[IC] Telecommunications

[DeadDrop]

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Central Precinct

"The night is just starting, why stop now EL-TEE?"

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The rain poured down on Detroit, fitting for a city that was on the bound of drowning itself out - with a plague, crime wave and with corruption. One of the three would kill a lot of people, but no one could call it yet - it was too early. The potential for each had serious consequences for most, while those in the shadows would pray and yearn for such an event to occur, the chances seemed to grow in their favor every day. The Central Precinct is the headquarters for the city's entire police force, north, south, west and east all report into the central precinct. Ran by the notorious, Commissioner Troye Darcy.

Walking alongside a rather black and decked out Detective Moore, the young and impressionable Julia Fields was on her Deck as the two made their way through the precinct's underground parking garage. She was adorned in a MIT university sweater and a pair of black BDUs which are bloused just above her boots. Her badge hangs from her neck from a cheap corporate chain, along with a security FOB. Moore wore a leather coat hanging down to his knees, a ripped black collared shirt a pair of sweat and jackboots. He too had his badge and security FOB out, since the two were detectives and one was undercover it seemed necessary to have their identification ready should anyone stop them from entering or question their appearance and activities within the station.

"Rough night, rough sex, rough fight? Which one is it Detective? I think it's one and two." Julia quirps, gesturing to his messy appearance, she extends her FOB and the door clicks with a quick buzz. She opens the door to the stairwell and the two enter. "All three, no joke Jewels. I'm a killer, player, and fighter." He nudges her, which causes her to almost drop her deck. She looks up scolding him as she pockets the device. "Watch it, expensive! My gear is too expensive. Like - a lot!"

Moore's hands found themselves flying through his wild, bushy black hair. "I'll tell it to you straight chick, so keep your eye off that screen. Bar fight, buddy gets his drink on my shirt like fuck him. Got into a fight, he was in one of those poser gangs. Some wild shit, almost got my throat cut clean. Put his head in the bar, wooden bar so that shit split when I creamed him. Maybe he died, better off he did cus I fucked his girl. Looked like you, big mouth but a real tight ass. She was the one that iced my collar good." He laughs, his huge arms coming around the woman's neck. Julia could only really laugh along with him as they walked the rest of the way.

"Big mouth? I mean, I dunno. You should be my partner, come join cybercrimes I need a tough crazy mean guy like you." She smiles as she tries to pry his huge arms off her.

"Partner? No."

"How come, I need like an awesome partner! "

Moore laughs at her remark, letting go of her neck as the two make it to the main floor. Julia seems to have had a huge weight removed from her neck as the color seemingly returns to her fragile face.

"I don't know ya chick, fuck didn't know LT was gonna put with me some tech-head jeez. I don't fuck with partners and I don't really fuck with this shit, Mayor Gallant had to go fuck my shit up, but I can't do nothing about it so let's go set this briefing up." Moore takes the lead, opening the door to the empty prep room. The halls seemed to be less chaotic, of course, guardsmen, FBI and state troopers still lingered and the injured were - dead or elsewhere. The prep room thankfully was empty and Moore began to set up the command staff's chairs accordingly.

"I'm leaving a fifth, in case IA wants to come by cuz I know they are gonna be all over us in no time."

"Charming! I have a feeling, you and me we'll be like two peas in a pod. Or something like that, don't hold back Detective Moore. I'm a tough nut to crack." Julia makes her way to the table where she sits down and puts up her feet, her deck sits out on the table while she brings up a hologram of various files, dossiers, and documents.

"So, EL-TEE is doing half the team and I get to do the rest - with your input of course. I already had a few people in mind, so it shouldn't take too long and I'll have some extra hours to sleep before the brief. Without further adieu - applicant one!"

A picture of an older man, his face scarred and his body augmented expands to lifesize form in front of Julia who then throws the hologram over to Moore.

"EY! Yo don't throw that cyber shit at me!" Moore freaks as he ducks for cover at the hologram.

"Relax! It's not real, it's a picture. Take a look!"

"Muthafucka looks like an old ass man."

