The problem with performing a miracle is the paperwork that follows.
Caleb stood on the balcony of the OmniBank Spire, ninety stories above the street, watching the rain dissolve the city lights into a kaleidoscope of misery. Inside the penthouse, the chaos had shifted from "murder scene" to "medical emergency."
Paramedics were swarming Arthur Sterling. The banker was conscious now, sitting up and weeping into an oxygen mask, rambling about "the white void" and "the silence."
Caleb lit a cigarette. He didn't actually smoke—his lungs were fine—but the act of lighting it created a small, focused flame that helped stabilize the jittery frame rate of his vision.
[ITEM CONSUMED: NICOTINE STICK]
[EFFECT: -5% ANXIETY / +10% CANCER RISK]
[CURRENT OBJECTIVE: AVOID EXPLAINING YOURSELF]
"Put that out," a voice said behind him.
Caleb didn't turn around. "It's raining, Detective. The fire risk is negligible."
Maya Corwin stepped onto the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind her to shut out the noise of the paramedics. She looked rattled. The crisp, by-the-book demeanor she'd worn in the car had cracked, revealing the terrified rookie underneath.
"You smashed a bust of Julius Caesar next to a dead man's head," Maya said, her voice dangerously calm. "And then he woke up."
"Caesar was a tyrant," Caleb shrugged. "He had it coming."
"Stop it," Maya snapped. She marched over and snatched the unlit cigarette from his mouth, flicking it over the railing. "I don't know what kind of con you're running, Vane. I don't know if you checked the victim's vitals when we weren't looking, or if this is some elaborate prank for your... social engineering blog."
"I don't have a blog. The comments section gives me hives."
"Then explain it," she demanded. She moved into his personal space, her eyes searching his face. "The coroner called time of death. The body was rigid. You don't cure rigor mortis with a loud noise. That's not science."
Caleb looked at her. Through his sunglasses, the Overlay painted a bright yellow question mark above her head.
[NPC: DETECTIVE CORWIN]
[DIALOGUE OPTION A: TRUTH ("I see a video game HUD.")]
[DIALOGUE OPTION B: LIE ("I'm a wizard.")]
[DIALOGUE OPTION C: DEFLECT ("Focus on the clue.")]
He chose Option C.
"You're asking the wrong questions, Maya. The question isn't how I woke him up. The question is," Caleb pointed a thumb back toward the glass doors, "why does Arthur Sterling have a countdown timer on his neck?"
Maya blinked. "A what?"
"Metaphorically," Caleb added quickly. "I mean... look at him. He's terrified. He wasn't attacked. He was paused."
He pushed past her, sliding the door open and stepping back into the climate-controlled luxury of the penthouse. Maya followed, hot on his heels.
"Don't touch anything else," she hissed.
Caleb ignored her. He walked toward the spot where Arthur had been standing. The floor was scuffed where the banker had collapsed. But Caleb wasn't looking at the floor. He was looking at the air.
To the cops, the room was empty. To Caleb, the air was filled with residual data—ghostly artifacts left behind by the weapon that had frozen Arthur. It looked like digital confetti, sparkling blue and pixelated.
[TRACE DETECTED: UNKNOWN SCRIPT]
[ORIGIN POINT: THE VENTILATION SYSTEM]
Caleb followed the trail of blue pixels. They drifted from the central AC vent near the ceiling.
"He didn't eat anything," Caleb said loud enough for the coroner to hear. "And he wasn't injected."
The coroner, who was currently packing up his gear in a huff, rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go. The mystic speaks."
"It was airborne," Caleb announced, staring at the vent. "A heavy gas. Heavier than air. It poured out of that vent, hit him while he was standing there, and locked his nervous system instantly. That's why he didn't fall. The gas creates a... let's call it a 'structural lattice' around the muscles."
Maya looked at the vent, then back at Caleb. "A gas that mimics rigor mortis in seconds? That's military-grade tech. If that's true, there would be residue."
"There is," Caleb said.
He walked to the wall directly under the vent. He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, angling the beam sharply across the surface of a sleek, modern painting.
"Look at the dust," Caleb commanded.
