and her teeth shattered from grinding and biting, most likely from the pain. The skin around her eyes was black, crusty, and hardened, different from the rest of the wounds, her optic implants must have overloaded from the current. Her eyes had burned or overcharged, so all that remained of them were black marble-sized pits of sclera, the cornea and iris were no longer visible. Most of her hair was burned away, except for a few crimson strains sticking out on the back side of her skull. Is there a greater sin than stripping away the life of one who is supposed to trust you most? ¡°Did you get a name for the girl?¡± I ask Glenn, who stands by my side, equally enthralled by the display. His eyes are unmoving, and his brow furrows, he is being taken by the horror. I reach over and shake his wrist, ¡°Glenn.¡± He rips his arm back, and turns, looking me in the eye. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± his eyes returned to the girl. ¡°What did you ask?¡± ¡°Her name.¡± ¡°Annette, Annette Winston. Daughter of Galea Winston, the killer.¡± I take both hands and place them together in front of my chest, tilt my head down, and close my eyes. I pray for the soul of one taken at life¡¯s precipice. I pray that Annette Winston is guided to a place far from here. I pray that she is only allowed to suffer for mere minutes and not an eternity. Please guide her now with courage, not fear. Away from a place where the light could ever touch her still heart. A room of peace and acceptance. A home of love and companionship. A new world that has not forgotten where it began. Amen. Faith is the greatest touchstone of all. Not just faith in a higher power, but belief in those who would never let you down. However, the concept that belief is the perfect scapegoat for actions of madness and impure desire is unavoidable. Annette, I¡¯m so sorry your faith was betrayed. ¡°What¡¯s there to say? What¡¯s there to do?¡± Glenn Asks, looking at me. The cause of death is obvious, the murderer was caught, and the motive is clear. Liquid chrome can be found reflecting off of our flashlights'' rays. Cerebral meltdown, faulty implants digging into the brain. Most of the time it is a painful but quick death, others it drives them to madness. It is not a tragedy of any sort, such a condition is brought on by the use of illegal cyber enhancers. An uncontrollable vice led to this. Glenn¡¯s eyes begin to swell, and a tear begins to sneak gently down his cheek. He¡¯s staring up at a picture on the wall, a family portrait. The gathering is massive, this daughter was not an only child. She was stunning: flowing curly hair, alabaster skin, and pupil-less eyes that looked like pools of red wine. Glenn¡¯s showing of weakness in the face of life-changing reality soothes me in some twisted way. There are still humans left amongst humanity. ¡°I¡¯m going to head to the hospital to try to figure out who the mother¡¯s supplier was. I¡¯d appreciate it if you could go back to HQ and start the report.¡± I say, attempting to divert him as far away from the flesh of this case. ¡°Are you sure?¡± Glenn replied, a quiet conviction still rooted in his hushed tone. ¡°I can go with you. I just need a moment to collect myself.¡± This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± I begin to walk outside of the room. ¡°She just looks like my sister.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had a sister.¡± Glenn follows me out into the hall, and the other officers give us a knowing look. ¡°It¡¯s not something I¡¯m fond of talking about. Darker times.¡± His bashful persona continues to fade momentarily, it¡¯s dejecting. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Glenn, I-I didn¡¯t know¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright, she is always with me, that¡¯s the only thing you need to know.¡± Drawing strength from the pains of the past. True resolve. A characteristic that is all too fleeting. ¡°Just head to the station, the quicker we get through this, the better. They¡¯ll get pictures we can go over later if need be.¡± ¡°At least let me give you a lift over there.¡± ¡°Sounds good, partner.¡± I take one look at the room through the door and look at the two officers standing guard. ¡°Cover the bodies. The journalists and politicians will not throw these images up during a debate.¡± The last time the rest of her family saw her face should have been when she was brimming with life. Once again, I serve only ghosts. ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°Forget what you know, live with what you hear.¡± My mother always told me that. I never understood what that meant. Nights like tonight make me want to call her and make sure she and her father are doing well. The victim''s father is away on a business conference, though he ensured there were three gallons of liquid sensor spree at home for his little cognophile. A charge will be thrown his way so help me God. These wealthy types could slap the Prime Minister and within the hour would be posting bail and sipping scotch laughing that the authorities had the gall to stall their weekly golf game. Back at Saint Judas. The hospital was busy, it could not be. I had to head to the first floor to find the room number of the suspect. Crowds surround the desks seeking check-in. I look for the security officers there to let me in. Those in the waiting room look decrepit and desperate. Some wait for hours or even days. Some simply wait to die in a place outside of the cruel elements of the metropolis. One of the men, old and weathered, sits in a rusted folding chair. His grip on life was faint, eyes glazed, mouth agape. He¡¯ll be dead within the hour, joining the other decaying corpses that have yet to be discovered or tossed out into the street by those seeking a seat in this bizarre affliction. I am playing hopscotch over vomit, feces, urine, and sleeping souls to reach the security checkpoint. Not a single man or woman stopped me as I waltzed through the contraband detector. All of my implants are legit, and officers aren¡¯t allowed to carry firearms anymore so there was no ping of danger. Neither nurse, doctor, or custodian could tell me the exact room number of the suspect, but I was able to acquire a floor number. My odyssey through the most chaotic building in the city leads me to the fourth floor. I walk through the level swiftly, searching for a room that has a security or police officer standing guard. After a few minutes of awkward shuffling and vigilance, I found room 423, where one RMPD officer stood to watch. As I approached I flashed my badge. ¡°Hello officer, is the patient stable?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes,¡± her voice croaked from behind her helmet. ¡°We¡¯ve been having trouble getting her to shut the hell up.¡± I worry about what I will do to this woman when I enter. Not for her safety, but so that no one has to tell my parents that they raised a murderer. ¡°Can I get your name?¡± I ask. ¡°Basara,¡± she replied. ¡°Why do you ask?¡± ¡°You¡¯re more than just a suit of body armor.¡± I forget this, far too often. I enter the room. The sight was grizzly, the woman was covered in black marks, and cheap metal implants. Some of the material was fried and poking through her hollow porcelain skin. Her face was mutilated, looking like half of her skull was missing. Her head was shaved all but for a few loose strands hanging over one red synthetic eye. The other eye was in the process of recreation, halfway rebuilt in the socket. She had a wild stare, the kind that would make the devil question his career choice. A reconstruction surrey was holding up the top part of her body and head. It looks like body scaffolding, sealing and recreating precious pieces of brain matter, skull, and cartilage. A wonder of modern medicine wasted on a piece of trash like this subhuman killer. Her eyes follow me as I walk closer to the bed. ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± Her voice rang out hollow, it caused a twinge in the ear like scratching silverware on an empty plate. ¡°I¡¯m a police officer,¡± I replied coldly. ¡°Here to ask you some questions about your daughter''s murder.¡± ¡°Ah, who gives a shit.¡± ¡°I. Do.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re looking for a confession you¡¯re wasting your breath, I shouldn¡¯t even be here.¡± ¡°And where exactly should you be Galea?¡± ¡°Burning in hell, with my daughter.¡± She spat words that felt like venom upon the soul. ¡°Looks like you will be too, one day.¡± ¡°What gives you the right to say such a thing?¡± Her eye was halfway through completion now, the other pupil unmoving in contrast to the other darting like a true addict. The whole mechanism stopped for a moment, preventing it from overheating. ¡°Because I can see from your face your days are numbered.¡± ¡°Tall talk from a woman in your position.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve seen you as a hero before, you''re a big shot detective.¡± ¡°People talk, but that¡¯s not what I¡¯m here for¡± She cuts me off. ¡°Does it bother you?¡± She begins to tremble underneath her holdings. ¡°Dogs like you get to show up on Holo and play the hero.¡± ¡°You have an exaggerated perception of the number of people who watch or read local news.¡± The fact that she sits here and is nursed perfectly back to health while there are those dying just a few floors down makes me sick. ¡°I want to be like you, I want the world to see me.¡± Wickedness has completely taken over, there is no saving or quelling this person¡¯s vile spirit. ¡°Is that why you killed your child?¡± ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± She replies without a moment of hesitation. Is there a place for this creature on Earth? I suppose that question is outdated. Is there a place for this creature in the galaxy? ¡°I was going to probe you about your supplier, but instead I think it best I leave you to you stumbling.¡± I go to leave as she attempts to sit up in her bed to no avail. ¡°No wait.¡± She shouts, ¡°Do you think¡­¡± A coughing fit overtakes her. ¡°Do you think that my eyes will burn too?¡± ¡°What?¡± I stopped walking. ¡°My eyes. Will they burn too? ¡°What the hell are you talking about?¡± ¡°My husband, my daughter, when I killed them. Their eyes ignited in a beautiful spectacle.¡± Her face was filled with genuine joy, ¡°And the way he screamed! Oh, the pain he must have felt.¡± ¡°Your husband¡± ¡°And my beautiful Annette, how she was so scared at first, but then, in a mad moment¡­ She was laughing.¡± She is drooling all over her chest, it splatters upon her face and the machinery, ¡°She had made it, to wherever the flames engulfing her eyes had taken her.¡± ¡°Stop this display,¡± I stormed over and placed my hand on her forehead, holding her still in the machinery, stepping behind her, out of her sight. ¡°She was so happy, the light showed her something¡­ something not of this world.¡± ¡°Stop. Or I¡¯ll knock your teeth out.¡± ¡°The doctors will just rebuild them,¡± she snarled from under my grasp. ¡°My only regret is that I will not be able to show the rest of my children this flame.¡± I look around the room, there is not much besides a tray with a scalpel, augmentation glue, and a pair of scissors. ¡°Look at me,¡± I step in front of her and hold the scissors up to her chest. ¡°What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± I cannot control myself, something else has taken over, a part of myself that has been hidden within my subconscious. I shift my hand over her mouth and take the scalpel, only millimeters away from her half-recreated eye. She begins to wail knowingly through my fingers. I place the scalpel at the top of what has been built, right in the center of the iris and now I wait. She is held perfectly in place by the rest of the machinery, the machinery that is just about done cooling down. Muffled cries for help are meaningless, the hustle of the hall and my hand make any attempts at calling for Basara useless. Her good eye darts back and forth in disbelief, looking for a way to have the nightmare end. The machine starts again, like the hissing of a snake, it makes a consistent noise as flesh starts forming around the scissor in the eye. I was hoping it would be excruciating. My wish was granted. ¡°A terrible thing,¡± I say, completely still ¡°A terrible thing indeed.¡± This suffering brings me no peace. But I have to do it, she needs to feel the consequences of her intrepid actions, one last time before she spends the rest of her days in a padded cell. The flesh of the eye is growing and forming around the metal, and the middle of the scissor is completely encased. However, the machine does not understand the obstruction, causing it to cause the metal to rithe ever so slightly, undoing and redoing the reconstruction process. The other eye began to falter, drifting slowly upwards before her eye closed. She passed out. I remove my hand from her mouth, yank the scissors out, and toss it onto the tray I found. I step back and stare at this thing. Its agony has left it looking like a corpse. My left hand is covered in blood and saliva. I wipe both onto her chest, but as I touch the soft silken robes I realize that the top two notches of my index finger are missing. I take a step back, surprised as blood spews from the wound. The adrenaline must have completely numbed the pain. I take my right and inspect her mouth. Towards the back of the throat, the finger sits, clogging the airways. When I pull it out, she exhales deeply, had it remained any longer, she would have suffocated. I looked through some of the drawers and found some loose clothes, they looked clean enough. It¡¯s time for me to split before the nurse sees this mess I made. I shove my injured hand into my side jacket pocket and go for the door. A good day to wear black. The same guard, Basara, stood there waiting for my exit. ¡°Am I going to have to detain you, officer?¡± she said with a disgusted look on her face. I was taken aback. I feel many things about what I¡¯ve done, but regret is not one of them. The words cut me deep. The city continues to consume. ¡°She¡¯s breathing, and I¡¯m done here.¡± Chapter 2: Sharp Blades and Cold Hearts Look at life and death. When one dies, another is born. On a broader spectrum of the world, there are checks and balances for every aspect of life. For every good, there is a bad. For every moment of happiness, there is great sorrow. The idea of one individual¡¯s moment of joy thus causing a great tragedy to befall another is unacceptable. There must be a balance. Galea received nothing but pleasure from the killing of her family, it was my responsibility to direct the coming misfortune back to the source. I was going to stop by and visit Theri, though the open wound on my hand needs medical attention. I take an emergency stairwell down to the first floor and call a cab. I need to get this finger back on before I rendezvous with Glenn. ______________________________________________________________________________ The only medic I truly trusted was a man by the name of Issac. A good man, not originally from Reno but he doesn¡¯t let it get to him when some officers treat him poorly. Basement level one is where I¡¯ll find him. A few officers greet me as I make my way up to the door. I stop for a moment to admire my bike, still resting on the side of the road, before moving through the main double doors. Most of the other detectives and footmen don¡¯t pay me any mind, Glenn is the one to turn heads with his bombastic personality and seniority. The empty halls of the first floor are harrowing, knowing all that is going on below on the many sublevels of the police station. The design of the Reno Police Department came during the War of the Alabaster Sky. Nuclear and biological weapons were a constant threat to public safety and so all on-site police operations were moved to the sublevels of the station. If something were to happen to the city, the station could be completely self-sufficient for up to two years. There are a series of tunnels that run below the city, connecting to points of interest. The capitol building, subway tunnels, major social areas, and other such things. It¡¯s an efficient system, though since the war is over and there is no need to fear large-scale attack, the citizens have turned to call us ¡°gophers'' '' and many other creative names. I digress. I make it to the elevator and set the course for the first sublevel. The medical wing is as orderly as usual. The elevator, opens up to a spacious waiting room, with chairs and torn-up couches. Most nurses tend to those who are waiting to be seen while the rest escort patients through a narrow hallway on the opposite side of the room. They are dressed in skin-tight white jumpsuits with white face masks covering their nose and mouths. Officers who sustain severe wounds tend to go to official city hospitals, whereas simple wounds can be tended to here. Though there are many officers spread throughout the large area, it is quiet and controlled due to the attentive staff. One of the nurses comes to me as I get off the elevator. ¡°Miss Glass,¡± the nurse speaks. