The staircase was barely lit by a string of perfectly placed point sources. They were intense, but underpowered for the space. Instead of letting the room, their crisp and greenish glow cast the shadows deeper. As Detective Lynnette descended the stairs, her perfectly crafted body was projected on the walls as numerous deep, distorted shadows.

She found the light unpleasant but not exceptionally bothersome. Her eyes could see well enough as she descended into the precinct morgue. Few if any individuals were around, and this was for several reasons. Firstly, most autopsies were performed by automated systems when required, which was rare. Murders did not really concern Aetna-Cross very much, nor did they concern the majority of corporate law enforcement divisions. Humans were cheap, to the point where the vast majority of them had nearly zero value. It was a waste of time to find killers when resources could be put to solving more pressing issues like investment fraud, embezzling, and data breaches.

The second reason was the fact that the crime Lynnette was intent on examining was different from the one that the majority of the local precinct had become focused on. Two drones had recently been destroyed near the International Rail Station. The data within them was not recoverable, in part because of the damage and in part- -the part that no one admitted- -because they showed signs of having had their primary command focus overwritten by an external force. The prevailing assumption- -the one that had been given to the press, and to corporate- -was that they had been destroyed in an act of gang violence.

That conclusion was logical in that it predicated on the level of damage the drones had received. They were torn apart as though they had been attacked by an entire army, and this was consistent with a number of privately held drones that had been found destroyed and concentrated in one area. That of course made no real sense, as nothing was stolen and no activity was seen in that area by any witnesses. It was the easiest answer. Lynnette, however, knew something that many in the Enforcement division did not: that there was an active weaponized Blossomforth unit in Bridgeport, and that it belonged to a very specific pony of interest.

This was interesting in its own right, but corporate seemed unusually intent on sweeping this one under the rug. Lynnette did not mind, as it suited her own purposes well. The drones made an excellent distraction for what was really of her concern.

She reached the lower floor, which consisted of a nearly labyrinthine mess of hallways through multiple areas: offices, surgical suites, storage units, disposal chambers. It was cold, dim, and wholly unpleasant from an aesthetic standpoint what with its teal walls and epoxy-coated floor. Lynnette grimaced. It was a dreadful place, but to her, so were most places. No one but her seemed to have any concept of beauty.

This was not the first time she had been down here, and she knew it would not be her last. She moved quickly through the hallways, never at any point sacrificing her carefully timed elegant gait. When she reached the room she was headed toward, she activated the security lock telepathically. It opened to reveal the two main precinct Examiners, both standing over a mobile bed with a bloodstained sheet pulled over an unpleasantly shaped object.

Lynnette approached the first of them, the ranking officer. His name in human speech was Steven. He was not a pony, but rather a second generation synth. More specifically, he was a zombie: that is, his robotic central processor had been grafted into the body of a human whose brain had otherwise been ablated. This conversion had been relatively recent, as before he had more closely resembled a large arachnoid creature with numerous metal limbs and effectors.

“Detective,” he said. He looked down at her, and Lynnette saw that the conversion was not entirely complete. The face of his head had been surgically removed, leaving behind a gaping hole in which a blank synth mask template had been placed.

“Examiner,” said Lynnette, bobbing her head in a slight bow. “I see you’ve upgraded your body.”

Steven laughed, which was an odd mechanical sound augmented by one that came from a set of lungs funneled through various bypass valves. “I’m working on it. Still trying for the face, though. That part’s WAY more expensive. In high demand I guess. I’m tempted to start selling the ones I get down here.”

“I wouldn’t bother. Half of them are purely hideous!”

Steven laughed again. “They are. I also need to get the downstairs painted, if you know what I mean. I’m having trouble deciding on male or female.”

Lynnette thought for a moment. “Personally? I would recommend female. The fashion range you can choose from is just so much more appealing.”

“Really? Well, you would know. I’ll give it a think. What do you think, Pinkie?”

He turned toward his assistant, who was staring at both him and Lynnette with a strange smile on her face. Pinkie, like Lynnette, was a pony, but that was where the similarity ended. Lynnette in fact detested her on principal, as Pinkie Pie units were known to be unstable. She supposed it had been a joke programmed into the first batch of them by their original human creators, but it turned out not to be so funny in practice. They were prone to be morbid or even murderous, and the majority of pony serial killers were Pinkie Pies. Worst of all, though, was that they almost always insisted on being naked and being called by the same name. This one wore only a collar with the Aetna-Cross colors and logo but was otherwise nude, despite working in a morgue.

“What?” she said, barely stifling a giggle. “Sorry, I couldn’t tell if you were facing me or not.”

“Ugh,” said Lynnette, rolling her eyes. “Is this going to be a theme, I suppose?”

“Trust me, you get used to it.”

