Chapter Five

  Detective Chelsea Smith often hated Virion. The city was a twisted labyrinth of neon lights and decay, where every smile hid a lie and every alley whispered of danger. Sometimes she thought about leaving. Her realm stone, tucked away in a drawer at home, glimmered with the promise of escape. Somewhere out there were places untouched by the rot that had seeped into every corner of Virion.

  But she always put the thought aside.

  As much as the city was broken, it was her home. She'd been born here, raised by a single mother who worked tirelessly to keep a roof over their heads. Chelsea learned to navigate the city's sharp edges early on. Her mother used to say, "Virion doesn't care about you, but you can care about it." And Chelsea did.

  The System's integration had only made things worse. What was once merely corrupt was now technologically, systematically corrupt. C-Grade worlds were supposed to be advanced, civilized. Instead, Virion had used its technological sophistication to perfect exploitation. Class divisions weren't just social constructs here, they were coded into the very infrastructure of the city. Her police badge carried a D-6 clearance, barely enough to access mid-level security systems but not enough to penetrate the corporate enclaves where the real power resided.

  She stayed because she believed in trying. In making things even a fraction better.

  Walking into the realtor's office that evening, Chelsea felt the weight of her badge pressing against her chest. Another crime scene, another day of pretending the system worked when it didn't. Outside, the yellow digital glow of holographic crime scene tape flashed against the grimy streets, blending into the chaotic kaleidoscope of Virion's ever-present neon.

  The forensics drones hovered over the remains of what had once been people. Their optical sensors recorded every detail, building perfect three-dimensional models of the carnage that would later be filed away and forgotten. The department had the technology to solve every crime in the city, but lacked the will to pursue justice when it conflicted with power.

  Inside, the faint scent of chemicals hung in the air, almost masking the stink of corruption. Anthony, the realtor, sat behind his desk, his oily smile more off-putting than any of the blood Chelsea had seen that day. He leaned back, eyeing her like a wolf sizing up a sheep. His neural band pulsed with incoming data, likely warnings from whatever corrupt network protected men like him.

  "Detective Smith," he greeted smoothly, spreading his hands. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  Chelsea didn't return his smile. She gestured to the street beyond the glass doors. "Mind telling me what happened out there?"

  Anthony's grin widened as though they were old friends sharing a joke. "Ah, the unfortunate scene. I'm afraid I wasn't present. I didn't see a thing."

  She stared at him, her expression unreadable. Anthony's lie was so blatant it bordered on insulting. He didn't even bother pretending to care. In Virion, people like him didn't need to. The neural band at his temple flickered, betraying his elevated heart rate despite his cool demeanor. Level 87, her analyze skill showed. Far higher than a realtor should be, even in Virion.

  "I noticed a camera array out front," Chelsea said, her voice even. "Mind if I take a look at the recordings?"

  Anthony let out a low chuckle. "Ah, company policy. I'd need a warrant for that, Detective."

  Chelsea suppressed a sigh. She doubted she'd get one. The bureaucratic machine of Virion turned only for those who greased its gears, and she didn't have the funds or influence to grease anything. Not that it mattered—the footage would be scrubbed, edited, or destroyed long before any warrant cleared the system.

  "I could be persuaded," Anthony added, his voice dropping into something suggestive. His eyes roamed over her with a boldness that made her stomach churn. The implication was clear, and it wasn't the first time she'd faced it in this city where everything and everyone had a price.

  Chelsea's face remained calm, professional. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't engage in... compromises. It's unethical." Her tone was sharp enough to cut through his smirk. She'd climbed to Level 126 through honest work, refusing the easy corruption that surrounded her. It made her job harder but let her sleep at night.

  Anthony leaned back in his chair, still smiling. "Well, if you change your mind..."

  She turned on her heel without another word, stepping back into the noise and chaos of the street. The faint sound of Anthony's chuckle followed her, but she didn't look back. Her scanner logged his identity automatically, adding another corrupt broker to her growing list of persons of interest. Not that it would lead anywhere, the system protected its own.

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  Her partner, Corey Fielding, was waiting by the edge of the scene, chewing on a stick of gum. Corey was an enigma, a man who had spent years on the take, pocketing bribes and turning a blind eye, only to retire rich and bored. Now he worked for the department because he didn't know what else to do. His Level 134 status had been purchased rather than earned, a common practice in Virion where stats could be artificially boosted for the right price.

  "Let me guess," Corey said as she approached. "You got squat."

  Chelsea crossed her arms, scanning the scene. "Realtor wants a warrant."

  Corey snorted, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Figures. Slimy bastard probably wipes the footage clean by morning anyway." He gestured toward the carnage on the road. "Whoever did this worked fast. Those guys didn't know what hit 'em."

