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This House Smells of Vinegar


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I walk into the corridor and nearly vomit.

The smell is strong, pungent, overpowering; enough that the stench of low-quality tobacco couldn't begin to compare. I'm forced to bring a sleeve to my face, cover my nose to stop my body from trying to get rid of that smell at the same time as it made room in my stomach. They didn't tell me this would happen; the brochures painted a much different picture.

Bright lights and an officer standing by a sliding wall, baton at the ready and taser set to blue, covered head to toe in bloody riot gear with a few hints of viscera trapped in the more angular edges. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even nod, instead opting to turn aside and let me pass through the holobarrier. I recognized this place from the blueprints: an abandoned surgical room, once linked to the checkpoint before the company got rid of the customs program. A "haven for corpse disposal", as it was labelled. I could see why.

Isolated, no lights, fully walled off. Lacking in any useful materials beyond an obsolete sleeper that an enterprising physician may want to cannibalize. Without anyone manning the checkpoint nearby, it was child's play to break in and install a fake wall only you would know about. Full of cobwebs, rarely traversed, an easy spot to get rid of evidence.

Whoever did was was... resourceful. Not very creative, but resourceful.

Turn the corner and enter the room, brightly-lit by borrowed floodlights. Vomit profusely, coating the walls with a sickly, green, granular paste that only added to the stench. They don't tell you this happens. No one would sign up otherwise.

There was very little of what used to be a person left on the chair; what remained was smeared onto the upholstery like a fleshy beehive, flattened and splattered by high-velocity impact, coating the thing in a collection of bone, sinew and bile. The ground and walls in front of it were covered in the same mixture; barring a small spot where the officer had been.

He could use a drink. Mental note.

Look around, and nothing else. The sleeper was long gone; the tables deconstructed. Just walls, floor and a ceiling, a chair to keep the victim, no light for them to see themselves. No hope of rescue.

Who did this?

"Detective Karl-wait, you're not Karloff."

I turn around. Patrick Harkness, Head of Security. Stellar record, if reckless and prone to directing from the front. Penchant for coating every pair of boots he owned with duct tape to mask the sound of his otherwise heavy footsteps.

He barely flinches at the sight. How?

"S-sorry, I'm the new forensic technician assi-"

"New detective, right, sure," he interrupts me, all-but shoving me aside to take a look at the art installation, "Gibbington's. Of course."

Gibbington's?

"Jake, warn Medbay we may have an airborne viral," he yells back at the officer outside, "then get some rest after you take a shower, we're gonna need the armor. Any leads?"

The last words are directed to me. I drop my scanner, barely catching it in time before it gets coated in evidence, hastily pointing it towards the not-corpse in a vain effort to look like I knew what I was doing.

"... you're new, aren't you?"

I swallow, barely able to. I feel like vomiting, but to say nothing would just make it worse.

"S-sorry, sir. Not used to... this."

"Well get used to it. Ain't the worst you'll see. Once you have a report on the crime scene, drop it by my desk, even if you find nothing" - he turns to leave, before giving me one final glance - "what's your name again?"

I look at my ID; I had genuinely forgotten.

"B-Bright, sir. Jonah Bright."


 

 

Edited by TullyBBurnalot
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CASE DESIGNATE: XT-4885 ROMEO

POINT OF ORIGIN: UNKNOWN, SUSPECTED SYNDICATE INVOLVEMENT

CASE CLASS: BIOTERROR WEAPON, CLASS-15 VIRAL AGENT

--- AVAILABLE INFORMATION FOLLOWS ---

Case Designate XT-4885 Romeo, commonly referred to as "Gibbington's Disease" or "Gibbinton's Illness", is a highly virulent, airborne, blood-borne, artificial pathogen frequently used in terrorist actions undertaken by the Syndicate. It has a short incubation period (<5 minutes) and presents as asymptomatic until approximately thirty seconds before death. At this stage, rapid cellular mitosis, coupled with abnormally high production of waste gas, create a marked increase in internal pressure in the infected organism, as well as acute, full-body sensations of pain. This invariably ends with said organism suffering complete structural failure as the pressure reaches a breaking point. If not treated before reaching this stage, death is to be considered unavoidable. Pathogen does not survive for long outside the human body (<1 minute), rendering explosion sites safe for clean-up without the use of biohazard equipment.

QUARANTINE PROCEDURES: Confirmed presence of XT-4885 Romeo in any given location requires activation of Quarantine Protocol Delta-6. All infected individuals are to be placed in individual quarantine cells, and euthanized if a cure cannot be developed before the final stage is reached. No contact with infected individuals is permitted once the final stage is reached. In the event of infection rates reaching 60% or more, EPSILON QUARANTINE will be activated.

--- AVAILABLE INFORMATION ENDS HERE ---

 

Description matched. Blood splattered everywhere; splatter pattern points towards the chair taking most of the brunt for the backwards blast, with the rest funneled outwards. Use of pathogen made no sense; why use a bioterror weapon in a secluded, isolated location, with a single individual? Why not infect them and let them head to Medbay for the pain? All in all, a convoluted plan for a single-target assassination, not to mention one with a high chance of backfiring.

The forensic scanner beeps quietly when I turn it on, holographic grids stretching across the walls as I point it towards the various bits of artistic gore, hoping to only find a single DNA match.

 

*beep*

DNA STRING IDENTIFIED: a45asv843gja5hgpt54872apg8

STRING MATCH: Taylor T. Kraster

 

Taylor Kraster, age 27. Cargo Technician, hired three months previously, no previous work experience with NanoTrasen.

