Blackness. An infinite black.
Not a deep darkness, but a flat void.
Vast yet constricting, suffocating, as if she has been compressed into a single plane of existence.
Why are you here?
Hey, been a while!
Is this where you work now?
Leon...
You haven't answered me yet, Teddy...
Am I the one going crazy or is it you, my dear Victoria?
Nngh!
"Why am I here?" This is her first coherent thought, surfacing through the drowsiness.
The second: a chill. The heat is leaching from her body, the last traces of condensation liquid evaporating from her synthetic skin.
She looks behind her. On the polyester bedsheet, a faint, human-shaped outline of moisture is all that remains of her dream.
To her right is a bed-length window fitted with one-way glass.
Beyond it, a hazy, depthless sky makes time unreadable. In the distance, skyscrapers pierce the gloom, their lights glowing like a vast, dormant circuit board.
What am I even thinking...
To the left, a trail of chaos leads from the doorway to her bed: boots, socks, jacket, shirt, gloves, shorts—the debris of a young woman's life too hastily lived.
The bedside clock glows 5:12 AM.
After yesterday's brutal workload and barely two hours of rest, even her Construct body is protesting. She shakes her head, trying to quell the storm in her M.I.N.D.
Enduring the dull throb behind her eyes, she pushes herself up, strips the bed, and feeds the sheet into the waiting laundry machine.
...
She slides down the wall, folding into herself, head buried in her arms. The laundry machine's gentle hum is the room's only heartbeat.
Silence stretches as time passes.
After a long while, the vacuum robot whirs to life on its schedule, bumping against her leg. It retreats, advances, retreats again—a mindless dance of confusion.
Teddy reaches out without looking and nudges it onto a new path.
Which idiot programmed this thing...
She stands. Her own reflection waits for her in the full-length mirror across the room. She approaches, studying the young woman who studies her back.
She raises a hand; the reflection mimics perfectly. She tilts her head; it tilts in unison. She clenches a fist, then opens it; the motion is fluid, absolute.
Her control over the vessel is precise, undeniable.
She reaches out, her fingertips meeting the cool, hard surface of the glass. Slowly, the chill of the mirror begins to bleed away, warming to her touch.
She pulls her hand back. A faint, ghostly print of her palm lingers on the surface before slowly fading into nothing.
The world's responses are exact. Undeniable.
Real or fake...
Criminal Investigation Bureau
Elysium Central Building
25F
Inside a stark white psychological evaluation room.
What does it feel like to reunite with a friend? Download.
Download.
Do you feel distress when you see dead bodies? Download.
Download.
Do you feel warmth when reuniting with family? Upload.
Upload.
What does it feel like to live with your parents? Upload.
Upload.
Do you often feel surrounded by darkness? Touch.
Touch.
A sealed room.
A sealed room.
Operating table.
Operating table.
A flying sparrow.
A flying sparrow.
...
Your M.I.N.D. is experiencing minor disruption, but remains within normal parameters. Please ensure you take your mandated rest, Inspector.
Teddy walks out of the psychological evaluation room, pressing fingers to her brow.
Well?
Teddy turns around to find Moineau leaning against the wall, her face etched with pure exhaustion.
And here I thought I was the one who looked tired.
That's what happens when you have me digging into Rokubishi Electric all night.
Care to guess what I found?
Just spit it out.
The CEO is having a steamy affair with an employee.
Moi—neau—
Can't take a joke. Fine.
I didn't find a single thing.
Her expression hardens, her voice dropping to a more serious tone.
Absolutely nothing.
Teddy raises an eyebrow.
Even you came up empty?
I hacked their servers, inventory, executive PCs, company emails...
Every possible source.
With what I've gathered, I could start my own Rokubishi Electric.
Unless you're dealing with someone out of your league.
But that's highly unlikely.
Even then, I'd find traces of the intrusion. But there's no evidence that the system was ever hacked.
A dead end, huh... Tsk.
A familiar throb pulses deep within Teddy's M.I.N.D.
So, Teddy, you haven't answered me yet.
What?!
Moineau blinks, taken aback by Teddy's sharp reaction.
I was asking about your psych eval.
...
Per Bureau protocol, every inspector assigned to a homicide must complete two psychological evaluations: one to initiate an investigation, and a second to close it, ensuring the mental fitness of its field personnel throughout the process.
Nothing serious. A bit disrupted, but still within parameters.
Fair enough. With a victim like that... it would get to anyone.
Do you think your frame data was leaked?
All the better. Then I could just arrest you and call it a day.
...?
As far as I'm concerned, you're the only person who could steal my frame data without a trace.
Moineau plucks a disposable electrolytic vape from a pocket. She brings it to her lips, and the device's red tip flares like a warning light as she takes a long, deliberate drag.