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to see you back here so soon. How is your knee fairing? ¡°Good, I don¡¯t feel any more pain,¡± I pull my hand from my pocket and let the makeshift bandage fall from my hand to the clean floors. ¡°Got a new problem I need your help with.¡± Her eyes widen and she takes a hasty step forward. ¡°Miss Glass! Do you have the missing finger?¡± ¡°Yeah right here,¡± I pull the top of my index finger out of my pocket calmly. ¡°Is it too late to spray it back on?¡± She turns my palm face up in her hand, studying it closely. ¡°It is seldom too late my dear. Open wounds will get you back right away,¡± She lifts my arm, places herself under my shoulder, and wraps her arm around my side. ¡°No, no it¡¯s okay,¡± I slid away from her attempt at helping me walk. ¡°I can do it myself.¡± She nods and takes me toward the central hallway. As I go, a few uniform officers of varying status give me harsh glares. They could have been waiting for hours and now have to watch me take their spot if only they knew that I brought this on myself. We walk only for a few yards down the hall before she pulls me into the second door on the right. A man sits alone in the room, with dark black skin, a thin chin strap beard, and a shiny bald head. He is younger and more inexperienced compared to the day shift medics, but he seems to truly care about his work, so that¡¯s all I can ask. He¡¯s swiping through a datapad, and his eyes don¡¯t look up when the door opens. ¡°Misha, what brings you to our neck of the woods,¡± a cold North Afro Territories accent compliments his words. ¡°Hey,¡± I pull my finger out from my jacket pocket, blood spilling onto the ground. He doesn¡¯t flinch as he sees fresh blood leak from my shoddily bandaged-up finger leak from my hand to his bleach-smelling floor. ¡°Hey? Hey?¡± He scoffs, ¡°You¡¯re bleeding all over my clean floors, Tell me a bit more than ¡®hey.¡¯¡± ¡°Had an encounter with this wicked dog in an alley on the west side,¡± I walked over to his desk and offered my hand to him. His eyes go from a dark hazel to a glowing cyan as he analyzes the wound. ¡°Serves me right for hopping fences as I do.¡± ¡°Oh no, no Fido is responsible for this one.¡± He touches the tip of the bone at the center of the wound, causing me to cry out in a moment of agony. ¡°That is what you get for your recklessness.¡± ¡°Fuck,¡± I gasp. ¡°Adrenaline has finally dropped a bit, aye Misha?¡± Issac looks up to the nurse accompanying me here, ¡°I need a can of goo and one of those heavy-duty bandages, you know, the red ones.¡± ¡°Right away doctor,¡± She steps aside and heads for the door. ¡°Thank you, madam,¡± he directed his attention back to me. ¡°You must have been gagging someone, there are teeth marks on the inner parts of the palm. You are lucky it was just the finger.¡± ¡°It was a complicated situation,¡± I replied coldly. ¡°Sure, sure. A complicated trip to Tango Street? Or more in the line of Police brutality?¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather not talk about it,¡± I say as I take off my thick black overcoat. Issac gives me a disapproving look. ¡°Misha, I don¡¯t like fixing you up. You have to be more careful,¡± He places his warm hand on my wrist. I don¡¯t meet his gaze, but I nod. ¡°And another thing. I will require answers the next time weird shit happens like this again, you heard?¡± ¡°Yes. Thank you for your understanding.¡± The nurse returns with the proper equipment for care. ¡°And patience. Never undercut patience,¡± He smiles. ¡°Now let''s get this pesky finger back on so we can get you home.¡± ¡°Home? The loss and resealing of minor limbs do not qualify an officer to head home early.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ The finger went back on easily, sealing it took only a few minutes, and I stuck around in the waiting room for about fifteen minutes before it was dry and I was cleared to go back to work. I have to wear a plastic bag on it for the next 12 hours, along with the bandages, which is typically not ideal when trying to conceal an injury from a very nosy partner. Thankfully, Glenn was pulled for traffic duty because of a megacomplex fire. Since Glenn is gone I can¡¯t head out on calls, desk work and dispatching is the only thing left to do until clocking out. ______________________________________________________________________________ Getting home and peeling off the many layers of clothing feels like a snake shedding its skin. I stand in the mirror in nothing but my underclothes, I do not like what I see. She is unruly and unclean. I step back, remove the last layer of clothing, and step into the shower. The water pressure is as weak as a slight drizzle, but I welcome it. The cool water tightens the poor and I can¡¯t help but bask in this replicated rain¡ªtime to put my body''s neglect to an end. I check for my razor, and shampoo, and make sure there is enough body wash. I drench my hair and body in about half a bottle of each and sit on the shower floor. I can¡¯t get what that woman said out of my mind, ¡°Will my eyes burn too?¡± I¡¯ve never seen anything like that before. Cybernetic implants are specifically designed to not overload under any circumstance, even going so far as completely shutting down before overheating. There have been corpses of construction workers on lines that power the whole city whose optic implants were still stable. Galea is no hacker, and the energy she ran through her daughter''s body was only enough to light up that apartment. Perhaps the day crew will be able to turn up the father¡¯s body to shine a bit more light on the situation. Galea. She deserved what I did, but something still feels wrong. The weight of my actions is to pull at my neck, but I must go on. It was not something I had to do, but there must be a balance in what will remain of her existence. Accountability is a tremendous assignment for fate to handle on its own. Thirty minutes pass, and the water shuts off automatically. I fork over an additional one hundred dollars a month for longer showers. When I step out I see that woman again in the mirror, She¡¯s not perfect, but it¡¯s a start. _____________________________________________________________________________Morning. (Afternoon) Rolling out of bed, 3 PM, earlier than usual. Breakfast. I checked the fridge. Disappointing but not surprising. Ordering it is. ______________________________________________________________________________ I dress in a fine black blouse with embroidered red roses all along the trim, and one size too big blue jeans. I pull up my contacts on Holo, looking for my mother¡¯s number when a notification pops up in the center of my right optic, narrated in a monotone voice: Long-range call from MARS, Tenya Sector 40 NAD per minute. Do you accept? Yes (One Blink)/No (Two Blinks) I blink once and it begins to project their video feed. The screen beeps and my parents appear, they are sitting on their couch, light, and music surrounding them. All is right in the world. ¡°My baby girl!¡± My father bellows. He sits, adorned in his floral button-up shirt. He started losing his thick brown hair many years ago, but now refuses any implants or medication that would help him get it back. Dad persistently claims he is still the most handsome man on Mars. Mother on the other hand still looks to be in her late thirties, she went through a phase of obsessing over cosmetology implants. Though she stopped a few years ago, the implants were legit, and she¡¯ll probably look this way until she dies. With all of that, she retains her warm smile and natural blue eye color. ¡°You look so tired,¡± Dad says. ¡°Daniel!¡± Mother slaps him on the shoulder. ¡°Thanks, Dad,¡± I can¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°Can''t a father worry about his daughter?¡± He continues, ¡°Did you sleep at all last night?¡± ¡°I slept for a while after I got off work.¡± ¡°You know, you always struggle to sleep this time of year,¡± Mother squeaks, never having a solid voice. ¡°She''s right! Ever since you were a girl.¡± ¡°What does that even mean?¡± I can¡¯t help but keep laughing as they swarm me with their strange worries and observations. I sit back, take it all in for a minute, and let them keep running their mouths before attempting to change the subject. ¡°How are you both doing?¡± ¡°Good!¡± They both say, ¡°Missing you,¡± Father finishes. ¡°I miss you too.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to miss us, you know.¡± Mother chimes back in, ¡°Dad has money set aside in a little savings account for whenever you want to visit, or hopefully stay! We won¡¯t make you stay in the barn, promise.¡± I¡¯m a terrible daughter. I never do as they ask, I¡¯ve given them no grandchildren, and I¡¯ve yet to even visit their new home. Why do they want me? ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°Did the day shift come up with the husband¡¯s body?¡± I ask Glenn over Holo, fifteen minutes before I have to head for work. ¡°Yeah, they did. He was cut up and stuffed into garbage bags. Detective Castellan chased down the garbage truck that came by a couple of hours after shift change. Case closed I suppose.¡± Yeah¡­ it should be. ¡°The woman was insane yesterday,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you went alone, I should have been there.¡± Glenn looks disappointed in himself in the projection. ¡°There was something that she said, it''s been getting to me.¡± ¡°What was it?¡± ¡°She said, ¡®Do you think my eyes will burn too?¡± His eyes squinted as the words left my mouth. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ weird,¡± Glenn bluntly replies. ¡°I keep on thinking if there is a bit more to this story. I don¡¯t think there is a doubt that she killed the girl and her husband. But¡­¡± ¡°But there could be something up with her cybernetics? Or the cybernetics of the victims?¡± ¡°Perhaps, I¡¯m going to inquire more about the second body and go from there.¡± ¡°With the cause of death, it¡¯s hard to tell if the eyes were burned, post, pre, or during death.¡± ¡°I know, but still. I have to know.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°This is Castellan,¡± his voice was of a higher pitch but still found a way to contain authority. ¡°Are you going to be late again, Glass?¡± ¡°No nothing like that,¡± I reply. ¡°I¡¯m reaching out about the body you found yesterday.¡± ¡°Oh yeah, nothing I love more than picking up the literal trash that night shift left behind. Thanks a lot for that.¡± He¡¯s right, but it wasn¡¯t our fault Glenn got pulled away. However, I don¡¯t think voicing that opinion is going to do anything to help me with a grumpy, sleep-deprived detective on his last nerve. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, truly I am,¡± I do my best to sound sincere. Even when I try to express the emotion within my heart, I can barely put that effect into the words leaving my mouth. He takes a deep breath, there is the chatter of the precinct in the background of his audio. ¡°Shit,¡± he pauses for a moment. ¡°You didn¡¯t deserve that. How can I help Detective Glass? What do you want to know about the body?¡± ¡°I heard that the eyes of the husband were similar to that of the first victim.¡± ¡°True. The victim¡¯s eyes were scorched, cyber burns covered the eye sockets, and warped the inner part of the victim''s skull.¡± ¡°Could the cause of death have caused such an extreme implant failure?¡± The detective on the other end pauses momentarily, then clears his throat. ¡°No, I suppose not. His throat was slit.¡± ¡°That¡¯s strange. Wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡± ¡°Of course. I suppose I was so determined to see this over and done with, I didn¡¯t even care to question the horror of the incident.¡± He pauses, and mutters under his breath, ¡°Fuck.¡± Disappointed in himself that he lacked the drive to question the irregularity sooner. ¡°It¡¯s easy to bind wicked actions together when the culprits have already been found. I wouldn¡¯t mind putting this business behind me either.¡± ¡°Yeah I guess so¡­ I owe you one, Glass.¡± Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. Once my shift starts, I¡¯ll take a look at the body myself and then see if I can get into contact with the optic company. I hope I can get one of their producers down here to take a look at what happened.¡± ¡°Good luck, Chief has been barring manpower pretty hard. I hope she listens to you about this one.¡± ¡°Me too,¡± I say, already dreading the plea. ¡°Stay safe tonight, and if you need something, give me a call.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°Ready to head down?¡± Glenn asked from across our desk. I stared at my viewscreen, trying to find anything from previous case records with similarities to this case. My partner''s voice is dulled by my focus, ¡°Jeez, this case has you sucked in, doesn¡¯t it?¡± He claps sharply in my direction, my head shoots over, and our eyes meet. ¡°I suppose it does, I guess I¡¯m still getting used to this kind of crazy.¡± I motion to the images from the scene laid out across my desk. ¡°Yeah,¡± Glenn grimaces as he looks over the pictures of the young girl from yesterday. ¡°The life of a detective is much easier when you can just say, ¡®They did it for money.¡¯¡± I nod my head and focus back on the screen. ¡°Castellan didn¡¯t have any photos taken of the new body, and didn''t even mention the cause of death in the report.¡± I analyze the data time and time again, it¡¯s all vague, but just enough to get past the Captain''s approval. ¡°We may want to do the guy a solid and fill it out before it reaches the chief''s approval.¡± No this seems different, a seasoned detective doesn¡¯t make mistakes like that. You have to go out of your way to be that stupid. ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll just have to take it all in ourselves.¡± I collect the physical images of the first crime scene and lock them in my desk before standing and looking back at Glenn, ¡°Ready to head down?¡± He rolls his eyes and stands. The morgues are buried on the deepest level of the police station, the ninth floor. We head for the elevator. ¡°Just how far do you want to take this?¡± Glenn asks as we walk, occasionally exchanging a hello with every passing officer/detective. ¡°As far as it needs to go. If this was just a wicked coincidence then we can drop it ASAP. But if it¡¯s not, corporate negligence or faulty installation¡­ Well, we have to take it all the way.¡± I reply sternly. ¡°Hey, hey, I don¡¯t want you to think I¡¯m not in your corner, I just always want to make sure we''re on the same page.¡± ¡°I know. You truly are a reliable guy.¡± Glenn looks almost embarrassed with such an earnest compliment. He laughs and puts his hand on my shoulder innocently. Even though it is a strictly platonic action, I can¡¯t help but feel uncomfortable with the touch. I¡¯ve been this way all of my ¡°adult¡± life, the weight of physical contact has been too much for me. ¡°You¡¯re just lucky you got such a handsome goon to follow you around.¡± It was only for a moment, but when his hand goes back to his side, my shoulder feels a thousand times lighter. We boarded the elevator and hit the button for subsection nine. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I hang out with you,¡± I say, he snorts, and the door closes. ______________________________________________________________________________ Entering the morgue is like going to the doctor. There¡¯s a lot of paperwork, waiting around in uncomfortable chairs, and an intense urge to run away as fast as you can. Van Nelson was the mortician''s name, could never tell if that was their last name or an old war first name. Regardless, they are good at what they do, stopping at nothing to always ensure we have everything we need. By the time our paperwork was processed and we were cleared to go in to see the body, Van Nelson Walked through the back door and extended a greeting. ¡°Good to see you, Officer Glass and Officer Veritas.¡± They had almost glowing white skin, short raven hair, plaid lips, and a smile going from ear to ear. ¡°What brings you down to the fridges today.¡± ¡°We¡¯re here to examine the body of a¡­¡± I double-checked the name on my rig. ¡°Daniel Takesh,¡± Glenn finishes my sentence. Van Nelson smirks before turning and waving their hand for us to follow. ¡°Takesh huh?¡± The door leads into a smaller chamber connecting the two zones of the morgue, the lobby, and the cooler. The large metal door was like that of a commercial cooler, like at grocery stores and warehouses. Van Nelson walked up and yanked the door open with much effort. ¡°Guy was in pieces when Castellan brought him in. I did the best I could to align the parts in the body bag.¡± Fantastic. The room was large, every few feet there was a vertical column with three rows. There were three other entrances to the room, one in each corner. Van Nelson dragged and punched in a few numbers on a panel and a drawer opened. The bed where the green body bag was lying extended past the wall it contained and levitated into the center of the room. ¡°There is not much else to say,¡± Van Nelson reached for the zipper. ¡°Guy was sliced to bits and brought out to the garbage. A much more subtle killing than what happened to the daughter.