The morning was what he’d call ‘fair to middling’.

It was a bright and sunny day, to say the least - the absolute least - to well and fully understate for politeness’s sake, or toward some other delusion. The painful truth was that summer, now in its final weeks, had turned savage. Temperatures across the Central region soared, with humidity levels following the upward trend. The sky was so bright and so domineering that to look upward, there was no discernable sun. The entire plane overhead looked simply consumed by white fire, a searing mass of suffocating pressure.

Sao spent the morning glued to a plastic bus seat, head bent low in an attempt to find cover from the windows behind his fellow commuters, and catch a sliver of feeble air conditioning from between them. The seat, handlebars and walls all felt sticky. The crowd graciously did their best to avoid contact with him or each other - nobody wanted to know what skin felt like in the little sauna-like enclosure.

Yes, he was grateful. He usually had to put more effort into dodging.

The bus doors released him onto the pavement to the mercy of the irradiated sky. What followed was a seven minute trudge to the apartment block of white-painted brick which housed the office he shared with his supervisor, Rai. The flat also doubled as Rai’s home. At the start of summer, Sao had no idea how much he’d come to appreciate that fact.

Rai despised the heat.

Sao pushed open the door and paused at the threshold to bask in the cool air that swept out to meet him. On the breeze he caught a whiff of coffee, and smiled. When fortified to move again, he stepped in and draped his sweat stained jacket over the nearby coat rack, under which a dehumidifier was buzzing contentedly.

The study-room office - which in kinder seasons tended toward golden-brown tones with its nostalgic cream walls and hardwood paneling - was for the summer doused with tranquil, watery blue. Blinds covered the tall barred windows, rimmed in silver as the sun tried to tear in around the edges. Overhead, a set of large air conditioners hummed, their ventilation grates rising and falling like a fish’s gills, while a second dehumidifier toiled away next to the printer. The cooling system was not silent but rather offered a pleasing drift of white noise. Sao flicked on the laptop sitting on his corner desk and peered through the blinds of the nearby window, at the street below.

Lines on the asphalt quivered with the heat. The world looked to be melting; oily and unstable. There was not a soul about, not even a car.

Blinking sunspots from his eyes, he retreated back behind the blinds.

Rai’s heavy wooden block of a desk faced Sao’s from the opposite wall. His workspace was barricaded by two computer monitors and several stacks of paper, behind which Sao knew to be more papers, a tangle of wires, and Rai’s terrifically loud mechanical keyboard. The keyboard was, however, for the moment idle. Rai’s rust-red eyes were boring into him over the top of the monitors. A customary greeting.

Amplified by a wan complexion and a quality of perpetual tension, Rai had a stare that sometimes seemed it could tear right through to the core of an unwitting recipient. It would catch you out, dry you out, leave you withered. Meeting eyes took a spot of mental preparation. But Rai had his weaknesses, their names being flattery and romanticism. That was the way: make avert his own eyes, in disgust. The gruff, independent investigator had an image - a mindset - to maintain. Knowing this, and being quite adept in puffery, Sao could have styled himself an enemy, but in truth, he saw no benefit in going around challenging his boss. Their acquaintance had been long enough now for Sao to believe Rai was surly and skeptical as required by his job, but wasn’t cruel.

Most of the time.

Perhaps he’d once been - Rai’s early career was a catalog of complaints and suspensions - but he’d lightened noticeably since their first encounter. Sao tried to give him little reason to feel competitive. With nothing to aim defiance at, Rai was harmless. Equal likelihood was that Sao himself had changed too, become accustomed to Rai’s disgruntled nature and deadly stares, been accommodated in turn. And why not? Working together was a two-way street. They might never pass, expose their backs to the other (or worse; meet in the middle in a hard collision) but they kept a safe, constant distance. A comfortable gap across which they could see each other as clearly as needed. There was (again, at least) small satisfaction for Sao that they'd settled into a pattern that suited him.

