As the hands of my watch inch towards 8pm, a dense fog begins to drape over the city, a welcome respite from the relentless rain. The rising ocean waters have transformed California into a mirror image of Washington state weather wise, a change that has been decades in the making. The beaches have receded, but not to the dystopian extent depicted in post-apocalyptic films. I stow away the encoder tool in the trunk before sliding into the cockpit of my glider. A call buzzes in my earpiece. “Call from Monica”. I rest my hands on the cool roof of my glider before accepting the call. “It’s Monica, Whyet,” her voice softer than usual. “I had to ensure I was calling from a secure line. I wouldn’t dream of discussing this over my work phone. To answer your question, yes, we do have contracts in various military sectors. What do you need to know?” I draw a deep breath before posing my first question. “How much do you know about these contracts?” I ask, “I’m aware of a few projects and sister companies under our umbrella. As for their exact roles or contributions to our military, I can’t say.”
“Could you provide the names of those companies? I’ll conduct my own research. I don’t want you to jeopardize your position or risk your safety.” “Don’t fret about me, Whyet. I want to assist you. Our largest sister company is Typhon, headquartered here in California. Then there’s Eriksson Inc., formerly owned by Alexander Eriksson, but we acquired it several years ago. It was based in Sweden, and an American division is in the pipeline. They were developing some sort of stealth technology for ground and aerial units, very hush-hush. We also have a stake in an African company, Rogue Games, which designs VR simulations for military exercises. They’re based in Ghana and train our military NeoGens there. They also have several international locations. Beyond that, everything else is classified, and I’m not even sure of all the corporations we influence. I wish I could provide more, Whyet, but I hope what I’ve given you proves useful.” “It’ll do for now, Monica. By the way, I managed to get a copy of Memoirs of a Neo-Hunter.” I inform her. “That’s fantastic, Whyet. I hope you find it as captivating as I did.”
“We’ll see. I’ve never been much of a reader. But I’ll delve into the book when I get a chance. I’ll see you in the morning, Monica. I’m off for a drink before heading home.” I was currently in the Fullerton area, one of LA’s more upscale neighborhoods, Mindy owned her condo here for the past year. I actually helped her move. I recall a ramen place Mindy and I used to frequent for quiet chats, meals, and drinks. Perhaps it’s time for a break from the whiskey. A warm sake doesn’t sound too bad. I switch the glider to manual mode and take the wheel, unwilling to deal with the vehicle’s safety precautions at this moment. After a brisk 10-minute drive, I arrive at the Noodle Hut in Orange County. This part of town, surprisingly, lacks the towering building sectors and megastructures. It’s one of the pricier areas, but the grounded feeling it offers is refreshing. Nestled in the heart of Orange County, down a narrow alley, lies the small ramen bar. As I push open the creaky wooden door, a gust of warm, steamy air greets me, carrying the rich, savory aroma of simmering broth and fresh noodles. The soft, ambient glow of neon lights bathes the interior, casting shadows on the polished wooden counter.
To my left, a row of stools lines the counter, each one occupied by patrons hunched over large bowls of ramen, their faces softly illuminated by the war glow from the old school 40 watt bulbs. Behind the counter, the chef moves with rhythmic precision, his actions a dance of culinary artistry. He ladles steaming broth into bowls, tops them with springy noodles, and adds a medley of toppings: slices of tender chashu pork, a soft-boiled egg with a warm yolk, bright green onions, and a sheet of nori that gently waves with the rising steam.
To my right, a panorama of the cityscape unfolds, the neon lights of the city casting vibrant reflections on the rain-slicked streets. The sound of the city - the hum of engines, the murmur of conversations, the occasional clink of chopsticks against ceramic bowls - creates a soothing backdrop.
At the rear of the bar, a jukebox plays a low, jazzy tune, its notes mingling in the air and harmonizing with the rhythm of the city beyond the walls. The atmosphere is cozy and intimate, a sanctuary from the bustling city outside. Each bowl of ramen tells a story, and every patron becomes a part of its narrative. The place exudes a sense of seclusion, which I find appealing. As I settle into a table, the chef’s assistant approaches me. She takes my order - ramen in beef broth with sliced brisket and all the fixings. Moments later, she slides a steaming bowl of ramen in front of me. I nod in gratitude to the elderly lady. As I let the hot ramen cool, I dial Nancy, my tech contractor.
