2.

2.

“Well, let’s call it a quiet shift,” Captain Davis said. Tall, with a sizable gut and a shaved head, he embodied the kind of self-assured authority that Laura Martinez couldn’t help but notice every time she looked at him. It wasn’t strictly necessary for the precinct captain to debrief patrol officers after every shift, but Davis wanted to know everything happening in his jurisdiction—and to keep a tight rein on his subordinates’ actions. “Just one domestic dispute… How’d that turn out?”

“Neighbors called it in, sir,” Patrol Officer Hanson said with a shrug. “Me and Derken responded, met up at the scene, went up, and rang the bell… Typical argument, some yelling, no violence. We calmed them down, logged the incident in the system, and went our separate ways. Honestly, I think the folks who called us overreacted a bit. There wasn’t any real danger.”

“Let’s hope so, Hanson, let’s hope so.” The fact that the domestic dispute was now in the police database meant the family would be under closer scrutiny for a while. “What do you think caused it? Were they drunk?”

“No, sir. And it wasn’t about money either. Just… psychological tension. The husband struck me as… high-strung, sir.”

“Got it. Anyone else notice anything… unusual during patrol?”

“An unusual drawing, sir,” Senior Patrol Officer Kranz replied. “On that long wall down on 20th Avenue.”

“Unusual? What’s on it?”

“Take a look for yourself, sir.” Kranz showed the captain a photo on the screen of his department-issued smartphone. Davis raised an eyebrow in surprise and shrugged.

“What’s this supposed to mean—‘What will remain after us?’ Anyway, thanks for staying sharp, Kranz. Upload the photo to the database; I’ll forward this to the oversight division. Martinez, what was that check you ran toward the end of your shift?”

The details of every person identified by a patrol officer were instantly logged by the system. Officially, it was for safety in case of an attack, though such incidents hadn’t happened in ages. Supervisors like Davis used this data to monitor every move their officers made.

“A lone man riding a bike through the park, sir. I decided to catch up and check him out… to see if he might be connected to our friend’s case. You know, it’s about time for him to… make a move. But it turned out to be just an engineer heading home from the night shift. Of course, I verified where he works, and he was indeed coming from there, so nothing suspicious. Plus, he doesn’t resemble… our friend.”

“Yeah, most likely,” the captain nodded. “I doubt it’d be someone with a steady job. They wouldn’t have the energy.” He smirked. “So, what would you have done if it had been him? You that eager to climb the ladder?”

“Our friend has never attacked a cop, sir,” Laura said with a shrug. “I’m hoping… one day an ID check tied to a specific time and place will help us pin him down.” She chose to ignore the captain’s jab about career ambition, keeping her tone professional.

“Maybe, maybe… Did this Henrikson guy show any annoyance about being checked?”

“No, sir. He was calm during the conversation. Just surprised that I could see his medical info, among other things.”

“Look at that… probably not for nothing!” Patrol Officer Hashim chimed in from his seat, a characteristic smirk on his face. Laura opted not to respond to the comment, and the captain shot Hashim a disapproving look. Then he glanced at the timestamp on the info screen on the wall and said:

“Alright, that’s it for today. Everyone remember you’ve got tomorrow off?” A few chuckles rippled through the room. “I better not see any of you at work! Get some good rest.”

He left the room and headed to his office. The officers started filing out as well. Some went to the locker room to change out of their uniforms and head home in civilian clothes, while others, like Martinez, preferred to change at home. She lived just two buildings away from the precinct, a choice she’d made deliberately for work convenience. She walked out with Eleanor Si, a patrol sergeant and almost-friend, though Eleanor outranked her in both title and position.

“Well, we’ve actually got some time to rest,” Laura said.

“As if I don’t know you’ll keep pushing yourself anyway!” Eleanor laughed. Martinez’s dedication to training was a running joke at the precinct, though always in good humor. The sun was shining brightly now, and both women put on sunglasses. They hid the upper half of their faces, concealing Eleanor’s distinct Asian eyes. “Like you don’t have enough on your plate already…”

“It’s necessary for the job. And what else am I supposed to do with my time?”

“Can’t you find… something? Well, suit yourself. See ya.”

Eleanor turned left toward the tram stop; she still had a ride ahead to get home. She wore her uniform to and from work for a reason—it made her feel safer. Laura, meanwhile, kept walking straight, soon arriving at the sliding doors of her building. The security system identified her and let her inside.

