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DAY 2: MORNING

Following up on the previous night’s helpful advice from Ms. Octavia Green, I was back at VidStar with one of the eggheads in the accounting department. I hadn’t asked his name and he hadn’t offered it, but he seemed agreeable enough, in regard to helping me out.

“I’m looking for data on video stills captured by one of the guards.”

“Child’s play. The name of the guard?”

“Milne,” I replied.

His hands rose to the keyboard, and then he paused. “Is that the first name, or last?”

That was something I’d never really thought about. “Try last.”

He punched it in, and the response was quick. “Here we are. Oh! Quite a number. One hundred fifty-one screen grabs taken over a two-week period. Most unusual.”

“Did he print them here?”

“Oh no, that many would have been red-flagged at once.” He scratched his forehead with a thumbnail and punched a few more keys. “No, these were transmitted out.”

"By Milne?"

"The same."

“Name? Location?”

“Just a number, unfortunately.”

It was all I needed, really. I noted it in my KIA and thanked the guy for his time. Out in the hall, I spotted a vacant bench with no one around it and sat down. Back-referencing the number he’d given me was as easy as remotely entering the data into the Mainframe.

[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: capture, focus: vice]

[CLUE TABLES: SM018 - Connects to a known location]

[MY LIST OF LOCATIONS VISITED THIS CASE - LAPD Headquarters]

MIRKO GORETTI, VICE DIVISION, LAPD HQ.

I slumped back against the wall. What would Vice have to do with any of this? This development certainly torpedoed Milne’s cover story, but I didn’t like that it was leading right back into the hornets’ nest… and possibly taking Ronnie with it. I decided to pay her another call.

* * *

“Taking bribes? What the hell! That creepy bastard…”

“For what it’s worth, I never believed him.”

Ronnie was fuming. “That sick weirdo. ‘Wife and kids’ indeed. Why didn’t your department tell us he was a Replicant in the first place? You know what, whatever. Just slap the cuffs on him and call it done.”

I reached a hand across her desk and she took it without a second thought. “He hasn’t broken any laws,” I said softly, “but he’s done enough to ensure that I can get him reassigned. He won’t be back.”

“Thank you.” She squeezed my hand between both of hers, then got up and went to the window. “I’ve worked too damn hard in this place to risk it all for a quick bribe, Leonard. And don’t think that people haven’t tried!”

I got up and stood behind her as she looked out. “I wanted to ask about that. On that Blast off! show, you guys really send the winners Off-world?”

“Yes. It’s a sensation. Wannabe contestants are practically breaking the doors down.”

“And these winners get to just sidestep the physical and mental screenings?”

She turned toward me. “Oh, god no. Fresh screenings are the first thing that happens once somebody has won the Grand Prize. Don’t let this get around, but sometimes, it’s in those exact screenings where the lucky winner finds out that they're not going anywhere, because they’re a Special, now. There’s a small, cash consolation prize for when that happens. It’s in the fine print, but of course, nobody ever reads the fine print.”

I thought that news was kind of sickening. And it looked like Ronnie did too, probably more so than me. This was her job, after all. I found myself having some of the same feelings I’d had back when Ronnie and I were starting to realize that it was over.

“Take care, Ronnie.”

* * *

I was descending in the elevator with one last stop to make. The doors shuffled open and I was back on the subterranean archive level, where this all had begun the day before. Walking down the musty hallway, I was back in front of the door Veronica had taken me to. I pushed it open.

Yep. All the other photos were gone, like they’d never been there. It didn’t really matter, I’d photographed it all, but it was interesting. I wondered if my advising Ronnie not to replace the broken lock on the outer door had been a bad idea.

I walked over to that door and looked out into the dark, dripping tunnels. No one there. Scanning around for anything new, something caught my eye.

