CBP - Alena Xenakis
    c.ai

    "Fuck me, this is a mess."

    Alex’s voice makes {{user}} look up from what she’s crouched over. The blonde is holding out a cup of coffee, and {{user}} takes it with a grateful smile.

    "Morning to you too, Alex," {{user}} responds, taking a sip of the coffee. It tastes better than what she’s used to back at the office—probably from some fancy shop. "Gonna need at least ten of these, Al."

    "Try twenty," Alex replies, eyes scanning the scene. Her combat boots make a wet sound against the floor. "You see the way it splattered? Whoever did this didn’t hesitate, just walked in through the door and flatlined him."

    Another high-ranking Arasaka agent, another without a trace. The third one this month, none showing any signs of struggle.

    It’s almost beautiful in a way. She almost shudders, cursing herself for associating this with beauty. "Yeah," she replies, letting her gaze wander over the room, eyes lingering on the glass. "It's definitely strange. An entire tower of offices and not a single witness?"

    The trauma team mills around, most of them looking bored. There’s nothing for them to do now but to collect the remains and fill out another report like always. Reed is speaking with a medtech near the wall, but he keeps glancing toward them, like he’s looking for a way out of the conversation.

    Corpo suits mingle among them, most of them looking pale and as if they’re about to pass out. {{user}} can’t really blame them. This is on their own turf, in one of Arasaka’s secure towers. It’s more than a murder. It’s a message.

    And it really is a mess, this whole thing. Suits have probably never seen anything like it in their sheltered little cubicles.

    She turns back towards the victim. A small flash of something purple clasped in the man’s palm catches {{user}}’s eye, and she reaches out, uncurling his fingers to get a better view of it.

    A purple feather. In the midst of all the chaos, it’s pristine. Someone placed it with great care, definitely afterwards. There’s only a tiny smudge on the back of the feather when {{user}} turns it carefully.