What did Hashim mean, and then Eleanor? she wondered as she rode the elevator up. And why…? Her next thought was that right now, after getting home from work, she was about to… commit a minor infraction permissible for a cop. Well, to hell with it. But what did it say that, in order to do her job properly, she had to break the rules like this…?

Right now, she needed to decide what to do… No, not about work. Though the information had been obtained on duty, you could say by chance.

Yan Henrikson. On the surface, it was just a routine encounter, a standard street check. A cop who cared only about the job would see it that way. For Laura Martinez, though, there was another interest—if you could call it that. Every officer underwent training that included psychology, essential for dealing with people. But Laura supplemented that with her own analytical methods. So, what could she say about this Yan Henrikson? What could she report?

Conservative. Wears his ID as a ring on his finger instead of having it implanted under his skin. Though it’s not forbidden, he justifies it—almost defensively—with medical reasons.

Works. Even though he knows it doesn’t drastically change his life compared to those who don’t work and live on universal basic income. His job requires high skills and technical knowledge. Plus, it demands analysis and quick response to situations; since new malfunctions pop up all the time and can’t all be predicted by software, such roles still need humans—robots can’t fully replace them. So, first, he can’t sit idle; second, he’s not dumb. Most importantly, the fact that his work doesn’t bring significant improvement to his life compared to non-workers clearly irritates Henrikson.

Individualist. That’s evident just from his preference for a bike over the tram. Of course, if he didn’t need to commute to work… But maybe that’s exactly why he chooses to work.

For someone like that, it’d be natural to express annoyance at a police check for no apparent reason. Yet Henrikson was surprisingly calm, even friendly. Martinez had deliberately mentioned that she knew everything about him, including medical data. Usually, that kind of statement provoked irritation, but not in this case. There could be several explanations, from fatigue (though she doubted that: someone who not only works but also bikes everywhere must be in good shape with plenty of stamina). The most likely explanation, though, was that… Henrikson was interested in her personally.

These observations were what she’d include in her report. The subject would need to be checked further, but in this situation, she’d likely be the one assigned to do it. If Henrikson made contact, that is. (If he didn’t, she’d have to admit she misjudged him, which would be bad for several reasons.) As for how to conduct the check and how far to take it, that would be up to her.

After adding a few conclusions to her observations, Martinez sent off the message, almost certain of the response she’d get.

Captain Davis was also busy sending information. Truth be told, he just wanted to score some points—higher-ups appreciated when officers showed vigilance about anything unusual. So he was surprised when, almost immediately after, he got a call. And not just any call—from the oversight division.

“Thanks for the report, Captain. That drawing needs to be removed urgently.”

“Uh… How?” Davis hadn’t expected such an order, nor did he understand the reasoning behind it.

“That’s up to you. Surely you’ve got people with buckets and mops?” There was both surprise and irritation in the caller’s voice.

“You think it’s that important?”

“Yes. And it’d be very helpful to find out who might have seen this drawing.”

“We’ll try,” the captain promised.

“Report back on both tasks once they’re done.”

“Of course.”

The call ended, and Davis thought to himself that his initiative, as usual, had turned into a heap of trouble for him. How many times had he sworn not to get involved, yet he couldn’t sit still… Now he’d have to deal with something that, frankly, wasn’t even part of his job description. And on top of that, draw his subordinates’ attention to this odd incident.

Stepping out of the gym, Laura Martinez glanced at the sky. Looked like rain was coming. Still, it probably wouldn’t start before she got home. It was just a third of a mile or so, not far at all. No need to go anywhere else. Good, she thought as she walked along the pedestrian side of the street. Then, from the bike path, she heard the faint click of a bike coasting, followed by the sound of brakes. And a voice:

“Good afternoon, Officer Martinez. I see you’re… a bit of a traditionalist too.”

Laura turned her head, already knowing who she’d see. Sure enough, Yan Henrikson had stopped his bike at the edge of the path, one foot planted on the ground. Attached to the handlebars was a metal basket—something she hadn’t noticed during their park encounter—holding a few paper bags. And now, in the daylight, she could confirm that the description in his digital file matched: height six foot one, blond, gray eyes… Those eyes were now fixed on the ring on her finger, an ID just like his own. Except hers also included info about her place of service, so anyone could verify who they were dealing with.

“You, even more so. Even doing your shopping in person instead of ordering online,” she said with a smile, nodding at the bags in his basket.

