July 13th, 2060
8:30 AM

In the scorching heat of summer, two wolves approach a small factory, both clad in black suits and trilbies.

The shorter one leads, scratching at his white-furred chin with a smile. "Nice day, huh?" he asks over his shoulder with a mischievous glint in his purple eyes.

The taller wolf rolls her eyes as she adjusts her hat, her larger frame barely fitting in her suit, broad shoulders almost square in her stance. "It's too damn hot for this look," she grumbles in return. She wipes a few strands of gray fur out of her yellow eyes as she asks, "Were the hats necessary, too?"

"What? I like the look." The man meets his partner’s flat stare with a brief, sheepish smile as he knocks on the front door of the building’s lobby area. “Let’s get this over with,” he mutters as he smooths his features.

After a moment, a rather hurried ocelot answers the door, putting on a wide smile for the two wolves. “Ah, Mister Anadron! Good! Good to see you! Come in,” he invites, stepping out of the way with a nervous chuckle. Brilliant amber eyes meet Anadron’s cool blues as the pair comes in, and the woman lets out a soft sigh of relief. “I’m sorry if I kept you and…”

Anadron holds up a hand to stop the ocelot as he smiles. “Don’t worry about it, Gerald, we weren’t out there long. Though, I hope you can forgive me for bringing along my associate Dahlia here.”

“Of course,” Gerald says easily. The wolves tuck their hats under their arms as the ocelot guides them through the lobby, sharing a glance. “While the request to see the place outside of working hours was odd, I want to thank you again for your sponsorship–”

“Potential sponsorship,” Anadron corrects, letting his smile turn into a grin. “While I do like the sound of your business here, please, give me a rundown while we walk. I’d like to see it all personally.” For a brief instant, Gerald pauses, his smile frozen on his muzzle. Then he nods, collecting himself as he leads the wolves towards the working area.

The first thing the group walks into is a large hall, with plenty of doors offshooting to the various sections of the building. "Now, as you might know, we here at Synapse Industries put together synthetic folks," Gerald explains, visibly easing into his role as he goes on. "While we don't make all of the parts ourselves, we do offer the service of putting the parts together for people."

Dahlia just hums an acknowledgement while Anadron nods along. "I hear you folk tend to use recycled parts sometimes from failed projects," Anadron notes, glancing at Gerald. "That true?"

"Well, yes, actually," Gerald chuckles, smiling at the man. “Some parts we get are from recycling people’s experiments, true, but it’s mostly from typical recycling plants that our partners get their materials.”

"Good, good." Another glance is shared between the wolves as something unreadable comes over their faces.

"Now, here is where all the work gets done!" Gerald stops at the large double door at the end of the hall, throwing them open to reveal the working area in full. A full expanse of machinery awaits the group, all primed to assemble the various parts of a synth and send them on their way. So primed, in fact, that some sections are already set up with parts in spite of the lack of workers around. “Ready to go whenever we’re needed to put someone together.”

Anadron makes a show of looking around the area, eyeing the catwalks above the group, and the rather large security door on the upper floor. "And can anyone come to you for help?" he wonders, looking back at Gerald. The smile on his muzzle doesn’t quite reach his deep green eyes anymore.

“Of course!” Gerald answers, grinning at the wolves. “We even have a little workshop for the locals who might need repairs.”

“Well.” Anadron’s grin widens, showing off an impressive amount of teeth. “This all sounds wonderful! If this keeps up, I think this little endeavor might go well.”

The ocelot blinks hard as a bright excitement comes over his features. “W-Why, Mister Anadron, that would be lovely! I’ll be sure that the rest of this goes–”

“There’s just one concern I have.”

Gerald’s smile is wiped off of his muzzle in an instant, and he tilts his head curiously as Anadron crosses his arms with a frown. “W-What would be the problem?” the ocelot wonders. He glances down a bit, noticing the hat Anadron had entered with is missing.

Not to mention Dahlia.

Piercing red eyes stare down at Gerald as Anadron starts to pace around him. “There have been some disappearances lately,” he points out with a slow, casual tone. “Very specifically, synthetic disappearances.”

“I-I am aware,” Gerald manages, raising an eyebrow as he watches Anadron circle him. “I live in the area, I know what happens here.”

“They’re all locals, too,” Anadron adds, glancing around at the machinery. "Not tourists, no, just people who live here, too. People are starting to get scared. Siblings, parents, children… Anyone could be taken, couldn't they, Gerald?"

“They could,” the ocelot stammers. “I also know some of those missing are among those we’ve put together.”

“And you’re aware, then, that people are thinking that those missing people might be ending up right back here?” Anadron wonders with a small shrug. “If you are, as you say, aware.”

Gerald scowls at the wolf, baring his teeth with a small growl. “If you’ve come here to accuse me of being behind their disappearances, Micah, then you can–”

“Micah?”

The ocelot’s breath hitches as the wolf laughs. “Gerald, did you not get the message? Micah wasn’t available to meet with you. I was.” He leans in close to the ocelot, his irises swirling with color. “My name is Chroma Anadron,” the wolf introduces with a snarl. “And let me ask you: where does the side company you own get their spare synth parts to use here?”

A low growl escapes Gerald as his ears fold back, tail lashing behind him. “And what makes you so sure that I have anything to do with this tragedy?”

“Because we already know,” rumbles a voice from behind the ocelot.

