NationStates Jolt Archive

All That Remains

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. Gray sheets under blood-red skies, cut with black plumes of smoke, rising from the burning fields, that was the Earth. This was all that remained, the wreckage of a shattered world, a broken humanity, a fallen angel’s vengeance. Twisting skeletons of glass and steel rose into the burning skies, glistening melted peaks piercing the veil of black clouds. Lightning crashed the burning skies, bursts of white and yellow and blue that crackled through the smog. The survivors watched these flashes of artificial light, created by the giant ionizing arrays, wide eyes, hoping to see the horrid cover part for a second.

But they also feared, for these flashes could lead to the eyes of Ares, the swooping raptors rode on pillars of blue fire. V-30 Peregrines, Vertical Take-Off and Landing Assault Transports, that’s what they were once called. But the men and women who had built the craft were long dead, and those that used it were… no longer human. So the survivors simply called them gunships, or birds, or they simply pointed and screamed as the jets of light and fire cut them down.

So as the skies flashed, the ragged band ducked into the rubble, rolling under rocks and metal, trying to shield themselves from the eyes. Thermal vision, lidar, radar, infrared, enhanced optics, AI comparative algorithms… these terms mean nothing in this new world. The skies did part, and the V-30 did descend, the four turbines rotating their blue jets as the great craft came onto an approach vector to the fires in the distance. The survivors below watched the sky in terror. One bad move, one lucky scan, and they would die. But the Peregrine shrank in the distance, and the survivors emerged again, collecting around a hatch on the wall of the hill.

A man spoke rapidly into an intercom, while others watched the sky, watched the ground, pointing their mismatched weapons warily. There was a clack, and the hatch rolled open. Dogs barked happily, and the people slipped away, one by one. The last man stopped, though. He stood on the lip of the outcropping, glancing to the tendrils of silver in the distance, lit by the fires of industry. A mountain rose from amid those warped glass monoliths and twisting steel frames, but the mountain was scarred as well, and parts had caved away. The crystal sea was filled with sludge and blood, now thick and oily. The man’s eyes began to tear, and his mouth quivered slightly. This was no man at all, but a boy, perhaps fourteen, and he began to shake.

“Come on.” A gruff voice stated, and a hand lowered on the child soldier’s shoulder. “They’ll see us.”

The boy turned up and nodded, scurrying into the bunker with a nod, like son to father. The older man watched the fallen city for a moment, leaning on his cane, keeping his weight from his crude wooden leg. His scarred face curled into a shattered scowl, and he brushed the corner of his ragged shirt, once the piece of a very nice suit, as if cleaning a badge that no longer remained. He spat once, into the lake, and faced the sky, staring at the slight glow through the clouds. He scowled again, loathingly, and entered the bunker, closing the hatch behind himself.

Inside, there was chaos, the normal chaos of hundreds of people crammed into an ancient nuclear bunker meant for far fewer survivors. But this was a lessening problem, as fewer were left each day. The man teetered his way to the main chamber, where the results of today’s scavenging were being broken up.

It took him fifteen minutes to traverse the bunker, stopping to hobble on the stairs, the ramps, the doors. He had to rest twice. People stopped, offering assistance. “Sir, I can help!”

“Sir, let me!”

“It would be an honor to walk with you!”

But he glared and waved them away. “I can do it myself.” He staggered, he stumbled, but he never complained, never asked for help. This was his punishment, and he would meet it with dignity. A dignity he had been denied by fate. A fate he had chosen. A choice he would regret forever. An eternity that his suffering helped him bear. So he fought his way to the chamber, and sat on his bench, waiting his turn for food.

But the children were waiting. He always had the best stories, the most detail of what was before. They gathered at his feet, they begged him to tell of the great men and women, of the gleaming cities and flying ships, of the bases on the moon. They longed for the days of glory, when they had challenged God. They yearned for tales of a better world, and he delivered. But he gave them more than that, for he knew how the darkness had come, how the Dark God sat upon his iron throne, how the failures of these great men had destroyed the dreams of tomorrow. And he could tell them the stories of grace and sin, of grandeur and pride, for he had been there.

No one asked who he had been, or where he came from. They saw his broken body, his scarred skin, his hollow eyes. That was enough. He was one of them. But he knew more, and he could share. And the children watched him, waiting for some wisdom.

He looked down at them, blinking slowly. “I don’t have any stories today.” He always said that.

A boy handed him a plate of food. “Tell us about the Waking. What made them? How do they work?”

He shook his head, taking the food. “That’s not a story for children.” He said that every day, too. These children were survivors, soldiers like the rest. They lived with death, they had grown up with the slaughter, with Ares. So they watched him, and pleaded.

“Please! Jace said you’d tell us tonight!”

“Are you sure?” he glanced to the guardians, but they nodded. There was no more innocence. He would tell all.

“Very well.” He leaned back, his body aching as he stretched out for a story. “It started long ago, more than twenty years before today… it started not far from here, in what was once called Isis Military Base…”

And as he spoke, the world changed. The cities buzzed with life, scrambling cars and flying craft, boats moved on the silver seas. Pillars of glass reached to the heavens, each and every floor filled with scores of people. Bells tolled from churches, libraries buzzed. Stores clanged, schools bustled. Children played in the streets, and a policeman smiled to an old woman.

A military drill was being conducted, and the public was watching. There was peace, there was harmony, there was joy. The economy was booming, science was skyrocketing, technology made life a blessing. Every single moment of life moved in perfect synergy, the artificial perfection crafted by the still functional Internal Security Agency.

Time spun back on itself, and the technology regressed. Cars became larger, VTOLs turned into helicopters. AI became a possibility. The seas became smaller as the Seabelt undid itself. The decadence of the latter years faded into a functional, growing society on the brink of greatness.

And inside the military base on Isis Island, a tilt-rotor aircraft was landing, carrying Director Iams to his tour of the facility. Behind him rode Sub-Director of Operations, Anderas Kerrik, a slick young up-and-comer in the Agency, personable and brilliant. The middle aged Director motioned to his protégé, and the two descended the lowering ramp, not knowing that they were walking into the grinding wheels of fate, cogs in the very machine they would build with later sins.

There was a new project to witness, a promising technology, a harbinger of things to come…

Echoes: Redux
Before the Fall

Any OOC comments/questions should go here: Echoes: Redux OOC Thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=412748)

Opening Title:
Angel of Mercy – Hammerfall

There´s never been any reason,
or escape from the treason,
you just think I´m a tide, far away...
I feel your flame and your anguish,
I know your plans and your last wish,
you just can´t face another day...

Angel of Mercy, take her to your homeland,
Angel of Mercy, you can feel the signs,
it´s the end, it´s the end.

You´ve stood along the lifeline,
you´ve played the fool for the last time,
you just want the joy and the peace...
You´ve heard all the laughter,
you´ve seen what your after,
you just want the rest and the sleep...

Angel of Mercy, take her to your homeland,
Angel of Mercy, you can feel the signs,
it´s the end, it´s the end.

Angel of Mercy...
Angel of Mercy!

You can hear the clock´s tick,
as you scheme for your last fix,
from a place you never will awake...
I hear you cry into the night,
I hear you die within my fright,
but now you´ve saved your mistake...

Angel of Mercy, take her to your homeland,
Angel of Mercy, you can feel the signs,
it´s the end, it´s the end.

Angel of Mercy...
Angel of Mercy!

Twenty-Two Years Before Present
Isis Military Installation
Heliport Seven-B

“Touchdown.” The pilot declared, and the V-14 rocked gently, settling onto its landing struts. The tilt-rotors slowed, and the roar of the engines became a rumble, and then a hum, fading out in the sounds of blades battering the air into submission. “I hope you enjoyed your flight. We have arrived at Isis Military Installation. The local time is thirteen hundred hours.”

In the back of the transport craft, Director Iams rose from his seat, pulling himself up with his cane, and then straightening upright. He straightened his suit, brushed thinning gray hair. The Director if Internal Security Agency, although limping on his cane, was virtually bouncing with energy, as he glanced from side to side, tapping his cane rapidly on the floor, trying to hurry the other passengers.

The assorted officers of the military, as well as the remaining ISA contingent, none of whom needed a cane, were slower to stand, stretching after the short hop from the mainland. A few glanced at the aging Iams, shaking their heads in disbelief at the old man’s spryness. This project was promising, but the Director was so obviously looking forward to retirement that a blind man would have seen the bounce in his step and the glitter in his eye.

The back of the V-14 lowered, and natural light began to stream into the hold. Several marines descended the ramp, wincing as they entered the white glow. The officers followed, and Iams was in the lead. He seemed to ignore the limp, simply twisting around it, a man accustomed to moving encumbered. It was not age that had killed his right leg, obviously, for this was no decrepit senior Director.

The heliport they stood on was situated on the Third Tier of Isis, three levels up the dormant volcanic chain that formed the military island. Behind the port, vault doors opened into the mountain complex. In front and below, the ledge swept down into more edges and outcroppings, more hatches and installations and roads, blending down into the wooded shores and naval ports. High above, the main peak of Isis rose into the blue sky, and several planes flew over in Air Patrol.

“Welcome to Isis, sirs.” A Major General stood on the pad, saluting the flag officers exiting the V-14. One by one, they returned the salute, and the welcoming officer smiled. His honor guard, a phalanx of marines in full dress, parted and stood beside the now open vault door. “Please, follow me inside, and we’ll get started.”

On the helipad, Iams leaned on his cane and glanced about, watching the busting hive that was Isis, but also looking for someone…

“This really is quite the resort, isn’t it, sir?” The voice came from behind, soft and powerful at the same time.

