Non Compos Mentis - A Science Fantasy Short Story

Video Diary of a Street Criminal

[Entry 1.]

"So, um, my therapist told me that I should start doing this video diary thing to put things that happen and, uh, whatever somewhere. Talk about feelings. Maybe it'll help with the anger and anxiety. Right, uh. My name's Beletseri. I'm twenty-three years old. I live in Tirion Prime, like my parents and their parents before them. God, this is stupid, this was a mistake."

The young-looking half-orc reached towards the camera and suddenly the image on the screen flickered. The video was filmed using a basic data-pad. Gomez noted that the room in the video was cramped: dull, grey walls, a modest bed behind the half-orc, and a small window through which the skyline of Tirion Prime could be seen. Her apartment must have been quite high.

"The Stacks." Gomez thought, and exhaled slowly.

Roughly two decades ago the High Council had decided to address the overpopulation of the city. They had examined the city structure, its inhabitants and crime rates, and agreed to get rid of some of the more unpleasant areas of the city. After these zones were demolished, vast mega-structures were built in their stead: skyscrapers that caressed the clouds above. But in removing the slums, they had created other issues. These small apartments were rented at a low price, and now this place was called the Stacks, a maze of gargantuan buildings filled to the brim with people from the lower classes. And where people gathered, crime was ever present. In the past decade the Stacks had begun to fall into disrepair and because of the area's labyrinthian nature policing had become exceedingly difficult.

Gomez examined the folder open on his terminal. Twenty video files, and some of them appeared to be corrupted.

[Entry 2.]

"I'll give this thing another go. I mean, it's not like anyone's gonna see these except me. Right, so. Beletseri. Twenty-three years. I've been living on the streets for a while, and uh. I didn't really have anyone. Until I was taken in by the Blackbloods. They run this building and a few streets. They're nice. Usually. Gave me a place to belong to, really."

"Blackbloods. A gang that dealt in weapons and drugs roughly a decade ago. Her only family." Gomez sighed.

[Entry 8.]

"Hey. Today wasn't great. I relapsed again. The boss gave out something new to us yesterday. He called it laudanum or-or something. Some long word. It didn't work well with my meds. The antipsychotics. Turns out, whatever I was given makes the genetic aggression thing worse. It's the orc blood I reckon. I don't wanna go into it, but I owe the boss more money. Two-hundred credits. I feel like I'll never get the money for that"

Gomez immediately noticed that in this entry the girl looked much worse. Her green skin was abnormally pale, and her eyes were bloodshot. Trembling slightly, Beletseri closed the recording, and Gomez rubbed his temples. Remembering his days at the Academy, Gomez recalled that all orcs suffered, to some extent, from genetic aggression. It is known that originally the orcs were extremely warlike, and waged many wars against the humans, dwarves, and elves. However, as the society modernized, various medicines and treatments were created to temper their aggression.

It was still not uncommon for an orc to lose their temper, with potentially disastrous results, since they were larger and much stronger than humans.

[Entry 15.]

"The boss told me that there should be another shipment coming up this week, and he told me that if I sell enough, he'll let me have some of the laudanum as well. I need more.

[Entry 18.]

"Dear diary. I'm not feeling all that great today."

The video ended to a long fit of coughing. She could barely stand: She was drenched in sweat, and it looked like a great fever had overtaken her. As the screen went black, Gomez noticed that the next entry was added roughly three weeks after the previous one.

[Entry 19.]

"I saw someone snooping around today. Don't think he was a federale, but I reckon he's got to be working with one of the larger corporations. It was weird. Don't really see many knife-ears around these parts. I'm feeling better now. Whatever I had, it's gone now. I think. I don't have enough creds to go see a doctor, at least yet. The stuff Kerr gave me a few weeks ago must've been fake or something. Anyways, I'm kinda getting used to this video business. My therapist tells me I'm making progress. It makes me happier. I think I'll try getting clean as well, getting out of the business. I'll think about it."

Strangely enough, the half-orc looked much healthier in this entry compared to the previous ones.

"Did she get clean? Or is this something else?" Gomez pondered.

Gomez had a hunch: he had had it ever since he interrogated Akshy. After the interrogation, he had searched the databases for Akshy's work records from the estimated time of his infection. These video files were one of the many pieces of evidence Gomez had examined during the day, and this entry finally affirmed some of his suspicions. He noticed that the next video was the last in this batch of evidence.

[Entry 20.]

"I killed them... I killed them all. I-I don't know what happened. I think they're after me. If anyone sees this, tell them I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I-I didn't want this."

"Shit." Gomez cursed.

Suddenly, Inspector Gomez was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. He placed his headphones onto his desk.

"Uh, I'm a little busy right now."

"Seb, it's important."

"Strange. Lieutenant Flin never calls me that." Gomez thought.

A cold dread crept into his mind, a dread so primal that one can only consider it raw instinct; gut feeling. Something was wrong. It was because of this instinct that Gomez has been as successful as he was at the 62nd precinct, and it was thanks to it that he was still alive. If you did not possess this quality while working in the Police Force, you were as good as dead. To realize when a perpetrator was about to act or do something unexpected and dangerous was worth more than gold. But right now, every fibre in Gomez' body was screaming at him.

"It's your husband. There's been an accident."

Gomez froze.

__________

Author's notes:

Hey again! Thanks for reading this part of the short story project I've been working on! If you liked what I've done thus far, I'd like to kindly ask you to vote and/or comment if you have any questions or comments :)

I like this little pet project of mine, and I hope that I will write more parts in the near future.

Friendly Yours,

Alex