Good Morning Owen Hunter Sample Chapter
- craigarthurbooks
- Mar 3
- 37 min read
This is the first chapter of Good Morning Owen Hunter.
LIMBUS
EPISODE 1: GOOD MORNING OWEN HUNTER
CRAIG ARTHUR
Copyright © 2021 by Craig Arthur
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First published, 2021
https://www.craigarthurbooks.com/limbus-series
1: GOOD MORNING OWEN HUNTER
OWEN
Owen didn’t dream. He couldn’t prove it, but he was certain. Obviously everyone dreamed, yet he couldn’t remember a single one. Not once did he wake from a nightmare; not once did he imagine flying, nothing. And without evidence, who was to say it ever happened?
Eeek. Eeek. Eeek demanded the clock. Goodbye oblivion. Goodbye inflatable duvet. Goodbye warm feeling of being afloat a bubble of your own subconscious. Air billowed through his vest. No. The bed wheezed and picked itself off the floor. No. The mattress started tilting upright. No! The hairs on his arms charged with bristling static, anticipating the electric jolt he’d receive if he didn’t get up right now. Sleeping in was not an option. Blinking against the white light, he staggered forward, surroundings vibrating as the appliances in his room woke up too, bending their backs, probably feeling as rotten as him.
“Good morning, Owen Hunter.”
“I know my own goddamn name, Vex!”
“You have filed a warning against blaspheming; please control your actions in future.”
“Yeah, well, today’s not a Sunday…” he muttered, pulling his black suit out of the drawer. His fingers followed the grain of the blazer’s fabric as the soft silk caressed his arms. Putting this baby on in the morning was the best part of his job. A metal arm offered his red tie and he nestled it under his Adam’s apple.
“Muffin this morning, Sir?”
“You know I want a muffin Vex, why haven’t you brought it already?”
“You failed to input breakfast into the system last night.”
“Couldn’t you have just assumed, since, I don’t know, I’ve had one EVERYDAY THIS WEEK?”
“You programmed me against presumptions after the milk incident.”
Owen sighed. “Just get me the muffin please.”
“Sir-”
“And don’t call me Sir, either!”
“Then how should I address you?”
“I don’t know… anything else…”
“O.K. Partner.”
Okay partner? How the hell did that get in her system?
“Was that a joke, Vex?”
“I do not joke.”
Owen wasn’t so sure. These morning jousts with his AI had to stop, they drained all his energy before he even reached work. He’d installed Vex three years ago, surely she should be house trained by now.
“Your muffin, Sir...”
Owen snatched the muffin off the plate that rose from beneath his kitchen peninsula, too hungry to comment further on his knighthood. Eating allowed him a minute’s respite, and by the time he’d finished, he was ready.
“Time?”
“5:40, Sir.”
“That’ll do Vex, that’ll do nicely!”
The whizzing sound of vehicles outside penetrated the walls. Thousands of people, thousands of destinations. Crossing so close to each other but living in such separate worlds. Owen groggily gestured to the front door. It obliged, twisting open to reveal the pilot seat of his Glider.
“LightRay Investigations.”
“Plotting route now,” the dashboard replied. Owen let out a deep sigh as the Glider disconnected from his apartment, flying out into the open airways.
Another day, another murder.
SHIVA
The cowled woman followed the winding path as it cut across the marshland. It was a dangerous road to take, the acidic water often drowning the stony pebbles under mud. But this was her only chance to reach her destination unseen. Insects chirped around her head, hidden in the fog. Everything in the Gutters was distorted by its thick green mask. The rotting stilt houses were finished with a smudge, colours muted and people shrouded. The fumes hung barely a metre above the mossy swamps and extended so far into the air the top wasn’t visible. But she knew what was up there: miles above, thousands of flying vehicles travelled to and from the city, emitting toxic fumes that would eventually sink, adding to the green cloud surrounding her. Shiva re-adjusted the handkerchief to cover her face. Home was a long way away now. She was deep into enemy territory.
A lone rider emerged through the fog, wearing the same black cowl and jacket. That made him a Ford. That made him an enemy. The Shreek he rode was grinding its jaw, making a clacking sound. They were horses once, but the fog carried a virus that rotted their insides. Their foals were born disfigured: the skin on their legs and stomach peeled back revealing layers of muscle, bone exposed around their facial features, rot sores blemishing in their nostrils, their eye sockets empty. Some had long necks, others long bodies, some barely reached waist height and not all had four legs. But those that survived their first few weeks had one thing in common: twice the life expectancy of any horse. Importing horses from City C was difficult, dangerous and extortionately expensive, so the people of the Gutters switched to breeding Shreeks. Shiva thought the skull-faced creatures fitted their environment perfectly. She lowered her head as the rider passed, the creature watching her with its empty eye socket.
“Missus!”
The rider stopped and Shiva felt for her knife. The Ford kicked the Shreek to turn back. It gargled at him with its broken wax drip lips, but obliged.
“Where’s a fine lady like yuh off t’ at this time?” The man’s voice was like sandpaper. Attempting her best BraeFowl territory accent, she replied. “Ah am off t’ th’ BraeFowl Inn.”
“Ah don’t recognise yuh, lady, wha’ yuh planning t’ do there?”
“Who ah am is no matter t’ yuh. Ah have business wi’ Draco Ford.”
The man scowled. “E’ry bugger from e’ry which way wants t’ know where good ol’ Draco’s at. Well, yuh’ll not find him th’ night. He’s ‘rrangin’ a transfer wi’ th’ city come th’ black.”
Perfect.
“Will there be a Ford there atall?”
“Yuh strike me as awful keen t’ see us… lets ha’ a look at yer face.”
The situation was getting precarious. Time to abort.
“My business does not concern yuh. ‘twas only a question.”
Shiva continued walking. Wrong move. Ignoring any Ford was a personal affront to their delusional sense of dominance. The Fords acted as if their trades with the City made them special. Didn’t change the fact they lived in the same fog infested land as everyone else.
“Naw lady, yuh want t’ see a Ford. Well, here ah am. If yer from ano’er territory th’n tis ma business, see? We don’t want no strangers round here. Let’s see yer face. Th’n we c’n talk ‘bout how many Fords r’ where.”
The rider shifted his weight to one side to get a better look at her. That’s when he noticed.
“Hold on. That’s ma brother’s jacket! ...and ma brother’s shoes! What th’ hell r’ yuh-”
Shiva jammed her knife into his gut.
“AAAaah!”
The Shreek panicked, knocking her backwards into the marsh. The rider bobbed about on the saddle, clutching the knife in his belly. She grabbed for the pistol in her belt, but it wasn’t there.
