Tomato soup melded together with some dark ball in hazy memory, melding into an image in reds and blacks and browns. Spaghetti and meatballs?

Sao woke with a gurgle, and swiveled his head from left to right. There was nothing around him but the monochrome furnishings of his apartment, softly lit, perfectly aligned on a grid of icy floor tiles. The moon outside was faintly visible through his gauzy curtains. He was showered and scentless, and lying several inches deep in a plush robe, sunk deep again in the doubly luxurious  embrace of his cloud-white couch.

In other words, there was nothing in his abode that should have reminded him of such things, and yet here he was, awake with the image of red on his mind - and the churning of hamburger dinner in his stomach.

This was the third time in the same night he had been woken by the mental onslaught of dishes, most involving tomato sauce.

Lying still as a dead fish, he pondered. He was not particularly hungry. If anything, the flashes of red were putting off any appetite he had. They weren’t pleasant, had no aroma or the glisten of an appealing dream (and Sao had dreamed of food before, so he was quite sure of this). This was, as he’d considered earlier, effectively a nightmare.

Was he finally outgrowing his narcoleptic habits? Sao was not sure he liked that prospect at all. Keeping himself up late only freed up time he wasn’t sure how to fill. Overtime was out of the question - he was not about to compete with Rai in that area. And nighttime hobbies... if asked, Sao always told people that his majority hobby was napping. No, all that open time only led to musings such as tonight’s, which would lead to fears and horrors and when the morning came, the unrested mind would only accumulate more chaos and in no time it would spill over in all kinds of nasty ways.

He shuffled over to the bathroom and washed his face, inspected his eyes for redness. When he found nothing, he went back to the couch and sat.

His phone rested peacefully on a small accent table beside him. He woke it up and checked the time, checked his mail, checked his camera files. The recording with Cadoc was his latest entry. Sao skipped to the end and eyed what he knew what the Chimera logo, on some unidentified machine made of pale blue and white plastic.

Someone had to know what this meant.

He contemplated his reflection in the television. Was this really how he was going to spend his nighttime hours?

Then, he pulled up his contacts and selected one of the oldest numbers.

Within a few seconds, it picked up. “Well, well, well, not someone I was expected to hear from, but a welcome call nonetheless.” There was a roar of a television crowd in the background, and a scramble as Van rushed to turn it down. “Evening, Sao. What's shaking?”

“Oh good, you’re still awake.”

“Sure am, it’s - what - 11pm?” Van laughed. “I’m just watching a game I missed earlier. I was running up and down the city today, there’s always so much to do even on my off time. Can’t complain, of course! Catching up with old friends and such, no better use for the day. You know how it is.”

Sao was not sure he did. Van seemed impossibly awake. True enough, even on the longest of workdays, whether it was a day of police sieges or endless spreadsheets, Sao never detected a hint of exhaustion in Van. Unlike Rai, Van did claim to sleep, although Sao never saw any proof of this. A vacation that involved running up and down the city was more or less expected of him.

“So, what’s on your mind?”

Sao slid his laptop onto a cushion. “I’m actually calling to see if Hro is available. I’m curious about a particular Chimera device that came up in a case today. There’s no accusation or threat involved, I would just like to know the origin of this particular machine and perhaps any related parties… if Hro would be so kind.”

“A case? Say no more. He’s right here, he’d be happy to help, I’m sure of it. And if he’s not - oh, I’m sure we’ll get something out of him.” 

“Excellent. I’ll send over a picture of the machine in question. Well, it’s actually a video....”

“Hey, Hro, you got a caller--” Van’s voice went tinny and distant.

There was a cry of ‘no’ in the background, sharp as a knife through the rabble of sports. Then a ‘why’, and then a squawk that Hro would have paid good money to wipe from Sao’s memory. 

Hro, for all his usefulness, was not the most pleasant person, and as Rai suspected, did have a rather menacing grip over several aspects of city life as a shadowy figurehead within Chimera. And Rai did not even begin to suspect the additional strain of villainy that pervaded even Hro’s personal interactions. He tended to open conversations with a threat of financial and bodily harm or, if he was feeling charitable, eviction. Hro was in fact Sao’s landlord, but Sao had little doubt that if Hro put his mind to it, he could have any individual in the city driven out of house and home, by simply leafing through some bank statements and perhaps making a few marks here and there, and putting on some choice phone calls.

Obviously, calls to Sao were the opposite of Hro’s choice, but Sao was marginally less likely to wind up homeless and decrepit thanks to certain knowledge and connection of his own. Hro’s greatest weakness, as far as Sao knew, was his own brother, Van, who would cheerfully walk up and put him in a headlock, impervious to threats and griping. Van’s arm was a force to behold, he was the ‘greatsword’ of Central Police, but he was simply a Level 2 detective, not even a chief; a verifiable worm to a head of Chimera. 

