Detective Graham stared at the crystal on the mini-fridge, his eyes wide with disbelief, frustration, and fear. How had it gotten here? He'd been so careful, taking a convoluted path to this out-of-the-way motel, to shake off anyone who could have been pursuing him or attempting to set him up. And yet, here it sat. Mocking him.

He began striding around the room as he pulled his Rhino revolver off his hip, looking for any signs of someone else in the room. The sounds of his scavenged power armored boots did a poor job at any form of stealth as his loud, clanking footsteps filled the room.

The room was empty, of course. It wasn't large enough for anyone to hide in, and checking the bathroom and under the bed confirmed what he already knew. Anyone who could outmaneuver him this dramatically wouldn't be so poor at their job as to be caught waiting for him. Despite this, he remained vigilant, meticulously scanning the room for any foreign objects besides the crystal that could be a hidden camera or listening device.

He'd gotten the room from a couple that had come in behind him, trading his for theirs. Had they been plants? For them to have followed him so closely to improvise that quickly seemed unlikely.

Maybe they had predicted where he was going; if they had a team tracking him, then a smart investigator might have guessed he would head here. This was the closest motel to his office. He kicked himself; he should have gone to the second closest- or third.

He didn't think it likely that the couple themselves were his pursuers; if they were even involved, then it was more likely they'd been hired last minute to do exactly what they'd done. Either way, that meant he was dealing with someone who could improvise well on the fly or plan ahead so thoroughly as to guess correctly where he was going. That spoke of a level of organization that terrified him. And if it was the latter, It instantly made everyone in the motel suspect- from the couple to the receptionist.

He sat on the bed, his knee bouncing with an energy he couldn't contain. His gun found a temporary perch on his other leg as he nervously ran his tongue against his teeth. He couldn't go out guns blazing and seeking answers. Even if any of the three were involved- the couple and the receptionist, their most likely level of involvement was distant, inspired by a relatively small amount of money, and not given the information he needed to answer his questions.

It was possible whoever doing this to him had just gotten lucky, such strokes of luck had started world wars, but that was a suckers bet.

Regardless he'd have to move again. Finally, he gave a frustrated sigh, nearly a snarl, walked over to the mini-fridge, and cautiously picked up the crystal with a gloved hand, examining it closely. It emanated a faint, otherworldly glow, its colors shifting and swirling. It felt cold to the touch, sending shivers down his spine. His prosthetic eyes seemed to fritz out if he stared at it too long. It was just as unworldly and strange as he'd seen it the first time.

No note under it was what he'd been expecting; he was disappointed there wasn't one- a list of demands would have given him answers and directions. Instead was just the crystal itself that seemed to be haunting him. This is exactly when he would have delivered himself a demand in his pursuer's shoes, too. Sufficiently spooked and facing an unknowable adversary. And yet, nothing.

"What the hell..." He hissed. Whoever had done this had watched him travel to the site of the Replicators kidnapping, where he'd found this crystal, then followed him around, replacing the crystal everywhere he went, from his car to this very motel room. He'd already checked himself for any sort of tracking device- he'd even thrown away his coat.

"What the hell are you?" He muttered to the crystal, his voice a mixture of curiosity and irritation. He knew it was more than just an ordinary piece of debris from the factory. A less paranoid man might think it was a side effect of whatever strange weapon was used to bring the factory down. But Graham was sufficiently paranoid for the business he was in. And there was something about it that made his instincts scream at him to be cautious.

He went to rub at his face, then rethought it. Better not to touch his bared flesh with anything that touched the crystal, whatever it was. Nothing made sense, but he'd be at least that careful. He glared at the crystal and began to humor more ridiculous ideas.

Perhaps it followed him itself? A scan told him it wasn't a cleverly disguised Replicant. Seems to be stone all the way through, though he was no geologist. For a normal crystal to be able to follow him of its own accord would mean it would have to be the product of a super. But he couldn't recall any that made crystals.

Blaming supers, whether heroes or villains, was a trap for any good investigator. In theory, they could do anything with their odd powers. But that only meant any problem or bizarre case could be attributed to them.

