Here is the first post.
Firs- oh shit well I'm second
Eeeeeeheeheeheehee
The scent of burned cheese wafting up from the NuevosHuevos food truck parked on the street below your window invades the small office of Scry Investigations. At least it's better than the smell of garbage, not that that's much consolation.
The small, dingy office that the two of you own is just about the cheapest bit of office space available in New York. A small apartment building, where the landlord won't even check your credit score. The two of you rent out two apartments, with Scry taking up the bedroom in the one you use as an office. Water stains mar the ceiling. Dirty, thick, grey carpet covers what was once a good hardwood floor in most places. In the dining room though, about half of it has been ripped up, like a previous tenant's half-hearted attempt to expose the hardwood. The floor there is sadly scratched and dented.
It is hot. Even 200 years ago, summers in New York were always sweltering, but today they're nearly unbearable. Air-conditioning units are legally required, and yours fills the air with a tired rattling noise, dispelling only the thickest and most uncomfortable layer of the summer heat. It needs to be used until October most years.
Just when boredom begins to take you, there is a knock at your door. Beyond it there is a tall, broad-shouldered, green-skinned woman. Muscles ripple under a dirty and ill-fitting blouse, and dirty gray hair hangs limply from the top of her head. Her eyes are red and there are deep, dark circles underneath them, and she knocks a second time. "Martin Scry? Scry Investigations? George Newberry told me to come here. Are you open?" you can hear. Her voice is shaky and obviously aged.
Martin, you do know a George Newberry. He's a small-time criminal, though mostly because he's stuck in perpetual poverty. You've used him before, as a contact or an information source, back when you were a cop. She must have run into him at the station.
If this is another cheating spouse I'm going to drown myself in rat piss "Come in, miss. Take a seat and tell me what troubles you." Martin calls toward the door to his assistant's room. "SMYRNA! CLIENT!"
A petite woman wearing bulky black clothes, despite the heat, is sitting at a makeshift desk that appears to be a kitchen counter dragged into the living room. On this desk are three ancient computers stacked together in a whirring clump.
The woman, Smyrna, calls out "Jesus Christ Mr. Scry, hold up a goddamn minute. Lemme do my job first, you'll get to her in a bit." in a native bronx accent before looking the haggard woman up and down, sighing, and stating "Welcome ma'am to Scry Investigations, please sit down and make yourself comfortable." In a practiced tone without an ounce of sincerity. "Please give me your full name, race, comm number and the nature of your claim. Afterwards, I'll send a report to Mr. Scry who will then contact you within 48 hours of our correspondence."
The older orcish woman comes in and sits at the receptionist's desk. "Um. Okay," she says, her voice a little bit shaky and unsure. "Yelis Shellerton, full orc. 48-7886AY-905T. My husband is missing, and the police won't help to look for him. I went by the precinct, and they just laughed in my face, but I haven't seen him in a week and a half. He's never been gone this long." She sighs, looking sadly at her hands, which she wrenches helplessly.
Smyrna's lips tighten into a frown as Yelis describes her situation. "A week and a half is far beyond the minimum limitation for an official missing person investigation." Smyrna clicks away at her computer for a moment longer before abruptly calling back "Nevermind about holding back Mr. Scry, this one's legit. C'mon in and hear her out!"
"Mrs. Shellerton, I'm going to be level with ya, statistical evidence from missing person investigations of last year's police census reports that people who are missing for more than a week in New York City have a 77% chance of being involved in some form of foul play. Now I'm not saying he's dead, but something's wrong. The good news is you've come to the right place. Mr. Scry is a bastard, but god knows he's as tenacious as my second cousin Eleutherios at an open bar."
The older woman nods hopefully as Smyrna first begins to respond to her. "You're right, something is wrong. He hasn't been at work either, I went there and asked. I don't know where he possibly could be, and I'm getting more and more worried the more time goes by."
"Is there anything you need to know from me before you start? I don't have too much money, but I went around my neighborhood and scrounged up a little bit..."
She pulls out a pre-paid credit chit. Looking at the readout confirms that it is worth 2,500 credits - not an insignificant sum for an apartment-dwelling commoner orc to raise.
