Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

He'd been damned metres from their car- close enough that had he stuck his arm out the window of the police car he was driving, Corey could have touched it! But the Flux was faster than the shitty H-Class piece-of-shit he had been given to drive that night.
Back in the police station, he dropped his head against his desk, letting out a roar of frustration. His eyes burned with exhaustion. His body was beginning to shake with pangs of hunger. Still, the only thoughts in his head were ones of Claire, and the way she'd screamed his name while banging on the window of the La-Luna she drove that night.
So close, and yet so far away. By the time he'd turned the car around and began to chase in the direction of the Flux, it was gone, not even its headlights visible in the night.
Mid-City was too small to have its own police helicopter. There was no chance of them getting one in from another city, not yet.
Velocity was dead. Nobody had called in to report her missing, or to hand her real name over to the police. In forty-eight hours, if nobody had come forward with a name, she would be buried as a Jane Doe in the cemetery.
Terror like he'd never felt before had taken over him tonight, watching her race, counting down every metre and second, wondering when she would die and he would be forced to watch her be ripped away from him permanently.
Swallowing thickly, Corey left his head on the cool metal of his desk. The other Officers had gone home hours ago, except for Officer Duncan, who was on the night shift tonight. Dunfield had offered to drive Strickland home, but he'd refused. He couldn't even think about going home, safe, while Claire was still in danger.
Besides, he had work to do. The killer was a high schooler with a knowledge of IT and mechanics. The high school didn't offer either of those courses. There was a rudimentary technology class, but nothing teaching the skills needed to hack into a police station.
Tonight, Corey was going to the university to request access to every student who accessed those classes. He didn't have a warrant, but hopefully just his badge would be enough to scare the kid at the desk into coughing up the records. Corey would probably lose his job over this, but he didn't much care, even if he loved working as an Officer of the law. Claire meant more to him already.
The Mid-City University wasn't just for adults. It offered courses and classes to anyone over the age of sixteen. Which meant the killer had to be attending, unless he was learning his skills online. If that was the case, it would bury the last of the leads Corey had on the killer.
One step at a time. He needed to take this one step at a time.
Lifting his head from the desk, he opened the drawer and grabbed out the keys to the H-Class Resolve he'd been lent tonight, as well as his bag with all his notes in it.
Locking his office door, he headed down the long hallway, past all the other offices and the briefing room, and into the entrance room, where Duncan was lounging on a roller chair, monitoring the phone and security cameras. He saluted Strickland as he past, calling out after him, "Night, Strickland!"
He forced himself to wave over his shoulder, replying, "Goodnight, Officer Duncan!"
When he sat in the driver's seat of the H-Class Resolve, Corey debated how wise it was for him to drive. He was exhausted and distracted.
Claire must have been ten times more exhausted and distracted tonight, battling thoughts of her mortality and fear for her friends, only to race and win anyway. He could do this.
He twisted the key in the ignition, and made the long drive over to the university, feeling sick when he spotted the café where Claire normally worked. It was lit up with security lights, much like the rest of the campus. Nobody was on site except for the occasional security guard, which ignored Strickland when he flashed his badge and asked where the administration building was. The security guard pointed him in the correct direction, and headed off to continue his rounds.
When Corey got there, he found the building unlocked and empty, the lights off.
What luck!
Entering the building, the air humid, still, and reeking of old coffee and freshly printed paper, he pushed through the little gate separating the office from the rest of the room. A computer sat on the desk, the password to it scrawled on a stickynote that was taped to the bottom corner of the screen.
Pulling out a chair, Corey shook the mouse to bring the computer to life, typing the password in slowly and carefully, glancing around him to make sure nobody was approaching the building. Thankfully, there were no security cameras in the room.
He had no idea where to find the student files, but after a couple frustrating minutes of searching through documents, he found what he was looking for- a spreadsheet of every student to enroll in the university, going back to when it was founded.
Opening up the list of minor-aged students who attended IT or mechanics classes, he hit print on both of them. A printer whirred to life on the desk next to him, and he gathered them up, placing them in his bag and closing the program, shutting the computer off.