  Chelsea followed his gaze to one of the bodies. The man's face was frozen in an expression of wide-eyed terror, his lower half little more than a smear on the asphalt. The System's integration had introduced new ways to kill, but whoever had done this had gone beyond technology. There was something almost arcane about the precision of the violence, as if reality itself had been weaponized.

  "Any leads?" Corey asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

  "Canvassing," Chelsea replied. She activated her scanner again, mapping the trajectory of blood spatter and attempting to reconstruct the sequence of events. The patterns were strange, suggesting the victims had been pulled toward their deaths rather than attacked directly.

  Corey sighed, muttering something under his breath, but he didn't argue. He knew the routine, they'd go through the motions, file the reports, and move on to the next atrocity. The rhythm of policing in Virion was as predictable as the rise and fall of its crime statistics.

  Canvassing in Virion was an exercise in frustration. Most residents were too scared to talk to the police, and those who weren't afraid were openly hostile. After the third door slammed in her face, Chelsea's patience was wearing thin. Her scanner recorded each refusal, adding to the database of uncooperative witnesses that would never be followed up on.

  But she kept going.

  Because someone had to.

  Knocking on another door, Chelsea squared her shoulders, preparing for the inevitable dismissal. Instead, the door opened to reveal a wiry man with a salt-and-pepper beard. He squinted at her, his expression wary but not dismissive. A basic scanner implant glowed faintly at his temple, marking him as low-level but connected enough to have some enhancements.

  "Detective Smith," Chelsea said, her voice firm but not unfriendly. "I'm wondering if you saw what happened across the street earlier?"

  The man scratched his nose, then nodded. "Sure did."

  Chelsea blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Willing witnesses were rare in this part of the city. "That's great, sir. Would you mind telling me what you saw?"

  "Guy in a muscle car. Old style, not like our vehicles. Red-gold hair, big guy. One eye." The man's description was precise, as if he'd been waiting for someone to ask. "He used some kind of tech I ain't seen before. Made these... I don't know, holes in the air. Like portals or something. Pulled those Leopard Claw boys right into 'em. Cut 'em to pieces."

  Chelsea's scanner recorded every word, her own memory equally attentive. Portals. Not standard Virion tech, even at the highest levels. This suggested an outsider, someone with capabilities beyond local understanding.

  The man hesitated, glancing past her toward the crime scene. Finally, he shrugged. "Tired of our streets being this way, Detective."

  There was a resignation in his voice that Chelsea knew all too well. The weariness of living in a system designed to grind you down, where even the protectors were often predators.

  Chelsea nodded, keeping her tone calm. "I understand, sir. You've done me a huge service by speaking up."

  The man gave a curt nod and closed the door. Chelsea let out a slow breath, the tension in her chest easing slightly. One good witness was worth more than a dozen surveillance feeds, especially in a city where digital evidence could be manipulated as easily as changing clothes.

  Back at the scene, Corey was waiting with his usual air of disinterest. He raised an eyebrow as she approached.

  "Get anything?"

  Chelsea relayed what the man had told her. Corey whistled softly, shaking his head. "So it's the same guy."

  Her eyebrows shot up. "Same guy?"

  Corey nodded, his gum snapping as he chewed. "Didn't you hear? Some traveler drove straight through onboarding earlier. Tore through security like paper. Matches the description of that car over there."

  Chelsea filed that detail away. This wasn't just an outsider; this was someone operating on an entirely different level from Virion's typical criminals. Her scanner indicated an energy signature unlike anything in its database, a residual trace of whatever power had been used here.

  "Did they get his System details?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

  Corey shook his head. "Nah. Scanner couldn't read him properly. Said he was C-Grade but that's all they got."

  C-Grade. That explained how he could bypass normal security, but not the nature of his abilities. Chelsea had dealt with high-level threats before, but something about this felt different. More intentional. More dangerous.

  "Let's get an APB out. We've got our suspect."

  She glanced back at the scene, her eyes lingering on the shattered bodies and the faint scorch marks on the ground. The victims were Leopard Claws, one of Virion's more notorious gangs. They preyed on the weak, enforced territorial boundaries with brutal efficiency, and answered ultimately to one of the five major crime lords that divided Virion like feudal kingdoms.

  It didn't matter that they were criminals. Justice wasn't selective, and Chelsea believed that even the worst deserved the chance to stand trial. The System might have introduced levels and skills, but it hadn't changed the fundamental principles she lived by.

  But in Virion, justice was a rare commodity. The gangs had more sway than the police, and she had no doubt they'd find the killer before her department did. Her scanner pinged, indicating that her report had been automatically flagged for "routine processing", bureaucratic code for deliberate delays and eventual burial in the system.

  Still, she had to try.

  If Chelsea Smith didn't stand up for what was right, no one would. In a city where even the air seemed corrupted, maintaining one's integrity was both a burden and a source of strength. Whatever this newcomer was, wherever he had come from, she would find him. Not just because it was her job, but because Virion had few enough protectors as it was.