Small satisfactions, ‘fair to middling’ conditions; these were Sao’s sustenance. He had never been one to pour his soul into commitment. He could do without the flourishes of a great unstable friendship. Rai must have seen the sense in that. With his hardheaded disposition, keeping Sao at arm's length (or futher) may have actually been the ideal arrangement.

Even in the early days when they were still scoping out one another, Rai had never been too intrusive. Never too hard on his - admittedly, notoriously lethargic - assistant.

Most of the time.

Rai’s looks still gave him pause when he wasn’t prepared. That soul-halting glare, framed with the everpresent dark eyebags. Sao was recovering more quickly these days. Besides, it was far from his place to go criticizing the look of a person's face.

Rai’s eyes hadn’t wavered. “How’s it look out there?”

Sao fanned himself in mock agony. “Lovely. Another scorcher.”

Rai gave a half-wave - thanks for the answer, or a dismissal - and resumed his work. The clap of a brick of printouts being stapled was the thunder, and the clatter of his keyboard filled the air like rain. Flashes and flickers.

Sao sat and began to sift through his email, smiling to himself. The clamor was something of a comfort. It indicated work getting done, progress being made. And the lightshow was a bonus. It was not only the computer monitors that gave the room its pleasant blue tint.

With power inherited from his ancestors - his Life Fountain mother’s side of them - Rai’s hands glowed cyan blue, from wrist to fingertip. Rai described the substance within as a mild, magical aura. He lacked the full range of abilities available to his pure-blooded (and some luckier half-blooded) kin - the miraculous healing and pseudo-immortality - but his luminescent hands were not purely cosmetic. With what aura he had, Rai was resistant to illness of all sorts and his hands rapidly recovered from any sort of injury. He could last for days on minimal sleep - possible culprit for the dark rings under his eyes though again, not Sao’s place to advise.

Uniquely useful to certain investigations was, also, the Life Fountain’s ability to burn shapeshifters. Those elusive, maneating creatures the police had become so wary of, when touched by aura even as faint as Rai’s, were left with a mark that would be retained no matter the form they took. An identifier affixed onto a previously fluid existence. The one time Sao saw the process in action, the recipient had been as unhappy as one might expect. (Sao shuddered to think of the burns that might be inflicted by one of Rai’s more powerful cohorts.) 

Rai also claimed his hands stayed cool in the summer.

Basing his impression on their color alone, Sao could easily believe, if he and Rai were to shake hands, those glowing palms would indeed be cooler to the touch. If there were dire reason. If he were forced.

It would never happen, though.

Sao’s smile lingered. Across the room, the keyboard clattered on.

Planting himself in his chair, Sao opened the email containing handwritten scans that would form his latest transcription. He was one of a small team tasked with digitizing old records for the police archives, making them typed and searchable. Today’s first was a log penned by a detective nearly 80 years ago, summarizing witness interviews relating to a jewel shop robbery. No casualties, and no losses but a pearl necklace which an attendant had been returning to its display case when the knife came out. The necklace was insured. Six pages, no further attachments.

He got to work. The detective had a fairly clean cursive and excellent spelling that made for smooth reading.

There was a recording of the shop owner’s tasteless jab at the burglar's ‘effete’ behavior and choice of loot, and another on his employee’s ‘lack of fight’. Pondering the man, Sao transcribed the sections in their entirety.

In the end, the shop owner had given the detective what was noted as ‘a satisfactory handshake.’

Sao observed his blinking cursor for a while, then stood.

“I’m getting some tea. A coffee for you, Rai?”

Rai was no longer typing, but he wasn’t listening, either. He had a set of padded headphones on, and was focusing his considerable attention at his right hand monitor. Sao padded up to his desk. On the screen, to no surprise, some gory horror film was running.

A girl with long braided hair was perched on the top step of a stairwell, obscured almost completely by shadow, with her hands outstretched. Behind her, on the landing, a tall window framed an infernal red-gold sunset, not unlike the ones Central had been experiencing as of late. When the girl became still and the camera adjusted to the shifting light, Sao saw in her hands the loop of a noose made not of rope, but something much thinner, hanging from a bannister above. The line glinted in the sinking sunlight, like the edge of a knife.

