FSE

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Nothing can compare to the ingenuity and cruelty of the human mind, the words of my instructor rang true all these years later. As a detective, you get used to seeing things that most normal people would steer far clear of. As a detective working mob and related gang activity, well, you see the side of humanity that begs the question if we really are more than animals.

The case was a homicide. Quite frankly the “victim", Fredric Ricci, was only one on a technical level. The bastard got everything he deserved minus a few hours of prolonged agony. It was a hit job, either a rival family or power struggle, and it'd take a while to piece everything together. The only really good thing out of this sort of situation was that it gave me an inroad to investigate, and maybe put a few more of them behind bars in the process.

For what it was, it was clean. A single shot, fired from close range through the back of the head. They hadn't even moved the body, preferring to leave him sitting at his desk with what was left of his head dripping down onto where most of his brain and face went. There were several other officers pouring over the scene; each one busy taking pictures, measurements, or just going over the place to find anything that could have any sort of relevance. There wouldn't be any prints, at least not of the person that pulled the trigger. Gloves and a 3D printed gun, high caliber for this sort of mess, would have been used. One use, then the parts destroyed and the gloves burnt. There may be some other trace left behind, but more than likely we'd have to go over business records, if we could find any that is.

I pulled out my phone, switching on the flashlight and took a look under the desk. The bullet had gone clear through the mahogany, a few drips from the desktop having fallen down after it. It was most likely lodged in the floor below. I could see the hole in the plush carpet, the red fibers only a shade lighter than what pooled on it. Judging by the angle and the entrance wound, Ricci was sitting upright when it happened. This was some sort of statement, the person he was talking to at the time was either the one he pissed off or a close associate, and they'd left him behind as a gentle reminder to not get any ideas.

“Detective, see anything?" The officer was relatively new to the force, only a few years in. Jones had this sort of eager look, the face of someone not quite drilled into ground just yet. He'd learn.

“Just confirming a few things is all." The business had been ransacked, anything that could have stored records had been taken, even Fredric's desk drawers had been rifled through. With any luck, we'd find something left behind, but the families were getting smarter about how they conducted business and cleaned up after themselves.

“Demitri, you may want to come here." Whenever Duprat had that tone, it usually meant a few late nights for me. Jonathan had joined the force at the same time I had, only becoming a detective two years after I made the move. While we weren't quite friends outside of work, we got along well enough. Having known me for so long, he was one of the few that didn't mind my blunt personality and several other flaws.

I followed where his call came from, leaving the rather opulent office spaces behind as I walked into the mundane parts of the building. On the outside, the company was like any other contractor: a large warehouse space with an area for the office staff sectioned off from the rest. We had long suspected the place was used for laundering money through mob connected suppliers. Even though it was a front, for the most part they did fairly competent work. Or at least did; it all depended on who took over after Ricci's rather abrupt departure.

The hit was done sometime in the early morning hours, before any of the human staff would have shown up. The only ones in the building would have been Ricci, whoever he met with, and the synths that were owned by the company. We got a frantic call when one of the office staff arrived at seven thirty to an unlocked door and the mess inside.

At the back of the warehouse I caught up with Duprat and immediately saw why he called me. More than a dozen synths, humanoid robots, were laying there, dismembered and sprawled across the cement floor. Saying they were deactivated was charitable given the condition they were in. More than likely, they were ordered into the area and then systematically destroyed. Being a mix of series one and two units, they'd have stood there and waited patiently as the others were turned off and torn apart until it was time for their turn. These units had a two tier storage system: slower but denser long term storage in their back and a faster cache type storage that would be compressed and streamed out just at the base of their neck. Any audio and video that could be played back would have been stored in both places, so taking these was an added precaution against leaving any sort of evidence behind.

There first series looked more like a robot should: a metallic frame and hard shell protecting the sensitive components underneath. These were still in production, with purpose built routines for very specific tasks depending on where the synth would be deployed. In this case, receiving and stocking inventory in the warehouse or loading it into a truck for use on a site.

The seconds were the first to mimic something that didn't look like a classic robot, and these too, were still being produced as service units. They'd generally be customer facing for businesses; or in the hands of private individuals, used in something like a housekeeping role, maybe as a personal assistant. I know the force had a few of them for basic office duties. One was at our front desk always wearing a cute, friendly smile for anyone that walked in through the doors. Rather than looking human, they'd been modeled after animals; seemingly inspired by an animated cartoon so they'd be less threatening. Ricci had a few of these along with the other robotic workers, and they had been dealt with in the same manner as the series one units.

Some more enterprising individuals made a lucrative business by modifying the series two for a wider set of functions than what was socially acceptable. None of the manufacturers built the seconds out of the factory like that, but aftermarket dealers could be easily found that would ship one pre-modded and billed them as fit for companion roles. Word was that's how Ricci's seconds were obtained, or maybe more accurately why they were bought. It didn't make what I was looking at any more pleasant, the units had been cut apart at the major joints. No blood of course, but unsettling all the same.

