Concurrently...

As Christmas Eve begins to pass into Christmas Day, the snowfall only amplifies, further encouraging the inhabitants of Ravenport to stay indoors. The environment turned into a dream-like landscape, with visibility being low thanks to the heavy precipitation and the street lamps producing light halos that seemed to cultivate in a citywide haze. There were few cars in the street and even fewer people on the sidewalks, neither wanting to make an effort to venture out into such a quiet night.

A maroon colored SUV makes its way down one of the thankfully plowed streets, driving carefully and with slow, deliberate turns. It soon pulls into the mostly empty and snow-filled parking lot of the Ravenport Police Department, taking a spot close to the building before shutting off its engine. The door opens, revealing a tall, leanly built man with black shoulder length hair and a metallic silver hand poking out of his left sleeve. Heavy stubble covers the underside of his face as he pulls a spent cigarette from his mouth and deposits it into his car’s ashtray. He fastens up his leather jacket to protect from the cold and slides both of his hands into his beige slacks, before trudging through the snow towards the entrance of the building. Once at the door he stops for a moment to take a deep breath and pushes his way inside, the heavy wooden door creaking with movement.

The inside of the RPD is unsurprisingly quiet at this time of night. The foyer is overshadowed by an old-fashioned wooden desk, gating foot traffic both to and from the entrance. Many of these workstations are empty, likely accounting for the holiday. Only a few officers were gathered, some holding conversations over coffee and others packing up to head home. On the ceiling hangs a few glass panel TV screens on pedestals, displaying weather information, current time and traffic congestion in the city.

A petite, dark-skinned woman with short black hair sits in the wooden desk, currently reading a local news article on wildlife distemper on her computer. A brass name tag reading ‘Holly Belle’ dangles off of the shirt pocket of her perfectly pressed navy blue uniform. Her expression is neutral as she looks towards the corner of the room, expecting yet another citizen of the city with another problem that she may or may not be able to fix. Her demeanor perks up ecstatically when she notices the familiar face, rising out of her seat as he steps into full view.

“Oh my god Miguel, is that you?”

Scraping off the last of the snow from his black shoes, he opens his arms and smiles, leaning his head back and pointing towards himself with a thumb nonchalantly.

“Yeah, it’s me. In the flesh for the most part.”

She steps out from the desk and moves a bit closer while raising a brow towards his statement. Miguel accentuates his previous words by pointing towards his artificial left hand. It was an excellent approximation of a human hand and seemed to be able to mimic finger and hand motions. He rhythmically splays his fingers before crushing them into a fist and then letting the arm hang loosely at his side again. Holly’s expression softens, nodding a few times in understanding.

“You went and got yourself some Cybernetics? I know the initiation for it is hard. I know you were really messed up after all of that. It’s been like what, how many years now?”

“A solid five...and yeah...It wasn’t my idea of a vacation. It’s not just the hand. This whole arm…”

He reaches down to tap on both of his thighs. A dull metallic *tunk* could be heard from each of them.

“...And both of my legs.”

Holly gasps slightly, looking down at his legs and then back up towards his face.

“Oh...I wouldn’t have known it if you didn’t mention it. Is it hard to get around?

Miguel’s smile starts to fade, and he shrugs.

“Eh...once you get used to it, it’s not so bad. I can do everything I could do before. Attaching the nerve endings was a huge pain in the ass, but with it, I’ve got the reaction speeds I had back when I first joined the military, so that’s a bonus I guess.”

“Wow...that’s pretty awesome. So what brings you in tonight?”

Miguel tilts his head quickly over towards a set of elevator doors on the far side of the room.

“I came in to see my fri-...the commissioner. Is he in tonight?”

Holly cranes her head up to look at a nearby television for the time. 11:30 PM.

“Yeah, I think so. He mentioned doing some work tonight when he came in so you should be able to just walk on up.”

“Sounds good.”

“Well...I should get back to work, but it’s great seeing you again. Are you going to come back and see me sometime? Maybe grab some coffee?”

Miguel smirks towards her taps two metal fingers against his chest.

“Sure. Next time though, alright?”

Holly nods and offers him a small wave before returning to her desk, clearing off the screen saver that had popped up with a wave of a hand. Giving her one last look, Miguel turns towards the elevator and heads towards it, pressing the call button. It takes a moment or two patience, but the car slides down into position, and it’s doors open to reveal that it is occupied by a man and his dog. The man’s hair was brown and youthfully short, and the rest of his face was free of any extra hair. He had a relatively average build to him and a peach-colored complexion. The dog looks to be a somewhat passive german shepherd with a collar around his throat and a leash leading back to the man’s hands.

