Get ready for a cinematic experience! In a Cyberpunk-style alternate version of Baldur's Gate, Astarion Ancunin, a top celebrity and aspiring politician, meets a popular influencer called Shadowheart in a fundraising party. But an unexpected crime s...
The paramedic pulled back, adjusting a bright-blue visor over her nose. Its colour matched her dyed hair. "You'll be fine, Enforcer, but you need an IV."
Lae'zel shook her head. "Not yet." She clambered to her feet, ignoring the young woman's protests, and wobbled to the underground lair's central room. Orin's body lay supine nearby. Wyll's cybernetic eye cast a dim light as he studied it, his face hardened with focus.
"Anything new, Detective?" The words came out slurry, courtesy of the morphine in her blood, and she put a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.
"Two scavengers, you said... No idea who they were?"
"Not a clue." That was a blatant lie. When the woman had brought her the water bottle, she recognised those green eyes from somewhere; sooner or later, the memory would come back.
"So they just wandered in here and killed this marauding devil." Wyll cracked a doubting smile, gazing at the gun wounds in the corpse's chest. "Highly trained or highly lucky?"
"Orin claimed the first killer weakened her beforehand."
The detective's eye opened in shock. "That must've been a ferocious fight. Did she say where it happened?"
Lae'zel pursed her lips. "Supposedly, the dead menace had stabbed her and let her drift through the sewers. We should send a search team."
"The sewers are huge, though. The chance of discovering a body is... slim."
"Still, many people would sleep better if we found it, not to mention how happy that would make Jaheira!" She sighed—back to the world of PR and politics. "A double success, right in time for Councilman Gortash's fundraiser."
"Screw that guy! Although it could make my father see me in a new light." The detective trailed a finger over Orin's lifeless hip. "There's something in her pocket."
Lae'zel crouched, pushing aside the pain from the many wounds the dead Bhaalite had inflicted on her, while Wyll drew out the object with a pair of tweezers. It was a flat, black plastic bag, roughly the size of a sticky note. A golden icon on its surface, shaped like a cephalopod, drew her attention, and she mentioned it to the detective.
"An octopus, maybe," he said, rubbing his chin. "Any idea what it means?"
The lighting was poor, and the recent ordeal still clouded her thoughts. "We should investigate it later, preferably after I have a snack."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
On the way back to the station, gazing at the setting sun through the Bentley's window, Lae'zel sank into thoughts. Two unknowns, popping out of nowhere, killing the Bhaalite and saving her life—Jaheira wouldn't like that story. She could embellish it or even invent one, making herself the hero. Assuming the first killer was dead, there were no witnesses, and Wyll would back her up. The commissioner could then claim the credit in that accursed fundraiser party... but it would all be one giant, stinking lie. Voss would frown from the afterlife. No, she'd acknowledge the truth—that she sat bound earlier while others did her job—and endure the stinging shame it brought.
