Camera Fo:Otage

The next day dawned somber, heavy with mourning as Shinku found himself amidst the small grieving crowd at Kirria’s funeral. Soft condolences and sniffles filled the hall as Shinku approached, displayed with care and dignity. He stood silently, watching as Ukiri sobbed through her speech, her cries tearing through the solemn atmosphere. Shinku’s mind still churned with pieces of the investigation he couldn’t yet connect.

“Officer Shinku,” Ukiri said suddenly, her voice cracking as she addressed the crowd. “He spent her final days with her. I’d like him to say a few words.”

The humans in the audience clapped gently over the solemn notes of piano playing, urging Shinku forward. With a deep breath, Shinku stood, smoothing the front of his suit.

“My apologies if I make any errors in my speech,” he began, his voice steady but low. “It’s my first time at a funeral”

He stood composed. “She called me her big brother,” his tone was soft. “For a hybrid—that’s not just a compliment. It’s not something we hear often, or perhaps ever. We don’t have siblings. We don’t have families. We’re…born into solitude. Never tied to anyone, never knowing what it means to be part of something larger than ourselves.”

“But Kirria…” his voice cracked. “Kirria changed that. She didn’t just see me as another computer. She saw me as a person. She didn’t hesitate to call me her brother, to give me something I never thought I could have—a bond, a place in her heart.”

His hands trembled slightly. “She gave me a sense of purpose beyond my duty. It wasn’t just a word to me—It was a gift, one I could never repay. And now, as I stand here today, I realize… I never got the chance to tell her how much she meant to me. She showed me what it means to care, to protect, to be part of something more than myself.”

He exhaled shakily. “I promise, I will carry that gift with me. I will protect it. And I’ll fight with everything to ensure that no one else loses someone as precious as you were to me, to us all.”

The room erupted in muffled sobs and quiet sniffles as Shinku stepped back from the podium. Ukiri approached him, tears streaming freely, enveloping him in a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for loving her like family.”

Shinku nodded. “She was my family.”

Back at the information center, clacking filled the room as Shinku once again buried himself in reports.

“I need to see if there’s any footage to back up these reports,” he muttered. “Takuza Shichiri… it’s the only name that makes sense.”

He pulled up Takuza’s file again. “A pure human, former officer. Joined the force three years ago, the same class as Binar. Arrested a year and a half ago for the murder of another human officer. Radical in favor of computers, or so it seemed. But if he’s still incarcerated, how is his name tied to all these incidents?”

Shinku was frustrated. “There’s no record of a pardon or early release… What’s going on?” His eyes scanned the map again, noticing the locations tied to Takuza’s name. “There’s a pattern here. Neighboring areas, never the exact same location. If this really is Takuza, confronting him could be costly without knowing his strength. I need footage—evidence—but how do I get it without stepping on too many toes? Many businesses won’t be so willing to just comply.”

Suddenly, a memory sparked in his mind. Gemu’s speech. That officer with the projecting power… What was his name?

“Oshuko!” he exclaimed, typing furiously into the database. Pulling up Oshuko’s profile, Shinku’s determination reignited. “I’ll find him.”

The cafeteria was crowded as Shinku stepped inside. His eyes read the room until they landed on Oshuko, seated at a table with two other officers. One was a turtle-like mechanical officer with a shell-styled helmet, while the other was a dorky-looking man with a red bowl cut and a single apple-stem-shaped tuft of hair sticking out of his head.

The trio was deep in conversation about a cartoon, their voices animated and carefree. Shinku approached their table, his presence immediately catching Oshuko’s attention.

“Oshuko, come with me,” Shinku said briskly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Oshuko protested, raising his hands defensively. “Do I know you, sir?!”

“I’m Officer Shinku Hayate,” Shinku replied. “I need your assistance with my investigation. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself, but there’s a dead human child, and we don’t have much time!”

Before Oshuko could protest further, Shinku grabbed him by the ear, dragging him away.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Oshuko yelped.

The two officers at the table scrambled to follow them.

The four of them found themselves in an empty janitor’s closet. Oshuko rubbed his ear, glaring at Shinku. “What the heck, man?! That hurt!”