She exhales a slow, curling plume of vapor. Through the dissipating haze, her gaze rests on Teddy—now veiled, unreadable.
What was with you earlier?
...Just reminded me of something.
What did you say?
Last night... I dreamed of Leonardo. He said something similar to what you just said.
Your brother, huh...
How long has it been since the falling incident?
...Ten years.
Moineau takes another deep drag from her electrolytic vape and opens her mouth to speak.
Ah, there you two are. The Chief wants to see us.
Bureau Chief's Office
Elysium Central Building
26F
Chief James is hunched over two physical paper reports when Teddy, Moineau, and Moore enter his office.
He is the picture of efficiency: a sharp side-parted crop of hair, rectangular glasses, a precise mustache, and the unmistakable contours of a dedicated gym-goer beneath his dress shirt.
One might also wonder if he has a wealthy friend who dresses up in a bat costume after hours.
But today, that efficiency is marred by a cloud of palpable concern.
Without a word, Moineau and Teddy head for the couch and make themselves comfortable, a practiced act of casual defiance.
James' lip twitches. He visibly chooses the path of least resistance—out of sight, out of mind—and pivots his full, weary attention to Moore, the one who remains standing.
I've reviewed the reports.
What's your assessment of those rioting machines?
Moineau stretches lazily before responding.
No leads from Rokubishi Electric. They haven't reported any missing inventory.
There should be production serial numbers on the remains? Did anyone check those?
Teddy cuts in.
Didn't find the serial number on that one. Someone might've erased it.
...
The Arclight Avenue attack, the dock sewer disappearance... Both involve rioting machines, and evidence from the apartment victim points toward the sewers...
I'm approving Moore's request to merge the investigations.
Christina. You can step away from this. Investigating a victim who mirrors your frame... we would all understand.
No. I'm staying on the case.
Yeah...
Moore, you can also step away. Focus on recovering from your injuries.
That's not necessary, Chief! My injuries aren't serious; this is nothing for a Construct!
...Are you sure about that?
Yes.
Then it's settled. The three of you will form the investigation team. If there's nothing else, you're dismissed.
The three of them file out of the Chief's office.
After a moment's hesitation, Moore decides to speak up.
I've been meaning to ask... do you two have some kind of issue with the Chief?
There's absolutely no respect for authority here. None whatsoever.
Not everyone loves their job as much as you do... But that doesn't mean we don't take our cases seriously.
I don't really care about things like salary or job titles.
As for Teddy, she just has an allergy to rules and red tape.
That's... quite the carefree outlook.
Let's focus on the cases. We've hit a wall with the rioting machines.
I suggest we pivot back to the victim.
As the conversation turns to the cases, Moore's tone grows serious.
So we start by investigating the victim's history and personal connections.
Okay.
I was planning the same. Jack was only classified as missing before, which limited our access to his private data. I'll do a full background dive.
Did you find anything on that storage chip from last night?
...
What's the problem?
I'm not sure, but... some of the data doesn't add up.
Import-export volumes, GDP... In plain words, the city is consuming far more resources than it's paying for.
It's like a mysterious benefactor is supplying the city out of thin air.
Could other regions be funding us?
No idea. That's well above our pay grade anyway.
...
If people start thinking the world isn't real over something like this, they have way too much time on their hands.
They should try painting or writing instead. Once they're suffering through the creative process, they won't have the bandwidth for these theories.
The trio continues their discussion, their footsteps echoing as they move from the Chief's office toward the 25th-floor reception hall—a perplexing extravagance for a bureau dedicated to crime investigation. As they enter the inspectors' office area, a soft chime sounds from Moore's terminal.
He glances at the message, and his face instantly breaks into a radiant, unguarded smile.
Whoa... That smile is genuinely disturbing, old man.
I am not old enough to be called "old man"!
Besides, you two wouldn't understand the joy of getting a message from your wife!
That's the kind of thing that drives mature, dependable men to face life head-on!
"Old man" is a state of mind. And that speech just proved our point.
Dammit...
Anyway, to thank you both for your help earlier, how about coming over to my place for dinner tonight?
Without waiting for a response, Moore is already calling Elean.
Elean, could you prepare some extra food for tonight?
I'm inviting two colleagues over. Right, the ones who helped me before. Moineau and Teddy.
...Moineau?
Yeah, the famous one from our bureau, you know.
Isn't this a bit too rushed...?
Don't worry about it! It's totally fine!
Hey, come on...
That settles it then. I'll see you later.
He ends the call.
Wow. Unilaterally deciding our evening. We never actually agreed...
Don't tell me you're going to turn me down?
Your colleague will weep. Our friendship will shatter.
That's totally an "old man" act...