Maya frowned but stepped closer. "It's a painting, Caleb. It has dust on it."
"Not just dust. Look at the alignment." Caleb pointed a finger, tracing the air above the canvas. "The particles aren't random. They're standing straight up. Like iron filings near a magnet."
In truth, the dust was normal. But Caleb wasn't looking at the dust. He was looking at the [TEXTURE ERROR] shimmering on the canvas—a purple digital stain left by the weapon. He needed Maya to see a pattern that wasn't there to justify the scan.
"It's a polarized charge," Caleb bluffed, throwing in some technobabble. "The gas wasn't just heavy; it was magnetized to stick to the victim's nervous system. The fallout hit this wall. If the gas is magnetic, the delivery system has to be magnetic too."
Maya squinted at the painting. The power of suggestion was a dangerous thing; under the harsh LED light of his phone, the dust did look slightly odd.
She looked up at the vent, then back at Caleb.
"If I call this in," she said, her voice low, "and the tech squad finds nothing but lint, I'm writing you up for wasting police resources."
"When have I ever wasted your time?" Caleb asked innocently.
"You've been my partner for forty minutes," Maya countered. "And so far, it feels like a lifetime."
She pulled her radio from her belt.
"Tech squad," she said into the mic, never breaking eye contact with Caleb. "Bring the EM scanner up to the penthouse. Check the central air vent for magnetic signatures. And bring a ladder."
Caleb let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. [SUCCESS: PERSUASION CHECK PASSED].
"If there's nothing up there, Vane," Maya warned, lowering the radio, "I'm booking you for obstruction of justice. And I'll put you in a cell with the guy who thinks he's a vampire."
"Gary?" Caleb grinned. "I know Gary. He's actually surprisingly good at checkers."
Ten minutes later, a tech officer on a ladder pried open the ventilation grille.
"Detective!" the officer called down. "You need to see this."
Maya climbed the ladder halfway. Inside the duct, strapped to the metal with industrial magnets, was a black canister the size of a soda bottle. It had no label, no markings, and a single blinking LED light that was fading from red to dead.
"Jackpot," the officer said. "It's a dispersion unit. Remote triggered."
Maya looked down at Caleb. Her expression was a mix of vindication and profound confusion. He had been right. Again.
Caleb offered her a mock salute.
"Magnetic gas," Maya muttered, climbing down. "How did you know? You couldn't possibly see dust alignment from across the room."
"I told you," Caleb said, putting his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. The stress of the Overlay was spiking again; the room was starting to render in wireframe mode. "I have 20/10 vision. It's a curse, really. I can see the skepticism on your face from a mile away."
Maya didn't smile. She walked over to him, her voice low.
"You're not a psychic, Caleb. And you're not a hawk. You walked into a crime scene, insulted the coroner, broke an antique, and found a murder weapon that the sweep team missed."
She leaned in, her whisper sharp as a knife.
"I don't know what your game is. But I'm going to figure it out. And when I do, I hope your 'social engineering' works on a judge."
[WARNING: PARTNER SUSPICION LEVEL - 40%]
[NEW QUEST: DON'T GET CAUGHT]
"Can we go now?" Caleb asked, rubbing his eyes. "The survivor is crying, and it's ruining my vibe."
"We're going," Maya said, grabbing her coat. "Back to the precinct. The Chief will want to know why we have a live victim and a magnetic bomb."
She started walking toward the elevator. Caleb lingered for a second, looking back at Arthur Sterling. The banker was holding a cup of water, his hands trembling.
Above Arthur's head, the text had changed.
[ENTITY: ARTHUR STERLING]
[STATUS: ONLINE]
[DEBUFF: MARKED FOR DELETION]
Caleb froze. Marked for deletion?
That wasn't a standard police term. That was System language.
Whoever did this—whoever put the device in the vent—hadn't failed to kill Arthur. They had chosen to pause him. And judging by the red tag floating over the banker's head, they weren't done yet.
"Caleb!" Maya shouted from the elevator.
"Coming," Caleb replied. He turned his back on the victim, the ominous red text burning in his mind.
This wasn't just a murder attempt. It was a beta test.