A heavy hand comes to rest on Gerald’s shoulder, and Dahlia leans close to his ear. “The dead still speak, Gerald.”

The ocelot wrests his shoulder out of her hold, backing away from the two wolves as fear starts to crack his anger. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he hisses.

Neither wolf answers right away. Chroma’s claws shimmer with the same burst of color in his eyes while Dahlia only seems to grow taller, nearing a full seven feet. “I’ll admit, I did tell you a small lie,” Chroma says with a dark chuckle. “As I said, I am Chroma Anadron. This is my wife, Dahlia Anadron.”

“We’re your express trip to the underworld, and Judgment with it,” Dahlia growls, cracking her knuckles.

For just a moment, Gerald stands his ground.

Then he turns tail, darting for a stairway up to the catwalks, flying up them with a shout of “Like hell you are!”

A pair of leathery wings unfurl from Dahlia’s back, her suit tearing to make way. With a leap and a flap of her wings, she ascends up to the catwalk, slamming her feet into the metal just ahead of Gerald. The ocelot yelps as the walkway shakes under the hellhound’s weight. His claws skitter against the metal as he rapidly changes directions, sprinting for the security door.

As Chroma saunters up the stairs after the other two, Gerald slaps his hand on the scanner beside the door. With a small chime, it lights up green and the door lifts up, letting Gerald slip under. Just as fast, he shuts the door behind him, as Dahlia marches up to the dark metal.

Chroma joins her a few moments later, just as a panel on the wall turns transparent, revealing Gerald behind it. "Did you really think you could get me?" he asks with a crazed look in his eyes. "How do you plan on getting through this, huh? Did you plan on digging through these to find some evidence?" He waves a hand behind him, gesturing to the various blinking servers behind him. "Well, in a room like this, behind that door, sealed away from any and all–"

"Why do these people always like to gloat?" Dahlia wonders, leaning against the railing of the catwalk and earning an irritated look from the ocelot.

"Beats me," Chroma says with a shrug, placing a hand on the same scanner. "Hey, Gerald? I'm surprised you didn't do much research on us." The light flickers wildly before the door slams open. A panel in front of Gerald bursts, showering him in sparks as he turns away. "Word of advice? Don't fight a technomancer with tech."

Gerald dashes into the server racks, leaving grooves in the tile in his panic. "Line him up?" Dahlia asks, smirking at Chroma.

"Knock him down," her husband agrees.

A dark laugh leaves her as she stalks into the server room, following the trail Gerald left.

It's not a large room, truth be told. Deep enough for a few server racks and a tool cart, and not much else. Gerald's all the way in the back, tugging on the cart's drawers and furiously typing at the lock, sputtering in panic and anger. "Oh, hey, it's motorized," Chroma notes faintly.

A moment later, one of the drawers slams open, sending Gerald stumbling backward. Dahlia catches him in her left hand, the limb glowing gold as it sinks halfway into Gerald's chest, not making a wound.

Dahlia grips the ocelot's shoulder in her other hand and pulls.

The faint, translucent shape of Gerald's soul comes out with Dahlia's glowing hand, and the new ghost can only watch as his lifeless body is cast aside.

"You know, I really think we are that express trip," Dahlia quips. Before Gerald can respond, she clenches her fist, and his form reduces to a mist that's quickly absorbed into her fist.

“You done?” Chroma calls as he steps in, glancing at the servers. “Am I good to root around in these?”

“Go ahead,” Dahlia grumbles, stepping out of the way. Her form shifts from its bulky frame to a slightly more slim one with plenty of curves. "I don't want this jackass on me for longer than he has to be."

Chroma gives her shoulder a gentle pat as he steps past her, plugging a USB stick into one of the servers, and letting his hand rest on it. At once, all of the servers' lights flicker as Chroma searches through them, pulling any data about the lost synths. "Can you call Nox? I'm gonna be a minute."

Dahlia nods, quickly pulling out her phone and dialing Nox’s number, soon hearing the other woman’s voice over the line as she holds her phone out on speaker. “1-800-TOXIC, how can I help?”

“Hey, Nox,” Dahlia greets easily. “Chroma and I are finishing up here, how are things going with your group?”

“Hang on, let me check.” The sounds of Nox noisily taking a few steps on metal flooring echo through the phone before she shouts, “Hey, you all can go home! We know you’re innocent and we got who we came for!” Dahlia and Chroma share an amused look over the sounds of a large group fleeing from Nox’s voice. “Yeah, we’re done.”

Dahlia chuckles with a roll of her eyes. “Wonderful. Don’t suppose you could lend a hand in cleaning up?”

“Of course! Go ahead and drop yours off, I’ll send Altissima to cover it. Oh, and tell my little brother–”

“Thanks, Nox,” Chroma interrupts, hanging up for Dahlia. He holds up the USB, finally letting his claws lose their iridescence. “One more stop, then we go home.”

“Thank gods, I don’t want to be here any longer.” The woman waves a flame-coated hand at a free space on the wall. A portal sparks to life where she points, starting as a small ball of fire and expanding until both of the hellhounds can walk through. “Come on, I can barely stomach having him on me.”

“Agreed.” Without another look, the couple leaves, eager to drop off the taken soul for Judgment.

Neither of them notice the servers still flashing wildly.

_{Written April 19, 2022}