Chapter 22: Karma and Coffee Stains
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Looking down at Derrick's folder, I drank my coffee standing in the elevator, the bitter elixir coating my throat. It had a pungent aroma, and it wasn't precisely pleasant, but it kept me awake in the mornings - and I needed to be alert as possible. It was good to have your wits about you when you used the Inspeculators. I'd rather not retch right after leaving the Inspeculator, frankly, and I knew that even the slightest bit of fatigue could leave you reacquainting yourself with your breakfast. I'd rather avoid that experience this time, if at all possible. 

As the lift slowly staggered up the elevator shaft, I could hear the sound of a faint ding overhead as the doors opened to floor 44. I went to step out, as a young woman brushed against my shoulder: telling me rudely to "watch it" as she stormed past. I slopped my coffee across my wrist as she bumped into me. As she strode past, with a cavalier gait, I could see the back of her once untainted capri-toned dress - now accented with the deep brown tones of instant coffee droplets across the frill. That was karma for you.

Stepping out of the elevator, I stepped into the Inspeculator floor once more. That same strange scent of mint and coal lingered upon the air still, and the sleek white contraptions that lined the halls seemed to stand like soldiers - imposing and unwavering, rows upon rows of them, in perfect order. The area seemed to be rather empty at the moment, devoid of all - save for the shuffling attendants tending to the unused machines. It didn't seem people were eager to spend their mornings using the machines.

I wandered up to the machines, and the young girl that had greeted me last time - with her clipboard in her hands, stared up at me. She now carried a bucket on her wrist as well, perhaps in anticipation of my visit. That same faux smile crept across her face as she greeted me.  

"Welcome back! What can I do for you?" She asked. 

"Well, I'm looking to see if I can get an Inspeculator for an hour," I said. "I figured the machines would probably be free for an hour, since they aren't getting much use this early in the morning, are they?"

"Um, well, yeah," she replied. "But we don't usually do..."

"...Hour long sessions," I interrupted her. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry - but I really need to do a thorough investigation for this client. There's not all that much I've got to go off, I need something to work with."

She reluctantly sighed, before letting out a suppressed groan in annoyance - barely subdued beneath that artificial smile of hers. 

"That's fine," she said. "Can I check your ID, please?"

I went to grab the ID card from my pocket, and reaching in, I... felt nothing. My pocket was empty; I must've sent my sigil ID through the wash cycle along with yesterday's pants. I'd have to requisition a new one, I guess.

"It looks like I left it in my apartment," I stated. "You scanned me through yesterday though, remember? You should have me on system."

"It doesn't work that way," she replied. "We have to go through the system. It's protocol."

"Yeah, well I'll take the flak if you get pulled up for that one," I told her. "It's 9:00 in the morning. What else are you going to be doing for the next hour and a half except for staring at that clipboard? At least if you let me use the machines, you'll have some more gossip to talk about with the other employees, won't you?"

She sighed, staring down at the clipboard, flicking over to the previous page as she took some numbers down. 

"You've got 45 minutes," she answered reluctantly. "And the second you're done with that machine, you're running straight back down here with that ID."

"I will," I said.

"You'd better," she demanded. "Or else the boss'll kill me."

"Don't worry, I know the feeling," I murmured to her. "I know the feeling all too well..."

She huffed, carrying her bucket and clipboard as she traipsed off through the aisles of machines - walking along the left side to the farthest machine from the elevator she could possibly find. Tucked in the rear corner, next to the window that overlooked that scintillating sea beyond the narrow confines of the walls, was a generic Inspeculator that appeared uniform as it sat amidst the rows of machines. With a thin layer of dust coating the top of the machine, it looked nearly unscratched, perhaps even unused. 

"Could I have the Client ID, please?" She inquired.

As I stared into the folder, I thumbed through the pages, looking for the client ID. After a moment, I found it. I read the digits aloud - my clients and their souls, once again, reduced to mere numbers in the cogs of the machine. 

"940-248-312-723-0," I responded. "Derrick Rodgers."

With that arcane hum, I could feel a deep burst of energy emanating from the machine as it hummed to life - the vibrations feeling slightly more potent than the Inspeculator I'd sat in only a day earlier. It made me feel sick. Once again, I was reminded of my adventuring days, and the nausea I felt as I witnessed the toll of war - staring into the jaws of death. It was a grim reminder. Clutching my chest as I felt like dry-heaving, I managed to subdue the sick feeling after a few moments, as the machine's pulses began to stabilise. 

The mechanical lid of the machine slowly raised, and as I clambered up the catwalk of the machine, I stared into the cockpit. It was much fresher this time - in fact, this one seemed to smell a little more of glue and leather, though you could barely smell any of that over the residual scent of mana-burn that permeated every corner of this place. As long as it didn't smell of human sweat, frankly, I was fine with it.

I slowly clambered down into the cockpit, sitting in the seat, steeling myself for the oceanic rush of memories that were about to hit me like a tidal wave. The lid slowly descended over my head as the chamber fell dark. With the lid finally shutting over my head, I heard the gnomish girl's muffled voice from outside.

"Good luck in there," she said. "We don't usually use this Inspeculator. The unit's pretty poorly calibrated, so that machine can get incredibly... intense."

"Wait, what?" I began.

I didn't get the chance to finish that sentence. As the machine whirred to life, radiant light gathering inside my irises, the memories of my client hit me like a hurricane. 

The next scene will be a long Inspeculator scene. I may take a while to get it out, because I don't want to split those three chapters up when writing them, but we'll see if I can just belt them all out tomorrow and make another chapter bomb out of it. Anyway, I hope you're enjoying Malarie's journey thus far!

I'm currently working on trying to get a less trash cover for this story, since it seems to be doing fairly alright - even with the rather average cover that I mocked up with royalty-free images simply to enter it into the competition. If you know of any good anime-style artists, feel free to shoot their details my way in a PM!

 

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