'Techstride,' son of Vidfinnr, had brought the modern world of bio-cybernetics into being- eventually leading to the modern world which allowed Graham to overcome his blindness and for Toskana to keep functioning thanks to nearly free Replicant labor. Techstride's advancements had previously been a work of fiction until he showed up and taught everyone how to do it, rocketing them centuries into the future over the span of decades. People were still working on reverse-engineering his products, and he'd been dead for two hundred years, since before the fourth world war.

This glowing stone could theoretically be a similar product of a super. But there were only a few hundred supers alive at a given time, and whenever something weird happened, that was always the knee-jerk reaction. Twenty banks robbed simultaneously? It must have been super. The town of Nuxford suddenly goes rogue, its denizens zombie-like and repeating 'he comes'? Definitely a super. But the truth was...

"It's never a super." He grumbled aloud.

Even now, he was kicking himself for thinking it. The twenty banks were a well-organized crime group wearing identical outfits, not the teleporter everyone had presumed. And the town that had seemingly become mind-controlled zombies? Microunits in the water from a bio-hacked Replicator. It had eaten the townsfolk and replaced them with look-alike Replicants. These were crimes Graham had solved personally, Insane crimes, impressive ones.

But not supernatural, It was never a super. Supers generally had better shit or worse shit to do than whatever the crime was, and it made him cringe internally that he was even humoring the idea.

Following a Detective around with a glowing crystal and replanting it on him? or making a crystal that, what? Tracked and pursued someone? It seemed too... small for any super to have done. They could be petty if you believed the stories- but he'd never done anything to draw a super's ire. He was a modestly important detective with a growing reputation for solving cases regarding Replicants. Not some super sleuth.

He glared at the crystal, then tucked it behind the mini-fridge. It was time to move; he'd already spent too much time in this room after it was seemingly compromised. A part of him wanted to yield and take the damn rock with him, but why make its job easier? The other part of him hoped someone would find and steal it, saving him the headache of dealing with it.

He ducked out of the room, striding past the receptionist with his face turned away once he reached the lobby. Only once he was free of the motel and a block down the street did he allow his mind to wander back to the case.

"A piece of million credit machinery goes missing." He muttered, calling up someone to pick him up via a ride-share app. "The factory that stored it is destroyed, and workers there are dead or missing. A pair of feet from the Replicator had been left at the crime scene, so clearly, it had resisted."

He murmured. "So not a bio-hacker, too much damage from the intruder, and too much resistance from the Replicator." Small mercies; at least he probably wouldn't have to worry about another debacle he'd experienced with that other Replicator and the town of Nuxford.

He leaned against a flicking street light. "The Replicator had been removed with brute force, and it couldn't have been anything non-human." He continued to think allowed. Some of the people he'd worked alongside considered it a bad habit, but everything you could write your thoughts down in had an internet connection. Speaking aloud was safer. "Otherwise, the Replicator would have won the fight or left more signs of the battle. Too much damage for a bio-hacker and too little for mutants or enemy Replicants."

The laws that bound the Replicants were a constant thorn in Savvy Human Industries' side that they lobbied against. Every Replicant, even the Replicators, was bound by the First Law, labeled the Second Law in the case of Replicators. They could not injure a human being, not even through inaction. Of course, creative thieves took advantage of this.

Any Replicant, or even a Replicator, could be stolen as long as the thief was human, and resisting being stolen would endanger the aforementioned human thief. Generally, any way to do was was convoluted and rarely worth the effort to perform, but they happened. It was the most common way Replicators were stolen, given that the machines could turn into almost anything if they had the calorie reserves.

Of course, 'the most common form of theft' regarding stolen Replicators was like saying 'the most common type of double rainbow.' It just didn't happen. A Replicator was a dangerous and flexible piece of machinery, and a mutant or other Replicants weren't categorized as human by their programming, so anything short of a baseline human would have been almost nothing but a meal on heels for a Replicator. Angered Replicators had wiped out whole gangs of mutants; only purely human ones had a chance with the machines.

"The thief had to have been a baseline human. But they were also equipped so they could tear a factory apart..." He gave a thinking hum as he tapped his foot, a nervous tick. "...Would mean they had to have had power armor- Shi factories aren't easy nuts to crack, the turrets in the schematics would have swished cheesed anyone outside of a suit."That was the only option unless he wanted to embrace the ridiculous idea that a super was truly involved. Even then, most supers would be as susceptible to being shot in the head as the next person.

