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Futuristic Love Letter 💌 - Dimension A

Sub Genres
  1. Action
  2. Cyberpunk
  3. Dystopian
  4. LGTBQ
  5. Multiverse





It was early morning. A fog, still thinning, crept along the pavement. Water droplets splashed as Officer Macauley shut the door on his police vehicle and stepped onto the storage facility grounds.

Century Robotics had been hit last night, and the night shift scurried around all night trying to chase a perp that left no trail. Now it was time for the routine followup. Moe Panders, who had been there last night, stood near the steel walls of the first unit waving the two officers over. Robots had already wrapped the perimeter in police tape and deemed this a "no fly zone," so the interview Conrad and his partner had with the worker was guaranteed to go uninterrupted. From atop their vehicle the light cast red, then blue, then red over and over again on his face as they approached.

"I swear, Officers, I never would've thought I'd seen anything like this," Moe began. He lifted his baseball cap to smooth a damp flop of hair back over his head. "We have state-of-the-art security. You have to have fingerprint, retina, and a code to have any hope of getting in those doors, but..."

Conrad shielded his eyes from the drizzle pattering his eyelashes and turned his head to follow Moe's gaze. It landed on a unit diagonal from the one they were standing by. The lights under the unit's roof were still lit up like the others, and the unit itself was the same drab gray as the rest of them. The major difference was the enormous, gaping hole in the side of the unit. At a glance, Conrad had to guess it was at least twenty feet wide and just as tall.

"... who needs doors when you can make one for yourself?" Moe finished after his pause.

"Can you confirm this was caused by an explosion?" Conrad said, pulling out his handheld Notekeeper from his windbreaker pocket.

"It must've been," he replied. "I mean, I didn't actually see it happen, so I can't really say for sure. But if I were a betting man, I'd bet that's what the boom I'd heard was for."

Conrad scratched his tablet pen on the Notekeeper to jot a quick note.

"I mean, these walls are steel, officers." Moe looked between the two officers. He looked as if he was expecting a reaction. When he didn't seem to get what he was looking for, he continued, "Surely whatever is powerful enough to blast that would've destroyed most of whatever they'd wanted in there, right?"

"Not necessarily," Conrad said, grimacing. The units were huge, and there must have been some precision to the blast to have kept the whole unit from collapsing. He doubted it would've even reached the far wall.

Moe turned his eyes to the officer that had not yet spoken expectedly.


Kira was right behind Conrad, following him in her stiff manner of walking. Like him, she was taking diligent notes. But unlike him, her lips were pressed into a thin line. She usually let her partner take care of interviewing witnesses. After one-too-many performance evaluations that questioned her approach to civilians, she figured her harsh manner of speaking didn't do their investigations any favors.

Instead, she'd turned her attention to the wall. Or... Whatever was left of it. At first inspection, it had been a rough entry. But upon a closer look, Kira noticed that what should have been jagged edges of steel were smoothed. She didn't know what it meant yet, aside from the fact that the bomb--or whatever had been used to blow open the facility--was one that burned at a very high temperature.

Kira noticed the lapse in conversation, lifting her eyes from the slate to find Moe looking at her expectantly.

"No need to guess. Surely you have logs? We'll need to know what was in this unit in order to determine what, if anything, was taken."

Kira's voice was terse, but she tried her best to impart a bit of warmth into her tone. Moe nodded simply, before disappearing in the direction of the main offices. A beat of silence passed before Kira sighed and turned to face her partner.

"I don't like how this played out. Look at the edges here," she said, gesturing at what she'd identified earlier.

The thin lines of her lips twisted instead into a deep frown. A familiar itch was tingling in her head, a memory forcing itself to the forefront of her mind. When it finally clicked, her frown only intensified.

"A couple months back. Do you remember that attack on the Century truck? The explosion there left the edges just like this. We may be dealing with the same people here."

Conrad should have remembered the attack well. Everyone in the precinct had been instructed to be on high alert, looking out for their bandits. Typically high alert meant the culprit was caught within a few hours. Days at most. Yet here they were, 3 months later and not an inch closer to solving the crime. Not only that but they had been emboldened. Coming straight to the source rather than striking out in a more neutral territory.

"Animals," she spat, her disdain shining through quite obviously. Criminals always struck that chord in her. Utter disgust, like stepping in a pile of excrement in the streets. She didn't buy the whispers that were circulating around the office. That this was an intelligent group with a greater goal. They were thieves, simple thieves being opportunistic. Anything they could do to turn a quick buck.

"What are they even doing with this stuff?"

Kira had ventured to the patrol car and back, retrieving a simple drone. It took only a few button presses before it was flitting about the storage unit, collecting pictures, and doing a count of the remaining inventory.


The two officers were unaware that they were being watched. It was funny, really, what a pin-sized camera could capture. Yukon wasn't naive, however. He knew that there was only a matter of time before the released drone detected the camera that was otherwise undetectable. But they'd stolen enough time. They needed only a few tidbits of information. They needed to know what the police knew.