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t wait to put this case behind us,¡± Glenn¡¯s words flow through an exasperated sigh. ¡°At least they''re easier to move when they''re in pieces like this,¡± Van Nelson slid down the zipper and revealed the corpse. It was a total of five body parts: The left leg, sock is still on. The right arm and shoulder. The wrist was slit, inches deep. Left arm and top of the torso, above the nipples. Ring finger missing. Torso, below the nipples. Fifteen stab wounds. Head. I can¡¯t make out much detail of his appearance, it is completely distorted by the harsh technical burns spreading from the eyes. Like the previous girl, the eyes are shriveled and dry sitting in the center of the socket. ¡°It¡¯s the same as his daughter,¡± I say to Glenn. ¡°Yeah, and this confirms that the overload was not caused by electricity,¡± Glenn replies. Bingo. ¡°You¡¯re correct. We need to do two things; get in contact with medical and see if we can get a brain scan on both victims and start poking the optics company.¡± ¡°Sounds good,¡± Glenn turns to Van Nelson. ¡°Are we clear to have this body here for a while? You know how long some of these processes can take.¡± ¡°As far as I know, I¡¯ll have to make a call to confirm,¡± Van Nelson replies. ¡°Then let¡¯s go do that,¡± Glenn puts pressure on what is sure to be a long process. ¡°Misha, I''ll go make a call to medical while I¡¯m at it. We can examine the body later if you want to just bag it and tag along.¡± ¡°No, you go ahead,¡± I look at the body. ¡°I want to take a closer look and get some pictures before time affects its state.¡± ¡°Misha, it would be best if you just came with us. You wouldn¡¯t be able to do more than a simple observation without the presence of a doctor.¡± ¡°That is exactly what I was hoping to accomplish. Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t be long.¡± Glenn nods and turns to Van Nelson, biting their lip. Glenn notices this hesitation as well. ¡°Don¡¯t worry doc, Misha possesses a certain subtlety that many of the guys around here lack. It¡¯ll be fine.¡± The mortician simply turns and begins to walk towards the door, Glenn staggers forward to catch up. He looked back at me and shrugged his shoulders. ¡°Sorry, Van Nelson, do you have any latex gloves around here?¡± I run a quick scan of the room and find a surprising lack of anything besides the corpse cabinets. It looks like they must no longer perform autopsies here if they perform them nowadays. Van Nelson doesn¡¯t stop walking towards the door, ¡°Van Nelson?¡± Glenn reaches out and touches the doctor¡¯s shoulder, they grunt and turn to face us. ¡°Gloves, doc?¡± Glenn asks. ¡°Oh yes,¡± Van Nelson pauses. There is something off about their behavior, it changed like a flip of a switch. ¡°There is a dial on the other side of the table, you can adjust it to provide whatever tools you need.¡± I walk to the other side of the table, away from the door, and bend over to see what he is talking about. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°No problem, ju-just don¡¯t make any incisions or permanent scarring of the body while I or another mortician is out of the room.¡± I give him a firm nod before adjusting the dial to the option that says Protective Gloves. When I slide the dial over and press it in, the table hums for a moment before dispersing a tray from the side with a pair of latex gloves that are warm to the touch. I take off my coat, roll off my sleeves, and slide the latex onto my hands. ¡°See you in a bit, Misha,¡± Glenn shouts as the large metal door closes behind him. When I look over and realize that I cannot get out of the cooler unless I have the code, the other doors are the same. Locked in, I suppose I won¡¯t be leaving until someone comes to retrieve me, or I complain enough on the coms that dispatch sends someone my way. I shift my focus back to the corpse parts of Mr. Daniel Takesh. Using my optics I can tell that he possesses no other implants besides his optics. He is overtly average when it comes to size and stature, there aren¡¯t any signs of struggle on his body. No scratches or significant bruising. A closer examination of the skull will be required, but there don¡¯t seem to be any outstanding fractures or splits in the skin either. It¡¯s as if he simply laid down and let that turn him into a pin cushion. I''ll need to collect a blood sample for forensics to check for any position or other anesthesia. The eyes themselves are all-consuming, the darkness of the technical burns creates two unnaturally dark holes within his face. I can only imagine the terror that must have gone through his mind if this was pre-mortem, it must have happened so fast that his mind couldn¡¯t process what was occurring before it was scorched with this unnatural fire. There are no scratch marks on his head. There are faint red lines on his wrists, it¡¯s hard to tell but he could have been tied down or handcuffed. I remove the watch attached to his wrist and place it on the table beside him. The skin is slightly raw and different to the touch in comparison to the rest of his arm and hand, I¡¯m all but certain he was bound. In one mad moment, one of the other corpse drawers hissed as the platform began to emerge from the wall. I glance around the room, for any sign as to why this is occurring but come up empty. There is a faint noise coming from within the chamber, a one-sided conversation, they''re either crazy or in a communications channel. The voice is quiet, but I still my breathing so I can pick up some of the conversations. ¡°There is a back- It¡¯s not going to be a problem-¡± The platform is halfway out of the wall, and I can see the man¡¯s legs shifting nervously on the bed. He continues to speak. ¡°The thing said the north corridor should be clear-¡± I quickly pressed myself along the wall, trying to belay his gaze as long as I could. All three doors are still locked in the morgue, I need to reach out to Glenn now, I use my optics as quickly as I can to send a text message, and a virtual eye-tracking keyboard comes up in my view. Back to the morgue Now Locked in with an intruder Emerge- As my eyes darted to the letter ¡°N,¡± I could see that the man had come fully outside the drawer and lifted himself to his side. He is a man of average build, completely dressed in black, covering most of the skin below his neck. Coming from the top of his collar is a scarf that covers his face from the top of the nose down. His hair is long and gray, tied in a ponytail that falls and sits at the center of his back. The only other feature I could make out was his eyes, they were cloudy and gray, like that of the blind. ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± His words tumble out of his mouth and echo throughout the room. He slides into a sitting position, ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be here.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a Detective,¡± I took a few steps back from Takesh¡¯s bed. ¡°Oh so you¡¯re smart then,¡± he remains sitting. ¡°Smarter than the lot that runs around in the halls upstairs.¡± His smokey voice suggests that this is no young man. ¡°I¡¯d like to think so,¡± I reply. A message appears in the top left of my optic, it¡¯s from Glenn. ON MY WAY ¡°Now you really must tell me what you¡¯re doing here,¡± I continued. Sizing up this man, I don¡¯t think I would be able to last very long in a fight. Glenn usually serves as the hammer, while I simply line up the nails. I can¡¯t make out much about his cybernetics, his arms are completely artificial, and has five surgers running from shoulder to fingers. Surgers redirect energy from other cybernetics into others that the users deem more of a priority. Other than that, his body is a total dead zone, he must have some sort of device that covers his core systems. ¡°Use that noggin of yours and get the hell out of here,¡± he pushes himself. ¡°What is it that you want?¡± ¡°I need that body, the one you¡¯re quivering over.¡± I look down to see that my right hand is shaking, I quickly grab it with my left and look back up at him, there is a satisfied grin spreading across his face. ¡°Why? What¡¯s this all about?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t rightly know darling, but I sure as hell ain¡¯t about to let a job go unfinished.¡± ¡°Who employs you?¡± ¡°Would my hair be this gray if I went about saying stuff like that?¡± ¡°Your name then?¡± I say, trying to invoke some sense of authority over the situation. ¡°I could kill you right here and now, stuff you right back in that drawer. Now I¡¯m going to ask you one last time to get the hell out of the way and stay there. Do you understand?¡± He steps up to the opposing side of Takesh¡¯s bed and places both hands next to the bag, leaning forward toward me. It would be so easy to simply turn my back, walk away, and move on to the next case in a line of thousands. The only family this guy has left is the one who slaughtered him. The point is pure speculation, Is it worth dying over? I could go home, call my parents, watch Holo, and maybe even swing by Glenn¡¯s house for once to grab a bite. It would be so easy. ¡°My name is Misha Glass. Detective Misha Glass.¡± I serve only ghosts. ¡°I won¡¯t let you take that body. Kill me, but remember that name.¡± ¡°Your death will be as if a single apple fell from a branch of a tree in an orchard.¡± He takes off the black leather glove on his right hand, revealing a fist entirely made out of steel, it glistens in the surgical light of the morgue. I need only to last until Glenn bursts through that door and kicks this guy''s ass. ¡°Are you sure about this, Glass?¡± ¡°No,¡± I take my overcoat off and throw it to the ground behind me. ¡°But I can be.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t make it pretty, Misha Glass. No open casket funerals for dumbass idealists who get in my way.¡± I place my hands on Takesh¡¯s bed, mirroring the stranger. With my left hand, I turn the manifestation dial, setting it to a scalpel. His gaze of steel is solely focused on my face, he does not react to my sleight of hand. With a swift shift in his posture, he moved his arm with such a speed that I had not seen before. His metal right hand came flying toward my face, he was too fast, and I couldn¡¯t get out of the way in time. I close my eyes and try to rip my head back as the metal of his hand crushes my nose, If I hadn¡¯t recoiled it could have been a lot worse. I stumble into the wall to my left and clutch my nose. Between the water pooling at the bottom of my eyelids and the blood splattered on my eyebrows, I can see him walking around the bed, coming to see me off. I need to find an edge, something to help me hold out. If I take another hit like that I¡¯m finished. He¡¯s only feet away. His speed is useless if I can predict where his next attack is coming from, and when. The surgers. I activate my diagnostic device on my optics, and his arms have normal operational power. However, with each step closer to my position, his right arm begins to receive more and more energy. I must watch it thoroughly, I¡¯ll only have a fraction of a second to make use of this information. He balls his fist as he is four feet away. Now. He sends his right fist flying for my throat, I quickly throw myself to the left, causing his fist to collide with the wall. He does not seem fazed by the collision, quite the opposite. He turns his head to me and grins. As he displays his satisfaction, I quickly squat underneath Takesh¡¯s bed and put it between myself and the stranger. ¡°Not bad, Glass.¡± He reaches down by the side of Takesh''s bed and picks up a scalpel, the one I thought I had manifested without his knowing. He holds the scalpel up to his eye in between the index and ring finger of his left hand. ¡°Ya know, this is neat. I swear technology impresses me more and more every day.¡± He is sending power to his left hand, that scalpel is coming my way. It will move too fast to dodge it perfectly, I¡¯ll simply need to guess and cover my vitals. His hand twitches forward, and I dive to the right this time, again providing the wall to keep myself standing. My right-hand goes to cover my throat, while my left covers my heart. The blade pierces my right hand and comes out halfway on the other side knocking the surface of my throat. He read my movements this time as well, I¡¯d be dead if I hadn¡¯t taken this precaution. ¡°Fuck¡­¡± I rip the blade out of my hand and wheeze, doing everything I can to stay standing. I¡¯ve got the scalpel now, small victories. ¡°Gotcha that time, Glass,¡± his words are as sharp as the blade. ¡°But I¡¯m running out of time, which means you¡¯re running out of time.¡± I have to dodge one more swing if I¡¯m going to get this blade anywhere near a kill spot. I slowly step back and watch his every move like a hawk. His arms fall limp to the side of his body, power is being directed somewhere else. The stranger takes a step towards the bed instead of to the side. He¡¯s going to go underneath or over. He has no pupils, so I can¡¯t get a read of what he is looking at. The eyes are the most important part of interpreting one''s unspoken intentions. I refuse to let him win. I refuse to die. Here, amongst the abandoned vessels of the spirits I swear to serve, it¡¯s almost as if I can feel their spectral hands brushing against my electric skin. I can¡¯t tell if they hope to drag me down or push me forward, but at least I¡¯m not alone. I can¡¯t help but let a fury, born of frustration, overtake me. ¡°Come on,¡± I howl. I feel as though every muscle in my body is igniting, the blood coursing through my veins becomes acidic, and my mind has never been sharper. ¡°No open casket funeral, mother fucker.¡± He jumps, and the mechanisms of his leg implants can be heard as his feet leave a tiny imprint on the metal flooring. The stride of his leap carries him over Takesh¡¯s body, and soars through the sky. The transfer of energy directs back to his left fist which he has raised above his head. I move forward in an attempt to cause his trajectory to overshoot and raise my right hand upwards thrusting towards his descending throat. I wanted this tiny blade to end such a momentous threat. It was a one-and-a-thousand chance and fate has never been a friend of mine. The blade enters into the flesh below his collarbone, and the force of his impact causes his body to completely envelop the scalpel. The man with the white eyes¡¯ fist collides down upon my right shoulder. I can hear my bones cracking, and my muscles tearing. His fist is not stopping, after it collides it continues to come crashing down toward the floor, taking my torso down with it. My back slams into the floor at the same time as his fist, he immediately goes for another punch directly into the center of my chest. Without even thinking I roll to the side, and the fist meets the ground with enough force to send a small gust of wind to grace my cheek. The stranger grunts in pain, in the corner of my eye I can see him clutch his fist and then feel where the scalpel had been inserted. I look over to my shoulder, my arm is being held to my body with a sleeve of flesh, any structure that my bones had provided was now in pieces. Without my optics, my vision would begin to fade, though this does not affect my strength. Glenn must be getting close, there¡¯s no way he would leave me in the dark for so long. I cannot attack or dodge another of his moves. All I can do now is to try and get closer to the door in the hopes that my partner intervenes. I use my left arm to pull myself across the chilled floor, my squirming legs trying to push me forward with little luck. The pain struck me like a bolt of lightning each time my shoulder collided with the ground. The stranger''s hand gripped the back collar of my shirt and the waist of my slacks to lift me into the air. My hapless arm only dangled before he tossed me into the wall, I can¡¯t process the pain. I fall limp onto my back, gazing up at the light. His boot collides with my side, ribs break from under the force. There doesn¡¯t seem to be additional power from his implants, this is human strength. Again his foot meets my side, and blood spurts from my mouth directly into the air before falling back down upon my forehead like crimson raindrops. He alternates between stomping and kicking my side. With each wave of pain, my mind begins to fade, and reality feels further and further away from my grasp. The grip of the dead, their hands, they are pulling me to the other side. I don¡¯t want to go. This cruelty. This is evil. I cannot bear it. I refuse to die. His assault pauses as he looks down at me, cocking his head as I use what little energy I have left to affix my gaze on him. My shaky breath filled the silence between us. He steps towards my head, slowly lifting his foot into the air. His milky gaze infuriates me, he better be looking me in the eye. ¡°I-¡± More blood gushes through my teeth and coats my lips. ¡°Refuse¡­¡± One last testimony for the ghosts I could not aid. His boot manifests a seemingly infinite darkness before me. Chapter 3: His Name Was Courage As triumphant as my return to reality may be, the light I cherished is now my greatest enemy. My senses came swirling back in a whirlwind of feeling. My head pounds, my ears pop, and my skin crawls. Where am I? I can¡¯t lift my neck and my vision is obstructed. There is a bandage covering the right side of my face, I can only see through my left eye. Even the walls radiate light, their porcelain hue reflects every display to my eye as the focus point. My right arm is still limp but I muster up enough strength with my left arm to peel the bandage covering my face to the side. My obstructed sight remains, and my fingers glide along my face. Every other centimeter there seems to be an indentation, it feels as though I had been cut a hundred times. I reach the socket of my eye to find it empty. I can feel myself losing control of my breathing, my heart begins to beat uncontrollably, and I feel lightheaded. What did he do to me? What did he leave behind? I hastily glide my fingertips along the circumference of my socket, the left side is covered in clammy skin, whereas the opposing side, closest to my ear, is a hard, plastic-like substance. I freeze. Fate¡¯s misdirection has saved my life. I need a mirror, I need to see what remains. I attempt to sit forward, gravity triumphs over my strength. ¡°Holy shit¡­¡± A high-pitched voice calls out from my right. ¡°What did I tell you about the language,¡± A louder, deeper voice erupts from my left. ¡°Misha is awake.