The Call

[Eclecticon]

Even at this height there's still the fog.  Bitter and caustic, it chokes the canyonlands between titans of concrete and steel, the iridescent crap in hanging in the air drawing out the neon colours into wild blooms that meet and blend into the fever dream of some long-dead painter.  No sign of anything human up here but the spinner heaving its way through what passes for air.  Behind it, garish mist fading to the same bland greenish-grey.  In front, shadowy monoliths cast suddenly into stark relief by the brilliant white of a drive flare as a hauler shuttle blasts its way clear of the spaceport. 

Los Angeles, May 2037. 

Inside the spinner, awkward silence.  Jephthah Crowe, ostensibly driving but hasn't moved his hands in a quarter of an hour, by LE1-1.3's count.  Hasn't said a word or looked at her since she climbed in.  Didnt have to.  The call came in before they were even on shift: priority 1, break-in at a Sector 12 warehouse, briefing from officers on the scene.  All ongoing investigations suspended until further notice (not saying much). 

Crowe stares at the drive flare until his eyes rebel and force themselves shut.  He doesn't know why he's been given this assignment.  Doesn't occur to him that it's been given to 'Elly' just as much.  Assumes it's because Deputy Chief Holden doesn't think it's really a job for Rep-Detec.  Isn't wrong. 

Blinking red lights through the thinning fog and a ping from the nav-panel announce they're nearly on the scene.  Officers in uniform waving them toward a landing pad, haphazardly maintained and stuck like an afterthought on the edge of a structure as massive and ugly as the tomb of some old Soviet leader, if the dead man was somehow twelve meters tall. 

Descent, engines whining.  Time to do the work.

[Eclecticon]

The acrid smell of the fog shoulders its way in the moment the doors scissor open, though up here at least it's not stinging anyone's eyes enough to draw tears.  It should be windy this high up but it's not, and coats hang limp and heavy on the two detectives' shoulders.  One of the uniforms, maskless with the true disdain of an Angelina for the health of her lungs, gives them a professional once-over as she approaches.  All business, this one - probably bucking for promotion to something a little better. 

"I'm Phirel," she says as she gets close enough.  "Thanks for dragging yourselves out here so fast." 

After a cool look from Elly and an eloquent single-shoulder shrug from Crowe, she carries on, matching pace as the two new arrivals head toward the elevators.  "We responded to an incident that took down the local ESPER coverage - early signs point to deliberate sabotage of a network node but you're welcome to take a look for yourselves.   We re-routed and restored coverage in time to catch suspicious activity outside this facility so we tooled up for a first-hand inspection." 

She flicks her hair away from her face.  "Place is a warehouse - an old one.  Records are sketchy since the Blackout so we haven't traced an owner yet.  One compartment's been blown open, nothing else touched as far as we've been able to tell.  We called RDU as soon as we saw what was inside."

"And that was?" Crowe, voice tight.  Trying not to breathe more than he has to. 

"Parts.  Rep sub-assemblies.  Not sure of the details - I've been up here waiting for you.  Blue at the scene might know more." 

She reaches the door, swipes a skeleton keycard and shoves an arm into the space to hold it open.  "Which reminds me: we called in Robbery before we'd even entered the site.  Detective Varela's in there right now.  He's... gonna be a bit pissed at you two for taking over his investigation." 

[Posterboy]

LE1-1.3 stepped out of the spinner without haste. The fog enveloped her immediately, clinging to the black panels of her coat, gathering in the seams, turning the shoulders dark and wet before the door had even finished its upward arc.

Elly paused only long enough to register the air quality and wind absence, the structural age of the warehouse and the landing pad corrosion, the positioning of the officers, Phirel's uncovered face, and Crowe's breathing pattern beside her.

No immediate threat. No visible civilians... Too many unknowns.

Her eyes moved to Phirel while the officer spoke, but her attention divided itself cleanly between the words, the building, the uniforms, and Crowe. She didn't interrupt. She didn't look surprised when Phirel mentioned the ESPER node, and didn't react when she said, "parts."

Parts. Not remains. Not victims. Not evidence of persons. Parts.

Elly's expression didn't change, but her attention sharpened. "Sub-assemblies," she said, as if placing the term carefully on a scale. "Organic, synthetic, or mixed?"