She tilted her head, swayed on her heels, said something only Rai would hear through his headphones, and began to lift the wire noose over her head.

Sao snatched the two empty coffee cups from Rai’s desk and made his way to the kitchen.

When he returned, the girl’s head was on the floor, a tumbleweed of wet matted hair. Twitching. An awful lot of twitching, considering her detached body was folded limp over the edge of a table where it had fallen, several feet away, dribbling blood on the tiles.

Sao set down Rai’s two mugs and went back to his desk, his own cup of tea burning in his hand.

—

His attempts to distract himself were effective until noon. Transcripts completed, Sao thought about lunch. Setting foot out into the blazing midday sun was an unappealing prospect.

Rai had hardly moved since getting his coffee refilled. He was still glued to his right hand monitor. He’d done ominously little typing, note-taking or printing in the last hour; an unusual lapse in his typical frenetic productivity.

Sipping the remains of his tea, Sao made for his supervisor's desk again. Surely Rai’s movie had moved on to some more tasteful scenes - or ended.

Apparently not. The girl was on the stairs once again. Red sky. Wire noose, pulled over the head. Was this the exact same scene?

Vaguely wondering if some prank was at work, Sao scooped up Rai’s coffee mugs. They were empty, of course. Typed reports and horror films might compete for Rai’s attention, but coffee consumption was an instinct.

When Sao returned with the steaming mugs, Rai managed to dislodge his focus from the film, which had finally drawn to a close. “I was wondering where the coffee went.”

“You’ve been drinking it.” Sao laughed. “This is your second refill.”

“What – I mean, thanks.” In a show of gratitude, Rai gulped down half of his first mug in a single swig. Then he ran a glowing hand over his hair, swiveled his chair back to the darkened screen and tapped his mouse twice. The tall girl with the braid snapped back into view.

Sao couldn’t withhold the tiny groan that rose in his throat. Rai’s swivel chair spun back around and Rai locked a hard red gaze on him.

“Can I show you something?”

Sao nodded at the screen. “That?”

“That, yeah. I don’t know how much you saw over my shoulder - it does get messy. ” Rai glanced at the screen, as if the girl might have additional input. “But I wanted to get your thoughts.”

“Since you asked so kindly...” With a faint smile, Sao settled against the side of the desk.

Rai pulled his headphones free from the socket and hit the play button.

The face on screen, dotted with freckles and sweat - though, not yet masked by bloodied hair - slid into motion.

“He-ey, everyone… It's me again. I know, I’m usually not on at this time.” A pause, a furtive look, rapid blinks. “But a littler gathering isn’t a bad thing, huh? Like it’s more intimate this way. Whatever. I couldn’t put this off, so… thanks for coming.”

The girl spoke with a low, wandering drawl. She was bigger, and possibly older, than Sao had first assumed. Although her oversized tee shirt gave a childish impression, hanging loose around her shoulders, he could see that she was tall, taller than the back of her padded chair, and had to hunch slightly to meet the camera. Her hair, pulled back in its braid, was such a bold, coppery orange that looked aflame in the light of her computer.

“I mean it. And I really am sorry for those who can’t be here. Couldn’t be here.” Another shift of the eyes - wide, and a deep navy blue. “Because,” she continued, “this is the last time.”

A haunting smile.

“Anyone who’s stuck with me a while knows that things haven’t been great. Never were. I mean, there were some sunny patches…” She shook the neckline of her shirt, pushed aside some stray hairs stuck to her forehead with sweat. “The first championships were a really fun time. Streaming helped me build some confidence, but I don’t know, I never did that well again. Then the blue streams, those were fun for a while… though I sort of regret it now. Everywhere I go, people remind me of that horrible 5k goal I made up on a bender…”

She sagged back in her seat, memories and unfamiliar terminology continuing to pour forth in a rolling mumble. Then she leaned too far away and became inaudible. Her pale freckled hands were still gesturing, in agitated swerves and jitters. Sao frowned, leaned in, but he still couldn’t catch any coherent words. What he did notice was the familiar tableau behind her. She was in a dark, spacious room. At the back and to the left was a staircase, leading to a landing with a large window, looking out to a blotchy red sky.