In this city, there couldn't be more than two dozen full suits of functional power armor. Depending on the day, there might be more supers in it than suits of functional power armor.

He glanced down at his boots. They weren't fully functional, but they looked the part and were good enough to put someone through a wall. He cursed. He would become a prime suspect at this point if he disappeared.

It was a painfully unrealistic conclusion for someone in the Shi to make- but they'd make it anyway. Eventually, they'd replace him with another investigator, who would report the conclusion he was gathering now. Worse, they wouldn't even have the crystal to go on, so they wouldn't even float the idea of a super being involved.

Then someone on the Shi side would rub two of their brain cells together. They think about the first detective they hired with seemingly functional power armor boots. They'd think about how he went missing without a trace, and they would draw a conclusion.

The wrong one, of course. The boots had cost him a fortune, no way could he have afforded a full suit. But that thought would still prompt them to shower bounty hunters and investigators with credits to track him down. By the time any of them really thought about whether or not it made any sense for him to be involved with the theft, they would have already invested so many credits in pursuing him that they would persist in the distant hope that it would pay off so they didn't get in trouble with someone higher up the ladder. They'd frame him with something to cover their asses when they found nothing.

He grimaced. He couldn't run. Whoever had dealt him into this corner had known what they were doing. And he wasn't sure what to make of that. Did they just want him working on this case? or were they trying to set him up?

Regardless, someone wanted him invovled if they were willing to track him down when he ran and chased him with the evidence- or made evidence that did it for them. Someone suspected he'd run- they'd had enough of an idea of his nature for that, which meant they knew him or had investigated him. That someone had the skill to predict his movements or the money to leave agents waiting for him wherever he turned. They'd stolen a Replicator and done it in such a way as to frame him for the crime or close enough to framing that he couldn't just break and run for it.

He tossed the crystal up and down in a hand. If he were them, why would he do this to himself? The first thought was to use him as a patsy, but he didn't actually have the Replicator; the Shi would keep looking into it and seeking the next possible option after they racked him over the coals. He wouldn't buy them much time. Whoever had organized this would have been too intelligent to use him as the inferior stalling tactic he would be.

A beef with Graham personally? No, not at this scale. He didn't make the kind of enemies that could or would do this. More the former than the latter. Sure, some people hated him, but none had the funds and operational savvy to hit him like this. It could be a diversion for another, bigger crime. But you didn't get much bigger than stealing a Replicator, and the only groups of interest he could think that could pull that off and still have the stomach space for more were the Abolitionists. If they'd put him in their crosshairs, he was a dead man walking anyway, so it didn't benefit to think about it.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

He tried another angle then, not for the how of the why of the crime, but how he could pull his neck free from its noose.

He could turn the stone over to the Shi and tell them everything he knew and suspected. But they wouldn't protect him from whatever this mess was- and worse, given how shady the destruction of the factory was, they might decide to 'clean him up' if he got too close to whatever the conspiracy was, worse If a Super was involved, as unlikely as that was, the Shi would buckle to their authority. Even if a super wasn't involved, he didn't have that many favors with the Shi to call on. Still, it was an option to avoid suspicion; he put it as plan c.

He ground his fists against his temple. "Dammit, what was Shi doing?" Whatever Savvy Human Industries had done or was doing, it had invited weird agents into the mix. He could imagine a super just taking a Replicator if they wanted to, but people tended to track the power sets of more unlawful leaning supers pretty thoroughly, and there wasn't a single match on his augs for a super that controlled normal stone, much less made weird magic rocks.

The last known Geokinetic had been the infamous 'Rocker'feller' some eco-terrorist from the late 40's. He'd been dead for decades, killed by 'Gaia Guardian'- a superhero who themselves dead for twenty years. All ancient history, Graham had still been in school, then.

No, if a super was involved, it was either a more lawful and secretive one going rogue- or, Thor forbid, a new one. He cringed at having anything to do with a baby super. They had a reputation not dissimilar to a baby snake.

"I'm gonna have to call in favors." he groaned, hating to think it, much less say it. You made friends in this business if you were smart and willing to go the extra mile, but the number of people he could call to bail him out of trouble with a super was between 0 and none. He'd have to keep what he suspected under his hat.

