You are all part of an extraordinary new future. One that will shed light on the darkest recesses of humanity. Think of this as a gift from the greatest minds of our age, and use it to protect those who can't defend themselves. It will connect, enhance, and guide your cognitive skills in a ways that we've never before been able to comprehend. And with that said, use it with caution; there's no research on the long-term effects, and based on its ability to integrate with your neural network, you will be tied to it. You will become part of it, and it will become part of you. Learn to manage it correctly, and the ARI will change the way you view the world forever.
The blue vial glinted like sapphire in Norman's hand, highlighted against the gray light that escaped through the stormclouds. It hadn't stopped raining since he arrived, and the gentle raindrops pattered on the roof of his car, sending streams of water down the windows. The rain offered an unexpected privacy against the flashing lights of the police cars outside, and Norman leaned his forehead against the steering wheel as he gazed at the blue vial. It hadn't been cheap to gather, and he would have to be sure to keep it hidden.
He stuffed the vial into his coat pocket along with the other vials which clicked as they knocked together. Despite its questionable legality, Norman felt nothing but comfort at the thought it was nearby. He imagined it was the same sort of relief a man felt after a fight with his wife, that he could run into another woman's arms. Comforting, yet treacherous at the same time.
As he sat up straight, he caught sight of himself in the rear-view mirror. A night of no sleep hadn't done him any good. His tired green eyes made his normally young face look about ten years older. He hadn't combed his hair in days, and it had clumped together in messy waves over his forehead. At least he'd shaved recently, though it seemed it only served to expose more of his pale skin. If he wasn't wearing his new grey suit, he would probably have easily passed for a drug-addict.
Norman rubbed his hands together before opening the car door and stepping out into the rain. It felt good to finally be able to stretch his legs after the long drive from Washington, but the joy was short-lived as he felt cold water leak into his shoes. His jacket and pants immediately stuck to his skin, and a numbness spread upwards from his fingertips. He let out a deep sigh, and a cloud of steam rose in front of his face. So, this was Philadelphia.
The flashing lights created a haze of blue and red that Norman could hardly see through. Blurry black figures stood in groups, and to his left was a tall chainlink fence. Police cars blocked the way in front of him, and far into the distance was the roar of what he guessed was a highway. Norman gazed up at the morning sun which failed to shine through the clouds to the east. It might as well have been permanent night there.
He moved towards the flashing lights, squinting through the torrent of rainwater. A reflective line of police tape appeared in front of him and Norman leaned over it, searching for a clear path.
"Hey!" A low voice rang over the splashing of rainwater. Norman turned to see a policeman in a rain jacket shine a flashlight at him. His eyes ached, and Norman raised his hand against the beam. "You have authorization to be in this area?" the policeman asked.
"I'm looking for Lieutenant Carter Blake," said Norman, narrowing his eyes against the light. "Could you point that thing somewhere else?"
"Who are you?" The policeman aimed the flashlight to the side, and Norman was temporarily blinded by residual light. He reached into his pocket and held out his badge.
"Agent Norman Jayden, FBI." He stuffed the badge back into his interior coat pocket. "Captain Leighton Perry said I could find Lieutenant Blake here. Do you know where he is?"
"How the hell should I know?" The policeman stepped to the side. "Check the crime scene. He's probably out there somewhere."
Norman dropped his shoulders and sighed heavily. "No shit," he muttered quietly as he stepped underneath the police tape.
He was standing in what appeared to be an empty lot next to a low hill which rose to the freeway. Dark figures moved around him, some casting him curious looks as they passed. Norman motioned to the nearest group.
"Hey, I'm looking for Lieutenant Carter Blake," he called. One of the officers shrugged, and the group continued walking. Norman groaned and stepped sideways to another group. "Do you know where I can find Lieutenant Blake?"
"You FBI?" One of the figures asked. Norman nodded, and the officer pointed. "Why don't you ask them over there if they've seen him."
Norman turned and squinted through the falling rain. "What─ who?" He looked back at the group of officers who had turned their backs to him."Excuse me, I don't see anyone." An officer chuckled, and Norman felt his face heat up. He ran a hand over his face, and walked to the end of the lot where the freeway offered shelter from the rain. So it was going to be another one of these investigations. It wasn't his fault that the PPD couldn't handle one serial killer. But if he was going to judge the department off first impressions, he wasn't surprised.
Two officers stood to his right, huddled over steaming mugs of coffee. Norman let out a frustrated breath, and moved toward them. If he asked them one at a time, he might eventually find the person he was looking for.
"Do you know where I can find Lieutenant Carter Blake?" he asked. One of the officers turned to him and lifted her hood revealing a pair of wide brown eyes.
"Who?"
Norman shifted his weight, containing his frustration. "Lieutenant Carter Blake?"
The officer pointed across the lot. "Last I saw, he was talking to the Sheriff about a coroner. Down by the power shed."