“I guess now I have to save face,” said Pinkie. “Because you’re clearly not!” She laughed and then suddenly fell completely serious. “But yeah, take female. It’s really easy to yank out the old sausage and beans, and I don’t mean in a fun way. It’s really hard to pull the taco salad out. I’ve done it, but they usually die pretty quick after you do.”

“Duly noted,” said Steven. He turned toward the body. “So. You ready?”

“I’m behind schedule already.”

“This is an art, you can’t rush it.” Steven reached out and grasped the edge of the sheet and pulled it back. There was a woman underneath, stripped of all her clothing. As the sheet was removed, her artificial eyes immediately opened and turned toward Lynnette.

“Oh my,” she said.

“Don’t worry, that’s normal,” said Steven. “Her internal power source is still running and some parts still have subexecutive function. Her eyes are just tracking motion. See?” He waved his hand in front of her face and the eyes turned again, their internal parts twisting to focus properly.

“Yeah, we’ll keep an eye on it,” said Pinkie. “You know, see how it goes.”

Lynnette rolled her eyes as Steven pulled back the sheets. The woman underneath was relatively thin and pale, and also young. She might have actually been pretty save for the excessive use of cranial and spinal implants, as well as the piercings and poorly inked tattoos that covered her.

“She’s missing a leg,” said Lynnette, pointing. One leg was indeed missing below the knee, and the same leg had a gaping bullet hole in the thigh.

“Yes. She is. We have it here.” He pointed toward the leg, which was on a separate table. “Pinkie examined it and already matched the genetics.”

“I was trying to get a leg up on the competition,” said Pinkie, shrugging. “Genetics are consistent with one Amanda G. Wallford, age seventeen. Graduated with a masers in applied computer science from Northern Connecticut State University.”

“At seventeen? So she was slow. Or was manufactured poorly.”

“Two slow to dodge bullets, yes.”

“Is that what did this?” Lynnete pointed at the wound.

Pinkie looked at the wound and then smiled. “Do porcs eat bacon?”

“I don’t know. Do they?”

“Some do,” said Steven, taking back the conversation. “But it’s irrelevant here. Yes. Two shots. One low caliber through the thigh and one massive caliber through the knee. Blew her leg clean off.”

“Was that the cause of death?”

“Does the pope pee holy water?”

Lynnette glared at Pinkie, suddenly causing the shorter pony to take a step back. “I don’t find you funny. I’m very close to coming over this table and severing several parts of you that I know will cause you great pain. The only thing stopping me is the fact that you would probably enjoy it, and out of the spirit of workplace professionalism. So take this to heart, darling: SHUT. THE FUCK. UP.” Lynnette cleared her throat. “Please pardon my unladylike language, Steven.”

“Of course. Frankly I’ve wanted to tell her that since Aetna-Cross transferred her.”

“Was the bullet wound the cause of death?”

“No. It might have killed her eventually, though. She had advanced HIV infection.”

“HIV? But that’s been cured. A long time ago. Did she lack the upgrade?”

“No, she had the necessary disease resistance chromosome. She would have cleared it eventually if she had survived. We found syringes on her. Apparently it’s something technomancers do. Keeps their body from rejecting the implants.”

Lynnette raised an eyebrow. “I’m familiar with the practice. So she was a technomancer?”

“Yes. She had some pretty good tech too. Off brands, mostly, but really extensive. “

This surprised Lynnette. Techomancers like herself were surprisingly uncommon. To find one dead was virtually unheard of. “So the bullet did not kill her.” She looked up. “What did?”

“That’s the fascinating part.” Steven opened up several shared files that were visible through the network. “Look at these brain scans.”

“I’m not an Examiner, Steven. If I could not interpret them, I would not have come down to this dreary place.”

“‘Dreary’ is one letter away from ‘cheery’!” chimed Pinkie.

The other two ignored her. Steven continued. “She was braindead. Severe thermal scarring around some of her implants, but not to a lethal level. What really happened is even weirder.” He amplified one image and passed it to Lynnette. She took it and looked through it. Her protest about not being able to understand it had been for the sake of politeness; she in fact could interpret most of the results.

“Her neurons were reconfigured,” said Steven. “All of the connections were distorted.”

“You mean broken.”

“No, I mean that they were realigned. As if her brain had been taught to death.”

“Taught to death? Darling, that medaphor is not appropriate here.”

“But it is! It’s as though someone used her implants to reconfigure her memories and vital functions into something else entirely, a nonfunctional state!”

“Big words for ‘her egg got scrambled’,” said Pinkie. “Her noodle cooked. Her bacon fried. Her salad tossed. I am so hungry now.”

Lynnette looked down at the corpse, and its eyes turned to her. “Steven. I want to be sure I fully comprehend the implications of what you are telling me. You are saying, if I am not mistaken, that she was killed by a mental incursion. That she was, for lack of a better term, hacked to death.”