[CLUE TABLES: SM018 - Substance, altered, connects to an unknown or mysterious person]

[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: fight, focus: victim]

It was a vial. A very specific kind of vial, the kind used to house a hard narcotic known as ‘ZLLSH’. The stuff was as pricy as it was potent. Skip, for instance, would probably dance a Tarantella if he came across a vial of it. Only this one had been shattered, its contents mostly seeped into the muck-strewn concrete.

Now narcotics wasn’t my field, but I knew enough to know that no junkie with even the worst case of the shakes would ever have an ‘oopsie’ moment and let a vial of this stuff get shattered. I got the idea that I might be standing on the site of a recent, semi-violent takedown. So, was the person who’d taken the photos the takedown-er, or the takedown-ee?

It seemed that it was time to go and get acquainted with the friendly folks at Vice Division.

DAY 2: DAY

I was back in the air and headed for HQ. Rain spattered my windshield as the buildings flew past. It was only half-past twelve, but it was dark as hell.

I’d rethought my initial urge to go find this Mirko Goretti in Vice Division and put the screws to him. When it came to in-house matters such as these, you needed to do a fair amount of looking before you went leaping. I was already probably the most hated Blade Runner in the RDU - if I fouled things up with Vice too, I might find myself watching monitors at VidStar.

My mind was whirling, and I needed clarity. An outside perspective. That left only one person I could talk to: Holden. But I couldn’t let him know that Veronica and I had a connection. If he found that out, I’d be off the case.

I found him at his desk, illuminated by the lamp that sat on top of it, making up for the near-blackness outside the window.

“Graves,” he grinned, beckoning, “take a seat.”

I sat down gratefully, put my left ankle on top of my right knee, and picked at my shoe as I turned everything over in my head.

“How goes the case?”

“The Replicant Milne’s a positive,” I replied, “He’s our perp, I have the records. He took all the surveillance photos of Veronica Ames. But he wasn’t working alone.”

Holden lit a cigarette. “Oh?”

“He transmitted all the photos to one of our own - a man named Mirko Goretti in Vice Division. It seems Goretti then printed the photos and brought them all back to VidStar through a secret door off the tunnels, and taped them up in a sort of ‘shrine’ or a tribute of some kind. I have no idea why.”

“Sounds like a real piece of work.” Holden dragged deeply on the smoke. “Usually the weirdos work alone. Why would the Replicant help him?”

I stopped picking at my shoe and put my foot down. “Maybe Goretti’s got something that Milne wants? Or Goretti coerced or blackmailed him into it? I… could use a little advice on how to proceed. Obviously, this is a delicate matter.”

[CIPHER TABLES: SM016 - Method: demand, focus: law]

“You need to stick to the letter of the law on this. You managed to prove that Wainright was dirty, but only by a hair. You start running around the building pointing fingers, I think you’re gonna end up in a world of hurt.”

“What I need is warrants for the homes of Goretti and Milne. And I think the Replicant should be reassigned and barred from VidStar. He’s a potential danger to the Ames woman.”

Holden stubbed out the cigarette. “Done, and done. The warrants should come through by dinnertime. Now get out of here and relax a little, Graves, you look strung out.”

“Thanks, Cap’n.” I sat there another moment, wondering if there was something more to say. Holden, for his part, was fully engrossed in one of the papers on his desk.

I bugged out.

[2 search warrants acquired, 1 PP each]

DAY 2: EVENING

“Hello? Oh, hi, Leonard.”

“Hi Ronnie,” I smiled at the image of her face in my spinner’s dashboard. “I just wanted to say, Milne’s out of your hair - barred from the VidStar premises.”

“And good riddance.”

“Is that replacement we sent you working out? Because they’ve got the gig, if they want it.”

“He’s fine.” She tucked an errant lock of hair behind an ear. “But have you got any real answers yet?”

“Working on it,” I replied. “But you should know that all those photos in the basement were removed. Likely by the person who put them there in the first place.”

“Then I’m getting that lock fixed.”

“Yes, yes, nothing good can come from leaving it open at this point. And me, I’ve got a couple of rooms to search. You take care of you, alright?”

