Underground Corpse

Drayver looked down at the body and wandered who she was. Dark blond hair, the natural kind not out of a bottle, not overly pretty, but pale. She was obviously an underground resident, though she hadn’t developed that wide-eyed look some of the downers had. Well dressed but not expensive. Maybe late twenties early thirties. She’d only been dead a couple of hours some drifter had come across the body and phoned it in. Translated, a person unknown had made an anonymous call, unusual, maybe innocent. On the other hand he hadn’t stayed around for the cops to show. Now that wasn’t a surprise.

He looked away and glanced at the phyc sitting near the body. Wires reached from the head of the corpse to the young policewoman’s own temple where a small input jack was attached. He tried not to stare at the attachment. Dead body’s nolonger made him feel sick, that small piece of electronic still did, and a part of him hoped it always would. But, his voice was polite and businesslike, if a little cool when he eventually spoke.

“Did you manage to get a reading.”

“Yes sir.” Her voice was young and eager. Then her face fell. “We only got patches of her most recent short term memory whoever killed her knew what he was doing.”

Drayver’s face remained unmoved, no convenient eyewitness recording of the killer then. Technology didn’t hold all the answers.

“Get me a tape of what you can. I want it on my desk by this afternoon.”

He walked away without a backward glance his mind mulling over the facts. Someone had called in the body. He wondered if it was the killer. Who else would have bothered? The three monkey’s code was a way of life down here. Evil was invisible until it stuck a knife in your back, or in this case, a hole in your forehead.

Evil now there was a word. He wasn’t sure he believed in Evil, to do that he would have to believe in good. God he was sounding more likes a fortune cookie everyday.

Filing the usual paper work didn't take that long. Recording the end of a life came down to facts and figures. In contrast the phyc tape could make her all to real. His job was full of contrasts. He dealt with the reality of life and the cold statistics, the body he had seem in the depo had been real. He dealt with cold data that lay on his desk, Vic NO.674jd. Not a name just a vic.

He held the VR helmet in his hands, taking deep calming breaths. The vic was just one more statistic. He had to remain detached, not allow himself to sink into the memories of the vic. His job was to observe. It helped that the VR helmet did not create a total disconnection from the real world. It was specially designed to give only partial feedback. Even so, Drayver had to steel himself.

The tunnels were cold and ill lit. The air dank with the unnatural calm always found underground. Drayver felt the women’s shudder as if it was his own. Feelings of claustrophobia washed over him, the victim disliked the enclosed tunnel. Unusual for a downer, maybe she hadn’t been born down there. He saw a flash of a coffin and then a grave, that was it, it made her feel as if she was being buried alive. Now his job did that all the time.

Experiencing a victims tape was like picture and word association. You just had to fill in the gaps and you began to get a picture of there feelings. If you were lucky they were looking right at their assailant as he plunged the knife in. You weren’t often that lucky. In this case there were way too many gaps.

Maybe she was used to the more fancy areas in undertown that liked to wrap their residents in the illusion of being above ground. His eyes, no he had to remain detached, her eyes moved to the walls. These tunnels were different. They were much older than the warren where she lived. Dating back to the early twentieth century, they did not even attempt to disguise the unnatural environment that they represented, these tunnels were just a quick way of getting to another part of the city, when humanity took for granted its right to walk under the sun.

He wondered at her naivety, her idealism. Had anyone ever taken for granted there right to walk in the sun? Everything was an illusion. Even reality was carefully edited.

Cold artificial light with its phosphorous glow illuminated the tunnels from panels in the ceiling. He glanced at one of the walls and was almost shocked to see the victim’s face staring back at him. A strained pale face, sharply defined features, green eyes, framed by short almost blue black hair. Now what the hell was that? The vic's hair had been blond. What was going on here? He almost pulled off the head set; some idiot in tech must have missed up the tapes. Those sorts of mistakes could loose a case before they had someone in the frame. Yet, something kept him watching.

From somewhere above she could hear the chimes of an old church. She must be getting nearer to the surface now. It was like an echo from another world Church bells were an oddity these days. Most of the churches were kept locked. Many were now shopping centres or privately owned facilities. The ringing resounded above the usual city noise. The chimes seemed to move, getting louder then retreating again. It was unnerving, a kind of ghostly echo. Like listening to the wrong sound track dubbed over the action on an old movie. Now where had that come from? He was still immersed in the vic’s experiences as she walked on, whether this was the right tape or not he already knew how the movie was going to end. Was that what this was, a movie? Suddenly all of it seemed artificial, unreal. He pulled his attention back to the tape.

She moved on down the subway. Every nerve in her body tensed for trouble. Drayver felt his own muscles tense. Just what he needed second hand tension to add to his own. He already felt tired. The place was totally deserted. There was usually a reason why people avoided areas. She didn’t want to know the reason. She wanted to turn back, find some cleaner, less painful way to get herself killed. Like jumping of a very high building maybe. At least she’d be above ground, feeling alive for a moment. She kept on walking anyway. It didn’t matter that this felt like a suicide mission, it was the first real lead to finding Jessie. Who the hell was Jessie, there was no image to go with the thought, Drayver cursed under his breath why couldn’t people leave proper pictorial thoughts. This was where Sam said she would meet her contact Nick. Sam, Nick, Jessie, lots of names but no faces…

The bells continued to ring as she came to a holt in the derelict bus station. The building was left over from when the public transport system was upgraded. Although downgraded might be a more appropriate description. Subways and tunnels covered the length and breadth of the undercity. It was good for the environment and it kept the dirty masses from the streets above.

From the corner of her eye she thought she saw a figure move in the shadows. Her hand was immediately on the concealed gun hidden inside her coat. Its cold sculpted body feeling too light in her hands. She always thought guns should somehow be heavy, their weight equal to the damage they could do. It didn’t seem right that such a lightweight object could wipe out its victim’s life so effectively. She didn’t like violence, but didn’t like the idea of dying either.

A sleek black cat walked arrogantly out of the shadows. So much for her dangerous attacker. She slipped the gun gingerly back in place. Sweat slowly trickled down her back making the shirt stick uncomfortably to her skin. What was it the hero always said in the movies, ‘Keep your back to the wall and your eye on the entrance’. Yet this wasn’t a movie she was no hero. Drayver wanted to scream in frustration as he felt the vic relax. Why didn’t people trust their instincts? Just because you’re paranoid it doesn’t mean someone isn’t trying to get you. Hero’s in reality usually got themselves killed. Absorbed in her thoughts and lulled into a false sense of security by the cat’s appearance, She was oblivious to the figure that must have been lurking near by. Then the headset went blank.

The actual death experience would be available on an ordinary visual tape. There might be extra clues there but a multi sensory recording could draw the viewer into the feeling of death until he almost willed the life out of his body. At least that’s how it was the theory, and Drayver had never fancied putting it into practise.

Laying the head set on the table, Drayver rubbed his finger through his hair. His palms were damp and his jaw ached with tension. What he had seen had felt real in places but others there had been an aura of artificiality about it, and what about the vic’s reflection, it certainly didn’t match the body lying cold in the morgue. The answer could just be mixed up tapes, but could it he thought back to the scenes he had just watched; the backdrop was the same as the murder scene. Why did he get the feeling someone was trying to play with his head in more ways than one?

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