“Bitch!”
Placing two hands around the hilt, the Ford yanked out the knife.
“Raaah!” Blood poured down his leather jacket. Shiva fumbled around in the mud until her gloves brushed off the barrel of the pistol. She dug it out of the bog just as the Ford charged towards her. Taking aim, she fired.
Nothing happened.
She gasped. Jammed with mud. The rider was upon her now, lifting the knife.
CRACK!
A large rock hit the Ford full in the face, throwing him from his Shreek. Where did that come from?
“Gaah!” He landed on the path; knife thrown from his hand. He reached for it, but Shiva’s wet boots reached it first, kicking him in the face for good measure. Pinning him down with her knees she pressed the knife against his neck.
“Wait!” The man begged, cowl falling from his head.
Shiva froze, recognising the deformed nose. Malcom Ford, eldest son of Draco Ford.
“How many Fords are in the mansion?!” she demanded, blade shaking in her hand.
“All o’ them! All o’ them r!”
“What about Draco?”
“’s there aswell.”
“If you’re lying to me…”
“I swear it! Swear it on ma life.”
“Good.”
She pushed down on the knife, piercing his Adam’s apple. Blood splattered over his mouth. Tears prickling in her eyes, she leaned in close.
“Do you even remember me?” she whispered. “I was six when your family murdered mine. Afterwards you walked right on over, threw a coin purse in my lap. ‘Don’ take it person’lly’, you laughed, ‘Treat yersel’ t’ somethin’ nice’.” Malcom’s started clawing at her legs, so she pushed him down further.
“Well, I did take it personally. I bought this knife with that money, and once you’re dead I’m going to use it to kill the rest of your family, until not one Ford’s left standing.”
Malcom’s mouth opened and closed like he was trying to talk, but the only sound was him choking on his own blood.
“Sorry? I can’t hear you.”
She twisted the knife. Malcom’s body let out one last shudder, before falling still.
A shadow fell over her, hot breath warming the back of her neck. “Did you really need to kill him?”
“Cindy…” Shiva stood up, slotting the knife back into her belt. “I told you not to follow me.”
“It’s a good thing I did. If I hadn’t thrown that rock-”
“I had it covered.”
“If you say so…”
Shiva wiped the mud off her face with her jacket sleeve, turning around to find her friend’s big hazel eyes staring at her.
“You don’t have to do this...”
Here we go again.
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t. Look Shiva, I understand, honestly I do. Idris did nothing to deserve what happened to him. But this is a bad idea.”
Two days ago, Draco Ford had crossed the border into IronTown to collect rent on the land the Fords had stolen. Idris had begged for exemption for a family who were unable to pay. Draco murdered them all on the spot.
Shiva shook her head. “Nothing’s changed.”
“What happened with your parents, that was so long ago-”
“And the incident with Idris was almost identical. Nothing. Has. Changed!”
Cindy looked on the verge of tears. Shiva sighed. She shouldn’t have shouted.
“It isn’t your job,” Cindy whispered.
“Yes, it is. Who else will do it?”
“What about Polymer?”
Shiva rolled her eyes. If Polymer knew what she was doing, he’d be here trying to stop her too.
“Why should he risk his life over something that has nothing to do with him?”
“Ghost then. Idris was her husband. She can handle herself. She’s as good a fighter as you, you know. You don’t want to admit it, but it’s true…”
“Maybe. But Ghost’s far too emotional right now.”
“And you aren’t?”
“No. I’m angry. The difference is I can channel my anger. Polymer can only watch over Ghost for so long. She’s a hot head, Cindy; her grief would get her killed. You know it would. Then not only would Ghost be dead and her son an orphan, but she’ll have painted a massive target on IronTown. That’s why I need to act now.”
“And if you fail the exact same thing happens.”
This made Shiva stumble, her hand beginning to shake. She knew what Cindy was thinking, she’d said it often enough. You stupid, stupid girl. It was time to shut this conversation down.
“It’s too late anyway.” Shiva pointed at the dead Ford.
“It’s never too late. Come back to IronTown with me. Where you belong…”
Shiva’s hairs prickled on her neck. “I can’t.”
Cindy closed her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I know. I just… I don’t want you to die.”
“Hey. It would take the whole of BraeFowl Territory to take me out.” Shiva gave her a reassuring smile, but Cindy didn’t return it.
“Killing shouldn’t be fun, Shiva.”
Shiva sighed. Cindy would never understand; she was too nice. Sometimes, to do the right thing, you had to get your hands dirty.
“Help me move the body?”
Cindy nodded, refusing to look at her. They waded into the marsh. Finding the deepest spot, they let Malcom go. As the corpse sunk Shiva watched Cindy’s golden hair flick across her face from the wind, eyes wet. Even in this state she was still so beautiful.
“Cindy. Promise you’ll go home.”
“I will.”
The last of the bubbles disappeared from the muddy water. He’d more than deserved it, but Shiva didn’t feel any better now he was gone.
“Wait.” Cindy took something out of her pocket. “I found this on the way here. Thought it might be useful.”
She placed a plant into Shiva’s gloves. Its red arms were knotted with veins, spiralling, twisting, contorting around themselves to a sharp point. Small prickles glistened on each branch. Blood Vine. The weed was the bane of life in The Gutters. Growing on higher grounds, it was usually harmless. Until it came into contact with the Gutter’s acidic water. The liquid caused it to violently detonate, destroying crops and killing animals. During fog storms Shiva would lie in bed, listening to them explode.
“It takes a minute to react.” Cindy said quietly.
“Thank you…”
Cindy nodded, rubbing her arm. Shiva moved in to hug her friend goodbye, but Cindy pulled away.
“Don’t. That will make me think you’re not coming back. Go on, you stupid girl.”
Cindy’s pained eyes scared Shiva, but she daren’t show it, not unless she wanted another argument. She headed back to the path. The Shreek hadn’t moved from the spot where its owner had fallen, confused without a master to guide it. Shiva approached it cautiously.
“Easy...” She put a hand on its side. The beast didn’t move. Carefully she grasped the seat and pulled herself up. The BraeFowl path looked considerably smaller atop a Shreek. It brought back memories: she was a child the last time she’d ridden one. The beast didn’t seem to mind the change of owner much; it just let out a small burble, lifting its head indicating it was ready to continue.
“Good Shreek,” Shiva smiled, patting the hair covered part of its muzzle. The creature snapped at her hand with a monstrous roar and a flash of teeth that caused her to jump so high she almost fell off.
