Death is not uncommon in my line of work. I have seen my fair share of corpses, gotten somewhat used to the smells involved, and have even personally created a few. There is, however, something crazy about looking at what certain deranged people would call a “work of art” in the form of a murder. There is a level of primal disgust over what would appear to be completely inhuman. That thought alone helped to keep me from being desensitized to murder scenes. In cases like this, they were always different… always fresh.

The woman of the trio was Mary Lashbaugh, a cyber-junky under Temple’s Sanctuary. Her body was carved up, disemboweled, and impaled on a bent fence post. She hung suspended into the alley, her blood and what was left of her natural organs spilled out into the trash compactor below her. Her hair had been ripped out of her skull and used like rope to tie her arms behind her. Her lower jaw was missing, along with the left half of her face. Both of her legs were missing as well. Someone had surgically removed her rig, and all of her cybernetic parts.

The big man, Connor, was a set of cyber muscle along the same scope of Tuekoe. His arms and legs, along with half of his cranium were missing, in much the same surgical fashion. He too, was suspended over the same compactor, only via a different fence post. Both of the two Rigs still had their natural eyes open wide with a terror filled stare. Horrific as they may have been, they were not the most difficult things to look at.

I had seen some pretty terrible stuff in the past, but there are some things that you just don’t get used to, even in my line of work. The third “man”, if you could still call him that, was Tyson “The Reaver”. He was one of Temple’s rippers. The guy was not supposed to exist, and he was one of the men I had to remove from my case file. It was not pleasant encountering the guy, especially considering he had me tied to a chair while he tore up my leg and broke my hand. I was not sad to see him gone, but it made me ill looking at him. Removing cybernetics was one thing, you see deaths like that all over the place due to the black market sale of parts.

The way he was killed though… It was something else.

Tiara stood back a bit while both I and Baxter observed the victims up close. Tyson had been staked to the side of the trash compactor with metal shards as if they were pitons to a cliff. He was splayed wide and seemed to have each part of his genetically altered body displayed as if he was on a surgical table being dissected. His head was tilted back, forced into position with a metal shard straight between his eyes. Whoever killed him, did so slowly and methodically, inflicting each injury in a way to keep him alive as long as possible. His eyes were mad with agony and rage, and the wounds all over his body went from old to fresh starting at his feet and ending with the shard in his head, fresh being relative to time of death.

Whoever did it, wanted him to suffer, and they made sure he felt everything. Each genetically altered part of his body was surgically put on display; presented in a fashion to showcase them as if the surgeon was performing an autopsy. The bone blades in his arms, the claws in his hands, every muscle in his body, even his eyes were pulled out and staked to the metal compactor. Tyson took great pleasure in the pain he caused to others, and despite all of the things he may have done in life; this was not something I would have wished on anyone… even him.

Baxter stood there taking in the sights.

He took a few sniffs and said, “Don, I think I will pass on that steak.”

The bastard knew what he was doing. The thought of food was enough to throw my stomach over the edge, and I rushed to the wall opposite Tysons compactor, and vomited.

He gave a snickering laugh that he tried to muffle.

I pointed an accusing finger at him, “You said that on purpose you son of a b…”

What was left of the contents of my stomach interrupted me from finishing what I had to say.

Tiara slapped him on the shoulder, “Really Baxter?”

Baxter put up his hands submissively and backed away from Tyson’s corpse.

She looked at me, “Do you need a moment Don?”

I held up a finger as my stomach convulsed, “One… moment…”

She put her hand on her hip, “Look I recognize Arriola up there. I have seen him around. I am pretty certain that the woman is Mary Lashbaugh, but I could not confirm.” She gave a grimace at Tyson, “I have no idea who this is though.”

The way I figured it, keeping her in the dark over my associations with Temple would serve to protect me, and her. Considering I had cleared the air with Temple, there really was no reason to inform her. I hated lying to her, but as long as my links to Temple could remain silent, it would be better for her career and my own. The other two were non-entities, and knowing of their activities was no problem, especially since Tiara was already aware of my encounters with Connor. It would not have been a stretch for me to divulge that Mary was included in my report.

I removed my glove, and wiped my mouth, spitting what was left into the chunky puddle I had made. Wiping the side of my hand on my pants I pointed to Mary, “Yeah, that’s Lashbaugh alright. She was definitely in my file, but had been cleared of involvement regarding the case. You feel she is connected?”

She gave me a tired glare, “Of course I feel that these are connected Don. They have to be connected.” She pointed to Tyson with an arched thumb over her shoulder, “Four other sites since yesterday, and all similar to this, with the genetically modified persons on display in similar grotesque fashions. Like the murders were trying to deliver a message.”

