Chapter 07 - UNPLUGGED:

  Still unfamiliar with the streets, Muldoon had his terminal propped open on the cruiser center console. Flashing a map of the streets. Then it chimed and the scream changed to a priority message.

  [Central Units Ruld-43 and Muldoon-17, immediate redeploy. Sector Northeast of the eastern borough. Varro confirmed. Repeat: Varro confirmed active. Link to Captain Jocasta’s team on arrival. Extra gear can be picked the the precinct or regional unities]

  The words hit like a boot through a door.

  Muldoon’s ears flattened. The regular half-smile he’d worn since Morty met him slid off his face. He’d heard the name enough in the last twelve hours to understand: this wasn’t a call you ignored. He wasn’t a predator, so he was scared, and it showed even while doing his best not to show. Ruld was a pred, but even he’d gone a little pale.

  Ruld’s own terminal also had the same message. His bulk froze in his seat. For a heartbeat, he looked like a statue. Then he moved, slow, deliberate, fingers typing a short reply. Morty’s terminal buzzed a few moments later. It wasn’t the same message. He wasn’t an enforcer. Not the redeploy order, but a note from Val:

  [Command just yanked strings. Eastern wants every warm body. I tried to stall; no dice. I’ll brief you at the garage. — V ]

  His body didn’t react the way theirs did. He just breathed once, sharp through his nose, tail flicking behind him. His eyes slid toward Ruld, caught the rhino’s jaw locked so tight it might crack.

  Morty knew that now their investigation would be the horse on the loose. He had killed his friends, the guy in the nightclub, probably more. Who would be next? When would it be? He knew now that it was a marathon and not a sprint. Sometimes predators vanish in the shadows for a long while and the fact that citystates don’t talk that much when it comes to bureaucracy, made things a bit harder. The neat trail from the corner of the street, Vermilion and Duarte’s house flashed in his head

  Now the boring part, unless they had another hint. They would have to make BOLO alerts with Silas’ information. Try to track down any possible relatives of him, the bison and the Kóvacs. Everything painted them as the contributors for the blood pool. But protocol stated they had to dot all the ‘i’s, and they still need to find a way to ID the husky to notify his family.

  “So the big guy moved down a little,” Bianca said, leaning forward and seeing the notification on Muldoon’s terminal. Bianca looked between them, a sudden furrow in her brow. “You’re going to try to catch Varro?”

  “We don’t get to say no,” Ruld said, voice low, controlled.

  Muldoon glanced at Morty. “What about you?”

  Silence stretched as Morty climbed out of his own thoughts, arms folded. He could feel the tug — that gut-deep impulse to run north with them. To be with his friends. To find Leo and Juno, to make sure the moose didn’t chew the people he knew into paste. But he also knew: he wasn’t combat personnel. Not like them. He’d done his share of scrapping, yeah, learned to duck and throw a punch, but Varro wasn’t the kind of monster you fought with fists and grit.

  “I’d be nothing more than a distraction there. You two go,” Morty said finally. His voice was steady, but his claws were out now, sharp against the fabric of his coat.

  “You would not be a distraction.” Ruld said, a bit louder than he wanted.

  “Thanks,” Morty said, not unkindly. “But I know what I can and can’t do. Don’t need an ego boost. And that is not an investigation. That is brute force, and I lack in that area. I’ll finish the sweep with Bianca. Someone’s gotta fill the proper paper trail so this Silas guy doesn’t run that easily. Protocol would eat the day anyway.”

  Ruld opened his mouth — then shut it again.

  He wanted to argue. Morty could see it in the twitch of his jaw. But the new order was already dragging them like gravity.

  Muldoon, maybe sensing it, jumped in. “We’ll take the cruiser back to precinct, gear up, and roll out. Morty, you can grab a shuttle later to central.”

  “Or,” Ruld added. “If you’re still around when we cycle back, we regroup.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” the cat said. “Not sure on how long Bianca and I will be at it. And there is no order for me to fall back to central. So I’ll push some information to the other unities to look out for. And see if we can get people for DNA comparisons.

  Outside, the sunlight had sharpened into noon’s glare, bouncing off cruiser glass. Ruld was chewing on his bottom lip. Morty could see the stiffness in his shoulders. The rhino’s head dipped toward him as if to say something — then the enforcers’ terminals chimed again at the same time, louder, more insistent.