Julia begins to read parts of the dossier

"Reinhardt, Jack - German maybe? Really old guy, like fourty I think. Super violent gets physical with people because he is angry - maybe. Naturally looks scary, has a history of violent encounters. Born in Baltimore-"

"Man... This dude sounds like he'll shoot a brother already." Moore interjects, in a saddened tone.

"Let me finish Moore!" Julia preps to throw Jack again at him, which causes him flinch.

"Born in Baltimore - a really great city!" She clears her throat loudly at Moore, who rolls his eyes cursing something fierce under his voice as he went to move the patrolman's chairs.

"Joined the army, did okay in the army. Broke up with his wife after the army, maybe he found a stripper cuz it doesn't say. Maybe he did, but then he gets into trouble while he is a cop. Lots of tribunals cus he is a big violent guy like you, Moore."

"Ain't no one violent like ME." Moore goes to grab where his Katana would usually be. "Oh, fuck did I leave it..."

"I'm not done yet, hey! So he gets in trouble with command a lot cus, he's just like that alright - sooo. He joins vice, your unit I think. Oh no that's uh the gang unit nevermind."

"Damn right." Moore, now on his phone as he goes to check something. "Left my shit at that chick's house, I'm so fucked."

"Not now, sooo... Uh, I forgot what I was gonna say... Yea uhh Vice. It won't say what he did but there weren't issues, then oh yea. His wife died! Yea she got shot by a crazy guy I think, fuck that must be horrible. Like, she got melted - oh yea autopsy said she was into Super-sid - a drug for like total junkie losers. Sounds like our guy, single and ready to get work done - right?"

"Heeeey... Ash how yo doin' right - did I leave my huge ass sword in yo crib?" Moore was off on his phone, in the corner of the room. Julia shut down the huge hologram of Jack and continued to comb through his files. "So... could you bring dat over to the precinct like asap - what? Yea... Yea girl... y'know I'll uh... come back to visit."

"Yes? No? Maybe? Moore! I'm going to press yes if you don't say anything!"

"Yea girl... I'll see you soon alright - uh.. you too." Detective Moore hangs up the phone and looks over to Julia who already is on the next dossier. "Yea uh, accepted him thanks for the input."

"Wait what?! Ey what the fuck you didn't let me say shit!"

Julia shrugs "You were busy, sorry Detective." Moore makes his way over to the front of the room where Julia is seated, he takes her deck and looks through the dossier while she physically protests by grabbing for her equipment. "Hey!"

"So.. Derek Sloan? Wirey lookin' ass dude did really good in the academy. Climbed to a homicide detective asap, and started cleaning up the south side. The city did him a favor gave him some laughs, eyes, reflex system dude is looking like a ninja now. Yea, but uh... Dude's in a psych hospital. No dice."

"Yes dice, we can get him out! Call the uh, Doctor Michaels." Julia takes her deck back and starts an audio call.

"Doctor Michaels speaking, central precinct-"

"Hey Doctor! It's Detective Fields, can you take this guy out of the looney bin?" Julia sends over the files during the call, the beep on Michaels end. Moore gets up and takes out a raggedy looking cigarettes, he flips out a cheap lighter and ignites the end of the cancer stick. A hefty bellow of smoke escapes from his lips. "I'm going to find something to drink, cya in a bit chick." Moore exits the room into the now, more lively hallways of the station.

The audio buzzes back "Uh.... I can but I'm not going to do so. I think I'm the one who threw him in there, besides I'm not going to put a psycho on the streets especially during times like these"

"So? Undo it, the Lieutenant said I can pick whoever I think is best, this guy is kinda really good.
Even Detective Moore said so, if you don't do it I'll get another less uptight doctor to do it! We need people who can get the job done you know the saying right? You have to pardon a few serial killers to get the other killers, so have a heart and think about all the people you'll save and maybe inadvertently kill. I dunno yet, IA isn't apart of this. Yet."

"There's no need for that Detective, I understand what is at risk here if you truly think Sloan will do good for the team. I was about to speak with the Lieutenant anyway. I had a question, have you heard of a Detective Nato from Fraud?"

"No, why?" Julia e-notes the name down into her deck.