Iams almost flinched, but he was more experienced than that. “Kerrik, how many times must I remind you, do not ghost up on your superiors like that.”

“I apologize, sir. I was merely observing our surroundings.” Sub-Director Anderas Kerrik, Chief of ISA Operations, stood a mere foot behind his Director. Kerrik’s black hair was clipped short and slicked back, and he wore the standard ISA suit, tie, gloves, and tactical “sunglasses”. Kerrik was a quiet man, but one who commanded the respect of his men. Brilliant, competent, innovative, and inspiring to his subordinates, he had cut his way up from the field, acting as Iam’s personal wetworks man before taking charge of all of Operations.

“And what did you observe, son?” Iams raised his eyebrows, facing his man. The Director was always interested in hearing Kerrik’s thoughts, for they were usually quite insightful.

“Well, sir, they really seem to have spruced this place up for us. Rolled out the red carpet, with all the frills on the edges, you might say. This makes me wonder a bit…”

“What are they worried about?”

“Exactly, sir.”

“Good call, as always.” Iams nodded to his favored man. “You’ll do well as Director.”

“Thank you, sir, but I don’t anticipate a need for me to assume that duty for quite some time.”

“Hmph.” Iams leaned hard on his cane. “This is my last project. If Mind Blade performs as expected, you’ll be sitting in my chair by next month.” He began to trot towards the building. “Come on, Anderas. Don’t let an old man beat you into the bunker.”

Kerrik nodded, and he proceeded after Iams. The Director stopped for a second, noting Kerrik’s movements. “Are you armed?” he asked incredulously. “You do realize that we’re in the heart of Isis, one of the three most secure sites in the nation?”

“Sorry, sir. Old habits die hard.” Kerrik tapped his armpit, touching the trusty Armatech 10mm pistol tucked away, the weapon that had gotten him out of many tight spots and confrontations, the weapon that had ended so many lives in back alleys. Kerrik might be wearing an SD’s uniform, but he was still a Special Operative at heart, and he would not be caught dead without his sidearm.

Iams sighed. “Very well. At least I know that if, by some fluke, a terrorist slipped through the naval blockades, the no-fly zones, and the garrisons of marines, and then dodged Isis’s automated systems and security forces, and then overran our personal guards… my right hand man will gun them down.”

“Exactly, sir.” Kerrik nodded in agreement, missing the sarcasm, or choosing to ignore it.

“Come on.” Iams motioned, and the two headed into the facility.

Inside the shining metal and stone corridors of the base, a trio of scientists was waiting for the executive tour. The center man, a natural redhead with a widow’s peak, introduced himself. “My name is Dr. Adrow, Chief of Project MIND BLADE. I trust you’ve all been briefed on the background of Blade?”

There was a slight murmur, and Adrow glanced about excitedly, wringing his hands. His eyes flicked about. “This is truly exciting, gentlemen. We’ve never had an opportunity to actually test MIND BLADE on human subjects, but if the effects on the chimpanzees were any indication, you will be very impressed-”

“Wait.” General Cross, Field Marshal of Kaukolastan, stopped Adrow’s pride-filled speech with a raised thick hand, still chomping his (unlit) cigar. “Human testing? What kind of used car operation are you boys running here?”

“Oh, dear, that does sound bad, doesn’t it.” Adrow smiled weakly. “I assure you, these are volunteers, and they’ve all signed release forms. Most of these subjects are looking for a free high, and we’ll pay them to get one, so we both win! Science gets results, the subjects get to ride over the rainbow.”

There was murmuring again, and another officer asked, “I thought the project was for a knockout agent, not a narcotic? Doctor?”

Adrow titled his head. “Did you even read the files on MIND BLADE?” There was a heavy silence. “Oh, my, sorry sir, I didn’t mean it like that. You must have overlooked that…” The doctor launched into a quick overview.

“MIND BLADE is an aqueous or aerosol solution, designed for riot control and non-lethal countermeasures in a dangerous situation. It is the premier in combat inhibitors we’ve developed. While most of the traditional “knock out gasses” rely on destabilizing chemical balances and breaking the human body down, MIND BLADE instead interacts with the body’s natural functions. Upon inhalation, injection, or consumption of even twenty-four parts per million of MIND BLADE, the weapon will reconfigure the conscious mind of its victim.

“The forebrain is disengaged, and several neural pathways are opened to subconscious. The mind enters a dreamlike state, and motor functions are naturally disengaged, reducing the victim to a motionless, comatose body. This dream state will persist for several hours, until the mind can force itself awake, and cut the MIND BLADE connections. As a result, the target will be impaired, rendered combat ineffective, and suffer no side effects other than some bizarre dreams and a well rested body.” Adrow tapped his PDA. “Tests in chimpanzees, apes, orangutans, and various lower mammals have demonstrated results in line with the computer models, and the participants have been fully briefed on the effects of MIND BLADE. They’re being paid well, and they’ll get the buzz of their lives.” He smiled again, nearly breaking the bounds of his freckled face. “Follow me, sirs, and I’ll show you the Blade.”

The others followed, but Kerrik turned to Iams. “He didn’t mention the Rhesus.”

Isis Military Installation
Vector Laboratories
Level Ten

“We will be starting the test soon, gentlemen.” Dr. Adrow stated, motioning to the one way mirror before the assembled audience. A large clear box was set up in the center of a gigantic laboratory chamber, a “glove box” larger than many houses, consisting of a large lounge area, where ten subjects waited, reading magazines and watching television. Around the glass box, pumps were set up to inject the MIND BLADE agent into the chamber, and various safety systems were installed, including an emergency blowout valve and an incinerator. These were simply standard systems in Vector, and the subjects were unaware behind their “walls”.

There were two tiers of equipment rising from the box, each four rows of computers deep, all staffed with Isis scientists and technicians, recording every moment of the experiment. Each of the subjects wore massed systems of electrodes for electroencephalogram (EEG) readings, as well as various physical monitors. Computers ran constant calculations, recording every variable in triplicate. Cameras monitored, scientists dictated, technicians controlled. The audience waited. The patients tried to remain calm, but some were fidgeting, knowing that they were being watched.

One was trying to see through the wall, pressing against it. Another was folding and unfolding a paper. A third was talking to the forth about how this might not have been such a good idea, but he wasn’t going to back out now, because he needed the money. A woman was chatting with a man, and he was trying to get her number, even now. The ten subjects were varied for maximum data comparison: five women, five men; their ages ranged from eighteen to sixty-eight; they were all poor, they all needed the money.

Outside the box, Adrow was discussing the anticipated speed of reactions. “…within ten seconds, they have a rush of blood as vessels dilate, then the chemical changes take effect. Within thirty seconds, they have begun to suffer vivid hallucinations, loss of time sense, motor function failure. Within forty seconds, they will be sleeping soundly in an artificial coma, which they will recover from after approximately two hours.”

Iams nodded to the scientist, “This is a real discovery, Doctor. Your people have done a wonderful job.”

Adrow smiled broadly, “Thank you, sir! It’s been a great experience, designing MIND BLADE. This could really revolutionize riot control techniques, maybe even remove the necessity of force at all. No more fire hoses, no more tear gas, no more rubber bullets… just peaceful sleep.”

General Cross snorted, “Let’s not go betting on horses that haven’t run a race. Once we see this wonderful little show here, we’ll start talking about doctrine.”

“Oh, of course, sir.” Adrow’s momentary exuberance fell back under professional countenance.

“Thirty seconds until test cycle start.” A technician stated, holding up his PDA from a databank across the room.

He was followed a moment later by the announcement system, a pleasant, neutral female voice. “Thirty seconds until cycle initiation. Operation chamber is at optimal negative pressure ratio. All systems are online. Begin final checks.”

Adrow turned to the gathered observers. “Come on down to the floor, there’s plenty of room to observe up close!” He headed down the stairs to the level with the observation chamber, touching the cool glass, and then moving over to one of the connected terminals.

Iams descended after the scientist to watch the experiment, taking each step with care, but with speed. Cross paused for a moment and followed, as did the others. But Kerrik stopped at the midpoint, watching the chamber, watching Adrow. The Rhesus tests. You didn’t talk about the Rhesus tests. He glanced to Iams, but the Director was not looking, he was too busy watching the experiment. Iams will not be pleased if I interrupt this experiment. He glanced to the pumps, to the subjects. Anderas, it’s nothing, you’re building a tower from a splinter of missing information. But Kerrik could not silence his thoughts. He’d learned long ago, in the blackest of operations, to always trust that little nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

And so Kerrik asked, quiet and calm as always, but projecting to the scientist and his audience, “Doctor, what about the Rhesus monkeys? What happened to them?”

“…several million— What?” Adrow froze for a second, his face flashing in a moment of anxiety.

Kerrik saw that face, as did Iams, and Cross. Iams glanced up to his man, flashing a momentary scowl. Cross whirled, already ready to call off the offensive test. But Kerrik followed on, walking onto the lower level and approaching Adrow, “You didn’t mention the Rhesus tests earlier.”

Adrow replied quickly, “Those tests were inconclusive.”

“Inconclusive?” Cross’s voice was damning. “This experiment-”

“No, not bad, sir!” Adrow was sweating. “The Rhesus did not undergo the suspension of motor functions observed on the other creatures. They were un-effected by the agent, except for increased stressors in their biochemistry. There were no long term effects, but they did demonstrate a short-term boost in strength and speed, probably due to acceleration of synaptic relays.”

“Probably?” Cross inquired. “As in, you don’t know?”