He'd have to call on Silas- he couldn't trust the man, but he was the best information broker that Graham knew of. His eccentricities also made him the most likely broker that would be able to find a link to a super. After that, he'd call on Magenta, see if she knew anything.

The call went through immediately- Silas always seemed right on top of any calls directed to him. Graham's voice was laced with urgency as he spoke into the phone. "I need your help. I've come across something... intriguing. Hoping on of your contacts might know what it is. Can I meet with you?"

Silas's voice crackled over one of Graham's biotech augmentations, a receiver installed in his ear. "Graham, my dear friend, I'm always open to profitable ventures. Meet me at my office- I'll be there shortly."

Graham nodded, even though Silas couldn't see him. "I'll see you soon." He hung up and quickly made his way to their designated meeting place.

Graham saddled into the car meant to pick him up and barely raised a brow in surprise at seeing the crystal on the opposite side of the passenger seat. It was getting difficult to pretend that nothing supernatural was involved with this.

A rideshare later, Graham climbed the building's external stairs to the second floor, ignoring the sounds of working men and Replicants in the chop shop below.

Silas's place of business, or what he referred to as his 'office,' occupied the second floor of a modest two-story building nestled amidst a scrapyard. So far as Graham knew, Silas owned the scrapyard, but getting that information was surprisingly difficult. Graham knew this wasn't Silas's universal meeting spot- he seemed to have a new one for each client. He must have owned hundreds of small businesses like this throughout the city.

Despite Silas's apparent wealth, however, he always seemed willing to do business- even on the small-time stuff Graham usually brought him. The information broker was either bored or had a list of debts longer than his arm that had him pinching every penny. Graham suspected the former, Silas didn't seem like the type of man to collect debts against him.

He poked past the rickety wooden door to Silas's 'office'. The scent of cigarette smoke and the sensation of stuffy air filled the room. Silas, the broker, was a strikingly attractive man. Too attractive not to have had work done, he wore a smart, white suit and an interface over one eye styled like an old-world monocle. The man's cybernetic implants, colored to blend with his flesh, would have remained imperceptible without the intricate gold-lined connections where they'd be placed. This gave the man an appearance reminiscent of the art of kintsugi pottery.

As Graham entered the office, Silas’ sly grin welcomed him, his voice like dark velvet, “Come in! Take a seat; good to see you. Straight to business as usual?”

Never was there a more distant clash in two men's appearance. Where Silas was polished and welcoming, Graham looked bedraggled and tired, which was how Graham preferred it. It was always wise to make Silas think he had the advantage, not because he wouldn't abuse one given to him, but because if he felt like he didn't have one, he'd press on you till he felt he did. Graham had long learned how to make the information broker comfortable enough to work with him.

There had once been much more butting of heads when they were enemies- and they almost certainly would be enemies again one day. But for now, they'd carved a comfortable groove of interaction.

Graham fell into the offered chair. He slowly leaned forward with the sort of wariness one would approach a venomous snake. His voice hushed. "I've found something strange in my most recent case, a crystal. Some kind of gem, maybe. I want you to tell me what it is." He pulled the crystal out and placed it on the desk.

Silas's eyes gleamed with interest, and he leaned forward in mimicry of Graham. "Now, that's a song I haven't heard before. Tell me more. Where'd it come from?"

"No," Graham said. "Still on the case, sensitive information."

Silas gave him a frown and a hum. "I suppose you won't let me keep a hold of it so I can actually figure out what it is?"

"The pictures you've taken and the deep scan you already are taking should do you well enough, Silas," Graham grumbled.

Silas grinned, unabashed at being 'caught.' "You know me so well, Graham. But you know if you're not gonna humor my questions, then I'll need to be paid for this work. I simply must get something out of helping you."

Graham resisted the urge to roll his eyes, Silas always ending his smug requests for favors with a rolling purr in his voice that grated on the detective's nerves. "Of course- what is it this time? Another look into one of your employees? More blackmail for you?"

"No, nothing so crass this time. Why, it's entirely above board- and quick too! I want you to play bodyguard for a shipment of mine coming in tonight. I already have a few hands on deck, but I can always use hands like yours."