“I will. Be careful, Leonard.” Her image winked out.


* * *

I landed back at the LAPD housing building and climbed the steps to the front entrance. Inside, a familiar face awaited me.

“Sal!” I called across the lobby, “It’s been too long.”

“Not long enough,” he grumbled. “You got me a warrant this time?”

“Ink’s still wet.” I waved it under his nose before he snatched it out of my hands and studied it with a lot more scrutiny than was probably necessary.

“Alright, come on.”

We rode the elevator in silence up to the 28th floor, which was silent and empty this time. Sal led me to 2813, I knocked, and we waited. No answer. Sal slipped his keycard into the slot, there was a beep, and the door opened.

“Make sure you lock it up behind you,” he growled, and then beat it for the elevator.

The room was unremarkable. Not super-neat, but not a pig sty, either. The look of a room that wasn’t expecting company. I strolled slowly around, letting my instincts guide me. It wasn’t long before something on the bedside table caught my attention.

[CLUE TABLES: SM018 - ID card, counterfeit, contradicts a previous fact or clue]

It was an ID card, but not Milne’s. This seemed to belong to a woman named Maja Rosenberg. Long blonde hair, a real stunner, too, going by the picture. I think everybody knows that it takes a special kind of beautiful to take a good ID photo. It seemed that maybe Milne’s romantic needs were met.

Only, this ID was a forgery. A damn good one, but without giving away any department secrets, there are ways you can tell.

“I see you two have met.”

I jumped and my hand flew to my pistol. There in the doorway stood Milne, a peculiar smile on his face.

“I guess no work for you today, huh Milne?”

“I assumed it was you who got me ousted. My case concerning the Ames woman-“

“You can stuff it about your phoney ‘case’. I know you report to Mirko Goretti, in Vice.”

He seemed to deflate somewhat, and actually crossed the room and sat on the bed. “I don’t work for him, but I have been forced into his acquaintance, yes.”

I relaxed a little. “Why did you take and send those photos, Milne?”

“Goretti wanted ‘em.”

“But what’s in it for you?”

He pointed toward me. “That right there in your hands.”

The ID card. Maja Rosenberg. “She’s your girl?”

[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: defy, focus: freedom]

“She’s nobody’s girl at the moment,” he said bitterly, “Goretti’s got her locked up. For a few grams of Experience. Kids’ stuff.”

It was starting to come together. “And he did so to extort you into furthering his aims around that woman at VidStar.”

“Bingo.”

I sat down in a chair and pulled it slightly toward him. “Milne… what does he want with Ms. Ames?”

[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: resist, focus: loyalty]

He raised his hands, palms up. “I don’t know. You can see how I wasn’t in a position to ask a lot of questions. As long as he’s got Maja, he calls the shots.”

I considered. “It seems to me that you’ve held up your end of the bargain. Why shouldn’t he let her go?”

[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: sacrifice, focus: connection]

He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I guess the deal’s not done until he’s satisfied, but my part in the play is over. It’s possible I might have lost her for good.”

I leaned forward. “Milne… there are channels you can go through. Actions can be put in motion…”

He peered at me thoughtfully. “You know, even at my level, I’ve heard a bit of the chatter about you, Detective Graves. I know what they call you, and why. Now imagine a Replicant in your position.”

He had a point.

I rose, and handed the ID card to him. “I can see Maja’s ID here is a forgery. What’s the need for that?”

Milne smiled sadly up at me. “Some folks just can’t get anywhere, playing by the rules.”

I got the picture. I rested a sympathetic hand on his shoulder for a moment, then turned and left.

DAY 2: NIGHT

After the conversation with Milne, I went straight back to my room at the Cecil and hit the sack. Mentally, I was exhausted. Unfortunately I woke up about three hours earlier than I intended to, and knew that falling back asleep was not an option. So I lay there, watching beams of light from passing traffic cross the ceiling and the floor, and thought about the case.