“This is more your speed, but I'll get the boys back here before you poke around too much." Jonathan gave me a quick pat on the shoulder as he walked past. I had studied synth development for quite some time before turning to police work, and even maintained a few on the side as a favor to friends. That background knowledge had come in handy more than once in solving a few of the harder cases to crack; although, as I said, the families were getting smarter about things, and dealing with walking surveillance systems had been a lesson quickly learned.

Beyond the first and seconds, there were two other series, creatively known as the thirds and fourths. The thirds were the first self aware AI systems that could be packed into a human sized robot. These were the foundation for the fourth series, so technically, the thirds were more or less development prototypes and their production had ceased shortly after the fourths were available. There were known stability issues, but nothing that would constitute a danger to humans. Mostly the problems stemmed from the AI getting hung in some specific circumstances, something like a mental breakdown, and it was difficult to get their system recovered after that without wiping it clean.

The fourths, though, were strictly regulated in terms of production, and even though they were robots, they were given human faces and bodies. You'd be hard pressed to actually tell the difference between a human and a fully functional fourth, even if they were standing side by side. Their development had created some rather complex legal issues, mostly centered around what rights, if any, a robotic person could have. The courts spent a fair amount of time trying to answer that one, but in the end, Congress stepped in. Legislation was put in place to put caps on fourth production and give them a legal status as citizens; this gave a clear separation between the first and seconds being treated strictly as property, while the fourths were seen as individuals with regards to the law. This also left the thirds in a sort of legal limbo, as they were physically built like the seconds, but had an early version of the mind of a fourth.

At the sound of footsteps, I turned and saw Jones walking past the last row of shelves. “Get your folks here and get this all cataloged and checked. I doubt we'll be able to recover anything directly from the units, but this whole mess is evidence for the time being."

Jones glanced at the remains of the robots, then gave me a quick nod, “Once we finish up with Ricci, we'll head here. I'll get the bots staged at your lab once we're done with the externals." He managed to take it all in with little more than a sigh and jotting down some notes on his pad.

* * *

It was just short of a month before forensics was done with the remains of the synths. As expected, any sort of prints were just from the workers in the warehouse and left on the first series. Hair fragments were found in a few places embedded in the faux fur of the seconds, so at least there was something. Granted where most of the hairs were, it was probably a good bet most of it was from Ricci rather than whoever killed him.

Sitting at my lab, well it was once a normal office though the work I did quickly transformed it into a place of all things synth, I was left with a pile of broken robots and very little physical evidence to go on regarding the case. Sure there were plenty of people we were interested in, mostly because of Ricci's business associations or known personal grudges, but nothing really beyond that. The one route left for me to make any headway directly from the scene was the task of going over the synths. Though not common, there was the possibility of a customization that went beyond basic form and added functions. Some people were paranoid enough to have a third storage device embedded in their units, put somewhere that would be difficult to find precisely for an event such as this. The mod was simple: the streamed data would be sent to both the long term storage and the third device. Anyone working quickly wouldn't notice the cabling changes, especially if the job was done by someone half competent and it looked factory installed. It meant the last few hours or so of a synth's data would be safeguarded unless the eintire synth was taken or the extra device was spotted. Maybe Ricci had the foresight to have something like this installed, though I doubted it. The mod also explained the crude dismemberment of the synths at the scene; the families knew this was a possibility too.

I looked over the units one by one, carefully poking my way through their parts to make sure there wasn't anything unusual; and each time I came up about as empty handed as the forensics folks had. That wasn't so bad, at least not until I got past the first ten synths and onto the second series. They were all female builds and the first I examined was a canine. It'd been patterned after a husky as far as I could tell, having black and white fur with a pair of mismatched eyes to complete the effect. The second was an anthropomorphic fluffy orange tabby cat, sporting whiskers and greenish eyes that were graced by a vacant stare. By the time I finished up with three of the seconds, I felt more like a mortician than a detective. Hauling those down to storage as evidence was more than a little morbid given what had been done to them at the scene and their further dismantled state once I had finished my inspections.

The first three were at least normal animals: a dog, a cat, and a petite mouse or maybe rat. They were all customized bodies, and probably probably cost more than a year's worth of my salary. The last was purely a fantasy type, given that it didn't conform to any sort of preexisting animal. It had shorter yellow fur as a base coat, almost golden in shade, with a sort of cream color for the accents. Long ears jutted out from the top back of its head, with the last quarter of their length ending in the cream color, and a mid sized muzzle with a small black nose that rested below eyes with deep violet irises set against black sclerae. If rabbits were carnivorous, they'd probably have a face similar the synth's. While the other units were expensive mods, this one would have been Ricci's prize. The proportions weren't normal for any of the second types: the forearms were elongated and ended in large three fingers hands, while the feet and legs were animal like with three digits and foot pads. All four appendages ended in the cream colored fur giving the appearance of gloves and socks, while each digit was tipped by a blunt claw. It was a completely custom unit that looked like a monster type character from a trading card game brought into the real world.

