The Dark Cycle

[Euca]

I thought back on what I asked. I concluded that I wasn't subtle, I was rash and blunt. You're definitely not a detective, Brandt, I thought. At this point, looking over the list before me, I wanted to drop the mission. I wasn't a detective, I shot people. I felt out of place, trying to charm people into letting me see their deepest memories of the man I killed.

"Let someone else do this job." I murmured, tiredly. I looked at the list. Professors, Doctors, CEOs, Landlords. All of them were high class income earners. I had to give it to him, Cristofer was connected, and I was not. I scanned through the names, looking for someone within my vicinity. I caught one, a war veteran a few blocks from Cristofer's home. According to the files, he was an aged solider from the war on Liberty. I didn't bother to check the relation to the victim, I wasn't going to stay long. War Veterans weren't the type to backstab the government that paid their bills and fed them food. Just one off the list, I thought, throw those CTI dogs a bone.

I threw on a coat, it was black on the outside, but was layered with a synthetic wool on the inside to give it warm. Plus, it had far more pocket space. I set out the door, then onto the streets. It was colder than before, the snow storms were beginning to set in. I pulled down my sleeves, then folded my arms over. I only remember the chill of the weather and anger of my job. It was like someone flicked on autopilot as I took a familiar route lacing through the city, strolling past the manor, now decorated in police tape. I glanced at the front door, police officers and detectives wore stark white rubber gloves and coats to match, they were brushing over the scene with the best acting skills I had seen to date. I smirked, and kept walking.

"Flat #381, Held Building." I muttered. I knocked. Third time I've had to knock in a single mission. That's a record, I thought. The door opened, he greeted me. I introduced myself, he let me in.

"Mr Hopfner," I started, drearily "I'm here to ask about a friend's death, Cristofer Breisacher." I explained the situation, said that we were looking for any information about Breisacher's private life, or a suspected Jane, who is believed to be his murderer. That was far more believable, I thought, yet I could have had a better tone. He nodded as I spoke, listening attentively. He answered to the best of his ability, reiterating what we already knew. Said he'd never heard of a murderous Jane, then apologized.

"No, thankyou, Mr Hopfner. Your service here has been invaluable." I glanced out the window and watched the darkening clouds, signalling the hailstorm. "I must go now, though, wouldn't want to get caught by that storm." I stood up, thanked him for his help again, then said goodbye and went out the door.

I strolled out into the streets, the snow was getting heavier, but I took a moment to take a seat on a metal bench. It was strange how one simple murder complicated itself into a full-blown investigation against the HVEB. I wasn't even interested in the HVEB. Not the Bundschuh, not the CTI. I just wanted to live comfortably, but that seemed impossible when my hands felt coated in a thick shade of red.

"What am I doing here?" I asked the freezing sky, to which it responded with a hailstone the size of a pebble. I got up, and made my hasty way back to my flat. Even the city wanted me to move on. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, lowered my head. I yawned, I was tired. Maybe it's time I hung up the hat, I thought.

That's preposterous, came the reply.