“You can borrow my headphones later,” Rai offered. Sao didn’t have the constitution to tell Rai he was unlikely to give the thing a rewatch.

The girl swung back into the cramped confines of the viewfinder, a few drops of sweat flying to speckle the screen. Her voice had risen and she was nearly shouting. “But I did make friends. Some of the best people I’d ever met. To you guys, I’m super grateful. Or I would be… but what I’ve learned is that good things - they never last. That’s the problem. I can’t make any good last. I tried, you know I tried to get help…”

She put a strange inflection on the word, almost singsong.

“Well help came and help went. After what happened to mom, I thought things couldn’t get any worse. I mean, right after her, the docs said it was genetic. So there was me feeling sorry for myself. That’s when I heard…” She shook her head, the long braid whipping behind her. “It can always get worse. It will always get worse.”

A pause, not for poignancy, but to catch her breath.

“Here’s where I say my goodbyes. Tell people I love them and all that. Tell them it isn’t their fault, or that it is… I’m not that petty. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anyone left to tell anything worthwhile. You guys, be glad you didn’t know me personally. Whatever. I don’t know what to say anymore. I’m out. I’m done.” She rose, a dull and weighty heave, from the chair.

“Just one last thing to do, I guess.”

She slid away from the light of the phone or computer where she’d said her piece, merging with the darkness at the back of the room, the base of the staircase. Her braid swung as if seeking escape as she lumbered to the top step and centered herself in the red rectangle of window.

Then came the hands, the noose, the glimmer of light. The swaying on her heels. Then a cry, “I’ve always wanted to try this.”

The noose went up, and this time, Sao didn’t turn away.

After pulling her braid delicately through the loop, a bizarre concession of vanity making even more bizarre the scenario - the girl stopped, perhaps to catch her breath again. She was shaking, visibly, even from a distance, and took a few paces back so her back was against the wall, away from the edge. For a moment Sao thought, idiotically, that enough was enough, that she’d simply remove the noose and step down. But with a sudden lurching hop, she flew forward, falling hard over the short rail.

Seen only in silhouette, it was like a child’s magic show. It was almost too smooth. She soared at a near-perfect diagonal angle, from the top left of the screen to bottom right, before being yanked back when the noose caught her. The razor-sharp wire locked under her jaw and sliced.

There was hardly a sound until the body came crashing down. The momentum of the swing caused it to hit the side of the staircase, slip free from the wire, and tumble the remaining height onto the awaiting dining table below. It landed with a wet slap, sending the thin metal dining chairs toppling, her dark mass skidding some ways across the tabletop before finally coming to rest on its stomach; arms and shoulders - and stump above them - lolling off the edge.

The noose made a few more wild oscillations, as if trying to shake off the grime that was now caked to it.

And the girl’s head had rolled to the middle of the room, braid intact and laid out like some sickly imitation of a spine. A puddle was forming, catching the dying sunlight from the window above. Red on red. And there was that twitching; eyes fluttering under the wet bramble of hair, lips feeling for some final words, the last efforts of a disembodied brain.

Sao caught his breath and turned to Rai for his verdict. But the girl was not quite finished.

“No. No, not like this.”

Sao gagged on whatever he had been about to say.

“I hate this! No!”

Rai slid his chair back so Sao could take in the whole thing unimpeded.

“Where are you? Where did you go? H-” A wet cough. “I can’t see. What happened? Damn it–” The head - the girl? - released a few short phlegmy coughs and moaned. “Fuck! I hate this! Are you still watch–”

And the screen went dark.

Sao blinked. “That’s the end?”

“Yup. That’s where it got cut off.”

Ignoring Rai’s insensitive choice of word, Sao mused over the film as requested. “Well, that was… novel. Not a spectacle we see often. The windup, that suicidal speech about her friends and mother, was rather unnerving on its own. But what was she meant to say, before the cut? I think - not it would have made the whole thing much more tasteful - but the moral message would have been a lot clearer if she’d been allowed to finish.”