There were no photos with any of the thirty or so names, but it was better than nothing.
Leaving the administration building, Corey hurried back to his car, feeling like a bandit with his list of stolen names in his bag.
This was so, incredibly illegal. He could never tell Dunfield he'd done this.
Claire was going to never let him live it down when he got her back.
Reaching the car, he got back in and went to Claire's house, knowing it was now cleared. And had a laptop he could use.
The crime-scene cleaners had cleared away the glass, blood and wooden splinters, and her front door had a wooden board over it, preventing anyone else from breaking in. Corey unlocked the door, heading inside. All the lights were off.
Switching one on, he entered the guest bedroom, taking a seat at the desk inside and logging into the laptop.
Emptying his bag, he placed his notebook and the other clues from the killer onto the desk, laying them out neatly. Then, he grabbed the list of names.
Searching for a pen, he grabbed two in different colours. He would cross out any females enrolled in the classes, since the killer was a male.
Those that made it onto his list of suspects, he would write in red. The others would be crossed out.
While waiting for the browser to load, he entered Claire's apartment, turning more lights on in the kitchen and dining room, searching for something he could use to make a board on the wall, like adhesive putty.
He found a ball of it in the third drawer in her kitchen, which was being used for a junk drawer. Returning triumphantly to the guest bedroom, he began pinning the clues to the wall. He'd requested the note the killer had given Quickshift from evidence, and been given it, so that went up first, followed by the note to Claire. Then, he pinned up the letter left on his door, print-outs of the texts and transcripts of the call, and all his written notes, torn from his notebook. It was an impressive spread.
Finding a highlighter in the desk drawer of Claire's room, he underlined the information he knew to be true- namely the descriptions of the killer and the notes given to his victims.
Beautiful Claire. Corey ground his teeth.
The killer must have been listening to him and Miles talk in the house, to have written that.
Dragging the list of names over to him, Corey opened up the social media platforms- all the popular ones. He didn't have access to the police database here, but he could find people the traditional way- online.
Everyone was online these days, their names, faces and ages plastered for all to see.
Typing the first name into the search bar, Corey studied their profile picture before crossing the name off the list. It wasn't him.
Name after name after name, none of them even coming remarkably close to the killer, until he had seventeen names left, all of them male, all of them between sixteen to eighteen years of age. Those seventeen had profile pictures that were not their faces. They all attended the Mid-City University classes for IT and Mechanics.
Seventeen potential suspects.
Opening a message tab to Dunfield, he fired the list of remaining names to his Commissioner, not bothering to explain where he'd gotten them from.
Then, he kicked his shoes off, unbuttoned his shirt, and collapsed into the bed...
When he woke the next day, the time on the computer detailed that it was two in the afternoon on a Tuesday.
Sitting up slowly in the bed, his body aching from how frightened he'd been the last couple days, he rubbed at his face, swinging his legs out of bed and reaching for his shoes, pulling them on over old socks. He should have been at work hours ago. It was a miracle Dunfield wasn't here, re-breaking down the front door to drag him out.
When Corey made it to the office, still starving but no longer so tired, Dunfield took one look at his crinkled uniform, and ordered him back home to change into a fresh one. The Commissioner didn't mention Corey's tardiness.
Since he only had the one uniform, Strickland headed to a dry cleaner's, keeping only his boxers on while his uniform was cleaned and ironed. When it was handed back an hour and a half later, he dressed in their bathroom, driving back to work.
He entered the building to find everyone in the briefing room, another video playing. He tensed, rushing for a seat in the back of the room, sighing in relief when he saw Claire was still alive, albeit terrified and filthy. Her clothes were stained with mud. Her hair was matted at the nape of her neck, the bun she'd tied it into now knotting together.
It was another live-stream from the killer, who Corey now knew as Eclipse.
Eclipse was midway through whatever speech he'd planned for the day, Claire crying in the background.
He seemed enraged, waving a gun around and shouting at the screen like he could read something on it, and Officer Chrisholm explained at the sight of his curious face, "He's live-streaming this to everyone, not just the Mid-City police. People are commenting on the video right now."
