The sky was still overcast when I woke up the next morning, and the humidity from yesterday’s rain was oppressive. I could have slept forever, and I would have if not for my alarm, which went off at exactly seven on the dot. The ordinary chime felt strangely intrusive today, and I had a few choice words to say about it. Muttering under my breath, I shifted to rise from my bed.

Shock. I froze from the pain shooting through my shoulders. I had been coiled like a spring about the snap since yesterday, and now I was paying for it. If this is what my body thought about it, maybe it had some choice words for me too. I felt stiff, and I rolled my neck and shoulders to compensate. Better.

The dull pain still lingered as I made my way to the bathroom. Soon the pangs of pain melted away under cold running water. I closed my eyes and inhaled. There was the familiar scent of soap, both fragrant and floral. My own little remedy; my little way to take the edge off.

If I had any sense, I would have taken the day off, but doing so would have felt like admitting defeat and I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t a quitter. As far as I was concerned, the last thing I needed was more time alone with my thoughts.

My hair, still tangled from the day before, fought me, and for a moment, I thought my comb wasn’t going to make it. Fortunately, my clothes were more cooperative. I shrugged into my coat and stepped out the door.

If I thought the humidity was bad before, it was worse now. I was wearing my usual work attire; a simple black trench coat emblazoned with my precinct’s patch on the arm, a shield with a large eye emanating rays like the sun front and center. Under it, I wore a grey button-up shirt and a black tie paired with black slacks. It was an outfit that was, regrettably, not hospitable to the weather.

All that was left now was the commute, and I’d be standing in front of the front doors of the precinct. This time, the drive did nothing for my nerves. Perhaps it was arrogance, but I found it disconcerting how the city continued to go on, business as usual, no matter how much I lost inside its borders. I’m not a fool; I know I’m just a cog in the machine, but so is everyone else.

The precinct was a tall gray building, four stories high, just enough to cast long shadows over the street. It spanned half a block, but most of it was empty. Our forces were gutted more and more year by year, and the sheer heft of the place was now mostly for show. Perhaps it would have been given away by peeking inside, but a black film was applied to all our windows. That was good enough to keep away the prying eyes of the public for now.

Gabe was standing by the front entrance when I arrived. He had a head of short, cropped dark brown hair and a five o'clock shadow along his jaw. His rumpled olive-green trench coat was paired with a beige button-up shirt and a loose, black tie. Same old, same old. Both of us were creatures of habit.

I came to a stop in front of him, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

“You look surprised, Gabe. Did you think I wouldn’t show?” I asked.

“Nah, I know you, Lana. Nothing keeps you from what you do best,” he said.

“You know me.”

“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked.

His eyes narrowed as they fixed on me. Gabe had been my partner since my promotion to the Special Crimes Unit; back then, we were both rookie detectives and practically raring to go. We hadn’t lost our shine for justice, but with time came perspective, and we no longer deluded ourselves into thinking that we could save the world.

“Of course, I am,” I lied, already heading towards our office. He kept pace beside me.

“Lana, you’re not thinking straight,” Gabe said. “I don’t want you falling apart on me.”

“I won’t,” I lied again, picking up my pace. Gabe fell silent and trailed along beside me.

The office was a clear departure from the image of power that the exterior projected. It was orderly and all beige and white. Rows of desks sat unoccupied, collecting dust; the only two left in this department were Gabe and I. I suppose we were a bit grateful for the breathing room, but the empty space also reminded us of lost potential.

Opposite the entryway was an abstract painting hung on the wall. It was new, but it looked almost the same as the last. I don’t know why anyone bothered to change it. It was the sort of art that said nothing – perfect for corporate offices and apparently good enough for us.

Astrid Blackwood, or rather Lieutenant Blackwood, was sitting at her desk, hands folded and brows creased. She was a fixture in this office that seemed to come and go with the wind. What she did when she wasn’t ordering us around wasn’t our concern. She did not tell us, and we did not ask questions. Without so much as raising her head, she addressed me.

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“Go home, Lana. You’re in no state to work,” she snapped.

“Lieutenant Blackwood, with all due respect, I believe that what I need right now is not to be cooped up at home all day. I belong in the field, working the streets, and doing what I do best. We both know that I have always done good work.”

“She’s got a point, Lieutenant,” Gabe interjected.

Lowering her gaze, she studied me over the top of her wire frame glasses, her hands still clasped firmly together. Then after a moment of silence, she answered me.

“I’ll let it slide for today, Detective Walker, but if you slip up, I’m sending you home. Are we clear?”

“Clear as crystal,” I replied. It wasn’t exactly a standing ovation, but I’d take it.