“Okay, maybe not,” she grumbled, kicking its exposed ribcage.
….
He woke. Head spinning. Around him close. Too close. Not light. Cold. Wrong.
Shouldn’t be here. Need to move. Get up. Get up now!
BANG!
Head hurt. Ringing. Colours fuzzy. Up wasn’t up. Up was… roof.
Lines formed in dark. More roof. Roof all around. Roof bad. Roof meant no leave.
Roof meant no leave…
Panic. Where was he? Where was this? What was this?
Something inside him, rising, pain. Tried to stop it, but couldn’t.
“Huaaaaaah!”
Remembered to breathe.
In and out, in and out. Calmed him. Slow move. Slow move mean no hurt. Streaks of dark fell across colours. He grabbed them. Thin, sticky. Ache when touch. Part of him. Of head. Another word: hair.
Tssss…
A sound. Quiet sound. Long sound.
Bad sound.
Sound after him. Danger. Danger again.
The man looked over his shoulder...
The darkness looked back.
OWEN
“Good Morning, Owen Hunter.”
OverWatch’s clinical voice filled the LightSuite.
“Morning OverWatch.” Owen closed his eyes, rubbed his long pencil nose and took a deep breath. This was his usual ritual: wiping his mind of anxiety and stress before downloading someone else’s.
“Alright OverWatch, let’s make this quick. Raw details and clear links only.”
“Certainly. Case 1…28-year-old female found dead, Block J, Cell 1457 at 06:33. Multiple stab wounds to the upper chest, 24-29mm deep. Suspects brought in for questioning: male, 19, Cell 1458, history of purchasing intoxicating hair gels; couple, female, 34 and male, 39, Cell 2457, both independently accessed online mental correction services in the past 10 days; female, 15, Cell 0024, Enforcers called twice this year for defacing public service androids. Victim was talking to her sister on a Connect earphone when she died.”
OverWatch played the call. There was a choking noise, a slam, then static.
“Daisy! DAISY?” The sister screamed. The recording cut to silence.
“Sapphire hair dye found on the body and carpet. Chair overturned. Friction marks on the carpet…”
The photo of the body filled the screen. Owen was surprised. She was pretty, her unoffending plump face and warm eyes making him feel like he knew her. Victims often had obvious flaws: aggressive, selfish, egotistical, ugly, spiteful, dumb. Daisy didn’t look like any of these. Daisy just looked normal.
“… husband died four years ago. Glider accident. Daisy blamed the authorities, but verdict given as pilot error…”
“OverWatch, I said only clear links.”
“The death of a husband is likely to have emotional consequences-”
“Why do I need to know it was the pilot’s fault?”
“Noted.”
He hated when she said that. Noted could mean anything: a complete internal overhaul, changing the weighting of a protocol, or simply, “I don’t care about your opinion”.
OverWatch was built up from hundreds of years’ experience: anyone who’d ever entered LightRay Investigations had been downloaded into her subconscious, so she always knew better than you. At least that’s what Jackson, his boss, frequently reminded him. Owen doubted they even needed people anymore - he was likely a human scapegoat, to persuade the public they weren’t being convicted by an un-empathising machine. And yet, clever though she thought she was, Owen reckoned he was the only person in City C who could outsmart her.
Owen sorted through the data on the three hanging screens with sweeps and flicks of his hand, bringing important information into focus, cataloguing details at the side and saving relevant evidence to the case file. He sent the dimensions of the stab indentations to Geoffrey, his co-investigator. Geoffrey was struggling to keep his fifty-fifty split of mass and muscle balanced on a floating seat, bushy eyebrows forming a pyramid of concentration as he searched OverWatch’s database for a murder weapon. There was never any difficulty in knowing what the over-expressive, over-sized man was thinking. Owen smiled, returning to building a profile on the victim.
Daisy was a primary school teacher. In one clip she was comforting a pupil who’d broken his drone, in another she was helping her older neighbour out of a Glider. She was friendly with everyone, and did everything from bingo to void-hopping. Daisy made Owen ashamed of his own reclusive lifestyle. He didn’t do classes, or visit his neighbours. Not for a long time, not since Jessica and Ellie, his childhood friends from Block B. But that was before he moved up in the world. He sighed. Thinking about the twins left him with a strange sense of guilt. Perhaps he should look them up? Focus, Owen… focus.
Daisy’s last trip was to Mayfen Cinema, a giant inflatable dome housing the largest screen in the world, built in memory of the assassinated president. It was the embodiment of excess, representing everything he’d hated about Mayfen when he was in power. Vincent Perch, his successor, wasn’t much better. Irregular blinking alerted Owen that his eyes were watering. There was Daisy, three days prior, watching a film beside a man she obviously fancied from her increased heart rate. Today she lay face down between her creams and jewellery. Owen groaned: too many people, too many places. A blip appeared on the third screen. Geoffrey had found a match for the murder weapon – the blade of a hair trimming robot.
“Geoffrey, you’re a bloody genius!”
“Glad you finally noticed.” He chuckled.
Owen looked over the pink oval machine and its two sharp rotating whiskers. This was what killed her? A malfunctioning robot? He returned to the scene, which Geoffrey converted to a 3D space projected on the marble hexagon floor. No report of the robot filed, no footage of Daisy getting a haircut. It didn’t make sense, unless someone had murdered her with just the blade. Something was missing. Which meant…
“Er, Geoffrey?”
“What’s up?”
“Can you bring me some lilac coffee from the social room please?”
Owen tried to sound casual. Geoffrey’s frown informed him he wasn’t successful.
“What about the juice shoot?”
Owen glanced at the transparent tube in the corner of the room with disdain.
“It… always tastes watery coming from that thing.”
Geoffrey cocked his head. “Fair point. Alright, I’ll order some.”
“Wait. I mean… can you physically go get it?”
Geoffrey’s mouth turned upside down. He really was terrible at hiding his emotions.
“Why?”
“I don’t want some random intern coming in here and sticking their nose into this case.”
“Okay...”
He wasn’t convinced. Hell, of course he wasn’t.
“Look-”
“Yeh, I said okay mate. Calm down. We’re good here. I’ll get you that coffee. Probably need the exercise.”
As soon as he left, Owen slipped his watch from his wrist. Using his fingernails, he prised a tiny black chip from a compartment imbedded in the gold and placed it on the mainframe. Typing a command on his watch, the three screens blacked out. A couple seconds later the images returned, now with an empty black sidebar. Owen shivered.
So, he’d been a hacker...