He pointed to the side of the screen, where there were indeed a list of comments trickling by. Most of them were expressing sympathy for Triple Digits. Some taunted Eclipse for losing the race last night. A minority were demanding her release. One or two sicko's claimed it was fake, and begged for Eclipse to kill her on camera to prove it was real.
"Why are you doing this to me?!" Claire sobbed in the background, since she wasn't gagged today, and the killer repeated manically, staring down into the camera with bright, angry blue eyes, "Why am I doing this?! Well, you shining suns are always too bright to let the rising stars have any shine, so I decided to start blocking their light! I'm Eclipse, motherfuckers! And soon, Triple Digit is going to be Triple DEAD!"
The feed flickered, cutting off, but not before Corey heard a dull 'THUD!', like Claire had been struck.
He forced himself to remain still in his seat.
Dunfield turned to face the room.
"There are reports of another race occuring on Thursday. Why they continue to race under the current circumstances, I do not know. We do not know who will be competing other than Triple Digits, and Eclipse. It is assumed someone else will be competing. Given the current evidence, it is assumed that Triple Digits will be the next victim at the race. Eclipse's social is being monitored for any sign of another vote appearing."
The vote- Corey had forgotten about that.
Velocity had been voted as the winner, which meant he was partly right. The killer had been using the people of Mid-City's votes to decide who would live and die.
Claire J. Miles. 50/50.
She'd shared equal odds with Velocity, and won. There were only two other racers, Bullet and Casanova, left.
"A plea to the public for Casanova and Bullet to come forward has been put out, but nobody has revealed themselves yet, despite the promises of not being charged."
Eclipse could have been threatening them to prevent them from coming forward. If that was the case, he might threaten them into racing on Thursday, just to kill them.
It was Tuesday now. That gave him two days to hunt Claire down before it was too late.
"Velocity's family have come forward with a name for their daughter- Veronica Kamayo. She will be buried tomorrow. I want all hands on deck to continue searching for Bullet, Casanova and Triple Digits, as well as anyone else who has been kidnapped. Go."
Corey remained behind. He felt like Dunfield wanted to speak with him. Once the other Officers had cleared out, Dunfield looked to him. Shaking his head solemnly, he warned, "You're going to work yourself into the ground, son."
"I need to find her," he said hoarsely. Dunfield still didn't know Claire was Triple Digits.
Twisting a chair to face him, Dunfield took a seat, sighing heavily.
"There is no evidence to indicate that Miss Miles is still alive. No videos have emerged of her, no sign of any life from her. Eclipse has not mentioned her even once. I am inclined to name her as missing and presumed deceased, Strickland."
"Please don't. She's alive, Sir, I know it!" It was an effort to stop himself from looking to the screen, but he managed it, Dunfield patting him on the shoulder. She was right there.
"Her family deserves closure, Officer." Her family were nothing but assholes! They wouldn't even care she was dead, except for Averie!
"Please, Dunfield. I am begging you- give me until the end of the week," he pleaded desperately. His Commissioner studied his face. Corey let everything show on it- the pain, the terror, the grief and guilt eating him up from the inside out.
"I can find her, Sir. I know it."
Dunfield sighed again.
"Until Friday. If you have not located her by then, I will be naming her as deceased, and her family will be contacted."
Friday. He could do that.
Corey rose from his chair, and Dunfield said, "Oh, and Strickland?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"Where did you find the list of names you sent me last night? You claimed in your message that they were suspects?"
"Those are the names of everyone who could fit the killer's profile, who attends classes at Mid-City for IT and Mechanics."
"I do not recall handing out a warrant for such a search." His words were both a question and a statement. His eyes narrowed in on Strickland's face.
"No, Sir, you didn't." He locked eyes with Dunfield stubbornly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dunfield murmured, "I will handle it. Go. Keep searching, Strickland. When you find that girl, you better keep her close, for all the effort you are going to in order to rescue her."
He intended to.
"I will, Sir."
He would keep following leads, and eventually...
One of them would lead to Claire.