- - - -
A background check on her and her husband Diggary doesn't turn up much. It seems that they've moved to New York City relatively recently, just two years ago. Before that, they lived in Akron, Ohio. Yelis has no criminal record and works as a janitor at AT&T corporate headquarters. Diggary has one count of aggravated assault on his record from eight years ago, and he served a year in prison for it. He works as a cook at Google New York.
Smyrna reverts to a memorized monotone, stating "Mr. Scry's hourly fee is 250 credits plus travel expenses and stocking fees. 2,500 credits will certainly cover the deposit of an investigation for a reasonable amount of time. If this case is solved before the deposit runs out, we will refund you the difference. Of course, if Mr. Scry's fees reach your current deposit, he will be forced to stop investigating until more credits are deposited." She pauses, before continuing in a harsher Bronx accent "You probably hearda Mr. Scry's magnanimity. That's why I'm here, we don't do charity. That said, paying our deposit means a lot, so I'll grantcha some leeway."
"Now, back to the task at hand. As soon as Mr. Scry gets his lucky notepad and graces us with his presence, he'll want to know some facts. I've already filled him in on you and your husband's background, but there're some specifics he'll want to hear." A grinding noise can now be heard from a computer as a piece of parchment is hacked out. "Please fill out this personalized questionnare"
The questionnare reads:
Mrs. Shellerton, please answer these questions to the best of your knowledge. No detail is too small.
How long have you and Diggary Shellerton been married?
What was Mr. Shellerton's profession in Akron?
What is the story behind Diggary's aggravated assault conviction?
Why did the two of you move to New York City?
Were there any conflicts recently with either of you at your places of work. Either you at AT&T or your husband at Google?
Has Mr. Shellerton done anything recently outside of his usual habits?
How was the status of your relationship directly before his disappearance?
Smyrna pipes up as Yelis reads over the laundry list of personal questions "One more thing Mrs. Shellerton, I assume your husband's comm unit is an AT&T model. I assume you've tried tracking his location using his serial number?"
The orcish woman nods mutely as Smyrna talks to her, only speaking up once Smyrna asks her about her husband's phone. She shakes her head. "Um," she stammers, "No, I haven't tried that. Hang on, I've got the serial number here somewhere."
She roots around in her purse for a few moments, coming up with a pen and her phone. She writes down the missing man's comm number and then busies herself for a few moments writing down the answers to Smyrna's questions.
Martin has been listening attentively and scribbling down notes on his notepad. When Yelis mentiones gathering resources from the neighborhood, his eyes get glassy and he shoots Smyrna a defeated look.
Now its wishful thinking to hope this is just a case of infidelity...
Also, Mrs. Shellerton, what was the very last interaction you had with him before he went missing?
Yelis gets up to shake Mr. Scry's hand. Her handshake is extremely firm. Then, she sits back down again to scribble away on Smyrna's questionnaire, just responding, "I don't know, Mr. Scry... We just had breakfast together before he went to work, and then he headed out."
In a few minutes, she hands the questionnaire back.
- - - -
Mrs. Shellerton, please answer these questions to the best of your knowledge. No detail is too small.
How long have you and Diggary Shellerton been married?
'Twenty-one years'
What was Mr. Shellerton's profession in Akron?
'Bartender'
What is the story behind Diggary's aggravated assault conviction?
'He got into a fight with a bar patron who wouldn't pay'
Why did the two of you move to New York City?
'There were no jobs in Ohio'
Were there any conflicts recently with either of you at your places of work. Either you at AT&T or your husband at Google?
'No more than normal work stress'
Has Mr. Shellerton done anything recently outside of his usual habits?
'He's been staying later at work for the last few weeks'
How was the status of your relationship directly before his disappearance?
'We are happily married'
"Thank you Mrs. Shellerton. Unless there's anything else Mr. Scry needs from you, you're free to go. I'll be contacting you as soon as we know anything in regards to your husband."
As soon as Yelis leaves, Smyrna looks over to Martin and says "Betcha 200 credits that it's infidelity"
Martin looks sadly after the woman as she leaves. "No kidding. We'll probably find him tripping on dreamshiver in a ditch with his pants around his ankles.
Yelis, sighing deeply, leaves the office. She thanks Mr. Scry as she goes, closing the door gently behind her.
