Page 5 of Remnants: Disruption
Five A.M., October 22nd , 1030 A.D.
Power is the only voice of reason in a world fraught with chaos. The rules of reality are written by those who wield it best.
A message written to New Chicago’s news outlets, attributed to Bloody Mary
Lights illuminate the otherwise dark parking lot as we roll up beside the last of the troopers. Several of the men and women in black uniforms glance our way but must recognize Percy’s patrol car because they immediately look away.
Or they recognize me. Percy’s well-liked in the department. Well-decorated. Gorgeous. Talented. Et cetera.
Me?
“God,” I hear a grumble as we pass the group of officers standing near the entrance to Hotel Calvary. “Maybe this freak show will outdo the shit upstairs.”
I glance at Percy, but being a Mech, rather than a Remnant, her hearing isn’t enhanced like my own. I could say something. I should, actually. Percy would want me to.
But it’s five in the fucking morning and I don’t need to clean the blood out of my clothing today.
And the mounting voices and dancing shadows are worsening by the moment.
“Why don’t you talk to the young lady at the front desk,” Percy says as we step into the dingy front office.
The entire thing looks like it’s straight out of a detective movie. And, trust me, I’ve watched a dozen or so in the last few years. Yellow wallpaper peels from walls that look as dilapidated as the front desk. It sits in the corner, sort of like a half wall, trailing back into a back office.
Despite that, though, the young lady at the desk has to be roughly in her early twenties. Her terrified expression shifts between the two hulking officers before landing on mine. She almost stumbles back over her chair as I approach the desk.
I glance behind me to see Percy nodding to the stairs where the body must be. I give her a thumbs up before turning back to the receptionist.
“I’ll take it from here,” I say to the two men who are an inch or so shorter than me. They do, however, have a hundred pounds of muscle on me.
It wouldn’t matter, but they sure seem to think it does. There’s a tense moment where I wonder if they might actually try something, but then one grunts. His buddy seems to be able to translate brutish as he turns on his heel and follows him out the door.
“Thank you,” the young woman says meekly. She cowers a little less when I move to the desk.
“I apologize for their inability to treat you like a human,” I smile, doing my best to remember that I, too, am probably terrifyingly inhuman looking.
“They’re cops,” she shrugs, then her blue eyes widen adorably. “I mean—”
“I’m a PI with the department,” I say, grinning. “I get it.”
She nods, shoulders dropping a little.
“Were you the one who found the body?” I ask softly, watching her face.
She nods, her expression tightening. “I was doing my normal check-ups and the door was open. I—”
A shiver quakes her little body. “I was expecting something like sex or something weird…”
She looks down at the desk, her eyes unfocusing.
“The room was rented to—” she looks back up at me, her gaze tense. “I didn’t tell the other two. I told them I couldn’t—”
“Whatever you tell me,” I say softly, pulling a dChip from my jacket, “I promise I’ll pretend like I found it on my own.”
She nods, taking the identification chip. The small, quarter-inch disk flashes “Arya Skovsgaard, Private Investigator, NCPD Affiliate, Tier 1 Utilitarian Remnant, Death Affliction.”
“Death…” her voice peters out as she glances back up at me.
“I’ll talk to the deceased,” I say softly. “They’ll get their final say.”
