An idea I’m playing with; Castiel is a police detective who’s hunting for a serial killer in the year 2099. Dean is a local black market dealer who also happens to be an Alter; a cybernetically modified human. The killer is also an Alter and appears to be targeting specific Alters. Dean’s the first that Castiel has met that is not outwardly modified. Meaning, his modifications are all internal, courtesy of his zealot father, John.
Castiel pushed open the rotted door, not surprised to find the appearance anything but. What looked to be a warped, molded entryway was in fact a carefully fabricated façade. The door behind the stained wood was solid and dark; stank of fresh metal. Recently replaced or updated; hard to say which.
He let the door slam behind him, eye roving the dim confines of the shop. At the far end, he heard the rapid click of keys and caught the flicker of chromatic lighting. As he rounded a stack of old twentieth-century screens, he found the source.
A man stood behind a counter, fingers flying over an projected keyboard, the red keys flickering as his own digits flew. A low-profile jack emerged from the back of his hand, wires protruding into the the data brick at his left.
“What?” he asked, not looking up. “This is a legit shop, Spook.”
Castiel nearly smiled at the old term. The man either had a penchant for the prior centuries’ colloquialisms or Castiel wasn’t worth his badge any longer.
He tapped the digital readout on his jacket, the screen flickering through his ids to land on his police card. “Agent Castiel Novak. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Only then did the man react. His green eyes, tinged with the red of the lasered keys under his fingers, flicked to Castiel and then down to the data brick. “That so?” he murmured. He swiped his left hand across the lights and the data brick shut down. He yanked the wires from his hand and the jack recessed, vanishing behind false skin.
Castiel’s brow quirked. Whoever had Altered this man, was damn near an artist. Granted, the shop was poorly lit and the man stood a good ten feet away but even then, nothing Altered stood out about the man. Anyone one Altered tended to have a perverse need to announce it. As though pride increased with each modification. This man, however, clearly didn’t want that. He had to wonder how much had been done beyond the power jack.
He stepped closer, careful to keep the man’s eyes on him. “I’m looking for a man who might have been in the area recently.” He pulled out a small tablet, tapping a code before turning it to face the clerk. The image was hazy but it had been a win to even find that on a functioning CCTV in the area.
Tall, gaunt, and vile. That was all Castiel ever saw when he looked on the image. The man in it was an Alter but one that appeared to revel in the more grotesque methods. One eye was gone, replaced by a silver lens. Half his jaw was jet black, likely an fabricated nanocarbon implant. Given how the recent victim had had her arm chewed away, Castiel knew why he’d chosen that particular option.
The clerk didn’t react. “Never seen ‘im,” he grunted. He folded his arms. “That all?”
Castiel dropped the tablet to his side, head tilting in observation of the hostility across from him. “You’re an Alter, yes?”
The reaction was immediate. The man’s jaw tightened, his green eyes flashed and his entire demeanor turned into a gated fortress. “Your point?” he growled.
“I only point that out because I assume that’s why you are lying.”
He didn’t move. Remained frozen in his defensive posture. After a moment, he took a heavy breath and let it out. “Not that I care, but why are you after him?”
“He’s killing people.” Castiel looked away as he tucked the tablet into his jacket. “I’m not exactly a fan of that. Nor is the Department as a whole.”
The man’s mouth quirked but he only remarked, “I have no loyalty to other Alters,” he stated, tone flat. Another moment of tension and his shoulder dropped a fraction. “But I’ve honestly never seen him.”
Truth. Castiel lifted his chin. “Might I ask who your modifier was?” Given the skill, perhaps the artist in question might know of others who could do what his killer had done. The few modifiers he’d spoken with - when they’d deigned to acknowledge him - were reticent at best.
But the rage that filled the man’s eyes at the question startled Castiel and he stepped back involuntarily.
“We done?” the man asked. The voice was quiet, belying the anger that surged off him in waves. “I have a business to run,” he added, the chill in the tone nearly aching.
Castiel tapped his badge screen, sending his information to the docking station behind the man. “In case you do see anything - or remember anything - my card.” He stepped back, keeping the man’s eyes on him. “And be careful. He might be targeting your kind.” He paused and turned around, heading out.
On the street, the door firmly shut behind him, he frowned. He knew some Alters didn’t necessarily celebrate their modifications but he’d never met someone who clearly hated what had been done. His frown deepened as he glanced at the grimy sign inset in the rotted exterior.
Winchester Station.
“Winchester,” he murmured. It clearly had no bearing on his case but Castiel’s natural curiosity often got the better of him. He made a mental note of the shop’s name before moving back to his squad car. The pneumatic doors closed around him in a hiss and the car floated forward, zipping quickly onto the main freeway line. As his car moved, he pondered the reaction again.
If he’d have to hazard a guess, he’d assume the modifications had been unwanted. Which made little sense. The modification economy was strictly regulated. Granted, plenty of black market options existed but the surgeries themselves were highly scrutinized. He’d never run across anyone with unwanted mods. Maybe poorly installed or faulty ones, but never forced mods.
“Troubling,” he murmured aloud. But no matter. He had a killer to find. An Alter’s regrets had little impact on his current search.
