I muttered something inaudible as I stared at my flexiscreen, fixated on the image of a hospital, fresh with a newly donated crater – someone was being awfully generous giving that to the hospital. I hadn’t seen violence on this scale in at least six months, but that didn’t make it any less shocking. That’s not the kind of thing that people did anymore. Not often, anyway. I cursed as I flipped through the images and figures, pausing to thump the screen as my CRT Program made the image waver until it felt the shock.
“What was that?”
Shit. The moment I saw the image on the newscast, I forgot that I had a client on the phone. They had directed me to the cast in the first place – I had been consumed in a game of chess against myself until the phone rang. Good thing too, because I was losing.
“Audio from the newscast – apologies, I didn’t know it was that loud.” I winced. That was a weak lie, and I covered it up badly. They didn’t seem to notice.
“Look, Trenton, we need eyes on the scene. We’ll pay your fee, but we need to know what happened – can you get there and investigate?”
I nodded, before forgetting that the client hadn’t come by in person. “Wait, who is we? I need to know who I’m working for before I step foot out of the office.” Not strictly true, but you don’t get services like mine for free. Not if you’re of the male persuasion at any rate.
There was a sigh on the other end, and I clicked through more images, thoughts hurling through my head like untold hospital gurneys. I took a sip of my coffee and heard, “Providential Core”.
I barely was able to swallow in time. They could afford my fee several times over. But I’m not one to look a gift in the teeth, as the saying goes. I passed him my billing information, and let off the call with a terse, “I’m on my way.”