“LISA, call Nancy, my tech contractor.” The phone rings several times before a weary voice answers. “Go for Nancy.” “Hey Nance, it’s Whyet. I have some information I need you to dig into. I need you to research three companies for me: Typhon, Eriksson Inc, and Rogue Games. I’m particularly interested in a piece of tech that can render a victim mute. Something that can strip a victim of their voice without leaving any trace of foul play. Nothing was found in the victims’ systems that would indicate something chemical or biological. I need all the details - how it works, if it’s biological, the delivery system, etc. Can you handle that?” I can hear her yawn in the background as she stretches. She responds, “I’m on it. Make sure I get paid soon." I ask her to send me her banking details. I don’t ask questions; I don’t plan on charging her taxes. She complies immediately, and I request a CI Contractor money transfer from the captain. “You’ll have your creds by tomorrow. You have my word.”
“Thanks, Whyet. When I know something, you’ll know.” she says, “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll keep my ringer on all night. Call me at any hour; I will answer. Talk to you later.” “Talk to you later, Whyet.” I end the call and savor my ramen, now cooled to the perfect temperature. I signal the chef’s assistant and order some warm sake to accompany my ramen. I ask her to leave the tokkuri, which is essentially a pitcher in Japanese, I believe. Another thing I appreciate about this little joint is the freedom to enjoy a nice cig. After finishing my meal, I waste no time in pulling one out from my coat. I light it, anticipating the rush of nicotine hitting my bloodstream. It doesn’t take long. I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the moment. It’s been a few hours since I’ve had a smoke. Across from me, a breaking news flash flickers on the TV. I stand up and move closer, turning up the volume. I make sure to bring a shot of sake with me, sipping it while focusing on the news flash.
"Los Angeles Police were dispatched at 7PM on February 2nd, 2101, to the 100th block of S. Parkway Avenue in the financial district following a report of a shooting with injuries leading to critical condition status. Upon arrival, officers found a 45-year-old male victim, Meryle Zobel, originally from San Francisco, with multiple potentially life-threatening gunshot wounds. Officers and personnel from the Los Angeles Police Department, as well as the LA Fire Department, immediately rendered medical aid until the man could be transported to the nearest hospital. He remains hospitalized in critical condition. Additionally, a second victim – his wife, 35-year-old Brazilian model Beliza Zobel – was pronounced deceased at the scene.
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The initial investigation suggests that the victims were in the parking lot of a business near the intersection of the 100th block of S. Parkway Avenue in the financial district when shots were fired, and both victims were struck. At this time, LA Police have limited information related to the cause of this incident or the individuals responsible, but this is considered a high-profile incident as the victims play a major role in the fight against the NeoGen rights movement. Anyone with additional information is asked to please call 213-872-9462. Arrangements can be made for information to be shared privately. Anyone wishing to remain anonymous may also submit tips to Crime Stoppers by phone at: 1800 L.A.C (TIPS); online at 213tips.com; or the "LA213 Tips" mobile app.
Officers persist in their canvassing of the vicinity, seeking witnesses and video footage that could aid the investigation. Residents and businesses in the area with external surveillance systems are urged to contact the police department. As of now, no arrests have been made and the investigation continues. Updates may be provided as they become available.
The public is reminded that any information submitted to LA Crime Stoppers remains entirely anonymous. Calls are directed to a third-party national call center, which receives your information, completes a tips information form, and then forwards the information to the appropriate law enforcement agency. LA Crime Stoppers does not utilize caller ID tracking and conversations are not recorded.
LA Crime Stoppers offers cash rewards: $15,000 for tips leading to an arrest in any homicide case, $5,000 for tips leading to an arrest in a felony crime involving a firearm, and up to $1,000 for tips leading to the arrest of the person(s) responsible for any other crime."
A sense of familiarity washes over me as I ponder the case. It bears a striking resemblance to a case I worked on in San Diego. There’s been a string of high-profile cases across California, all linked to individuals wielding influence in various sectors. I’ve also pieced together that all of the cases are connected to individuals who oppose NeoGen equality laws. The NeoGen movement has taken a significant hit, being thrust into the public eye for all the wrong reasons. The Iron Dawn is doing everything in its power to reshape their image, but with influential figures dropping like flies, their efforts may be for nothing. I finish off the remaining sake, settle the bill, and step out into the night. It’s time to head home; my day is done and I’m pleasantly buzzed. Upon arriving home, I pour myself a generous serving of Blanton’s bourbon and settle into my usual spot, outside on my old wicker chair.
