New Jericho: Third District.

9-10: New Jericho: Third District: 9&45: General Inspector Dexter Moyhn, Pains and Justice Division, First Class.

What a scene, Moyhn thought, the heads hacked clean off. They had found the body dumped down a garbage shaft in the third district. Plugged up the drains, the shit started to over flow, some of the workers went to clean out the clog and found the mangled corpse. After an inspection, the second division idiots had pulled the body out, before Moyhn got to the scene. He harshly reprimanded the two third class officers, then set about his work inspecting the corpse. The man had been very fond of the color black, Moyhn noted, draped head to toe in it including his shoes, and though the head had been severed, a black pointed cap lay on the floor near the shaft entrance, black as well.
"he obviously an officer," Moyhn said suddenly, "or a mafioso, Simyon, check out the other departments. Did anyone have officers operating in the vicinity of the third district, Building 451?" a moment later, Simyon answered.
"four hundred and nine officers live in the building itself, mainly from division seven, but only twenty were operating in the area during the approximated time."
"ok," Moyhn thought, "any covert operations, security clearance first class."
"code accepted, yes sir," Simyon droned, "one. Ways and means officer Rudolf Gentz, third class." Moyhn shook his head. He was so obvious, Moyhn thought, any moron could tell you were a cop Gentz.
"that's what I thought," He turned to his second in command, Petr, "let's get a positive ID on officer Gentz, clean up this mess, oh and notify the Ways and Means that they have a funeral to arrange." and perhaps a widows pension, Moyhn thought. "And get me a receiver as well," he needed to call this one in. The ways and means division were operating out of their jurisdiction, but for some reason this mission, secret as it was to his eyes, was cleared by the executive of ways and means. It smelled rotten, like Gentz's corpse, which two officers where wheeling by him on a gurney. That's when he saw it, in Gentz's front pocket.
"stop a moment," he said to the other officers, and slid a thin silver disc from the pocket. "evidence," Moyhn said to the younger officer, "now run along." As they wheeled the body out, Moyhn could hear one of the officers saying, "he's the inspector general, he can do what he wants..."
Moyhn studied the strange disc for some time, but it gave him no secrets. It was lost technology, perhaps, a relic from the years before the war and the devastation and the island of New Jericho. And why did Gentz, some low ranking cop, have it in the first place? He tried calling Ways and Means commissioner Davidson, but his cyborg secretary said he was dining with Wars and Peace vice commander Recht, and Laws and Orders Chaplain Murgoid. Three fat old men sitting on their fat assess, Moyhn thought. How did anything ever get done in this city, except dinner parties. They sit behind their porcelain plates and polished glassware eating steak and potatoes while the rest of the nation takes supplement pills. Made of course by the divisions themselves. It really was a clever scam when you thought about it, and seldom do the elite of any culture eat like the commons they lord above. A clever scam indeed.
Moyhn pocketed the disc and handed the pre report to the commanding officer, a slouching desk cop from laws and orders named Ballack, before making his call in to the elder commissioner of pains and justice. Commissioner Greyn would be hard at work per usual, pouring over notes and files and paperwork in his solar at the Pain and Justice building. The old fart would probably die there at his desk, found only by his assistant bringing in the morning instant coffee. Greyn's secretary appeared on his vision.
"ah, Inspector General, the commissioner was awaiting your report, I'll put you through at once."
Greyn appeared a second later, nearly obscured by the mound of work upon the desk before him, Moyhn could only make out the top of his head, the pale neon lights shining off his smooth bald head.
"Moyhn," he said in a gruff voice, "what's the status?"
"ways and means officer Gentz," Moyhn said, "name ring a bell?"
"not really."
"well he's dead for one," Moyhn continued, "the body in the shaft was his, and according to his division, he was on some secret mission."
"what secret mission?"
"that I don't know," Moyhn hated this eternal game of run around Greyn played. Everytime he presented a report, Greyn would act like he had five heads growing out of his neck, "its highly classified, I thought you could-" he was interrupted.
"yea, yea, I'll get you the clearance," Greyn waived his hand as if to say we have more important things to discuss. "first you gotta get over to the floating city, we got another one." Greyn transmitted the coordinates and signed off with a last "don't fuck this up." Moyhn gritted his teeth. He have to remember to destroy Greyn once he became Commissioner. Make sure he ends up in a cell in the punishment sector, where all traitors to the ministry go to pay back their sins. Deep below the beautiful city to rot away forever more. Moyhn smiled. He felt much better now.