I gave Tyson another look from the wall, “I would have to agree with the plural on that. I find it hard to believe that one person would have been able to take out groups of heavily modified meta-humans like this.”

She squinted her eyes, “Considering the close proximity, timewise, of each of these groups, it has to be a coordinated hit job on all of them. Three of the four groups had one member each that I cannot find records for.” She arched her thumb at Tyson again, “This one included.

She cocked her head, “You ok Don?”

I snapped out of my observation of Tyson, “Yeah… Yeah, why?”

She knew something was up, I could tell it in her tone, “You look like you know something. I know that look.”

I gave her a scathing look, “Yeah I know something. I know that is the most disturbing thing I have seen in awhile. I know that I should be on vacation, not sitting here voiding my lunch.”

She scoffed, “I am paying you for this, and you will be compensated for your time at the regular rates.”

I hunched a bit, feeling that sick feeling again, and waited for it to pass. A few deep breaths, and I made my way back over to Tyson’s corpse. I raised my hand and snapped my fingers at one of the drones floating in the air, lighting the scene. I drew closer as I beckoned for it to focus its light on Tyson’s face.

I examined his open mouth full of what looked to be similar to sharks teeth, his eyes, his tattoos on his cheeks and the sides of his head, “Did you find anything else on these three before I got here? Anything at all?”

She replied apathetically, “Nothing at all. Any weapons they had, any cybernetic parts they had; all of them were taken. Check their palms.”

I did, and noticed a detail that I had missed on my initial observation. All of their ID chips had been cut out of their palms, with exception to Connor, who was missing hands all together.

I looked at her, “Tell me… How is it that a heavily modified meta-human like this one here, does not register as a red flag or any sort on the GOD? If he had an ID chip in his palm, like you and I do… then he must have existed somewhere.”

She sounded defeated as if she had already gone over this with someone else, “Teeth… those are not normal teeth. His eyes, apart from the damage, were clearly not registered during or after their modifications, even his own blood samples do not match anymore.”

I hummed resolutely, “Guy sounds like a Sanctuary ripper to me.”

She agreed, “Yeah… Total ghost. A positive would be that Sanctuary has three less now.”

One less of the two I was aware of. I hoped the second would show up in much the same condition. I waved the drone away, and took a few steps back observing all three of the victims again. It didn’t look like there was any significance to the set up. I couldn’t think of any reason to stage the scene the way it was done. Clearly it was deliberate, but I didn’t have the pieces together to get the message.

I theorized out loud, “If this is a message, does that mean that a new syndicate group is moving in on Sanctuary’s turf?”

Tiara shook her head, “Not violent enough for that.”

Both Baxter and myself, almost laughed out loud as if she had made a joke. He contained himself, my stomach contained me as I hunched back over again. All things considered, the murders before us looked pretty violent to me.

She sounded displeased, “Look I am talking about open warfare, district lock downs and relatively large scale Order operations.”

Both of us apologized.

She insisted, “Look, Donovan, I didn’t bring you out here to muddle around a crime scene for the fun. Are you sure you don’t know anything more about these three?”

I gave another hard look at Tyson and tried to hide a gulp by making it look like a part of my nausea, “As you said, that guy is supposed to be a ghost. The likelihood of someone surviving encounters with a Ripper is pretty slim. The odds would have been pretty stacked out of my favor were he in my case file.”

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I hated lying to her. It bothered me to the core, but I figured that what was said would hold up “technically” in a truth detector test, so it was the best I had. She didn’t seem satisfied with my answer so I continued, “Look, as you have ruled out, my assessment is that this is not another Syndicate conflict. This is probably coming from within Sanctuary itself. Maybe there is a shift of power or something, and this message isn’t for the Order, but Sanctuary itself?”

Baxter added, “A restructuring of powers from within.”

I shrugged, “It’s a theory. I mean that was what I had exposed a few weeks ago, the entire case revolved around that.”

She sighed, “If that is the case, then Temple may be losing control over his organization. That means that we will probably continue to see a body count like this until open hostilities break out between the factions involved.”

The look of concern on her face as she stared at me, worried me. I got the message and attempted to adjust the mesh vest I was wearing to scratch the persistent itch on my back, “Look Tuekoe was not a part of Sanctuary anymore when he attacked me. That was personal.”

Baxter’s ears drooped, “Look, Don. Tiara is…”

Tiara interrupted him, “I can speak for myself Baxter.”

He rolled his eyes, and beckoned her to continue.

