Devorah walked into chaos. Pure, unadulterated mess. Now, Devorah was never a devoted viewer of the Champions’ League. She didn’t know what the typical investigation was like. But Devorah was used to the orderly affairs run by Anna, John and Jimcent. Evidence was cataloged, statements were taken, and a period of hearty debate interspersed by field trips to various parts of the stage was Devorah’s norm.

Not this.

The kitchen was a disaster. Nearly a dozen bodies were crammed into the space, each one crying or yelling over each other. Devorah hadn’t taken a chance to examine the kitchen, but she assumed it didn’t usually look like this.

Food and drink were spilled out on the tile floor, almost making it seem like a giant had vomited all over. Super gross. Piles of plates, cups and cutlery balanced haphazardly on countertops and the small center table.

And then there was the corpse.

The area surrounding it was the only clean area in the kitchen. Even the food mess on the floor stopped a few inches away, as if beholden to an unspoken arrangement.

Before the Champions’ League, Devorah didn’t know death. She had elderly relatives who had passed away, but in accordance with Jewish tradition, they were buried as soon as possible. There was no open casket, no intimacy with a corpse. They died, they were buried.

When you died in the Champions’ League, your corpse was not afforded those same rituals, or the rituals of their own homes and cultures. Most often, it went like this- you were murdered, most often in the night, then your corpse was either left there or moved to another location. In most cases, it would take hours before your body would be found. Sometimes it was days. Weeks. In one outstanding case, months.

Devorah didn’t know what happened to corpses after the investigation period. Were they returned to families? Friends? What about the corpses of those pulled from different eras?

Most likely, the bodies were destroyed in the cheapest way possible. With the neurological data already extracted, the Champions’ League and Barracuda Media likely didn’t have any use for the flesh. It was enough that it was present for the investigation.

The first body Devorah saw had been Feniks’. They had been beaten so badly by Philip, their murderer, that the only way to identify them was by elimination. By seeing who never showed up at the investigation.

Devorah had known Feniks was going to die… Wait. Why had she known Feniks was going to die? There was a reason. A very important reason…

The sharp warning pain in her brain set off again, knocking Devorah’s thoughts off course.

In a way, she was glad for it. Firstly, she didn’t want to think about Feniks’ brutal death. And second, even if nothing she could do would matter, Devorah wanted to pay attention to the investigation.

So. The corpse of Mathilde.

It looked rather peaceful for the corpse of someone murdered in the Champions’ League. No visible wounds as far as Devorah could see. Not that she could see much, with the habit. If it wasn’t for the uproar, Devorah could have been convinced she was taking a nap. Nour was standing protectively over the body, much like a bird warding off predators. Kefilwe was the only one allowed close. She was draped over Mathilde, sobbing.

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Devorah took a moment to scan the rest of the room. Most of the others were somewhat familiar to her. Lupe was systematically tearing the kitchen apart, dumping even more food on the floor. A woman Devorah recognized from the seance profile, the small woman with the fine, multicolored skirt, was clearly trying to prevent this obvious food waste. Tiberius was arguing with a man Devorah was quickly able to identify as Faith, thanks to his conservative, Puritan outfit. Budi and another man with plain garments wrapped around his waist were in an argument with Nour.

What was most exciting to Devorah, though, was the man standing next to Budi and the stranger. Though he was almost unrecognizable without what Devorah had come to consider his signature hat, his presence brought Devorah a great sense of relief.

John Watson was a man of average height and weight. He wore a Victorian police uniform and was mostly unremarkable aside from the bloody mess that made up his stomach.

“John!” Devorah called out over the chaos.

Thankfully, he managed to hear her. John turned from his conversation and trotted over to Devorah, neatly avoiding contact with the living.

Once he reached her, they stood facing each other. Awkwardly. In life, they hadn’t ever talked much outside of investigations. They had just moved in different circles during their tenure in the Champions’ League. But wait, hadn’t John been one of those lone wolf types? Maybe? Not that it really mattered much anymore. Being from the same game filled Devorah with the spirit of camaraderie.