And yet for all his cartoonish hatred, Hro was not the type to lay a hand (Chimera’s razor-sharp region-spanning talons no less) against his brother. His weakness was more of a choice than a failing. For that, Sao allowed due respect. There was some level of honor to his methods, and for all the threats he could sling, Hro was far too refined for reckless spite or wanton destruction.

But still, Sao preferred having Van as a buffer between them.

Listening to Hro protest like a besieged parrot, Sao thought of the North siblings. What, exactly was the dynamic there? Maybe it was the muddle of being awake so late, but reflecting on their conversations, one by one, Sao only found the twins more progressively baffling.

And the two of them, on a vacation? Sao rubbed his eyelids, trying to soothe back the redness. 

Van eventually succeeded in dragging Hro to the receiver. That was what Sao assumed, since he had certainly not carried the phone into the scuffle. Hro spoke like a man drained of all life. “What do you want.” 

Not really a question. Sao smiled, in case Hro was watching through one of the many cameras that dotted the house, and chirped, “Good evening, Hro. I wanted your help identifying a machine I saw while on a case.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“We got the video,” Van said, clicking at some unseen computer. “Opening it up. Whoa, hey there, this guy looks familiar. What do you think, Hro? Might have seen him on TV somewhere, it’s on the tip of my tongue...”

“Hell if I know.” The longest-suffering sigh. “Is he a conman? Look at that face, look at that set, that pose, is he reading a script? Never seen anything so fake.” A snort. “What was this, a conference call? What was he selling?”

“His name’s Cadoc North. It was a casual conversation, but he was at his workstation. It’s likely you caught him on the news before - he won the Meat Cup semifinals last weekend at the Food Convention, it’s a-”

“Professional eating competition.” Hro’s voice dripped disgust. “At the expo, you say? Where you were supposed to be keeping an eye on the Chimera service stall? Where several thousand dollars of equipment were simply left to fend for themselves in a hall full of god know what kind of character-”

Van was mercifully quick. “That was it! Cadoc, meat contest, he was the winner, qualified for the big tourney in the South. After some kind of kerfuffle he was was reported missing, but quickly found again thanks to several of our fine folk - so I heard.”

“In truth, he was never really missing,” Sao said. “He was made ill by another contestant sabotaging the food, and left. But that’s another can of-”

“Don’t say it,” Van groaned.

Hro groaned too, with less playful measure. “If there’s one thing I don’t need at this time of day, it’s another wonder-cop story.”

“Impressive work from you, though. Whatever this is.” Van was clicking as if engaged in a game. “How did you record the call? On your phone?”

“Yes, it’s quite handy. I just learned how to today, it’s built-in...”

“Very cool. Hell, I wouldn’t even have suspected.”

Sao could not see him, but knew Hro was bristling at the level of incompetence that had interrupted his night. “Are either of you actually going let me watch the video? You ask me to take a look at this thing and won’t let the thing just play normally for a god-forsaken second.”

Van puffed at this good-naturedly. “Right, you’re the one Sao wanted. I’ll let the master get to work - all yours. The machine’s near the end, can’t miss that Chimera logo. Take a look.”

Hro went silent, and Sao heard only the on-and-off murmur of Cadoc’s voice as the playback proceeded. Hro then played the entire video again, from start to finish, his focus palpable even if Sao could not see his face. When the video finished, Sao pressed the phone to his ear to hear the verdict, heard Hro suck his teeth and grumble, “what was it you wanted me to do with this?”

There was a chorus of discontent, possibly from whatever sporting event Van had on the television.

Sao exhaled slowly and kicked his feet out over the sofa. “Just wanted to know if you could identify the machine. Or if you could tell me what Chimera might have to do with a competitive eater. There was some Chimera presence at the competition, the scales-”

“You’re fixated on this, aren’t you? The corp is an equipment supplier, and for the Expo, not the eating league - nothing more. The idiots running the tournament were using spring loaded scales like a bunch of neanderthals, and they still believe in the pin test, can you believe it?” An audible sneer. “Ah - you were there, so you know - what a trainwreck that turned out to be. Makes me glad Chimera steered clear of sponsorship - what a damn shame for those that decided eating made for a watchable sport.” 

Hro voiced the word ‘shame’ like it was a tasty treat. Sao waited as patiently for him to finish and added, “but in the video, the machine in Cadoc’s house does have the Chimera logo, doesn't it?”

