Inkoded - Sample - OUT NOW

One | 0/\/3

Several kilometers below Nova City.

The stench—saturated with decay, a miasma of rotting foods, and the dustiness of shifting smog—burned Gibs's throat the second he climbed out of the air-sterilized chaser. Grimacing at the mildew taste infesting his mouth, he flipped the mask in place. While rolling his shoulder in an erratic shrug, he activated his enhanced left eye, hoping to pierce the gray air blanketing the crime scene.

Standing amid a vortex of pollution was Martin Davis, hunched as he studied something in his hands. The dampened light glimmered off his receding hairline. His glasses flickered as he read information from the precinct's databases off the lenses.

Gibs tightened his coat around his crumpled uniform despite the wet heat dewing sweat on his brow. Stomping toward Davis, he scanned the eroded buildings, searching for unfriendlies. The Deadzone denizens were unworthy of life above the pollution layers. Poor air, a rat diet, and dodging law enforcement meant a good life was impossible for them. They scavenged what fell from the upper levels, arming themselves with discarded weapons of various ages. Gibs had recharged the blaster strapped to his thigh, and if that didn't work as new tech was known to do, he kept an antique Glock holstered to his side.

"Detective Gibson Shaw, what the frack?" Davis spat something onto the sponge-like ground covered in decades of rotting litter.

Gibs gritted his teeth. He would have to incinerate his boots after this. Who knew what disease still lingered in the moist mass beneath him?

Davis deactivated his lenses and peered through the clear glass at him. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Who reported this?" Gibs stiffened then slid his fingers around the grip of the blaster.

In the shadows surrounding the crime scene, faces appeared then faded. He wasn't up for a shoot-out today, not when they surrounded him with unknown firepower.

"Anonymous." Davis pursed his lips, flicking a glance at the shadows. "Relax, they won't touch this no matter how much they can sell it for."

Gibs released his grip and exhaled, easing the tension in his shoulders. "What do you have?"

He tugged on sterilized gloves as he approached the demarcated area. Neon lights scanned and verified his credentials when he stepped through the holographic bands. If the precinct hadn't granted him access, the bands would have tasered him.

"I've never seen the like." Davis was the dinosaur of the forensics department, preferring a solo existence in the abandoned bowels of Nova. His knowledge was invaluable hence his delayed retirement, and for that, the Force showed him respect. "It, or she, is missing an eye and its recordings." He tapped his left eye, his bushy gray eyebrow twitching. "Whoever took their frustrations out on the inkjob didn't want us to identify them."

Sprawled in an unnatural pose, as if it had plummeted from above, lay the remnants of an AI in the guise of a young woman. It was nude except for the various encoded ownership tatts covering its limbs. The 'wounds' were serrated as if a wild animal had raked its claws across the eternally youthful skin, and its inner mechanical workings were spewed out in a tangled mess.

Its hair splayed out like it was underwater. Images flashed in Gibs's mind: a young boy, swirling hair, lifeless eyes.

Shaking his head, he crouched beside the tattooed synthetic known as an inkjob. "Destruction of private property still applies."

Green lubricant oozed from the tubes spilling from its abdomen. No expression crossed its face, not in life nor death, and neither did he expect emotion from a machine. There was something artistic about the pose, though, as if someone had taken the time to arrange the limbs with care. This wasn't a crime of passion—this was premeditated, but for what purpose? Perhaps the vandal killer practiced before he targeted humans?