“Sir, that’s why we’re performing this experiment, to determine if we need to research this phenomena any further in human beings. If anything, this is another possible benefit of MIND BLADE, not a deterrent.”

Iams was still watching the chamber. “Five seconds.”

Adrow glanced to Cross, who turned to Iams. Iams simply nodded, and the experiment continued. Cross said nothing, and Adrow smiled again, waiting to showcase his pride and joy. Kerrik turned to the glass.

The computer broke the silence. “Cycle commencing, now.”

There was a clack and hum of air compressors, a hiss of gas in the chamber. A technician kept count, “Parts per million increasing. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four… MIND BLADE saturation complete in test environment.”

In the chamber, the subjects watched the vents as they hissed, releasing the gas. The readings on the displays began to change, and the agent began to have an effect on the people in the chamber. First one, then another, succumbed to the gas. Their heads fell down, drooping, their eyes closing. A man raised his hand, as if to brush his hair, and it froze, then fell back to his lap, and he toppled back into his chair, unconscious.

A technician called out, “All subjects incapacitated by T plus forty. Brain waves in nominal limits. All subjects stabilized.”

Cross harrumphed again, and turned to Adrow. “I take it back, son. Good work.”

Iams followed on, “I concur. Excellent show, my boy.”

But Kerrik leaned into the glass, his hand pressed to the cool surface, watching one of the subjects, a man about thirty, with a scraggy beard. The man was sleeping soundly, so it seemed, but his eyes were moving rapidly under the lids, and his mouth was twitching. Kerrik narrowed his eyes. Motor functions should be inoperable. The hand twitched. “Doctor…”

There was a yell, “Doctor!” A technician was calling out from a back level, staring at an EEG monitor. “Theta waves are off the charts! They’re still growing, and there’s some attenuation in the Mu waves!”

Adrow’s eyes widened. “Impossible! That’s the motor center!”

“Sir, there’s massive movement on Theta and Mu in all subjects!”

“-increasing heart rates and pulmonary!” another scientist declared.

In the chamber, the man Kerrik was watching began to shake violently, his eyes flying open. Another subject began to shudder and twist, falling from a chair. Another seized, and a fourth.

“-Purge the chamber! Cancel the test cycle!-”

“-Medical crash team to Vector Labs, stat!-”

“-Testing aborted! Air purging!-”

The first man stood, wavering at first, then steadied. His eyes flashed open, his pupils huge. The man began to mouth words, screaming unnatural sounds, turning and chomping on the air. The teeth closed on the tongue, and blood sprayed, but the man kept biting. The front of his tongue fell from his mouth, and blood erupted, thicker than before. Still, the man was unfazed, and he began to walk forward, still bleeding.

Another subject stood suddenly, breaking into a sprint, screaming in mortal terror, running smack into the glass wall. She rebounded, crashing to the floor. She stood again, charging the wall without concern. The impact shook the box, and smashed her nose into her face. She fell again, but jumped up and ran a third time, this time hitting hard enough to bring a wet snap from her chest. Still she ran.

A man was making coffee in mid-air, filling invisible cups with non-existent fluid. He turned, spotting another staggering form, and he dropped his coffee, walking up to the other subject. Without so much as a flinch, the man reached out to grab the woman’s neck, and twisted until her head snapped ajar, and she fell to the floor. The man turned back to the observers, but his face was mess of blood. The red fluid poured from his eyes, from his nose, from his mouth and ears. He shook, his lips twisting over his teeth in agony, and with a curdling scream, he fell to the ground. A life sign monitor in the laboratory began to buzz steadily.

“-Crash team in position!-”

“-Prepare to breach test chamber!-”

“-They’re going insane in there! Get a contact team up here!-”

“-You’re going to shoot them? They’re dieing in there!-”

“-They’ve lost it! I’m not losing personnel to this!-”

“-Jesus Christ-”

“-Preparing to open-”

“-Don’t do that!-”

A subject lay on the ground, locked rigid, eyes staring at nothing. A woman had impaled herself onto a chair leg, and was pulling out her own intestines, chewing on the end of a segment. One was biting another, while the latter masturbated without noticing the pain. The fifth was broken in half, cut by a chunk of glass being wielded by a sixth subject. The woman with the snapped neck lay below a coffee table, the neck snapper next to her. A standing subject picked up the television set, and threw it onto the moaning woman with her intestines out. He then turned, picked up a fork, and shoved it straight into the television’s power socket.

The last woman was still running into the glass, smashing into it with increasing ferocity. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open, blood streaming out. She was screaming, calling out. Kerrik watched her in horror, looking into her dilated pupils, trying to spot the humanity there. There was nothing, only mindless rage and terror, violence and impulse and id, a beastly chaos. She slammed into the glass again, and spider-webs formed, spiraling outward.

Kerrik stumbled backwards, drawing his pistol as the woman began to reach from the hole in the safety glass, her bloody arm outstretched. She screamed again, a wrenching plea, a distorted call for help. And then there were gunshots, and she jerked, as Kerrik’s shots punctured her chest.

One, two, three, four, she stumbled back, the four shots ripping her chest apart. But still she rose, standing up again. Alarms were ringing, and there were blasts from shotguns. Her body flung backwards, a rag-doll, and the glass came crashing down to the ground. The contact teams, dressed in their padded armor and riot shields, firing their automatic shotguns into the chamber, had arrived.

The medical team was staring in horror, holding their shock paddles in shock. Alarms were ringing, warning of test failure. A fan was running, a cyclone of air that sucked the contaminant into the ceiling and into the purifiers. Sprinklers began to discharge, hurling foam into the room, ceiling the agent into their bubbles.

And then there was silence.

Kerrik was leaning back, against a console, his service pistol still smoking, the casings rolling in the foam. Iams leaned on his cane, his brow furrowed. Cross turned to Adrow, his face flushed and livid. But the Doctor was simply sitting there, staring at the destroyed chamber, and at the contact team poking the corpses, muttering to himself.

“… how did it… it shouldn’t have… there was no evidence… there was no reason…”

Cross snarled, “Doctor Adrow! This “project” is cancelled! You will see to it that all research is halted immediately, and then you will see yourself into immediate retirement! You’ll never get to play the jester again!”

Iams interjected calmly, “General, please, there’s no need-”

But Cross waved, cutting him off, “No! This is not just bad science, this is criminal. We should be having a trial over this, but the best I can do is stop this madness right now. MIND BLADE will never see the light of day! Destroy every sample, shred the research, everyone involved in this is now under Directive Thirteen, and even sneezing at the mention of BLADE will get you thrown into my personal gulag, you understand?”

Adrow was shaking, rocking slightly, “We need to test, find out why… there has to be a reason… we can fix this..”

“No fix!” Cross turned. “It’s over, Adrow, and so are you!” He stormed from the room.

Iams lowered his head in failure. “Come on, Kerrik. This project needs to be cleaned up. This must have never happened.”

“Yes, sir.” Kerrik answered quietly, staring at the accusing eyes of the dead woman. Her hand was still reaching for him, stretching out for help and pointing in judgment. He broke his gaze, and turned to Iams. “They’re all dead… May God have mercy on these poor people.”

“And us, Kerrik, and us.” Iams tapped his cane. “Project MIND BLADE is closed.”

Ten years later
Jorut City, Industrial Sector
Transnapastain

The city of Jorut was a bustling port city, filled with the commotion of freighters coming and going, being loaded and unloaded. As such, it wasn’t the richest, or nicest looking, city within the nation. Tall, dark, buildings formed the downtown, factories, processing plants and other industrial works, as well as urban housing, filled the city, and the sprawling mass of homes and commercial buildings surrounded the outer areas of the city. The city, overall, was dark and dingy; the industrial sectors were filled with brothels, dank bars, strip clubs, and other undesirable places. Only the suburbs had remained uncorrupted, and still maintained their perfect image.

Sprawling outward from the city were large subdivision, comprised mostly of houses and commercial buildings. Out here, the streets were clean and safe, the local police smiled and waved to passersby. There were parks for children to play in, schools were safe, every lawn was freshly and neatly cut, the white and black houses lined up in geometric order, with flowers in the front yards and a car in every driveway. Here, children played outside together, while their parent’s grilled hamburgers and hotdogs. There was no fear here, no crime, the residents could leave their doors unlocked at night, they’re cars would be safe from vandals.

Moving inward into the city, the buildings became more industrial in nature, replacing the perfectly trimmed, neat and proper suburban buildings. These areas began to show the grit and grim of an urban city. Rarely was there a lawn to tend, a house to paint, only apartments, housing projects, and industry. A massive urban development project was underway, building the city upward and overtop of the existing cityscape. The government had promised everyone living on the “ground” a place in the “uppercity”, but everyone knew that there was no truth to that statement.

The seaport areas were the worst; the police had given up on trying to police these areas, and were simply attempting to keep the denizens within this area. No law-abiding citizen visited here, and no sane police officer came here without back-up, lots of back up. The Office of Urban Development and Renewal had conveniently “forgot” to add this section of this city to the development plan, citing that it was too difficult to maintain the seaport facilities from an upper platform. As a result, the city was latterly growing up around the seaport, as if entombing it. No one wanted to mess with these areas, no one wanted to clean them up, and no one wanted the people living within them, so they were forgot about, and left to fester in their underground cities.

Within these less desirable areas, hoodlums ran the streets, dealers and pushers stood on every corner peddling their drugs to everyone. Gangs ruled schoolyards, terrorizing children and teachers alike. The gunfire within the area was so constant; you could almost keep time by it.