It’s fairly late now, Monica is likely fast asleep I'm sure. I reach into my inner holster, the cold steel of my blaster serving as a chilling reminder of the rabbit hole I’m about to descend into. I swirl the tumbler glass within my fingers before taking a sip, staring blankly into the vast expanse of the ocean. The clouds are noticeably absent for once, offering a clear view of the night sky above, unobstructed by megastructures and city lights. I knock back my drink and immediately pour another. I’m starting to feel really good now. I knock that one back as well. My eyes begin to flutter until they finally close. I hope for pleasant dreams. One recurring dream I have is of being saved by an off-planet cop. It’s the reason I wanted to become a cop. I was so young, six or sevenish. I remember it like it was yesterday. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Officer Akimoto, he was a Japanese man, He was a good man. When I was off-world. My parents were researchers on Hallice-Prime. I can’t remember exactly which star system it was in, but I do remember the day they died. I was the only one saved, which is why I wanted to become a cop. I was eventually shipped back home to Earth to live with my adoptive parents in Oceanside, who would also end up dying on me. My parents were killed by a group of escaped NeoGens. I harbored a lot of hatred toward them over the years, I’d be lying if I said that’s not one of the reasons why I became a NeoGen hunter.
They may look like us, talk like us, but at the core of their DNA, they’re not us. That’s where the complication lies. I drift into a deep sleep, the cold air brushing over my face, my warm jacket wrapped around me like a blanket. I get a ring from LISA. “Incoming call, Nancy” I let it ring a few more times before I stir awake. I glance down at my watch and it’s 4 am. I answer the call. “This is Whyet. What have you got for me, Nancy? Please tell me you’ve got something good.” “First, you have to tell me I’m the best hacker you know?” “Okay, you’re the best hacker I know, now get to it.” “So, the Eriksson company and Rogue Games, they didn’t have anything that was pertaining to what you asked, but I did find that they are into some shady stuff. I’ll send you over the details, don’t worry I’ll make sure the data is in a secure location where you can access and view the files free from prying eyes. I’m only giving you read rights though, I don’t want that intel getting out on the streets and getting traced back to me. I’m not getting my ass zeroed by some corp assassin. Use the link I’m sending to you, I have coded the link with a password, which I’ll send to you from a secured number. You’re about to get the lead of a lifetime.”
“Thank you, Nance. Did you get the wire transfer of funds yet?” I ask. “I did, so thanks. The money does help. Things have been a bit slow lately.” She responds. “Don’t mention it.” I say before hanging up the call. A few moments later, I get a link on my private data pad. I open the link and go over the material inside. The first thing I see is some type of projectile tech. According to the diagrams and the details about it, it’s designed to dissolve in the body which would indicate why no trace of evidence would be found in her body. But what about chemically and the delivery system? I continue to read on. Hmm, here it talks about the projectile being an extreme allergy agent. Allergy agent, I think to myself. How do they make such an agent that everyone is allergic to? Hmm here it says it renders a victim mute as it causes excessive swelling in the throat. Okay, so what about a delivery system? Can be used with several types of pistols, and blow guns. Hmm, look at this. A blow gun that’s small enough to fit into your mouth. So the assailant shot the projectile into her neck directly, I think to myself. Meaning he must have been facing her, in which case he proceeds to stab her several times and she is rendered mute seconds after apparently according to the information here. Hmm there is a diagram of the miniature blow gun, and that would fit perfectly in you mouth. He must have been facing her directly, He must have tapped her on her shoulder. Or he got her attention some how. Perhaps he knew here and she recognized him I thought to myself.
Without wasting a moment, I dial up my forensics expert. “Answer the call, damn it.” “What can I assist you with, Whyet?” He responds. “I need someone down at the hospital immediately. I need a scan of the victim’s neck, looking for any kind of wound in or around that area. It’ll be minuscule, perhaps nearly invisible. I need this done urgently before any chance of healing occurs.” “I’m on it, boss. I’m heading there right away. I’ll message you back within the hour.” “I’ll be waiting.” Now, I have this enigmatic number left to me by Mindy. I’ve never encountered this Markus before, I think to myself. “LISA, call Markus Edwards, my new contact.” I wait patiently for a response. “Hello?” A cryptic voice queries. “Is this Markus Edwards?” There’s a prolonged silence. “I’ve been anticipating your call. Meet me at 8am, at Zac’s diner downtown. We need to discuss something.” "Can you te......" There is a click on the other end and he hung up before I could even get out my last sentence. Looks like I have another connection to the case.