Two days had passed since he killed Colt, though no one else knew it yet. The world outside continued as if nothing had changed, unaware that a man had vanished. Colt's communicator had only pinged once, a routine "proof of life" check from the boss. Kali had handled it with practiced ease, impersonating Colt just long enough to satisfy the system. After that, silence.
Little else had stirred. He kept to his apartment, blinds drawn, lights dimmed, the air growing stale with the weight of secrecy. Hours blurred together, marked only by the quiet hum of machines and the occasional flicker of movement beyond his window. Once, Annie had come by. She knocked for a while but eventually left when he didn't answer.
His computer gave a low buzz as it powered to life, and a soft whir preceded the bloom of a hologram above his work desk, light fractals forming the familiar, flickering image. Kali shifted in his chair, seated just beside the desk, then tapped the sensor to approve the incoming connection.
John appeared, smug as ever, his grin locked into place like it was hardwired into his face. "Good day, Inspector," he said, voice smooth with mock formality.
"There's nothing good about today, John," Kali replied, his tone flat. Beneath the desk, his fingers flexed and curled, restless. "Why are you calling?"
John leaned forward, his expression more animated now. "Thomas was discharged from the hospital this morning. Good as new. Or at least, good enough to file paperwork again."
Kali gave a noncommittal grunt. He hadn't asked about Thomas.
"And," John continued, as if he'd been saving the real news, "the Deputy Chief wants us at an event tonight. A SynSpec thing. Apparently, all the Medri elites will be there."
Kali raised an eyebrow. "Since when do CIB investigators attend corporate soirées?"
John shrugged, exaggerated and careless. "Who knows? Maybe it's optics—showing the city's working hard against the Syndicate. Maybe there's something brewing they haven't told us. Either way, clean up nice. Deputy doesn't want us embarrassing the Bureau. It starts at eight."
Kali leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly as the hologram flickered in his dim apartment. "And if I don't feel like playing dress-up for the vultures?"
"You show up anyway," John said with a chuckle. "Or don't. But if you skip it, you'll be answering questions tomorrow. And trust me, the kind they ask won't have polite answers."
The hologram dimmed for a moment. John's face momentarily smeared by static. Then it reassembled. "See you tonight, boss," he added, and cut the line before Kali could reply.
The room fell back into silence, save for the low hum of the computer. "Fuck me," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. With a few quick swipes on his terminal, he paid the absurd premium for rush delivery and ordered a suit to his address. Tailored, dark gray, something that wouldn't draw attention but still passed for respectable.
He stood up slowly, joints aching from too much stillness, and made his way to the shower. The water came down hot and unrelenting, steaming up the tiny bathroom until the mirror was lost in fog. He stayed under the spray longer than necessary, letting it beat down on his neck and shoulders, washing off two days of silence, bloodstains only he could feel. By the time he stepped out, the package had already arrived, neatly placed by his door with the efficiency of a system that never asked questions.
Kali toweled off, then unboxed the suit. The fabric was smooth, just shy of luxurious, the kind of material designed to suggest wealth without flaunting it. He slipped into the dark gray ensemble, jacket, waistcoat, and tie all cut to match. The fit was perfect, or close enough to pass. At six-foot-two with a lean, athletic frame, the suit hugged him in the right places, shoulders sharp, waist tapered. In the mirror, he looked like someone who had it together.
He didn't feel like it.
He grabbed the car keys from the hook near the door, sleek, untouched, coated in a fine layer of dust and turned them over in his hand. It had been a long time since he'd driven. Walking had suited his moods lately.
The elevator hummed as it descended, each floor clicking by with dull mechanical precision. When the doors slid open into the underground parking lot, the air was cooler, carrying the faint smell of oil, concrete, and disuse.
His car waited near the back, parked in shadow. A navy blue sports model, low, sharp, predatory. He didn't look the type, not in the way he carried himself, but his mercenary work had paid more than most suspected. And this machine was one of the few indulgences he'd allowed himself.
He brushed a hand over the hood, clearing a light sheen of dust. The engine responded on the first turn of the key, purring to life like a thing that had only been sleeping, not forgotten. The dashboard lit up in cool blues and whites, systems checking green one after another.
Kali slid into the driver's seat, settled his hands on the wheel, and pulled out into the street. The city blurred around him as he accelerated, the engine's low growl rising to a steady roar. John had sent him the coordinates and so he followed.