Behind an apartment building, on a dirty, glass laden basketball court, a game was going in full swing. Several large men, shirts off, covered with sweat, played, there were no rules here, of course, this was street ball, and so anything went. Off to the side, several men sat, shooting dice against the wall by the firelight of a burning barrel. The only light over the court was from a single flickering street light, several more burning barrels, and a big Cadillac’s headlights. The Caddie’s sound system was pumping out music, sub-woofer going full tilt, vibrating the few windows with glass left in them. Around the outside of the lot, workings girls looked for work, dealers dealt and junkies took their hits, escaping to a better place, for life here was hell.
Back on the court, a man went up to drunk the ball, another bull rushed him, knocking him over, landing in a puddle of glass. The man stood up, bleeding from his hands and knees, his jeans torn and cut in multiple places. No one turned to look, no one asked if he was alright, no one even noticed, moreover, no one cared.

“What da fuck?” he screamed towards the man who had rushed him. “Da fucks wrong wit you, bitch?”

The other looked up and said “Yo bitch, you wanna be a pussy? Go find yer fuckin’ mamma, punk, we don’t wan’ yo’ sorry ass here anyway, motha fucka.”

The injured man started, his eyes full of hate,. “Yo’ dawg, I know yo’ sorry ass ain’t talkin’ ta me like dat.”

“Bitch, I am talkin’ to you, so what da fuck you gonna do?” replied the offending man. Over where the men were playing dice, a new game was
started; bets on the fight brewing were laid down.

The injured man removed something from his pocket, a small inhaler, and put it into his mouth, taking a puff, he put it back into his pocket. He stood there for a second, in the darkness his pupils dialed a bit, he regarded the man again. In a voice that didn’t quite sound right, quieter, more dreamy and far away, he said. “I’m gonna fuck you up.”

“Yo bitch, lookit you, wit yo’ fuckn’ inhala, bitch I’m gonna fu—“ the man started.

And then the injured man charged

The man had no idea what just happened, all at once the man had charged across the distance and landed a punch square on the challenger. His fist smashed into the man’s face, pulverizing his nose, pushing it back into his head; a second hit, a left hook, hit the man in the side of the head, and sent him toppling to the ground. The attacker turned his back on his victim, and began to walk across the parking lot, slowly, methodically, towards a large fifty- five gallon drum.

The man never made it to the barrel, as the was walking, the victim rolled onto his back, and removed a pistol from his pocket, coming to his feet, he opened fire, holding his pistol sideways. The shots went wild, and the man was having trouble aiming, the blood and sweat were running into his eyes, and the pain from his broken nose and jaw were incredible. One bullet landed in the man’s back, blood flying out of the wound. Click, click, went the
gun, and the victim pulled another clip from his pocket, and reloaded.

The attacker turned, a menacing glare in his eyes. Totally oblivious of the bullet wounds in his back, he started back towards the victim, who was once again blazing away with his gun, the bullets slamming into the attacker, and not stopping him. He continued forward, never stopping, never slowing, only approaching slowly and steadily.

“Yo…bitch…what the fuck?” stammered the victim, pulling the trigger fast as he could.

The man approached.

The gun fire ripped into him.

bang, bang

The man continued, unstoppable.

bang bang bang

Still coming, closer now.

bang, bang…click click.

Still coming, not stopping.

The victim started in fright, throwing the pistol at the man, he turned and tried to run. The pistol hit the man right in the head, bouncing off and skittering away into the darkness, and the juggernaut continued his methodical advance.

The victim turned around, saw his doom coming, and tried to flee, only managing to trip over himself. He tried to get up, and failed. Looking up, the man was nearly over him, drooling, and glaring at him. He began to scoot back, pleading, “Yo, yo, man, calm down man, my bad, I’m sorry.”

The response was an inhuman gurgling sound. The victim scooted right into a wall and looked up in horror. His attacker was still coming, blood oozing from his wounds, he stopped, picking up a cinder block , and continued. “Oh shit man, no, dude man, stop!” he pleaded

The attacker raised the block high above his head, and brought it down on the man hard. The mans face slammed into the ground, his head flattened by the impact, blood and brain matter slowly leaking out of his body. Again and again the attacker slammed down with the brick, and kicked with his feet, pulverizing the already lifeless body.

He then dropped the brick on the body, and, covered in blood, slowly turned and waked away, strolling out of the parking lot. No one paid any attention to him, except to get well out of his way. The gamblers in the corner got their winnings, and the basketball game resumed. Several people went over to the body to loot it for money and valuables, stripping it of its money, wallet, keys and watch. The next morning, the body was tossed into a dumpster with the rest of the trash.

If the crime had been reported, and the police had bothered to investigate, they would have found the attacker several blocks away, dead on a park bench, an empty inhaler in his hand. However, no one did report it, and the police never investigated, the officials remained completely unaware of the odd happenings that night.

Seaport district
Jorut City
Transnapastain

The rain fell heavily that night, slamming into the ground, splashing into the puddles and ocean. The clouds blocked the view of the moon, and the entire city was cast in an eerie gloom, light up momentarily by brilliant streaks of lightning and claps of thunder.

Deborah Sheal didn’t like her job, who really liked beng a working girl? The hours were long, the costumers dirty, sleazy men, and the occasional woman, and the risks were high. However, the money was decent, and the drugs provided to her kept her bleakly unaware of her plight, at least momentarily.

She was freezing, but that’s what you get when you wear a skirt with no pantyhose, lose button up shirt, and a light jacket. Her long brown hair was frizzy from the moisture, and her make-up had begun to streak down her cheeks. If you removed the makeup, gave her some decent clothes, and cleaned her up a bit, she’d be a rather attractive woman. Age hadn’t ruined her face, no wrinkles covered her body, she was only 19, and been doing her job for nearly 4 years.

Businesses had been slow tonight; doubtless, people were staying indoors on account of the torrential rain. She began to walk slowly down the street, looking for any sort of costumers. She found her answer almost immediately, a car turned down the street, slowing as it approached her. Nope, not a police car, hopefully, this will be the one. she thought as she smiled at the driver. The car passed her, slowing down and stopping further down the street. She hurried to the car, a early edition Dodge Avenger, and leaned over, letting her shirt fall open, and looked in the window. The driver inside unlocked the doors, and she got in and sat down.

“Hey sugar, looking for some company?” she asked in a sweet, low voice.

“Yeah, I sure am.” He replied

“Well, I’m all yours for 200.” She replied, batting her eyes at him

“200? Come on baby, that’s a bit steep, how about 125?” he said

Deborah had planned on this, men always wanted sex, but they wanted to pay her prices, she’d learned to start high, and work her way down to the price she really wanted.

“Oh, sorry baby, I cant do that, the lowest I can go is 175.” She replied, stroking his leg.

He looked down at her hand, and she felt him shiver a bit. She could tell her wanted it, and that he would give in to her price, but he seemed like the kind of man who always had to have the last word.

“165, and I’ll drop you off wherever you want.” He said.

Not bad, 15 more than I wanted. She flashed him a smile, “Deal, sugar.” She replied.

He started the engine, and began to drive, they rode in silence for about a block, and then, at a red light, he turned to her.

“It’ll be a few minutes before we get to the motel, in the mean time…” he said, reach down and unzipping his pants, looking at her and grinning.

She took it into her hand, leaned over, and went about her duties, she didn’t like riding in a car when she couldn’t see ahead of her, but her unease was worth the money. While they drove, he constantly kept a hand on her head, roughly hold her down, or jerking her head up and down quickly

They drove on, and after about 10 minutes, they arrived at their destination. Sitting back up, and wiping off her mouth, she exited the car. She waited outside as he went in and rented a room. When he came back out of the office, she followed him up a flight of external stairs and into a room. He flipped on the lights as he walked in, she followed and he closed and locked, the door. She went and lay on the bed, her hands behind her head.

“Ill be right back, baby.” He said, and wondered into the bathroom.

She lay their waiting for him, after only a few minutes he came back, completely naked and ready to go. She moaned a little as he climbed on top of her, pulling up her skirt. She felt him unbutton her shirt, pull it off and toss it aside. She felt him slide into her, and faked a moan to make him happy.

They continued for several hours, and she contemplated on how extremely rough he was, grabbing onto her shoulders as he slammed into her, sometimes taking her head in his hands and slamming it into the pillow, or sometimes even the headboard. She had bruises all over her body, head, shoulders, arms and chest. Not to mention several places where he’d bitten her, scratched her, and the extremely pain in the genital area from hours of abuse.

Two hours passed, and he was still going strong, she began to contemplate if this was worth the money. She was beginning to feel woozy, and tired. She was almost certain she was bleeding forms several places, one of them very unmentionable. She decided that she would ride it out, not risk pissing him off, besides, she figured How much longer can he last

Another hour passed, and he wasn’t showing any signs of stopping, she decided 160 dollars wasn’t worth her death, or inability to continue her work, so she decided to say something.

“Hey buddy, can you stop for a sec, you’re really starting to hurt me…can I just finish you off myself or something?” she found it extremely difficult to talk, gasping for breath and her words coming out ragged and spaced.

He continued on as if he never heard her, slamming into her harder and harder. She pleaded with him again. “Come on man, stop, let me up!” she cried and pleaded to no avail

Finally she decided she’d had enough. Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed with all her might, and flung him onto his back. He screamed, an inhuman noise, part utter terror and part rage as he flipped on to the bed. She scurried out from under him, and rolled onto the floor. He sat up on his knees, and looked at her. Looking into her eyes, she could see only hate and rage within. She scrambled across the room to her coat.