“I can’t guarantee that. Every piece of data in her was wiped. But that only leads me to be more suspicious. I’d say yes. Yes she was.”

“And you do know that is impossible? To humans, the virtual world is nothing more than an illusion. It can’t actually hurt them. Their minds are hardwired into matter, not programming.”

“These are empirical observations, detective. I’m only telling you what I found, and what conclusions I came to based on the evidence and my experience. The wiring in this woman’s brain was changed, and not by any external means. By her implants.”

“There is not a technomancer alive that can accomplish what you have just suggested.”

“No. There isn’t. That’s why it’s so strange. But there is something that could do this.”

Lynnette looked up at him incredulously. “Which is?”

“The War Stone.”

Lynnette sighed. “The War Stone, darling, is a myth. A legend. Believe me when I tell you it does not exist. This is a real crime, and a real case. One that I am charged with solving. I thank you for your work in the examination, but please leave speculation on the case to me.”

“Ooh, testy,” said Pinkie. “Having trouble finding someone to toss your taco salad? I know a few Corpsy McGees who would be happy to take a shot. I can show you the ropes.”

“Pinkie,” sighed Steven, “we talked about this…”

“What? They’re dead, aren’t they? And just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can’t have a little FUN!”

Lynnette ignored her. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” said Steven. “It’s really weird but in a practical sense cut and dry. She’s not in our care network or an employee. Just another dead kid, like the rest. It makes me wonder why you put a rush on her.”

“I have my reasons.”

“Care to tell them?”

“It’s a pending case, darling. And I still haven’t found anything conclusive.”

“A pending case concerning a dead techomancer that has nothing to do with us?”

Lynnette’s eyes narrowed. Steven was starting to ask too many questions. “I believe she may have been related to a person of interest. Corporate interest.”

“Oh…well then. That’s not good.”

“Why is that not good?”

“Pinkie?”

“Ohh, and unveiling! I love an unveiling! The plot thickens like the cream soda in the back of my fridge!” She reached behind her and opened a box set on a wheeled table. Lynnette crossed to the other side of the table and looked in, the dead technomancer’s eyes following her the whole time.

The box contained the effects of the deceased. Part of it was a folded cloak, but on top sat a pair of machine pistols, a .223 pararevolver, and several unique tools. “Weapons,” she said.

“I prefer to call them ‘party supplies’,” said Pinkie. “That’s also what I call drugs though.”

“I have a manifest,” said Steven, passing the item in question to Lynnette. “The two pistols you see there, the sidearm, various tactical drugs, poisons and several poison dispensers, among other things.”

“What sort of poisons?”

“Paralytics, sedatives. Not things meant to kill. They were unused, which suggests they weren’t meant for whoever shot her leg off.”

Lynnette understood what this meant. There was no way to be perfectly sure, but a technomancer bearing weapons like this probably meant that she had been an assassin of some sort. Steven seemed to understand this implication as well, but Lynnette did not want to point it out if she did not have to.

` “I see,” she said. She closed the box. “Is there anything else?”

“No.”

“Good. I have what I need. I would like you to incinerate the body and the effects at once.”

“It is our usual policy to keep the effects in storage.”

“I do not believe I stuttered in anyway. My speech is impeccable. I know you heard me.”

“But that’s our policy.”

“Yes, I know. I also know that we have two badly damaged drones coming in for inspection and half the floor is going to need to be cleared. We’re going to have to eliminate them anyway to make room, and frankly I would rather not be the one requesting space during the interim.”

“Got it,” said Steven. “And the body?”

“No need for it. She wasn’t the person I was looking for. Probably a good mystery, but not my case. Burn her. And don’t bother making a record of it, she isn’t one of our clients. No sense in wasting time.”

“You’re actually asking us to do LESS paperwork?” said Pinkie. Her eyes narrowed. “Who even are you?”

“I’ll take a copy of the files myself so I can make my report to Hexel. Once again, Steven, and to a lesser extent Pinkie, thank you for your help. I am sorry to have bothered you.”

“It’s not a problem. We love visitors.”

“Especially ones that aren’t all dead and smelly.”

Lynnette smiled and walked away. As she did, she could perceive that Steven activated a large door in the wall. He loaded the shattered leg and the box of effects onto the disposable box where the body was and with one swift motion shoved it down the chute to the disposal area. He closed the door and hit the cycle button. Within a fraction of a second the body had been silently reduced to ash, along with any record of her ever having been present.

At that point, Lynnette stopped for just a moment. She saw Pinkie wince and put a hoof to her head, and Steven spasm slightly. As soon as she started walking, though, they went back to their work, not even realizing that they were missing any and all memories they had about the body that they had just cremated. All evidence that remained was contained securely within Lynnette’s mind, and she took it with her as she silently departed.