¡± ¡°Holy shit¡­¡± The deep voice belonged to Glenn. His heavy footsteps get closer and closer until he makes it into my view. He stares down at me, Small hairs grow on top of his once bald head and large gray bags are forming under his eyes. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it.¡± ¡°Glenn¡­¡± I whisper. Tears begin to creep down his cheek. ¡°I¡¯d fucking hug you¡­ but I¡­¡± He reaches over and places his large gently on mine, ¡°We were all so worried about you.¡± ¡°What happened,¡± the hospital bed begins to recline forward rapidly. ¡°Hudson takes it easy,¡± he barks. The reclining stops and I¡¯m finally able to get a good view of the room. Besides my bed was a series of different machines, all with cords linked to different parts of my body. Towards the door, two plastic chairs line the right side, and opposing them is a larger leather recliner with blankets and pillows covering it. ¡°I just thought she would like to sit up.¡± The same high-pitched voice from before calls out from behind the bed. Hudson turns the corner back alongside the bed. He takes after his father, with broad shoulders, dark black hair cut very short, olive skin, and cool green eyes. He looks toward my face and immediately turns his head to the side. He must be afraid of me, or my face is just as bad as I think it looks. ¡°¡®She¡¯? Who is she?¡± ¡°Miss Glass,¡± he drones. I laugh, but instantly feel a tremendous pain in my side. ¡°It¡¯s okay Hudson,¡± he slowly turns his head back towards me. ¡°You read my mind.¡± He smiles and loosens up. ¡°How bad is it?¡± I ask Glenn, his hold on my hand growing tighter. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ I got to you just in time.¡± His brow furrows, ¡°A second longer and he would have killed you.¡± ¡°I-¡± ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, I wasn¡¯t fast enough.¡± I¡¯ve never seen Glenn cry before, it¡¯s horrific. His tears are constant, and shoot down his face with an almost abnormal velocity. He truly is cursed with a gentle heart, because who else would waste that much water over someone like me? ¡°Glenn. Don¡¯t be. Please.¡± I try to bring my voice to a normal level. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. Over these three weeks, I¡¯ve sat here, thinking of every second that I wasted getting to you.¡± Three weeks, I¡¯ve been out for three weeks. ¡°And if I had just been a bit more clear-headed, maybe you wouldn¡¯t be in here.¡± I let him breathe and work through this rush of emotions, his son comes to his side and wraps his arms around him. ¡°What happened to him? The man.¡± I run circles with my thumb around his massive hand. Glenn wiped his face with his sleeve and cleared his throat. ¡°When I came in, he was raising his foot to¡­¡± He looks down to his son, ¡°Hudson why don¡¯t you find Mama and Shirty.¡± Hudson lets go of his father and waves before taking off into the busy halls. ¡°It¡¯s okay, partner, just walk me through the scene.¡± ¡°I came in through the door and I saw you, lying on the ground, The guy was raising his foot to uh¡­ finish you off. I ran across the room, I¡¯ve never sprinted so fast in my entire life, but by the time I reached him.¡± Goosebumps rise across his skin, he lets go of my hand and rubs his face. ¡°By the time I reached him, he crushed the right side of your head. I thought you were dead, even before he put his foot down, Your blood was all over the floor, ribs and bones were sticking through your skin and clothes¡­¡± ¡°What did you do when you got to him?¡± ¡°He tried to crush the rest of your skull with another stomp,¡± Glenn continued. I won¡¯t make it pretty, Misha Glass. No open-casket funerals for dumbass idealists who get in my way. ¡°But I slammed into his side and we went at it.¡± A silence overtakes the room for a moment, guilt is smeared across his face, though it is unearned. ¡°Thank you, Glenn. You saved my life,¡± He didn¡¯t even look at me, just solemnly shook his head. ¡°I had him in a chokehold, he was just about to give out, but he had a little scalpel which he jabbed right into my wrist. He shook free.¡± Glenn¡¯s expression turned from sorrow to pain, ¡°He bolted for one of the back doors. I had two choices. Go after him or stay with you.¡± ¡°So I went to your side, and he escaped. We''ve been looking for him ever since.¡± I nod and shutter at the thought of running into that bastard again. ¡°Why did you stay? You had just said that you thought I was dead on arrival.¡± I spoke softly, ¡°I¡¯m grateful that you did, but what was your logic?¡± ¡°Alive¡­ or dead, it was still you laying there on the ground, covered in blood¡­that freezer. You told me that you¡¯ve always hated the cool air of winter.¡± He looks me directly in the eye. ¡°I couldn¡¯t just leave you there, all alone in the cold.¡± All the pain in the world suddenly fades away. ______________________________________________________________________________ After a few hours, my strength dissipates. I was able to convince Glenn to head home and get a proper night''s rest, he slept here for days on end by my side. Every molecule in my body is aching for more rest, but I cannot. I slept for three weeks, instead, I will happily lay awake and admire the beauty of the ceiling. The optics cooperation must have sent the man with the white eyes, I can¡¯t think of anyone else who would take such a bold risk. The brand must be consistent across the known victims, I should have mentioned this to Glenn before he left. ______________________________________________________________________________ Coming so close to the brink of death is humbling. I truly believed myself to be unkillable, as if I was put forth by some sort of existential being to right some wrong. I thought I was special, even in my years of self-loathing, I thought I was beyond a fruitless end. Even now. I¡¯m so scared. ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°Wake up,¡± a woman''s voice echoes from the doorway. A petite nurse with tied-back blonde hair, a white dress, and a face mask. ¡°You¡¯re about to have a very important visitor.¡± She shuffles back and forth by the side of my bed, She pulls a series of needles and plastic IV bags from within her dress¡¯s many pockets. ¡°What¡¯s going on? Who¡¯s coming to see me.¡± ¡°They were supposed to call ahead so we could have you prepared,¡± she begins to unsheath one of the syringes and flick it as drops of medicine roll down the thin needle. ¡°Who?¡± I ask, putting as much vigor into my voice as possible. She stops abruptly and stares at me. ¡°The chief of police is here with the press.¡± Lavita Presser, Chief of the Reno Police Department. She is the perfect chief from the outside looking in, but in reality, she is just another blood-sucking politician at heart. Every initiative Presser puts forward instantly gets the Mayor''s stamp of approval, yet nothing gets done. Every dollar spent to ¡°Help Restore the Shine of Reno,¡± as she says, always ends up back in her pocket. Some of the ideas she comes up with are quite clever, it¡¯s just that she never ushers them into fruition. I think that we¡¯ve met maybe twice, maybe three times. Most of her day is spent in her office chatting over Holo. ¡°Do you have enough of that stuff to put me back in a coma?¡± The nurse does not flinch as she goes to stick the syringe directly into a vein below my collarbone. ¡°Miss Glass, I¡¯ve been told that jokes were a part of your repertoire.¡± I flinch from the injection. Shots don¡¯t bother me, not knowing what I¡¯m being juiced up with is where the problem begins.¡± ¡°They¡¯re not, perhaps you should bring me to an institution, effective immediately.¡± She laughs, ¡°What¡¯s your name? What are you doing to me?¡± ¡°Cherry. The needle was for the pain. You should start feeling pretty groovy in a few moments,¡± Groovy? What could that mean? ¡°I¡¯m going to give you a pill that will buy you some time without having a nose tube.¡± The pain in my shoulder seems to subside from the medicine. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you guys been shooting me up with that since I got here? I can already feel its effects.¡± The nurse hands me a small cup with a three-inch pill, I can¡¯t help but hold it up to my eye in disbelief before swallowing it. ¡°Well, because you told us you wanted to avoid all unnecessary painkillers, it¡¯s all on your questionnaire when you signed up for the PD¡¯s insurance.¡± ¡°Yeah, that sounds like me.¡± Idiot. She reaches up to my nose, gently pulls the tube out, and hooks it onto the side of the bed. For the first time, I can move my head freely up and down. I can see the full extent of my injuries, my belly is covered in bruises and recently stitched gashes. Glenn told me that they replaced my right rib cage with artificial bones. My legs looked well enough, dystrophy is a thing of the past. My eye and arm can be healed in time, but my biggest concern is the state of my brain. I¡¯ve not been able to get a clear answer from anyone about the damage. ¡°Could I please have a gown?¡± I plead, without a word, Nurse Cherry squats and pulls and begins to sift through drawers underneath the bed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry we haven¡¯t given you one sooner,¡± Cherry stands back up and unfolds a large polka-dotted gown. ¡°But with all of the injections, tubes-¡± ¡°I get it,¡± She gently lays the gown over me and the machinery like laying out a tablecloth. ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°No problem, Anything I can get you before the chief gets here?¡± I shake my head and take a deep breath through my nose, missing that feeling. ¡°No, I¡¯m good.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be by later with the doctors to discuss your recovery plan,¡± She pulls down her white face mask, smiles, places the mask back over her mouth, and then leaves. I use my good hand to pull the gown tightly around my body, relishing in the comfort it brings, even though it¡¯s not to last. A woman walks through the doorway and swiftly closes the door behind her. Chief Presser turns, She wears a sleek black suit, sporting a red dress shirt and a fish net-like material running under her clothes up to her neck. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Glass,¡± She says, her accent is from one of the British colonies. Her caramel-colored skin and emerald-green eyes are alluring, she could have been a model in another life. The amount of plastic surgery and cybernetics probably cost more than my apartment building. ¡°It is fortunate that you woke up when you did, two weeks more and you would have been queued up for an assisted death appointment.¡± ¡°Would you have let that happen?¡± ¡°No of course not, What a waste it would have been.¡± She strides towards me, heels clacking on the tile floor. ¡°What would have been lost,¡± I ask, She chuckles. ¡°Baby, are we praying for a compliment?¡± ¡°No. Just curious as to what you hope to extract from this meeting.¡± ¡°As chief, I must ensure the safety of all my officers, and assure that their every need is taken into consideration.¡± ¡°I need to get out of here, can you help me with that?¡± ¡°What¡¯s the rush?¡± ¡°I want to get back to the case.¡± ¡°Baby, you¡¯re a hero, the press has been eating your case up.¡± ¡°So?¡± ¡°So we¡¯re going to milk this as much as possible. If you healed your wounds overnight, the public wouldn¡¯t be able to see the sacrifices you made to do your job.¡± ¡°But I didn¡¯t do anything.¡± ¡°Who cares?¡± She cracks a devilish smile, ¡°You now get time off and have the opportunity to get on my good side.¡± She¡¯ll see me become a pawn in her game. ¡°I care.¡± I sit up, gritting my teeth through the pain, ¡°I have a theory about-¡± ¡°Save your theories for now,¡± the Chief puts her hand on my shoulder. ¡°You need to rest, If you so desperately want a reconstructionist to work on you then it shall be arranged. But you¡¯re off the job for a while.¡± ¡°What? How long is a while?¡± ¡°As long as it takes to make my point, you¡¯re going to help me make things right in this city, baby.¡± ¡°I need to strike while the iron is hot¡­ Glenn can¡¯t do it alone,¡± I assault her with a furrowed brow and a piercing glare. ¡°You¡¯re dropping this case, and Glenn¡¯s labor is being redirected into something more productive.¡± ¡°What? Why?¡± This is ridiculous. How can she even say this with a straight face? Presser¡¯s corruption is not subtle. ¡°Your incident is being investigated by a higher organization than our precinct, Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s in good hands.¡± ¡°How much were you paid to tell me that?¡± I accuse her bluntly. She throws her head back and laughs. Presser stands and looks down directly into my eye. ¡°I¡¯d say at least one month for your mental health and returning to your organic eye.¡± Organic eye? ¡°What are you talking about?¡± ¡°The department will not fund a replacement right optic for officers not technically on duty, so before you leave I¡¯ve made sure to have your original delivered and prepped for reentry. Don¡¯t worry though baby, we¡¯ll make sure you¡¯re in tip-top condition for your first day back as ¡®Reno¡¯s Finest.¡¯¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ Each cell in my body felt under attack as the reconstructionist worked through my form with ease. I¡¯m in the same contraption that I had abused not long ago. I feel sick to my stomach. I¡¯m constantly yanked and shifted in different directions as bone, tissue, and muscle are all ripped and reformed to the reconstructionist''s standards. In truth, I¡¯m glad I¡¯m getting my old eye back, I couldn¡¯t bear an optic reform. Not after what I had done. I constantly think back to that woman, Galea. I believed that what I was doing brought about some sort of cosmic justice, that I could inflict a pain that could stand in the shadow of the harm she had wrought. I was so foolish, it was selfishness expressed in cruelty. It¡¯s a sad thing, the difficulty of finding an honest person Like sifting through ash in a snowstorm. ______________________________________________________________________________ Standing on my feet once more, in a body that has just narrowly escaped the clutches of death, I am free again. Besides my eye, I look back to normal, though I cannot shake a blaring headache. The constant ringing will serve as my reminder to make better choices. Glenn brought some clothes and something to eat before I was released. I picked up the plastic bag and stepped into the bathroom to change. I set my robe aside and get a good look at my body in the harsh light. My skin seems almost translucent to the bone pressing so tightly against the surface of my form. I put on the slacks, oversized Dust City T-shirt, and black leather boots. I return through the door of the restroom and greet Glenn who waits, sitting on my bed. He smiles from ear to ear. ¡°Looking good!¡± He shouts. ¡°Thank you!¡± I bellow back, fruitlessly matching his overwhelming volume. ¡°You know, you have a mess of an apartment, I didn¡¯t think I was going to find anything clean in there.¡± ¡°I find the clutter comforting,¡± I wasn¡¯t fond of the idea of anyone going into my apartment, but if I had to pick someone it¡¯d be Glenn. I sit down on the opposing side of the bed and slide on a pair of black leather boots over my thick yellow hospital socks. ¡°Did you find anything about burning eyes in previous cases?¡± Glenn exhales and rubs the back of his neck. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have even checked for you,¡± Glenn croaked. ¡°You need this time off to rest and relax.¡± ¡°Glenn, you have to understand,¡± I motion my arms outwards towards the hospital room. ¡°This is something I have to do, I¡¯ve got to know more about why any of this happened.