Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“That is not permitted,” he says. “We cannot show people how tenuous and conditional their humanity is, how close they are to beasts, and how a few shifting molecules can change what they are from the inside out. People like to feel certain in their own existence. They like to know what kind of animal they are. We threaten that.”
He speaks eloquently, but I have the feeling that the words coming out of his mouth aren’t really his. If they’ve never come in contact with people before, at least on a wide scale, then they don’t really know how they would be received at all.
“Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does, actually. You want me to find your murderous brother, and you’ve given me two-tenths of fuck all in terms of actual information. To catch a criminal, you have to understand a criminal. I have approximately 72 hours to achieve this, and you’re refusing to help.”
“I can tell you that he likes red lights.”
“Red lights.”
With that, Justice disappears between the containers in a motion that is equally mysterious and awkward. I wonder what’s in there? Are they just squishing themselves away like bugs do? Or do they have some kind of container-based monster clubhouse? I must know.
4
The asshole has basically stranded me. Fortunately by some act of magic or luck I do still have my phone on me.
One uncomfortable and surprisingly sticky uber ride later, I am in my apartment, showering moth cum from my inner thighs and wondering what I am doing with my life. I have never slept with a suspect. I have also never encountered a flying criminal, so maybe I need to give myself some slack.
It was hot. It was wrong. It was supernatural.
I can’t stop thinking about Justice. It feels like he is the only thing I am going to think about for a very long time. Justice. What a name. Almost poetic. He stopped looking quite so weird once the sun came up too. It’s funny how quickly you can start to get used to something odd once you, well, fuck it.
The idea of a race of mutants created by Second World War scientists makes sense. Ethics weren’t exactly anybody’s priority at the time. I wonder how many they are, and I wonder how living disenfranchised and afraid of general society has caused them to either be afraid, or in Rage’s case, apparently murderously angry.
First, I need to make sure that there is actually a second moth creature. Justice produced no evidence for one. As for having slept with me, he admitted he did it just to stop me fighting him. There’s a manipulative, or perhaps simply outright controlling streak in him. It wasn’t that he was overcome with love. It’s that he wanted something and figured the fastest way to get it was sex.
And spanking.
When I turn around and the hot water hits my ass, I am painfully reminded of the fact that he punished me in his own way, brought me to his version of justice.
The physical anomalies are not the only differences between the mutants and normal humans. Justice has a dominant way about him, and clearly some small amount of respect for the ways of greater society, because he asked for my help. Hell. Maybe he even respects me?
“You got laid!”
Tessie erupts with the words when I walk into the station. I glance around to see if anybody heard. Most of the officers present seem to be busy with work, but they have functioning ears.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh my god,” she hisses. “You slept with someone you shouldn’t have. Who was it? Was it Roger from the 73?”
“You are not going to guess,” I tell her. “And please, stop talking right now. The last thing I need is office gossip. There’s always someone around here listening.”
“Oh my god,” she whispers more quietly. “It was someone really bad. Was it your ex?”
“No, Tessie, sex detective, it was not. I have a lead on the case. I’m going to do some work. Is that alright with you?”
“Maybe you didn’t get laid,” she says, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Something is going on with you, though, I can sense it.”
Something is definitely up with me.
I look at the scene photos. Not the ones of the body, but the ones of the surrounds. Justice gave me practically no help besides the mention of Rage liking the color red, and presumably as a mothman, red lights.
I immediately notice that across the street from the murder scene is a discount store with a big glowing red sign with a perpetual 50% off logo on it. Then, on either sides of the alley, there’s a liquor store and an appliance center. Both of them have bright neon lighting.
“Well, fuck,” I murmur to myself, going back over previous scene images. I quickly find that in each and every case, there’s a discount store location with one of the big, round signs. Red Light Discount, they call themselves.