She approached and addressed me up close with a hand on my shoulder, “You and Baxter probably made a lot of things personal. Why were you so certain that you were in the clear with the Sanctuary?”

I collected myself, “I would like to think I did Temple a pretty big favor by cleaning up his revolt.”

She didn’t seem convinced.

I sighed, “Look, I should be fine. How about I call you later and we go get a bite to eat.”

She looked like she was considering her options, so I added, “Baxter can stay home.”

“Hey!” Baxter added.

Tiara pulled her PDA from her hip, and gestured that I do the same. She spoke as she synced the two PDAs together, “Listen, I’m sorry for dragging you out here. I know you were supposed to be taking it easy for a few days. Here is your payment for services rendered. I am including your travel expenses.”

She pointed around the corner instead of back the way we had come, “Go that way, I would prefer you not run across Backston on your way home.”

The transfer completed, and I replaced my PDA to my hip.

“Get some sleep Tiara.”

She smiled, and nodded toward our exit, “Yeah. Take care of yourself.”

I nodded, and both Baxter and I made our way past the drones and a few guards to the alley leading out toward a street full of parked equipment vehicles.

Baxter moved close and spoke in a low key, “Why didn’t you tell her about Tyson?”

I gave him a solemn look, “Because she is good at her job. I would rather not tarnish her reputation with the Order by explaining how ridiculously connected we are with the Syndicate if we can avoid it. If Temple is losing control of his people, then so be it. It has nothing to do with us right now, and if Sanctuary gets put to the torch, then that is one less problem we have to worry about later.”

We walked in silence for a bit, approaching the exit of the alley. As we moved into the light, we saw the road was lined on both sides by VRC (Visual Resource Collector) buses. People were everywhere processing data, crunching numbers and setting up their systems to record footage in eager anticipation of the Order releasing them to gather information regarding the crime scene.

Baxter spoke with a cynical tone, “You didn’t really name me after Backston, did you?”

I gave him a dismissive look, “Of course I didn’t.”

He nodded in satisfaction, “Good… Because I don’t like him very much.”

I agreed, “He doesn’t like you much either.”

We almost crossed the street before I heard my name called from back where we had come. Baxter heard it too and we both turned to see who it was. She was a few buses down the road, and I could easily make out her long, red, curly hair. She held her hands to her eyes like she was trying to see with binoculars against the flood lights from all the vehicles in the area.

I asked Baxter, “Is that Ginger?”

He replied, “Yup.”

Ginger Marian Rodchester was a Visual Resource Collections Respondent. She was good at her job, and equally passionate. I had met her a few years after returning to the Rails in District fourteen. I had conducted a few interviews with her for her personal journal that she kept on the GOD network, and she had provided me with some of her visual resources, footage, pictures, and other things I used to help resolve a few cases I was working.

She helped to pull me out of the slump I was in over leaving Tiara in the Mantle, and took part in helping me to raise Baxter. It was her idea to teach him to read. Despite my protest at first she did manage to win me over on the idea. I loved her hair, her smile, the freckles on her face, and the generally light hearted personality that she always seemed to convey when she was around.

I gave a wave, and she put down the shoulder mount she was working on, pointed to a gentleman connecting wires to a panel, indicating she would be back in a minute, then broke into a run toward us.

I smiled, and she smiled as she approached, disconnecting a thin connection cable from the jack in the side of her head and placing it into her jacket pocket. I opened my arms to embrace her in a hug and almost got the words “Great to see you” out before she delivered a full powered slap across my face.

Baxter erupted into laughter, my face obvious complete wide eyed shock. Gingers green eyes glared at me with a passionate expression that was a mix of fury and concern. I probably deserved it, but I was most definitely not expecting it. Before I could say anything, he took hold of both of my cheeks and forced me to kiss her. Her lips tasted sweet like honey, and I was left confused on how I should be reacting.

She scolded, “Where have you been?! I called you close to fifty times over the past week!”

I tried to speak, “I…”

She interrupted, “Why haven’t you called me?!”

I replied, “It’s…”

She interrupted again, “I had to respond to your office! I couldn’t find you anywhere! Now you are fine, like nothing has happened, wandering around this crappy sector of the district, business as usual!”

I didn’t try to speak again. Baxter was still laughing, and when I turned to glare at him and signal him to stop, Ginger grabbed my face again, and forced me to look at her. I could see tears welling in her eyes. It was hard for me to look. I can’t stand crying.

She whispered, “I thought you were hurt or worse…”

I spoke quietly, “I was in a Mantle hospital. They put me under the knife and I was out for a few days.”