Graham gave a non-committal hum. "Protecting a shipment is outside my usual line of work."

"Not a no, I'm hearing. Somehow, I think you'll do just fine."

Graham held up a stalling hand. "What's the shipment? How high is the risk?"

"No risk I'm aware of. So I'd bet a hundred thousand credits you'll have to deal with at least one thief. It's an old-world artifact. A vibration rifle. But you shouldn't have to deal with any gangs."

Graham's brows raised high. Vibration tech wasn't just old-world tech; it was ancient tech. It had to have been a hundred years old or more. The way to make them weaponry was lost knowledge- that had been back when they used gasoline for cars and before half the world had been scored off the map in a nuclear war. It was also, concerningly, exactly how you'd bring a man in power armor down. It shook the hell out of you so hard it would scramble your insides regardless of what it hit.

Silas continued speaking as Graham ruminated. "it's a new one, too."

Graham's head snapped to Silas. "It's new? Made recently or found?" Graham presumed Silas meant found, but perhaps the broker had gotten persuaded into buying into a scam.

Silas hummed. "Both, I suppose. Do you know about the robbery at the Museum of Warfare? The Vibration rifle was taken from it. It's been retrofitted, made like new."

Graham shook his head. "You've been scammed."

Silas grinned a cruel smile. "Maybe- but I have the seller by the balls. I'll get my money back."

Graham passively noted Silas didn't say '...if it turns out to be a fake'. Which boded poorly for the future prospects of whoever this seller was. He gave a final, thinking hum. He needed Silas's expertise now more than ever, so with a grunt, he agreed. "Alright, Silas. You have my word. I'll ensure the safe delivery of your purchase."

Silas's smile widened a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Excellent, my dear friend. I'll tell you what I find after the job is done."

Graham nodded, snatching the crystal off Silas's desk and promptly leaving the man without a goodbye. Some of him was tempted to leave the crystal with Silas- If Silas found a way to steal it, Graham would do a happy dance. But more likely, the crystal would follow Graham as it had been, and he'd be giving information he didn't necessarily want Silas to know.

What he truly expected from the information broker was for him to turn up nothing- if Silas couldn't find answers, then Graham could be almost certain that a baby super had made the stone. It was a gut instinct he had- that this thing really was supernatural in origin.

"Oh, one last thing, Graham."

The Detective eyes the broker with a raised brow.

"You look like shit without the coat; whatever you did with the last one, get a new one. Same for the hat."

Graham grunted in response and left, calling up another ride and grimacing at the cost. "This espionage shit." It often aided him in being a decent hand at him, but it was part of the job he hated most. Graham was a puzzle solver; that was what he liked.

As he waited, Graham dialed Magenta's number, knowing she had an extensive network of contacts and could provide some insight or assistance. She didn't have the sort of connections that Silas did by a country mile- but she was a bio-hacker and could have insight into where the Replicator had ended up.

"Detective Graham, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Magenta's voice was calm and collected, with a hint of curiosity. Her voice was ancient; she'd been in her business twice as long as he'd been in his, and he was no spring chicken anymore.

Graham wasted no time and got straight to the point. "Magenta, I need your help. I've come across a situation that's left me scratching my head. I believe someone has managed to gain control of a Replicator, and I can't figure out how or who could have done it."

Magenta's voice took on a more serious tone. "A Replicator? That's quite the predicament, Graham. They're not easy machines to control, especially without leaving a trace. Are you certain about this?"

"I've seen the evidence myself. The theft of the Replicator was well-executed, and whoever did it had enough power and knowledge to tear through the factory's defenses. It doesn't add up, Magenta. I've been tracking down leads, but I'm hitting dead ends." It wasn't entirely true- he had leads; they were just ridiculous.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and Graham could almost sense Magenta's mind working through the possibilities. Finally, she spoke, her voice tinged with concern and intrigue.

"You know, Graham, controlling a Replicator without being detected is a rare talent. The technology is tightly guarded and highly regulated. Not many people have the capability or the audacity to attempt such a feat."

"I know, but we both know from hat shit in Nuxford that it can happen. Do you know someone who could do it? Someone with the skills and knowledge?"

She paused, her voice taking on a hint of caution. "Are you calling in that favor?"