The best part of his younger life had been spent under a weak yellow light in the corner of his parents’ bedroom, typing code. He’d promised to leave that behind when he started working here. Back then he’d been breaking other people’s lives, for all the wrong reasons, and he had paid the price. But perhaps hacking was the only way to bring justice for Daisy?
Owen projected a holographic keyboard from his watch, grabbing the numbers suspended above his wrist.
“Owen Hunter, what are you do-?”
OverWatch’s stilted voice startled him. Quickly he typed code into the black sidebar. Silence. That shut her up. He laughed. It had been a while, he forgot how good this felt. OverWatch oversaw hospitals, security, banks… everything. But that left her exposed. She could be tapped into from almost any mainframe. Owen had created an account identifying him as a government senator, allowing him full access to most of the files in her system. How could a program be more intelligent than man if man could decode its every thought? They may be faster, but if you had the ability, anything could be hacked.
He navigated pages of City C planning proposals, new government laws and confidential patient data before reaching the one he was after: the page containing classified accounts on investigation cases. It pissed him off no end that information could be classified from the very person trying to solve the crime. The automatic ass covering regime. Normally he chose not to dwell on the underhand machinations of the Government, as it was a sure-fire method of self-destruction. But something was off about OverWatch not identifying or locating the whereabouts of the murder weapon, failing to even provide video footage of the crime taking place. OverWatch’s citywide surveillance should mean they were the first pieces of evidence available to him. All Owen needed to do was to confirm, or deny, if the hairstyling robot had been in Daisy’s apartment, then he could move on.
Maximising the page, a second black sidebar popped up on the screen. Strange. He’d been hacking OverWatch for years; he’d done this hundreds of times; he knew what was supposed to be in her system. And this… this wasn’t part of the script. Owen froze the screen, attempting to read the code inside the sidebar. No, too complicated, encoded in a language he didn’t recognise. Not just encoded… bloody hell, this wasn’t supposed to be here at all. Owen shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. Geoffrey would be back soon. The man was kind and decent, if he caught Owen hacking again, he’d have no choice but to report him to Jackson. Owen wouldn’t just lose his job, he wouldn’t just return to that cramped yellow lit room, he would go to prison. He saved a screenshot of the data onto his memory stick, glancing at the time. Geoffrey would be back any second. Owen ran a search for Daisy’s address. Sure enough, there was the redacted video footage. Daisy’s own screen cam recorded the moment she died. Owen began downloading the footage when he heard footsteps. He minimised the black bar as Geoffrey sauntered in. Owen spun around.
“Hey. Where you get that?” Geoffrey frowned, pointing at the downloaded footage. Shit.
“Oh… that? New footage. Just sent from the lab. Turns out Daisy had personal CCTV installed.”
Owen swallowed as Geoffrey’s face morphed from confusion to his usual cheek-to-cheek grin.
“Nice one man! That’ll make our job a hell of a lot easier.” Geoffrey shoved the cup into Owen’s chest. Lilac and raspberry filled his nostrils, creating a warm feeling in his chest. As he leaned to take a sip, Geoffrey slapped him on the back, knocking coffee all over his favourite suit.
“Drink up. If we’re quick, we can wrap this case up today.”
Owen wiped the fabric down with his hands. “Thanks for that...”
Geoffrey jumped onto the gliding chair, causing it to bob downwards.
“It’s coffee mate, I haven’t saved your life.”
Owen nervously laughed, returning the black chip to its home inside the gold watch behind his back.
“You never know…”
….
“Huhuahuhuaa.”
The man bounded down the shaft. The man was afraid.
Hssssssssssssssss.
The sound chased him. Should not be here. Need to leave. But the faster he went the faster the roof went with him. No end. Why no end?
“There is no end.”
He crashed; body thrown against side. Voice wasn’t him. Someone here?
“No.” The voice told him, deep but clear, quiet and loud, all at once. “No-one else is here. You are alone.”
Alone. The man held his head, colours flashing in his eyes. He closed them. Colours still there. An image formed. Room. Bright, many lights. Big space. Clean.
Not real. Need to escape.
But could not leave. Because someone else in room with him. Another man. Long white hair, old, turned away. Was he Voice?
“You need to leave,” Voice warned. No. Someone else.
The stranger turned around. Face made his head burn.
“RRRRRRAAAAGH!”
“What are you doing here?” White haired man asked as he approach.
“Don’t do it. I told you not to do it.”
He couldn’t. He had to. The other man moved to grab something. He punched him to the floor. The white-haired man looked up in shock, lips bloody.
“Who do you think you are?”
He didn’t know. Didn’t even know. He punched him again.
“No. Stop.”
He ignored voice, hands moving around white-haired man’s neck.
“Stop it.”
He couldn’t. Just so angry. The white-haired man’s face turned red.
“WOLF! LISTEN TO ME!”
He open eyes. It was dark again.
Wolf. Name was Wolf.
He hadn’t moved. On back. He looked down the shaft.
hsssSSSSSSS.
White. Shaft turning white. Coming towards him. And so was hissing. Getting louder. He kicked away at the pipe, falling over himself. But it was fast, too fast. The white cloud was upon him. Wolf opened his mouth, but the gas swallowed his screams.
OWEN
So, the robot did it. Daisy was sitting in front of the mirror, chatting to her sister, when mid-conversation the robot juttered, blade punching forward into her neck. Daisy’s expression collapsed from cheer, to sheer terror, as she fell backwards, bleeding, taking the creams with her. Owen couldn’t watch the rest. Later in the footage, Owen found a dust trace in the shape of the robot under the bed. Perhaps it was as simple as the dust clogging the ventilation slots that caused the floating hairstylist to malfunction? This alongside Geoffrey’s match of the bot blades to the wounds gave them enough evidence to solve the case without the classified footage. Owen didn’t get any satisfaction from it though. Daisy was murdered by a damn machine, and OverWatch tried to cover it up. He stood to leave.
“Hey, hey, whatcha doing?”
“We’re done here.”
Owen swiped his gold watch across the sensor and the glass door lifted. Distracted, he almost collided with someone in the corridor.
“Oh. Hi Owen. Didn’t see you there.”
Barney. The words were civil but the face greeting him was not. The short man was still bitter Owen was promoted over him almost a year ago. It wasn’t like Owen had any say in the matter, it was Jackson’s decision, but Barney seemed unable to make the distinction. Lifting his nose, Barney pranced past. Geoffrey tutted beside him.
“Sometimes I feel sorry for the chap.”
“Don’t. He’ll be after your job next, Geoffrey.”
Together they walked the first-floor balcony.
“OWEN!”