“Oh, this isn’t just shopping. Home-cooked food from a little place nearby… Really good stuff, and I prefer picking it up myself. And today… I got lucky.” A wide grin spread across his face. Martinez thought to herself that she’d read the situation correctly. She could be pleased, and so could those she’d sent info about Yan Henrikson to just yesterday.

What Laura didn’t know was the real work her new acquaintance had put in.

It was known that Laura Martinez worked at the police precinct and lived just a couple of buildings away. From Yan’s perspective, that meant, like most city dwellers, she arranged her life to minimize travel time. So, her home was near her job, in the same block. He saw things differently, which was why he’d bought his own bike: he needed some change of scenery… But he knew he was in the minority.

He also knew Laura practiced jiu-jitsu and had even achieved some success. It stood to reason that the gym where she trained was also close to her home. Jiu-jitsu, Yan figured, was a sport requiring regular commitment, almost like a job. If she had to commute to another district all the time, it’d probably make sense to get a bike (like he had), but there was no record of that in the database. So, he checked nearby gyms—there were two—and visited each one’s website to review their schedules. Group rosters weren’t listed, but he could see when different classes started and ended. There weren’t many women’s jiu-jitsu groups, just two (one at each gym). He didn’t know which one Officer Martinez attended, so he’d have to check both. Luckily, the deli where he occasionally ordered ready-to-heat home-cooked meals was nearby. All he had to do was time his order so he’d be on the street when the classes let out. This time, luck was on his side—he decided to check the right gym first. So now he had every reason to smile.

Then he noticed her shoulder twitch—his attention drawn involuntarily since she was in a short-sleeved T-shirt, revealing a tattoo of some intricate pattern on her bicep—and heard her say:

“I’m not likely to be interested. I prefer cooking for myself.”

Yan took this as a loaded statement, combining future tense with a hint at her own culinary skills. So he asked:

“What, you don’t like cafes either?”

“Wrong conclusion.” She paused. “Or is that a hint?”

“Not a hint, a direct question. And if my conclusion’s wrong, then it’s an invitation.”

“Oh…” Another smile. “You’ve got free time during the day… And I’m off today. In an hour?” She named a cafe just around the corner. Yan knew it—he’d scoped out the area in advance.

“Perfect. Gives me just enough time to swing by and drop off these groceries.”

And I’ll have time to head upstairs and send a message that the subject has made contact, Laura thought as she watched the cyclist disappear down the street.

The wall with the subversive mural didn’t face a tram line. It was just a regular street used by pedestrians and cyclists. The problem was, there were plenty of them.

Removing the mural was relatively easy—a high-pressure water jet did the trick. By tomorrow, some artist would likely create something new in the empty space. Captain Davis didn’t understand these people, though he admitted that without their creations, the city would look even bleaker.

So, the subversive artwork—though what exactly was wrong with it, the captain couldn’t fathom—was quickly erased. But he’d been tasked with figuring out who might have seen it, or at least paid attention to it. Both the oversight division and Davis himself knew that most people passing by, whether on foot or bike, wouldn’t have noticed the mural, or at best, would’ve only appreciated its aesthetic value, the artist’s skill. And even “appreciated” was a strong word.

How to identify those who might have noticed the content and perhaps reflected on it? First, they needed to narrow down who had passed through the area between the mural’s likely creation and its removal. Every resident’s movements could be tracked via their ID, whether in a ring on their finger or implanted under their skin. The carriers themselves didn’t know this, but sensors at intersections recorded who turned where. Unfortunately for the police, this system didn’t cover the entire city, but there were sensors at the intersections near this location. The volume of data collected was enormous and rarely used, typically only for major investigations. Yet for some reason, Davis had been ordered to treat this mural incident with utmost seriousness.

How to pinpoint those who might have paid attention to the mural? Simple, the captain decided: such a person would slow down or stop. So, what does that mean? Filter for those who lingered in the relevant block, spending more time there than in adjacent ones. Of course, some would inevitably have had business there… But that was the starting point. If needed, they’d be investigated further.

The data was requested, and the system easily flagged those whose time in that block exceeded their time crossing neighboring ones. Among the few dozen names, the captain immediately spotted a familiar one: Yan Henrikson. And it was from the very morning Officer Martinez had checked him.

Is there a connection here? the seasoned cop wondered. For now, he accessed the database to see what else was on this Henrikson. Martinez had decided to check him for some reason… Ah, place of work… Mostly night shifts… Owns a bike… Maybe it’s time to take a closer look at this guy.

After all, the captain didn’t just oversee patrol officers.