Upon getting a good look at Miguel, the man’s brows raise energetically as he seems to be in mild awe.

“Oh...oh wow! You...you’re Miguel Morales! Famous...ah...Famous police detective! Do you remember me?”

Miguel’s lowers an eye as he looks over the younger man before shrugging his shoulders.

“...Should I?”

The young man stammers. “Y-y-y-yeah! I was the guy who used to get you coffee every morning way back when? And had gotten demoted to the mailroom like...twice?”

Miguel eventually had realization dawn upon his features.

“Ahhhh...the rookie? What...was your name again? It’s been awhile.”

The man straightens his stance, raising his shoulders and giving a proper salute. He stiffens his voice to speak loudly and a little more clearly.“Officer Chip Pilgrim of the K-9 unit sir!” Chip returns to his normal volume of voice and gestures a hand towards his fuzzy friend. “...And this little guy is Dale.”

Dale looks up towards Chip when he overhears his name being called and pants happily, sinking his back end towards the ground to sit while his handler talks. Chip’s hand reaches down for a supportive head rub, which Dale happily accepts, tail wagging slowly.

Miguel crosses his arms pleasantly as he passes a glance down towards the canine companion.

“Moving up the ranks? Good on you rookie...guess I’m going to need to stop calling you that now though. Who woulda known you’d sign up for the K-9 unit? Didn’t think you had the teeth for it if you’ll pardon the pun.”

“W-w-w-well yeah. I think you remember when I was first starting out and how I wasn’t the best at like...anything? I wasn’t that great at dealing with people, but I’ve always liked dogs. So when an opportunity new trainer for police dog popped up, I jumped at it. I’ve had a lot of time with Dale here it all kind of clicked together for us. We’ve been around for like, three years, doing real good work you know? Kinda like what you used to do. People still talk about you around here every now and again you know...about what happened. It was in the paper for a little while.”

Miguel nods appreciatively. “That makes sense. And...yeah...it was a rough time Pilgrim. I appreciate all the stuff you guys sent me while I was in the hospital. Made it easier to cope.”

Chip blushes, awkwardly rubbing a hand behind his neck before looking down at Miguel’s metal hand.

“Did you have enough work compensation for it? I mean...you were gone for like...years. Do you even still work here?”

The older man slides his hands into his pockets.

“I think I put in more than enough time here with my record to get all the help I needed. And the second part...well, that’s kind of why I’m here.”

“Y-y-yeah...That’s pretty good...the first part. But..I mean...all those cases you solved. L-l-like the Blue Angels right? You remember that one? You found out about the fixed games?”

Miguel smiles warmly. “Yeah...funny the things you find on a computer sometimes.”

Chip continues gushing. “Oh-oh-oh, how about the Cold Fish case, when all those fishing boats got busted with the smuggling ring? And the way you found that one key piece of evidence that brought down the Carbon brothers?”

Miguel pats Chip on the shoulder as he makes his way into the elevator, Chip giving Dale the signal for them to move aside. They both take a step out of the car and turn back towards the veteran officer.

“I swear kid, you have a better memory for this stuff than I do. But it’s great seeing you grown up Pilgrim. You’ll make a fine cop.”

Chip blushes in embarrassment, stifling a small laugh. “Awwww...you don’t have to say stuff like that. People still talk about the great Winston and Morales. You guys put away alotta bad people. Where are you going anyway?”

“To see good ol’ Commissioner Winston right now actually.”

“Oh...ah…” Chip’s facial features contort into uncertainty. “Ah..he’s got a do not disturb sign up on his door up there so...maybe you should come back-”

Miguel’s jovial voice turns stern and unforgiving.

“This won’t take long. It’s about time we’ve had a little...catching up.”

He reaches up towards the control panel of the elevator and starts to press into the top floor of the building before stopping.

“Pilgrim?”

Chip kept his eyes on Miguel as he spoke, a hand raised in the expectation to end the conversation, but he seems stunned by the sudden shift in vocal tone.

“Yeah?”

“Are the records still downstairs in the basement?”

“Well..yeah. Same room and everything. Looking for something?”

Miguel shifts his finger down to the bottom of the list of buttons, pressing it.

“...Evidence.”

The doors close slowly after that as he descends, Chip shrugs his shoulders in confusion. He pats Dale on the shoulder to get his attention, the german shepherd perking up to his trainer and standing on all fours, ready to move.