The shout came from behind. Owen turned to see Jackson, his boss, with Barney prowling at his rear.
“Where do you two think you’re going? Thought I wouldn’t notice if you sneaked off?”
“Yeah.” Barney tapped his gold watch. “Twenty minutes before your shift ends.”
Owen pictured slapping him.
“Owen solved the case sir,” Geoffrey said. “We were just making sure our evidence made it to the lab.”
Jackson shot Barney a look, and the small man’s face turned white.
“That one was supposed to keep you busy all week.”
So Jackson intentionally stuck him with an impossible case.
Owen shrugged. “Well. It didn’t.”
“I see.” Jackson pulled down on his perfectly cut blazer. “I suppose I’ll allow you to leave early this one time. But don’t go trying this again.”
“We weren’t trying-”
“Don’t talk back to me Owen; I’m doing you a favour.”
Owen bit his tongue. “Right then. Thank you.”
“Thank you indeed. Now move out of my way, I have a company to run.”
Barney scowled over his shoulder, chasing after Jackson, who waved him away with his massive hands.
“Like a married couple,” Geoffrey muttered. “They were made for each other.”
Owen couldn’t help but laugh.
Geoffrey ran ahead to meet his wife at Mayfen Cinema, so Owen left LightRay offices alone. The glass panes of the reception parted and he followed the slated trail across the building’s front lawn. A giant sinkhole formed in the fake grass ahead, his ugly orange Glider rising from the ground with a hiss, its four wings untucking from its body. Owen climbed in, the brown leather seat moulding to his spine. It was the only feature still fully functional in this piece of crap. He’d been meaning to replace the Glider years ago, but this was the last remaining remnant of his old life, and he found he just couldn’t do it. Owen pressed his thumb into the ignition, tapping his foot as the button ever so slowly realised it was in fact his thumb print. The orange beast came to life with a roar, white dots plotting a route to his apartment on the windscreen. The grass whipped away from the Glider as it rose. Dodging between two skyscrapers, he flew over the edge of the city and into the open air.
City C was a giant square from above, and the closer you were to the centre the glossier things became. Only the richest could afford accommodation within the city, everyone else living in accommodation blocks set in ever distant grids around its perimeter, blocks that grew larger and more overcrowded for the poorer subset of the population. Back when he lived in Block B, the journey to City C took hours; from Block Q it took five minutes. Owen pulled into the congested airway traffic lane. Well, maybe not today. He sighed, sticking his head out the window. Fumes quickly filled his nostrils from the surrounding gliders. A giant tanker truck purred as it flew overhead, messing up his haircut. Typical. Flicking his curls back into place Owen inadvertently looked down. Hundreds of metres below the menacing fog of thick exhaust fumes and toxins looked back, bulging and coiling around itself. The City and the Blocks were built upon walls: giant metal slabs, raised high above the sea of death below. The only criminals who’d ever escaped his justice had fled into that fog, to never return. It was a sobering thought that someday the fog would engulf them all. Hopefully not in his lifetime. Owen pulled in his head and shivered. No good thinking like that. He needed a little distraction. Clearing his throat, he asked his dashboard to play something.
“…and breaking news, Vincent Perch’s charity catwalk show will be headlined by none other than Emerald herself. The young model is...”
Owen cringed. He hadn’t looked at that many pictures of Emerald, had he? These personalised advertisements thought they were so clever, just because he browsed a couple of photoshoots did not mean he wanted to be bombarded with news about supermodels.
“Play something else,” he ordered. The dashboard decided perhaps news about another murder was what he was after. Owen groaned. Daisy remained stuck in his head, not that it was doing him, or her, any good.
“Can you please just play some music or something?”
With that vague description, of course the song it pulled out its ass was terrible: a mishmash of broken noises. But at least the traffic began moving. And as he flew closer to home Owen found himself tapping along:
“I carry a heavy burden; I’m weighed down by my bling.
You can’t touch me haters cos I’m the Block G king, yuh!”
The Glider in front pulled away, revealing his side of the Block, Q8. Autopilot rotated the beast to align with his apartment. Good thing too, from the outside Owen couldn’t tell which of the identical boxes belonged to him. The front door stretched out to greet him and his Glider locked onto the apartment. The lights flickered on one at a time as he headed down the corridor.
“Welcome home, Owen Hunter!”
“Not so formal Vex - you sound like OverWatch.”
“Apologies, Sir. Glass of Gin? Steak?”
“You are forgiven.”
He turned the corner, returning to his soulless designer cube. The colour pallet was a life draining matte grey, furnishings in the lounge attempting to be as geometric as possible to the point of forgetting their intended function. This was why he purchased the place, it reeked of money and success. Wasn’t long before he regretted that decision. Hums and pings echoed from the kitchen as Vex sorted dinner. Owen jumped onto the couch in the centre of the living room. A claw holding the gin descended from the ceiling. After the malfunctioning hairstylist, Owen shrunk into the leather, only taking the glass once it was stationary. Taking a sip, he looked up at the large screen on the wall. Perhaps he’d play some Red Wings tonight? He wasn’t far from increasing his skill group, and he always wanted to be the best. Maybe he’d play into the night, treat himself. Owen smiled, kicking off his shiny shoes. All things considered; it hadn’t been a bad day…
ROLAND
“Aww shite Cole, that were half me money!”
Cole extended his back in a fake yawn, the table cackling along with him. Everyone except Draco. Cole caressed the money as he dragged it across the green fabric.
“Yer own bleedin’ fault junior, shan’t ‘ve even joined th’ game in th’ first place...”
Roland hated how his brothers abused him, just cos he was younger.
“And wut ‘bout you Draco?” Cole chuckled. “Maybe havin’ yer job soon.”
The laughter died out. The four brothers turned to face Draco, sat silently at the end. He stayed this way, but the veins on his hand popped as he clenched his fist.
“...so…” Cole coughed, rubbing his bald head. “Yuh sure we shan’t be settin’ off soon? Don’t want t’ be late again.”
With a sigh, Cole’s twin removed the knife from between his bent teeth to slick back his oily black hair, then checked the strange thin watch on his wrist. Roland despised how he acted like he was too important for life in the Gutters, always running by City C’s time.
“Still gut an hour,” he mumbled.
“Fine, fine whatever yuh say.” Cole gave him a dismissive wave. “Where’s Ash anyway? Ah need to steal his money too.”
There was a ring at the door.
“Altho’ ahm happy to take Malcom’s instead.” Cole grinned. “Yer getting’ it Roland.”
Once the idea was suggested, the others echoed it.
“Go on, getit boy.”
“The door boy, yuh deaf?”