He stood up for the bed and dashed across the room after her. He jumped onto her back just as he got a hand onto her coat. Forcing her to the ground, pulling the jacket down with her. She felt him pummeling her back with his fists.

She screamed as she groped for the knife in her jacket. Removing it, she reached around to her side, and jabbed the knife into his side. She heard it make contact, and break his skin. Screaming, he toppled off of her onto the floor, clutching his wound. Looking over, she saw his eyes were closed; she attempted to climb to her feet. As she was moving, his hand darted out and grabbed her, dragging her back to the floor. She gasped as she fell, this time landing on her back, and he was once again to top of her. She could feel the blood from his wound flowing down on her, and she stabbed him again and again with the knife in the chest and side. This time, however, he seemed unaffected, screaming whenever it hit, but never relenting in his brutal attacks. At one point, he grabbed onto her arm, as she was stabbing, and bite hard into her wrist. She screamed in pain as the knife feel from her hand and clattered to the blood soaked floor. She began clawing at him, but, it was too much, she barely had an energy left to fight with. Her attacks became meeker and meeker as he laid into her, sometimes reinserting himself, falling out again, always tearing into her with his fists. She finally just gave up, going slack on the floor. Maybe he’ll just think I’m dead. she thought

He stood up and, picking her up, he headed for the bathroom. Dropping her on the floor besides the shower. She let out a gasp as she hit, and pain shot through her body. He let out an inhuman sound, a serious of incoherent moaning and growling noises. He picked her up by her hair, and began to slam her head into the tub, over and over. Deborah had passed out, the last thing she remembered was being placed, face down, in the toilet bowel, the water coming up to meet her face, her vision obscured by blood and an eye that had been swollen shut. She knew she was going to die; she just wished it would hurry up and happen.

Unknown Motel
Jorut City
Transnapastain
Several Hours Later

The lights of the police cruisers shifted back and forth, from blue to red to blue again, casting their colors on everything around. There were several of such cruisers parked around the parking lot, along with an evidence technicians van.

Investigative Officer Fredrick Jefferson pulled into the parking lot in his unmarked dark blue sedan. All OIS officer drive the same kind of car, and, even if they were unmarked, it was pretty easy to spot one.

Pulling to a stop, he reached down and removed him umbrella from the door. The rain had been pouring down for hours, and wasn’t showing any sign of letting up. Opening his door, he extended his umbrella and stepped from the car. As he did so, he noticed an officer coming over to great him. She came to a stop just before him and saluted. “Sir!”. Her manner was very professional, but her smile betrayed her.

She knew him, and he knew her, they’d been working together on the force for the better part of five years, he’d told her time and again that he didn’t go for that by the book crap, and she persisted, if only to constantly get at his goat.

“Damnit Rebecca, stop that.” He said, smiling back at her. “What have we got?”

They began to walk towards the hotel room. Inside, Jefferson noticed several officers, questioning the hotel proprietor, and leafing through the guest books. “Its not pretty sir, most definitely a homicide, this ones pretty gruesome, though.”

They entered the hotel room; she stopped and held the tape up for him as he ducked under, and he understood what she meant. There was blood, everywhere. On the floor, the bed, the walls…everywhere.

“Christ, what happened here?” hw said quietly, almost to himself.

“Uh, isn’t that what you’re supposed to figure out? Mr. Investigative Officer?” asked Rebecca, offering him a cup of coffee as she asked

“Shut up.” He said, jokingly. “Anyway, give me the rundown.”

“Right. Victims name is Deborah Sheal, 19 years old from the harbor district. Judging by where we are, I'd say she was a working girl, and her client brought her here.” She paused to point at the bed. “Fluids and hairs on the bed suggest intercourse took place…though we had a bit of trouble removing the samples…untainted…. don’t shine a white light on that thing…” she continued. “The blood on the bed is the oldest, and the trail, while small, leads from there to the chair, here, where the coat is, there was also a knife, but, Evidence removed it already. Forensics have taken all their samples, so it’s alright to poke around. Anyways, it looks like there was a struggle here…another trail leads to the bathroom, where you’ll find more blood on the lip of the tub, floor, and in the toilet bowl. We found the body face down in the bowl. She's alive, but you couldn’t tell by looking at her. She’s in critical condition over at Dredderick Memorial.” She handed him a set of Polaroid pictures, and he looked through them. They depicted ghastly images of a horribly mutilated body, face caved in, covered in blood, lacerations, and divots, as well as several broken bones.

“Jesus…were there any stab wounds on the body?” he asked, handing back the pictures

“None that I know of. Though, with all that blood, it was hard to tell, none of those scratches look like a knife wound though.” Rebecca replied

“Yeah, then, my current guess would be that she stabbed him. That’ll be confirmed when the prints on the knife come back. That begs the question…why would a hooker try and murder her client?”

“That I don’t know…maybe he tried to hurt her? Maybe she’s insane?” asked Rebecca

“Could be, I like the first idea better. Obviously he tried to hurt her….” He stopped, lost in thought. “Whose the officer in charge her…besides me?” he asked aloud

“I am.” Answered an officer a sergeant.

“Sergeant, I’m going to be departing the scene, you’re in charge, when word on anything comes back, call me, and let me know.” Said Jefferson

“Yes, Detective.”

“Come on Rebecca, we’re going to Dredderick Memorial.” he said

They both left the room, and climbed into Jefferson’s Sedan. He started it up, and shifted into gear, turning out into traffic.

“Oh, I forgot to mention.” started Rebecca.

“Hmm?” asked Jefferson

“One odd thing we found. In the bathroom trashcan, we found an empty inhaler, Evidence took it hoping to get prints.” She said

“So, someone is an asthmatic?”

“No…it wasn’t an asthma inhaler, well, at least, I don’t think it is. It didn’t have a prescription label, or company name, and it was black, most medical inhalers are blue or white.” she said quietly

“Hmm, I don’t know, that’s an odd one for sure…maybe he pealed the label off?”

“Maybe.” she conceded

They pulled into the hospital parking lot, and he flashed his badge to the clerk manning the tollbooth, getting them in free. They parked and headed into the building, approaching the front desk, the nurse looked up and asked.

“Oh, morning officers, can I help you?”

“Yes, my name is Investigative Officer Jefferson, she’s Officer Rebecca Engle. I need to see the doctor for patient Deborah Sheal.”

“Yes sir, right away.” She answered, picking up her phone.

The two walked away and took a seat in the lobby. Within minutes, the doctor had arrived

He strode up to Jefferson and extended his hand. “Hello, sir, my name is Doctor Ray Henderson. You wanted to talk to me about Miss Sheal?”

“Yes, I need to see her charts, and her, if possible.”

“Of course, you may see her, but she’s not awake, and I cant risking bringing her around at the moment. Here are her charts.” He said, handing Jefferson a clipboard with a thick stack of papers.

“As you can see, she’s pretty badly beat up. We found evidence was very rough and damaging intercourse, ripped and torn skin around the vaginal area, as well as semen samples in both her vagina and mouth, which we’ve taken and forwarded to the department. It looks like her partner bit and scratched her repeatedly. There’s a massive amount of blunt trauma on the back of her skull, and a severe bites on her right wrist. Her face has been mutilated horribly, most likely caused by blunt trauma.” He paused. “Needless to say, she’s in pretty bad shape. However, here’s the odd thing. We were running routine tests on her blood, to check for HIV, and it back with trace amounts of an unknown substance. We chalking it up to unforeseen contaminates in the blood, but I figured I’d point it out.”

“Alright then, doctor, I think that’s all I needed to know.” said Jefferson. “Thank you.”

“No problem, if I find anything else, I’ll alert the department.”

With that, Fredrick and Rebecca left, and got into the car. Within minutes, his cell phone rang.

“Detective? This is Sergeant Barns, listen, we got prints back on the knife and inhaler, as well as confirmation on the blood samples.”

“Go ahead.” said Fredrick.

“Right, well, the prints on the knife, are that of the woman, determining from the position, it was dropped from her right hand. The inhaler’s prints were from the other person, a man named Mitchell Garcia, we’re already running him down. The blood on the bed is only hers, and the semen correlates with the DNA print from Garcia. The hairs on the bed belong to them both. The blood on the floor near the door belongs to both, mostly his, and in the bathroom, the blood is mostly hers, with none of his on the bathtub or toilet.” Reported the officer

“Thank you. Sergeant, you’ve been very helpful.” Said Jefferson, hanging up

They drove back to the motel, and Rebecca got out of the car.

“This is sick Fred, I hope we catch this one…” she said

“Yes, this one is pretty bad, and that’s saying something for this side of town.” He paused. “I want to get out of here, and get back to the capital, where the real works done.” He said, starting his car and driving of into the night

Jorut
Transnapastain

The voices filled his mind, they always did when he slept, snippets of monologue from his past, haunting him with their presence. They’d always start off pleasant, reminding him of a better time.

---Good work Jefferson, you brought this one to a close---

Flash, another time and voice

---I hereby promote you to the rank of Investigative Officer within the Office of Internal Security---

Flash

---Good job, son, I’ve never seen such a rising star, keep this up, and you’ll see Investigative Director within a year---

Flash

---Leave that alone Fred, you can’t do any good by follow it up, let it rest, you’re off the case---

Flash, another voice, female, angry and sad, mostly accusing

---Damnit Fred, you’re never around, you never pay attention to me, I want a family!---

Flash, The voices were becoming colder, more haunting

---You’re getting behind in your work, Fred, you need to keep up, and what’s this I hear about you digging into old files, you know that case is closed, let it rest.---

Flash

---You’re a loose cannon Jefferson, now get your shit together, or your outta here!---

Flash, the voice damning him.