------------------------------------------------------------------

After a quick trip to the evidence room in the basement, Miguel arrives at the top floor of the two-story building with a manilla folder in hand. Compared to the open environment of the first floor. The second floor is far more closed off, with hallways tailored explicitly for offices. The fluorescent lamps in the ceiling provide an even, well-lit area and the tiled floors were cleaned to an almost reflective degree.

Recalling where the offices of the commissioner were, Miguel steps out of the elevator and makes quiet strides towards it, passing through the mostly unfamiliar offices of unknown coworkers. They all seemed to be empty, with no light shining through the frosted, opaque glass. Every now and again, a specific door would cause him to stop to inspect the name embroidered upon it. Miguel sighs at nearly everyone he pauses at before shaking his head and continuing on.

Turning down the last hallway from the elevator is the Commissioner’s office, by far the largest room on the floor. Unlike most of the others, it both had a light on and a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging on the door’s brass knob. Furrowing his brows, Miguel presses on, raising a hand to knock on it several times with average strength. The heavy door rattles and a masculine voice rings out from behind it.

“Can you read? I am very busy; I will field all issues tomorrow morning, but I MUST get this work done!”

Miguel presses open the door and take a step into the office, straightening his face to be more emotionally presentable. The room itself is rectangular in shape, with several large windows drawing the eye to them on the back wall, complete with equally impressive blinds covering them for privacy. Several filing cabinets rest in the corners, along with a personal copy machine and a vending machine for snacks and drinks.The center of the room is filled with a large rectangular resolute desk, the top of which is covered with multiple forms and documents in various forms of completion. A large, glass panel computer sits on the desk as well, though it looks worn with age.

The source of the voice is a middle-aged dark-skinned man who appears to be typing on his computer. He’s overweight, but his professionally maintained suit hides it well. His peaked cap sits on the desk, his receding hairline easily visible without it. He starts to speak again before his eyes go wide with shock upon seeing the Hispanic man sitting in his doorway.

“I figured you can take a little bit of a break for an old friend Carl.” Miguel speaks warmly, closing the door behind himself in the process. He takes a moment to look around the lush office space, walking over towards the windows and pulls down a single blade of the blinds to observe the hypnotic display of heavy snowfall. “It’s still coming down pretty heavy out there. Road Crews are going to have hell tomorrow.”

“M-M-Morales! You aren’t due out for another three years!” Carl sputters in disbelief. “The calibration process takes at least eight years to complete, and it’s only been-”

“Five. I know.” Miguel turns the blind loose and walks back around to the front of the desk, pulling up a chair and spinning it so that the back of it could be used as an armrest. Which it immediately was. “I was a good kid in school, so they let me out early. I’ve always been a fast learner I guess. So tell me, how are the wife and kids?.”

Carl manages to shake off the initial shock and composes himself with a cough. He places both of his hands down, cradling them together pleasantly.

“It’s merely...they...they are fine. Donald’s in college now and doing pretty well. Going for a bachelor’s in engineering. Lara’s in high school and...uhm...she’s staying out of trouble. Danielle’s still has her job at the bakery so...there’s that.”

“Wow. Engineering huh? I always knew he was a smart kid. He’ll go pretty far if he keeps his head in the game.” Miguel reaches down to grab the name plate resting on the desk, looking gold plated wooden slab over from multiple directions. “Commissioner Carl Winston. That’s quite the title you’ve got there. Quite a step up from Senior Detective. And only in five years?”

Carl casually reaches down towards one of the bottom drawers in his desk and pulls out a small metal case, the name ‘Perego’ emblazoned on the top. He takes a moment to brush the dust from its lid before bringing it up to the desk. Smiling nervously, Carl offers the box to Miguel, pressing the button on the lock to open it. Three expensive looking cigars rest on the velvet exterior.

“Cigar?”

Miguel looks towards the offering and reaches a hand towards it. Rather than taking the gift, he reaches up and presses the case closed with his metal hand and then presses Carl’s hand down towards the desk.

“What happened to Commissioner Hanes?” Miguel’s voice turned cold.

“Hanes? Ah...he had to take an early..retirement. Very...very sudden.” Carl pulls his case out from underneath the cybernetic hand. “Something about shifting priorities.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Hanes that I knew. Old Hanes loved his job. Used to liven up the place. Used to hear that crazy hearty laugh of his every morning he came in. But you know, I also noticed something else weird.” He taps his finger against the side of his head and before pointing back out towards the hallway. “There were lots of names I knew up here. I used to be a popular guy. We...used to be popular guys. Now just about every single one of them is gone. That’s very...very ‘interesting,' wouldn’t you say?”