His frustration faded a bit as he looked across the lot. Through the haze, he spotted a tall man in a dark trenchcoat who stood out from the shrouded policemen. Norman waved a hand at the officer next to him. "Thanks," he said, and stepped into the rain.
The place was packed with police. If Norman didn't know any better, he would think it was a local law enforcement convention. He stepped carefully around a pack of officers who trudged to the entrance, laughing together. A crime scene shouldn't have this many police. They were trampling the evidence, if there was any evidence left.
He grunted as a policeman bumped shoulders with him, and Norman had to catch himself before tumbling into a small white tent. He turned quickly to confront the officer, but he had already disappeared into the haze of shapes and lights. Norman sighed, and looked down at the small tent. There was no point in starting a fight. Anyways, it looked like he'd found the body.
He kneeled carefully in the mud, grasping the plastic sheet that covered the opening. They'd done a poor job in keeping the area clear. A rainproof tent was hardly necessary considering the place was flooded. He tugged the sheet which clicked along the rail.
"Hey!" Heavy splashes behind him told him that someone was approaching quickly. Norman stood up and spun around, coming face to face with a soaked man sporting a dark beard. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Norman held up his hands and struggled to speak. "Look, I don't mean to cause problems." He held out his hand. "I'm Agent Norman Jayden from the FBI. Are you Lieutenant Carter Blake?"
The man stared at him for a moment with glaring eyes, then stepped away from him, hands against his forehead. Norman gazed through the rain and recognized the dark trenchcoat.
"I knew it," Blake grumbled. "I just fucking knew it." Blake dropped his arms at his sides and looked sideways at Norman who was at a loss for words. "So you're here to play Agent Smith and slow this whole process down, am I right?" Norman stared at him, a deep dread rising in his gut. Blake waved his arm around. "Welcome to the crime scene. Why don't you do whatever it is you're here to do, and stay out of our way."
"Lieutenant Blake, I'm here to help catch the Origami Killer," said Norman, stepping forward. "I'm not here to wage a war or have a power struggle. I just want to find who did this and bring a stop to the murders."
Blake clapped his hands together, creating explosions of water droplets. "Well aren't you a god damn hero. Gonna save our little town and bring peace back to society?" He moved closer so that Norman could see the anger in his eyes. "Listen, punk. I've put the last three years of my career on the line to solve these murders. So if you think you can just stroll in here, perform your little laser scan and have the whole thing figured out in ten minutes, then you have no idea what you're in for." Blake moved away and faded into the haze, followed by a few other officers.
Norman scratched the back of his head, shivering as cold water ran down his back. "I guess I'll see you at your office then," he called.
Classic police versus FBI. It was too bad they didn't offer a class for that at the university. Norman shook his head, and felt a small bubble of cynicism. Performing scans was what he was best at. And now that Blake had left the scene, Norman's confidence was beginning to rise.
He reached into his interior coat pocket and produced a pair of black sunglasses, glowing blue along the arms in curved letters: ARI. Norman slipped them over his eyes, and fitted a black receptor glove onto his right hand. As the red ARI letters blinked in the upper corner of his vision, he felt his temples buzz. This was more like it.
"ARI recording," he said, flexing his hand further into the glove. "Fix location four seven zero two three. Note date and time." The words October 4, 2011, 8:14 A.M flashed in front of his eyes and disappeared. A small red sphere appeared under the letters, and Norman held his right palm parallel to the ground, sending out a radial beam of light that faded into the darkness.
A list scrolled to the left of him, panning upwards so quickly that Norman could hardly focus. He sighed, putting his forehead in his hand. He should have known it would be like this. "Disregard all police content on record," he muttered. The list shrank considerably, though he still spotted about ten instances of footprints, sweat from the local officers, and what appeared to be coffee. "Well, it was worth testing," he said quietly. He turned and kneeled in front of the tent, pulling the sheet open again. He could at least start with what was easiest.
If he hadn't already investigated dozens of murder cases, he might have been taken off guard by the scene. Norman ducked his head under the tent, panning slowly from left to right so the ARI could capture everything.
"ARI, comment," he said. "Victim is lying flat on his back, arms at his sides and legs together. Victim appears to be a small boy. Maybe ten or eleven years old." He gazed at the boy's face, and pressed one of his gloved fingers to the boy's cheek. "The victim's face is covered in mud. Looks like it was applied recently." Text flashed in front of him as the ARI broke down the mud's basic elements. "The mud is from the local area. It was applied after the victim was killed."
He held his hand flat over the body, and a ring of light spread outwards, drifting along the contours of the small boy. "There's no exterior trauma to the victim. However…" Norman leaned forward and touched his glove to the boy's chest. "The victim's lungs are full of fresh water. Cause of death was by drowning." He reached forward and held his hand directly over the boy's face. The receptors on the glove glowed, and the image of a smiling boy appeared in his vision followed by a small paragraph of text. "Victim is Jeremy Bowles. Aged 12. Reported missing September 30, 2011." Norman sighed as he rested his arms on his knees. "Sorry, Jeremy."
