The procedure is not complicated. While still alive, individuals grant appropriate power of attorney and sign a contract with the association. The lawyers from Walter & Walter did an excellent job, and so far, no family, corporation, or city enforcement service has managed to challenge these agreements. The Post-Death Justice Association (PDJA) has the authority to halt cremations, appoint its own experts during court proceedings, act as a secondary prosecutor if necessary, and ensure that the deaths of association members are thoroughly investigated, with perpetrators punished if the death resulted from third-party actions.

Despite these extensive powers and provisions, the justice system in New Polis—a city of over twenty million—left much to be desired. More often than not, the association was forced to resort to unofficial paths to pursue justice, a practice not reflected in the contract but tacitly understood as part of the agreement.

Tex was part of the investigative department, providing materials for the legal division or—according to HR—the "security staff."

The police officers securing the scene reluctantly let her through the cordon after she flashed the PDJA’s power of attorney for the deceased.

"Rude!" Tex quipped at the apparently high-ranking officer, currently scanning her tech—a process immediately flagged by her system, which displayed a warning on her lens. Given her extensive implants, being hacked was a top concern, but it took her only a moment to neutralize the scan.

“What about my right to privacy, officer?” she asked, half-joking as she walked up to him, meeting his gaze boldly. The officer's eyes, barely visible under the rain cap dripping water in the dim light of the side street, avoided hers briefly. A light drizzle fell, and her deliberate step splashed some water onto his uniform pant leg.

The man seemed slightly embarrassed—first, for being caught; his system wasn’t top-tier military or corporate-grade tech, but as a captain with twenty years of service, he wasn’t using low-grade equipment either. Second, the black-haired woman before him, appearing about thirty, wore more tech than anyone he had encountered. Her limbs, jaw, right eye, and numerous smaller enhancements weren’t just reinforced—they had been completely replaced with cybernetic implants. Though he didn’t catch all the details due to a glitch interrupting his scan, her extensive modifications were evident.

"Everything important is still original," she said, noting his discomfort, running her finger along her side and waist. Her comment deepened his embarrassment; the forty-something officer looked away, coughed, and responded:

“Please don’t touch anything. Your credentials check out, but this is still an accident scene. We’re conducting an investigation, and please don’t bother the technicians.”

“An accident, not a crime?” she asked, tilting her head. Her sharp bangs revealed dark green eyes, and her black, chin-length hair, hanging loose, was slowly getting drenched in the rain.

“For comments, please refer to the spokesperson for Precinct 21,” he replied in a recovered professional tone.

Tex clicked her tongue in dissatisfaction and moved toward the deceased. Behind the barrier poles emitting holographic privacy screens, technicians were securing evidence while a nearly silent police drone circled the scene, recording everything. She complied with the officer’s request, not bothering his team with questions—she knew they wouldn’t share anything at this stage.

From her vantage point, she had a clear view of her client, sprawled on the pavement, shattered from the fall. He must have fallen from a significant height. A thought crossed her mind that at least he didn’t suffer.

“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll figure out what happened,” she muttered under her breath toward the deceased before beginning to record the soles of his shoes, fingertips, and the rest of his body and surroundings. She made two thorough rounds, ensuring she captured everything, including close-ups. Her cybernetic right eye, worth a fortune, was indispensable for such tasks.

No detail was too small to potentially matter later, so she never cut corners during data collection. Alex Lafayette was a junior director of innovation at a mid-sized synthetic food corporation, Sorghum NP Holding. His premium PDJA package was expensive, and recent enough to rule out suicide—nobody spends that kind of money only to take their own life. His body showed no immediate signs of a struggle or injuries other than those from the fall, but more would be revealed through police and coroner reports.

Leaving the scene behind, she headed to the building’s entrance. The association had notified them of her arrival, so the guard simply nodded in acknowledgment and escorted her inside. They passed through a typical lobby and took the elevator to the 48th floor, where she was shown to a meeting room. Inside, two employees awaited her—representatives from the PR and legal departments, as she soon discovered through introductory pleasantries.

She asked standard questions and received predictable responses. Yes, everything pointed to an accident at this stage. No, she couldn’t access the site where it occurred. They promised to provide the association with their internal report after their investigation, assuring her that their best security personnel were handling the unfortunate incident. Expressions of regret for the loss of Alex followed.

The association’s procedures required starting with official channels before exploring alternative methods. Tex adhered to them without protest, though such encounters typically yielded little. Thanking them politely for their time, she confirmed they had the correct contact information for sending their—expectedly useless—internal report and left.

Two blocks away, her colleague Jim waited in a company car. After she slid into the passenger seat, they headed toward the client’s residence—a modest apartment in one of the city’s better districts, about an hour away according to the onboard computer. Jim was relatively new, with limited field experience, and as a junior security staff member, he wasn’t assigned significant responsibilities yet. Tex noted his steady driving and, from his personnel file, his good shooting range scores. Subtle signs of attraction to her—slightly elevated heart rate and minor temperature changes—didn’t escape her notice. It didn’t bother her; if anything, she considered it added motivation for him to perform well in her presence. She told him about the fruitless meeting with the deceased’s employer, the lack of decisive evidence pointing to third-party involvement, and concluded that, in her view, all options remained on the table. Then she amused him with casual small talk, followed by a back-and-forth exchange of songs they thought the other absolutely needed to hear. They had different musical tastes, which led to some laughter.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

At the destination, their ride up the elevator was brief. Once they reached the apartment on the seventeenth floor of the residential tower, Tex ordered Jim to secure the entrance, much to his displeasure, while she stepped inside. The black, squat, heavily glassed building had a modern interior, adorned with bold, artistic geometry in its common spaces rather than traditional art or decorations. It was a relatively new architectural trend, though Tex couldn’t recall its name. With the death confirmed, the association had promptly received the insured’s access codes, so entering the apartment posed no issue.

