Chocolate Eyes

Suicide trigger warning

Still raining, though I should probably be informing you whenever that isn't the case. This planet has quite a harsh climate, and you can say that again about its residents. They tell me that this chocolate will kill me, I'd say I should try chewing on lead bullets before if I have any chance of affecting my life expectance.

And we're just about here. There seem to be more people around than usual, I don't know why that would be the case yet, I was just dragged out of bed prematurely moments ago and I should already be listening to the data, but screw that, I want my moment of tranquility before the storm. I take a deep breath and step out, screaming at the top of my lungs. People tend to make way, though I suspect that it's not much to do with my authority or that of my employer, but rather the persuasion of a screaming tall man, in the rain wearing a trenchcoat, command some primal compulsion to step aside. Now past the assortment of automata approximating a gaggle of citizens, I finally see the body. That explains the commotion, it's the drummer of a local band. Was his leg always missing? It has a prosthetic connector, so probably been a while since that came off, but why is it missing? Seems like he was choked out, and the fell quite a few floors, somebody won't enjoy cleaning this up, poor sod. Let us invoke my bottomless well of optimism and check this guy's black-box... cleaned out, obviously can't do a proper crime without clearing that out.

I drag my story tired body up another few, and perform a lone joke on the door with a balcony above the former star. No resolution from the other side, figures. Asking around for a bit reveals that the still living part of the band spends their evenings at a local establishment I swiftly moved my business to next.

Down in their cold little place of purveyance, I found what was left of the consciousness of the teens, and got hardly one of them talking after a night of heavy drinking. They didn't even know anything happened to their friend, he just wanted to go pick up an extra blanket from his house, they didn't even notice that he'd been gone long. Not to mention that they found the whole situation chillingly hilarious. At least I know why the leg was missing, they sold it recently to afford a new arm for the bassist who broke his beyond repair when he toppled down a flight of stairs at the same hole in the ground I now made acquaintance to. I'm no expert, but I believe them that a one-legged drummer is better than a one-armed bassist. They did give me a lead on a man who was my rotting boy's only other friend outside this meeting of alcoholics deanonymized.

I walked up to the apartment and rang the housecomms, didn't answer. Someone kindly let me in with them not two minutes after the tone. What eventually greeted me was an open door, and a man that opened his wrists, lying on the floor, face down in a bit of his blood. I called up my friends from the department to secure this place a bit, and once they got there and I got off my impromptu guard duty, I went home to rest for the night.

The next day a scheduled e-mail arrived in our inbox. Our little knife artist wrote us a goodbye letter, confessing to both accounts of bloodshed. Reading on I couldn't but let out a tear, the man was a simple man, who loved someone very much. Out of frustration, jealousy or perhaps envy, the drummer deleted his only companion in life, and for that he was to pay with a little jostling, eventually leading to an accidental skydiving lesson conducted by an untrained man. Were that to happen or not, the second life would be lost nonetheless, now that he was alone, he didn't know what to do, and so decided to never do anything forevermore.