This thread is permanently archived
(setting) Wainwright Detective Agency.
| >Ismael sits with his feet up on the desk, one foot crossed over the other. The chair creaking alarmingly. Delta looks round to the front of the office. The small bay window surrounded by under-stuffed sofas and discarded magazines.
| >There is a melodic knock on their door, with a voice behind the door.
"Hello? It's Evie!"
| "Come in, come in/"
>Ishmael takes his feet off of the the desk and stands up, brushing rouge oats from his jumper. Delta, attemps to straighten their waistcoat and gives ups. striding over to the door opening it slowly, without haste.
| "Hope you are doing well. Because I've been having a shit week."
>Evie walks in, closing the door behind her.
| >Samuel gestures to a chair before the desk and sits down again.
"Well how about you start from the beginning?"
>He nods at delta who strides over to a shelf, grabbing a notepad and pencil, perching on the end of the desk.
|
| "Well It started as a backup call for the GCPD..."
>Evie sighs, taking a seat at the desk.
| >Ishmael chuckles and pushes a mug of coffei towards her.
"Well, around here, most of them seem to"
>Delta begins transcribing, pencil tip a blur.
| "We responded as reinforcements for a domestic abuse case, and it all sounded off, the radio chatter was weird, and when we get to the door there is mumbling, sorta like the virus going round town."
>Evie slouches in her chair, hesitant to go on.
| >Ishmael rests his head in his hand and raises an eyebrow at her. Delta's gaze remains fixed on the notepad.
"I must say, it does seem a little odd to draw those things together. It must have been some kinda abuse if you needed backup?"
>Delta looks up for the notepad, rolling their hands, the humming grind of brass and steel rubbing against each-other is barely audible.
"Back to the topic at hand, were either of the couple in mortal danger and what are the symptoms of this virus?"
| "Well, when we breached the door, what we found was grizzly... One of the responding officers was being eaten out off, and his augs being torn off, while the other was the one eating him. The family in question was in a similar state, cannibalising each other.
>Evie Leans forward, head down, elbows perched on her knees.
"This virus... It's horrible. It attacks anyone who has any sort of augments, and causes them to become zombies..."
>She simply trails off, hesitant to continue-
| >-Remembering the event.
| >Ishmael looks up and puffs out his cheeks with a sigh.
"I've only ever heard stories of things like this happening... A cyber zombie outbreak. And you think the GCPD are involved somehow?"
>He looks back at her with sympathy. Delta finishes scribbling, checks the writing and transfers it to the cabinet.
| "I... I don't know. We had what I assume a division of GCPD contact us over radio, saying 'seal the place' and we did, made sure that the un-contaminated people where fine, and containing the others, and these fucks... they just... burn it all."
>At this point, she no longer contains herself, letting the tears flow freely.
"Those people... Why them..."
| >Ishmael reaches out and pats them on the hand. Delta stands up and turns to the window.
"I suppose it makes sense, if this virus were to infect more and more enhanced individuals it could be a city wide epidemic. With more and more people upgrading themselves it only makes sense. We have know way of knowing when the infection takes place or indeed if the violence is simply a symptom."
>Delta looks down at their new arms once again, opening and closing their fingers.
| >there is a knock on the door.
| >Delta swivels round to Ishmael, head cocked. Ishmael nods at the door subtly. They walk over to open it.
| >there is a drone at the door.
>it has a letter.
| >Delta eyes it up suspiciously, taking the letter at arms length and opening it.
| >it says
Hello.
>the drone flies away.
| >Perplexed by the whole affair, Delta turns back and begins to examine the letter closer.
| >there is some righting on the other side
>a large bang can be heard outside
| >Delta looks at the writing and begins to read it. Hearing the bang Ishmael staggers to his feet, grabbing his revolver from the bottom draw and hobbling over to the window.
| >from the window its pretty clear that the drone blew up
>the back of reads.
Hello strike team alfa,i may be late to deliver this information to you,but i thought you should know that a man named hannigan is recruiting people for something called, shadow team sigma 66.
-just a nobody
| >After reading the note, Ishmael looks at Delta baffled. Both of them shrug. Folded carefully, they return to the desk and place it in front of Evie.
"You may want to read this when you feel like it."
>Delta walks over to the sideboard and begins making tea.
|
| >Evie takes the letter, and reads it, slowly her face shows more frustration.
"It's junk mail. We are already have someone to work for."
>She scrunches the paper up, and stuffs it in to her pocket.
"Where were we?"
| "you were telling us about their approach to the infected housing areas"
>Delta sits down on a sofa, looking out of the window.
|
| "Yeah. Turns out the whole place was infected. Only got a few people who where un-auged, and still alive. We then had to report to the people in question, and... and the burned the whole block. All of it."
>Evie shudders at the memory.
| >Ishmael takes a sip from his mug and frowns, puzzled at the story.
"Who could have done this? or indeed, who would do this... to what end?"
>Delta finishes scribbling and files the notes.
"Indeed, this seems difficult to manufacture also. An infection of computer parts that spreads like a biological agent"
>Delta crosses it's arms and sits down again, gazing thoughtfully at the wall.
| "I don't know. I've already hired a group to find out, so I can get my revenge, but it will take some time. So yeah. That's my week. How was your's?"
>Evie tries to relax in the chair, still uncomfortable about the event.
| >Ishmael sits back and opens his arms wide.
"What you are looking at is the brand new Wainwright Detective agency, fully opened and ready for business."
>Delta smirks from behind him.
"In other news. I have managed to replace my outer armour."
>Delta holds out their arms, showing the slim formed patchwork of dark copper and iron, inelegantly formed but functional.
"Do you like them?"
| "It's... Decent. Not Amazing, but not horrible."
>Evie comments on the armour.
"But it does look like you two are on the up and up."
| >Ishmael laughs and holds up a finger
"ah yes, the only place to go from the bottom is upwards"
>Delta rolls their eyes again and returns to polishing their arms.
| >Evie giggles.
"Heh, yeah. I probably need to get going, who ever sent that letter can't be far behind."
| "Or further away than anticipated"
>Delta nods at the door,
"That was delivered by drone, I would assume they don't want to be followed by it's self destruct."
| >Ishmael shrugs and picks up his mug, caught off guard by the heat.
"but before you do leave miss Evie, I must ask a question of you."
>He pushes a photo towards her across the desk. The image quality is low but it looks like a capture from a security camera of a figure almost indistinguishable from delta. hunched low hand buried in the sternum of prone body.
| "no idea who it is. You mind if I use your window?"
>Evie points to a window behind Ishmael.
| >Ishmael huffs a sigh and nods
"It's alright, this is the only lead we have to go on, and the longer we wait, the more people we put in danger."
| "I'm sorry I can't help. But I'll see you later."
>Evie goes to the window, opens it in one smooth movement, and climbs out, leaving the agency.
| >Ishmael blinks a couple of times, startled by Evie's sudden egress. Delta remains unimpressed, picking the photo up again and studying it carefully/
This thread is permanently archived
| >It's less common than you would think, finding old cops still yearning for the days on the beat. Those who's lives have spiralled out of control, trying to stitch back together anything they could. Former Detective Inspector Wainwright and Delta were no exception. Ishmael sits behind a scrubbed wooden desk, cheap and creaking with every movement with a chair to match. Delta busies them-self, pouring files into a rattling filing cabinet.