“I’m at th’ end, yer closest.”
Roland stood up. He’d had enough of this.
“I bloody have t’ do everyth’n’ cos ah’m seventeen? Is that yer bleedin’ logic?
“Yuh heard th’ man,” said Draco. “Look yer already on yuh feet.”
The other three sniggered.
“DO I HAVE TO ASK AGAIN?” Draco banged his fist on the table and the sniggering stopped. “Off. Yuh. Go.”
Roland stormed off.
“It’s not yer age son!” Cole shouted after him. “Yuh killed that Shreek farmer over in Cartigan territory, lost us a lot o’ tradin’ animals.”
Roland clenched his fists. Bleedin’ Shreeks. When he’d told the Cartigan farmer that they were commandeering two of his Shreeks, the farmer whistled, making one of the bloody creatures knock him over. The farmer laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. Well, Roland got the last laugh; because he made sure it stayed that way. The Fords took no shit from no-one. The others would’ve done the same. Heck, Draco did the same in IronTown not too long ago, and no one complained then. Prats, all of them, prats.
Roland unbolted the door. “What th’ hell do yuh want?”
He turned to meet a knife through his throat.
SHIVA
Shiva propped the young Ford against the porch, silencing his gurgles with her glove. She counted four more in the front room through the window, including Draco. The other brothers must be upstairs or in the back kitchen. Shiva held out her hand. It was still shaking. This was it. Using a city pocket flame, she lit the rag hanging out of the bottle of homebrewed alcohol. As it burned, she drew her pistol from her belt. She couldn’t see how the other rooms connected, but so long as she kept them contained in this area, she could handle them.
“Who’sit Roland? Forget how t’ talk?” A gruff voice shouted. Shiva turned the corner to the living room to face a bald man staring at her.
“Aww whut?”
Shiva lobbed the bottle. It smashed open on the green mat, flames engulfing the table and the black-haired Ford with it. Draco’s arm caught fire. He batted it with his fists.
“Cole! Get ah gun!” he shouted, pulling the fourth Ford down into cover.
The bald Ford bolted towards the kitchen at the back. She fired a shot that cracked off the bookcase next to him. Black-hair lurched out of the room, screams inhuman. His burning body zig-zagged into the hallway, arms dancing around his body. Eventually this blackened shell collapsed in on itself by the entrance to the kitchen. She leapt over the charred body after Cole, when out of thin air he produced a rifle. Bullets exploded around the doorway as she charged at him. Cole tried to centre the recoiling rifle, but Shiva was too fast. She knocked his gun to the floor. This left her over-extended, and he punished her with a headbutt to the face. Dishes crashed to the floor as she fell against the peninsula. Before she could regain her balance, Cole tackled her backwards, her head colliding against a cupboard. He pinned her to the wood, his thick fingers around her neck, choking her. Her flailing hands closed around something hard and with all her strength she brought it down on his head. Cole released her, letting out a piercing scream as the teapot split in two, lines of blood dribbling down his bald head. She raised her pistol. A shotgun blast shook the room. Glasses and bowls disintegrated around them. Shiva ducked, taking cover behind the central dinner table. The fifth Ford stood atop the stairs, reloading his weapon. Cole looked stunned, checking his stomach for shrapnel.
“Wha th’ hell wus that Ash?” he bellowed.
Ash fumbled, dropping shells down the stairs. He shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry.”
Cole huffed, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Yuh arsing waste o’ space, coulda got me kill-kukkkk.” Shiva’s bullet burst through Cole’s heart and he toppled like a felled tree. She heard a click and a gasp of “hell” from Ash. Shiva began to move again, but a storm of shots cracked around her, coming from the living room. Beneath the burning table, Draco now wielded a sub-machine gun, as did the other Ford. Another bang sounded as Ash’s shotgun blast ripped off the side of the table. Wooden splinters tore across her nose and her knees buckled. Searing warmth spread across her face. She heard Cindy’s voice in her head.
“Go ahead you stupid girl. Go get yourself killed.”
All around her were deafening pings and cracks, plates falling from glass cabinets, shells bursting in mid-air. She scrambled over the debris, feeling for Cole’s gun, only to find the soft wet flesh of his chest. A bullet rebounded off his rifle, spinning it out of reach. The window behind Shiva exploded, shards raining onto her hair. You messed up. Stupid little girl, trying to get your silly little revenge.
She locked her eyes shut, hiding behind Cole’s body, using it as a mental barrier from the madness.
“Bleeedin’ shoot her you bastards!” Draco’s voice boomed.
Suddenly Shiva was a little girl again, crying beside her mother’s recently still body as the Fords kicked down their door. Draco’s laugh echoed so clearly, she wasn’t sure whether it was happening now, or in the past.
“Look wut you’ve done now! Hukhukhukhukha.”
There was a breath in the chaos. She came back to herself, listening as Ash descend the stairs while the others pressed forward.
Her hands trembled across her belt until she clasped a metal tube. Flicking off the pin she lobbed it over the table through the doorway to the stairs. A deep navy-blue smoke hissed out of the canister, hampering their line of sight. Ash let off another shot. Go on then, you stupid girl. Cindy told her. Go get them.
Keeping to the corners she trained her pistol at the living room entrance. Smoke crept into the kitchen, and she heard grunting behind it. She checked her clip. Three bullets, no time to reload.
“I SAID GET HER, DARN IT!” Draco yelled.
There was a sudden rush of shoes from both doorways. Shiva swung her shaking aim between the two entrances. The push came from Ash, except he was aiming at the dinner table instead of her. Shiva’s first bullet glanced off the shotgun barrel. Ash spun around, jaw ajar in paralysed terror. The second bullet popped right between his eyes. The other Ford roared, charging after his fallen brother. Shiva retreated through the blue smoke the same time he appeared. Draco saw her as soon as she emerged. They stared at each other in fleeting recognition. He was facing the wrong way. If he’d marked the kitchen’s entrance like he should’ve, she’d be dead. Instead, he’d chosen to run. Lifting her pistol Shiva aimed at Draco. Her final bullet ripped through his leg. Draco yelled, pulling the trigger, his sub-machine gun tearing up the carpet. The Ford in the kitchen heard this and began firing. Holes ripped through the thin plaster wall and Shiva rolled into cover behind the stairs, drawing her knife. A gust of cold wind blew across her prone body as the front door slammed shut. Draco fled! The coward! The final Ford ran through the blue smoke from the kitchen, finger still squeezing the trigger. Shiva sliced at him with her knife, but misjudged his movement, her knife arcing below his arm.