9-10: New Jericho: 9&50: Detective Alan Merwyn

When Alan finally got back to his apartment it was near ten. The cops downstairs had questioned him from the moment he turned the corner in the car port. Two of them, one big and beefy the other big and lanky, wearing the silver badges of laws and orders division; the grunts. They were the division in charge of keeping the peace in the residential zone, glorified traffic cops handing out speeding vouchers and doing detail work. Most of the guys in laws and orders had failed the other exams and this was the last place left for them, other than manual labor. The beefy one held out a sweaty hand to stop Alan as he went for the lift.
"Scuse me Detective," said the lanky one. They know who I am, Alan thought, "we need you to come with us. The Inspector General wants to see you." Moyhn? Alan thought, what the hell does he want with me?
The two cops had led him into the lobby of his building, which had been turned into a sort of operations center. L&O officers were rushing back and forth shouting to each other, setting up equipment and relaying messages. At the center, looking down over a massive vision monitor was Vice Inspector Ethan Black in his gaudy uniform. Black had served during the revolution two years back and had won several medals for his distinguished service, which dangled now from above his breast pocket in all his egotism. At least it's not Moyhn, Alan thought, he's a deamon.
Black questioned Alan for three hours, from the lift video surveillance footage Alan and Gentz, who after some deliberation on Alans part, he found to be quite dead, were seen together. "a heated exchange" as Inspector Black called it. Alan was furious, he just wanted to crawl into bed and never again awake.
Of course, there was also footage from the car port, which clearly showed Alan leaving for work for his solid alibi. When he pointed this out, the questioning ended almost immediately, and Black stormed out of the interrogation room in a huff. He just wants someone to blame, Alan thought, and maybe they'll give you another shiny fucking medal for that too.
The television blared at him as he opened the door to flat 451, blasted things broken again, he thought dimming the set and slinking down into the cushions of his sofa. A newscaster with a perfectly plastered coif of salmon brown hair was reading the evening news in a voice like butter.
"15 dead in an accident at the north point research center..."the newscaster said, "an apparent terrorist suicide attack, more on this tonight at 11:11 and again at one and noon tomorrow. Now to sports, we have Jerry here to talk about this weeks battle, Mangar Bloodbreath takes his twenty one win hotstreak up against Matty the Mauler, who just last week severed the head of The Mainfeild Maniac in the second tilt. It's sure to be a gruesome death for one of these competitors eh Jerry?"
"yeah and though Mangar's really been training up for this one, I think the mauler may have his number in this one..." Jerry said. Alan got up and poured a glass of beer for himself.
"Mangar's gonna win anyway," he thought, "everyone knows the death battles are fixed." But still entertaining to a degree, it would be fun to bet on how long it would take Mangar to break out his special move and simply rip his opponent in half. I've got to put some money on that one he thought.
He dreamt about Gentz that night, but the young and hotheaded corpse kept morphing into inspector black, his fat red face surfacing to mock and bleat. Then he would morph back into Gentz, his throat slit his eyes yellow and rolled back into his head, his laughing smile, tongue hanging black and limp from the side of his toothy grin. That disturbed Alan enough he woke in a hot fevered sweat and shouted something like "Gentz!" before shaking the sleep from his eyes and staring around the empty room. The next morning was a headache like a fist in the forehead, and Alan fought to keep the thought of Gentz's black lifeless tongue from his mind well into the day.
He got dressed and swallowed a breakfast tablet and caffeine capsule as he wisked out the door, the sun hanging orange and low in the sky like a bloody eye. The vile hot wind blew into his face and he breathed hard into his mask. The street was barren as always, aside from the occasional scarp of packaging paper or plastic bag floating disembodied in the stale morning air. Today the sky was a pale shade of green, grown sickly brown over the rust ocean and the many naval freighters that kept their silent vigil over the bloody water; run aground hundreds of years ago they had become like thousands of tiny islands hewn from metal and dust and rust. The closest, a mega cruise liner called The Queen Marie, had settlements on it; but the air there was thick with toxin and mainly the inhabitants were workers from the rust ocean renewal project research team. Alan could just make out the knife of hull wreching up from the north coast waters, the tiny dots of civilization buzzing like ants in the distance. He took the train into central port, not wanting to waste money on fuel, and swallowed a drammamil on the platform while he waited. Another day of no leads, he thought. And probably more cases, Yosen had mentioned some guy in the floating city whose weight exceeded the legal limit the night before. Hadn't people learned? It had been twenty years since the New Jericho Peace Accord.
Alan took another pill, he didnt remember which, in the lift up to his office. Luckily the lift remained empty this time. He found himself thinking about Gentz. What the hell happened to you? Alan thought, and right after we talked...not my department, he had to remind himself when he opened his office door and saw Yosen sitting in his chair.
"ah, it's you " Alan said putting up his coat and mask, "and what the hell do you want Chief? Come to give me the men I need?"
"don't get smart," Yosen said, "you'll only get a cyborg, so we'll have no more talk of that." Yosen had a broad mustache which he stroked as he reprimanded. Alan wanted to pull it off his fat face. "bigger problem, we got a national crisis on our hands"
"a crisis?" Alan stiffened.
"a crisis that falls under our jurisdiction Alan," Yosen had a big grin, "we can finally win the recognition we deserve, don't you see! This could be the case of the century!"
Alan tallied that this was the fourth time Yosen had used such words; so far no case of the century. Yosen didn't give him time to speak.
"get over to the floating city, Moyhn'll brief you on the way, he's waiting in the car port." Alans heart dropped. Moyhn? Why him? It could have been anyone but him, even inspector black. Moyhn. Moyhn was different. Alan made his way without much more protest. When he got to the lifts, they were all out for maintenance, so he took the stairs. When's the last time I did this, he laughed to himself, but he was sweating the hard. The air conditioning unit in the stairwell wasn't working. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
On the carport floor he stooped to catch his breath. He was drenched in sweat, his face and neck beet red, and he fought for air. What a bloody mess, he thought as he walked into the carport still sweating hard, but the air here was on full and he smiled as the blast took him. He wanted nothing more than to stay there forever basking in the jet of freezing air, but then he saw the black sedan, and Moyhn, and reality set back in.
"hullo there Inspector General," Alan said, "detective Alan Merwyn, health and wellness," and extended his hand