That pulled a groan from him. "Do I need to for this?"

"If you want me not to lie to you." She asked with a tone devoid of mischief.

"Fine then- repayment for Dungadon then. That fair?"

"I would have preferred Merkirk, but deal." She paused, then spoke in a voice with a note of caution. "I'm the only one in the city who takes a swing at Replicator and have a chance of not getting dusted by it."

Graham felt a jolt of surprise and suspicion. "What are you saying?"

"I wasn't involved, big guy. But I might be soon. I'm guessing you're working on the most recent Shi case, the factory on the 13th?"

He nodded despite himself. "News has spread that far?"

"Oh, come on, Graham. A factory got turned into gravel and mulch. The news will be on tv by sunrise."

Graham gave a slight curse- it was obvious in hindsight, but he'd been so distracted running. "Doc Ridge couldn't do it?"

"He's dead, turned up in the Titans' territory mauled. Covered in stab wounds, hundreds of them."

Graham's browed nearly climbed up into his hairline. "The Titans took out Ridge? Why the hell would they have done that?"

She tsked. "No idea; the business has been booming ever since. Thought you knew. I just became the premier scalpel in the city. Ridge could have gotten it done, though."

Graham began respinning theories. The Titans were a gang of mutants that could trace their group's history to before the war. They'd been super soldiers in it, and their mutants had turned out to be hereditary. Now their group was walking a careful balance between crime family, minority, and super-powered law enforcers in the territory they 'owned.' The issue was there bodies broke down from the mutations in their genetic code, and they needed access to a scalpel to keep their bodies from falling apart.

It made so little sense for them to kill Ridge that Graham actually humored the idea. "He was stabbed?"

"Yeah, they took bites out of him. They deny involvement- but from what I hear, even they seem convinced one of them did it; they've been going over their own rank and file with a fine-toothed comb looking for the killer."

Graham hummed. It could be someone else- but very few groups were willing to stoop to cannibalism, a calling card classic to the Titans. He'd have to put this on the back burner of his mind- it was clearly tied to his case, maybe whoever had stolen the Replicator had hit up Doc Ridge first, and he hadn't agreed- or maybe he had. Could the Replicator have been quietly stolen weeks ago, and the factory only recently destroyed? He tapped his foot nervously.

"Anyone feeling you out for a mysterious new job Magenta?"

"Not yet, and I think I'll turn them down if they do. I'd rather now go the way of Ridge. Might need to call another favor out if they get too... committed to having me work with them."

He sighed but gave her an affirmative "You'll have it; need to keep you owing me after all." He'd saved Magenta's ass half a dozen times

"Yeah yeah, my knight in shining armor." The old woman croaked at him. And he gave a grin despite himself.

"Don't flatter yourself too much, Magenta. You know I have my own reasons for keeping you in my good graces."

There was a moment of silence before Magenta spoke again, her voice more serious this time. "In all seriousness, Graham, be careful with this Replicator situation. Whoever is behind it must have considerable power and resources. And if they're willing to go after someone like Doc Ridge, they won't hesitate to come after you."

Graham's expression turned grim. He knew the risks involved, but he couldn't back down now. "I understand the dangers, Magenta. I damn near ran from this job- but I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. Stuck with it."

Magenta sharply took in some breath. "Just promise me you'll watch your back, Graham. And if you need any assistance or information, you know where to find me. I've still got a full set of mods waiting for you."

He thought about it; he really did. He could surrender the weak, human flesh. Replace every part of himself with more advanced tech. It would put him in her debt instead of her in his. But that might be worth it if he understood the scale of this correctly. Magenta had old military tech at her finger tips- she might be able to make him into someone who could go toe to toe with a super for a few rounds.

"I'm not saying no this time." He began. "But that's not a yes, yet, either."

"Damn, Graham, it's that bad?"

"Yeah, I think it is. Stay safe, Magenta. Keep an ear out; I have to do a job for Silas to get him to look into something for me."

"That old rat, no code of honor on that one. At least he's pretty." She grumbled.

Graham smiled at her cranky old lady routine, then seeing his ride approach, bid his goodbyes.

He had the driver bring him down to where Silas's shipment was coming in, then sent them off.

He checks his pistol one last time, then set off towards where this old-world artifact should arrive.