  [VARRO RESPONSE TEAM – TEMP CLEARANCE ELEVATION]

  [Insert unit badges to MDC for wired handshake.]

  Ruld shot Morty a look, then picked his badge from the clip on his belt, connected it to his own terminal and seated it in the Mobile Data Computer — the cruiser’s dash terminal. He snapped a data cable into the port; Muldoon took out his badge from the plate on his vest armour and handed it to the rhino; Ruld popped it into Mudloon’s terminal.

  [HANDSHAKE OK · L3 LETHALS/HARD RESTRAINTS AUTHORIZED]

  [TOKEN EXPIRES AT 20:00 · PICKUP AT EASTERN PRECINCT OR REGIONAL ARMORY]

  The wolf exhaled. Ruld unplugged the cable, both badges warm in his palm.

  “Alright,” Muldoon said, voice gone business-flat. “We do this.”

  =================================

  The ride back was loud. Muldoon decided to flip the sirens on. Inside they remained quiet.

  The garage had a part that led to a decontamination area so people could remove the gunk if needed after a mission. A door close to it was the heavy armory stuff. Val was in front of that door, arms crossed, mane braided tight, DAIR jacket squared on her shoulders. She looked held together by will more than sleep.

  “Finally,” she said. “Good job guys. We got a name to track”

  “Feels crappy. I don’t like to be pulled from it when we are making progress. But I hope this helps” Ruld jerked a thumb toward the trunk. “We got the blood samples we found at Duarte’s, bison’s coat in the hamper. Head in the fridge. The horse is gone.”

  Muldoon added, “It’s all there. Like he left us on a guided tour.”

  Val’s eyes slid to Morty. He met them. “A bit anticlimactic in my opinion. ” he said. “Probably could have solved this without me.”

  Val pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maybe. Maybe not. Now box it and log it — I’ve got teams screaming for bodies. Eastern flagged Duarte primary anyway; they want results fast so they can brief them to a nervous mayor. Meanwhile, the industrial sector’s eating itself. Varro’s been public about it — hack and slash on street corners, pushing people to panic. We’ve got five enforcers down and counting. He punches a hole to escape every time they think they’ve got him bracketed.”

  Muldoon’s ears flicked back. Morty’s hands curled, then relaxed.

  “Any news on…”

  “No news on your friends.” Val’s tone softened a fraction. “It’s chaos out there, but the names of tonight’s dead have been called in. So far their names haven't come up.”

  Morty let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Relief flashed across his face, then drained, replaced with the sharp reminder that Ruld and Muldoon were next in line for that battlefield.

  “We’ve got reinforcements pulling from Central and Southern,” Val added, voice steel again. “You two are on that list. Gear up boy. You roll out as soon as possible.”

  Ruld didn’t hesitate. He stepped past her toward the armory doors, his bulk swallowing the space, determination stiffening every line of him.

  The door at the garage led to a short corridor and then finally the entrance proper. It was flanked by a reinforced security booth, its window layered in ballistic glass. Behind it sat a stocky boar officer, uniform immaculate despite the bags under his eyes. A scatter of monitors tracked angles of the garage and racks inside the armory. He didn’t bother with small talk — just pointed to a nock that could receive the badges.

  Ruld slapped his badge on it. The machine gave a green pulse. The boar nodded once and pressed a release; the inner door slid open with a hydraulic sigh.

  Inside, the armory smelled of oil, cordite, oiled leather and lemon grass disinfectant.

  Rows of rifles sat in racks like iron teeth. The far wall displayed the heavier kits — grenade launchers, riot cannons, breaching charges. There were field bags, he grabbed one and started to pick up materials. One of the walls had badge numbers written with white ink, scuffed and faded. Overhead strips threw a pale, clinical light across it all.

  Ruld moved further inside. His hands skimmed across racks like a craftsman selecting tools — body armor plates, just in case they got dinged up on patrol. A heavier sidearm. A drum magazine that he checked, spun, and slid into a pack. His face was set in a calm mask, but his size made every movement look like the start of a war. Grenades.

  There was a big container with neat rows of stimulants. The little all-or-nothing cards, bad timing could get you killed if the effect wore off in the middle of combat. But for a desperate moment, they could make the whole difference. Ruld opened his belt and looked at the dates on the two he carried with himself. They were ok for the next three months.