Her anger melted, and all that was left was fear and sadness. She pulled herself close, placing her chin on my shoulder and her hands on my back. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her in a comforting embrace. Kissing her head, I took in the scent of her shampoo, it was something I wasn’t used to. Something fruity and flowery at the same time.

It smelled good.

I could hear the strain in her voice as she struggled to keep herself together, “I couldn’t find you anywhere…”

I found that I was apologizing far more than I have ever had to do in a long time. I hoped Ginger would be the last for a while, “I’m sorry. I am still trying to figure out how I managed to get sent to the Mantle instead of Harmony Ridge. It’s been a couple of days since I got out of the hospital.”

She looked up to me, “Why didn’t you call me?”

I apologized again, “Between being medicated, and a few other urgent things to take care of, I wasn’t even capable of calling until today before I received the call to come here.”

She complained, “Why were you called? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

I nodded, “It's lite duty. I came in, had a look at the scene, gave an assessment, and I am on my way home now.” I shifted, and moved her head so I could get a look at her, moving her hair out of her face. I gave her a kiss, and said, “Look, I promise I will call you tonight. When you are off work, we can talk then, maybe link up and grab a bite to eat.”

She nodded, “You had better.” She wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, her teary demeanor shifting to morbid curiosity, “Is it bad?”

I grimaced, “Bring a bucket.”

Her face was riddled with excitement. I gave her a flat stare, “How can you possibly be so feminine, yet have such a twisted taste in horror and macabre.”

She smiled, but before she could answer, an alert alarm sounded over a loudspeaker from several drones flying into the street.

Ginger looked at me, her eyes wide, “Gotta go!” As she back peddled, she pointed to the mediband on her left wrist and mouthed, “Call me.”

I gave her a thumbs up as Tiara’s voice announced, “The block is open for your review. You have thirty minutes to take photographs and video. You will be processed by officers in the area when you complete your activities.”

All of the VRC crews scrambled with their gear, with Ginger’s partner rushing her to get back to her stuff. The groups filed into the alleyway like vultures scavenging a needed meal. A few of them filmed and took pictures of the alley itself as if the VRCs were a part of the story. Ginger didn’t acknowledge that I was waving bye to her as she scurried into the alley with her partner.

I had seen enough of VRC work practices. Ginger hated me calling her profession “Government Sanctioned Paparazzi”, but in effect I felt that it was a pretty good association. They show up, wait for prompting if they have to, mostly in the cases of crime scenes, and then proceed to take pictures and video footage of everything and anyone in the area. Those photos and videos are then sold to news stations, other media outlets, and even investigators and the police. I wouldn’t call Ginger one of the best at her job, but as I said, she is passionate.

As we left the area, heading for the nearest metro platform, Baxter jabbed, “Do you always try to bribe people with food to get back into good standing?”

I gave him a side glare, and didn’t respond.

He spoke through a toothy grin, “I mean, steak is fine with me. I was just wondering.”

I sighed, “How about we change plans a bit, and make our way to the Mantle instead. Fresh air, better food, and a park bench to just relax for the day.”

He chuckled, “Would hate for you to miss your phone calls.”

Maybe people were right, I gave him too much space to express himself. I ignored his ribbing until we arrived at the metro platform. After passing security, I gave him a stern lecture, “We are going to have words when we get home regarding your leash…”

Baxter looked away in a mocking sort of way, as he shrugged, “Sure Don. Good talk.”

We boarded a Tier two Metro train heading across the Chasm to District 14. Normally one or both of us are unable to take a seat, let alone both of us getting a window seat. The middle of the day seemed to be the best time to make the trip across.

I closed my eyes for the trip and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on the window against my back. I didn’t intend to fall asleep, but I woke with a jolt as Baxter slapped me in the chest a few times. He was pointing out the window, “Do you see that Don? Look, there is a crowd of Dogmen down there in the Unders.”

I looked, and sure enough there was a crowd of them that were gathering in a ruined building down below. It was hard to see what they were doing let alone see them at all. It still surprised me how observant Baxter actually was. I asked, “What are they doing?”

He replied as he squinted, “Looks like they are setting something up.”

Following a flash of light, an object flew up from the group of dogmen, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. Baxter stood from his seat, fur standing on end as he loudly called my name. Cries rang out from other passengers on the train who noticed the same thing we were seeing.

There is a distinct feeling you get when you actually see an unavoidable cataclysm happening right before your eyes. That sinking feeling as you watch death approach. The feeling that drains the color from your skin, which takes a firm hold of your guts, steals your breath and renders you paralyzed.

I was overcome with that feeling.

As the train fast approached the metro platform, the object continued to speed its way toward the rail the train was attached to.