Carl offers a complacent shrug. “The line of work we have is very stressful, Morales. I can’t be held responsible for people deciding they’d rather find someplace else to be. I assure you that everyone we have on board is quite competent.”

“All except you apparently.” Miguel quips, holding up the manilla folder from the evidence room and dropping it on the desk. “Do you know what this is?”

Carl raises a brow at the folder and shakes his head. “For all the gifts I possess, being psychic is not one of them.”

Miguel smirks in defiance.“I figured you say something like that. I paid a little visit to our Evidence room in the basement and found a story that I just couldn’t help but share. You know, for old times sake. It called ‘Case A-4711: The Golden Aces Incident.’”

Carl’s heart skips a beat as the name comes up, a hardness forming in his throat in response. Miguel notes the Commissioner's stalling, a wide, sadistic smile forming on his face in reaction.

“Oh, you know this one? What a coincidence, I do too! But just so we’re on the same page, I’ll go over it with you. It’s a real treat. I hope you don’t mind if I summarize a bit because there are a few parts I really want to review and discuss. So, see if you can follow me on this one.”

Carl shifts uncomfortably as Miguel begins to read in an unwavering, narrator-esque voice.

“Wednesday, October 14th, 2054. 9:30 pm. Detective Winston and Detective Morales, along with a small group of officers, investigate a search warrant on The Golden Aces Club, on the corner of 24th and Lothrop. The owner of the establishment, Benny Scardino, otherwise known as Scar, entered a verbal confrontation with the two detectives. Scar claims that there was little reason to search the club for anything, despite the production of the proper paperwork. At 9:35 pm, Scar then, with little to no provocation, decided to punch Detective Morales in the face, knocking him down.”

Miguel rubs a hand over the right side of his face, a thumb brushing over his cheek.

“That was a hell of a punch. Anyway, Detective Winston calls in police backup and orders all immediately present civilians out of the building. At approximately 9:36, Scar’s own security forces open fire on the detectives and the police officers. The gunfight lasts until approximately 9:41 with a surrender from Scar’s guards and himself.”

Miguel stops reading for a moment and looks up towards Carl’s stiffened facial expression, his own lips forming into a heavy smirk.

“And here comes my favorite part of this entire story.” His brows raise as he sarcastically clears his throat. “Detective Morales sustained serious physical injuries as the result of this escalated violence and had to be immediately rushed to the hospital. Upon further investigation, the search warrant was invalidated by faulty paperwork, and all arrested parties were pardoned. See docket B for more details on the parties involved.”

Miguel closes the manilla folder and places it underneath his hands, both of which were rhythmically tapping against it.

“So, just so I can get his or her information, who was the bullshit artist you hired for this? Because holy crap, this is priceless. It belongs in a museum.”

Carl holds up a hand, gesturing for him to stop, his voice remaining calm. “Morales…”

“No no no, I’m serious,” Miguel says, his ire starting to show. “I could see it now, hanging on the wall, next to the great works of art of still life and shit. The museum could sell miniature prints of it in the gift shop.”

Carl starts to frown, his brows furrowing. “Morales...I will not tolerate-”

Miguel erupts, slamming his hands into the desk hard enough to rattle the entire thing and gritting his teeth through every word. “You and I both know what the hell went down that night. Those guys were dodging bullets. NOBODY is that fast. Some of those guys were walking around with holes blown clean in them. NOBODY can do that! Guys like that, WHATEVER they are, could have killed us all, but they didn’t. They gave up. They LET us take them. And by the way, one gunfight with a bunch of thugs with low caliber peashooters does this!?”

He pulls off his leather jacket and starts to pull up his white dress shirt to show off his cybernetic arm. It still has the contours and shape of a human arm and appears to be linked to his shoulder. It moves just as fluidly as his real arm as he flexes it, curling it in front of him. He places his regular hand over the top of the dull silver one, squeezing it.

“You are saying that the injuries I sustained from a gunfight where they didn’t harm any of us, was enough to get three limbs amputated? NOBODY WAS HURT WINSTON. And we did make a MAJOR bust that night. We seized an entire shipping room full of all sorts of crap. Illegal weapons...drugs...some orange crap we couldn’t identify. What happened to that stuff? Why isn’t it in the report? It doesn’t even mention what happened later on that night.”

Carl pushes himself from his seat, matching Miguel’s angry tone of voice with one of his own.

“MORALES! You are out of line! You will lower your voice this instant-”

“11:50 pm, that same night. Scardino and two of his men storm into my house-”

Carl roars the next command, his eyes widening. “Those are unsubstantiated claims!”