  Next, Ruld hefted a riot shield from the rack, its black face scarred by old strikes. He tested its weight, pressed a button and it opened to full size. “Crap!” He exclaimed as it knocked a few stuff off the nearby shelves. He quickly put the stuff back in place and hooked the shield on one of the clasps near his shoulder blade. Preparing not just for a mission, but for survival. He paused for a second, thinking about the moose. He started singing:

  “Anything you can do, I can do better. Ha! I can do anything better than you”

  =================================

  Back outside, Muldoon remained by Val and Bianca, handing both women the evidence bags from the trunk one by one. He signed off on Bianca’s log, his tail flicking absently.

  Morty stood a step apart, watching. Val turned away, barking into her terminal that was precariously balanced on top of the boxes she now held. Bianca busied herself with her own items and left, getting in the elevator with Val. Muldoon glanced sideways at Morty. The look lingered a beat too long.

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  Morty sighed, scratching the back of his head. He caught the wolf’s stare, the unsaid question coiled in it, and broke the silence first.

  “You’re wondering,” Morty said flatly.

  Muldoon’s ears pricked. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then gave a half-shrug. “You don’t have to spell it if you don’t want to.”

  “I like him,” Morty said at last, low enough that only Muldoon caught it. “A lot. Pictured futures, plural. The problem is, I never managed to start one.”

  The wolf blinked, ears twitching, but didn’t interrupt. Morty’s voice carried its own weight — bitter, quiet, edged with the kind of truth that left no room for teasing.

  He leaned back against the cruiser tail still. “And now he’s marching toward a battlefield from which people didn’t come back. So if you’re looking for answers, that’s the one you get.”

  Muldoon hesitated, tail twitching, ears slanted back. “Listen,” he said low, pitched so only Morty caught it. “I’m new, yeah, but I know this much: Ruld doesn’t like leaving you behind. He’ll chew himself raw over it. Don’t let him.”

  Morty blinked, then huffed a dry laugh. “He’s good at chewing himself raw.”

  Muldoon studied him another second, then slammed the trunk shut.

  “Can you just…” he was lost for words, and was looking to the floor as if he could force the concrete to help him. “Fuck, you two are adults.”

  “Yes. Do you want to restrain him while I grab him and force my tongue down his throat?”

  Mulldon recoiled as if he was slapped. It was the first time he got the stare. And he felt those vertical pupils cutting him like he could see into his head. It didn’t feel pleasant.

  “Ruld’s a good man,” Morty said finally. “I waited this long because I like him. But I can’t force him to be ready when he isn’t.”

  Muldoon tilted his head, ears canted. “You sound like you’ve thought that one over a few times.”

  Morty let out a breath, claws tapping his closed terminal. For a second, he almost left it there. Then he saw the wolf’s steady eyes, waiting but not prying.

  “He used to be with someone,” Morty said at last. “Back at the station. Rocco. Big crocodile. You must’ve seen him around unless you’re blind — hard to miss a reptile built like a tank in DAIR blues.”

  Muldoon gave a short nod.

  “Oh, yeah. Hard to miss. Built like a walking tank. Always sharp uniform, posture like he’s in a parade. I’ve seen him a few times in Central. Guy’s… I dunno. Too polished. His stools must be diamond. I figured he lived and breathed procedure.”

  Morty had a flash to his own house. To the packs of paperwork and reports he would go over. How he didn’t take vacation days and usually worked late…

  “The point is…” he said slowly, “it didn’t work. At all.” Morty’s mouth tightened. “And more than a few people said me and Rocco are the same. No!” He held up a paw as Muldoon’s brows rose. “Don’t give me that face. I know Rocco’s an enforcer, predator, almost Ruld’s size. But it’s not just that. Rocco, when he’s on the job… he’s the same kind of hard, sharp I am. No softness. No off switch. I think that throws Ruld off.”

  The words hung between them, heavier than Morty intended. He looked away, tail flicking once, as if the admission had cost him something.

  “You don’t seen that bad on the field.”

  “I have been working on myself.”

  Muldoon leaned back, silent for a beat. Then: “That explains the hesitation.”

  Morty huffed a humorless laugh. “Hesitation’s his middle name.”