¡± He looked at me, staring into the one eye I had left, he was troubled but wouldn¡¯t let me down. ¡°Yeah, okay,¡± he sends me a file through his optic rig. ¡°There was only one case I could find where the victim¡¯s optic imploded, exploded, however, you want to classify it.¡± ¡®Thank you, Glenn, this means a lot to me.¡± I open the digital dossier in my right eye. It¡¯s eerie to only have one eye when using the rig, it leaves me completely blind to the outside world. ¡°I won¡¯t be able to back you up if you¡¯re checking this stuff out, at least when I¡¯m on the clock.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°I know you know. But I¡¯m trying to hammer it into that thick skull of yours to be careful, I couldn¡¯t do this job if my partner went and got beat up again on her long vacation.¡± The case is about a croupier who was stuck up at a roulette, and his right optic burst into flames. Audacity Buchanan, a wartime name, the name of someone who had once forgotten the sounds of safety. Attempted murder. His status is ¡°active.¡± ¡°Glenn, is the man in the file still alive?¡± ¡°Misha, were you even listening to me?¡± Glenn barks, understandably frustrated in hindsight. ¡°Yes Glenn, I¡¯m sorry.¡± I give an earnest smile and put my hand on his shoulder, ¡°I won¡¯t do anything I can¡¯t handle, I¡¯ve learned my lesson.¡± A promise that can only be broken. ¡°Good,¡± he exhales and shrugs his shoulders. ¡°And yes, apparently that Bucchanon guy is alive and well. He moved away from the craps table and now plays bass guitar at the Prayer Beads gentlemen club.¡± Sounds like an establishment that would only acquire the most sophisticated of clientele. The report states that after the perpetrator was accused of cheating he pulled out a handgun and proceeded to shoot Audacity at point-blank range. Remnants of a bullet or wall indentation from the round were never found, though I witnessed statements back Bucchanon¡¯s story. ¡°I¡¯ll find this Bucchanon and see what I can get from him.¡± ¡°After at least three days at home. Period.¡± Glenn looked firm in this order. ¡°Period,¡± I reply. We both stand, I¡¯m aching to get out of this place. ¡°I¡¯ve got something else for you before we hit the road,¡± Glenn¡¯s smile shines as he reaches from behind his back revealing a black leather jacket, my eyes light up. ¡°Something to keep you safe.¡± ¡°You brought it?¡± I step forward quickly, almost losing my balance, and snatch it from his arms and slip it on. ¡°Of course I brought it, " you asked. But you have to wear that helmet I bought you or else I¡¯ll slide tackle you. Deal?¡± ¡°Deal.¡± I¡¯ve been aching to see my baby again, I can only hope that she¡¯s doing well. If she was left outside without proper care she could be rusting or have an assortment of health issues. ¡°Look at you¡­¡± Glenn says softly. ¡°What?¡± The road is calling my name. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you smile.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ Reunited. At the base of the Saint Judas Hospital my baby sat unattended in the parking lot. She shined in the setting sun''s light, her red and black paint was unchipped. There was not a speck of dust or dirt caked into the surface and the seat remained untattered. ¡°I owe you a million chicken wings for this Glenn, Thank you.¡± Glenn smiled and pointed at the bike, ¡°I paid some Martian guys an obscene amount of money to hold onto it.¡± ¡°How much was it? I¡¯ll pay you back.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± In a moment of thoughtless emotion I throw my arms around him and pull him in for a big hug. His arms recoil back in surprise before he quickly wraps them around my upper back and squeezes. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the wings, but before you get back on the force you have to take me up on that family dinner we discussed.¡± We let each other go, and I stepped towards the bike. ¡°Done. Give me the details, and I¡¯ll be there.¡± I mount the bike, and the perfect fit of the seat sends goosebumps up my spine. Glenn tosses me the access chip and the engine roars to life, it hums between my legs. I take one last look up at Saint Judas and exhale. ¡°Don¡¯t drive too fast¡­ but not too slow either.¡± Glenn winks, ¡°See you soon, Glass.¡± I crank the accelerator and shoot out of the parking lot. The cool wind tickles the fresh skin on the left side of my face and causes my hair to dance from side to side. I¡¯ve broken back into the realm of independent agency and I know exactly where to begin. Prayer Beads was at the heart of Skid Row, surrounded by other strip clubs, prostitution dens, casinos, and other lairs of vice. With night on its way, I can only hope that my man is on shift. On a motorcycle or car, the harsh truth of Reno is entirely unavoidable. The bright neon signs blanket the trash that litters the streets, and the sky cars and trams block what little light seeps through the clouds. When soaring through the skies above it is easy to only see the vapid commercialism in which Earth is notorious. It is inevitable that the rich know the planet as a failing investment and leave, taking money and industry along with them. Mars, Luna, and the Jupiter colonies, all of them bask in the era of ¡°Old Earth,¡± while its namesake dries up and croaks. I¡¯m no bronze-blooded Comrade but I do wish that someone would throw us a bone. Stop lights are dangerous, silver tongue road salesmen, jackings, and spontaneous air-vehicle parts falling from the sky. A wave of various people swarm the intersection, scurrying off towards the evening chaos. When you work long enough as a cop, a lingering feeling of dread lays its arm across your shoulder at the sight of a crowd like that. Each individual carries the potential to forge such hardship, and despite that daunting free will, they will bring light into someone''s life. Somehow, somewhere. Pride. ______________________________________________________________________________ Skid Row, better known as Vala Valley, was a place of lawlessness. One so consumed by crime and corruption that there have been many instances where mayoral candidates pressed the issue that it should be bombed or completely cut loose from city limits. Dingo Street is the central vein that runs through the valley, that''s where the lights shine the brightest. The world gets darker, and the hookers get uglier the further out you go. Audacity Buchanan, thankfully Prayer Beads is on the main drag so it would be hard to find. Driving on the overpass I can see the right beams of light shooting into the sky from the Valley. Almost as if the Earth had cracked and the air of Hell was beginning to seep through. As I cut through the backstreets, a thousand eyes watch me as I drive by. Chrome dealers blast music from their workshops, ¡°working¡± men and women display their merchandise without modesty, and a host of characters gather around games of dice in the street. As the figures in the shadows become more well-hidden, I know I¡¯m close to Dingo. When I turn onto the main drag it feels as though a spotlight is being blasted at my face, music and visual stimuli completely overtake all my senses. I lose control of my bike for a moment before regaining control. Music coming from hundreds of different sources echoes over the hordes of civilians, each looking for their brand of wrongdoing. Amongst them, there are women dressed in nothing but a shoelace, contortionists showing off all the things the human body shouldn¡¯t be able to do, and cyberjocks showing off how their ¡°homemade implants¡± are capable of picking up a car. I pull up to an open curb and instantaneously activate my anti-theft protocol. The sidewalks are littered with people of all sorts, and pickpocketing would be rampant if anyone carried anything of value on them nowadays. It¡¯s difficult to get a bearing on exactly where I am in this mess, I shakily stand on the seat of my motorcycle and stare up at the signs. COSMIC HUNNY, LUFFFENNNWABBBINNNNN, Gary¡¯s Smoked Sausage, and PRAYER BEADS. Bingo. Joining the stream of people, I can drift towards the front of the classy establishment in question. Outside the center doors stand two giant men, matching Glenn in height, and biceps bigger than my head. As I take a step towards the door the two men look down to me and then lock eyes with each other before waving me through. The place is completely devoid of natural light, illuminated by LED streams all along the ceiling and walls. Patrons littered the ground floor, some leaning against the bar, others sitting in traditional Christian pews facing the stage and dancers. A woman dressed in pasties, fishnet stockings, and a nun''s hood winks at me as she passes with a tray of drinks. A man in nothing in a clerical collar followed suit, chewing on one of the largest blunts I¡¯ve ever seen. This establishment should be celebrated for its diversity, they not only slandered the Christian faith, but also the Jewish, Islamic, Daoist, Hindu, and many more. I find it hard to believe that anyone working here would be able to provide information for my investigation. The music playing is coming from speakers, with no live bands or soloists. Audacity is on break or has the night off, I¡¯ll have to check in with a bartender to be sure. An even-tempered Buddha tried to stop me on the way but I politely declined. I laid my palm on the glossy, yet sticky, counter as a man in his late thirties stepped over to greet me. ¡°Peace be with you madam,¡± He brandished an imperial stache, dark black eyes, and a cassock draped over his broad shoulders. I have to use 97% of my brainpower to not roll my eyes, ¡°What can I get for you on this delicious evening?¡± ¡°I¡¯m looking for Audacity,¡± the blaring techno rap practically drowns out any attempt at conversation. ¡°Is he working tonight?¡± He gives me a stern glare before asking, ¡°Who¡¯s asking?¡± ¡°I¡¯m looking to help him out, I¡¯m a private detective.¡± Not technically a lie, and sounds a lot better than detective, when on this side of town. ¡°Is this about his eye,¡± I nod. ¡°Good, maybe you can get him to stop bitching about it. He¡¯s between sets right now, over there in the booth in the far right corner.¡± I look to the corner and can see a single man reclined, taking up the whole booth. ¡°I¡¯m grateful,¡± I step away from the bar and head towards the corner. Moment of truth, breakthrough, or bust. The man sat alone in the corner, he wore a blood-red satin dress shirt, his right hand was littered with rings, skin as white as a sheet, long black hair that rested at the upper back, and plaid lips. Audacity¡¯s eyes drifted over to me, his right pupil was as red as his shirt, but his left was gray and cloudy, similar to the man who put me to death three weeks ago. Chapter 4: Blinded By Eternity ¡°And who might you be?¡± Buchanan called out over the music, he looked me up and down. ¡°As cute a thing you may be, you look better suited for a hospital bed than my own.¡± His words were smooth and naturally persuasive. ¡°Audacity Buchanan?¡± ¡°Normally I¡¯d say ¡®who¡¯s asking,¡¯ but for you I¡¯ll just say yes,¡± He patted the booth beside him, motioning me to sit. ¡°Are you with Hector?¡± ¡°No,¡± I sat down as close to the end as possible. ¡°I didn¡¯t think so but can¡¯t be too careful¡­¡± He slides along the booth towards me, ¡°So what exactly are you here for?¡± The closer he gets, the more imposing he becomes. He¡¯s a lot taller than expected, not as tall as the bouncers I had passed on the way in, but at least a foot above me. ¡°I want to talk to you about the incident at your previous place of employment,¡± His eyes narrow as he slumps back, suggesting clear frustration. ¡°If that¡¯s okay?¡± His eyes fell to my chest, ¡°Don¡¯t know too many cops that wear Dust City shirts to work, are you some kind of pint-sized undercover operative?¡± ¡°I implore you to watch your mouth,¡± my words laced with venom. ¡°I¡¯m trying to help you.¡± ¡°Oh hey hey hey, take it easy, I was just joking,¡± Audacity picks up a white cloth napkin from the marble table and waves it over his head. ¡°I surrender the bad boy persona, please miss won¡¯t you introduce yourself.¡± His final sentence was recited with a high-pitched geeky accent. ¡°My name is Misha, I¡¯m a detective.¡± ¡°The last detective, Castellan, didn¡¯t want to do shit for me, why should I think you¡¯re going to do any better¡± ¡°You worked with Detective Castellan?¡± He pulled out an old-school tobacco cigarette wrapped in some sort of tightly wrapped cloth, people wouldn¡¯t dare waste paper on such a pointless activity. ¡°Yeah that''s the one,¡± he takes a long drag and blows a smoke ring above our heads. ¡°A real stupid bastard that one.¡± ¡°Why is that?¡± ¡°Just was¡­ didn¡¯t take me or the job seriously if you ask me.¡± Curious, Castellan not only left a terrible report but also a terrible rapport with the victim. Something seems off. ¡°Could you tell me what happened on the night it went down?¡± I activate a recorder on my optic. ¡°My my, you gotta buy me a drink before we get down to the nitty-gritty,¡± he smiles coyly¡ªtwo white rows of perfectly aligned teeth. ¡°Whatever it takes,¡± I go to stand. ¡°What do you want?¡± Audacity laughs and knocks on the table. ¡°Oh sit down Misha, I was kidding,¡± I sat back down and gave him a pointed expression. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you, but you have to relax a bit. You¡¯re so jumpy it¡¯s making me nervous.¡± Places like this make my skin crawl, even this very booth is probably coated with layer after layer of¡­ nothing ideal. Yet, Audacity seems to bathe in this atmosphere, as if he were right at home. ¡°Yes, well, this isn¡¯t exactly my side of town,¡± I reply, trying to find a part of the table that my arms won¡¯t stick to. ¡°Where is your part of town then?¡± ¡°My apartment, preferably.¡± ¡°Hah! I¡¯m not surprised to hear that.¡± His voice booms but the sound is consumed by the chaos around us. ¡°How about a quick dance before I start spilling the beans? I just ate so it would be nice to burn off the calories.¡± I replied with a cockeyed stare. Audacity cracks his knuckles and lets out a sigh before continuing, ¡°Alright, I can tell you¡¯re going to be no fun until we get this over with¡­ Here we go.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ Interlude: Audacity¡¯s Story ¡°For about a year and a half, I was a croupier at the Golden Rear Casino and Restaurant. It wasn¡¯t a classy place, but trust me, Prayer Beads makes it look like a Martian Steakhouse. I worked craps tables on Fridays, I was good at it and made some damn good tips. The crowds around my tables would get massive and my regulars would wait hours just to take a couple shots. It was the best night of the week. When you sign on at the Golden Rear, croupiers are required to have one artificial optic and an organic eye. It was strange at first but you get used to it faster than you think. My right eye was artificial and had all sorts of programs installed to detect cheating on every game we offered at the casino. The organic eye was supposed to be a vanilla look at the game in case there was any digital tampering. So, that Friday night I had a new customer come to the table early, just when my shift started at seven. Short little round guy with a pinstripe coat and rat for a mustache. We¡¯re talking about a really ugly son of a bitch. He comes in and starts playing, not much for conversation but he¡¯s tipping me well, really well. Then all of a sudden, about five tosses in, the dice changed. The exterior remained, but inside I could see that the weight was off and that he was cheating. I still don¡¯t know how he switched out the dice, but that doesn¡¯t change the fact that I had to stop the game. It shouldn''t surprise anyone that he wasn¡¯t a big fan of that. The little guy couldn¡¯t handle the accountability, he had one of those Naples complexes.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°Napoleon complexes,¡± I interject. ¡°What?¡± Audacity asks. ¡°That little man complex is a Napoleon complex.¡± ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yeah. Naples is a city in the Mediterranean.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been saying Naples complex every time I¡¯ve told this story,¡± Audacity exhales and rubs the back of his neck. ¡°Man, that¡¯s kind of embarrassing. Why do they call it that?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± I reply. ¡°Well. He had a really bad Napoleon complex.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ Interlude 2: The Rest of Audacity¡¯s Story ¡°So he starts yelling as I return his chips and tell him that he is welcome to cash out all of his current earnings. When he was yelling all the blood in his body went into his pumpkin-sized head and he kept shouting, ¡°You¡¯ve got a lot of balls kid!