AQ – 04 – First Food, Air Second

Jonathan awoke again after passing out in space again.  This was beginning to be a bit ridiculous.  His stomach ached with hunger even more than his feet burned with cold.  He figured that it was a good thing that his feet felt any pain at all.  He had little experience with frost bite, but suspected that if the feeling had been completely gone from his feet that would be much more serious.  His breathing was back to normal, but he had a headache taking form.

He reached out of the slit he had made and grabbed his left mittened hand with his right exposed hand and pulled his left hand out of the mitten. Then with both hands he tugged at the opening he had made.  He had no idea what had happened to his sharp object.  He might have dropped it in his space suit sack or he might have dropped it on the floor and then floated across this bay for 10 minutes, 40 minutes or 6 hours.

He did feel refreshed and suspected he had slept for at least a few hours.  He had no way of telling time.  They had taken stock before his walk and none of them had a watch, there were no timers, nothing to help them mark the passage of time.  As a result, the others really had no way of knowing if he had been successful.

They had planned to come out of the back room after 10 minutes and attempt to watch his progress.  However, they could not be certain if they would even be able to see him at 130 meters, nor if they could see him enter or not.  They would hope and try and see how it went.  If he did not return in what they estimated to be 1 day, they would start on a second suit and send someone else.

He managed to wiggle back out of the suit.  He had done a little more damage than anyone had anticipated.  That could be problematic if there were no real space suits here on the bridge.  Fortunately, this was indeed a bridge!

Some of the more negative terrorists had speculated that this might just be an engine room compartment or empty storage or nothing at all.  Jonathan had not felt this way, had gambled with his life that it wasn't, but had admitted inwardly that it was a possibility.  His gut had told him otherwise for reasons he could not explain with facts and he had been right.

Regardless, that was the past and he needed to get his shit together now.  The first thing he needed to figure out was whether or not he could ditch the Al Qaeda bastards, kill them, maroon them in space something.  He had been stuck with them for too many years, first as a hostage and captive and then as an enemy non combatant in prison.  He had absolutely had it with these bastards.  He wanted his revenge but now that he was separated from them he figured he would happily settle for dumping the bastards in a vacuum or letting them starve to death if he could.

He started moving about the room.  The first thing he realized was that this was much smaller than the other compartments, designed for a crew of probably three or four people at most.  He also noticed that there were no other exits from this area, no other modules further down the line to move to or occupy.

He found a galley area, really more of a system of  cupboards and compartments.  He found a silvery looking bag with something lumpy inside.  It was labeled chicken and rice.  He ripped it open and a wide plastic tube popped out.  He looked at an instruction image on the side of the package, stuck the tube in his mouth and started squeezing  chicken and rice through the tube and into his mouth.  He almost inhaled it and the bag was empty in less than a minute.  It was slightly lumpy with chunks of chicken, but he only knew this from a fragment of a memory of the food going down his throat.  He could barely recall tasting it.

Suddenly he felt very tired as his digestion system kicked in to do work that it had not done in god knows how long. He took a deep breath of air and focused on staying awake.  He needed to act now, think and sleep later if he was going to survive this.  He started looking around for a weapon.  The galley surprisingly didn't have anything.

That probably made sense actually as sharp dangerous items in space were probably not wise under normal conditions.  NASA hadn't thought about defending their astronauts from international terrorists.

He moved to another area, that looked more like a lab mixed with an engineering shop.  This area had a number of compartments with tools and other items.  He found a large wrench.  It felt like it was made out of air, but looked like a special alloy.  He thought he could wield it as a club.  He took a hard swing with it and accidentally spun himself around.

It took him a half minute to stop spinning and grab something.  "Note to self, don't swing unless you can definitely hit something."  He moved to another compartment and hit pay dirt.  A space suit but no helmet was shrink wrapped and attached to a slide out drawer.  It was more of an ironing board than a drawer, like a big mortuary slab or something.

He went to the a similar drawer and punched the button. Again, the feet came out first and the helmet, 'There was a helmet!' It came out last.

He had no idea how much time he had until the next person might try to make the walk.  He wasted no more time and put the suit on.  He had little difficulty as he had seen this done many times before both in school and years earlier at space camp.  This suit was very different from those bulky old government surplus suits he had donned as a teen ager, but not all that different.

He didn't put the helmet on, just hooked it to a latch on the wall.  He moved back to the door and looked out the window.  He could see the light at the other side still lit but no Al Qaeda dude moving hand over hand.