I carefully picked the synth's head up, trying to avoid making eye contact with the purple gaze as I checked along the base of its neck. The connector for the cache storage was there, though it was half ripped off. Aside from the artificial muscle, tubing, and broken parts of the skeletal frame, there were a host of severed wires that would have been for power and other control functions, though there were far more data lines than I expected. This wasn't just a custom mod for streaming, and I had mounting doubts it was a mod at all. Something was entirely different between the first three units and this one. With a growing sense of unease, I moved some of the fur out of the way and set the head upside down under my work lamp, muttering curses at what was revealed under the magnifying glass.

I set the synth's head down and picked up the phone. Captain Rodriguez would have to hear about this before I did anything further, and chances are more than a few in the department would be having a long evening.

* * *

I glanced around my lab area. Counting Rodriguez, there were ten people well above my pay grade clustered in the small cluttered room. A couple of captains and lieutenants from other divisions, internal affairs, two lawyers from the main precinct, even the deputy chief.

“You're sure on this?" Though she had introduced herself, I couldn't easily remember the blonde lawyer's name quickly.

“Uh, yeah, Miss...Wisse." I breathed a short sigh of relief at finally getting her name out, “There's a few things here that should have clued me in earlier. Speaking just from materials alone, the body composition is well beyond anything on a commercially available second. But more than that," I picked up synth's head again, shifting it for better viewing under the magnifying lamp, “look just above where these connectors are. See? The base of the neck has been opened before, and just beneath here," I moved the artificial muscle back, “that board shouldn't be there. It's known as a restriction module and outside of law enforcement and a few authorized companies, it's not supposed to be out in the wild. Just having this is a felony since these can only be applied to the fourth types, and by extension their prototypes, the thirds."

Rodriguez shook his head, “Demitri, dumb it down for us."

Alright, I had to boil it down to essentials only and skip the tech, “So this is a third series, and they're fairly rare. It's not strictly covered under the SAA, but its mind, under normal circumstances anyway, functions on the same level as a fourth. That board prevents parts of its cognitive abilities from being active, basically making it a very high functioning second in terms of what it can do. The thirds had the same data storage systems as the seconds, mostly for data logging and debugging..."

At the captain's rather pointed glare, I got the hint, “Which means unlike the seconds, you can take both storage units, and this one will still remember everything. Though it's more like you and I do, not a file we can play back from."

Lieutenant Sparks had a look of disbelief on his face as he waved at the synth's head, “So we what, power it on and get it to talk?"

Before I could even answer, Wisse shot the Lieutenant an icy glare from her blue eyes, “And how, exactly, would you like to wake up dismembered and questioned? I know what those chips are, and I've even seen what they do to a person. Frankly, its frightening." After a moment to regain her composure she turned back to me, “Detective, you're right that a third isn't strictly covered under the Synthesized American Act, so there are potential complications here. But those issues aside, you now have a witness. Even if she can't testify in court, she can give you leads to follow. The thing we can't do, for now at least, is publicize any of this… Which does lead me to one last question for you. How good would you be at repairing a synth, this one specifically?"

Every eye in the room centered on me. I glanced down at the desk, the synth's head sat there on its side, under the bright light of the lamp with one violet eye also looking dead in my direction. I could only shrug, “As good as I need to be, but I'll need some tools and materials that I know we don't have here."

Wisse nodded and held out a business card, “Consider it done, but call me directly with your list. I suppose this goes without saying, but none of this leaves this room. Ten series one and four series two units were checked and cleared by the detective. That's all."

I glanced at Deputy Chief Hall, getting only a brief nod to just stay quiet and do as I was told. Sure, rebuild a high level synth all on my own: easy stuff. My inner sarcasm didn't do much to lift my mood.

* * *

When it comes to fixing things, there's usually the right way, the reasonable way, and then the hack-but-it'll-work-for-a-day way. My fixes normally measured somewhere on the reasonable spectrum, but I wasn't working with a first or second. I was trying to fix a third. Someone with a hopefully functional mind, and someone that would want to be fixed properly. Not to mention that since the thirds were like the fourth series, they could feel pain, and I certainly didn't want a half-assed job causing problems there.