Turning her attention to business as usual, she continued as if nothing had happened. “This is the next case I want you two working on.”

Clapping her hands together, the holographic projector began to whirr, the thing was ancient, and it was slow enough to prove it.

“As you are already well aware, there’s been a surge in radicalization over the years.”

“The people are suffering; desperation leads to unrest,” I said.

“You are quite correct Detective Walker.” She nodded. “We have just been handed quite a unique case. What sets it apart is that the body has been arranged deliberately. It is suspected that this is not a run of the mill murder case. Consequently, it has been handed off from the grunts and entrusted to us instead,” she stated flatly.

After a bit of sputtering, the projector began to show a fuzzy flickering sphere in the center of the room. It hovered in front of us. The thing was practically a fossil, but it wasn’t in the budget to replace anything that wasn’t broken. We worked with what we got.

“Mr. Walker, can you hear us?”

“Loud and clear,” Ethan replied, his voice sounded grainy in the overhead speakers.

“I can’t believe you, Ethan. Weren’t you just trying to convince me to take some time off work yesterday?”

“What can I say? There’s no rest for the wicked.”

“He got you there,” Gabe chuckled.

Lieutenant Blackwood clicked her tongue impatiently.

“Show us what you have for us, Mr. Walker.”

“Certainly, I’ll pull up the information you requested earlier.”

After a bit of whirring, the projector spat out the portrait of a young man; his details were neatly arranged in a box of text to the side. His name was Nathan Ming, a young Chinese man in his mid-twenties. At the time of his death, he was unemployed and possibly struggling financially. Nothing about his appearance stuck out to me. His hair, demeanor, and dress were perfectly ordinary; he could have been anybody.

“What do we know about him?” I asked, knitting my brows together.

“VCPD received multiple distress calls from him, often while he was at home. He was convinced he was being watched, but he wouldn’t say why. His calls were brushed off as insubstantial, but in less than a month, he turned up dead.”

Ethan adjusted our vantage point on the projector. The portrait and profile switched to a short clip of the man himself. It was dated only a week before his death.

“This is the last footage we have of him alive. It’s not a lot but it’s worth a watch.”

The victim, clearly distressed, was leaning over the front desk of the precinct, grabbing the receptionist by the shoulders. He was in a bit of a cold sweat, pit stains clearly visible, and he jerked as he moved. The audio was scratchy, and it took a bit of focus to make out his words.

“You have to believe me,” he begged. “I’m in danger!”

The receptionist, clearly frightened, only answered him with a placating statement, her hands up in surrender.

“Sir, please calm down.”

Finally, in frustration, he released her and staggered backwards.

“You people don’t understand anything,” he said before forcing his way back through the front doors and taking off down the street.

“The victim recently had his limbs replaced with illegal cybernetic enhancements. We’re talking heavily invasive surgery here, total limb replacement. The limbs are cleaved off at the joints and replaced with synthetic counterparts. Most only use it as a last resort.”

“Medical history?”

“None; he had a clean bill of health; the only medical issues we found postmortem were complications with his prosthetics. More importantly, his body was arranged deliberately in a ritualistic way. You’ll know what I mean when you see it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said.

“Your job is to find out who killed him, determine if this death can be tied to radicalization, and bring them in,” Lieutenant Blackwood said. “I will not tolerate any mistakes.”

We nodded easily.

“Do we have any leads?” I asked.

“We have his address,” Ethan answered. “Head on over there and I’ll walk you through the crime scene.”

Pleased with the efficient meeting, Lieutenant Blackwood gestured with her hand, lighting our Irises up. They pinged, informing us that we had just been transferred data. Thankfully, we were approved for the Iris lenses last year. The glasses we were stuck with before then were clunky and a liability in a fight.

These contact lenses, on the other hand, could do everything those glasses could without the risk of being knocked off your face. We, like most people, preferred to avoid unnecessary surgery. Neither Gabe nor I were itching for ocular replacement surgery, still the strongest option on the market.

“That’s all I have for you for now,” Ethan said.

“Thank you, Ethan, I’ll let you go now.”

Ethan clicked the receiver, ending the call.

Returning her attention to us, Lieutenant Blackwood spoke with authority.

“You know what to do,” she said.

“We won’t let you down,” I confirmed.

“Good, then I’ll leave you two to it.”

Lieutenant Blackwood nodded; her gaze lingered on us. I felt a weight of expectation that reminded me of my mother. However, unlike my mother, she lacked a soft touch. No, the Lieutenant was not gentle, and there would be no leniency here. I wouldn’t risk disappointing her when I had just begged to be put on the case. We were already heading down the hallway when the door slammed shut behind us.