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GreyGabe · 12-01-2011, 06:00 AM

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It is the year 2525. Our cities cover the earth nearly from pole to pole, our buildings rise so high that the light of the sun can no longer reach the lowest levels. Our societies are sustained by massive factories and purification plants, which produce the food, water, and air we need to survive. Nations have gradually merged into a mere handful of conglomerate nations, that keep their populations in check through propaganda and rampant consumerism. There are whispers, however, that it is the corporations that have the real power, simply using our national governments as convenient figureheads while they go about their business...

Either way, it doesn't really matter. Between work, the advertisements, the political propaganda, whatever's on EnterNet this week, and the fantastical virtual world of the Simulacrum, nobody has a whole lot of time (or any real reason) to complain. And yet there are some who still find the time to commit crimes.

That's where you come in. You, Detective William Case, and your partner, Detective Evan 5-715, have both been with the North American Sprawl Bureau for the Enforcement of Lawful Behavior (sponsored by Bubble-Up! Soda company, Hardcorps Computing Solutions, and GUN brand guns) for going on twenty years. You've been partners for only a few years of that time, but you've grown to trust each other implicitly, even though you were reluctant, at first, to work with an android... and he was almost equally reluctant to work with any partner at all.
But now, back to the matter at hand...

"I'm just saying, I can't eat that crudge."

"Oh?" Evan glances sidelong at you, reddish eyes glinting in the hover-lites as you drive past. "Here I thought you would eat just about anything."

"Har har. It's just... weird, okay?"

"Why, because it's cloned?"

"Well, kind of... I mean, not exactly. It's just... okay, so they just clone parts of it, right?"

"Yes."

"That's what higs me. If they were like, cloning the whole cow and butchering it, that would somehow be better, to me anyway. As it is though, it's just this... chunk of meat, growing by itself until they decide it's the right size. Creeps me out."

"I see."

"Don't give me that tone. I know it's not rational, I just don't like it."

"Hmm." Evan seems about to say something more when your car's communicator begins to buzz. A second later, a small screen appears, inset into the center of the windshield. A young blonde woman in a drab grey uniform nods and begins speaking.

"Case, E5-715. There's been an incident at the West Central Hopper Port, #3347. Your presence is requested as soon as possible."

Evan nods, and says, "We're on our way."

You wave off the communicator and start to think. Right now you are in East Central. West central is (obviously) to the west. There are a number of routes you could take, the fastest probably being--

"Fastest way there is via the express tunnel." Evan gestures vaguely below you.

"It's only fastest," you say, "if traffic isn't bad, or if they haven't had another mudge-up with the traffic controls." Lately there have been some infrastructure problems in some of the older thoroughfares, the Express Tunnels especially. Signals going blinked, hover-lites falling out of the air, etc. The city assures everyone that they're "working on it" but you tend to have your doubts. In the meantime, a traffic signal deciding to malfunction can result in a fifty-or-sixty car pileup that can take hours to clean up.

"Anyway, it would be faster to take Eon Airway down to LeetBeats Square, circle around there, then it's just a matter of a few back avenues to west central."

"Sure, if LeetBeats isn't having one of their promotional free concerts and taking up the whole square. Which they are, today."

"What? No, that's not til tomorrow."

"It's today." Evan sounds completely sure of himself. "And if we try to get through there, it'll take forever to try and navigate our way through the teenagers and statyk-heads that will be clustering there like flies on ointment."

"I don't think that's how that expression goes."

"I don't care. I'm still right."

You grumble under your breath. Either way, you could end up delayed. Evan did sound pretty sure that that concert was today, but this is the same guy who cleans everyone out on poker night four times out of five. But if you take the tunnel, you could end up being stuck even longer than that if something goes wrong. Of course if you do take his advice, and it works out, he won't say he told you so. He'll just think it. Smugly.

Grunting, you push the steering wheel forward, your hover-car smoothly cutting through the air towards the lower levels. Evan smiles, faintly.

Other cars quickly make room for you, noting your flashing red-and-whites and your total disregard for the speed limit. You plunge towards a wide opening in the ground, helpfully marked "EXPRESS TUNNEL."
You fly in... and find it almost completely empty. Odd for this time of day. Maybe everyone else had the same idea you did. You're able to push your car to over a hundred kilometers an hour. You carefully ignore Evan's self-satisfied smile.

Within fifteen minutes you're out of the Express Tunnel and into the West Central Sprawl. It only takes a few minutes to find the Hopper station... and the cluster of Enforcer vehicles hovering around it. You navigate your way through them, and are signaled to move to level 18. You dock your hovercar in an empty charging station and get out. The entrance is cordoned off, but one of the grey-clad officers standing by the doors knows you by sight and lets you through. He looks pretty shaken... you're beginning to get a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

The first thing that hits you is the smell. Blood. It hangs thick in the air, over the normal hopper port smells of economy-brand floor wax and overpriced food-court fare. A couple dozen people are sitting on the floor near the entrance, looking dazed and terrified. More than a few of them are splattered with gore. Across the floor, another officer notices you and waves you over.
You walk normally, trying to give off an aura of professional calm. Evan follows you, his expression impossible to read.

"Detectives," The officer says by way of greeting. His forehead is beaded with sweat, you notice, and he looks pale. "The, uh... body is right over there... most of it, anyway."

Well, that sounds promising.

Before you can enter, the officer speaks up again, this time specifically addressing Evan. "You, um, might want to leave the coat out here, sir. You wouldn't want to get blood on the hem..."

Evan glances down at his dark grey duster, which doesn't quite sweep the ground when he's standing up straight. Shrugging, he shucks it off, tossing it onto a nearby bench. This is why you usually just wear a suit.

You continue into the lounge, which is filled with the kind of cushioned chairs designed to be sat in for long periods of time whilst you wait for your flight. The fabric is light red, and the blood shows on it quite clearly. The smell is much worse in here, and mingles with something even less pleasant. On the opposite side of the room, windows look out over the passenger hoppers that wait to ferry their passengers all over the world. They're just going to have to wait, though. There is quite a lot of blood, but you think the officer outside was being a tad melodramatic when he advised Evan to leave his coat outside. A few other officers are searching the room for any useful evidence.

A medical examiner kneels next to the body, waving a small scanning device over it. She glances up at you, but doesn't interrupt her work to greet you.

The first thing that you notice about the body is that it's missing a head, which you cunningly deduce is somehow related to the blood and gore spattering the room. You also notice that, aside from the head and upper torso, the body is mostly intact. The victim is male, and from what you can tell probably not very old, though it's hard to estimate with any accuracy with just his body shape and his hands. Speaking of hands, these are pretty well manicured, and one hand is adorned with what looks to be a class ring. His outfit was neat and well tailored. All in all, it seems he was fairly well off, but probably not anyone in the upper class.

"Obviously not pulse-gun wounds," Evan remarks. "Far too much blood, and the wrong type of tissue damage. Perhaps some sort of antique projectile weapon?"

"I don't think so." The medical examiner doesn't look up from her gadgets. "Granted, those things could cause some serious damage. But this is looking more like... an explosion of some type. I'm still taking readings, though."

Evan nods. "I see." He turns to you. "While she's doing that, perhaps we should take a better look around?"

You nod. While the medical examiner is finishing her preliminary scans, you should probably do some detective work, that being your job and all. But where should you start?

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