He found a light switch on the wall in the same position as the one in the previous compartment.  He toggled it, and an exterior light on this side lit up.  This light was significantly more powerful.

In fact it must activate several lights not just one.  He could now see the extent of the spaceship beyond or behind the storage/sleeping compartments.  It was massive.  If the distance he had traveled was 130 meters, the storage compartment and sleeping compartment had to be 40 meters and beyond that there was more structure and things that looked like rockets and pods and tanks that went at least another 400 meters.

Beyond that there was a single tube extending yet another 200-400 meters.  When he saw this he understood how they had traveled.  It was an ion drive, a slow accelerating mode of travel that incrementally sped a rocket up for years and years and years.  This one did not seem to be engaged any longer which indicated that they were no longer accelerating.

Ok. He had a space suit. He had a weapon. He had a general, text book understanding of the ship itself.  Time to get some real intelligence.  There were no Al Qaeda guys on their way, and he had turned on the exterior light which would signal them that he had indeed made it.    He hoped that would buy him more time.  At minimum he had about 23 minutes before one of them could make the journey, but if he checked regularly he could get more done.

He vaguely remembered how to communicate with morse code, but doubted the Al Qaeda guys would know it, let alone morse code in English.  He double checked the port hole again and resumed his search.

He moved back to a seating area in front of a massive bank of buttons, knobs, keyboards, screens and more.    Most of the switches seemed to be powered down, but he rapidly zeroed in on several indicators of the life support systems.  One of those indicated the oxygen system for the sleeping compartment.  He could shut off all their oxygen right now!

But to do that he might have to deplete the stores of valuable oxygen he would need to survive himself.  It was an option, but not a good one, yet.  He needed to find something that would show him just how much oxygen was stored.  He attempted to turn on one terminal but no luck.

He moved to another and as he was trying to power it up the first awoke from hibernation in a very slow booting process.  No wonder this system had been sleeping for years, maybe decades.  He didn't know how long he had been looking at the console so he got up and moved back to the port hole.

A light was flashing on and off on the other side, but no Al Qaeda guys were in movement.  He signaled back by turning his light off and on twice.  There was a responding two light flash on the other side.  He flashed 3 more times and so did they.  Everyone now knew that it was not random, that they were indeed communicating they just weren't sharing anything useful.

He figured there was nothing he could do just yet, the key was still the terminals.  He now had another 23 minutes minimum.  He started counting out loud as he moved back to the console.  As he reached 85, 86, 87, he managed to work his way in the seat and then stopped counting.

There was a clock on the screen, but he couldn't read it.  His mouth dropped open as he looked at the calendar date next to the time.  It said that the year was 2071.  He had been asleep for almost 50 years.  Everyone he had known would be fifty years older, his parents would probably be dead unless medical science had made a ton of progress in the last fifty years.  It was possible, but he was still too stunned to accept it really.

Suddenly he felt an overwhelming amount of loss as if he had just lost everyone he had ever know or loved.  This actually gave him comfort like an old favorite pillow.  After years in captivity, he understood how to cope with loss.

Finally, he focused on the clock.  It was 0313:43.52.  He noted to himself that he had probably 'spaced out' for at least 2 minutes so that meant he had a minimum of about 19 minutes before Al Qaeda came knocking at his door.  He started exploring the system.  He found a systems status of the ship and noted that this included a diagram of the entire ship.  All doors were labeled with indicators that they were 'Closed'.

He didn't have to get up to monitor the porthole any longer.  He went a few menus deeper and found some Oxygen tank indicators.  It listed an amount of Oxygen and Nitrogen, but the amounts didn't mean anything to him in terms of how much air might be there for 1 or 73 men.

Next, he looked up some information on the ships inventory.    Food: 343 MRDs (Meals Ready to Drink)  That was an old joke from space camp.  The acronym was MRD, but he had no idea what it really stood for.

Still it sure didn't take a rocket scientist to calculate that 343 meals for 72 hardened terrorists and 1 rocket scientist would not sustain anyone for long, possibly 4-7 days at the most and that was if they could also get more nutrition out of the IV drip.  They had to find more food, get home faster or someone had to die and die damn fast.  Shit he might end up having to eat some of those bastards if he wasn't careful.