No clone bank backup. Curious.

The sliding wall is the next target. I roll it shut, inspecting the hinges, the area around them, the edges, top and bottom, every inch I could find; nothing in terms of prints, no organic material for a DNA check. The scanner beeps once again, the hologrid highlighting a small square by the topmost hinge.

A cloth fiber, purple.

Figures.

Return to the room and take as many pictures as could be taken without feeling the need to vomit again. Six of the chair, twelve of the splatter, three of the door. Turn around and call in for the Physician to clean up what remained of the corpse, maybe find enough brain matter to try at an imperfect copy for the sake of whatever family there was. I step out through the holobarrier, lighting another cigarette, hoping the smell would go away. It follows me out of the maintenance tunnels and into my office, half a station away, forcing me to throw my coat into the corner and call a janiborg to scrub it down.

A highly virulent bioweapon, and purple cloth fibers. Why that department kept being given funding for chemical experimentation was (and still is) beyond me.

But it was a lead, at least.

 

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Esteemed employee/servant/menial,

 

Don't know why this is getting released on a standard comms link, but I guess it's up for the boys in the legal department to handle it properly. Now, we can't give you the exact details, because just about anyone can be listening, so I would simply like to reiterate that both are applicable, and that you should always report suspected cases of XT-4885 Romeo to your nearest Chief Medical Officer or, barring that, Command Staff AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE, given standard species limitations.

Let's not have a repeat of the Sundown. Poor bastards.

Signed,

Communications Superintendent Brennan.

Edited by shatterdcoyote
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Seven employees assigned to scientific research, not counting the Research Director. One Vox, five Humans, one IPC; Research Director seems to be a Slime Person.

This might take a while.

The security records take far longer than what I was used to back at the academy; turns out the company skipped on installing a system with good bandwidth, or maybe it's the computer probably being several years out of date and filled with trash data. The thing is linked to a printer halfway across the room; it's faster to just order up eight print jobs and wait, especially since I'd just need a physical copy anyway.

"Attention. Task complete," the janiborg beeps, far too loudly, "have a productive day."

And it's off, leaving a trail of soapy bubbles along the carpet, and a far-too-wet coat on the floor; spare trenchcoat it is, then.

Three of the Humans have clean records, along with the IPC, leaving the Research Director, the Vox and two more of my kind; the latter three assigned to Toxins Weapon Testing, Chemical Research and Xenobiology, respectively. Closer inspection is required...

 

Employee Name: Kritichita

Employee Assignment: NanoTrasen Science Development, Toxins Weapon Testing

Employee Clearance Level: Green-3 (previously Green-1, see below)

Employee Criminal Record:

  • 5 counts of Battery;
  • 3 counts of Aggravated Assault (clearance level lowered to Green-1 on last recorded incident)
  • 10 counts of Indecent Exposure (clearance level lowered to Green-2 on fifth recorded incident)

Additional Notes:

  • Confirmed association with Sanderson Robotics while under contract; corporate espionage ruled out following investigation
  • Under consideration for termination of contract

 

 

Employee Name: Bloploobla Qoo'ryua

Employee Assignment: NanoTrasen Science Development, On-Site Research Director

Employee Clearance Level: Red-1

Employee Criminal Record:

  • 1 count of Grand Sabotage (deliberate release of a Singularity engine aboard the NSS Damocles. Further investigation revealed that the release had been done with the use of a confiscated Singularity beacon, teleported into an area infested with Xenomorph Bioforms, as a means of eliminating an out-of-control infestation);
  • 1 count of Manslaughter (related to the above, excessive use of force against the on-site Chief Engineer which ended in their death. Due to extreme circumstances, security clearance level was not altered)

Additional Notes:

  • Suspected association with Syndicate shell company "Kirdan Industrial Alloys", currently under investigation

 

 

Employee Name: Cynthia D.M. Mavor

Employee Assignment: NanoTrasen Science Development, Chemical Research

Employee Clearance Level: Green-2

Employee Criminal Record:

  • 15 counts of Creation of a Workplace Hazard, all of which due to reckless, out-of-protocol experimentation in their line of work

Additional Notes:

  • Previously considered for clearance level upgrade before reckless tendencies were recorded. Kept at Green-2 until first confirmed instance of maliciously destructive behavior, to be downgraded to Green-3 on such an occasion

 

 

Employee Name: Jack P. Sorden

Employee Assignment: NanoTrasen Science Development, Xenobiological Research

Employee Clearance Level: Blue-1

Employee Criminal Record:

  • 1 count of Creation of a Workplace Hazard (further investigation revealed the safety hatch on the slime pens was of a defective model)

Additional Notes:

  • Stellar conduct and frequent cooperation with Security forces, both on the NSS Cyberiad and previously on the NSS Sundown. Clearance level elevated to maximum permissible for non-Command personnel

The Vox was a no-go, far too obvious an agent to use, and most likely the first to be suspected of any wrongdoing. The Research Director being involved with Kirdan Alloys makes it too obvious; why would the Syndicate request someone who's been linked to them to conduct an assassination aboard one of NanoTrasen's newest (and most heavily guarded) stations?

Still worth checking out.

The Chemist is an obvious choice; could disguise malicious experimentation under the guise of a lack of care for safety protocol. But that last one... the Sundown. A perfect record, a single excusable incident, and cleaner than a fresh bar of soap. A perfect candidate to use, the perfect sleeper agent that no one would suspect.

Or maybe it was just what it looked like. Regardless.

"HoS?" I call out via the radio, "I need you in my office, please."

 

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