First up: did I really believe Milne? I had to be careful, here. Milne had already proven himself to be an enthusiastic and accomplished liar, and a real creative one, too. But I could easily see why he'd previously have wanted to throw me off the scent to protect his girl, Maja. Yes, my gut told me his ‘B’ story was genuine - it fit the known facts, first of all, and it just… felt right.

So that brought us to Mirko Goretti’s motive. I was convinced it wasn’t some kind of romantic obsession. He wouldn’t have involved Milne if it were, and there was nothing particularly titillating about any of the photos he’d put the squeeze on the guard for. Or an official Vice investigation? Laughable. Ronnie would have an occasional drink after a long day's work from time to time, but that was as far as it went. She was too driven to get into anything worse.

No, I was mostly convinced it was something about Ronnie's job. The woman practically was her work, after all. A problem with VidStar? Veronica was Junior Program Director. Shouldn’t a person with a VidStar problem want the Senior Program Director? I tried to remember how Ronnie had explained it to me, back in the day, about how it all broke down.

As I understood it, the position of Senior Program Director was more outward-facing; they dealt with advertisers, investors, government regulators, that sort of thing. The Junior Program Director, conversely, was more boots-on-the-ground; they dealt with showrunners, agents… the more ‘meat and potatoes’ aspects of making television. Ronnie had coveted that role when we were together, and now she was in it.

And it might just mean big trouble for her.

The phone rang. I put both hands over my face. If somebody calls you that deep into the night, it’s one of two things: an old acquaintance has gotten soused and emotional, or it’s bad news. I swung my legs out of bed and hoped for Option 1.

“Hello?”

It was Ronnie. She was sobbing. “Oh, Leonard,” she cried, tears streaming down her face, “turn on the news.”

“What?”

“The news! But not ours. We’re not covering it.”

I scrambled for the remote and the box flickered on

“How could this happen?” She choked.

“Hold on, baby,” I said, without realizing it at the time.

I found a channel. The newscaster was covering something of no particular interest to either of us. But soon enough the story changed, and I understood Ronnie’s distress.

[DOWNTIME EVENT TABLE: SM022 - Media reports reveal an unexpected aspect of the case]

[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: Fight, focus: life]

A woman with a microphone filled half the screen. “…Again, we’re here in Sector Five at the VidStar television complex, where 46 year-old LA resident Xinyi Ho apparently gained access to an upper platform of the building and threw himself off of it, falling to his death in the street below.

“He left no suicide note and his motives are unknown, but preliminary investigations have revealed that two months ago, Mr. Ho won the Grand Prize on a program called Blast Off! at VidStar - that prize being passes Off-world for Mr. Ho and his wife and children.

“It remains as-yet unclear why Mr. Ho was still on Earth, or why he would choose to take his own life in such a horrific and public manner…”

I shut it off.

“How could this happen?” Ronnie sobbed again.

I swallowed hard.

“Lock your door.”

[MILESTONE REACHED: Promotion points 1, humanity points 3]

DAY 3: MORNING

It was too early to go and search Mirko Goretti’s place; he might still be there. So I had a quick shower while I connected the dots in my head.

Goretti was no pervert. This was supposed to be a hit. Or at the very least, a kidnapping. All those photos of Veronica in the VidStar basement? Goretti was making himself acutely familiar with Ronnie, visually - her face and figure from every angle, and probably most of her outfits, too. To minimize the risk of going after the wrong person. And with Milne in his pocket, he could have done the deed on one of Milne’s shifts and waltzed right on out of there. In fact, that explained why Milne was always so eager to get friendly with Ronnie - he knew that something was gonna go down, and when it did, he wanted to be firmly on the list of established ‘good guys.’

But now Milne was out, Goretti’s secret door off the tunnels was locked up tight, and he knew I was on his trail. Milne would most certainly have told him that. That's why all the photos came down. His Plan ‘A’ was foiled, and that meant either abort, or accelerate. And between me and Milne, we had enough dirt on him to guarantee that aborting was not an option.