A section of the screen started flashing red.  He touched the screen and the schematic of the ship re-appeared and showed that the Al Qaeda porthole had opened up.  They were sending a follow on person his way.  The time was ticking down, he needed to think fast.  He noticed that the Oxygen reserves had just decreased by 2%.  That must relate to the Oxygen that had been depleted when the door in the other chamber had been opened a second time.  Two percent was huge.  That meant that the door could only be opened 49 more times before they were out of air.  It would definitely not be possible for all of the Al Qaeda guys to walk this way.

It also gave him a slight impression of how much air they might have.  That entire sleeping room could hold 2% of their Oxygen, which was only a portion of the air mixture.  That room could keep 73 men alive and breathing for some amount of time.  If he estimated that it was 1 day, then that room held 73 days of air for 1 man x 49 meant 3,577 days approximately and if he was being very hopeful.  If it only held 1 hour of air then that would only be 149 days of air for one person.

Guppy sips of air.  Another space camp joke came back to him and he smiled.

He noticed a touch panel that said video monitor exterior that was now blinking.  This must be intelligent enough to know that a person was moving between compartments.  he hit the panel on the screen and a video lit up of a gray bag moving along the hand holds awkwardly like a blob.

Actually, it looked like two sacks sewn together.  They must have found a way to put more than 1 person into a bag, or maybe 1 person with multiple heaters or more air?

He watched for a few more seconds and guessed that there had to be two people.  It seemed like there were three hands in play.  2 Hands to hold on and another reaching forward.  They were using a second person as a pair of back up hands, a human tether.

Maybe they were strapped together back to back with the heating systems on their chests.  It would make sense and probably keep them warmer.  But how would they make that last awkward leap of faith that Jonathan had had to make?

With two people it wouldn't be possible.  He noted on the panel that he could keep the door locked electronically.  He could essentially try to kill them.  But he did not know if they might have enough air to go back?

He could don his helmet and meet them in space combat?  Too risky.  If he let them in, he would be out numbered.  They might be able to coerce him a bit, or believe that they could.  That's probably what they thought and that's why they had done this.  He suspected Osama himself was one of the two.  There was no food on the other side, he probably didn't have much to lose in venturing the walk.  More time starving increased the chances of organ failure.

He could let them in, show them the numbers and try to convince them to kill the others.  His odds of survival would be drastically improved if things changed from 72 against 1 to 2 against 1.  Still not great, but better.

But what if Osama wasn't with these two?  In that case, these would not be decision makers, they would not be able to give the OK and even more oxygen would be depleted sending people back and forth to communicate...  He had gambled with his own life several times in the last few hours and days, he decided to gamble again now.  He would kill them.

He wasn't yet in a position to make strategic moves.  He had to show the bastards that he could kill them and was at least as crazy as the craziest of them.  He had to earn their respect in some form otherwise nothing would work in the future.

He hit the electronic lock on the exterior door.  He also hit the exterior lock on the door on their side!  Why hadn't he seen or thought of that before!?!

 Continue to Next Chapter - ... Coming Soon

013 – P3nis Packaging is Good for the Environment

version 1.2

"Well, that's something that doesn't happen at work every day," Brad said to himself, check that, said to the world as he mentally reminded himself that everything was now live.

He took a deep mental breath, something that gave him a half second to recompose himself without the visible stress relieving sigh that he wanted. It was something that every detective was taught in Public Relations 201 for days just like this when they would be working a case in front of a live audience of 1 to 21 billion people.

He purposefully did not move so as not to corrupt the crime scene any further. He quickly looked at the remains of the pallet in front of him. Then, he scanned up. The two pallets stacked on top of each other and on top of the pallet on the floor together had all collapsed on each other.

He looked closer at the pallets to the immediate left and right of the collapse. One looked fine, but the other showed just a slight bulge in the side facing the aisle and more of a bulge on the side facing the collapsed pallet.

He triggered a flashlight with his phone and studied the spot closer. It appeared that the pallet in the bulging area was slightly damp . . .

"Scene Bot, secure this pallet with reinforcing support materials, and cover it in crime scene protective film." Rubenz ordered. The material, shrink wrap like substance that held the pallet and its boxes together was slightly wet and seemed to be corroding before his eyes like watching a slow motion acid eating a whole in the material.

The Bot lightly maneuvered up on extended legs, moving over to the pallet and began to spread a wide filmy substance over the affected area. It then proceeded to essentially blow dry the substance, which Brad new from experience meant that the area was being sealed air tight, or at least as much as possible from one side. After that was accomplished the Bot, began to swath the entire lower pallet in the same filmy material. The second Bot, moved further down the aisle simultaneously, and came back 45 seconds later with 4 large corner braces for the pallet. These were attached to each corner and the filmy material was applied again.