“Well, yeah. I thought it looked like she was calling out to someone too - I suspect there was someone else in the house at the time. They might have even shown up if the stream was allowed to run until the cops came...” He let the thought trail. They eyed each other for a beat, under the hum of the air conditioning. Then Rai smiled. Oftentimes Sao thought Rai’s smiles were leagues more uncomfortable than his most caustic glares.

“Rai, please say you’re joking. This wasn’t just a movie? A short film?”

“What, did you think I was slacking off all morning?” Perhaps out of pity, Rai wiped the smile off his face and returned to the darkened screen. Pushing the video player away, he brought up a police log file. “It happened yesterday evening. Miss Orchid J____ - that’s her name - made an impromptu announcement on her Neocam account, followed by a short livestream showing her… I guess we’ll call it a suicide attempt. The feed was eventually taken down by the administrators after some user reports - Neocam suspended the stream and blocked the recording from public view. They’re the ones who made the cutoff.”

“Please stop saying that.”

“Saying what?” With a quizzical frown, Rai went on. “Someone put in an anonymous call to emergency services, three minutes after Miss Orchid jumped. Sounded like a woman, and she was really shaken up, according to the dispatcher. The caller claimed to just be a watcher of her streams, they didn’t describe how Orchid had been hurt, but they did know her address. So maybe it was someone who knew her offline… you okay?”

“I… I know it got removed, and someone thought to call for help… but I can’t believe anyone would want to show such a thing to the world in the first place. And that anyone would tune in to watch…”

“Miss Orchid was a longtime internet streamer. A professional. It was her main source of income - she had some devoted fans.”

“Does that mean she was known for these sort of stunts? In retrospect, it did look a bit too perfectly staged in places.”

“She mostly streamed games - so no, whatever you’d call this wouldn’t be her area of expertise. That’s why I suspected someone else was there, helping out, or something less innocent. Maybe the person who called it in.”

“She did appear distressed. But then, supposedly the caller was too.” Sao suddenly felt the need to put some distance between himself and the screens. He paced to the office sitting area, a mismatched corner arrangement of bench, shin-height coffee table, and threadbare sofa. his throat felt sore. “So how did she do it?”

“Meaning?”

“I wondered how she did the decapitation and made the head... speak. Some manner of editing?”

Rai tilted back on his chair, gracing Sao with a gentler look than usual. Which made Sao’s stomach churn all the more. “Piano wire decapitation as a means of suicide has been sort of a continuous joke on the internet for a while.”

“A joke, you say.”

“Teens trying to gross each other out. If you’re going to talk about dying at a young age, you have to at least act like you wanna make a splash.” Rai dipped his head. “In practice, though, it’s not that easy. Sure, people have been beheaded by overhanging structures when flying at them with their heads sticking out of car roofs. But with hanging, just dropping off a stool for example, it’s not really the same. The force needed to sever all the muscle and the spine isn’t there.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not something I intend to validate myself. I just wanted to know - is this meant to explain how she did it on camera?”

“Kind of. The explanation for the decapitation is that she really did do it.” Rai rubbed his neck. “She thought it out. The staircase, the running start, the sharpened noose… and the weights. She looked bulkier than usual that day because she had tied four of those big bags of rice around her chest and back. She pretty much never wore baggy clothing on camera before that. She was actually known for doing streams in her underwear, or even in the nude on occasion. A couple of the viewers pointed it out…”

“That was the primary concern, was it? Not seeing enough skin. Good grief.” Shaking his head, Sao sank onto the sofa, letting the air conditioner chill his bones with its direct blast. “So she really did intend to kill herself. This is all so foul.”

Rai wheeled his chair out to follow him. “I know it’s pretty heavy stuff. I just thought you should know the details before we talk to her. If you’re up for it…”

Sao felt as if he’d been flash frozen. “Excuse me?”

“We know how her head came off. How she kept talking is the part we still don’t understand. And the head - I mean, Miss Orchid - is still talking.”