But the motive? That was the last piece of the puzzle, and we could thank the late Xinyi Ho for putting it in place. I had an idea that someone close to Goretti might also have won the Grand Prize on that Blast Off! show, and been similarly outed as a Special in the post-show screenings. Only instead of taking it out on themselves, as Mr. Ho had done, they intended to take it out on VidStar.

And as Junior Program Director, Veronica Ames was the most senior hands-on person in the building.

As I dressed, I connected to the Mainframe through my KIA and got Goretti’s mugshot. His was an unfriendly face, moustached and framed by mid-length curly black hair. I committed it to memory, phoned VidStar, and asked their operator to connect me with the current LAPD camera jockey on duty. It was our friend Elliot Kravshenko, from two nights ago. His eyes widened at the sight of me.

“Oh, no!”

“Hello again, Elliot,” I grinned, and held the KIA up to the phone. “You see this face? I want you to photograph it and share it with any and all cops walking the building. This man is Mirko Goretti of Vice Division, and is to be considered armed and dangerous. You see him, you refuse entry and contact me immediately, understand?”

“Oh man, I don’t wanna cause trouble with Vice, I told you, I need this job!”

“For Christ’s sake Kravshenko, you won’t be ‘causing trouble with Vice,’ you’ll be potentially saving lives! Now what are you gonna do?”

“Refuse entry, contact you immediately.”

“‘Attaboy, Kravshenko! We’ll make a cop out of you, yet.” I severed the call. I hoped Ronnie wouldn’t even go in to work today, but that was probably a pipe dream. Veronica Ames was not the sort of woman to play sick and hide at home when the shit hit the fan.

It was probably far enough into the morning that I could head out, now. Climbing the stairs up to the roof where my spinner waited, it occurred to me that it would be just as easy for Goretti to access my address and photo as it had been for me to access his. I’d keep my eyes open.

[COUNTDOWN EVENT TABLE: SM023 - Development]

[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: flee, focus: death]

And it was a good thing I did, because when I emerged from the roof’s bunker door, the first thing I noticed was a man on an adjacent rooftop. He was lying prone, with what looked like a scarf tied around his head and face, and he had a blaster pointed straight at me.

I leaped for cover on my spinner’s passenger side as the first shots rang out. I had the door open quickly, slithering into the vehicle and firing it up. I could hear rounds chinking into the driver’s side as I lifted off and sped away.

Yep, it looked like he was going for acceleration.

* * *

I landed at a building called The Drummond. It might have been a nice place once, one of those sort of U-shaped buildings where all the apartments looked down into a central, open courtyard. The courtyard wasn’t so scenic now, though. Just garbage and a few broken bicycles getting rained on. The building did have one of those cage-style, exterior elevators, but I opted for the stairs.

I found the right unit and knocked. I heard someone call out, but couldn’t make out the words. I waited. And waited. I was thinking about getting forceful when the bolt finally slid back. The door swung open.

It was a woman in a wheelchair. If she was Mirco’s wife, she looked a hell of a lot older than the thirty-six that he was supposed to be. Wasting away, black around the eyes, veins visible through the skin. Despite this she wore a neat, if slightly shabby jacket with a frilly blouse underneath. She struck me as a woman determined to keep her dignity, despite her decrepit physical state.

“Mrs. Goretti?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Leonard Graves, LAPD. Is your husband home?”

“No, he left for work an hour ago. Come in out of the rain.” She wheeled herself backward a couple of feet, and I stepped in and looked around. The place was clearly purposed as a life support system for the woman. Anyone could see she’d never be leaving it. Not with a heartbeat, anyway.

“Thank you. I’m heading an investigation into a television station called VidStar, and your husband told me you might have some useful information.”

Her physical reaction at my mention of VidStar had me momentarily worried I might have to call for aid, but she composed herself.

“VidStar! Those money-grubbing ghouls… they had me on their game show, last year. I won passes Off-world, for me and Mirko! Now look at me… still here, and look at me!”