The man looked her straight in the eye. She thought it was over. But he moved too fast, tripping over the charred body of the dead Ford. He fell onto the bottom step with a sickening clunk. The rifle, trapped underneath his body, continued firing. The top of his head became a volcano, multiple eruptions splattering the wooden floorboards. Shiva scrunched her eyes shut as the horrible rat-tat-tat continued for a couple seconds. When it finally stopped, she felt for the gun under his body, unable to look at what she’d done. Tentatively, she removed the Blood Vine from its pouch, placed it on the floor and sliced it open with her knife. Green sludge bubbled out from its red arms as she poured water from her canteen over it. Cindy told her it should take a minute. Hopefully she was right. Perhaps you shouldn’t have opened it up…
Shiva kicked down the front door of the mansion, returning to the ever-present green fog of the Gutters. Through its murky shadows she made out Draco attempting to re-steal the Shreek. Weighed down by the gun, he was unable to swing his injured leg over its flank. When he saw her approach, the bastard had the nerve to shoot again. She dived, but the move was unnecessary. His shots flew wildly over her head, and when the clip ran out he abandoned the weapon. Shiva raised her own, tracking Draco in its scope as he successfully mounted the Shreek. Her eyes adjusted to the night.
BANG!
Her shot cut him down.
She blinked. Was it over? From behind the Shreek came a moan. She jogged over to find Draco crawling across the moss towards his weapon. Using the butt of the rifle she knocked him onto his side.
“Gak!”
She stood over him, pressing the muzzle into his cheek.
“NONONONNO, wait!” The silent threatening man was suddenly very talkative. “What do you want? What do you want? I can get you anything, a robot or something cool, you know?”
Shiva frowned, tossing away the rifle.
“Good. Thank you. Okay. Let’s talk…” Draco regained his composure. He was only bleeding down his leg and missing the tops of his fingers, he was basically fine. Her shot was another matter; she was really out of practice.
“Right. I know we were brutal with a few of you folks in IronTown, but we can build on that, you get me? We can build on that.” She noticed Draco was speaking without accent or stutters, but in flowing sentences. This was not the same person she’d heard stories about. Up close he wasn’t big or menacing, just an old man who’d done terrible things.
“Come on now. What do you want?”
“Justice.”
He laughed in a manner that was eerily similar to when he murdered her family. No Shiva. Don’t think about that now.
“Nice line, you rehearse it?” He dragged himself up to a seated position, gasping for breath. “Well you won’t get that lady; the search for justice by blood usually results in more blood being spilt.”
KAKROOOOM.
The mansion exploded with a bang, louder than anything Shiva had ever heard. The shock wave ruffled her ragged clothes, pushing back the skin on Draco’s face, illuminating his terrified expression in blinding white light. She wished she could have seen the explosion, but it was worth it to watch Draco react as his life’s work was destroyed.
“Not my blood.”
With a swift arc, Shiva cut his throat. Draco’s body collapsed in on itself.
Panting, she waited to feel a sense of resolution, or at least relief. It never came. She turned to face what she’d done.
Pieces of rubble floated in the air, the fog turned black by twirling smoke. The entire second floor of the Ford’s hideaway had been obliterated, a circular impact crater in the centre of the building. The gases in the fog must be flammable, Shiva thought, as she cleaned the blood off her knife with the gloves. She wondered why she hadn’t realised that before. With a shaking hand, she slotted the knife back into her belt, dropping the gloves onto the eldest Ford’s lap.
And that made eight…
The Shreek seemed uninterested by the events that had transpired, lowering its neck so she could mount it.
“Good Shreek,” she whispered, solemnly scratching it’s thin mane. This time it didn’t bite. Riding away, Shiva turned one last time to the remains of the house. A fire had caught inside, creating an orange glow in the darkness. In a way it was quite beautiful. The traders from City C would be left waiting tonight.
But she had more in store for them later…
OWEN
Owen grimaced as he crossed the front lawn towards the dazzling glass mountain of LightRay Investigations. Inside, the angular design of the exterior was replaced with spherical curves and smooth corners. The main reception was busier than usual: clusters of chatting coworkers creating a combined cacophony that made his ears ring. Definitely had too much gin last night. Didn’t seem to help his losing streak on Red Wings.
“Owen Hunter!”
Owen twisted to see Jackson’s tiny head bouncing on his slab shoulders as he took the transparent stairs two steps at a time, huge arms swinging from the momentum. The golden watch on his boss’s wrist jingled offensively, alerting Owen something big was up. Jackson never moved at speed.
“Good morning boss. What’s the problem?”
Jackson reached the bottom and increased his pace, loading words under his paintbrush moustache and letting them blow.
“What time is this?”
“Uh …?”
“WHAT IS THE TIME?”
The office clatter silenced as reality froze around him. So much for solving yesterday’s case in record speed.
“I dunno. Umm-”
“You don’t even bloody know yourself? You think you’re above us, Owen?”
“No, I-”
“You’re TWENTY MINUTES LATE!”
Shit? He was? But Vex said… didn’t matter, no use winding the boss up more.
“It won’t happen ag-”
“SHUT YOUR MOUTH RIGHT THERE! You been late… for the past. Bloody. Month.”
Owen’s stomach dropped. He had?
“Did you think no-one would notice? Did you think you need sleep more than the rest of us? No... I know what you think. You think you’re the most intelligent person in this establishment, so intelligent that you have spare time to lie in bed. Well, that’s not how things work here, Owen. I arrive an hour earlier than I’m supposed to each day because if I didn’t this whole company would come crashing down! We are the frontline preventing a war. Our species has overwritten some of the rules that govern the world, and that leaves us dancing on a knife edge. The extra time is because everything could plunge into chaos at any moment!” Jackson let out some spit and Owen tried not to blink. The last thing he needed was to give the man more ammunition, especially with Jackson being this melodramatic.
“There are people out there who want to ruin us. And coming from your background. You. More than anyone else in LightRay, more than anyone on the planet, should know that, considering the chance I gave you.”
“I-”
“Time is relative, Owen. In the twenty minutes you weren’t here someone’s life has been changed forever.”
There was a long pause, Jackson’s words echoing in the lobby.
“Three deaths since you’ve been sleeping. LightSuite is upstairs waiting for you.”
“Certainly sir, I’m really-”
“You have six hours.”
“What?”
“You have six hours to solve those three cases or you’re gone.”
And the rules were rewritten again. Owen’s remaining composure evaporated.
“Sir, I didn’t realise-”
“You didn’t realise? So you’re a crime inspector who can’t keep track of the time? Huh. If that is the case, then you truly are worthless to me.”
