The artificial weather of Polaris was brisk this evening. Your heels clicked along the cracked pavement of this particularly dingy street. You clutched your dark trench coat close to yourself and straightened your wide brimmed hat.
Polaris was a bustling, revolutionary city located on the remnants of Earth II. Tall, glass skyscrapers would have touched space where clouds turned into swirling galaxies, had it not been for the enormous glass dome that encased the city. Polaris created its own atmosphere and light within that grand dome, for there was no sun closer than a hundred light years to the city. And two moons spun around the planet, or what was left of the planet.
Earth II had been mined for all its elements worth, into a lump of rock that hurled mindlessly through the universe. The lump of rock of which Polaris delicately balanced on. The planet had been destroyed in order to fuel Polaris, its atmosphere, and its population of eight million. And precisely one of those eight million was you, Suspiria, the private detective-for-hire.
It was only the moons left that offered any more energy for the city. The second moon began to show its depletion, as a quarter of it had vanished, fed into the furnaces of humanity below it.
You remembered as a kid, the full moons on a late night, the full planet beneath your feet. You would stare up at the moons, and the stars, and think about how you wanted to solve all the mysteries of the universe. But you were here, enclosed in a glass dome with the rest of your kind.
But a different mystery was on your mind now. One that required you to travel the old downtown. The old, rundown downtown of Polaris.
Flashing neon lights offered everything from alcohol and cigarettes to scantily-clad women who would make your money worthwhile. Between those, murky stores selling canned and boxed food. It was clear the type who lived and worked here. The same type who would hire you.
You made your way to the Kat’s Meow, a particularly infamous nightclub owned by the industrialist known only as DollFace. It seemed fitting. Polaris had a way of being ruled by folks who had monikers, and who had little personal history known outside their brand.
As you walked, outdated bots whose loose wires dangled from loose body panels looked you up and down. Some made electronic whistles and remarks at you. They stood in groups and whispered to one-another. All their voices were robotic but somehow human. They had dark facescreens that flashed with primitive, yet offensive symbols.
None of this bothered you. You had lived in downtown Polaris all your life. There was not a day that went by where you were not harassed by living, and non-living, lifeforms. Nor were you unfamiliar with the heavy scent of the industrial park pumping out fumes that lingered at the top of the dome before being filtered into the universe above. This night was equally nasally dense.
You were only jealous of bots for one reason, and that was they could not feel cold. You wondered why Polaris had low temperatures if it was all mock anyway. Perhaps to simulate human life and seasons of a world of which they destroyed long ago.
The Kat’s Meow, a brick building with dark tinted windows, whose neon sign was a woman with cat ears who winked and waved passersby in. You being one of them.
You flashed your ID badge to the large, wide, bot bouncer. His face screen was cracked but you got the sense he was confused as to why you were here. But he allowed you in anyway. The line filled with young women in various, bright yet dainty outfits and their shiny bot boyfriends huffed at you.
“I’m looking for, uh, Miss DollFace,” you told the bouncer.
“She’s in her private office, to the left,” he replied, his voice gentler than the ones’ who hollered at you earlier.
The club was crowded. Bright, colorful lights and lasers streamed back and forth across the floor. The walls were made of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Young women and bots danced the artificial night away and in their bejeweled hands various liquids in glasses that spilled onto the vibrant dance floor beneath them.
There was a bar on the right wall, staffed by Kat Industries branded bots, like the one at the door. That was DollFace’s bot company. They scanned the faces of the club goers, registering their sobriety index.
There was little use in saying, “Excuse me,” as you more or less shoved your way through the noisy club.
DollFace’s office was hidden behind a mirror, denoted only by an engraved “Manager”, the Kat Meow’s logo and two more security Katbots. Before you could say why you were there, they nodded and said, “DollFace is expecting you,” and opened the door with a swipe of their keychips embedded in their wrists.
Stepping into the office, you saw a woman sitting at an oval desk similarly made out of glass, and similarly surrounded by security bots was who you assumed was DollFace herself.
The noise of the bouncing music echoed through the thin walls of the office, making this all seem much less than professional. But that was your style anyway.
She was a green-haired woman of thirty or so, but it was difficult to tell with all the clearly synthetic and cybernetic enhancements. Her face brightened at you, and she stood, and not only was this very powerful woman not very tall, but her right arm was made out of bot-tech, of which she reached to shake your hand with.
“You must be Detective Suspiria,” she cooed at you in a soft voice. “I’m DollFace.”
You shook her hand firmly, the metal cool to the touch, but the touch gentle.
“I assumed as much,” you replied. “Pleasure.”
DollFace quickly walked around her desk to meet you. “I couldn’t tell you all the details on the phone. As we know everything in this city is tapped. And this might be somewhat under the table. But that’s why I called you, opposed to, uh, some more high-profile detective.”
She realized what she had said, then sheepishly added, “But I’ve heard good things about you.”
You raised an eyebrow at her.
“I’m glad you were able to find your way here. Now here’s the issue.”
DollFace sighed and explained, “One of my Katbots began malfunctioning a month ago. He had been straight off the production line, equipped with the latest security measures and firewalls. Then, at first, he refused simple commands. He could not process them. Then his facescreen glitched and he lost control of his limbs. I ran diagnostics but everything reported back operating as usual. Finally, whatever it was, destroyed his programming entirely. I had to unfortunately. . . Put him down.”
“It’s a virus,” she continued. “A virus my systems can’t detect or fight. It began to spread to my other bots. I haven’t produced a working bot in a month. My sales are tanking. I have reason to believe it could be one of my numerous business rivals.”
You half-nodded.
“I need you to get to the bottom of this. And I’ll pay you half up front for what you no doubt will find out, and the rest when you discover who is behind this.“