The first big hurdle was figuring out what kind of artificial muscles were used. That took a ton of research, and in the end it seemed closest to what was used in the building of the fourth series. Based on my tests, it was stronger by about one and a half times the published material specs for what the fourths used. A call to Wisse with my findings yielded a package left in my lab two days later with stuff that was nearly identical. The lawyer, it seemed, had plenty of connections. Regardless of how outlandish the items I requested, so long as I gave clear specifications, Wisse had them delivered in the same fashion. How she pulled it off, I didn't ask, and frankly, didn't care.

Forensics needed a month to examine the outside of the units. I needed six times that to get the synth fully restored. First detective, then mortician, then a mix between a surgeon and mechanic… with maybe just a bit of Doctor Frankenstein thrown in. Yeah, the job never got boring at least.

The sum is greater than the parts, at least that's how the old saying goes, and before me sat proof of it. What had literally been a pile of body parts was repaired and reassembled into its proper, graceful form. I spent nearly four days just getting the damned restriction board out without breaking anything, and every repair, every part inspection and replacement, was handled with the same care. While I would've been anal about the quality of the work anyway, a few surprise visits from Wisse and the Deputy Chief drove the point home: Demitri, don't fuck this up.

Sometime in the fixing, she'd gone from just being a synth to being someone I actually wanted to meet. Kind of odd, I know, but you at least hope the person you're saving turns out to be a nice one. Something Wisse said stuck with me, she'd seen what a restriction module does to a person. It was hard not to think of the synth in that way, as a someone rather than a machine, even considering her non-human appearance. Then again, I could have been spending way too much time in the lab, but regardless of why, it's how I felt.

The call with Wisse had been short. She'd be at my office-turned-lab in thirty minutes, in spite of the rather late hour of nine at night. “Call as soon as you finish, regardless of the time" were my instructions, and luckily she held to that. In the meantime, there were several diagnostics that needed to be run without activating the synth's mind. While the tests mostly verified the working order of the synth's body, they were also the final steps in calibrating everything. Artificial tissues have nerve like connections that run through the materials, and these need to be reestablished anywhere there's a mend and remapped so control and sensation signals register properly. In a way, it's like a healing process for a synth; though it takes minutes rather than several weeks or months as it would for a human. Even with that, given the extensive amount of work, the tests were on their final passes when the lawyer arrived. Thankfully everything was working as expected, at least from my point of view. There were a few areas where the connection rate was good rather than optimal, but repaired tissues never function quite as well regardless of how carefully the work's done.

Wisse didn't say much, just a “Detective," by way of greeting and brief nod to me before she took a look at the monitor and scrolled through the diagnostic results. After another slight nod, mostly to herself, she turned her attention to the results of my past six months. I was actually pretty proud of the effort. Unless someone was a skilled synth technician, I doubt they'd see any sign of what damage had been done or the work to fix it. I even managed to keep the lay of the fur correct, a difficult task around some tricky areas in the joints. Wisse seemed more like a physician than a lawyer as she checked the range of motion of the synth's limbs and did a visual inspection.

The lack of anything being said besides a few non verbal hmms as the examination wore on was getting to me. Eventually I broke the silence, “Everything check out?"

Wisse completed her last check, letting the synth's head rest gently back onto the table after checking that the neck moved smoothly, “Surprisingly so. Well done, Detective."

Mission accomplished. I think it was the first time a lawyer ever complimented me on my work outside of showmanship in front of a judge. Pushing that slight amazement aside, we had one more thing to do before we would know for sure that the synth was functional, “So, I know the boot sequence for a second fairly well, but I've never dealt with a third, or fourth for that matter. I guess it'd be like waking up after being put under, but..." I just shrugged. I knew the mechanics and even a fair bit about the coding in place for the seconds, having written a few modules for them myself, but what a later series synth actually felt was something different entirely and well beyond my experience.

“You'll see in due time, Detective." The lawyer went back to my console and set the strength limiter to a fairly low setting and a fifteen minute sleep period before removing the diagnostics cable that connected just inside the synth's left ear. With that strength setting that low, she'd be able to stand and walk about normally, though not much more. “But first, let's get her moved into a space that's a bit more pleasant and a bit less repair shop." Meaning I should carry her, as Wisse was already opening the door for me. “But to answer your curiosity, it's like being suddenly woken up, just without the usual adrenaline rush that comes with being startled awake. We'll undo the limiter once we know she's stable enough."

The synth was sturdy, weighing in at just over two hundred and thirty pounds, but essentially a dead weight that I had to carefully lift from the lab's table. Standing, she would probably top out at around five and a half feet, maybe a bit taller if she stretched up a bit or you counted her ears. Aside from her base golden yellow fur, the cream color started just under her jawline in a sort of fluffy ruff on her chest and back between the shoulder blades. It extended down her front as smoother belly fur, all the way down to the base of her tail, only to reappear about four inches from the tip of the appendage as if dabbed in paint. She had a slim torso with strong haunches, and stiff longer fur across the back of her shoulders that probably functioned like hackles. With as much dignity as possible, I sat her upright and managed to get one arm underneath her legs and the other supporting her back. Cheesy princess style lift, I know, but aside from wheeling her around on a supply cart or a fireman's carry, there wasn't much else I could do.