Michaels's voice turns into a short chuckle. "No, just a nobody doesn't worry. He'll be joining the team I just need to finalize the others the Lieutenant have picked. You know what those three men have in common, right?"

"They are all men?"

Michaels laughs again, the audio vocoding his voice buzzes slightly.

"Yes, that's it. See you soon Detective."

[TwelveOf8]

Derek Sloan: Paradise Lost

"Damn fine coffee! And a damn good cherry pie!" exclaimed Derek. The coffee itself was still much too hot to drink safely but with even a tiny sip he could still taste its strength. He could still smell its aroma. It was all so very intoxicating.

"Just the way you like it sweetie. Give me a holler if you need anythin else ok sugar." offered Lashanda with that vivacious smile of hers.

"Lashanda baby if I need anything then you'll be the first to know. And that's a promise." responded Derek with a cheeky wink.

"Oh Derek, you smooth talker you." said Lashanda before walking away to attend to the other diners.

Derek grinned smugly to himself. He watched as Lashandas large round ass swayed to and fro as she walked. That was always a good sign. She was a doll but Derek saw her more as a kindly aunt than a girlfriend. No doubt she was old and experienced enough to have figured that out for herself. But to them both it was just a fun but rather silly little game amongst friends. The diner itself was always busy around lunch time. With all the busy people of the world lining up to get Maxines cinnamon Colombian roast blend. The line was so long that it extended out of the door and into the street. Derek wasn't kidding when he said that it was damn fine coffee. Maxines Diner had the best coffee in the neighbourhood as far as the locals were concerned. The stereotypical 50's diner itself always had a welcoming and non-threatening vibe that garnered itself a loyal clientele. Filled with red padded booth seats, a black and white checkered laminate floor, an art deco style bar, and a juke box, it truly captured the 50's feel.

Despite everything that had happened thus far, it seemed that Derek was still able to maintain his spirits. To keep his head above water so to speak. Bringing charm and levity into the environment was always a smart move. The less tension there was in the air the less likely anyone was going to act the fool and do something regretful. More times than he could count the only thing that spared him from a dire situation was a well placed word or two. For truly, words have killed and saved far more people in the world than any weapon. The great thing about words was that unlike weapons, one can practice with and utilise words in almost any situation. To be a gruff and edgy loner was all well and good for some but it afforded little to no opportunity to practice the art of the spoken word. Derek himself was as big of a loner as one can get but nevertheless, he still made an effort to exchange pleasantries and ideas with most of the people he encountered in his everyday life. Such practices instinctively drew people closer to him. For Derek that was the part of the process that lacked appeal. It wasn't that he hated people like a misanthrope, it was that deep within him lay a darkness that he wished not to expose to others. Even before the incident there was something there. Something deep and unknowable yet looming and ever present. Some may call it depression. The veterans at the local precinct however simply called it "being a cop". Derek know though that it was something else entirely. Something that originated in his past that continued to elude his memory.

Dereks introspective brooding was interrupted by the vibration of his smart phone in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. It said that it was the DPD. Derek was slightly taken aback. He still had a few more weeks of psychiatric evaluation left before he had to return to work. Derek couldn't help but feel concerned yet a little peeved at the same time.

"A hoy hoy." said Derek as he answered his phone.

[Cryfest]

_{Timecode: 11 : 19 : 19 - 13 : 04 | S O U T H P R E C I N C T | Location: Wes Tower}

“Another hacker just up and kills himself. I don’t buy it for one second" Ayvee Jennings leaned uncomfortably close to a maggot-ridden body. The putrefaction odor in the room had already caused a few of the DPD to step out to vomit, yet it didn’t seem to bother Detective Jennings. Her dark hair was brushed out of the way and the undeniably curious furrowing of her brows was revealed. She gazed at the discolored flesh - bulging just under the surface - the twitching of maggots decomposing the body. The odor had been why the DPD had been called in the first place. It wasn’t uncommon. The south precinct wasn’t exactly known for its classy population.

“Detective Jennings, do you think maybe he committed suicide due to... all this?” Her sergeant coughed as he gestured to the mess of computer wiring, static screens, and illegal cyber-ware. She was careful to note the empty syringe on the floor, dripping with Neon. “Harvard, look at this guy. Clearly he’s been running some kind of illegal network and by the looks of things- it's all been erased or torn apart. Tell me, why would a guy like him up and pop a cap in his skull?” She tore her grey eyes away from the body and tilted a neutral expression to the director.