Brad turned further to the right and with his phone scanned a bar code on the pallet adjacent to the recently secured damaged pallet. He queried for details on the packing materials.

Quickly a layman description of the purpose and chemical properties of the packing materials were read off to him by his phone:

"Industrial strength packing materials contain no dangerous chemicals or biological agents. All materials are super bio degradable, designed to degrade into a water soluble substance unless a proper reagent is applied within 15 seconds to halt the process. The most common reagent is made of a simple mix of water and detergent. In the presence of water alone the material will disintegrate in approximately forty five minutes unless a counter agent is applied to re-enforce the packaging."

Rubenz considered, it was standard packaging material, literally designed to be washed down the sink if necessary for smaller consumer boxes, or down an industrial sink for a pallet. In short it was good for the environment.

But something had triggered the slow disintegration of the packaging. He glanced around and with a mental 'of course' realized that it must be the faux blood that had sprayed from the P3nises littering the floor.

He scanned the bar code on one of the P3nis pedestal or holders or stands, whatever they were called, he identified one that had not disintegrated when the pallet container fell apart. The P3nises were apparently packaged for consumer display in what appeared to be a clear plastic stand, leaving the majority of the penis itself completely exposed. There was a small red arrow that said try me pointing to a red contact sensor that seemed to be wired to the underside of the P3nis that sat upright as if ready for battle like a good little soldier.

Brad thought about that for about 10 seconds, he wasn't exactly sure what that was there for, but he had to find out.

"Review the integrity of all the pallets within range of this crime scene. Then proceed to do a progressive survey of the pallets within 20 meters of this area as well. We can't have pallets crushing us, the evidence or damaging more property." Rubenz ordered the crime scene bots.

Each Bot began reviewing the integrity of each pallet immediately surrounding the crime scene area and within about two minutes they were both moving down the aisle in opposite directions reviewing additional pallets. As they surveyed, they adjusted their sample size up and down as they found necessary based on the results the survey revealed about the integrity of the pallet containers.

Rubenz suspected there would be no further problems, but he primarily needed the crime scene Bot cameras pointed away from him, even if it was just temporary.

He reached out and touched the sensor pad. Instantly, he could feel his penis, correction his P3nis growing hard. The P3nis in the stand was even more erect and lengthening a bit. The simple touch on the sensor pad gave him the sense that he could feel every area of the P3nis as if it were his own and attached and hard wired into his nervous system. It was eerie, but it sure as hell worked well too.

This crazy plastic pedestal with the P3nis sitting on it was just like one of those old kids toys, with the 'try me' button. Once you touched it, you instantly knew just how well this product worked. There was no doubt after feeling it, if you wanted a new P3nis, an extra P3nis . . . well this would confirm you had found what you were looking for.

He removed his finger, which was much easier than removing the P3nis from his forehead. He had had a slight feeling of apprehension that his finger would be stuck, but no worries after all.

He looked back to his phone and realized that the bar code information had been scrolling on a loop. He reset it and learned that the plastic base, contact sensor, even the wires were also made out of the same super bio degradable material.

So as soon as the liquid from the penis probably had come into contact with the pallet, it had proceeded to eat through the shrink wrap, the pallet boxes and supports and the plastic pedestals themselves, unleashing about 600 P3nises to come raining down on the crime scene.

That was a little convenient Brad thought.

"The remaining pallets have been secured. Two pallets required slight reinforcement, but all others should not fail unless acted upon." stated the crime scene Bot.

"Terrific", Rubenz mumbled to no one but the world.

"Re-initiate crime scene analysis but start with an area including my person and work out in a radius away from me until this recent spill of . . . products has been removed. Once this is secured again, then continue where you left off," Rubenz Stated and then added a query, "Please confirm that no information from the previous analysis was lost, and please state whether the crime scene analysis will be degraded due to this subsequent event."

The crime scene Bot rapidly stated, "No information was lost, and the possibility of crime scene degradation is less than 0.0001389 percent. That figure will likely adjust downward once the review commences again and the new data is correlated from the point at which the previous analysis left off.

Continue to Next Chapter - 014 – Al Qaeda in Space

012 – Live Sh1ver

vers 1.2

Something caught Brad's eye just in the corner of his vision on the right. He turned slowly to take in whatever it might have been without missing anything. He always did this out of habit, thinking that if you jerked your head when something caught your peripheral vision, you were more likely to lose focus on whatever it might have been.