The turtle officer stepped forward. “I’m Tourette,” he said calmly.

The bowl-cut officer stammered nervously, “I-I’m Phad. S-sorry, I s-stutter.”

Tourette patted his shoulder. “He’s trying to ask what’s going on.”

Shinku ignored the formalities, his voice urgent. “A girl shadowing under me was mysteriously killed. I think you can help me figure out what happened.”

Oshuko tilted his head, intrigued. “Go on.”

“I saw you use your program at the Gemu rally in District 1,” Shinku explained. “I think you may be perfect for this.”

Oshuko smirked. “Why, thank you. Someone finally recognizes my talents.”

“All I know is that you can project images from a DVD,” Shinku said. “But can you display footage from cameras without a physical medium?”

Oshuko gestured dramatically. “Of course I can. All I need are the serial numbers of the cameras.”

Shinku frowned. “Damn it…”

“Phad, Tourette—Book!” Oshuko barked.

The two officers rummaged through Oshuko’s uniform, pulling out a comically large telephone book.

“This book has every registered camera in the District.They don’t call me Mr. Surveillance for nothing,” Oshuko said smugly. “Where exactly are you looking?”

Shinku listed several locations, his voice sharp with focus. "Felder Street, near the appliance store. Three days ago, 11:15 PM." He glanced at a printed photo of Takuza, his jaw tightening. "Show me."

Oshuko nodded, his program flaring to life. An ethereal aura surrounded him as he activated the projection, pulling up footage from the specified time and place. The suspect appeared on screen, heavily shrouded in clothing, their face obscured.

Shinku leaned closer, squinting at the image. "I can’t tell. Too much covered." He straightened and rattled off another location.

The process repeated, the footage changing to a different scene. This time, the suspect stood among a group, their posture and height markedly different.

“Woah, he grew a few inches!” Phad blurted, leaning in to get a better look.

“And in this one, he’s got blue hair!” Tourette pointed out, visibly baffled as Oshuko transitioned to another clip.

“Now he’s got… boobs?” Phad stammered, his face turning red as he glanced awkwardly at the others.

“Shut up, you idiots!” Oshuko snapped, his patience fraying. “Can’t you see he’s stressed?”

Each video was more perplexing than the last. One suspect had a different build entirely; another had strikingly green eyes. The inconsistencies piled up, leaving Shinku visibly frustrated.

“It’s been an hour, and none of this is consistent!” he said, his voice rising with irritation. "Dammit, this isn’t helping!"

After an hour of reviewing footage, Oshuko turned to Shinku. “Whaddya know about your suspect?”

Shinku’s voice was low. “Kirria was killed during a storm. I assumed it had to be another human.”

“Check the evidence locker,” Oshuko suggested. “Some of these viruses must’ve circulated back here. If he’s human you should be able to analyze fingerprints—”

"Right! I’ll do that now, thank you!" Shinku turned to leave, nodding to Oshuko. As he walked away, his thoughts were restless.

Whoever is behind this… they’re smart, he mused. Too smart. They understand how effective the cybersecurity force can be at tracking people down. Every report points to the same individual, yet the footage shows entirely different appearances. It’s a deliberate move—a calculated one.

Oshuko is right. I need confirmation. Are these different people, or is this some elaborate trick?

If the culprit is human, there might still be a trace—a fingerprint, a fragment of evidence on the viruses they’ve handled.

Shinku strode into the evidence locker,he approached the rows of storage units and scanned the labels. “Let’s see… viruses,” is fingers trailing along the cold, numbered lockers.

Pulling open a drawer, he was met with emptiness. Confused, he checked another. And another. Empty.

“What the…?” Shinku’s voice wavered as he moved faster, yanking open drawer after drawer, his anxiety mounting with each hollow clunk of an empty tray sliding out.

His hands trembled as he reached for a digital inventory pad attached to the wall. "Maybe there’s a mistake," he said aloud, his voice carrying a faint edge of desperation. He keyed in the codes for recent evidence entries related to virus trafficking.

The screen flashed: No records found.