A dim, overhead light engulfed the room in a depressing pale yellow glow. The color of light only served to exaggerate the bags under Yukon's eyes. It had been far too long since the man had gotten more than 3 hours of sleep. Of course, sleep had never come easy to him. He knew how to handle himself on low fuel.

There were a few of them there in the room, 3 were sorting through the loot. Arms, legs, reinforcements, implants. It looked like they were building an army. And in a way, they sort of were. It wasn't uncommon now for members of the Obsidian Order to have some sort of enhancement. But these were altered. It allowed them to keep their humanity. It didn't turn them into robots. Yukon's eyes flicked over to Cherry, attempting to read her mind before she spoke. The cops had made a tentative connection between this attack and one of their last, and it was largely Yukon's fault.

They didn't need to bomb the wall to get in, Cherry was perfectly adept at navigating around the various security measures. Yukon had insisted on a bomb. It wasn't just about getting the technology. It was about sending a message. The "elite" were not as untouchable as they thought they were. They needed to know that violence wasn't just something that would hurt the poor.

"We should make a statement soon. No doubt the police will cover this up as if nothing happened. They need to be afraid."

Though Yukon was largely making a statement, he was also asking. He knew any big decisions would have to go by The Wolf, but he wasn't opposed to hearing Cherry's thoughts as well.

His eyes flitted back to the screen, studying the figures loitering outside the unit with a sort of cold interest. The image wasn't crystal clear, but it was enough to be able to make out a man and woman. He didn't know what level of officer they were, but he knew that they were wearing city uniforms.

"Cherry, can you figure out who they are? Before they take us offline at least."


Upon a double take of the unit's wall, Conrad immediately saw what Kira meant. The edges were lumpy and smooth. The steel had melted and solidified again. Not only a high pressure bomb that could fracture a heavy metal like this, but also an immense heat coming off of the explosion. Just like when...

"Fuck," he said, then huffed a sigh. He rubbed his forehead while he thought.

The Century Robotics truck had been on its way to a distribution facility. The cybernetic technology they had loaded top to bottom was meant for police hands in several Michigan stations. The blast had knocked the semitruck well off its tracks, and the driver had gotten a concussion from hitting his head on the steering wheel so damn hard. Six other civilians had been injured from the collateral traffic accident, four of which had been hospitalized. Witnesses were no help in identifying the culprits, saying they had all come from an unlabelled semitruck of their own and their features were impossible to make out beyond their black suits.

The closest known bomb to synthesize that kind of heat with impact was a military-grade one. When they'd consulted with the military, they had confirmed one such bomb had been unaccounted for in Fort St. Claire. They did not know how long it had been missing and could not find any footage of it being lifted. Dead end.

After it became clear the perps were untouchable, the official coverup was that Century truck's engine had malfunctioned. The witnesses were given state-ordered therapy, where all of them had been gently persuaded the black suits they saw were just a humanoid model of streetsweepers cleaning up the mess.

"We never got any word of those parts turning back up on the streets," he replied, watching her fetch the drone now. He paused, hesitating for a moment on whether to say the thing he knew Kira didn't want to hear. "You know, there are those rumors that this isn't your ordinary run-of-the-mill gang work."

The drone whizzed as it flew away from him, filling the brief silence that came between them right before the bristly rebuttal Conrad expected to come from his partner. He knew she had to air it out first before the discussion could move on.


"Is that statement, 'We don't have a single competent hacker, so we have to blow shit up instead?'" Cherry raised her brows, only stealing a quick glance to see Yukon's reaction before looking back away.

She was busying herself with sealing her new, false nails to her finger. These were her backups, and she hated using them. Always they were too sensitive and overshot blending with her skin tone, and they were wont to slip off if she didn't place them just right. The only reason she was having to do this in the first place because the thugs she called "coworkers" had bitched her into helping load the semitruck last night. One of the implants had slipped out of her grip and knocked a nail from her favorite set right off her finger, then refused to seal back on. She was still sour about this.

"Hold on," she told him, rocking the acrylic nail over her nail bed at barely perceptible degrees.

After less than a minute, Cherry groaned and tossed the nail onto her work desk. "Piece of junk. Whatever," she grumbled to herself, smacking the holographic control panel back to life.

A swath of yellow symbols lit beneath her fingertips. "Here, first the voice samples." Cherry dragged her finger across the screen. A rectangular box with a curving line inside followed after. When she lifted her finger back up, it stayed for a brief second, then retreated into a file folder. "New sample getting junked in the database. Probably a couple of nobodies."

At a lightning clip, she tapped in a command in the control panel. The officers' bodies lit up in the live feed, a pulse crawling down their bodies. Two small windows popped until in the bottom corners of the monitor. It began flipping through the faces of Detroit's police department in rapid succession, as though it was the fluttering pages of a flip book.

After half a minute, the flipping had slowed as the program narrowed down the options. The drab, gray sky was making the camera have some difficulty focusing and capturing all the details of their side profiles, but steadily its confidence built in the two most likely candidates: Officer Conrad Macauley and Officer Kira Spolotov. Keyword: officer.

Cherry threw her hand up and twisted her chair to face Yukon. "What'd I tell you? Couple of nobodies."

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