---One too many times, you were warned….we’re sending you back, to where you belong, you don’t belong here with us….you aren’t good enough---

Flash, snippets of conversations darted through his mind, taking him back to a time when he’d been on top, above it all. How far he’d fallen, he reflected sometimes, late at night, in the dark, over an empty bottle.

The buzzing and ringing started slowly, barely cutting into his nightmare, it grew lauder and more incessant with each passing moment, until it was a cacophony of noise, fit to wake the dead.

It was enough to wake the half drunk, groggy from one two many mixed drinks.

Brrrrring Brrrrring

“Alright, I’m coming ya piece of shit…” he muttered to himself as he rolled from bed, his feet touching the cold, wooden floor. As he did so, he heard a half full bottle of brandy hit the floor. “Shit” he muttered as he trekked his way across the room to the ringing phone, picking up the receiver he said “What? What do a want?”

“Jefferson? Its Rebecca are you alright?”

Jefferson forced his mind through the groggy haze, and cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m fine, Rebecca, thank you…what’s the matter? I’m sure you didn’t call just to chat”

“No sir.” She replied, sounding somewhat embarrassed. “I just wanted you to know, sir, that they found that suspect.”

“They did? When did they bring him in?” he inquired

“That’s the thing, sir, they didn’t, he’s dead, here’s the location, I’m sure you want to head down here.”

“Why the hell should I?” he asked “He’s dead, case closed, right?”

“Well, yeah, but, its still your case, don’t you think you ought to see it through?”

“The last time I saw something through, it bit me in the ass, and you know it.” He said, the voices still ringing in his ears.

“I know it, but you know that’s all past now, get down here.” He said, hanging up.

Godmanit, why do I even bother? he asked himself, as he wearily got dressed. He walked over to the self-serve bar he’d had installed in his 3 bedroom house in the nicer area of Jorut. It was rather stylish and swanky, but, without anyone to share it with, 3 bedroom homes are mighty lonely places. Removing his silver flask from its place under the bar, he filled it full of whisky, tucking it into his breast pocket and his pistol into its shoulder holster, grabbing his keys, he headed out.

He could see flashing police lights as he neared the scene, and he pulled into a dockyard parking lot, pulling up next to a parked cruiser. He turned off the engine, and stepped out of the car, He instantly saw Rebecca coming over to meet him.

“I’m glad you decided to drag your lazy ass out of bed.” She said, handing him a cup of coffee. As she turned to lead him back to the scene, he quickly removed the flask, poured some of its contents into the coffee cup, and replaced it in his pocket, she suddenly stopped in mid stride

“What did you just do?” he asked, some anger slipping into her voice

Jefferson did his best to look innocent. “What? Nothing, I didn’t do anything” he replied

“Uh huh, come here.” She said, and pulled him by the collar, she drew his face to hers

“Hey there, killer, be careful I might get some fancy ideas.” He said

She returned a flirty smile “and I might get some sexual harassment papers, if you try.”

“That’s cold, Rebecca, real cold.” He said, feigning being hurt…at least, he thought he was faking it…

“Anyways, that’s what I thought, you’ve been drinking again.” She sighed and placed her arm on his shoulder. “Damnit Fred, this has to stop. I know you miss Laura, but, you can’t keep abusing yourself like this.”

Suddenly, he threw her arm off, “Damnit Rebecca! You don’t even know! It’s not just her, godamnit! It’s everything, I lost everything! You could possibly fucking understand!” he yelled at her, several police officer turned their heads to look, wondering what the ruckus was. “All my life, I waited and I worked for it, I achieved it, and it was stripped away from me, my life’s work, discarded, why? So a few men may have their pleasures, while I have none!” he paused, a far off look in his eye. “I…I…” he broke off, and collapsed onto the ground.

“Fred!” shouted Rebecca, dropping to her knees, catching his head in her hands as he toppled to the pavement. Several EMT’s and officers cam dashing over. The medics sat down next to him, and began to take his pulse, shining penlights in his eyes.

“He’s alive, and he’s okay…he just passed out. What happened here?”

“I don’t know, we were arguing, and he just seized up.” Rebecca answered

“Has he ever done this before?” asked the paramedic

“Not that I know of.”

“Ok, well, I’m going to bring him around, help me carrying him to the ambulance.” Said the medic, as several men lifted Jefferson off the ground, and transported him to the back of the ambulance.

They stuck a hypodermic needle into his neck, and released it. Within seconds, Jefferson’s eyes were fluttering, beginning to open.

“Wha…what happened?” he asked, his voice dry and horse.

“You seem to have passed out for no reason, are you alright Detective?” asked the paramedic

“Yeah, I think so.” He answered

“I want you to lay here for a bit…I’ll just step outside…” said the medic, as he excused himself

“I’m sorry Rebecca…you didn’t deserve that…its just—“ he began

“Don’t worry about it, its over now, its ok.” She consoled him

“Well, why don’t you finish telling me about what happened here?” he asked

“Right, well, we got the call around 4:12am. Dock workers were unloading that freighter over there when they say they heard a scream and a splash. Coming outside to investigate, they saw something floating in the water. Using fishing nets, they managed to drag the body close enough to the peer to pull it out. What they found was the bloody, battered body of Mitchell Garcia.”

“Where are they now?” he asked

“We released them after the initial questioning, I took their name and phone numbers, so you could contact them later. They were covered with Garcia’s blood, and asked to be excused. We didn’t find much of anything on the body. “ she went on

“So, that’s that, then?” he asked

“Seems so.” She answered “Well, we’ll have to make a report to Director Carmichael tomorrow, he told me to tell you to be in his office at 0800.”

“Well, damnit, its already almost 6…no point going back to sleep. Lest go get breakfast.” He suggested.

“Sure, I’ll follow you.” She said with a smile

Jefferson got into his car, and drove out of the seaport/industrial sections. About 30 minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, a little Mom and Pop breakfast place that loved police officers. They walked inside, and had a seat at a booth in the back corner, Jefferson sitting with his back to the wall.

The waitress came and took their orders, and departed, with a smile and nod to them both.

“So, uh, you gonna be alright?” asked Rebecca.

“Yes, I’ll be ok. I just, remembering those old times…” he started and trailed off

“Yes, nostalgia will do that to you, sometimes.” She said “Maybe you should try and forget, and get on with your life?”

“Not that simple, and you know it. You were a dancer in high school, weren’t you?”

“I…yea.” she said, caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic. “I still dance ballet, from time to time.”

“Obviously, you enjoy it then?” he asked

“Well, yes, I love it. Its peaceful and relaxing.” She paused. “when I was a little girl, I always wanted to be a ballerina.”

“You’ve got enough talent, that you could be, if you really wanted. However, suppose you get shot, and the bullet permeably debilitates you. You lose function of your legs…obviously, you can’t dance anymore, how would you feel?”

“I’d be devastated!” she said

“and rightly so, but, now you understand a splinter of how I feel.” He said. “All my life, I worked to get out of this rat hole. I finally made it, but not in a way I wanted.” He paused. “Did I ever tell you about my brother?”

“I don’t think so.” She said

“He’s dead. When I was 16, he recruited me into his gang. Small time, petty theft and what not. Some boys from another gang were coming onto our turf, and he decided they needed to be taught some respect. Well, one of them had a gun, and my brother took the bullet, right in his temple. He died in my arms.”

“I’m so sorry…I—” she began

“Shh, its not over.” He said. “Anyways, the police never caught the kid, and I decided to take matters into my own hands. I hunted the kid down, and beat him half to death. I was arrested, and the judge told me I had two choices. Serve my term in the military, or face 10 years in adult prison. So I served my term.”

“The military straightened me out. I saw limited action, part of actions in the Seabelt, mock wars with Kaukolastan, Nailiak and the CAL. When I got out, I became a police officer. After I thought wrapped up the Mercury case, I was promoted to Investigative Officer. I was living the high life, nice car, new house, Laura…I had it made. Then it all went down hill, for doing the right thing, and for standing up for my ideals, I was exiled. Fittingly returned to the scum pit I climbed out of. Cast back down from the upper class. They left me with my rank and stripped me of my dignity.”

She just sat, in silence, listening.

“That’s what happened to me…I can’t really discuss the details…its too painful, but…” he trailed off again.

“I don’t know what to say Fred…I’m sorry.”

“That’s no big deal….at least someone’s sorry.” He answered

During the story, the food had come an gone, the bill paid and time passed.

“Well, we better get down to the station. We’re supposed to report to the Director in 30 minutes. They both got into their cars and drove off. Pulling into the underground garage, Jefferson parked his car, and met Rebecca by the elevator. They proceeded up together. Arriving at the Directors office, they were halted by his secretary.

“He says he wants to see you first, Rebecca, by yourself.”

“Ok, back in a sec.” She said to Jefferson

She entered the room, and stood before the Investigative Director Carmichael. They talked, but Jefferson couldn’t make out their words. He handed her a packet of papers, and Jefferson caught a flash of the “Top Secret” stamped on it. She saluted, and sat down, as Carmichael beckoned Jefferson into the room. Entering, he saluted, a lazy arm toss, almost mocking the idea of a salute itself, and sat down. Carmichael didn’t look too pleased, but he let it fly.

“Normally, I wouldn’t bypass your normal command structure, but, I wanted the report on this one personally, mostly so I could give you some news.” He said, and motioned for Jefferson to make his report

“Not much to tell, sir, here’s the papers.” He said, handing Carmichael a manila envelope. “Not much to say, some bum beating some low life whore. Then taking a plunge in the drink. Pimp most likely got to him before we did. The only oddity of can think of is that the Doctor over at Dredderick Memorial reported the existence of some unknown chemicals in the blood of both victim and attacker.