“Judging by the recent string of deaths it’s because he owes money to someone and that someone wanted him dead when he couldn’t get it,” Harvard answered, running a metal hand through his hair. “Exactly, and that is why we are here. To figure out who killed him- whether they pulled the trigger or not.” Ayvee looked back at the body; it would take some time before the medical examiner’s report would be complete and it would depend on if the captain would truly take the case. With the wild amount of crime, these cases tended to be tossed to the side as pointless.

“Gram Silver” a short police officer who had been working off to the side disclosed, gazing down at his holo-pad; “fingerprints show that he’s been convicted of drug paraphernalia and of manufacture with the intent of delivery. He managed to be let off with a year of probation and proof of treatment... pretty lenient” the officer looked up, doubt pushing his lips together into a thin line. “Sounds like the guy had connections,” Harvard agreed. “Whoever is manipulating these suicides is very good at getting what they want. Can we get cybernetics to look into the hardware? See if any data can be recovered?” Ayvee stood up, straightening the jacket she wore over a tight crop-top and shorts. She turned on her heal. Her walk was one of confidence and the straightness of her shoulders spoke of military discipline.

“Make sure the CSI unit has everything documented before calling the bots to clean this mess up,” Harvard told the police officer who immediately got on his holo-pad to take care of it. Ayvee was about to take another slow walkthrough of the scummy apartment when a device on her wrist buzzed, alerting her that a text was sent to her phone. She reached up under her hair to a small earpiece cuffed to the outer ear.

A mechanical voice spoke, “new notification from an unknown number- would you like me to read the message, Ayvee?” the A.I. that ran all her smart products paused, waiting for an answer. “Yes.” She walked out of the room and into the dingy hallway for a bit more privacy as police worked on the crime scene. “ASAP; return DPD HQ” The A.I’s voice buzzed slightly with the pronunciation and Ayvee frowned- she was never called away from her team. Either they all got pulled or they continued with the case. She turned and looked into the apartment to see if any of the others had been called out but by the look of their busy work they had not. She decided to just pull her smartphone out and look at the message. The thin piece of holographic glass lit up a faint green in her hand.

_{| 13:24 | Message System | Unknown: (XXX) XXX-XXXX |}

_{>ASAP: Return DPD HQ!}

She tucked some hair behind her unburdened ear and slid the glass back in her pocket. She glanced back at the crime scene before heading out of the apartment complex. Harvard could handle it. It was likely they wouldn’t be assigned the case anyhow. Till answers were clear she headed back to the DPD.

[vietmyke]

Meaford's Mead, Old Downtown

Music

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Meaford's Mead was a quiet little bar situated in the southern Detroit, and a regular watering hole for a most of the DPD owned by a man named Ray. A small dive bar built out of the remains of an abandoned R&D Building, refit with an industrial-and-tech aesthetic. Plas-steel panelled walls were browned with a mix of stylistic artificial rust, and real rust, for a very worn in look, and adorned with purely old-style air vents and gaudy neon lights. A couple framed pictures of old deceased cops hung on a memorial wall, and there was always an extra cop hanging around the bar as security. The small main room of the bar itself was populated by a mix of traditional synth-wood chairs and tables and jukeboxes alongside game tables and holodecks- some in better conditions than others, and some with chairs pulled up to them and turned into a pseudo table itself. The bar itself rested against a wall, with a rusted sign plainly stating 'First Aid & Alcohol'- an acquisition from the old R&D building's medical ward, and a big shotgun leaned next to one of the bartaps to ward off any hostile intentions.

Ray himself was an old hand: a retired military with the battle scars and missing limbs to prove it. With most of the left half of his body destroyed by a bomb, Ray's left eye, arm, and leg were all cybernetics, shiny black and grey steel holding hefty glasses as a flesh and blood hand wipes it down with a rag. Ray worked the bar he owned. There was no kitchen here, just shitty synth-alcohol. With only a few other staff members, Ray mostly ran this ship by himself, every day.