As he turned his head, he could have sworn that one of the shrunk wrapped pallets stained with blood had moved just a bit. He stared at it for a full sixty seconds, but it didn't move again.

The crime scene bots hadn't cleared this side yet. They were still working the left side which had a deeper layer of debris even though this side seemed to have received the larger amount of blood, faux blood splatter.

He looked forward at the victim again, at the pile of sliced 'P3nises' or was it 'P3nes'? Now there was a stupid question. The plural of penis was penes, but was the plural of the trademarked brand P3nis, P3nes or P3nises?

He looked forward some more and imagined how things might have unfolded. The murderer/torturer/sex worker or whatever they were, must have grasped the majority of the P3nes with their left hand, and cut with the right hand creating a rupture on the victims left side which splattered to Rubenz right.

Then the severed P3nis must have been tossed or dropped in a leftward direction.

Thinking about the mechanics of this movement, made Brad think the perpetrator must have been right handed or ambidextrous. Regardless the crime scene bots would confirm before long, but it was good to have a feel for these things yourself. It gave Rubenz a sense of job security as if he were a half step and a half a brain process ahead of the crime scene bots.

He caught some movement towards his right again, turned slowly and as he turned he was pretty sure that a different shrink wrapped pallet had moved, not out into the aisle but down slightly, although that was impossible as the pallet base was already sitting on the floor.

Just then his phone went off playing "Jesus stole my Skateboard" again. He looked at the screen it was Captain Bruhaus.

"Sir, this is Rubenz." Brad said. He was hoping a more formal tone might help calm the Captain down a bit. He really didn't need the distraction of a pissed off superior at the moment.

He turned back towards the victim as the phone switched into video mode.

"Got some bad news for you Rubenz. Crime scene video feed on this one is going to be released real time under the Transparent Sunshine Law. The DA just lost a hearing with Judge Riccenbaur. Three different news organizations, paparazzi types all, filed for the video/picture feed release.” the captain said.

“We tried to stall, just following procedure, but you know how it is. The freedom of the press is rarely abridged, especially in a murder investigation involving sex, celebrities or politicians and looks like we have all three here. Apparently this Terry asshole was a bit of a Whack Off celebrity. Can you believe this shit? It’s bad enough people have been finding new ways to fuck themselves with and endless number of substances for the last few millennium and now some asshole has to go invent new body parts to get fucked by and with and ultimately dies from it too.” the captain finished in a huff.

Anyway, stay on your toes. The feed has been buffered and will probably go live soon. Check that, we are live now. We will monitor the video feed audience analytics on the different networks looking to identify any audience members that might interact with it in case the perpetrator is the braggart type that likes to talk to people on the net about their crime after they committed it. But all you have to worry about for now is not fu… breaking protocol on live video!

"Yes, Captain. I will, be careful. Everything has been by the book so far," Rubenz said as he thought he saw a twitch in the pallet again. "Captain, I need to sign off, something . . . "

Before Rubenz could complete the sentence, it seemed like an avalanche of penises came flooding down around and on top of Rubenz. They were everywhere.

Rubenz looked up and could see them falling out of pallets to his right. Some were falling into the aisle where he stood. As he panned down again, he could see the majority were falling straight down crushing the pallets below them that seemed to squish, almost disintegrate.

The pallet walls, the rigid structure that held the pallet together, including the shrink wrap seemed to be dissolving.

He looked up again, just as a rather fat penis tumbled down. The base hit him smack in the forehead.

The god damn thing just stuck there and then all of a sudden Rubenz was aware that he could feel himself getting a hard-on, on his head. Holy shit! The P3nis was alive and on his head.

'RUBENZ!!! What in the great world of fuck are you doing?! Get that damn thing off your head." Captain Bruhaus was shouting.

Rubenz was reaching up and grabbing his penis, ‘Jesus’ that's exactly what he was thinking, it felt like his penis, but he was also very freaked out. He was trying to pull the thing off like a suction cup off a wall, but it wasn't budging. He pulled and pulled, but it was attached solid, like it had grown there and the more he pulled on it the more erect it got, sticking almost straight up, with two meagerly haired balls, retracted up just a bit, but partially blocking his vision.

This was a nightmare.

