What do you do when a god lies dead at your feet?

I take a long pull of whiskey, the burn pushing back the hangover clouding my mind.

Screwing the cap back on, I slip my flask underneath my trench coat. A few of the young pups give me side eyes, but I’m here for the body, not their approval.

“Quite the fiasco we’ve got on our hands,” the Captain says.

“Not sure I can offer you much help, Captain,” I reply.

“You’re Chosen,” she says.

Chosen. I swallow a chuckle before it escapes my lips. The only joke I usually laugh at is myself, but this isn’t the time or place or audience.

The Chosen serve the gods. Granted special privileges and immense powers. Why they ever chose me, I’ll never understand. When you’re Chosen, the gods take a payment in flesh. They lop off one of your arms and replace it with a synthetic one crafted of black godsmetal. The so-called ascent-arm is nearly indestructible, and houses something called nanobots that can heal you and make you stronger and move faster and think better. Like whiskey, minus the hang-over, and the pleasure.

But right now, my ascent-arm is in a sling, knocked out of service. Funny how that happened.

The Captain stares at me, still waiting for a reply. “I’m just here to give an honest opinion,” I say.

“What you’re honest opinion then?”

“Murder,” I say.

“That’s impossible,” one of the young pups says. “Nothing could murder a God!”

“A god could kill a god, don’t ya think? Their Ascended technology could do the trick, surely?” I reply.

The youngin bristles, eyes hardening. He’s spent most his life worshiping at the feet of the so-called gods. Easy to think of them as perfect angels while they’re casting down long shadows from up high. “As if a God would ever kill another God! They have Descended to live among us, to show goblin-kind the path to prosperity and peace! You, you’re just a drunk.”

I shrug, then bring myself low, crouching to examine the body more closely. Beautiful, the gods are, and this one especially so. A face fine chiseled. Silvery blonde hair and sky pale blue eyes. Now those eyes stare frozen, ice on the coldest winter morn, but busted veins arch and spread through the white, death’s lightning painted in red. Mouth hung open. The gods don’t have fangs like us Goblin-kind, but instead square, flat little teeth. Dangerously sharp, like razor blades should one ever deign to bite. Staring death so close in the maw makes me want to reach for my flask but I stay my good arm.

The Captain continues. “What makes you think murder? There was a heck of an electro-storm last night,” she says, nodding to my arm. She and the pups think my arm’s in a sling because of the electro-storm. If only that were the case. Wouldn’t need so much whiskey. “Messes with their tech,” the Captain continues."Mighta been natural. The Gods aren’t truly immortal, after all, even if their technologies make them practically so. Maybe the electro-storm did something, caused a malfunction?"

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“The electro-storm mighta played a role,” I say, “but there’s clear signs of suffocation. Busted veins in the eyes, bruising around the mouth.”

“No bruising around the throat though,” the Captain says.

“You’re right. Looks like she choked on something,” I say. “Guessing you checked her airways?” I add quickly.

“Of course. Nothing as far as I can tell.”

“You tell the gods yet?” I ask. If the gods aren’t on their way here, they will be soon. Probably even risk an electro-storm for this. Makes me want to get going. In fifty some years, no god has ever died in Metroville, at least not as far as I know. When they do arrive, they might come with thunder and flash.

“Our communication equipment got knocked out in the storm. We’re sending a messenger to Mt. Olympus but it’ll take a few hours to get up there. Inconvenient, I know.”

I smirk. It’s some type of convenient, that’s for sure. Funny how the com-radios always go bust when there’s bad news to relay.

“You ever see this God? Given that you're Chosen,” the Captain says.

Shifting away, I sigh and close my eyes, fighting back tears. “Here and there. Even talked to her now and then. I remember another Chosen once asked her what she missed most from their higher realm.”

“What’d she say?” The Captain asks.

“Playing with her grandchildren.”

“You must have misheard,” the young pup says, “as if Gods would concern themselves with something so trite! You were probably drunk.”

I most definitely was. But I hadn't misheard.

The Captain steps forward, perhaps to put the lad in his place, but I gently wave her back. Minus the ascent-arm, the Captain’s a better fighter than me, but I fight my own battles.

“You know kid,” I say, looking up, “I’m glad that with all the inflation and the economy in the gutter and yada yada, I’ll always get to live rent-free in your head.”

His simmer threatens to turn to a boil. “Why the Gods ever chose you…”

“Ah, but they did chose me, didn’t they? You act so pious, and yet it’s you who thinks you know better.” The anger drains away as the irony clicks and the youngin steps back.

‘Gods,’ the lad keeps calling ‘em. But I know they’re only human.

I stand up. Most of the luxury apartment is in pristine condition. Here and there, however, signs of a struggle pepper about. The upturned corner on the rug. A spilled drink. The way grandma’s body sprawls and the chips in her painted nails.

I look past it all, eyes drawn to the sun slipping past the horizon. Below, the streets of Metroville bustle with cars and goblins. On the horizon at my back, electro-storm clouds approach, perhaps driving most of the humans and their tech away from another night in suck city.

“The gods always retreat to Mt. Olympus when the electro-storms roll through. Messes with their tech,” I say. “The question you gotta answer Captain is 'why did this one here decide to risk the last storm?'”

“No obvious answers there,” the Captain replies, “but maybe that will solve the riddle, let us uncover who did the deed.”

“Quite the mystery scene you’ve got here,” I say.

A scene sure, but not much of a mystery at all, if all you want is to find the murderer, even if the Captain is in the dark. I know exactly who killed this godly Grandma. The important questions are the how and why. But the Captain wasn’t chosen, I was, and these questions are ones I’ll have to answer on my own.