ＳＩＮＧＵＬＡＲＩＴＹ ２１０１: Ⱥ NɆØ-ĦᵾNŦɆɌ ȻĦɌØNƗȻŁɆ

Chapter 1: The Case

Perched on the back patio, my feet nonchalantly propped up, I cradled a tumbler of Kentucky bourbon in my hand, a liquid sunrise to kick-start the day. A cigarette, was slowly burning its life away in the astray. I lifted it to my lips, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs and the cool coastal wind caress my face. I was sitting in a wicker chair, a relic that my roommate had salvaged a few months ago to add a touch of rustic charm to our patio.

The ocean, a vast canvas of shimmering blue, lay just beyond our back door. It was a sight to behold. Old Wheyt, once a beat cop navigating the trailer trash city of Oceanside, now living on the coast with a fine Kentucky bourbon warming his lips. If only the boys back home could see me now. My bourbon, of course, had to be on the rocks. I know, sue me. True bourbon drinkers would argue that it should be enjoyed at room temperature, but I've never been one to play by the rules.

My fingers danced around the glass, tracing its rim, the cold condensation a stark contrast to the warmth spreading from the bourbon. I glanced down at my watch, a classic piece that harkened back to simpler times. Its brown band, black face, and silver hands are a testament to my vintage tastes. It was a gift from my old partner, along with a custom silver cigar lighter, which I still used to this day, I find myself fidgeting with it absentmindedly.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, glancing at the time. "duty calls." Today, I was sporting my black slacks and black button-up shirt, impeccably pressed and ironed courtesy of my affluent roommate's maid service. I wasn't one to fuss over my clothes, not when there were bigger fish to fry but if its free and on the house, hell, I'll take it.

Despite my business casual attire, my all-time favorite shoes were the PF Flyers, vintage 1963. They were a masterpiece of design, sleek, timeless, and perfection. I had a closet full of them. Sure, I had a few pairs of Chucks too, but for me, PF Flyers were the real deal unpopular opinion I know. I stubbed out my cigarette in the green crystal ashtray, drained the last of my bourbon, and headed back inside. The sound of high heels echoed from upstairs, a familiar sound in indeed, considering she wore them to work every day. I had even grown accustomed to predicting the color she would wear each day. She was nothing if not predictable.

As she descended the staircase, her hand gracefully sliding along the smooth silver banister, she was a vision in blue floral business attire, paired with black high heels. I marveled at how she managed to navigate in those heels day in and day out. She was a professional, the big time boss of the diagnostics sector at Dyna Corps, the wealthiest company on the western hemisphere, if not the world. There was almost a Neogen X for every ten people in the world, and that didn't even count the off-world colonies.

As she stepped onto the grey swirled patterned marble floor, I greeted her, "Good morning, Monica. Did you sleep well?" She nodded at me and simply replied, "I rested well, yes Wheyt, and yourself?" I replied, "As good as any other night I suppose." She walked around me and took a seat on the chaise lounge sofa by the fireplace. There was a blue book in her hand, it looked rather old. I walked closer to her and she lifted the book to her face and began reading. I asked her because I was genuinely interested in what she was reading. "What cha reading, bookworm?"

She peeked over the book just enough for me to see her eyes and she said, "Do you remember when you first moved here, Wheyt? You were transferred out of the San Diego police department's Neogen division?" I felt as if she was dodging my question, but I let her continue and nodded in response to her. She said, "Well, I met you at that event we put on for the public in regards to the safety of our product after unfortunate events unfolded." I nodded and said, "Yeah, I most definitely remember that. You ended up picking my brain about my job as a neo hunter for hours. To be honest, it was the first time I've ever felt comfortable about talking about what I do for a living for some reason."