He dropped the phone and dug in with his fingers and nails trying to get them between the balls and the skin of his forehead. He pulled and squeezed and dug, and it hurt like someone was clawing at his balls. And then all of a sudden both of his thumbs slid up underneath his balls between his forehead and his balls and the thing popped off and he threw it up against a far wall, just redirecting his aim at the last minute so that he didn't throw it straight at the murder victim.

He shuddered, closed his eyes for a three count, sighed, opened his eyes and looked for his phone. It was lying sideways in a stack of P3nises and packing debris with the camera lens pointed at a big erect P3nis.

" . . . Rubenz, you need to report into me as soon as you have a preliminary ready." said the Captain calmly. The Captain was never calm. He only spoke this way when he knew that he was in front of a large audience, which was probably the case right now. The live feed was on, but the audience size must have inflated very rapidly as the circumstances grew out of control. This entire P3nis shit storm must be live to the world and the world was probably eating it up.

"Yes sir, is that all?" Rubenz said.

There was no answer. His phone went dark as the Captain hung up.

Continue to Next Chapter 013 – P3nis Packaging is Good for the Environment

002 – Piece Meal

iterative update 1.3

Brad was en route to the Mega Warehouse complex. His phone indicated that he should arrive in about three minutes. It was an unusually long commute, especially in an era where live crime scene investigations were almost unheard of.

He was traveling at an ever increasing speed in an emergency response terminal that itself moved within a hyper train.

Hyper trains moved at speeds approaching three hundred fifty miles per hour. The trains however were extraordinarily long. Any given train could easily carry up to ten million passengers. The trip might not take long, but getting through the line of people or from the rear or middle of the train to the front of the train or exits, well that's where the trip could be grueling.

Brad was riding within an emergency response terminal. It was essentially a mobile pod within the train, it actually traveled on an upper level of the train, moving from the rear of the train to the front of the train. All passengers traveled in pods, that would be released as a traveler approached their destination point or exit ramps to smaller trains that would get them closer and closer. Some public terminals or pods even required the passenger to disembark and switch to a different pod on a different system.

Wealthy people had access to pods that also moved on the upper section of the train, but emergency personnel terminals were always given precedence and their own restricted area within any major hyper train and most minor trains as well.

Brad checked his phone again. Two minutes until arrival. He could be anywhere in the area of primary jurisdiction within 4 minutes, but typically dispatching optimization routines kept travel time down to a minute or less. It was atypical for Brad to be sent to a crime scene so far away regardless, he’d have to consider that later.

His phone buzzed quickly and he noticed that he was finally receiving an initial crime scene folder. This was late also and that was not normal. He'd been on this case less than 5 minutes and things were already FUBARed.

He twitched his nose and his eye lens implants activated a filter that would ensure the contents of the folder would only be viewable by his eyes only. The lenses contained an encryption key of ridiculous strength that filter out the signal images from his phone, translating them in real time so that he could view the information.

No one sitting close or using some type of surveillance device would be able to view this file in real time, although a good cracker could parse the governmental encryption key in about an hour. Few hackers had that kind of time these days. As always, Brad's head start on this case working with the incoming information would be one of his few advantages especially if the media leaped on at some point.

The file opened up on what could only initially be described as a bloody, fleshy mess.

Brad was viewing a video pan of the crime scene, with scrolling information running on the right side. He made slight rotations and twists with his hands holding his motion sensitive phone and the video angle panned and zoomed at his direction.

At first glance, he seemed to be looking at the remnants of body parts strewn across a warehouse floor between two massive aisles of pallets of goods stacked ten stories high. The shrink wrapped pallets were covered in blood that was still dripping down the sides to puddles on the floor.

Brad had seen a crime scene once where a body had been run through a commercial shredder to destroy the evidence of a white collar crime. This seemed very similar sans the shredder. Plus, the body parts were a little too large to have been sliced up by a shredder.

He zoomed in a bit and looked at a pile of flesh. He touched a sensor pad on his phone to increase the illumination on the image.

"What the fuck!" Brad cringed and almost lost his dinner at the same time.

He quickly glanced at the scrolling data.

... Initial body count estimates 87 victims & increasing.

One mostly complete body,

Male, approx. age: 42

Name: Terrence McBoyd (nickname Terry). CEO and President of ...

Possible Alias . . .

Brad's terminal came to a halt, and the exit door slid open. He walked outside the door to the crime scene entrance.

Continue to Next Chapter 003 – Ulmec Skull Suckers