Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor, Spy
“Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. The bullet trajectory and blood spatter pattern indicates no foul play.”
A single latex-gloved hand reached down to rotate the cold limp wrist to get a better look at the handgun. The detective swiped their finger across the cool metal beneath the firing chamber.
“Gunpowder residue expelled as normal. Weapon of choice was a standard issue pistol sidearm.”
The officer standing behind the detective swore colourfully under his breath. He paced backwards and forwards in the small standard issue soldier’s room as if trying to burn a hole in the carpet. “Are you sure, detective?” the officer asked, knowing full well what the answer was but still trying to hold out hope.
“Yes,” the detective said flatly. She ran her hand gently up the soldier’s thighs, feeling his pockets for a note or anything that could’ve indicated why he did what he did. Her hands met a small lump in his left pocket and fished inside, pulling out a small empty glass file. She studied the vial briefly, holding it up in the artificial light, before placing it into an evidence bag and stashing it in her own pocket. "Who found him?"
"One of the guys in my troop. Came to get him for stag, found him like this, called me and said something about Jones being 'well dead’ and has spent the rest of the day crying and babbling in the medbay. The doctors say-“ the officer hesitated for a moment “-the doctors say he might be a psych case now.”
“Hm.” The detective’s watchful eyes scanned over the body of the man before her once again, trying to find anything else out of the ordinary in his gaping mouth, bloodshot, wide eyes, the brain matter scattered up the wall behind him, but there was nothing.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Captain,” she said bluntly, taking a step towards the door. “You’ll need to leave now. A second forensics team will want to take more samples, so this room will need to be cordoned off.”
“Oh.” The officer’s face dropped as he too stepped toward the exit, shoulders hung, head low. “Okay.”
Reaching into her satchel, the detective pulled out a roll of yellow and black tape, closing the door on the scene in front of them once they were both out of the corridor. She began liberally taping up the door as she heard the footsteps of the officer die out in the distance.
“Oh, and, Detective Kiramman?” the officer called out over his shoulder.
Caitlyn’s head snapped up to meet the man’s sorrowful eyes.
“Can you keep this under wraps, please? The crew don’t need to know they’ve lost another one of their boys like this.”
Without awaiting her response, the officer disappeared into another room at the end of the hallway.
Cait finished up her tape job and begun striding towards the exit of the accommodation block, her eyebrows furrowed as she remained deep in thought.
This was the army’s 20th suicide case in the past 12 months, and the fourth Cait had picked up since joining the investigative unit of the Corps of Justice. Her predecessor, the detective Caitlyn had taken over from, had had a nervous breakdown due to the nature of their work, however the young and eager officer was keen to please and jumped at the opportunity to take the lead on the case.
At first, the corps couldn’t figure out how they were all connected. As if overnight, lower-ranking troops had begun executing themselves in various ways, some clean and simple like the gunshot wound she’d just investigated, but some more dark and gruesome.
Cait could never shake the image of her first case out of her head, where one of the newer engineers had shoved a grenade in his mouth, pulled the pin and sprinted down the runway screaming until it eventually exploded.
That was a fucking mess, and an even bigger bitch to clean up. If you looked carefully down that runway now, there was still a dark stain against the light tarmac, where the poor engineer’s sinew and brain tissue had landed.
There was nothing joining the different suicides at first, apart from each soldier not leaving a note behind. Nothing to say why they did what they did, no indication of previous mental health, no psychiatric records, nothing.
That was until Caitlyn began searching each body before they made their way to the coroner.
On all four cases, the detective had searched the corpse’s person.
And on all four cases, she’d found a small vial or baggy stuffed deep into their pockets, containing a glinting purple residue.
Caitlyn had sent each bit of evidence off to the labs for testing, however the samples were all too small to synthesise on their own. With more vials collected, the labrats might be able to get a bigger picture of what the substance actually was, and why every single person seemed to be carrying their own supply of it.
The research labs were tucked away in a quieter far corner of the compound, way from the main hubbub of the army, which was perfect for the many civilian contractors that worked there who wanted to detach themselves from the main body of the military itself. It was decked out with anything and everything a lab geek might need, from top-of-the-range microscopes to endless incubators and PCR machines.
Caitlyn scanned her ID badge at the front door before entering the building, greeting the man sat at the front desk with a fond smile. “Good morning, Viktor,” she said warmly.
“Good morning, Detective Kiramman,” he responded with a grin, looking up at her through square-framed glasses. “What treats have you brought me today?”
Viktor had graduated early from the University of Piltover and had fought tooth and nail to get himself onto the research teams of the army. Zaun had nothing like that in their own country, and from what Caitlyn could tell, he was eager to make a name for himself and help the war effort in any way he physically could – even if it meant sitting at a desk for eight hours a day.
“Another one of our mystery samples,” she said casually, reaching into her satchel and passing Viktor the evidence bag. “Think you’ve got enough for a proper analysis now?”
“Hmm.” Viktor fingered the bag, holding it up in the light, catching a small glimpse of a few droplets of purple liquid clinging to the side of the vial. “The rest of the samples are still on ice. If we combine them together, then maybe, just maybe.”