“I see. Well, I’ve spoken with that doctor, and he tells me the unknown chemical was, in reality, PCP, which accounts for the resistance to stab wounds we noticed.”

“PCP? Come on, boss, even someone doped on PCP couldn’t survive what this guy did. There has to be something else, Besides, they report indicates that’s there was LSD in his blood, too, a mixture like that would have resulted in death well before this crime even happened.”

“LSD and PCP remain in your system for years, Detective.” Said Carmichael.

“Not in that small amounts, sir.” Countered Jefferson

“Detective, haven’t you been warned about your bad habits of over exaggerations and over analyzing?”

Jefferson said nothing, only to look down at his feet, his face a mixture of hurt pride and anger.

“That’s what I thought.” Concluded Carmichael. “Anyways, since drugs were found in the bodies, that makes this a case for Narcotics, not Homicide, so, you’re both officially off the case. However, I would like to announce that I’m promoting Rebecca to Investigative Officer, and making her your partner. You too seem to do work together…even though I wonder who really does the work between the two of you.” his eyes looking to Rebecca, then glaring at Jefferson.

“That’s all, you’re both dismissed.”

As they were leaving, Jefferson asked Rebecca, “So, what did he want to see you about?”

“Oh, to give me my papers and tell me about the promotion first.”

“I see…” said Jefferson. “Something just inst right about this case.” He commented

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, we’re done with it…and I’m sure your inbox has all sorts of new things for you to do. Come on, let’s get to it.”

“Yea….” Said Jefferson, not even realizing he said it, his mind was still far away, working and thinking.

“I’ll be right back.” He said, stepping into the elevator, and closing the door before she could follow him. He pressed the lowest numbered button, and proceeded down the hall towards the evidence room. He was so lost in thought that he was almost whacked in the face when the evidence room door opened. The mans stepped through, holding the door, the light form inside reflecting off the silver sunglasses on his face.

“Pardon me, I’m sorry.” Said Jefferson

“No problem…” said the man, as he walked away

Wearing sunglasses indoors….must think he’s hot shit. thought Jefferson as he approached the counter

“Hey, Fred, what can I do for ya?” said the elderly evidence technician.

“Hey John, I need to see Evidence Lot number 814d3”

“Sure, one sec.” The man disappeared into the back…returning only a moment later. “Sorry Fred, sure you got the right number? I don’t have anything by that number.”

“Maybe someone has it out?” he asked, worried

“Nope, I checked.”

“Was it released as evidence? Does the court have it?”

“Nope, sorry Fred, I don’t have anything logged, as coming in, or going out, by that number.”

“What the hell John! It’s a small inhaler, I checked the damn thing in myself.” He said

“Well apparently you didn’t, cause its not here, Fred, there’s nothing I can do.”

Jefferson heard the door open behind him, and watched Rebecca walk in.

“What are you looking for?” she asked

“That inhaler we found in the hotel room, I know we cheked it in, but, I’m being told its not here, and never was.” He said, seething

“Oh, well, that’s odd. You know they are down here, though, losing things all the time.” Her manner was joking, and calm. John looked up from his books, also joking, “Hey lady, watch your self.”

“Anyways, Fred, come on, we’ve got to get back out there. Besides, they’re serving free coffee over at Tillmins, and I want some…lets go.”

“Alright, but I’m driving.” He said, as they departed

-click-

-hiss-

-ring- -ring- -ring-

-click-

“?Hola, quien es?”

“Uno de mis hombres encontro algo muy interesante e ironico. El hombre que descubrio Mercury esta trabajando en el sendero de Blade.”

“Esto no me importa. No hay peligro en solo un hombre.”

“Un grano de sal cae de vaso primero, pero otros van a caer tambien. Elimine esta problema antes de que sea un cancer.”

“?Quien eres tu, hablar a mi como esto? !Yo soy el jefe! !Haga que yo digo!”

“?Que dices?”

“…”

-click-

-click-

Tillman’s Café
Jorut City
Transnapastain

Tillman’s had long been the café of choice for police officers in the city. Offering free doughnuts and coffee, as well as breakfast, to anyone carrying a badge, it had, over the years, become a gathering place for officers to swap stories, and catch up during and after their shifts ended.

Fred parked his Sedan in the closest space, and stepped from the car. A light mist-like rain blanketed the area, adding humidity to what was already shaping up to be a very hot day.

Fred led the way into the café, and he and Rebecca took a seat near the back wall. Within seconds, a waitress had approached the table.

“Hiya ‘Becca. Hey Fred, what can I do for ya’ll?” she asked

“Just coffee, cream and sugar, two cups. No food for the time being.” Said Fred, and the waitress departed.

Fred sat quietly, remembering the voices, haunting him in his light sleep earlier that morning. He remembered being on top of the world. Remembered the glory, the fame, and the money. He remembered Laura, most of all. All of it was so fresh in his mind; it felt as if he were still living it. Outwardly, he acted as though he were still upper class, still held that social position, but, inside, deep within him, he knew they’d taken it from him.

Suddenly, his mind jerked back to the present. He looked over to Rebecca.

“I did check that inhaler into evidence, you know.”

“Of course you did, Fred.” She replied, her tone almost patronizing.

“Don’t talk to me like that. You know damn well I did.”

“Well, maybe you did, but you know how it is back there, stuff gets lost all the time.”

“Yea, its those low life punks they got working stock back there. Bunch of totally morons.” He said bitterly.

“No need to get that upset over some simple misplaced piece of evidence. You know its not going to matter, because we’re never going to find the perp who killed that man, so, that piece of evidence is useless anyway. “ he said

“You’re most likely right, anyway.” He said, but something in his mind wouldn’t quit tugging at him.

“I think I’m going over to talk to the doctor later today.” He declared

“Why, gonna get the hole in your head fixed?” she asked, sipping her coffee, smiling at him over the mug.

“Not funny, I meant the doctor who we spoke with the other night. I want to see the report he gave to Carmichael.“ he replied

”Then why don’t you just request it from Central?” she asked.

“I tried that.” He said, sighing “Its rated Level 5, two levels above my access.”

“Ah” as her only reply

“You don’t think that’s odd?” he asked

“Not really, since Carmichael filed it. That’s his level.” She replied nonchalantly.

“What’s the matter with you anyway?” she asked “You haven’t looked right all day.”

“Nothing, I’m fine…” he said, muttering.

“Bullshit, Fred, I’m not stupid.” She said. “You ought to talk to me, we’re going to be working together, and, sometimes, its nice to talk to people, I know you don’t socialize much…” she trailed off as his head snapped up quickly

“Did I ever tell you about my time as a beat cop in Cestra Heights?” he asked suddenly

“Uh, no, not really.” She said, slightly taken aback by his sudden change in tone and topic.

“Come on, lets go drive around, I’ll explain on the way to the hospital.” He said, standing up, and tossing 4 bucks on the table. They both walked out of the café, and got into the Sedan. Jefferson started the engine, and pulled into traffic

“I spent most of my time as a beat cop, stationed in Cestra Heights.” He started. “I had a knack my superiors liked, I was pretty good at getting low-lifes to talk. I can think of a dozen times when they’d send me into a Mafia hide-out, with only the simple instructions, ‘get the information we need, and try not to kill anyone.’ Of course, the police don’t officially operate this way…so it had to be hushed…

and he began to talk


22 years ago
Cestra Heights, Red District
Transnapastain

Cestra Heights, one of Transnapastain’s largest cities as situated in the foothills of the Angelus Mountains, in the northern portion of the nation. Like most of the others metropolises within the nation, it had its share of decay and crime. The city was also one of the oldest settlements within the nation, and showed it with its dark brick buildings, narrow streets, and dark, seedy alleys.

The neon lights from the strip bar reflected off of Jefferson’s windshield, bathing him in a neon purple and pink glow. There was a constant stream of people coming and going from the strip bar, and two larger men stood watch outside, their jackets bulging with concealed sub-machine guns.

Jefferson got out of the car, and preceded across the street to the bar, as he approached, one of the bouncers looked up at him, and said, gruffly,

“Hold ona second there pal. Cover charge is 15 credits.”

“Sure, no problem boys.” Said Jefferson, handing the man a 20 credits.

‘Alright, you can head on in.” he said, and opened the door for Jefferson

Entering the bar, Jefferson was appalled at the site. The entire place reeked of urine, and cheap drinks, and a thick haze of cigarette smoke hung in their air. Women danced and entertained the guests. The loud thumping music pushed out a techno beat. The entire place was dark and seamy.

The sooner I’m out of here and away from these low lives, the better Jefferson thought as he picked his way across the bar.

His mission was simple enough, come here, and find one Danny Vartinza, aide to the boss of this city, Don Sergio. Luckily for Jefferson, Vartinza was about as horrible a man as they come. He preferred to spend his time at seedy strip bars, picking up cheap prostitutes, and enjoying the “sights”. He’d most likely be found in the VIP room. Jefferson needed to find a way inside.

The police needed some more information on Don Sergio, and the recent murder of a high ranking OIS officer had lit a fire under the polices mafia task force to bring a stop to Mafia activities in the town. Vartinza had dirt on Sergio, and the OIS needed the dirt.. They didn’t really care about Vartinza, the man was about as ignorant and useless as they come. He did, however, keep books for Sergio, and he knew who had killed that cop, if Jefferson could find out who did it, and if Don Sergio had ordered it, it’d bring the case to a close, pretty damn quick. All he had to do was wear a simple micro-recorder, and get Vartinza to spill his guts.