I think Wisse had a bit of a chuckle at my expense, but when I looked back she had a carefully neutral expression plastered across her face as she held the door wide.

* * *

After a brief discussion on exactly where we were going, we settled on the break room. It had everything you'd expect: a small table with three chairs, TV, water cooler, two couches and mini kitchen area. Most crucially, it had a coffee pot with the requisite industrial strength sludge we brewed. It was about as comfortable a place as any in the building, and admittedly far better than my lab.

Though not strictly necessary, the fourth series could eat and drink, but usually in much smaller amounts than a human. In my reconstruction of the third, I found she was capable of the same, so I could at least offer her a soda or coffee like I would any other person. I sat her down on the couch, and laid her arms over her stomache in what seemed like a comfortable position. All that was left for me to do was to wait for the timer to fully initialize her systems… until I realized that aside from her fur, she was completely nude. I'd been working on her for so long, I just didn't think about it before then.

With a quick “One sec" muttered to Wisse, I headed back to my lab to grab the blanket I kept there for overnight stays. I made a point to let a few of the officers know the break room was in use with a friendly witness and her lawyer. It'd keep it clear so at least there wouldn't be any disturbances. I returned with the comforter and quickly set it over the synth, leaving her head and shoulders uncovered while setting her arms on top so she wouldn't dislodge it with any sudden movements.

“That's thoughtful of you. I'm sure she'll appreciate it. Water?"

I glanced back at Wisse. She had one of the paper cups from the cooler in her hand and waved it in my direction. “No, but thanks though." I finished straightening the blanket over the synth's legs while I spoke, “I figured it couldn't hurt, and it's better than how she'd have been treated until now."

The mention of the synth's previous conditions brought a scowl from the usually impassive lawyer, “I've done a bit more looking into Ricci. Quite the piece of work, that one." Wisse took a seat on the second couch. The woman was always immaculately dressed, this time in a dark blue business suit.

“If you've learned anything new, I'm all ears," I said as I pulled one of the chairs away from the table. I figured I might as well be seated so I wasn't looming over the synth when she woke. “With the scene as clean as it was, I'm running into too many dead ends tracking down money issues when I'm not working on our friend."

“Nothing you already didn't know, I'm afraid. But I do have a couple of guesses that I hope she can help with. If she's willing to talk, anyway." She ended the statement by taking a small sip of her water.

I had assumed a chance to uncover the whole mess that happened would've been a strong enough motivation, but maybe I was wrong. “Is that a big if, or a little one?" I asked the question while standing behind my chair.

I was answered with a shrug and another sip of water.

“Fair enough. You mind if I make a quick run to the head?" I'd worked most of the day straight; it's a bad habit of mine when the goal of a long term project is within reach. Standing up and moving around reminded me of the fact that I wasn't a machine myself, just working on one for too long without a bio-break.

Wisse rolled her eyes at the topic and responded with a shooing motion by her free hand. “You have six minutes, Detective," I heard her call just before the door closed after my exit.

* * *

I returned with just under two minutes to spare since I took a brief moment in front of the bathroom mirror to straighten out my appearance. Not great, but again, maybe the effort would count. Wisse at least noticed, “Trying for a good first impression?"

This time it was my turn to roll my eyes at the lawyer's comment, “I've been at work over twelve hours is all."

“No harm intended." While a true statement, it didn't rule out a little bit of prodding in good humor.

“None received," I answered as I sat down in the chair I had pulled from the table. All the while I kept my eye on the synth in the hopes that the lawyer would let the current topic drop.

I really didn't know what to expect as we waited. The seconds I had worked on would be still for a moment while their systems came online and then they'd ask what they should do if there wasn't a scheduled activity for them. If there was, I'd get a greeting followed by a polite nod and off they'd go to handle whatever it was they were supposed to be doing.

The first thing I saw was her eyes widen a bit followed by her gaze instantly landing on me and staying there. I suppose waking up on a strange couch would be pretty jarring, but as the seconds ticked by I began to worry that I hadn't succeeded in removing the restriction module without causing other problems. I glanced up at Wisse, she hadn't said anything but I saw the synth's ear track in her general direction, following to where I had looked. In the silence that followed, I realized I really was out of my depths, “So, uh, I should probably introduce myself. I'm Detective Demitri Sokolov of the Greston Police Department." I nodded to where Wisse was sitting on the other couch, “She's one of our affiliate lawyers, Miss Wisse, who specializes in synth related affairs…"

“Time, Detective," the lawyer interrupted my introductions with a slight shake of her head. “Let her have a few moments to collect her thoughts." It was a gentle reminder to take things slowly.