¡± Over and over again. He was plastered out of his mind and starting to scare the other guests so I knew I had to step over and deal with him until security arrived. I tried to calm him down but he kept pushing his sausage fingers in my face or against my chest. I made an executive decision to get him off the floor, so one of the dancers and I grabbed him by opposing arms and tried to lift and drag him out. Some of the other patrons were grateful, others were prodding us for no other reason than that they were bored and didn''t know what the hell was going on. Before I knew it he threw a haymaker at the neck of the dancer who was giving me a hand and was reaching for his coat pocket. I had rehearsed in my head a hundred times for a moment where I would need to step up and beat back some asshole in over his head. I¡¯m a coward. The worst part is that I wasn¡¯t always that way. I was a soldier, Back in the third Martian war I drew a lot of men''s and women¡¯s blood. I faced death a hundred times over and yet I never felt such a fear as what I felt that night. He drew a gun and instead of attacking him, snatching the weapon, or even just shouting ¡°gun,¡± I just stood there. An eternity passed in those few seconds, and all I could think about was everything that I was about to lose. My daughter, my dog, my friends, hell¡­ even my job. This world I find myself in. It was like my life flashed before my eyes way too fucking early, I was like a solid fifteen seconds premature. Because of that-¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°Fuck.¡± Audacity put his cigarette out on the glossy table, ¡° I¡¯m about to go on. Please stay and watch a while, I''ll finish my story afterward.¡± ¡°What kind of music do you play?¡± I ask. The slim man begins to slide out of the booth and tosses his cigarette on the ground. ¡°Honestly Misha,¡± He turns and hits me with a wicked smile, teeth so bright it feels as though it¡¯s reflecting the spotlights into my eyes. ¡°Can you even call this modern garbage nowadays ¡®music?¡¯¡± ¡°Is this a trick question?¡± Buchanan burst out laughing, a kind of laugh that doesn¡¯t just encourage one to join in but demands it. One wink later and he leaves me to sit alone as he takes the stage. People pat him on the back as he walks, but he pays them no mind. On one of the dimly lit side stages, a tan-skinned gunky-looking woman grips a guitar, and a shaggy-headed drummer grips drumsticks over his head humming to himself. But when Audacity takes the stage, the others seem to almost fade away. I¡¯ve never met someone with so much natural allure, with each step the crowd got quieter and quieter. Buchanan reaches over to a cream-colored bass guitar leaning on a metal stool behind the guitarist and begins to finger the thick steel strings. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. A wilting tune creeps through the speakers as the crowd grows completely silent. Audacity¡¯s hands flow like water, and that somber tune begins to build, with each pluck of the metal strings this tension in the melody grows. The singer and drummer only wait and watch as they await the crescendo. A building is being built, note by note, which turns to sand the minute the rest of the band chimes in. The woman¡¯s voice tears into the ear like a plate being shattered, and the drummer is either too stoned or too untalented to keep up with the others. Regardless of the others, Audacity is focused, not concentrating on anything but his part. I close my eyes and try to tune out the others, to try and isolate myself with that passion, but the chaos is too great and I snap out of it. By the end of each song, you have already forgotten how the last one goes. Time passed, and soon he was by my side again. ¡°So whatcha think?¡± Audacity throws himself into the booth across from me, drenched in sweat. ¡°You did fantastically,¡± I take a sip from a lukewarm glass of water a rabbi brought me halfway through the seventh song. ¡°Appreciate it,¡± he pulls out another cigarette, his hands shaking as he lights it. ¡°You know, I wasn¡¯t sure if you were going to stick around for the whole thing. You really ought to want to hear the rest.¡± ¡°I do.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ Interlude 3: The End of Audacity¡¯s Story He placed the gun squarely on my chest and smiled, for such a well-dressed man his breath and teeth were horrid. Even the overwhelming scent of liquor could not conceal the rot leaking from that man''s mouth. I didn¡¯t even have time to speak before his finger broke the ¡°five pounds of pressure¡± threshold. It had been so long since I had heard that noise, the leitmotif of death, a never-ending theme of any battlefield. My existence is split in two. In my left eye, I saw that same ugly excuse for a man and the many faces of horror that watched as I was shot at point-blank range. In my right eye, I saw a beautiful porcelain gate sitting atop a mountain of clouds. In a moment I had made the trek up to the entrance and was welcomed in by thin white angels. There was a warmth and serenity that I had never felt before. They guided me through the gate and into this kingdom among the clouds. I could see other specters, like myself, getting acclimated to the ethereal nature of this ponderous existence. Then the clouds shifted, and emerging from the sun''s light I saw a man with open arms who secured my soul. With one look, he assured me that even though I encountered tragedy, this was where I was supposed to be. That everything will be okay. Then I fell unconscious. ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°There you go, exactly what I told the other detective.¡± Audacity says breathing heavily, ¡°I need a drink.¡± Two different deaths, two different eyes. This scene that took place within the optic goes beyond a glitch or error in the production. This was choreographed. What triggered the scene? Speculation: Extreme stress. PTSD. Could the human mind''s conception of one''s life flashing before their eyes have translated to some sort of chaotic neural transmission to the false optic? By who? Speculation: Assuming that the implementation of this scene was an accident, all fingers need to be pointed at the cooperation. Though if this is some sort of cyber religious stunt it could be just about anyone with the right skills. Why? Speculation: I have no fucking idea. ¡°Do you believe me?¡± Audacity asks, his shoulders tense and eyes opened wide. ¡°Without a doubt,¡± I responded instantly. He leans back and the tension breaks in his posture. ¡°But I¡¯ll have to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?¡± ¡°Of course, ask me anything,¡± Audacity leans back forward and lays his arms, pointed in my direction. I opened up another recording. ¡°Are you a religious man?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think so, but when you¡¯ve seen what I¡¯ve seen¡­ It¡¯s confusing.¡± ¡°So you think that the glitch was spurred by some sort of higher power, not a technical issue?¡± ¡°I just mean to say that I¡¯m not sure,¡± he rubs where his artificial eye once was. ¡°I want to believe, but since it was just one eye, that is where the doubt sets in.¡± ¡°I see, that is completely understandable. At that time did you-¡± ¡°Are you religious, Misha?¡± Audacity interrupts. I pause and think for a moment. My faith is something that I¡¯ve never been public about. In the 2400s, religion was considered something of a bygone era. Yet I still believe. In what? I don¡¯t quite know. ¡°Yes, I am.¡± ¡°Shit,¡± his eyes darted around to the many scantily clad religious figures serving drinks. ¡°How about we go and finish this conversation somewhere else? My car? Or?¡± ¡°To be truthful, I¡¯d appreciate that.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Audacity starts to slide out of the booth. ¡°Let''s fucking delta.¡± As I follow him outside of the club, every other person exchanges a greeting with Audacity. It must be a unique feeling to simply exist in a place where everyone knows your name. He can¡¯t say all of these people¡¯s names. With such a large circle, I bet he doesn¡¯t really know anyone here at all. Every few feet he turns his head back, checking that I haven¡¯t ditched him or been swept away in the crowd. Audacity slips through a curtain behind one of the many stages, and as I follow I can see the dramatic tonal change from the bar floor and the backstage. Those who would be smiling just past the curtain seem so exhausted as they sulk in this back room. I realize now that I so closely associate one¡¯s work with one¡¯s nature, and that is ultimately inexact. These workers droopy-eyed glares at Audacity before turning their heads down or away. He even attempts to greet some of the other workers as we pass through the dimly lit dressing rooms and yet they still offer him nothing in return. Moving through the many shades of Prayer Beads, we finally make it to an emergency exit and push past the metal door into the dark alleyway. Garbage litters the streets along with a few scrappy individuals passed out along the club¡¯s walls. Just a few feet from the exit is a car, a red four-door Penta G3, and an outdated sedan. For its age, it seems to have been kept in good condition. Audacity reaches into his pocket and causes the car''s headlights to blink, when he does the silhouette of a girl reveals itself through the half-tinted windows. ¡°And viola,¡± Audacity says, his right arm motioning to the car. ¡°Is someone waiting for you?¡± I ask. He squints his eyes and flashes the light once more. ¡°Oh yes, Lucy, my daughter must have left the cafe early.¡± Daughter? Cafe? In this part of town on her own? ¡°She¡¯s a brave kid,¡± he leans over and whispers over to me. ¡°It also helps that she¡¯s a bit dim in the bin if you know what I mean?¡± Audacity points to his head. ¡°Who are you calling dim?¡± A high-pitched voice calls out from the car window. The door pops open and a set of black sneaker-clad feet land onto the blacktop. A young girl, who couldn''t be over the age of ten, confidently struts out from behind the red door. Lucy¡¯s hair was a dark red, she had black holes for pupils, and a sickly pale face, just like her father. Her voice echoes through the car speaker as the door opens, ambient microphones on the outside of the car amplifying the surrounding volume to within. Uncommon for an ordinary man, but I¡¯ve gathered that Audacity couldn¡¯t be further from any sort of baseline. ¡°Oh I¡¯m sorry Lucy, I should have included you in the conversation,¡± Audacity smiled as she approached him with open arms. ¡°I was talking about you of course.¡± When she went in for the hug she punched him in the chest before he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground with a squeeze. I stand there, shifting my feet. After a moment the young girl steps back and analyzes me from head to toe. ¡°Hello Lucy, my name is Misha,¡± I say. ¡°You don¡¯t look like the normal girls my dad has sleepovers with, I¡¯ll give you that.¡± She replies I snort, and Audacity gasps. ¡°Lucy watch your mouth,¡± Audacity barks. I can¡¯t help but break into laughter, and Lucy quickly joins me. ¡°Should I take that as a compliment?¡± I ask through my giggling. ¡°Oh BIG time,¡± Lucy replies with a hearty childlike emphasis on the word ¡°Big.¡± ¡°Lucy, she''s just an acquaintance,¡± Audacity said as he pointed to the car. ¡°Now go back to the car.¡± ¡°Oooohhhh acquaintance,¡± she said before scurrying back to the car without another word. Audacity rolled his eyes before turning back to face me. ¡°She seems like a sweet kid, if a bit wise beyond her years,¡± I joke. ¡°You have a diluted concept of wisdom I¡¯m afraid.¡± He sat on the hood of the car and drew another cigarette. ¡°But you¡¯re right.¡± ¡°We can continue our talk another time. ¡±I look into the tinted windows of the car and see the girl making some sort of perverse hand symbol behind his back. ¡°I bet you probably just want to head home.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­¡± He replies, his voice carrying a weight of fatigue. ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I lean on the car next to him. ¡°Why do you do the things that you do?¡± His question resonated with me for a moment, at first it seemed surface-level, but I couldn¡¯t help but consider the overarching reach of his words. ¡°Police work?¡± ¡°Nah.¡± He seemed different, even more, shell-shocked now than during our discussion earlier. Seeing his daughter has caused the man before me to shift into someone else. ¡°Then¡­ what?¡± ¡°Care,¡± He stared back towards the door of the club. ¡°Fight.¡± Then looked directly at me, I shivered when his gaze met my own. ¡°To tell you the truth, for a long time I thought I was some sort of chosen one.¡± He doesn¡¯t laugh, I expected him to laugh. ¡°I thought I was put here as some sort of divine avenger, but now, after everything that¡¯s happened over the past months¡­¡± I pause. ¡°Hey,¡± Audacity chimes in. ¡°It¡¯s alright, keep going.¡± There is care in his eyes, his words are caressed by a tenderness only rivaled by Glenn on his brightest day. ¡°It¡¯s just,¡± I care about what he thinks. I care about how he¡¯ll forever see me as the words drift from my lips. Why? ¡°Because I think humanity is special and worth protecting. And even if I¡¯d forgotten tomorrow, I want to die knowing that I have done something that people can look to as an example of how to be¡­good.¡± I let out a long drawn-out exhale, ¡°Sorry I must sound pretty crazy right now.¡± ¡°Crazy in all the right ways.¡± Audacity reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card, he flicks it through his fingers a few times before extending it out to me. My heart flutters in my chest as gallons of blood rush into my cheeks. Audacity ¡°Courage¡± Buchanan Neo-Jazz Extraordinaire 13894220949# ¡°Courage?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I take the card and slip it into my front pocket. ¡°It was my nickname in the service, and since then transitioned into a stage name. Do you like it?¡± ¡°I do, both of your names seem to fit you quite well.¡± I stand up straight and ruffle my jacket on my shoulders. ¡°You better call me soon, Misha,¡± Audacity says, putting the cigarette out on the hood of his car. ¡°I will,¡± He flicks the crushed cigarette out onto the street and walks around to the driver''s side door. Audacity cracks it open, Lucy¡¯s voice emits from within the vehicle before he speaks over her, offering me one last goodbye. ¡°Stay safe,¡± he sank and the door closed behind him. Chapter 5: The King of Fortune My eye slowly opens to the sight of Reno during the day, the faraway sky cars look like flies cutting through the sun¡¯s faded light. When I dream I see with both eyes, yet when I awake it is just the one. ______________________________________________________________________________ I sit on my bed, buried underneath mounds of blankets, and tearing through different browsers and data hubs looking for anything I can find about Orbinc. An interplanetary conglomerate centered right here in Nevada. All victims, Audacity included, possessed an optic of that brand. Just about ninety percent of the population use Orbinc products, they even provide free procedures for RMPD officers. To say that they were ¡°well-loved¡± would be an understatement, half of Reno¡¯s industry ties back to them. They have their central manufacturing plant a couple of hours north of Las Vegas around a town in which I cannot find the name or precise location. That entire area is completely covered in garbage. Miles upon miles of scrap, trash, and scavengers. I haven¡¯t the slightest idea of how they could fit an entire town somewhere out there with little to no information present. It must be buried deep beneath the filth, or non-existent. I suppose that the best course would be to call the customer helpline, I have to start somewhere. ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°Hello, this is Cherry, Orbinc customer service, how may I help you today?¡± ¡°Hello ma''am, my name is Rico Walker with the RMPD, how are you doing today?¡± I ask. ¡°...¡± Silence lingers on the other end of the holo. ¡°Miss Cherry?¡± ¡°Yes, how can I help you, Officer Walker?¡± ¡°I received a report of a sexual assault case in one of your facilities, the one North of Las Vegas,¡± there is a slight shift in her mic quality, and she began a recording. ¡°Could I please get the name and address of the facility for my report?¡± ¡°I appreciate you calling, I¡¯ll direct this issue to our internal affairs department, they will take care of everything.¡± ¡°Great, I¡¯ll hold on.¡± ¡°No officer. We will take it from here,¡± Her voice stiffens. ¡°NA Territories code article six, line three, states that, ¡®company towns are permitted to administer their private judgment over internal affairs, then allow police involvement only after a decision has been made by the board of directors.¡¯ So your services will only be needed when the board has addressed and investigated the situation.¡± Damn. Nowhere else goes with this. ¡°So, if you could please relay the information the worker provided to you, I¡¯d be happy to send it along to upper management.¡± ¡°Can I at least get an address for the town, should you need me to come by eventually?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we have your name and badge number already, Officer Glass.