“The video, the video…” Hro's voice turned sharp. “So what if this person bought a Chimera machine? There are thousands of products on the market, and I can barely see the thing, its all covered. If you want me to name the model and buyer list from some shaky phone video, you’re asking for a miracle. Why is this important to you, anyhow? You call me up way past working hours, ask me to look at this, and still haven’t made it clear what you’re hoping to get out of it even if I could identify this device. Is this legitimately important for some sort of case?” Hro attacked his keyboard with a vengeance, zooming in, panning through, or just taking his anger out on the nearest item. “It looks like a clunker. Ugly. Bet it’s old, probably designed and put out way before I even joined...”

Sao contemplated the white ceiling of his flat and waited out this second storm. If Hro did not know something, he was not going to go admitting it without a fight.

Hro spat out the end of his tirade. “And what makes you think Chimera has anything to do with this person?”

“I don’t know - I was curious, seeing a Chimera machine in his room. It doesn’t look like commonplace equipment, so I wondered if it meant a special deal, or some connection. They’ve been having - well, it’s not quite confirmed, but they’re having a harassment problem, and it’s possible some sponsor’s behind it. I have a few other pictures, let me send them-” Sao paused, flipping through the tearful, blurry snapshots of Carme that he had taken during their earlier call. He tried not to meet her eyes in them. “Another question - totally out of the blue - have you heard of a company named L.E & A.C.?”

“Leak?” Van chuckled, as Sao knew he would.

“Can’t you look that up yourself?” Hro snarled - also not entirely a surprise.

“The woman in the pictures I’m sending now - Cadoc’s manager and twin sister - she probably used to work at a company by that name. She… at the time, she was rather stressed. There’s another shot of the machine in the background-”

“So you’re taking photos of a woman without her knowledge.”

“Is she crying?” Curiosity and sympathy were blurred when it came to Van. “Not at her best, anyhow. Was this part of the investigation?”

“It was a private conversation, I was trying to get a look at the machine. It will stay private unless things take a turn for the worse,” Sao said, suddenly feeling rather tiny.

“Private? Hell, you’ve got it logged in the email systems now. You could ruin the force if this gets taken the wrong way,” was Hro’s response.

“Alright, alright, take it easy. It’s thanks to Chimera that these laws are the way they are, and in a serious case, any little detail could help - so thank you both very much.” Van could be heard patting Hro on the back to silence him. Hro coughed. “About her company, you were saying?”

“She left - the company dried up, she said - about five years ago. But I can’t find much information about it, including the full name of the company, or specifics of past employees.”

“And you think all that secrecy means a Chimera affiliation.”

Despite his cutting tone, Sao was grateful that Hro had taken up the idea quickly. “I wasn’t sure. Does it seem possible?”

“An acquisition or partnership that died out five years ago. You realize that was before I joined Chimera, and until last year I was still raking dirt in the lower echelons. I knew that machine looked old, whatever it is, I would never let them set the logo on a heap of junk like that. It looks like a giant plastic sewing machine. I’m not going to know what garbage the last director was pushing, off the top of my head.” But the tap of keys indicated that he had sources beyond the top of his head. “What’s this girl’s company name again?”

“Leak,” Van’s voice chimed in.

“L.E.A.C.” Sao thought. “No, sorry - it’s L.E. & A.C. Initials, maybe. But her name is Carme.”

“Carme North,” Hro repeated and Sao’s blood chilled in his veins; when Hro spoke with neutrality, one had the feeling the venom was being funneled elsewhere. As if the subject at hand was not worth the effort, or had already been crushed to the point that required no further effort.

Sao babbled. “Things haven’t been easy for her, that’s why she was upset. She’s been getting some harassment online. Nasty comments on her brother’s videos. My supervisor says it’s likely bored, unpleasant netizens, but we did discuss the possibility that it’s a company campaign, one of the sponsors or a rival trying to drum up drama.”

“Ameteur nonsense,” Hro mumbled, “And what sort of self-respecting company would want to be associated with a such disgusting business...”

“How’s Rai been doing?” Van asked, taking the phone.

“Oh, he’s well. He enjoyed the expo, investigation and all.”

“Hah! Always good to hear he’s still having a good time. Although I’m guessing he didn’t go there of his own free will. Definitely not his scene. Were you the one who invited him?”

“Anything else about this company,” Hro spat, “or should I just hang up?”

“Nothing found so far? Hm... they have a logo,” Sao said, drawing it up in his head, etching it into the persistent red fog. “Two hands, one on top of the other, not holding hands, but just resting on each other. I’ll admit, the design was not all that comforting, they were a technology startup, I suppose, not designers and I could see their point. It was a… well-intentioned… business.” Hro’s simmering disgust could nearly be tasted through the phone line. “Carme North told me they specialized in hospice care equipment.”

“Hospice care.”

“Yes.”

At first, he was dim enough to believe this had helped, but Hro’s words dropped like a line of daggers. “Hospice care,” he spat again. Sao wished Hro could perhaps space out his words like Cadoc did; it would be appreciated. But it was not Hro’s habit to leave his target with breathing room between hits. “While I do not deny that it is a financial well worth some people’s time, the old and dying are not typical Chimera customers.”