  Morty sighed and nodded. “You are a good friend. I’ll talk to him before you guys leave.” Then he smiled. “Trust me and stall. I will be back. Do not dare to leave before I come back”

  The wolf smiled tentatively. “Sure”

  When he was gone, the armory door hissed open and Ruld stepped out into the garage. He was armored heavy now, plates gleaming under the strips, shield clipped to his backt. He looked like he was built for this work. But his face wasn’t.

  The rhino’s jaw was tight, lips pressed thin. He glanced toward the empty patch of space where Morty had stood a minute ago, as if the cat might still be there. His hands flexed once, restless against the grip of the shield.

  “Didn’t even say goodbye,” Ruld muttered. His voice came out low, gravelly.

  Muldoon was beside him, helmet under his arm. He gave the rhino a pat on the back — not flippant, not joking, just a heavy hand that lingered. “He’ll be back,” the wolf said. “Guy doesn’t look like the type to let go easy.”

  Ruld didn’t answer, only breathed once through his nose, eyes fixed on the floor.

  =================================

  Morty broke away and kept staring at the floor buttons as if he could force the elevator to be any faster.

  It looked busy, just one enforcer — armor half-donned, wolfing food — but most of the other people were the clerks and inner house people. The usual noises one could expect were muted, swallowed under the crawl of news on wall screens. DRUG FACTION RELATED INCIDENTS MULTIPLYING. His gut twisted once, but he focused on the counter.

  “Two field packs,” he said. Then, after a beat: “No. Three. Extra rolls. Extra jerky.”

  The bulldog that worked there squinted at him, but she didn’t ask. Her hands moved fast — boxes opening, plastic snapping, foil crackling. Chicken and rice, salted beans, two packs of boiled eggs, a tray of noodles, fruit cups, protein bars, bread rolls wrapped three at a time. She threw in bottles of water and a sealed flask of sweet tea. The stack was absurd, heavy enough he needed both arms to cradle it.

  “Are you planning to feed a squad?” she asked, blunt but not unkind.

  “Something like that,” Morty muttered. His voice was flat, but his tail betrayed the nerves, flicking side to side like a metronome. His eyes lingered on the display trays: glazed donuts catching the light, muffins lined up like little mountains, rolls still warm from the oven.

  “Give me some of those”

  “How many?”

  “All.”

  The bulldog gave him a look, but didn’t argue. She started boxing things fast, the sound of wax paper crackling sharp in the hush of the cafeteria. When she pushed the bags across, they were so full Morty had to hook the straps over his wrists to carry them. It was too much food for two men heading out. He knew that. She knew that. But he didn’t stop her, didn’t push anything back.

  “Someone’s gonna eat good,” she muttered.

  The ride down in the elevator was quiet except for the weight of the bags tugging at his arms. By the time he got back down to the garage, his arms ached with the weight. He spotted Ruld and Muldoon waiting near the cruiser.

  “I promised you lunch,” Morty said simply. He handed half of the bags to Muldoon, the other half to Ruld. “Not sure how things are going to be when you get there, so try to have some on the way there, ok?”

  Muldoon blinked, then gave a quick huff of laughter that died just as quick. “Hell, cat. We’re not marching into exile.” But he still took the bag, starting to sort through the options until picking up some jerky and starting to chew it, making pleasure sounds.

  Ruld just stood there. He took the pack Morty shoved against his chest, staring down at it like it might break. His throat bobbed once, and his grip tightened. “You bought half the cafeteria.”

  “Yes. I do know you. Don’t argue,” Morty said, softer now. His ears tilted back, his tail still. “Just take it. Eat when you can.”

  Silence hung for a moment.

  Then Morty said the only thing left to say. His voice was steady, but his claws dug into the edge of the cruiser hood.

  “Please. Both of you. Take care of each other. And come back.”

  Muldoon glanced away, ears twitching, like the words hit harder than he wanted to show. He stuffed a roll into his pouch and gave a curt nod. “We will.”

  Ruld swallowed again, shoulders rising with a breath that sounded heavier than the armor on him. Finally, he muttered, almost too quiet: “We will.”

  Morty nodded once, stepped back, and let them go. The sugar smell clung in the air long after the cruiser pulled away. It was reinforced and big. Yet it looked absurd and fragile.