A delicate white flower rested on the boy's jacket, and Norman ran a finger across it. "A common white orchid has been placed on the victim's chest after time of death. Seems to be fresh." He waved his hand over the body again, and one last detail caught his attention. He reached down and opened the boy's hand, revealing a soggy paper origami figure. Norman leaned forward, pressing his left hand to his glasses. "The victim is holding an origami paper dog in his right hand. Looks like it was placed there after death."
Norman glanced around the tent and flattened his hand, sending out another wave of light. "No more discernable evidence. I'm gonna check the surrounding area." He leaned out of the tent and closed the sheet.
Fresh rainwater soaked his hair as he stood up straight. The rain seemed to be lightening up a bit, though Norman suspected that was false hope. He held up his gloved hand and scrolled through the scanned items. Police boots, spit from one of the officers, a styrofoam cup, urine… "You gotta be fucking kidding me," Norman growled under his breath. He flicked his hand, scrolling down. Cigarette bud, worn plastic, orchid pollen. Norman automatically glanced at the tent. Orchid pollen in the rain? It was a snowball's chance in hell, but maybe…
He tapped the text and the orchid pollen highlighted, moving to the center of his vision. Holding his palm outward, he sent out another sphere of light. The ground illuminated, and a small square of text appeared. Orchid pollen had been detected, and it was leaving a trail.
"ARI, comment." Norman kneeled to the ground, touching his glove to the trail. "The orchid left a trail of pollen that leads to the railroad tracks." He raised his hand to the list again and continued scrolling downward. His heart skipped a beat. "Gotcha." He tapped the list, and then held his hand over the ground, highlighting a track of footprints. "Hello, size ten Timberland," he said. "Where are you going?"
Norman stood up and followed the footprints, stepping carefully over the railroad tracks and holding his hand forward so the sphere revealed the way like a spotlight. The orchid pollen dimmed and faded away completely as he moved further from the tent, and the tracks began to break up. Norman quickened his pace, and the tracks suddenly turned left up the hill.
He paused as he looked up the muddy slope. A flicker of confusion dashed through his chest. The killer had dragged the body down this muddy hill from the freeway? It seemed incredible that no one had noticed something so odd in such a high traffic area. Norman held onto the chainlink fence as he scaled the slope. The rush of the freeway grew louder, and the air filled with mist as he reached the top.
Norman kneeled down, touching his finger to the mud. "The tracks are getting too washed out." He narrowed his eyes at a strip carved into the ground. "But maybe…" He held his hand above the strip, and the light illuminated an imprinted tire track. A list scrolled to his left, ticking through possible brand matches. The list flashed red, and a red line drew outward, pointing to text that read "inconclusive."
"Shit." Norman rested his hands on his knees, staring out into the traffic. This was where the trail ended. And he'd gotten nowhere.
A frustrated breath escaped his lungs, and Norman looked back down at the tire track. He'd have to walk away with at least something. Flexing his gloved hand, he reached down and touched the tire track. The list scrolled again, and Norman felt his temples tingle. There had to be something. A conspicuous crack. A nail in the tire. The depth of the tread. Anything. The list ticked away, and finally a highlighted text slid to the center of the screen. It flashed yellow, and Norman rested his hand on his knee.
"ARI, comment. Speculation based on observation. The tire tracks belong to an older sedan. They're about thirty-thousand miles overdue. Apparently, the killer is a slacker."
He stood up straight and glanced back down at the lot. Besides the body, there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. The chainlink hadn't been damaged, there were no obvious tracks besides the tire marks, and the body lay in the very center of the lot. As Norman watched the police move across the area, he was suddenly reminded of a funeral.
Norman put a finger to his glasses. "Note time." The numbers 8:47 A.M flashed across his vision. "End ARI recording." There was a cascade of lines, and the red sphere disappeared. Norman peeled off his glove and removed the glasses, glaring against the contrast of the lights in the rain.
So much for a thorough investigation. With the rain and procession of police, there wasn't much left for him to scan. Still, something was better than nothing. He might find more once he returned to the police station.
He slid carefully down the muddy path, and stepped over the railroad tracks. Blake was nowhere in sight, and Norman thought it best not to provoke him anyway. He passed the police officers without a word, bending underneath the police tape. A dull frustration tugged at him. He could still try to start fresh with Blake in a dryer environment, but somehow Norman felt it would be useless. Once he'd mentioned FBI, it was pretty much over.
Norman opened the door of his car and slid into the seat, shaking the water from his hands. In the light of the cab, he noticed his suit, and felt a cloud of despair drift over him. His pants were splashed with mud up to his knees, and his shoes were splotched with uneven moisture. Norman slumped in his seat, dropping his head back.
This investigation was certainly off to a fantastic start.