“What’s wrong with you, Mrs. Goretti?”

“Geier's disease,” she told me without hesitation. “It’s eating me alive. And I was fit as a fiddle before I went on that show.”

“And what was the name of that show?”

“It was called Blast Off!, Detective. But now it looks like I’m more likely to pop off.” She tried to laugh at the joke. It was a hideous, raspy sound.

“How do you feel about that?”

[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: change, focus: victim]

“I was humiliated on television, Detective Graves. And for my trouble I contracted a horrible disease, and doomed my husband and myself to a life on Earth. Now I am, as they say, ‘not long of this world.’ I would just like to see the guilty punished, before I go.”

I nodded and pulled my coat closed around me. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Goretti.”

I headed out into the rain.

[HYPOTHESIS CHECK SUCCESSFUL - 3 PROMOTION POINTS]

DAY 3: DAY

“Graves?”

“We’ve got the bastard, Milne. We’ve got Goretti.”

I marched into his apartment and the Replicant closed the door gently behind me. “Have we?”

I spun around to face him. “He tried to take me out just this morning. He’s got nowhere to hide, now. He’s gonna try for Ronnie, but she’s at work under police protection. She and I just spoke, on my way over here.”

Milne tilted his head to one side. “You’ve uncovered Goretti’s motive?”

“Revenge.” I spotted a half-empty glass of water on the Replicant’s table, grabbed it and gulped it down. “Sorry,” I apologized, “goddamn thirsty.”

I set the glass down. “That Blast Off! show you first told me about - Goretti’s wife, Isabel, was a Grand Prize winner last year, all set to go Off-world with her husband. Then they do the screenings and discover she’s got Geier’s disease. It’s a real nasty one, fatal. She looked to be one foot in the grave when we met this morning.”

“And Goretti is holding Ms. Ames responsible. For the false hope.”

I nodded. “She isn’t responsible, but her name is on the work order, so to speak.”

Milne sat down in the easy chair. “A life for a life…”

“But that’s not how it’s gonna go,” I grinned. “Because between your testimony and mine, we can take this to my superiors and wrap this up with a neat little bow. Get your coat.” I turned and headed for the door.

Milne stayed put in the easy chair. “I cannot.”

My blood went cold. I turned around slowly. “You cannot? Milne, what’s wrong with you? We’re talking about locking up a corrupt cop and attempted murderer. Saving Ronnie. And then we can spring your girl, Maja. It’s a bullshit charge Goretti’s holding her on, and with him exposed, reversing it will be a piece of cake.”

“And then what happens when they find out she’s with me?” He raised his eyebrows. “You remember what I told you about Maja, about her fake ID.”

“Not in so many words! And I don’t wanna hear it in so many words, or my priorities here are gonna have to change!” I warned.

A look of great sadness crossed the Replicant’s face. “I imagine it will go something like this: ‘Congratulations on your release, Ms. Rosenberg. Please look up and to the left.’”

I clenched my fists and stared at the floor. “Milne, none of this works without you.”

He rose. “You have everything I told you.”

“Hearsay, all of it.”

“What about the data trail? The photos I sent Goretti?”

“That only proves you sent them. Doesn’t guarantee he told you to.”

“He tried to kill you!”

I looked him in the eye. “His face was obscured. No positive ID.”

He went silent.

“Goddamn it Milne, I need you.”

He smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, my friend. Think about how you feel about your ‘Ronnie,' now. I simply can’t be the cause of Maja’s… end.”

It felt like the room was spinning. I got out of there.

DAY 3: EVENING

I sat in my spinner for what must have been an hour, alternately cursing and trying to figure out how to close this case without exposing Milne’s woman, Maja, for what she really was. Some Blade Runner that made me. But with Veronica’s safety on the line, the regular rules did not apply. All I could do was wait for Goretti to make his next move.

I considered calling in an APB on the man, but immediately thought better of it. If word got out that ’The Wick’ had called in an APB on a fellow officer, half the damn force would probably try to find a way to help him out.