The synth hadn't taken her eyes off me, and aside from the subtle adjustment of her left ear she hadn't moved an inch either. Could a synth go into shock? More than a few worries were vying for my attention as I tried to push them aside, “Right, sorry about that." I gave what I hope was an apologetic enough smile, “Look, take as much time as you need. If you're thirsty, we've got water, or coffee. I could also get you something from the vending machine if you'd rather."

I could see Wisse shake her head at my poor attempts at hospitality. I wasn't what anyone would call a people person, and six months of late nights spent behind a magnifying lamp doing precision work had taken their toll on my already feeble abilities. I couldn't help but half glare at the woman, “Right now, I'm worried, alright? Between what happened at Ricci's, me getting that restriction module off, and just the sheer amount of..." I held my hands up after failing to find the right words to describe it all. “There's a lot of different ways things could've gone south; and I don't even begin to know how those would show themselves."

The lawyer seemed more amused than anything, “Detective, this, for whatever outcome it takes, is your show to run. Do as you see fit."

I shot her glace that hopefully conveyed her comment was less than helpful. How she took it was on her.

She gave me a raised eyebrow in return, “Though if it makes any difference, I don't see anything abnormal, considering the circumstances."

I took a deep breath, getting worked up wouldn't solve anything and it may even make the synth more, well, whatever was going on in her head. At least I had something to go on besides a catatonic third continuously staring at me. “Yeah, actually, it does help." I sat back and folded my arms since there was nothing else to do. After another minute of watching the violet gaze, I decided to fill the silence, “Their mechanics aren't much different than the seconds. More advanced, sure, but it's still just building on the previous work. The minds, though, are radically different. It's stuff I've only read about; and even then just basic concepts about the theories of how they work, nothing practical. I do know one thing though," I nodded toward the synth. “There's a person in there, Wisse, just as much of one as you or I, so..."

A bit of an odd look passed over the lawyer's face, just for a moment, but it faded into a small smile, “That, Detective, is another sentiment I'm sure she'll appreciate." Wisse leaned back in the couch, “Think of it this way: everything she has known until now would have been while she was under the effects of the restriction module. With her mind free, she has a rather large amount of information to sift through. If I were to guess, right now I'd say she's diverting just enough attention to what's happening to ensure she's not in danger while pouring over her history." The lawyer reached for her water cup, and decided to refill it rather than down what little remained. “Now then," after she sat back down and took a small sip, she motioned toward the synth. “I'll say this again: give her time. Neither you nor I know how long she was in those conditions, so this very well may take a while."

That made sense, and it at least gave me some assurance that there wasn't anything going catastrophically wrong. If it was going to take a while, though, I might as well get settled in, “Any harm in me grabbing my cup from the lab?" I looked pointedly toward the coffee pot sitting on the mini-fridge.

Wisse caught my meaning, “The one next to your monitor?"

Leave it to a lawyer to be ever observant. I answered with a nod.

She stood up with a stretch before I moved, “I'll get it. I'd rather you be here to answer any questions she may have about her circumstances, or about what happened. Not that I expect her to be ready before I get back, but just in case."

Sure, leave her with a strange man in a strange room without any idea about how the hell she got here. Sounds great. What could go wrong? I kept my thoughts to myself as the door closed behind the lawyer. The main issue I had with her reasoning was that I really didn't have any more answers than she did; in fact, she probably had a better grasp around the all important question of what happened next. Synth law was her field, not mine, and even I knew the legal status of the thirds was questionable at best. I sighed and turned my attention back to the blanket covered synth, “Not sure if it helps, but I did my level best."

In a few minutes, Wisse returned with my cup in tow and a slightly disturbed look, “Really, you should wash that thing."

I smiled at that, everyone in the department knew you never wash the pot or the cup. I'm not sure how it started; it might've been here all along, or maybe a tradition held over from an ex-navy guy that joined the force. Whatever the case, I stood and took my varnished cup with pride. In moments, it held some of the strongest coffee known to mankind in it.

“Honestly," the lawyer shook her head as she went back to her couch.

I took my seat, cup still in hand, and savored the liquid gold. Even if the present company didn't quite understand its appeal, it'd help get me through the next hour or two if things took that long.

Even with the lawyer's movements, the violet eyes remained trained in my direction. I figured I was the largest potential threat, so that meant eyes glued to me and ears listening for anything else. Wisse kept her attention fixed on the synth for the most part, while I split my time between my coffee, the synth, and the lawyer. It was an odd sort of waiting game, and I'd been the one to break the standoff the past few times. One of the other two could speak up for once.