“...and blew away my Maria in the kitchen. In cold blood.” Tears start to well up in Miguel’s eyes, but he keeps up the same level of animosity in his voice. “I was upstairs, trying to read a bedtime story to my daughter when I heard the gunfire. I told her that Daddy needed to go check on on something and to stay quiet. I told her I’d be back. I ran downstairs and grabbed my pistol. When I got downstairs, they were dragging her corpse into the living room...her head all busted up. I shot at them. I gave them everything I had, but the bullets, they just weren’t connecting like they should. They were doing the same crap that they were doing at the Club. I know where I aimed. And I know I’m not that bad of a shot. One of em pulled out a shotgun and got me in my shoulder.”

Miguel runs a hand over the upper part of his cybernetic arm. “There were getting close, and I needed to get the hell out of there. I booked it upstairs and grabbed my daughter and said that we have to go. I told her that it would be okay.”

Carl’s expression softens as Miguel continues to tell the story, his facial expression softening.

“I jumped out of the window with my baby girl and sprained my ankle in the fall...but she was safe. The guys jumped out after me faster than I thought they could and...just like that, they took her from me. I was still holding her when they did it. I watched her die. Right here.”

He raises a hand to his heart, clutching it tightly.

“They turned on me. They shot me in the arms and legs so I couldn’t move. They started stomping on me, talking about how ‘this wasn’t apart of the deal.’ Over and over again, those assholes hit me. I didn’t even think it was possible to lose that much blood. I thought for sure I was a goner. I couldn’t feel anything Winston. Everything was busted. And then, just like that, they stopped. I thought maybe they might be done, but they weren’t. They backed off to set my place on fire. That place I’d saved up for. The place I was going to raise a family in. The place I was going to grow old in. They took that from me too. The last thing I remember from that night is my place going up in flames.”

Miguel’s voice turns stern, leaning forward to stare Carl in the eye.

“None of that is in your report either. Fast forward to five years later, and I hear that my good buddy not only did NOT get attacked but instead, he got promoted to a position that very, very, very few people qualify for. I figured that if Scardino attacked me, you would be on his hit list next because we busted him together. So yeah. That’s pretty damn suspicious, don’t you think?”

Carl regains his hardened composure and doesn’t back down from Miguel as he continues to speak.

“So I ask you, Winston. Man to man. Why is the truth being hidden? By whose hand? Why were three men that I personally watched get arrested, in three hours, given a supposed pardon to come and then come attack me? Why was I the only one attacked?”

The commissioner finally breaks his silence, speaking in a calm but strict voice.

“As sad as a story that is, I am afraid that I must stick by the official documentation provided by the department on that day. If you pursue this manner further, despite our previous partnership, I will TERMINATE your employment immediately and personally see to it that you will never get a job with the city again. I have entertained your unsubstantiated theories long enough for one evening.”

Miguel seemed almost taken aback at this statement as if he’d been hit in the jaw. He sat for a moment, seeming to think of something before looking back up towards Carl in defiance, pulling out his wallet, retrieving his golden Ravenport Police Department badge and slamming it into the desk. He drives his metal hand into it hard enough to crush the convex medal flat against the desk. The imprint of his knuckles even damaged the wood beneath it. The physical shock makes Carl jump back a foot or two in surprise.

“If this is the kind of man that is running the police department, the kind of man who will turn a blind eye to criminals, the kind of man that does not seek the truth, then I want NOTHING to do with him, his organization, or his city. And let me make something else perfectly clear since we’re laying down ultimatums.”

Miguel pulls his fist back up and rolls his shoulders, pulling back on his leather jacket and glaring at Carl the entire time.

“If I find out that you had anything to do with my family being taken from me, you will wish I had the kindness of killing you.”

“Morales…” Carl’s stern tone returns, though not quite as neutral as he had been before. “Is...that a threat?”

Miguel makes his way towards the door, opening it, but turning to speak one last time. “An innocent man wouldn’t be worried right now, would he Commissioner Winston? I suggest you read your own damn badge, it might inform you how to do your job.”

With that, Miguel slams the door closed, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking down the hallway. Carl, with his former partner gone, takes a deep breath and moves to sit down at his mildly disturbed desk, looking over the badge that Miguel had flattened. The ornamental metal contained a shield emblem that that featured a star in its center with a raven flying over the top of it. The words surrounding the formed a circle reading ‘Cast in the name of the law, we shall protect thee.’ Carl pries the badge up from the indentation in his desk and flings it into a nearby trashcan. That done, he reclines in his chair and covers his forehead with his palm.

“If only you knew…”