“Thanks, Vik.” Cait exhaled a sigh of relief, dreading the paperwork that would have to accompany all of this but also glad her case would be taking a step forward.
Viktor printed out an evidence sticker and stuck it carefully on the bag before slipping it into his labcoat. “Heimerdinger came in here earlier, by the way, looking for you.”
“Oh?” Caitlyn cocked an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “He did not give too many details, but something went wrong on one of the flying missions recently in the Air Corps. He needs you go to the air squadron and interview the two pilots.”
Flying. Pilots.
Oh, fuck.
A deep dread settled heavy in the pit of Caitlyn’s stomach. Her day had gone from bad to ten times’ fucking worse.
***
“And you didn’t retrieve a single body?” Heimerdinger’s tone was neutral but assertive.
“Sir, we were attacked,” Ekko pleaded. Vi nodded in agreement with him.
They were both stood in Heimerdinger’s office, a plain, soulless room apart from the odd squadron photo or commemorative award hung up on the wall. It was painted a dismal grey, just like every other room on their godforsaken compound.
Heimerdinger waved a short arm dismissively. “That’s not what I asked, Lieutenant Lanes. You’ve done your training, you know the procedure.”
“Is this part of the procedure?” Vi snarled, jutting a finger at the three distinct scratch marks running down her face. It was fucking ridiculous, she felt like she was a teenager again being sent to the principal’s office.
“Lieutenant Lanes,” Heimerdinger began, his moustache settling slightly on his face, “you had your orders. Resistance or not, you were to-“
“Yeah? How about when it’s your own fucking guys attacking you?” she shouted back, fists balled by the side of her waist.
“I’ve read the mission report, and if you could please watch your language,” their commander huffed. “What you saw and what happened to you on the mission is being treated separately; we have someone flying in from the Corps of Justice to take your statements.”
Corps of Justice? Vi thought to herself. What do they have to do with any of this?
“For now, you will both be let off on a warning, due to the nature of what happened during the exfil. Remember this for next time, though. At least six families will not be able to bury the bodies of their sons and daughters, Lieutenants.”
Ekko nodded gravely whilst Vi stayed silent, pondering over Heimerdinger’s piercing words. “Noted, Commander. Thank you.”
“Alright.” Heimerdinger leant back in his chair and knitted his fingers together. “You’re both dismissed. I’ve got a meeting room across the hall booked out for the both of you to give your statements to the detective coming in. I hope I don’t have to see you two again soon.”
With that, Vi and Ekko saluted their commander, and scurried out of the door.
The meeting chamber was a couple rooms down from where Heimerdinger’s office had been, and Ekko and Vi trudged silently down the corridor, both still in their flight gear. Vi toyed with the edges of her facial wound gingerly; a scab had already started to form but it was still swollen and angry to the touch.
“You should get that looked at,” Ekko commented, still keeping his eyes centred down the end of the corridor.
“It’s fine,” the other pilot grunted, shaking her head.
“Whatever. Blood poisoning’s a silent killer,” Ekko drawled with a thin smile. Vi just laughed and shook her head.
They found the meeting room, and Ekko turned to Vi, nodding solemnly before turning the handle and entering the room. Vi leant back against the wall and closed her eyes, awaiting the return of her wingman.
As much as she fought it off, Vi couldn’t help but ponder over what she’d seen at the exfil site. How many lifeless bodies lay scattered around the transport vehicles. The wild, manic look in Leonard’s eyes as he tried to squeeze the life out of Vi. How every single one of those troops’ final resting ground would be in a foreign desert millions of miles away from their homes, their families, their livelihoods.
Leonard was a good man and a good soldier. Dumb, sure, but good nonetheless. He’d seen how he interacted with the rest of his crew, how happy he seemed in his role regardless of how dismal the work was, how content he was with his simple life.
Come to think of it, Vi didn’t know much about Leonard at all; or the other soldiers they were meant to exfil. How many of them had mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, children, waiting for them back home? What were their hopes and dreams? What were they thinking of in their last moment, as their life flashed before their eyes?
And most importantly, what the Hell had made one of their own freak the fuck out like that?
Whatever. It was a question for the higher-ups to find the answer to, not Vi. Wasn’t in her job description to piece together fucked-up puzzles like that.
After what felt like forever, Ekko finally emerged from the meeting room. His eyes were wide and confused as he met Vi’s gaze.
“That bad, huh, Little Man?” Vi sneered jokingly as she strode over to the door.
Ekko gulped. “Vi, I think you should take a second to-“
“Nah.” Pushing down the handle, Vi cracked the door open slowly. “Let’s get this shit over with. I want a beer and I want my bed.”
She swaggered into the small room, a shit-eating grin plastered on her face, priming up to crack a cocky retort at the detective before stopping dead in her tracks once she saw who was inside.
Vi felt her face drop and the colour drain from her cheeks. Her heart halted beating for a few moments and a sudden ringing erupted in her ears as she locked eyes with the detective.
Ocean met storm.