Night rain slices through Elysium's fog, pierces its hazy neon glow, and slips past the towering holographic advertisements. The raindrops spatter against car windows, etching diagonal streaks across the glass. It's been raining for days.
The anti-grav car glides through this steel jungle, heading for the city's heart: the Elysium Central Building.
There, various government departments are stacked atop one another. The Crime Investigation Bureau—a division of the Department of Public Safety—occupies three of them: the 25th, 26th, and 27th floors.
Bypassing the ground level entirely, the anti-grav car ascends directly to the Bureau's parking area on the 25th floor.
Teddy, Moineau, and Moore step out into the rain-laced air.
Seriously, why is the bureau even in the Central Building?
Public Safety has branches all over the city. We're investigators, and nearly every other floor here is admin. I stick out like a sore thumb every time we report in.
If only our department had its own building.
Where does this city's tax money even go? Straight into the sewers?
Keep joking about taxes, and someone will make your life difficult.
That's a basic social skill every adult should master.
Wanting a whole new building just for personal preference isn't a great use of taxes either.
Alright, I'm going to review the data chip from the dock storage unit. The initial scan was rushed.
Christina wouldn't have collected that data without a reason. There has to be a lead in there.
I need to file the field report. We recovered Jack's body, but there are too many unanswered questions.
I'll request that the Chief consolidate the cases. The sewers, the rioting machines...
I'm getting to the bottom of this.
Oh right, and I should call Elean first.
Then, Teddy and Moore turn to look at Moineau.
...Can I just clock out? It's already the middle of the night.
They fix her with a pair of disapproving stares.
Fine, fine, you win. I'll look into Rokubishi Electric.
Their stern expressions soften into nods of approval.
Elysium Criminal Investigation Bureau Office
Late Night
The office lighting is dismal, but then, nowhere in Elysium has good lighting. A perpetual overcast smothers the city, blurring the line between day and night into a constant, twilight gloom. No wonder they call it the City of Night.
In one corner, a solitary lamp fights a losing battle against the shadows. It is here that Teddy sits, her face illuminated by the pale blue glow of holographic screens floating from her terminal. She is currently scrolling through the data stored on that chip.
Last year's GDP... 3.20457 trillion... growth rate 3.2%...
Foreign trade volume... industrial exports...
Urban development investment...
She remembers the old saying: the secrets are in the numbers, and numbers never lie.
It is true, but only if you can speak their language.
It's like trying to scratch an itch through your shoe... I don't even know where to start.
Teddy lets out a long, heavy sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on her. She leans back, reclining her office chair until it won't go any further.
A sardonic quip, then silence. Teddy lets the words hang, deliberately clearing her thoughts. Her eyes fix on the holographic data projections weaving a slow, silent dance overhead.
...
...
...
What were you looking at... Christina?
Her whisper drops into silence, like a stone into a deep well, leaving no ripple.
What are you watching, Elean?
Moore eases the door open, surprised to find the side lights still breathing their warm, yellow glow into the living room. The light strips paint only the sofa and the television in a soft, intimate pool of light.
On the screen, a late-night show is playing: a mechanoid, laboring under the delusion that it is human, is attempting to court the female lead with comical gestures.
"Of course I comprehend this emotion. Every circuit and processor in my core confirms it: I love you."
The television murmurs at a low volume, its flickering light casting a pale glow over the room. The silhouette on the sofa remains still, clearly indifferent to the program.
At the sound of Moore's voice, Elean turns. A smile instantly illuminates her face, bright and unfeigned, cutting through the dim stillness.
You're home!
How are your injuries? Let me see. Did the medic patch you up properly? Do we need to go to the hospital?
He had braced for her worried gaze, the gentle scolding, and the inevitable plea for him to resign from the Investigation Bureau—a ritual he always refused.
"Social interaction logs classify this as a romantic gesture. Accordingly, I present these flowers as an expression of love."
I was going to say I bought you flowers, but that can wait.
I'm sorry, Elean.
He sets the bouquet aside and gently draws her into his arms.
Elean buries her face in his chest, nuzzling against him like a cat seeking warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart as she waits for her own warmth to seep into his cool body.
How was your day?
It was awful, Elean... just awful...
He remembers the man named Jack in the sewers, his eyes—hollow and vacant—trained on the ceiling, striving to see through steel and soil, all the way to the open sky.
The room is a vessel of pure shadow, pierced only by the sickly green glow of a single monitor. It outlines a hunched silhouette, her movements mimicked by the massive shadow on the wall as her fingers fly across the keyboard.
Moineau's workstation is a landscape of controlled chaos. A copy of Albert Camus' essay collection, a mug bearing the World Government emblem...
Moineau has shelved the Rokubishi Electric case, the one she promised Teddy and Moore she'd handle. Right now, a far more troubling matter has her full attention.
Why...
Data streams cascade down the terminal, a torrent of raw information. Their ghostly light washes over Moineau, painting her eyes a luminous, unsettling green.
Why is there... nothing?
Where did you people come from...
