Fleeting Minds

The Expo had ended hours ago, but the questions still lingered like smoke after a fire. Vega’s theory on Musk’s death was compelling —but it was still just a theory.

Vega was copying the map of the Capital to her AIBI when CIX got the notification.

Director Lyssa.

Coded, of course. The kind only certain operatives were trained to understand.

“DAX, encode the information sent by the Director. Use sequence proclamation one.”

“Understood…. Encoding ...”

“Hey, Vega. Are you done?”

She blinked twice, her neural interface fading from her eyes.

“Yeah,” she turned around. "Got the overlay of the map. Let’s go.”

“Hold on. I’m trying to encode a message the director sent.”

Vega smirked. “You know her coding sequence?”

“Yep, so you know it too. She must really trust you.”

“Successfully encoded, Agent CIX. Displaying the message.”

The message flooded his neural display.

“Well, what does it say?” Vega asked.

CIX didn’t answer. He moved past her and stepped over to the projection of the Capital map.

“Hey!” Vega sneered. “If you wanted the map, you could’ve just asked.”

He traced a path across the glowing map until his finger hovered near a sector marked Forensics Division Precinct. Then he sighed and turned.

“The director sent the lab’s coordinates. It’s somewhere in the lower districts and unless you know where it is, we’ll need a guide. “

“Lower districts huh?” Vega frowned. “Must be unsanctioned.”

CIX nodded. “We’re going to apply caution going forward.”

There was another part of the message from the director that CIX did not mention to Vega.

[The Capital is on lockdown. No one is allowed in or out. Complete your mission swiftly and discreetly. Do not under any circumstances get caught.]

He’d stared at that line for a while before letting it vanish from his view. Vega didn’t need to know—not yet.

Lockdowns weren’t unusual after an Integration. The Disconnected radicals often used the chaos to protest, hack systems, or stage attacks. But this felt like something else entirely.

He couldn’t risk wasting time. They’d need someone who knew the underbelly of the Capital, someone who could get them in—and more importantly, out—without alerting the Network.

And he knew just the person.

“Where are we going?” Vega asked, irritated.

“Forensics,” he said. “I have a friend there who might be able to help us. Can you find the shortest route there?”

Vega blinked her eyes twice. “VI, find the shortest route to Forensics Central.”

Her neural interface flickered. A projected line of glowing blue appeared on her HUD. They started walking, weaving into the thrumming evening crowd.

Holo-ads floated above the street hawking upgrades, exo-suit mods, and outpost recruitment drives. Overhead, drones whirred like insects. Enforcers patrolled in units, their glowing badges broadcasting rank and authority.

“God, the Capital’s a fortress,” Vega muttered, glancing around. “I forget how uptight it is.”

The Capital wasn’t just a city. It was the brainstem of the Network—layered like a neural cortex. The High Commissioner, Valeria Kaede, was the ghost behind every signal. Under her were the Ministers, one for every city, with Minister Albrecht ruling the Central City and all the other ministers with an iron fist. Directors of the precincts are appointed by the Ministers and beneath them were the Captains, Generals and finally the Enforcers, who were ranked by Grade.

CIX knew the ranks by heart. You had to, if you wanted to survive.

Special Grades were at the top and extremely rare. Grade A were top-tier operatives, mostly situated in the Capital. Grade B was the majority of the field force. They worked as Patrols, riot response and as backup for Grade A agents. Grade C and below get put in non-combat roles like surveillance, paperwork. Watchdog duties.

They stopped in front of a curved, arching building like a blade half-buried in stone. Unlike other Network divisions with sleek towers and glowing fronts, the Forensics division was designed to be its own precinct. All investigations and analyses were done here, including the recent murders.

Inside, the air was sterile and cold, filled with the soft hum of machines scanning samples. DNA strands hovered mid-air and autopsies projected themselves in 3D loops. Transparent panels displayed blinking graphs, rotating models of organs, blood vessels, and even molecular traces from scenes yet unsolved.

CIX led them past rows of analysts to a lab at the back.

“Ly!” he called.

A woman spun around in a white lab coat, goggles on her forehead. She had buzzed hair dyed teal at the tips, and her uniform bore a glowing A-Rank Forensic Division badge. Her face lit up as she saw CIX.

“CIX! Took you long enough.”

Vega blinked. She?

CIX grinned and pulled her into a quick, familiar hug. “Been a while, Lira.”

“Oh my gosh, I missed you so much. And you brought a frien…”

Her smile vanished when she spotted Vega.

“…Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah, what about it?” Vega folded her arms.

CIX raised an eyebrow. “So you two know each other?”

“She beat my score in the Grade A exams,” Vega said dryly.

Lira gave a slow, unbothered smirk. “Still mad about it?”

Vega’s eyes narrowed. “I see you haven’t changed much. Still think the world revolves around you. But at least you found some sense and chose the right profession.”

“Okay,” CIX stepped between them. “Let’s dial it down. You both passed. Let’s not drag this on for longer than necessary.”

Lira lowered his arm and turned back to her console. “Don’t worry, CIX. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

CIX pulled up her chair, while Vega grunted something under her breath.

“It’s a sensitive thing. Can we speak in private?”

Lira flicked her fingers across a hovering console, and her station responded like a blooming flower—glass-like panels unfolded outward, expanding into multiple layers of floating screens. The center holo-table glowed brighter, rotating an image of a dissected crime scene while smaller sub-screens spiraled around her like orbiting moons.

“Give me a sec,” she said, swiping a strand of teal hair back. “Still processing this latest data batch.”

One image caught CIX’s eyes.

A woman posed like a statue, her body pale and rigid, but undeniably real. Her fingers were bent around a fractured guitar, held in place by taut, blood-soaked mesh wire that ran across her wrists and arms like marionette strings. Her eyes were wide open, held together by the same wires.

“Lira…” CIX muttered. “What the hell is this?”

“I know right?” Lira said, barely looking up. “I miss the days when our biggest case was the destruction of property. Now we have people like the Sculptor running around.”

“The what?” Vega said, stepping closer.

“You haven’t heard of the Sculptor?” Lira blinked. “His masterpieces? Nothing? That’s interesting.”

Vega crossed her arms, lips tight. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense.”

Lira’s expression shifted. “No. Not here. Let’s go to my place. There’s more you need to see.”