It didn't take long to reach the city center. Traffic flowed smoother than usual, as if even the streets made way for the kind of people attending tonight's affair. The charity event was being held in a towering structure of glass and chrome, its facade glinting like a jewel under the city lights. Lavish didn't begin to cover it. From the sleek curvature of its architecture to the subtle gold inlays woven into its design, the building screamed money and more than likely belonged to SynSpec. Or at the very least, someone deep in their pocket.
Just across the street, the contrast was jarring.
A crowd had gathered, dozens strong, maybe more, voices raised in protest, hands gripping signs and data-screens lit with slogans. Their chant rose and fell like a heartbeat, angry and persistent. Armed security formed a perimeter, unmoved and unmoving, keeping the protestors cordoned off like a virus too dangerous to let near the body.
And that's when Kali remembered the flyer Annie had handed him. The one she'd offered with a optimistic hope in her voice. He'd barely glanced at it before crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash. Now, he could almost see the same words projected in the flicker of handheld screens across the street: End corporate sovereignty. Protect the displaced. Resist SynSpec.
He parked curbside, noting the river of black suits and glittering dresses still flowing into the building's entrance. Half an hour late, maybe a little more. Didn't matter, judging from the stream of arrivals, fashionably late was practically on time.
He stepped out of the car, tossed the keys to a waiting valet without a word, and took a slow breath. The noise of the protest was muffled behind the thick veil of security and wealth, but it buzzed in the back of his mind like an unresolved thought.
Then he crossed the threshold and entered the building, leaving the roar of the real world behind.
The lobby opened before him like the inside of a gilded cathedral, tall ceilings arched with gold-thread latticework, soft ambient lighting pulsing in warm amber hues. A string quartet played from an upper balcony, their sound system-tuned to fill the air with tasteful elegance but never overpower the hum of expensive conversation.
Guests milled about in clusters, politicians, corporate board members, media personalities, a few military brass polished to perfection. Kali could smell the wealth in the air: perfume laced with synthetic pheromones, rare liquors poured from hand-labeled decanters, cigars encoded with custom DNA for biometric pairing. Everyone here was someone, or wanted to be.
A hostess approached with a practiced smile. "Inspector Kali, welcome. You're on the Deputy Chief's list. They're expecting you near the main atrium."
The atrium was even grander, flanked by living green walls and suspended kinetic sculptures slowly spinning under gentle air currents. A central bar wrapped around a column of shifting digital art, SynSpec propaganda masquerading as culture: shimmering DNA strands, time-lapse terraforming footage, smiling multigenerational families in perfect artificial habitats.
John found him first, of course.
"Well, look who finally decided to join the living," John said, raising his glass in greeting. He wore a midnight blue suit, tailored too loose. "Didn't think you'd show."
Kali gave him a glance, then turned to scan the crowd. "You said the Deputy Chief was here?"
John took a sip of his drink, something amber and expensive, judging by the bottle it had come from, then nodded subtly toward the far end of the atrium. "He's over there," he said, "talking with that SynSpec exec, Alenra Myr. And over in the far corner, see the velvet rope and the subtle security net? That's the proxy governor. Brought his darling daughter too."
Kali followed the direction of John's gaze.
The proxy governor stood surrounded by sycophants and private security, his presence cordoned off by an invisible perimeter no one dared cross without invitation. Kali had seen the man's face a hundred times plastered across data-screens, grinning down from billboards, interrupting streams with hollow speeches about safety, prosperity, and civic pride. In person, he looked exactly as he had expected. Tall enough to command attention, broad in the way wealth allows, with a sagging face full of self-satisfaction.
He moved with the slow precision of someone who'd never had to hurry in his life. His eyes, though, those were sharp. Cold. Calculating. You could mistake him for a buffoon, or even an off-form mutant on a bad gene splice, and you'd be dead in a week for the error. The man had climbed to power through layers of blood and compromise, and not once looked back.
Kali's eyes shifted to the young woman on his arm.
The daughter was by every technical measure, beautiful. Immaculate hair, flawless skin, posture that had likely been drilled into her since birth. But it was the way she carried herself that grated, aloof, bored, entitled. The kind of person who believed the world owed her everything simply for existing in it. Even her smile looked inherited.
"Want a drink before we mingle with the vultures?" John asked, flashing his usual grin.
"Yes," Kali said, his tone dry. "Where are Liv and Thomas?"
John's grin faded slightly. "Liv's already making rounds, charming donors and execs, doing her whole 'responsible face of law enforcement' routine. She's better at this than the rest of us combined."
"And Thomas?"
"Showed up a little earlier. Still a bit stiff from the hospital, but he's here somewhere. I think he ducked out to the garden terrace for some air."
Kali nodded, his gaze drifting once more to the crowd. "Forget the drink. Let's just get this over with."