She glanced toward the elevator, then back to Phirel, her gaze shifting briefly to the skeleton keycard in her hand.  Turning her head slightly toward Crowe, just enough to include him without requiring him to meet her eyes, she remarked, quiet and certain, "This is not a warehouse break-in."

Elly looked back to Phirel. "Who has entered the compromised compartment?" The questions wasn't angry or suspicious, but came with the same force as a hand closing around a wrist – more controlled, exact, and difficult to ignore. "And has anyone touched the contents?"

She almost said bodies. Contents was safer... more useful to the work.

Stepping into the elevator, the wet hem of her coat moved against her boots, as she instructed Phirel. "Secure the landing pad. Preserve the ESPER node if it hasn't already been contaminated. No additional personnel inside unless cleared by RDU or scene command."

Then, after a pause, she added, "And notify Detective Varela that Rep-Detect is on site." Her expression remained still. "He may prefer to hear it before he sees us."

[Eclecticon]

Phirel pauses, hand on the elevator controls.  "Organic, I think, unless there's something else been found down there that nobody's told me about.  Not current model, that's for sure, but you're the experts, not me."  She doesn't meet Elly's gaze with her last words.  Not clear if it's a gesture of respect or something else. 

"Apart from blue, only the suspects that we can confirm, though y'know... there's the usual evidence of Specials.  Couldn't say what's been touched.  You'll understand when you get down there." 

The usual evidence.  Specials.  Back in the days after the Blackout, a place like this - solid building without clear ownership, power when that came back but probably access through dumb hatches even before then, out of the way with no reason for most people to look at it twice - this would've been sought-after real estate by the kind of people who can't pay anything for living space.  People who made some shitty choices, or who didn't make the cut.  People stuck forever at the bottom of LA's constantly-churning totem pole.

Sure enough, all the signs are there as the elevator lurches into half-life with a smell of old food scraps and a sound that speaks of spotty maintenance even back in its glory days.  Tags on the walls that have built up into strata.  Totems and talismans tied to rusted railings.  Tumbledown remains of shanties on walkways not wide enough for two people to pass.  No sign of anyone still here, but in a city so crowded that families will get into a knife fight to live in a stairwell, it's a sucker's bet to say it out loud.

The elevator shudders to a halt on the 56th floor near a set of massive sliding doors that would look just like every other set if they hadn't been twisted open by a blast so recent that the echoes are probably still knocking around somewhere in the sub-levels.  Inside, lit up like superstars on stage by LAPD floodlights, a small hive of uniforms swarms where someone's kicked the nest over.  A lot of work getting done, or maybe just a lot of people finding an excuse to be inside.  Nods as they clock the badges, or maybe just the look any cop gets at a new crime scene. 

Everywhere you look, hard plastic containers sporting old-fashioned labels, each one just big enough to hold a football, scattered about - either the work of whatever took out the doors or someone looking for something specific and not giving a damn about much else. 

Then he's loud and somehow already too close.  "I'm Mateo Varela, RSS.  Not sure why these numbnuts decided this was a Rep-Detec job.  Looks like you guys are as short handed as we are," he says, waving without looking at a DiJi who's making notes on an imaginary clipboard.  "We both gotta deal with partners that ain't real." 

Then, with a professional-grade stink-eye right at Elly: "What you lookin' at, skinjob?"

[Telcontar]

Crowe speaks his voice is calm, emotionless, perfunctory.

"Detective Varela. This is Detective LE1, I'm Detective Crowe."

Following procedure he showed the other Detective his badge.

"You know my department, so you know that we don't care about burglaries and break ins. We are here to determine two things."

"First, what the connection this robbery has to replicants."

"Second, to determine if replicants have, are, were, or will be involved in this crime."

"You want to do the paperwork on the burglary, be my guest. You want to find the fence, the yen, or whatever else it is that you need to file in your report? Again you're welcome to it."

"Any and all leads, evidence, stated or implied to replicants is REP-DET priority."

"Now, if that is settled can we continue? Please let me know what you have so far, while Detective LE1 see what else may be here pertinent to my department."

Crowe nodded to his assigned partner to continue, and waited for acquiescence and something useful from Varela, or proceeding to the next stage of badge measuring.