Every word sounded like the brink of an eruption. Sao closed his eyes. “Is it possible the last director had slightly different preferences?”

“Hey, you guys will want to take a look at this,” Van crowed, having shuffled further into the background. But Hro was still reeling from Sao’s slander of the fine Chimera brand.

“Should I still bother looking this up for you? Are you able to tell me if they had a specialty, at least? Even the most slapdash corporation wouldn’t bother working with a startup that does nothing more than make as shitty logo and say they’re helping the incontinent. What, were you expecting to hear that we collaborated with this pretty little thing on the development of the world’s most advanced bedpans? Catheters? Stomach pumps?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Sao! 4:37!” Van’s call came as a command this time. Hro stopped midway through a vile curse. “Go!”

“W-who?” Sao asked, mildly winded at being addressed like one of Van’s ambush teams.

“Get there on the video, kid, it’s near the end.” Van’s voice rumbled like a motor, just waiting to take off. “4 minutes, 37 seconds.”

“Give me a moment. I’m not sure how to skip to the right place...”

“You’ll see a box in the background, just for a fraction of a second, but it’s there. It’s the first time he tries to close the computer lid.”

“It’s not North who’s closing it, his hands are on the table,” Hro growled. “It must have been the - well, will you look at that.” He licked his lips. “Would you say that’s blood? Yes, it looks like it...”

Sao’s hair prickled and his fingers suddenly felt like they were filled with lead. The visions of scarlet. Meat. Tomato sauce. “Blood?”

Hro snorted. “You haven’t found it yet? Well, let’s just say it looks like you may have more to worry about than an old hand-holders and bedpan company.”

“Cool it, Hro.” Then to Sao, Van asked, “did you get to it? I’ll send a picture - might be needed for the records… and I’ll call it in. Sounds alright? Of course, if you can think of any reason why the box and its contents might be there, just let me know--”

Sao’s eyes dropped to his phone and he shifted his fingers off the screen as if it were poison to the touch. 

The footage sat in awful, frozen time. In the split second where someone had attempted to shut the computer screen for the first time, and failed, the laptop had shifted, the camera grazing past the light of the lab-lounge doorway, and a darker brown shape on the floor behind the Cadoc, beside the comfy, unused reading chair. The brown shape was a box, dark cardboard blending with the wood of the recording area, and when distracted by the flash of yellow light of the neighboring room, it was easy to miss its contents.

In the box, there was something round, capped with a mass of brown. Brown hair. Below the hair was a face, with closed or half-closed eyes. The face was pale, submerged deep into the box, not leaving enough space below to hide a body. It was a head. Cheeks and what was visible of the forehead were spattered in stark, blazing red.

Red.

Sao’s stomach dropped. Red: something his eyes had caught, but his mind had not registered.

He must have made some sort of useless noise with that epiphany, because Van responded, “Alright, I’m going to make the call.”

“I - please - thanks.” Sao snuck a look back at his phone screen. 

Cadoc North remained smiling quietly at the edge of the screen. Though the footage was paused, he looked as if he could still move and breathe, and was on the verge of speaking again. Cadoc always sat so still, staring ahead, that when paused, he still looked alive. Sao tried not to meet his gaze, instead eyeing the hands laid across each other on the desk.

His head throbbing with hot confusion, Sao thought in turn of the L.E. & A.C. emblematic hands. How odd, uneasy, downright anxiety-inducing they were for their purpose. What weary, injured or elder person in need could be comforted by stiff, dead hands? What had Carme been thinking? 

No, it was not her fault. He doubted she was responsible for the design of the logo. She worked with the machines. Yes, it was unfair...

Sao mulled as far as he could into the unfairness of the corporate world.

Anything to keep his mind off Cadoc’s unruffled figure, living contentedly in suspended animation, and the box with a head in it. A head that looked very much like Cadoc’s own.

---

Sao’s mind wandered and his finger slipped, set the video to play once again, and whoever’s hand it was behind the monitor - the one he had assumed to be Carme’s - slapped down the lid and ended the video.

Setting his phone facedown on the couch, Sao sighed and rubbed his face, scraping over the nicks and scars gouged into his skin. He’d have to cover them up again before he headed out, get out the foundations and creams and pigments. He wasn’t as upset about that as he should be. God, the prospect of hands, hands, hands made him wish he could just cover his entire body in plastic or drop into an eternal sleep and be done with, done with them, all of them.

Rai said that Life Fountains could fall into a numbing sleep for months. How nice it would be, to be a Life Fountain...

Late nights were really going to be the end of him.

So Sao stood, dragged some of his old office clothes out of the hamper and went to get covered up, as best he could manage.