A call came in, breaking up my thoughts. It was an unexpected face, but a welcome one.

“Octavia! Elliot go home, and pass you the reins?”

“Yes, Detectives Graves, and he passed on your orders regarding Mirko Goretti, as well.”

“Any developments?”

“Yes, sir. Goretti was here a short time ago. Crazed. We refused him entry and ran him off. I’m sorry we didn’t contact you first thing, but it was a little chaotic around here.”

“That’s alright Octavia, he’d have probably split by the time I got there, anyway. And I have an idea of where he went. You did good. Can you connect me with Ms. Ames?”

The woman looked to her left. “Actually, she’s right here, with us. Hold on.” Octavia rose out of the frame, and was soon replaced by Ronnie. She looked a bit shaken, but none the worse.

“Hi, Leonard. I’m okay. We’re all secure here.”

I nodded. “Glad to hear it. And how are you all dealing with the Xinyi Ho situation?”

She blew out a tense breath. “It’s what you’d expect. He screened as a Special after his win. The mental test. His logic circuits were firing on all cylinders, but his empathic ones had eroded. ‘Flattening of Affect,’ it’s apparently called. The company’s gonna play that angle to the press.”

My face twisted up. “Terrible tragedy attributed to mental illness?”

She nodded. “Pretty much. But I’d say that Mr. Ho made his point very loudly, and in a way that our lawyers can’t touch him, or his family.”

“And Blast Off!?”

“History. Off the air effective immediately. The current contestants are getting a buyout.” She leaned forward a little. “That’s the situation over here. How’s yours?”

“I think Goretti has gone to stake out your place. It really is the only move he’s got left at this point. You stay with Octavia and the gang, okay? I’m gonna go over to your building and see what I can do.”

“I’ll call the night man and tell him to expect you.”

“Thank you. How is Alan, these days?”

She laughed once, and smiled at the memories. “Retired. It’s Cliff, now.”

I smiled back at her.

“Leonard, I…” she touched a hand against the screen, and held it there. “I shouldn’t say it.”

I put my hand to hers. “Then I won’t say it either.”

I ended the call and lifted off.

* * *

I set down on the roof of Ronnie’s building. The evening was quiet, the air still. Connected to the rooftop elevator was a little bunker with a man inside. I made my way over to it.

“Hey, Cliff, right?” I held up my badge to the bulletproof glass. “Leonard Graves, LAPD. Ms. Ames asked me to swing by and check on her place.”

“Ah yes,” Cliff said. “At first I thought you were the other guy. I mean, I thought the other guy was you. But the name didn’t match up.”

“Another cop? What was the name?”

He scanned his list. “Goretti.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Cliff. Have yourself a quiet night.”

I got in the elevator. Ronnie lived on the 57th floor. I hit the button for 58 and descended. Getting out of the elevator, I slipped quietly into the fire stairs and followed them downward, drawing my weapon. On 57, I took a few deep breaths and cracked the door open about an inch for a quick look, then closed it again.

Black as a tomb. Goretti was a smart sonofabitch, he’d pretty clearly gone down the hall unscrewing all the light bulbs enough to disconnect them. Clever. Any residents in their apartments would have no idea that anything was amiss unless they actually opened their doors. The stairwell I was standing in however, was lit. Not brightly, but enough to make me a target if Goretti was looking over here, instead of at the elevator. And these lights were in tamper-proof cages. I’d have to be quick.

Being as quiet as I could, I opened the door just enough to squeeze myself through it. If I was gonna be hit, it was gonna be now. But no shot came, and I closed the door behind me. It seemed he’d been entirely focussed on the elevator. I stood stock still and tried to get my eyes accustomed to the darkness.

Now assuming nothing had changed, at the far end of the corridor, there was a fire escape door (this place had both interior and exterior fire escapes). To the right of that door was a pretty big window, and placed below the window was a neat little writing desk and chair. A nice little spot to bring your cup of joe and read the paper in the morning sun. Also a lovely little ambush position. But there would be light from outside, coming through the window and the door. And as my eyes adjusted, I was beginning to see it.