“Devorah,” John grunted out in a very masculine way.

Ah, yes. That was why they hadn’t spoken much.

“John,” Devorah repeated, matching the gruff tone. “Who did you come with?”

John pointed back towards Budi and the unknown man. “Sushruta. Engineer from the Indus River Valley. You?”

It was nice to be able to put a face to the name. He was the one who had been exploring with Brad and Budi. “Ah, I’m with Jacob.” Devorah gestured towards Jacob- it seemed Tiberius had given up on Faith and was busy grilling Jacob now. The man was sweating bullets.

John nodded and said nothing else.

Truly, a man renowned for his verbosity.

“So,” Devorah continued, “did your Sushruta do it? Jacob didn’t. He was with Georgie and Gabriel all night, sleeping. Bell is with us too, Gabriel has her token.”

“Bell is a good woman,” John said. “And no, the perpetrator wasn’t Sushruta. My money is on either the bird or the crying one.”

Right. For all that John didn’t speak much, he did tend to be pretty good at one thing- reading body language. It wasn’t an exact science, but at least he wasn’t a phrenologist. Forensic science wasn’t even in its infancy while John worked. It was basically at its conception point. And that led to John needing to find his answers through different means, means that typically came in handy during most Champions’ League games.

“What makes you say that?” Devorah asked, wanting to learn more.

“Everyone else is panicking.” John looked towards the door. “Not everyone is here yet. Might change my answer then.”

Devorah looked around again. He was right. Everyone was panicking, except for Kefilwe and Nour. Kefilwe was in deep mourning, and Nour… Well, it was difficult to discern how Nour was feeling at the best of times, with the robe and mask.

Even so, Devorah spoke her thoughts out loud, saying, “but isn’t it possible that someone is joining in the chaos just to blend in?”

“It is,” John said, “but I doubt it.”

Fair enough. Devorah wasn’t going to base her own judgment based on just that, though. She wanted to see some real proof, a real investigation.

Someone had to step up and call the group to order, and that was just as Lupe did. Seemingly done for now with her argument with the other woman, Lupe grabbed two pots, stood up on a chair, and banged them together. “Everyone! Attention!”

The room quieted almost immediately. Even Kefilwe’s loud sobs hushed to whimpers. Devorah was impressed. Lupe had a way of commanding attention from a crowd that both spoke of experience and a natural charisma. She was beautiful, with her bright red hair and stringent posture. If she had wanted Devorah’s attention, she would have had it almost any day.

“Thank you,” Lupe said once all eyes were on her. “I know this came to a disastrous start, but we need to start working together now. Let’s all move into the dining hall, sit down, and start hammering out what we need to know to avenge Mathilde’s death.”

No one moved.

“Go!” She barked. And without complaint, everyone aside from Kefilwe began to file out of the room and move into the dining hall.

Before joining them, Lupe pulled Jacob and Georgie aside. “Where’s Brad? And Gabriel?”

“Brad needed a minute to himself,” Georgie explained, then coughed into her sleeve. “Why’d you dump everything out? It’s such a waste of food. I’m sure Xoco told you too.” Bless Georgie for finally giving Devorah a name for her.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Lupe answered. “But Jacob, I just want you to know that you should be clear. We’re pretty sure it wasn’t Mathilde’s injuries that did her in.”

Jacob let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh thank god. I mean, I’m still devastated over Mathilde’s death, but I didn’t want to die either.” Georgie squeezed Jacob’s arm.

“I understand. Now, it’s time to really get this investigation moving. I’m going to be relying on you this time, okay?” Lupe said. “Let me gather up Kefilwe. I’ll meet you in there.”

“You can rely on us!” Georgie nodded. Jacob echoed the sentiment, and as a group, they entered the dining hall.