He found his way to the bar, and ordered a drink.

“Never seen you in here before, pal.” Said the bartender, as he passed him a bottled beer.

“New in town, passing through, and looking for a good time.” He said, quietly

“Good time, huh?” the bartender echoed. “I might be able to arrange that, should the right offer come my way.”

“Well, let me pay for this drink…and we can talk about that.” He said, handing the bartender a sixty dollar credichip.

“I think that will cover the drink, and many more. Door on your left, down the hall, you’ll find your good time there.” Said the bartender, the credichip disappearing into his hand as soon as Jefferson had tossed it onto the bar.

Standing up, Jefferson tipped his hat to the man, “Thank you.” He said, departing.

He proceeded down the hallway, and rapped lightly on the door. The metal slit flipped open, then closed quickly, and Jefferson head a latch being opened on the inside. The door swung open, and he stepped into the room.

The room was much like the larger club area, just smaller, and danker. A smaller bar was here, self serve. The room had tables scattered around it, several pool table, and, around the parameter of the room, there were six doors, all locked, and each one had the name of a woman on it.

There outer room was empty, aside from Jefferson and the man who had opened the door, he looked very similar to the bouncers outside.

Waiting until after the man had re-locked the door, Jefferson approached him “Slow night?”

“Yeah, only two or three costumers in here now…aint seen you before, though, but Butch at the bar says you’re paid up.” Replied the man quietly. “I’m sure one of the girls will be done soon.”

“I didn’t come here for the girls, I came here looking for Vartinza, which rooms he in?” asked Jefferson.

“Why do you wanna know?” asked the man

“Because I have something to discuss with him, now, are you going to tell me which room he’s in, or not?”

“No, I’m not gonna tell you, now, get the fuck outta here.” The man, said, standing up to his full height.

Jefferson moved so quickly, the man didn’t have a chance. While the man had the size and weight advantage on him, Jefferson had his youthful fighting days, and his military training to fall back on. He sweeped with his legs, tripping the man, knocking him to the ground. Kicking him in the chin, Jefferson pulled out his pistol, a 9mm Beretta, fitted with a silencer, and pressed it into the mans face.

“Which room?” he said

“Fuck you.” Said the man, spitting at Jefferson’s face, the gob landing on Jefferson’s cheek.

“That’s gonna cost you…big.” He said, as he smashed the pistol butt into the mans face, breaking his nose. Blood sprayed out and Jefferson asked again. “Which door?”

The man gave in, and pointed to the 2nd door, with the name “Cathy” on it.

“Smart move.” Said Jefferson, as he wiped the spit form his cheek. He quickly removed his tazer, and shocked the man with it. The man went limp of the floor, and Jefferson handcuffed him to one of the stripper poles in the room.

He walked over to the 2nd door, and tried the handle. It was locked, of course.

From inside a voice called out “What is it, damnit, I’m busy.”

The door was old and wooden, a simple kick from Jefferson forced the lock to give way, and the door crashed open. Jefferson entered the room to find a woman wrapped around a pole, and Vartinza, laying on the bed.

Jefferson leveled his gun at Vartinza

“Don’t move. Neither one of you better make a sound. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“What the hell is this?” asked Vartinza

“Shut up, I’m asking the questions here.” Jefferson said, pushing the door closed again.

“What the hell do you want?” demanded Vartinza “You some kinda cop?”

Jefferson walked over to him and placed the pistol against the side of Vartinza’s head.
“Didn’t I just tell you to shut up?” he said, cocking the hammer

“Jesus man, don’t kill me!” pleaded Vartinza. “Man, if you’re a cop…you can’t do this to me. I have rights as a citizen!”

“Men who kill cops don’t have rights, Vartinza.” Said Jefferson

“I..I didn’t kill no cops.” Said Vartinza “I don’t know nothing bout that.”

“I think you do, Vartinza, and I think you’re going to tell me. Right now.” He said, pressing harder with the pistol.

“Man, I’m telling you, I don’t know anything about…” he started

“Wrong answer Vartinza!” said Jefferson, as he poked him again with the pistol. “That was your once chance, lie to me again, and you wont have a need for whores anymore. Get what I’m saying?”

“Oh, damn man, please no, not that!” he pleaded, sweat forming on his brow. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Then get to it. Now!” Jefferson demanded.

“Alright man!” he said “Like I said, I never killed no cops…but I can tell you who did!”

Jefferson just pressed harder with the pistol

“It was Estoban! Estoban Garcia! He’s a hitman for the Mafia. He iced that OIS guy.”

“Now, why would Estoban do a thing like that?”

“Because, Don Sergio ordered his death, that prick was messing with our shipments, getting in the way.”

“In the way of what?” asked Jefferson

“Our drugs man! The Don gets mighty pissed whenever anyone starts messing with his drug trade, that’s where the money is.” Said Vartinza

“Who ships for you? Where do the drugs come from?”

“That, I don’t know, Don Sergio keeps it real hush, he keeps his own books on the drugs and money. I do know they are coming from out of country, though.”

“I see.” Jefferson pulled the pistol back a bit. “Thanks for being so forthcoming, Vartinza.”

“What a second, you’re not going to arrest me?”

“Oh no, you’re fair to useless. I knew you didn’t kill any cops.” Said Jefferson, pulling out his tazer. “I’m just going to put you to sleep.”

“But, if you don’t take me with you, Don Sergio will kill me!” said Vartinza

“You’d better hope, then, that the information you gave me is right, and we get to him before he gets to you.” Said Jefferson nonchalantly, just before hitting him with the stun gun.

He walked over to the stripper, who was lying on the floor crying.

“I’m sure I ruined your night, I’m sorry, here.” He said, passing her 100 dollars. “Its most likely better than whatever he would have given you, and feel free to take his cash, too. I suggest you get out of her….and, maybe you should get out of this business, too?”

“th..thank you” she sobbed

He tossed the money onto the ground, and left the room returning his pistol to its holster. The room outside was still empty. Jefferson let himself out, and exited the bar, on his way out, the bartender stopped him

“Did you find the good time you were looking for?” he asked

“I did, thank you much.” He said, departing…

22 years later
Jorut City
Transnapastain

“Was it always like that?” Rebecca asked

“More or less. We eventually managed to track down all the different Mafia bosses, and found out who was running their shipping...”

“I see.” She said

Jefferson pulled him car into the parking lot at Dredderick Memorial Hospital, and shut off the engine. They both stepped from the car and proceeded inside. At the reception desk, he flashed his badge. ‘I’m here to see Doctor Ray Henderson.”

“One moment please.”

After several minutes, the doctor approached where Rebecca and Jefferson had been sitting.

“Ah, Officer Jefferson, what can id o for you?”

“I’d like to see a copy of the report you sent over to OIS headquarters concerning Miss Sheal.” He said

“I’m afraid I can’t show you that, I’ve already purged it from my computer, and the hospitals electronic router resets itself every 12 hours. If you need a copy of it, why don’t you request it from your own sources?”

“Because I’m here, now, and I want it. We haven’t received it yet. You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you purged information that could be vital to a court case.” Asked Jefferson

“I’d already sent it to the police, I can’t be expected to maintain a copy of every report I file.” Replied the doctor

“You do realize that I can arrest you for withholding information. You can not prove you sent it, and the police department hasn’t received it. Our computers don’t fail Doctor. I’ll have that report, and I’ll have it now.”

“Officer Jefferson, I don’t much care for your threats, I can not give to you what I do not have.” Replied the Doctor

“If you don’t appreciate my threats, then you’ll stop screwing around here, and turn over your documents.” Replied Jefferson icily

“I can not.” Is all the doctor said

“He doesn’t have it Fred, calm down.” Said Rebecca.

“Listen to your partner, Officer Jefferson.” Added the Doctor

“You watch your tone, Doc.” Replied Jefferson. “Fine, then you’ll turn over the reports from her toxicology tests, and her current medical charts.”

“I can not do that either. That would be a breach of the patient hospital confidentiality contract. She’d have to sign off on the forms to release the information, and she’s currently not able to do so.”

Jefferson removed his badge from his coat “This badge says I have access to every computer system and file system, public or private, within the nation. You’ll give me those reports now.”

“I can not, it would violate my oath as a doctor. Besides, like I said the reports are erased after 12 hours.”

“That’s a lie, you can’t dump reports on patients you still have in the hospital, and, by law, you must maintain copies of the reports for use by the law enforcements agencies, that would be me.” Jefferson glared at the doctor. “You’re about one step away from being arrested for obstruction of justice, Doc.”

“Arrest me if you will, Officer, the law is on my side, this kind of cowboy policing might work in the gang-ridden cities, but you can bully upstanding citizens around this way.” Replied the Doctor smugly.

“Then give me the reports on the man we found in the bay this morning. Mitchell Garcia.” He said coldly

“I’m afraid I don’t have those reports. Because he was dead on arrival, the body was taken directly to the morgue downtown.” Replied the doctor

“I don’t believe that. The autopsy would have been done here, why are you covering this?” Jefferson asked, a bit of anger creeping into his voice.

“I’m not hiding anything, Officer, I’m simply telling you the truth, I’ll thank you to stop badgering me, and leave me be, I’m a busy man, and I must return to my rounds, good day!” he said, turning and fleeing the waiting room.

Jefferson said nothing, instead, he quickly ran back to his car.

“Fred, where are you going?” shouted Rebecca, jogging to keep up.”

“The morgue!” he shouted behind him.

She wasn’t fast enough, he was in the car and gone before she could reach him…