Owen’s brain tried to find the words to end this spite fuelled attack. His job was everything to him, but the moment he needed his so-called brilliant mind the most, was the moment he couldn’t think of a damn thing. He blanked. Jackson stepped forward, his nose centimetres away from Owen’s.
“But you knew what you were doing,” Jackson whispered. “The deal was you left your past behind and became useful to society. This is your last chance to honour that deal. Three cases, six hours.”
The boss’s gaze was fiery and unwavering, sweat hanging on his black eyebrows.
“I’m sorry…” Owen croaked. His job was to search for cracks, loopholes, anything… but Jackson’s whole body was a temple of resolution. Jackson had always hated him.
“You have cost me time Owen, time I can never get back. Now get to it…”
Owen absently watched Jackson leave, until he was only imagining the invisible trace his boss’s footsteps left behind. Becoming aware of the whispers and stares, he wiped his trousers and climbed the stairs, head down.
“Geoffrey!”
Owen rapped at the sparkling window, pressing his cheeks against it. His eyes darted around the dim room until he located the mound of shoulder hunched behind the screen, Geoffrey’s fuzzy-curtain beard illuminated by the strip of blue light, looking more voluminous than ever.
“GEOFFREY!”
“Wha-whooat?”
There was a clatter as the Geoffrey fell off his floating chair, knocking the items off his messy desk. The glass parted as Geoffrey staggered to stand, red faced.
“Owen. What’s up?”
“Three cases, six hours.”
“Six hours? Why?”
“Six hours or I’m gone.”
Geoffrey stopped, inflated bulbous nose attempting to swallow his facial features.
“Eh?”
“If I don’t get this done, I’m gone... don’t ask questions, just know that’s the situation and we need to sort it.”
Geoffrey looked him up and down, eyes resting on his shaking hands, which he thrust in his pockets.
“Okay, mate. I’ll be with you in five.”
Bringing up a notification on his golden watch, Owen sent all the data to his personal information hive. A green blip informed him that the download was done, just in time for Geoffrey to swipe his card across the glass door of the LightSuite.
The first case was simple. In fact, after Jackson’s heated theatrics it wasn’t even a murder, just a shoplifting charge for a missing Holo-tablet. When OverWatch presented the footage of the young boy approaching with only a hoodie and curly hair covering his face, Owen almost threw up his hands. Come on kid, you’re smarter than that.
“Facial recognition scan, OverWatch.”
“Peter Smith, aged 14, Block C.”
Owen zoomed in on the boy’s flickering eyes. It could’ve been him at that age. And now Peter was going to prison for at least two months. Owen usually didn’t think of prison as a real place, only the final destination for completed cases, but this time he hesitated…
If only for a moment.
If he didn’t get through today, his own life would be over. Hopefully the kid would rebound from this, stronger from the experience. Owen submitted the arrest warrant.
The second case appeared just as straightforward, but it took far too long to confirm. The suspect returned home, very drunk and very angry, and pushed his wife out of the window. Problem was, her body disappeared into the abyss, leaving them with only unreliable witness reports from neighbours. The suspect’s wife was filing for a divorce and audio logs picked up heated conversation before she fell. The City tagging system meant Owen could identify the couple’s locations and there was plenty of archived video footage over the years of arguments, slaps and punches. Yet OverWatch decided that without visual evidence she couldn’t convict. The next two hours sped by as Owen tried desperately to find new evidence. Each of City C’s cameras caught someone falling, but always too far away or at the wrong angle to confirm the perpetrator. Soon only an hour remained, and another case still left to go. Owen was panicking: he was going to lose his job, he would lose his house, Jackson would make sure he was unemployable in City C, and OverWatch had him tagged so he could never return to hacking…
Shit, shit, shit.
“Owen,” Geoffrey said. “I’ve sent it.”
“Eh?”
“I pieced together two different camera views to clearly show the husband pushing his wife.”
Owen felt sick and dizzy. He was going to faint.
“Hey man. Look at me. You’re going to be good. I’ll get you through today.” Geoffrey grinned. “I’ve got you through worse.”
That much was true. He owed Geoffrey more than he could ever repay.
“Geoffrey?”
“… yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my job, mate. Can’t have you solving every case by yourself. How’s about we have a look at the last one?”
Owen managed to return a weak smile.
“Yeah.”
Geoffrey clapped his hands together.
“Alright! OverWatch. Case 3. Let’s go!”
“Loading Case 3,” OverWatch echoed. And then she went quiet.
The screen. It was frozen.
That had never happened before. A loading bar came up. How big could this case possibly be if it needed to load? Year-long cases had popped up in a second. Geoffrey’s eyebrows furrowed, casting a shadow across his face. The screen flickered and OverWatch spoke.
“Case 3, double murder. Ellie and Jessica Blitz …”
The pit of Owen’s stomach dropped.
“…Block B …”
Ellie and Jessica … Jessica and Ellie. The twins. Beautiful people, inside and out. Dead? No. Owen wouldn’t believe it … Ellie had always made him laugh, even when he was upset. Jessica had been his first kiss. He bowed his head.
“Owen Hunter, watch the video,” OverWatch demanded.
Through tears he looked at the screen. He barely recognised them. Not those terrified young women. Jessica was missing a chunk of hair at the back of her head, Ellie’s purple dress ripped in half, mouth open screaming, although there was no audio.
“There is only one suspect for this case,” OverWatch continued.
Jessica and Ellie’s deaths would save his career. That made it even worse. A man with what looked like a sword chased them through the dark yellow streets of Block B which used to be his home. The girls tried to open the door to their house, but the murderer caught them, the camera facing his back, his curly brown hair wet with sweat. The camera view changed to the front of the door. He stabbed Jessica first in the back. She didn’t fall straight away, but punched her attacker, whose face was still off screen. Ellie fell to the floor, crying. The man dislodged the blade in a splatter of blood. Owen closed his eyes.
“Owen Hunter.”
There was a long silence. No reminder from OverWatch. No attempt from Geoffrey to comfort him. Owen blinked away his tears, focusing on the image on the screen. The footage was paused on the man, lanky body stretched to its limits as he raised the sword above his head, exposing his face for the first time. His mouth was distorted in an animalistic yell, curly hair flicked to the side, revealing the terrifying look in his big blue eyes, blood spattered across his pencil nose.
It couldn’t be. Owen blinked. It was.
“Holy shit….”
The man on the screen was him.
Thank you for reading the sample chapter of Good Morning Owen Hunter!
You can buy the full book here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B097LJV1FL
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