Nishikawa returned to the Metropolitan Police Department, this time with his partner, Oota.

  Takashi had called yesterday to discuss the case and arrange another interrogation.

  The investigative division’s floor was quieter than usual. Nishikawa could hear the ventilation humming, carrying the scent of disinfectant.

  His leather shoes clicked against the tile. Oota trailed behind, chewing gum and blowing bubbles.

  “Where the hell is everyone? This place a ghost town?”

  “Shut up,” Nishikawa hissed.

  Outside the interrogation room, Takashi leaned against the doorframe, cigarette in hand.

  “You’re here. Take a seat.”

  Nishikawa pulled up a chair. Oota just perched on a desk, arms crossed.

  “Want a drink?” Takashi asked.

  “No, we’re pressed for time. Let’s get to it.”

  Takashi produced a tablet, displaying photos from UDI—the newly discovered body parts.

  Nishikawa studied them, using his cybernetic eye to save images.

  The victim’s left thigh, sliced in half and stuffed into a bag.

  “We checked park surveillance. Found a suspect.”

  Takashi pulled up a screen, showing a figure in a mask, sunglasses, tracksuit, and cap—completely unidentifiable.

  In this era, altering one’s appearance was trivial. Even a clear face might not help.

  “Any leads after that?”

  Aoki arrived with a box, answering, “He ducked into an alley and vanished.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Look here.” Aoki set the box on a desk and powered it up.

  A satellite map of the district appeared. Takashi zoomed in on the alley.

  “Only two exits. Either he used some kind of cloaking tech to evade cameras…”

  “Or he lives nearby, slipped in through a back door or window.”

  Nishikawa stared at the map, deep in thought. Takashi and Aoki waited.

  “The list…”

  “Here.” Aoki handed him a sheet—resident info, pre-filtered for age and build.

  “Thanks.”

  Nishikawa skimmed it, memorizing faces.

  “Thoughts? You’ve got more experience with investigations.”

  “This guy’s either the killer or an accomplice. At the very least, he’s connected. Agreed?”

  Exactly. The body dumper was involved. Finding him could break the case wide open.

  “Wait, wait!” Oota cut in. “You’re saying… the kid’s not the killer?”

  Nishikawa scowled. “Obviously. He’s been in custody all night. When would he dump the body?”

  “So what? This guy’s small fry. We’ve got the killer right here.”

  Nishikawa stood, glaring. Takashi and Aoki wisely stayed out of it.

  Their stare-down was like neighbors shouting across balconies, hurling insults—and garbage.

  Nishikawa could tolerate a shitty partner. Maybe Oota came from a rough background, lacked education—fine. Every job had those.

  But screwing around on a major case? Nishikawa had waited too long for this chance.

  No way he’d let this clown ruin it.

  “Get out. Now.”

  “Ooh, scary. Try it.”

  Nishikawa grabbed Oota’s collar, yanking him close.

  “Hey, hey—talk it out.” Takashi stepped in, not wanting a brawl on his hands.

  But the tension was thick. Nishikawa’s fist clenched.

  Oota just smirked, eyes glinting dangerously.

  Public Security Section 9 was unique—answering directly to the Prime Minister, operating on meritocracy, tasked with eliminating crime at its roots.

  But the most obvious difference?

  They were cyborgs.

  Even as reserves, regardless of enhancement level, a fight would demolish the office.

  “Tch.” Nishikawa released him. “Get lost. I’ll handle this alone.”

  “Sure, sure.” Oota straightened his jacket, patting Aoki’s shoulder.

  “If it were me, I’d check the rooftops. Guy’s a cyborg, after all.”

  Takashi nodded. “Pull drone footage. Might’ve caught something.”

  Oota headed for the door, shoulder-checking Nishikawa on the way out.

  “Case closed, far as I’m concerned. I’ll report to Instructor Batou. Don’t worry.”

  He kicked a chair for good measure, cursing under his breath.

  Nishikawa shot the others an apologetic look.

  Oota kept up the act until he rounded the corner, took the elevator down, whistled at a female officer, and stepped outside.

  Only in his car, alone, did he drop the facade.

  He closed his eyes, connecting to an encrypted channel.

  “This is Altair. Partner’s suspicious. Next steps?”

  A distorted voice replied, “This is Etched Flow. Good work, Altair. Stand by.”

  “Copy.”

  Oota—no, Altair—switched channels.

  “Sir, confirmed. Ready to move.”

  “Acknowledged. D-Day is the 13th. Stay safe.”

  “Copy. Glory to you.”

  He leaned back, exhaling.