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I fiddle with the retirement form, frowning. This is it. This is everything I've worked for. The Fields, the promised escape from the grime and violence and corruption of Neo Angelo.
That's what they say, anyway. I've learned enough in my time as a contracted detective to know that there's conspiracies around every corner, that nothing is as it seems. The corps are lying to us, letting our base natures take over and turn us into violent animals. I want to believe that retiring to The Fields will help me escape before I turn into just another perp with blood on my hands, driven mad by synths and Kola and the anti-depressants that were supposed to help. But what other choice do I have? Do I dither away in my apartment in The Fathoms, living only for another simple crime to solve? Perhaps I use the social credit and crows I've earned to get a fancy apartment at the top of Perry Plaza, living a life of solitude from my ivory tower as the city below falls into chaos, until every citizen is either a victim or a murderer? No. "Better the Devil you know" is a lie. I'll take my chances, flip the coin and hope it comes up heads.
I stare at the first of two questions on the form. “What citizen do I nominate to get the belongings I leave behind?”
I draw a blank. Sam is long gone to who-knows-where. I could give it to the person that gave me my apartment for free, but I can't remember her name. She's lost in the sea of names and faces I've formed in my mind over the endless cases of corporate conspiracies and stolen sports cards and requests to get back at enemies by throwing food in their faces.
There's one face that stands out in my mind. Rose, the partner of the victim of my last murder case. I got to the scene before the Enforcers, and with a bit of a bribe she agreed to let me in. The guest pass she gave me allowed me to investigate the scene without being harassed by the pigs for once. I was able to catch the perp before they killed anyone else...and the social credits I got from the case allowed me passage to the Fathoms. Yeah, she was the reason I'm filling out this form, after all. I doubt she can do much with my spartan furnishings, but I have to choose someone. Might as well be her.
The second question takes me less time to fill out. "Do you have any final comments?" Just one. I write "Yuri Miyamoto." Rose's partner. The victim. Maybe I'll remember this one. Maybe she won't get lost in the sea of cases. Maybe.
I hesitate before I walk to City Hall to turn in the form. Neo Angelo might be a hellhole, but it's been my home for as long as I can remember. I'll miss Skinny, the Asian restaurant next door to my apartment building, where I'd always stop by for some grub before checking out the job listings for work to do in between murders. Maybe I'll get one last meal there, wave goodbye to the bartender, watch the snow fall outside the window as I slurp noodles and a can of Kola.
When I get there, it's closed. Well, it's early in the day. I'll read the paper, drink some coffee at the local diner and watch the world go by. I return in the afternoon. Still closed. Maybe they're open for dinner? I never could remember their hours and nobody posts them on their door. I sit in the diner again, come back, and see the employees enter Skinny that evening. They lock the door behind them. I can see them through the windows, going through the motions of doing their jobs while I'm outside looking in. I can taste the mango rice on my tongue, but I know that if I walk in they'll sound the alarm on me for trespassing. I wait a few hours, and then watch them file out of the restaurant, closing up shop without ever opening. Why? Did something happen in their lives when I wasn't watching that disrupted their schedule? Was there a glitch in the Matrix? (I'm not crazy. Something is wrong in this city. SOMETHING.)
I sigh, go next door, down the stairs into the basement slums, trudge into my apartment and flop on the bed. I'll sleep, wake up in the morning, and try again.
In the morning, I'm jolted awake by the sound of my police scanner. Another murder. I curse under my breath. Yuri was supposed to be the last one. I was supposed to get some dim sum and fly off into the gray sky to my happily-ever-after.
But I can't leave a body to go cold on the ground while the Enforcers make a mess of the scene and let the killer get away. I sigh, grab a cup of coffee and a donut from the newstand on the way to the scene, and get ready for one last job.