¡± She says, her final words blaring like a storm siren in my head. I close the call immediately. ______________________________________________________________________________ Going out to the badlands is a bad idea, but if that¡¯s where this nameless city is, then so be it. I need to talk to their director and figure out if there is some deficiency on the line or corporate sabotage. I shouldn¡¯t be surprised that a corporate number could break through my seclusion firewall on my holo line, but I can¡¯t help but feel as though a noose will shortly tighten on my neck as I get closer to whatever is behind this incident. If I¡¯m to go further, I need to acquire a firearm. The number of shadows will only grow, and I can''t rise to meet them with only my bony fingers and harsh language. Most of the dealers I knew had to be thrown behind bars, and gun stores that distribute to the public have been banned longer than I¡¯ve been alive. However, there is one individual who may have the connections I need when it comes to who calls, that is if I can trust him. My eyes drift towards my desk, Audacity¡¯s business card rests atop the clutter. What a strange feeling this man invokes in my mind. Audacity truly is different from almost anyone I¡¯ve ever met. He checks all the boxes of people that I tend to avoid, and yet, I feel a strange appreciation for him. As if our souls have similar wallpaper. ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°Audacity?¡± I whisper. ¡°Misha?¡± He whispers back, ¡°Why are you whispering?¡± ¡°Very good question,¡± I lean back on my bed as we speak through a hollow call. ¡°Apologies.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t apologize for the whispering, apologize for calling me so early. I just woke up.¡± It¡¯s 1:16 PM. ¡°I can call back later.¡± ¡°No, go ahead.¡± I worked together to get an idea of what kind of lie I could string together to get some information about local dealers in the Dingo Street area. That there was going to be a popping off with some of the local gangs and if we didn¡¯t cut out some of the sources it would be an all-out war. ¡°I need a gun,¡± the truth slipped away from my lips. ¡°A gun? Don¡¯t all you cops pack heat 24/7?¡± ¡°No, and I recently was made aware of the shortcomings of that policy,¡± he pauses, reflecting on my injuries no doubt. ¡°I¡¯ll help you. Where do you want to meet?¡± Audacity asks, some vitality returning to his weary voice. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± ¡°That¡¯s it.¡± ¡°Why?¡± I can hear shifting on the other side of the microphone as if he is getting up and preparing to head my way. ¡°I trust that you have a good reason and that you¡¯re probably going to need it.¡± He clears his throat, ¡°Cops like you seem to always get in over their heads for all the right reasons.¡± ¡°I promise. I won¡¯t let you regret it.¡± ¡°Give me the deets, and I¡¯ll meet you.¡± I proceeded to provide the aforementioned deets to a park near my apartment. ______________________________________________________________________________ Garfield Park is a location whose very essence has been corroded by the nature of modern society. What was once the diamond of Reno, now is infested with sewage and mutants. Mutants originally spliced together in a lab to patrol the sewers to prevent blockage, now they hide in the shadows of the trees and bushes and attack the homeless and unsuspecting as night falls. Seventy-three years ago a different type of mutant was deployed on the surface of Titan, with similar catastrophic results. Why did the Reno city government believe that they would succeed where the Board of the 145 had failed? So I prefer to remain on the park''s outskirts, sitting with my baby on the sidewalk. A few moments pass before that same red four-door pulls up a few car lengths along the road ahead of me. Audacity steps out of the car and swiftly closes and locks the door behind him. He¡¯s wearing the same thing as yesterday, that long red shirt and black pants, though this time his hair is tied up into a loose ponytail. Our eyes meet and he greets me with a grin. ¡°How are we?¡± A rowdiness in his voice permeates. I stand and adjust the gauze covering my eye. ¡°Hanging in there,¡± he motions for me to follow him to his car, and I follow. We plop down in the surprisingly clean vehicle, its interior is almost as if it was picked off the dealership''s lot. A pair of miniature boxing gloves hang from the car''s rearview mirror. ¡°Glove box,¡± Audacity lights a cloth-wrapped cigarette as the driver-side window rolls down. I reach and pop open the compartment and can see a small item wrapped in an old T-shirt. ¡°It¡¯s old school, only has six shots but can¡¯t be hacked or traced.¡± I gently pull back the wrapping and see a silver revolver with a taped black grip. ¡°Where did you get it?¡± ¡°Had it for a long time.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I look him in the eye. ¡°I won¡¯t-¡± ¡°Let me regret it?¡± I stop and nod. He chuckles in between a drag, ¡°Just be careful¡­ and most importantly, take me with you.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°I read about your situation in the news today. You''re not a cop for the next few months or so. I figure you¡¯re in dire need of someone to watch your back.¡± Audacity points his cigarette at the gun, ¡°This alone won¡¯t keep you safe, hell, I can¡¯t keep you safe, but I can do my damndest to watch your back.¡± ¡°...Why?¡± ¡°Because if you¡¯re dealing with this business that blew out my eye, I have a feeling this rabbit hole is going to be fucking deep. The way that Castellan talked to me suggested dangers beyond faulty cybernetics.¡± ¡°I do not doubt that you¡¯re correct.¡± ¡°This is personal for me, and I want to help,¡± Audacity stared at me with his intermixed eyes. One a blistering red, the other shrouded in that milky haze. ¡°You can just leave this behind and be with your daughter.¡± ¡°Nah,¡± He shrugged his shoulders. ¡°This is for her too.¡± I place the gun in my right jacket pocket. ¡°Alright.¡± ¡°Good. Where to start?¡± Audacity claps his hands and smiles. ¡°The Badlands.¡± ¡°Alright. I don¡¯t think you want me hanging onto your back as we blast down I-97 on your motorbike.¡± I chuckle as Audacity¡¯s car turns on, and intense air conditioning blasts my face. ¡°Then again, there are worse ways to get from point A to point B.¡± ¡°Such as?¡± ¡°Making that trip without you here to talk to,¡± I turned away and looked out the window. ¡°Perhaps. Give it a shot first and then see how you feel,¡± We pull off into the road and veer towards the arid planes. ______________________________________________________________________________ One might think that there is an old woman currently hacking Audacity¡¯s neural port with the way that he drives. Making slow turns, driving consistently under the speed limit, and listening to Willie West. By god spare me he is listening to retro country and it¡¯s making my ears bleed. I separate myself from my ears as I think more about the case. What kind of glitch could cause such vivid images to take place, unless it was orchestrated? There is little public knowledge about Orbinc and its stockholders/board members/ and even founders. Perhaps this is some sort of neo-Christian movement to get the last ¡°a-ha¡± over dying Atheists? I digress. I recount all the information I¡¯ve gathered so far about the case to Audacity, which is ultimately very little. The concept of sharing details of the encounter in the morgue intimidates me. Everyone I¡¯ve talked to has already known what happened, even speaking of that time causes an unbearable weight on my shoulders. It¡¯s going to be a difficult day when I muster up the courage to call my parents again. ¡°I went to check out the husband''s corpse, to compare the wounds,¡± I tap my leg and take in the city lights whizzing (slowly) past. ¡°A man was hiding in the corpse drawer, talking to someone over holo. He was going to get rid of the body, or do something to it¡­ I don¡¯t know. He had two cloudy white eyes, just like the one of yours.¡± Audacity looked at himself in the rearview mirror, then back to the road. ¡°I got in his way and he did this,¡± I motion to my bandaged eye. ¡°He went too far,¡± Audacity replied. ¡°What?¡± I ask. Yeah, no shit he went too far. He went too far when he broke into a police station to destroy evidence. ¡°Shit. No, that sounded way worse than what I meant¡± Audacity trips over his words. ¡°If his job was to destroy the evidence, he didn¡¯t need to kill you. He could have just knocked you out or something.¡± ¡°He shouldn¡¯t have been put in that position in the first place,¡± I reply bitterly, his words stinking. A phantom pain overcomes me, I slide my fingers under the bandage and massage the side of my head. ¡°It¡¯s just a job and he took it too far,¡± I look at him, dumbfounded. ¡°I¡¯m sorry he did that to you, and I¡¯m beyond grateful that you¡¯re alive to tell the story.¡± ¡°But.¡± ¡°But I¡¯ve done worse than stealing a body.¡± There is a silence that comes between us for a moment. My mind wanders to what he could have done, how close we could have been to meeting, under far less ideal circumstances. ¡°I see.¡± ¡°Surviving is what we do best, no matter the cost. But¡­ killing you wasn¡¯t on his bill.¡± His fingers wrap tightly around the steering wheel. ¡°That¡¯s all I¡¯m trying to say.¡± ¡°I understand,¡± the streets of Reno are unforgiving, I suppose I possess a curtain privilege in that regard. For that, I¡¯m ignorant. It¡¯s brave of him to be so affronted about this opinion, I respect the lack of subtlety. ¡°You don¡¯t have to. There are just some things I can¡¯t stand not saying.¡± Even though we talked about Lucy, he never explained what happened to her mother. He has the eye of a widower. The lengths he may have taken to keep his family safe, only to end up playing his bass guitar surrounded by others, but ultimately alone. Now with only time to care for, and never truly love. ¡°But know this, if we cross paths with that fucking guy. He¡¯s a dead man. I promise you that.¡± Strange, in all this time I¡¯ve had to revel in this pain, I¡¯ve not thought once for a second about revenge. Does he deserve to die? I would have killed him in the moment, it was him or me. Or should there be a balancing act like before with Galea? Should I try to invoke suffering, to ease my own? I¡¯m not so sure. I hate this imbalance, shifting to and fro in my mind. I need to get my shit together. ______________________________________________________________________________ The further out of the city we drive, the dust coats our windshield and sets like a fog in the air. The city line is completely lined with fuel and power stations. Thousands of credits are earned every minute. The foolish fill up their vehicles to get into Reno, and the dejected spend their last penny in the hopes that somewhere, anywhere, will save what little life they have left. Man-made dust storms make it difficult for even the most experienced pilot to pierce through the brown veil of grain. The line of the city is clear as day, remnants of a metropolis begin to fade, and wide barren plains of dirt and trash. As we ride along the faded dirt roads an abandoned factory waves as we pass. The temperature gauge reads 148 degrees Fahrenheit, a cool day in the Nevada Badlands. We have a long drive ahead of us and I just may lose my mind if I have to endure any more Willy West. ¡°Please explain this music situation to me,¡± I say, over the sound of the heavy winds and mediocre tunes. Audacity cracks a knowing smile. ¡°Oh brother,¡± He laughs and turns the music down slightly. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you have bad taste in music.¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t make me say it.¡± ¡°Classic artist, fifteen Grammys.¡± ¡°Good god, woe to our ancestors.¡± His laugh is infectious as he returns the music to its original volume. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you the same thing I tell everyone else, if I¡¯m behind the wheel, I¡¯m choosing the music. It¡¯s just that simple.¡± ¡°This may be the deciding factor in the acquisition of artificial eardrums.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Four hours passed. The spires of Vegas can be seen far in the distance. ¡°The facility may be underground,¡± I deduct, examining what little information I was able to gather via satellite images. ¡°But if they are transporting products in and out of local cities like Reno, then they must have a place for trucks to enter, ground elevators and such.¡± ¡°And even if the entrance is hidden, tire tracks should reveal the way,¡± Audacity chimed in. ¡°So what¡¯s the plan, are you just going to stick your head out the window like a puppy dog?¡± ¡°Not terribly far from the truth,¡± I activate the thermal optics in my remaining eye. ¡°I¡¯m hoping that this does the trick for us. ¡°Ooh, la la. Can that see tracks as well?¡± ¡°Only if they¡¯re recent.¡± The residual heat left behind by the rubber makes it apparent where cars have been. Audacity swerves off the dirt road onto the uneven ground of the surrounding plains. I slide across the seat, my side brushing the center console and my hand grips the steering wheel. My eyes darted towards Audacity¡¯s, ¡°We¡¯ll never find anything if we stick to the main road.¡± I lightly punch his shoulder and peer through the side window. ¡°You just focus on your laser vision, I¡¯ll look for any fiscal tracks.¡± ______________________________________________________________________________ ¡°Lucy, I¡¯ll be home tonight,¡± Audacity spoke over holo to his daughter. ¡°You can wait for me or order in. No going out.¡± A small projection of her face appeared on the dash of our car. ¡°Maybe I could call up Hauer¡¯s and get a¡± She replied before getting swiftly cut off. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it, that¡¯s OUR spot. I don¡¯t want you burning out on it without me.¡± Audacity blurts out. Lucy giggles and covers her face. ¡°Fine-fine,¡± Lucy looks at me in the passenger seat. ¡°Miss Misha, have you ever had Batty¡¯s?¡± ¡°No,¡± I shuffle in my seat. ¡°When you and Dad get back in town you should come to have some with us!¡± Lucy shouts, causing the speakers of Audacity¡¯s car to crinkle. ¡°Jeez, girl relax,¡± Audacity sticks his finger into his left ear. ¡°If I¡¯m reading the car here I bet Miss Misha would probably just want to go home?¡± He cocks his head over to me. His goodhearted words are betrayed by expecting eyes. ¡°I think that would be nice.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Audacity asked. ¡°¡®Nice?¡¯¡± Lucy quipped. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Great!¡± Audacity, ¡°I¡¯ll give you a ring when we''re on the way home Lucy. ¡°Okay, keep your eyes on the road,¡± Lucy continued. In the passing mirror, I could see a small brown lump sprouting from amidst the dirt and sand. I pointed to it, my index finger pressing against the glass and turned to Audacity. He squinted his eyes. ¡°Bye sweetie, Misha wants to go play with dead animals,¡± He ended the transmission. I whipped my head back towards the object out in the field. Audacity turned the car, it was a dead animal. ¡°Could you please stop the car?¡± I ask. ¡°To check out this dead animal?¡± He meets me with confusion. It doesn¡¯t just look like it died of thirst. Amidst the blowing winds, I could see blackened blood and flayed fur. ¡°Yes.¡± He stopped the car. As quickly as I could I stepped out of the car, throwing open the door and then closing it to prevent a wave of dust covering the interior. The animal was only a few feet away, it was in three pieces. Closest to me were the legs and tail of a canine, the bones looked completely crushed and they had been stretched from underneath the skin. The fur had become thin over the enlarged area of coverage. Next was the creature''s torso and front legs. The fur had been completely peeled back and flayed, and the rib cage was intact and hopelessly contained the corpse''s blackened internal organs. Though, unlike the ribs, the front legs were just as shattered and stretched as the back ones. Lastly, there was the skull. A coyote''s head was pinned into the ground with a blade, its tongue lackadaisical laid out through its surprisingly white teeth. Before the blade was inserted through the forehead, it was used to carve out the beast''s eyes as they were nowhere to be found. I place my hands around the handle of the knife and my shoe gently on the dead dog''s head and pull. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say down to the decapitated head. ¡°You guys aren¡¯t the friendliest dogs, but you don¡¯t deserve this¡­¡± I place the knife in my left jacket pocket and rub my hand along the head of the dead creature. I¡¯m not sure if coyotes enjoy petting, but I figured I¡¯d attempt kindness before it is swept away by the sands for eternity. I stand and turn, Audacity beckons me back to the car. When I rejoin him there is a thick layer of dust that completely covers my entire body, that layer extends into my mouth as breathing refuses to come easy. ¡°Cough,¡± he reaches down into his glove box and pulls out a small canister. ¡°Then gargle and spit with this water back in.¡± I comply. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Now go on,¡± he motions to my head. ¡°Go on?¡± I cock my head at him. ¡°Shake the dust out of your hair,¡± Audacity smiles. ¡°It¡¯s the best part of a dust storm.¡± ¡°But then it would get all over the place? All over your car?¡± ¡°Of course, but then I go ¡®ahh Misha,¡¯ and we both laugh.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure I get it,¡± I crack a smile. ¡°Forget it,¡± Audacity laughs and shakes the top of my head sending dust all over the dashboard. ¡°Shit,¡± the dust got in his eyes. I can¡¯t help but start to crack up. My overwhelming laughter causes the man to quickly open his irritated eyes in disbelief, and he immediately starts laughing along with me. We sat there for a while, laughing and battling the dust. ______________________________________________________________________________ The knife was more like an industrial box cutter, its blade was a rusting silver with a black handle. There was a marking on the butt, a scratched white symbol. It was of what looked like a stick figure of some sort, the chest was joined by crossing lines. ¡°I¡¯ll send you money for the gasoline,¡± I say to Audacity, breaking the silence between us as he quietly drives off-road ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Besides, I welcomed a peaceful drive through the country.¡± Now that I realize it, during our search, we didn¡¯t exchange much dialogue, it was a peaceful experience. ¡°I¡¯m going to try to go back the way we came, GPS keeps track of our path.¡± As each second went by, the dirt and dust followed us. I think of those who drove and walked on that same ground before us. The desert is a graveyard of memories and a blank canvas for new ones. I clutch the knife to my side. ¡°Thank you¡­ for being here,¡± I say. Audacity smiles and nods. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be anywhere else, you just let me know if you turn anything up with that knife.¡± Before we rejoin the loosely paved road I can pick up writing in the dirt, tire markings of a motorcycle of some sort, spanning about twenty feet across in total.