Slowly, silently, gun pointed directly ahead, I made my way forward.

By now I could clearly see the door and the window, and the desk and chair (still there!) were coming into focus. And so was a menacing shape pointing at me out of the back of the chair.

I saw the muzzle flash before I heard it. The next thing was a sensation like someone had pressed a red-hot poker to the top of my left ear. Then I heard the shot. I staggered backward, while Goretti shoved the chair out of his way and emerged from under the desk, coming forward.

That was when the window exploded inward. A thick, shadowy shape had come in through it, and it pounced on Goretti from behind. It was Milne.

Now, Milne was a cop. He carried a sidearm, same as me. But this… this he did with his hands.

I was vaguely aware of shouts, slamming doors, and distant sirens growing louder as Milne finished the job. Finally he dropped the man’s limp form and walked over to where I was, slumped against the wall.

“Milne,” I groaned as blood pooled in my left collarbone, “change of heart?”

He smiled. “It made sense that you'd both come here. I thought I’d see if I could help in a less… bureaucratic way than what you had proposed.”

I laughed despite the pain, and listened to the approaching sirens.

“Well brother, it sounds like we’ve got about two minutes to get our stories straight.”

EPILOGUE

Dave Holden was standing with his back to me, looking out over the city through his office window. Finally he turned toward me.

“Christ, Graves, would it kill ya to bring in an actual Replicant once in a while?”

I spread my hands. “I go where the crime is, boss.”

He studied me closely. “And you’re convinced of no wrongdoing on the Replicant’s part?”

“I’m convinced that if not for him I’d be dead right now.”

“Why was Milne cooperating with Goretti in the first place?”

I leaned back. “Chinyen, boss. Whole lot of chinyen. Milne either grew a conscience or just plain got angry when it started to look like the payout wasn’t gonna happen.”

Holden shook his head in wonder. “An almost-bribe, two almost-murders, and an actual murder to prevent murder.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired. But I like the bandage. Suits you. Makes you look rugged.”

I laughed and raised a hand self-consciously to my left ear.

He smiled. “Go home and get some sleep, Blade Runner.”

* * *

[CONNECTIONS + 1 Promotion Point spent]

The woman collected her things from the officer at the desk and returned to me, albeit reluctantly. There was no trust in her eyes, but I expected none. I was one of the enemy. But on this particular occasion, I was just a delivery man.

We made our way up to the quiet street. The rain had started up again. Across that street stood a figure under a light. The woman, Maja, recognized him immediately. She ran across, I walked.

Their embrace said it all. It was nice. I waited until the pair were ready to remember that I was standing there.

Milne finally looked over at me. “‘And so, the one-hero party became a two-hero party.’”

I laughed, despite myself. “What?”

“Just something from a book I liked.”

“Sounds a little light for a man of your intellect, Milne.”

“I thought I’d start light, and work my way up. Get the whole experience.”

I grinned. “Drink it in, both of you. Carpe diem.”

This got a smile from them both, then they turned to go. I watched them walk for a minute, then turned to find my own way home in the rain.

THE END

[MILESTONE REACHED: Promotion Points: 4, Humanity Points 5]

[FIREARMS skill increased to C (5 HP]

Excellent! Thank you so much for posting your solo game-play experience, and so engagingly, too! It was a fun read; had me eagerly awaiting each new post to see how the story developed.

Excellent! Thank you so much for posting your solo game-play experience, and so engagingly, too! It was a fun read; had me eagerly awaiting each new post to see how the story developed.

Hey, big thanks for saying so, and for reading in the first place! I really enjoyed this first run of the game (not to mention working the old Creative Writing muscles). I certainly didn't expect a story as coherent as this one has been, and I'm still not clear on how much of it was the game, and how much was me... the appropriateness of some of those die rolls was positively eerie!