Vestigial Memories, Interlude: Locke's Apartment

Scene setup

Downtime event table roll:
(D12): (9) => Outside your home, cops swarm to a nearby incident. You come upon a crime scene or the aftermath of an incident.

+1 Health for rest

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The single malt is smokey, sharp, and hits my empty stomach like a brick. I don’t even remember the glass slipping from my hand. I just remember the grey, dreamless sleep of the exhausted, followed by the jagged intrusion of sirens.

I wake up on the couch, the smell of spilled scotch in the air. Outside, the world is a kaleidoscope of red and blue pulses reflecting off the rain-streaked glass. I look down: LAPD has cordoned off the street.

I head down, my coat collar pulled high. The damp air is a slap to the face. I spot Sergeant Thorne leaning against a cruiser, looking like he’s lived all twenty of his years on the force in the last ten minutes.

Locke: “Evening, Sarge. What’s the word?” Thorne: [Grunting] “Locke. The hell are you doing here? Holden have you on a leash tonight?” Locke: “I live three doors down. Hard to sleep through the light show. What do you have?” Thorne: “A body. And a headache.”

Q: “How did the man die?”
Cipher table roll:
(D6 + D12): (1 + 9) => Command + Freedom
An agent asked him for id but he tried to escape

He gestures toward the alleyway.

Thorne: “One of my rookies was doing a sweep. Saw this guy skulking in the shadows, looking like he was waiting for a bus that doesn’t run here. Rookie asks for ID, the guy bolts. Reaches into his coat during the chase—rookie doesn’t wait to see if it’s a wallet or a weave-gun. Two shots to the back. Clean as a whistle.”

A cold knot of foreboding tightens in my chest.

Locke: “Mind if I take a look?” Thorne: “Suit yourself. He’s not going anywhere.”

I step past the tape. The man is face-down in a puddle, his coat soaked through. I roll him over just enough to see the jawline. Then I see it—the stylized bird tattoo on his temple, peeking out from the grime.

Locke: “Shit.” Thorne: “You know this guy?” Locke: “Yeah. Tell your rookie he just retired a replicant. He probably saved me some trouble, though he won’t get a medal for it.” Thorne: [Grinning] “A skinjob? Well, damn. Guess the kid’s buying the first round tonight.”

I stare at the bird. He was waiting outside my apartment. Not Dante’s—mine. He wasn’t hunting the hacker anymore; he was hunting the Runner.

Locke: “This is tied to my active file, Thorne. Send the full report and the forensic scans to my KIA. I need to know everything we have on him.”

As I walk back toward my building, my KIA buzzes. A encrypted burst from Dante.

Transmission:“It is done. Snakepit at 20:00.”