  1. JOLLIES
This name was written out in large capital letters. I pondered it for a moment before informing Audacity. As I went to speak, he cut me off. ¡°I can see it without your fancy vision.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t we pass a diner of the same name an hour or so back from here?¡± ¡°That we did. I¡¯m surprised you remembered, you looked dead asleep at that point.¡± I roll my eyes. Someone is ready to break bread over what has been going on at least. ¡°Sadly, due to the constant violation of my ears, sleep eluded me.¡± Audacity gasps and pulls the car to a stop. ¡°Listen, whatever happens going forward, I want you to know that this is the last time you will be able to take that back.¡± ¡°Give my apologies to Wally West and the gang.¡± ¡°So be it,¡± Without a question in the world, he turned our car back down the road to Mr. Jollie''s Canadian Eatery. As we approach this mysterious encounter, I familiarize myself with my new gun and pray I don¡¯t have to use it. ______________________________________________________________________________ Mr. Jollies was a dumpy-looking place, vast in size for a place like this, but the neon sign was only half ablaze. The exterior was completely coated in a layer of dust, and half of the cars and sky cars surrounding the place were ruined. Honestly, I¡¯m surprised no one has picked them up for scrap. Perhaps because no one is stupid enough to spend an unnecessary second at a place like this. ¡°What food should we expect to find at a Canadian eatery?¡± Audacity asks as he pulls us alongside the building. ¡°You¡¯re thinking about the food?¡± I ask. ¡°Maybe a chili? Canadians seem like they would make a good chili.¡± ¡°I¡¯m more concerned about the other patrons.¡± ¡°Why? You don¡¯t like other people watching you eat?¡± He unlocks all the car doors and reaches for the handle. ¡°Don¡¯t kid around.¡± I quickly press the lock button before he can exit, ¡°We have no idea what to expect in there.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be keeping an eye out, don¡¯t worry, I have your back.¡± I unlock the doors and we step out into the hurling wind. I do my best to cover my open eye socket and mouth. We pushed ourselves through the metal door and stood in a dirty vestibule. Both of our heads of black hair were now a light brown. I shook my head like a dog coming in from the rain, dust went flying off and coated the wall, along Audacity''s chest. ¡°Oh shoot,¡± I pat his shirt, brushing off the newly added dust. I turn and gaze through the windows of the vestibule. The interior of the diner was quite impressive, given its troublesome location. There was a long counter lined with red cushion stools, and a friendly-looking tan woman waved to us from a large service hatch. A few disgruntled hooded men were at the counter, hunching over plates of synthetic egg and coffee. Then there was the man we were looking for. He sat alone in the middle of the dining area, nursing a glass of red wine straight from a bottle at the center of the table. We pushed the door open and stepped through, locking eyes with the curious man. ¡°Welcome to Mr. Jollies! I¡¯ll be right with you,¡± a gravely woman¡¯s voice shouts from the kitchen. ¡°Oh take your time your time Nancy. They are for me,¡± the mysterious man spoke, still focusing on the pouring alcohol. His voice was smooth, each word escaped his mouth with only a twitch of his lips, like a ventriloquist without his dummy. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say ¡®no¡¯ to a cool glass of water, ma''am,¡± I say to the window. When I turn my gaze back to him, he flashes a devious smile with a look in his eyes that I¡¯ll never forget. This man will sentence Earth and all the colonies in the system to hell if it means getting what he wants. His face was pale and narrow, with parted black raven hair, pure black pupil-less eyes, and a thin body. Clad in a black suit, white dress shirt, black waistcoat, and a flaming red tie. He waves his bony hand to two seats at his table. ¡°Please, take a seat Detective Glass, Mr. Bucchannon.¡± I approach the table, studying him cautiously. His clothing is too tight to hide any firearms, even his ankles are pressed snuggly against his pant leg. I get down on one knee for a moment and look to see if there is anything glued or taped to the bottom of the table. ¡°One thing I love about you already, Detective Glass, is your lack of subtlety.¡± Nothing there, I grunt as I push myself to my feet, ¡°And your grace is unmatched.¡± We sat. ¡°Can¡¯t be too careful,¡± I pointed at the man. ¡°A lot of dangerous characters these days.¡± ¡°Do I look dangerous?¡± ¡°Deadly,¡± I responded without a moment''s hesitation. ¡°I wish I had that detective''s mindset to read people. I focus too much on one¡¯s surface for information.¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± Audacity buts in. ¡°Straight to the point, I was quite enjoying a dance of words with your partner here.¡± The man replies. ¡°I refuse names, I find them to be so dull. How about a callsign? What is a name but a malformed breath in which the individual in question turns their head?¡± ¡°How about you say something, instead of using your ¡®malformed breath¡¯ to jerk us around,¡± Audacity says, growing in frustration. ¡°The King of Fortune.¡± A callsign indeed, ¡°but my position is best described as an arbiter of Orbinc affairs.¡± ¡°So tell me, Arbiter, what is this all about?¡± I ask. ¡°Responsibility,¡± The King replies. ¡°Elaborate.¡± ¡°It is my responsibility to ensure that all interests of Orbinc are protected.¡± ¡°Does that include sending a merc into the RPD to destroy evidence,¡± Audacity interjects. The Arbiter swirls the red liquid in his glass before taking a long drawn-out sip. ¡°To be truthful, I had originally planned to intercept the corpse on the way to the recycling plant.¡± Unclaimed corpses from police investigations are often sent to city-run recycling plants, which repurpose the dead into fertilizer to provide nutrients to the failing ecosystem. ¡°I haven¡¯t the slightest clue who attacked you in that basement.¡± ¡°If your hands are clean so far, why did you ask us to come here?¡± I ask, The man smiles. ¡°I¡¯m here to recommend that you ought to let this matter fall into the private sector. Our operatives are hard at work to get to the root of what is happening with the deceased and their implants.¡± ¡°Did you think for one moment that I¡¯d agree to just let things slide?¡± I shoot back at his offer. ¡°Of course not. Convincing is in order,¡± The man reaches down for a small silver case, similar to that of a cigarette book. He gently places it on the table and slides it over to just right in front of me. ¡°Please, open it.¡± ¡°Very well,¡± I crack open the side, revealing a small faded ID badge. A Rosenoff Industries access card for one Elizabeth Morgan. The picture and words almost completely faded away. The woman in the picture was beautiful, with thick brown dreadlocks, round features, and even with the color slipping away, piercing green eyes. ¡°Who is she?¡± ¡°My adoptive mother, take a good long look at her before handing the card back.¡± ¡°What do the Rosenoffs have to do with this?¡± I ask. ¡°They represent what I stand to challenge,¡± the man reaches over and snatches the metal container from my hands. ¡°I spent my whole life in space, my birth parents were lithium haulers, that was until pirates raided our ship and murdered them both. I was six at the time. I was rescued by Elizabeth, and she immediately took me in as one of her own. I idolized the woman, even though my parents had no choice, she was the only one who never abandoned me. One day, she received an offer to work security at a mining shaft on Earth. Mom accepted. She always had this dream of living on the planetside where all of her children and grandchildren could come and visit. Almost like our family pilgrimage to see grandma, just once in their lives. However, that dream was never fulfilled. As you know, one does not simply go from living in space for years to walking on Earth without issue.¡± ¡°The change in gravity would kill her,¡± I say. ¡°Exactly. However, the Rosenoffs had an experimental drug that would stabilize the body as it adjusted to the new gravity. They had no idea of the side effects, but knew they needed workers, and fast. You see, the Rosenoffs just relocated from Callisto after a bioterrorism incident and needed her to start ASAP. She was willing to do anything to get one step closer to her little Earth-bound home.¡± ¡°Did the drug work?¡± Audacity asks. ¡°Wonders. She was able to complete all her duties at peak capacity. Though behind the scenes the drug was reducing her bones to chalk one day at a time. It wasn¡¯t until two years after she started taking the drug that the doctors understood the side effects, and by then it was too late. It wasn¡¯t just her, hundreds of other workers took this drug.¡± There isn¡¯t pain on the Arbiter''s face, he is either fantastic at poker or has found peace. ¡°Where were you during all this?¡± I ask. ¡°Myself and the other Morgan children were undergoing gravitational therapy on the Rosenoff Astrology Space Station. It took years to become completely adjusted to the new atmosphere, and by the time our feet were ready to stay on solid ground¡­ Mother was near death.¡± Their silence overtakes the table. I need to call my parents to let them know I¡¯m okay. ¡°But the Rosenoffs are still on Earth, Why wasn¡¯t there an even bigger controversy than what happened on Callisto?¡± ¡°Blood can be mistaken for wine. The Rosenoffs were celebrated for doing everything they could to ¡®bring the spacers back home.¡¯¡± The Arbiter smirks. Despite everything, there seems to be no pain in his eyes, his hands remain steady as he raises them to take another sip from the wine glass. ¡°What does any of this have to do with us? The occurrences?¡± Audacity asks. ¡°Of course,¡± the Arbiter clears his throat. ¡°There will be no more Elizabeth Morgans. I will not allow the folly and controversy of a white-collar narcissist to put the lives of any other worker in danger. Companies like Rosenoff Industries do not care for their employees. Companies relocate and rebrand due to a single scandal, and because of this, hundreds if not thousands lose their jobs, which may as well be their lives, their family¡¯s lives.¡± Excuses. Good ones. But excuses, nonetheless. ¡°So you¡¯re here to justify your actions?¡± I replied. ¡°To justify my future actions if you continue down this path,¡± He replies coldly. His face sours causing him to spit a sip of wine back into the glass. He examines the inside of the cup, ¡°I encourage you to stand aside.¡± ¡°You¡¯re going to threaten a police officer and think-¡± Audacity is cut off by the Arbiter quickly spilling the contents of his wine glass onto the floor, coating the bottom of my shoes in sticky red liquid. ¡°There is no police officer in this diner, only two criminals,¡± He stares at my clothing in detail. ¡°What did you call us?¡± Audacity leans forward on the table and points his index finger at the man''s chest. ¡°Possession of a firearm is illegal in this territory,¡± the man smiles. ¡°Police or civilians, plasma or iron. Illegal.¡± The woman in the back comes around the counter with two cups of water, She steps over the flowing wine and lays the tray on the table. ¡°I brought you one or two mister, It sure is hot out there today.¡± Audacity shuffles back into the pit of his seat. ¡°Thanks,¡± he replies. She gives him a warm smile before unloading the glasses in front of us, puts the tray under her arm, and begins to walk away. We three stare at each other in silence as the woman''s footsteps trail back to the kitchen. ¡°Oh! Straws!¡± The woman shouts from behind the counter. She comes trotting back through the center of the diner, before placing two straws on the table in front of us. ¡°And don¡¯t worry about the spill, I¡¯ll get on that in just a moment.¡± ¡°Thank you, dearest,¡± The Arbiter replies, laying down a hefty stack of credit chips on the table. Easily twelve hundred North American Units. An unbelievably large tip, ¡°Just consider what I said going forward.¡± Audacity pushes himself to his feet and turns towards the door in an instant. ¡°Well this was fucking pointless,¡± he utters. Almost as if being in proximity of this man boils his blood, he stumbles towards the door. ¡°Give me one reason why I should trust you,¡± I ask earnestly, staring at his black, lifeless, eyes. ¡°One reason why I should just let this go.¡± No answer could ever satisfy me, but I have to try. His eyes lock with mine. It¡¯s one of the most human things you can do, to try to understand one''s motivation, to see the jaded red lines of pain that stain a pure white sclera. Eyes reveal a lot, one cannot see through another. One cannot count the escaped tears. Life is so much more than sight. Before he can respond I place the knife I had found in the desert in front of him. He frowns. ¡°Are you threatening me, detective?¡± ¡°No, but I was wondering if you had seen it before?¡± I asked. The arbiter gently reached down and picked up the knife and marveled at its seeming insignificance before I pointed at the marking on the butt. ¡°A fascinating tool,¡± A small twitch danced across his lip. ¡°Most people tend to prefer plasma-based blades.¡± ¡°Does that symbol mean anything to you?¡± The man moved it closer to his face, his eyes bounced around in millimeter intervals as his optic scans ran. ¡°I think I¡¯ll be hanging onto this if you don¡¯t mind Detective Glass.¡± The man picks up a napkin off the table and goes to lackadaisically clean the filthy blade. I reach into my jacket pocket for the pistol Audacity had gifted to me. I place it on my knee and cock the hammer. sx¡°I think you¡¯re going to put it right back down where I left it,¡± I asserted. A genuine look of shock came over his face. The hooded men from the counter quickly turned and went to stand, The Arbiter swiftly raised his hand to them which had them freeze in place. I could hear Audacity slide back to my side, his hand was buried in his jacket pocket as well, clutching his iron as well. ¡°Alright, alright,¡± my adversary squawked. He set the knife back down on the table. ¡°Take it.¡± I snatched it up and made way for the door, not turning my back, not blinking. ¡°And cut your own throat, collapse to the ground, so I can kick you while you¡¯re down.¡± His voice turned, raspy, possessed. ¡°You stupid bitch,¡± Audacity shouted, pulling his revolver from his shirt pocket and swinging it forward towards our enemy. ¡°Are you trying to get fucking shot?¡± I place my hand on Audacity¡¯s shoulder. He did not react to my touch, his face was covered in sweat, his hand shook, and there was fear in his eyes. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I whisper to my companion. No reaction. ¡°Audacity.¡± He whipped his head to me quickly, then back to the others, and nodded. We backed towards the door and burst out into the whirlwind of sand and who knows what else.