Inside, she recorded everything meticulously. At first glance, the apartment appeared tidy and sparsely furnished, typical of a bachelor’s quarters. She found a few hairs that definitely didn’t belong to Alex and packed them into ziplock bags. She didn’t wear gloves; her synthetic skin left no fingerprints. Scanning surfaces across various light spectra revealed nothing unusual—no blood, just the ordinary traces of human activity common to bedrooms.

After inspecting a few cabinets, she raised an eyebrow at a Kinbaku rope and a few gags but found nothing out of the ordinary otherwise. She combed through the rooms twice to be sure before sitting at Alex’s home terminal. Connecting remotely using the association’s access codes left in case of his death, Tex began issuing commands via her system. She copied the entire system’s contents and transmitted them directly to the analysis department, skimming through promising files as they were uploaded. Her custom script flagged recordings for keywords and content relevance. Within three minutes of sifting through dull work recordings and spicy accounts of rope binding of casual partners, she had a hit.

A video message to his teenage daughter, whom his ex-wife had full custody of. He saw her only every other weekend. Tex downloaded the recording and played it as a miniature projection on her lens.

"If you’re watching this, things didn’t go as I’d hoped. I’m sorry." Classic, thought Tex, shaking her head. Then, her system issued a warning. The code indicated an advanced cyber-weapon, military-grade. Her scanner, running in the background, had flagged it—a first for her. The weapon’s owner was ascending in the elevator, likely stopping at their floor.

"If you haven’t already received them, you’ll soon get the policy codes and access to my account. I left you everything through your mom’s uncle’s law firm office." Alex’s voice continued in the background.

“Jim, inside now, and lock the door!” she barked. Jim complied quickly before asking questions.

“What’s going on, Tex?” he asked, drawing a compact Mercer12 pistol from his holster. It held three dozen penetrating rounds per magazine and boasted excellent aiming assistance.

“We’ve got a company—military-grade weaponry holder, an expensive toy I must say,” Tex replied, rising from the console. She drew an identical pistol from the holster on her back. The files continued uploading to their servers. She grabbed Jim’s arm and retreated with him to the window, keeping out of the line of fire while maintaining a view of the entrance. Through thermal imaging, she spotted their target’s heat signature behind one wall. To her dismay, six others accompanied him. They moved as a unit toward Alex’s apartment. There was no way it was a coincidence. Tex figured they carried simpler weapons with no electronic signatures, rendering them invisible to her scanner.

"The PDJA agents should deal with those responsible for my disappearance, but you and Mom should still be cautious. Leave the city for a while until it’s resolved," Alex said on the video, his voice breaking.

“Damn it, Jim, it’s a seven-person team,” she whispered, struggling to maintain composure. “Call for backup. I’ll find a way out.”

She took a deep breath, quickly pulling up in her system the layout of the apartment and the building section she’d observed earlier. Though the building’s black exterior seemed solid, structural reinforcements every five floors jutted out about thirty centimeters. It would have to do. Tex opened the nearest window fully. They had to descend two floors. With luck, they could balance on the ledge. Her tech made it feasible for her to just jump down there, but not Jim.

"Take care of yourselves. I love you, sweetheart," Alex finished, sniffling.

“Backup’s on its way,” Jim reported quietly. Tex looked at him, eyes bright with realization.

“Two floors down, there’s a ledge. We’ll climb it and enter another apartment. BDSM will help us!” she said in a hushed tone. Jim looked confused until she returned with the rope, quickly tied a rescue knot around his waist, and urged him to go first. Both holstered their weapons and she pushed him out the window, steadying him as he descended onto the narrow ledge. He barely fit but stood his ground. Tex tossed him the rest of the rope.

She vaulted out the window, hung by one hand, and closed it from the outside with her other. Her synthetic skin allowed for enhanced grip on demand. Sliding down slowly using both hands, she monitored the advancing squad. They carefully entered Alex’s apartment as Tex clung to the ledge. Not wanting to risk Jim being blown off by the wind, she used her remote connection to Alex’s central unit to blast loud rock music at full volume. Taking advantage of the distraction, she smashed the nearest corridor window with a single punch, her cybernetic muscles straining under synthetic skin when she did.

Pushing Jim inside, she leapt through after him.

“To the stairs,” she ordered, propelling him toward the emergency exit. Jim obeyed, behaving commendably for a rookie while gathering the rope to not trip over it. Soon, they were sprinting downward without looking back.

“Backup’s 30 minutes out,” Jim informed her shortly by the eighth floor. They descended the rest in silence, Jim’s labored breathing filling the air. As they reached the street, he leaned on his knees, trying to rest for a second.

“The car’s over there. Come on, you can catch your breath inside. I’ll drive,” Tex said firmly, guiding him to the vehicle. As they reached it, a massive explosion echoed from Alex’s apartment, shattering glass and flinging debris down the street. Both ducked instinctively before glancing at each other to ensure neither was injured. Nodding silently, they sat in the car and promptly left the scene.