Currently, the bar had only a small crowd- only about half a dozen other patrons, mostly off-duty cops. The tattered jukebox in the corner played some sort of country blues type music, that only helped to make this place feel older than it was. Ray's bar wasn't really much for night life as it was for stiff drinks and shady deals. Of the people at the bar, only one sat at the counter- a man with white hair, a big cyberarm, and the look of a complete lack of empathy for his surroundings. Ray poured the man a short tumbler of cheap whiskey- about as real as it got around this part of town.

"Jack."

"Ray."

Jack exhaled a short plume of smoke as he propped a still burning cigarette against the lip of the nearby ashtray. Switching the cigarette for the glass, he lifted the tumbler to his lips and downed half of its contents. Ray reached back over from behind the bar with a half empty bottle of whiskey and filled the glass back up to the brim before putting the bottle back behind the counter- more specifically back into his leg. Ray always kept the good stuff close to him. Jack lifted the glass back to his face and took another sip, enjoying the strong kick of the alcohol and flavor before he put the glass back down and picked the cigarette back up.

"Those'll kill you, you know?" Ray chuckled as Jack pushed the pack of cigs across the bar. He pulled one out and lit it, taking a deep drag before he pushed the pack back over to his patron. Jack slipped the pack of cigarettes back into his pocket.

"Probably." Jack replied as he took another drag. "But I don't think they'll be putting me in the ground tonight."

Ray gave the man a sad smile- a sort of exchange from one vet to another. "Things have been getting rough for the DPD huh? Haven't been getting as much business lately."

"Yeah."

Almost in response to Ray, Jack's pocket made a ringing sound. He pulled out his phone and looked at it with a bored glare. The caller ID read as the Detroit Police Department. He let it ring a few times, not really wanting to answer. Finally, he pressed the accept button and raised the phone to his ears.

"Today's my day off."

"Not anymore its not, get to Central, ASAP."

With that, the phone clicked off. Jack grimaced for a while before he slid the phone back into his pocket, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Maybe some other time, Ray." Jack said as a way of saying goodbye as he stood up and fixed his jacket. He picked up the whiskey glass and downed the rest of its contents.

[DeadDrop]

It sucked trying to kill yourself, the thought of second-guessing himself came through Zach's head as he kicked for his life as he started to hang from his ceiling fan in his small apartment. The rope wasn't that good either, not like he could afford it when he was suspended from duty. Watching as the world faded was kinda beautiful but it's not something he wanted to see yet, having cold feet when you're hanging kinda sucks. Zach's phone started exploding with messages, a call even too. Too bad dying was taking priority - well it was until the ceiling fan snapped out of the wall.

The rope broke as well, he hit the floor hard. If only he could stay there, his face stained the grimy tiles of his apartment with a graceful pile of bodily fluid. Mostly blood, but not too much just enough to say "Hey atleast I tried." Getting up from his sad attempt at ending his life, rope and all he dragged his sorry ass to his phone. "Central, now." came the message clear as day, now all he needed to do was peel the rope from his neck.



The police station was busy with men and women, injured lay in agony as some medics both military and civilian worked on them. People were constantly in and out of the new fortress that was the central precinct of Detroit. Guardsmen, policemen both from the state, city and counties fill the precinct over capacity. There was shouting and the smell of blood and bodies flooded the senses of those without nose filters. The usually hospital clean police headquarters was a shell of what it formerly was, just a mess hall of bodies alive and dead. Not like the hospitals had their own problems though.

The meeting room was rather clean itself, it had been untouched by the graces of the outside. Inside sat a couple people, maybe they were known to the team or not but starting on the left sat Julia with her feet up on the table. Beside her was Lieutenant Tyrell of the unit who appeared to be in his best appearance despite the circumstances. He was surrounded by a fort of coffees, apparently, it had not been an easy afternoon. In the middle was the doctor, looking cold and methodical as ever he simply studied his notes he had on the table in front of him. Moore was nowhere to be seen, but in one of the chairs in front of the board, desk was Zach. He sat nonchalantly with a very red neck due to his hanging incident.

It was looking to be a fine afternoon.