It was the lawyer that finally said something,

“So," Wisse sat up, setting her empty water cup on the table, “what made you join the force, Detective? You're clearly talented as a synth technician. There's money to be made in that."

“What and miss all the fame to be had here?" I got up and poured another cup of super sludge. “But seriously, I think it's due to timing really. I'm alright with the seconds, but I spent years and a fair amount of funds studying synth development; specifically for the seconds. The thirds and fourths weren't even discussed publicly. Think about it: a general purpose AI and a hardware solution to run it on that was something besides a server farm the size of a small city. Well, a few clever people made it happen, and they weren't even aiming at the synth market. So the thirds were the result of material scientists, some synth modders, and the AI gurus getting together and doing fun things. Everything I learned, everything I wanted to do that would push the boundaries." I made a small poof noise and the required motion without spilling a drop, “Obsolete in less than a year. And then the fourths came out shortly after that."

“So the boundaries you wanted to push were picked up and moved to a completely different arena. But why the police?"

I shrugged, “They made an offer to pay off the education loans, and if I couldn't make a difference one way, this gave me another way to do it. The seconds were being used in larger numbers by the mob, and then the specs for the restriction chips leaked. I may not be the smartest guy, but I had enough of a background in an area the police, here at least, were in need of. I mean, I wasn't exactly thinking things would end up quite this way; but if it helps people, synth or human, it's worth it."

Wisse nodded with a bit of a suspicious looking smile, “Well said, Detective. Wouldn't you agree?"

In my history of things Demitri recital I had been talking to Wisse and had the synth just outside my field of view. I plastered a very forced smile across my face, “So, she's fully alert then?"

Wisse nodded again.

“Round about..."

“Shortly before the 'poof', I think," she added helpfully.

“Right." So good job there being ready, Demitri.

After the internal cursing stopped, I turned to the synth. She was sitting upright with the blanket folded and set neatly beside her. I guess it wasn't needed, fur covering and all, but what she did with it was her choice to make and that was the important thing here. For all I knew, the only thing she was exposed to was Ricci's treatment, and I had no idea what kind of impact that'd have. Best to let her know in as many ways as possible she wasn't seen as a possession anymore.

The deep violet stare was still directed at me, but it didn't seem worried or shocked. If anything, there was an intelligence there, matched with a fairly high amount of intensity. I had thought questions, maybe some confusion or concerns… Any number of scenarios had crossed my mind, but none of them had a laser like focus drilling into me. “Um, hi, again."

In a split second the synth was standing fully upright and within inches of my face. I had been under the quite incorrect assumption that she would be several inches shorter than my height of six feet and one inch. I wasn't thinking her standing posture would be quite so upright, but she was effortlessly balanced mainly on her toes and just short of looking me right in the eye. “Are you the one, then?" It was a deep calm voice that came from her. Again, not expected, but one that matched the depths of her gaze.

I dared not look away, but I could just see the look of alarm on Wisse's face. I held just my right hand open in a don't-you-move-a-damned-muscle gesture. Thankfully it seemed to work. There was no way a strength limited synth could move like that, and any levity in the situation vanished. “If you're asking if I'm the one that put you back together..."

“I am."

“Then, yes." I answered without hesitation and without doubt. Maybe the right thing was to match her presence with as much of one as I could muster.

“This is… good then. I had known as much based on your conversation, but felt that I should hear you say it, to be sure." The intensity was still present but I didn't think I was on the path of getting pulled apart in the break room. The synth looked sideways for a moment as if lost in thought, “A police detective, working related..." Her gaze narrowed right back into mine, “You know then, what happened?"

“Look, I know some of what happened, not all of it. I was hoping we could find out more from you."

A look of confusion, at least that's the way I interpreted it, flashed across her eyes, “But how would I know?"

“If I may?" Wisse managed to find an opening to thankfully step in, “Detective, you're thinking of what happened in the warehouse and with Ricci. She, on the other hand, is asking you about prior to that. How she ended up there in the first place."

I felt my eyebrows go up in surprise, “Oh, um, in that case, then no." I saw her ears drop slightly. Disappointment maybe? “But, there's a chance, a slight chance, that we can dig that far. If it has to do with Ricci's death, or is in any way connected, then I can look into it. But for me to even get to that point, I'll need help. Your help, actually. But that's for you to decide, I won't force you."

The synth glanced at Wisse, who gave a subtle nod, before she turned back to me. We stared at each other; the intensity of her gaze never wavering as I tried my best to match it. Slowly the hackles on her shoulders raised to their full height which only added to her aura as she spoke, “This, then, is my decision. I will aid you, Detective Demitri Sokolov. Not because someday you may find out what happened to my previous self, but because you seek prevent harm to others, synth or otherwise. Your words and actions speak to that truth; hold it, Detective, and you will find no greater ally than me."