Smyrna smirks "That situation sound familiar to ya Mr. Scry? Maybe some field work you've been doing on the side? Anyway, we might as well check out where his comm device is." Smyrna starts typing at her computers.
Smyrna manages to hack into AT&T's database without too much trouble. The employee files aren't very well protected, and it only takes her an hour or so to get through a couple of password locks and to synthesize a PIN number.
The missing man's cell phone number spits out a known address. A quick Maps search reveals it to be Google New York's corporate building.
Ugh, I bet he left his comm at work before going out and finding his fix
Smyrna contacts Mr. Scry via comm "Coming in with some new info Mr. Scry. Diggary's comm is currently at Google New York's corporate building. Sending ya the link to its location now. Meet you there for backup on some reconnoissance?"
"See you there in 10, kid. Do we have a holopic of Mr.Shellerton? It would be nice to know what he looks like.' Martin throws on an overcoat and hat to hide his weapons and rides his cheap, shitty motorcycle to google's headquarters.
"Sure thing, see you in a bit Mr. Scry." Smyrna sends Martin a screenshot of Diggary's employee identification photo while she walks to her primer black, junkyard moped. She pops open a compartment under the right handle bar where she expertly connects three sparking wires. The moped shutters to life instantly and she navigates through traffic at a dangerous speed, a custom police radar giving her the location of patrolling police vehicles in the area around her.
It takes forty minutes for Smyrna and Mr. Scry to reach the Google corporate headquarters, because of the terrible traffic (even on a motorcycle, which have become increasingly popular in the great population density).
Smog chokes the air, and little masks are recommended. The lobby of the Google building is shiny and immaculate, and all entrances farther into the building are carefully disguised to not allow view into the further rooms.
The security guard, a middle-aged and overweight Arab man, asks, "What is your business here?" He is no-nonsense and completely without humor.
Martin mimicks his demeaner and wipes his face into a mask of stern authority, standing in a wonderwoman powerpose and emanating confidence. "Exterminators. Here to investigate the bug problem. It's time-sensitive, didn't your supervisor tell you we were coming?" He sounds like he's trying not to sound annoyed.
The guard narrows his eyes at Martin. "No, I didn't hear any such thing. Can I see your exterminator credentials?"
As soon as Martin mentions exterminator, Smyrna rolls her eyes, then starts typing madly away at her comm device, then she ruffles in her bag and grabs a slip of warm paper. "Of course sir, here's our card" Myrna shows the security guard a tasteful business card from a company called Poison Dick's Pest Control. It includes a logo consisting of an anteater with Martin's face cleverly photoshopped over it.
"This here's poison Dick. Best in the business."
The man looks at it, studying it carefully. "Hm. Okay. I'll message up to Ms. Jela to let her know that you've arrived. Hold on."
He clicks away at his computer, and a couple of hard cards come out of a drawer. He hands them to you. They are yellow, and have little barcodes on them. "Here are your temporary security badges. Wear them at all times when inside the facility."
"Thanks sir, should be an in and out job. One more thing, could you direct us to janitorial? That's where we're reporting"
The security guard nods. "Swipe your card in the elevator, hit 2B. That'll bring you down to sub-basement 2B."
Then he goes back to watching whatever mindless thing he was staring at before you came in.
Martin mouths "EZ" at Smyrna and steps into the building. He heads over to the elevator swipes the card, and punches the 2B button like the guard told him to.
Smyrna just smirks back at Martin as they head into the sub-basement.
The pair arrive in sub-basement 2B. Seems to mostly be storage, although you can also hear the -beep- of a massive truck reversing, probably into some kind of bay nearby. There are supply closets everywhere, and rooms full of boxes.
Smyrna habitually checks the space for cameras. For safety, she shoots Martin a glance and says We'll let's see what kind of bug we're dealing with. We can look around here, then we should try to find our target. We could try splitting up. Pests are always attracted to food, so you could question the kitchen staff while I check out the personal employee lockers.
There are at least two cameras in every single room. However, it doesn't look like the cameras down here in sub-basement 2B have audio.
The employee storage room is down here. It's filled with closets for coats, shoe racks for shoes (it seems everyone here has to wear the same Vans-branded shoes at work - a brand that you know is owned by the supercorporation Alphabet) and lockers for personal effects. Each locker is named.
The kitchen is not on this floor.