  =================================

  On the fourth floor, more people filled the labs now that the day started properly. And they were investigating other stuff that were in their cues.

  “Anything new?”

  “Rapid DNA matches pool victims to splatter at the house. Cross-confirmed with the samples we pulled. It lines up.”

  “Well, we knew it and now we have proof that Silas Duarte’s friends are the contributors to the pool of blood. Did any of the splatter match the horse skin cells under our victim claws?”

  “Nope. But while you and the pretty boy were upstairs, I collected a toothbrush and comb from the bathroom.”

  “And it is a match?”

  “Yep. Sucks that the Z chromosome is hard to unpack; genotypic analysis takes forever. I wish it was as fast as cross DNA comparison. It is lucky we got the lead at Vermilion and the hit at the house, or I’d have to spend the whole day staring at this stupid progress bar waiting for the machine to tell me, oh, it was a horse, a bison, a lynx. No kidding.”

  She flipped with both hands at the computer scream and then frowned at Morty.

  “You really let them go without you?”

  Morty shrugged, moving toward an empty chair “They don’t need me slowing them down. I’m not hauling a handgun into a fight that needs a bazooka.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Bianca said. “You looked like you wanted to be there. With them.”

  Morty’s green eyes flicked toward her. “I’ve got friends up north. If I wasn’t worried before, I sure am now. If Varro touches them…” He let the thought trail off, the silence heavier than words.

  Bianca softened. “Then why not go?”

  Morty stared at the duffel, at the shirt in the sink, at the too-neat breadcrumb trail. “Because someone’s playing house here. And if we all run north, nobody’s left to see it. You said you have friends there, why don’t you go?”

  “Because I have work here.” She said primly

  “Well so do I.”

  She looked at him under raised eyebrows.

  “For fuck sake. I need to sleep more. Thanks, yeah. I know what I need to do. No point being distracted.”

  “You are welcome.”

  The cat looked lighter. But he was still deep in thought.

  “Are you going to help with the paperwork or just gonna be there and be pretty and broody?”

  “Sure. I’ll try to check bank statements, see if he had some other house in his name, or bought anything traceable on credit.” He trailed off again “Don’t you feel like this is an orgy?”

  Another technician, a bulky lizard across the table snorted mid-sip, spitting on his coffee.

  “You and I have different ideas of what an orgy would look like” Bianca said, teasing.

  “Not like that, gutter head. Usually with preds… not much left. Maybe some blood. A full arm is big. Then we got the blood. The head. The mess in the house.”

  “I mean, sure. We have good evidence”

  “We have an orgy of evidence. I know. I know, everything points to him. And hell knows I’m tired. But there’s this nagging sensation that there’s something off. It’s too loud, too much. Too.. easy.”

  Bianca looked up from the bagged samples, brow furrowed. “An orgy of evidence? What the hell does that even mean? I won’t complain about the name — loving it — but what do you mean? We’ve got evidence screwing all the other evidence up?”

  Morty let out a real laugh, short and sharp.

  “No, hell no. It’s a saying. Kind of.”

  “I’m people and I work with people. Still the first time hearing it.”

  “Do you really wanna know?” Morty asked, then leaned forward conspiratorially “There is the evidence dungeon. You know — when you crawl down into the villain lair, which is full of villainous crap they use to commit their villainous deeds. When an enforcer finds one of these places it is a done case. But let's be real, who leaves all their shit laying around like that?”

  “Carelless people. People in a rush,” Bianca said.

  “Yes. But here is the thing, you’d expect a dungeon of evidence from someone too arrogant to believe they’d ever be caught — or just too insane. They get sloppy.”

  “So a dungeon’s an orgy?” she scratched at her temple, hair falling loose.

  “No. Sometimes you get what we got today. Too many clues. Too much incriminating evidence. And it’s not a dungeon, because this was his house. Be honest, even in a rush, a criminal, even a lunatic pred, wouldn’t leave that much incriminating evidence behind. We got it too easy, too fast. Why not dump the head or jacket on the way home?”

  “I still don’t see how you can call that an orgy of evidence.”

  “Well” Morty drummed the table with his fingers. His expression lost in an old memory. “This teacher of mine, he would call it an orgy of evidence because the evidence is fucking all over the place.”

  Bianca paused, stared for a beat, and then just muttered, “You people need therapy.”