With that she stepped back and gave herself a little shake, taking the atmosphere of the room back down to earthly levels. “Now then, how may I help? I assume Fredric Ricci was slain, so information leading to the point where I was… shut down we'll say?"

Wisse audibly sighed a breath of relief, “Yes, but let's at least start properly. As Detective Demitri mentioned, I am Glenn Wisse. And you?"

The synth pursed her lips, “I would rather not be known by what that individual called me. Detective, a name?"

The question caught me off guard, but I at least had an answer. “Um, how about Ren? For a first name at least I think it's fitting." In truth the name came from what I assumed was the inspiration for her body design, though it dated several decades back and only a few would catch it. Her personality so far matched it to a tee though.

The synth tilted her head just a bit to the side, “Ren. Hmm, very well. I shall take that name."

Wisse looked at me with a glance that let me know she made the connection and was only mildly annoyed with it. “Fine. I'll be right back."

I watched as the lawyer left the room, then glanced back towards the patiently waiting, newly named Ren. “So, I already asked this, but do you want something to drink, or eat maybe?"

“No, not now at least. But your drink does smell, interesting." The break room always had a strong coffee aroma.

I chuckled at the observation, “Wisse doesn't know what to think of it. It's an acquired taste to be sure."

The lawyer reappeared with a pencil and a few sheets of paper. “If it means never cleaning a mug, then I don't want to acquire it, thank you." With her dislike of my drink made clear, she set the sheets on the table and turned to Ren, “I suppose Ricci never had you write anything?"

Ren's voice remained calm, but her hackles raised just a bit, “No, I wasn't applied to office work."

Wisse nodded and tried her best to ignore the full implications of that statement so we could all stay on task, “Then take as many sheets and as long as you need. I want you to draw the faces of anyone you saw that wasn't normally in the building that early. That goes for any synth or human you saw. If you heard their name, please note it on the paper and the same goes for any names they said in conversation."

“I understand." Ren pulled a chair out for herself and sat down with her tail curled around to the left. She looked over the pencil for a moment and began with making several lines with various thickness, then circles, then shaded blocks. It was fascinating to watch and even more so that she was doing this with just three fingers counting her thumb. She flipped the sheet over and continued in her task, drawing a variety of arcs and simple shapes. By the third sheet of paper, she began drawing in earnest and I couldn't help but be amazed by the result.

Wisse placed her hand on my shoulder and nodded at the door, “Ren, I need to verify something with the Detective back in his lab. Once you're done I'm sure he'll have questions about each person. Is there anything you need?"

Ren turned her pencil over, “More of these, they become dull with use."

“I'll get several from the cabinet, then. Detective, I'll see you in your lab."

* * *

I unlocked my terminal, certain that Wisse had set the limiter option on Ren's strength. Sure enough, the setting was all the way down to just ten percent and the log showed it was applied… But that couldn't be right. She had far more than a meager ten percent available to move at that speed.

“Detective," I didn't even hear her enter, but Wisse was already shutting the door behind her by the time I looked up, “I have a question for you. Are you still interested in being at the forefront, and no, not in synth development, but rather in your current profession of law enforcement?"

What was she getting on about? “Well, sure. But, Wisse, I know you set..."

The lawyer let gave me a huff of exasperation, “Always the focused one, Detective. Listen to me. Yes, I set that; and yes, she reset it. But think for a moment, before you answer me." She paused to make sure my undivided attention was placed on her. “Are you interested in being on the leading edge of synth law enforcement? If yes, then I can continue. If no, then you forget you ever worked on Ren, that there ever was a Ren, and you continue with whatever she's drawn there as your only lead into this case."

There are moments in your life that you know you're sitting at the proverbial fork in the road. Wisse standing there, staring at me with an an ice blue intensity that nearly matched what Ren had displayed, gave me the feeling this was one of those times. You can continue on with life in your usual way, or you take the road less traveled, wherever and however it goes. Honestly I was a bit miffed she even bothered to ask, “So I pretend like the last six months never happened? Like all that work was never done? Yeah, that's not happening. I don't just abandon a person, or a case for that matter, Wisse. At least give me some credit."

The lawyer's eyes narrowed, as if measuring me up in a final test. “Very well, Detective, credit given. Go back into your break room and see if anything she drew pulls a few strings loose. I have calls to make, privately of course, but they should take only a few minutes."

I summed up the mild bit of annoyance I felt with a single word answer, “Fine." After which, I turned to my desk, locked my terminal, and left Wisse standing alone in the lab. Only after a few steps down the hall did I really begin to wonder what I'd gotten myself into.

---

Writer's notes:

And so ends the first part of this tale, I hope you enjoyed it. This started out as an idea for a short story but grew into something a bit larger and may get more written as ideas solidify. Let me know what you think of things so far. As always, thanks for reading.