The X-Project

After gathering evidence to move forward, Arthur and Sue investigate one of their leads.



The city held its own kind of beauty at night, as the light of day faded into the gloom of twilight the streetlights came on, their bright lights casting the city in a pattern of dappled shadow and light. It created wells of darkness where you could stand and the eye would slide off you, or points of light that drew the eye, it created a moving, changing form of art that was constantly redefining itself. Sue had once read a book that called twilight the witching hour, but for her, it was more true to say that this was the thieving hour.

An outfit of blacks and greys, her own camouflage in the city broke up her form, the eyes off any passerby sliding of the young woman as she tilted her head up to stare at the building that towered over the, a small amused smile dancing across her lips. "Once more into the breach huh?"

The man beside her blinked at first, and then choked on the protein bar he was snacking on. "Oh," Arthur said past what was left to chew, "A bit? I live for bits."

He swallowed again, and used that moment to compose himself. Something about the dark clothed man changed. Gone was any usual goodwill. He stood straighter. A serious man, hardened by the world. Arthur shifted over a stutter step into that dappled shadow, half his face now draped in shadow to really sell it. "Once more," he growled broodily, "this place may be at the bottom of the barrel, but we'll scrape it dry for the truth." A tiny smile broke the facade, so maybe not that hardened. "But did it have to be an office building? That's where dreams go to die."

The woman twisted her head to the side to offer her friend a bright grin, hands coming together once, then twice offering a small measure of applause for his performance. "That just means it's like a dragon's hoard of forgotten dreams . . . and where here to free one or two from their unworthy slumber. It's really more of a noble quest we're on than anything else." A nod and a grin as she glanced back at the side of the building, so how do you feel about a quest, brave sir knight?"

"Susanthony Storm," Arthur grimaced, "don't tell me I'm going to have to explain the importance of genre." He was moving already, though, his hands and mouth not seemingly realizing that his feet had decided where they wanted to go. "Noir exists because of the hard choices that hard people in hard cities have to make. Fantasy's a whole other bucket of motivation, you see. There's a balance."

The two had, in the midst of him continuing, crossed back to the shipping and receiving area for what might have been a small lunch cafe. A twist of the hip and a well timed nudge from the blond man, still busy detailing the issues a private eye might face, led them into a set of twisting, hurriedly abandoned halls. A walk and talk guided by the pit of his stomach.

It wasn't until they were up a floor and in the middle of a room containing what might have been far too many filing cabinets for healthy living that Arthur stopped, blinking, and looked Sue square in the eyes. "Huh. Time got away from me. Something about a quest?"

"That's why dark fantasy exists. Take the elements of Noir fiction but set it in a fantasy setting, hard decisions by hard people in a world where there are only hard choices. Although . . . I would make a great femme fatale and Noir does have an iconic aesthetic. These days, genres tend to mix a lot, but that's how we get things like Cyberpunk."

Sue was happy to argue the point as Arthur led them deeper into the building, her head tilting to glance at the branching corridors before glancing at her friend. "You know . . . I have a wicked idea."

Arthur's expression brightened like a dog being given a new toy. "I adore wicked ideas. Hit me."

The blonde glanced around for a moment before she held up a finger and disappeared through an open door, for a moment there was silence till a squeak could be heard, the sound of rolling wheels and Sue reappeared pushing an office chair in front of her. A bright grin lit up her face as she came to a stop in front of Arthur, bowing as she waved a hand at the seat. "Your throne awaits sire."

Arthur's face flashed with a brief, momentary question, but it only took a cursory once over of the seat and a shrug before the man sat. A mess of hair fell over his eyes as he tilted his head backward fully backward to stare expectantly at the woman behind him.

"Okay sure," he said, "is this one of those perception metaphors? Sitting in someone else's shoes?"

"Well, I figured we could use it like a bottle top and spin you around and you just choose which direction we go in? One of those, I'm feeling lucky today things, it'd save us having to play Theseus and the minotaur in this place." Sue explained as she took a step back to clear out of the way, "Besides, you gotta admit, office chair races are the best part of working in an office."

The man squinted, but Arthur didn't need more explanation. He was in.

"We'll need a blindfold to really commit," he said. "Afterall, I live for a bit."

One repurposed headband and some vigorous spinning later, and the two investigators were rolling through the hallways and throughways of the thoroughly abandoned complex. There wasn't much to take it in, even with half of their private eyes available, but a steady gold halo of light illuminated the two as Arthur commanded "left" or "turn now" or "pivot." He didn't offer much other direction, and the shoddy mechanics of the chair – turns out the wheels weren't aligned even for casual sport racing, which was a right shame – did a lot of work steering the two before a ceremoniously ungraceful slam ended their ride.

Plink.

A cracked pay per use phone was dislodged from where it had been discarded between trash. The whole tableau was a set of old file cabinets stacked outside what might have been a private office.

Both investigators looked toward the sound in unison, but silence hung between the two. Arthur peeled off his blinders, looking to Sue, but he was already moving, absentmindedly reaching down to gather the old burner.

His skin – gloves having loosened during the office rodeo – brushed cold metal and plastic. His eyes unfocused.

"They're angry," Arthur deadpanned through the psychometric vision. "Two speakers on a video call. The Reverend – that's what she calls him – wants faster results. He thinks the trial is too cautious. Flood the streets with the poison. Cleanse New York. She requires better data, a more controlled experiment. Has something to prove."

It took one deep breath and a shake of the head for Arthur to be back. He blinked.

"Sue, ever heard of a doc named Sarah Palmer?"

"Nope, but I bet I know someone who has," Sue already had her phone out,, fingers flying across the screen as she glanced back at Arthur, "So, what else can you remember about her? Strangely, Sarah Palmer is a super common name. And I really don't want to click through every single link to find her."

"Let me see what else I can lift."

It took Arthur a moment to produce a new-loved recorder from one pocket before he fully peeled off one glove. Another touch, and he dove back in.