Dax Harrac
Against the Ropes
CORUSCANT
LEVEL 1348
UPPER HEMISPHERE
CORUSCANT SECURITY FORCE 9TH DISTRICT
Time Stamp: 23:41:12 CST
Dispatch reports multiple residents unaccounted for in Sector 47, Block Twelve, 9th District Responsibility. No active relocation orders or power outages logged with the city grid. Last surveillance feed shows pedestrian movement before total signal loss at 21:03. No further images since. No imagery or audio in the sector able to be reached.
Officer Harrac acknowledged assignment and confirmed approach to scene.
Final recorded transmission indicates environmental anomalies: loss of heat signatures, metallic odor, and fluid seepage within structure.
Audio distortion and signal degradation followed.
[END OF RADIO LOG]
The CSF Speeder rumbled into the platform, Dax picking up his helmet from the passenger seat. He was tired and only halfway through his shift. But this was far from a routine call- he had a few burglary reports, an assault, and a few speeder incidents. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing crazy. But that was the nature of policework: one minute you were writing tickets, the next, you were responding to a few people disappearing at once. Or at least, falling off of scanners. The rest of the details, the odor, the fluids...
Well that was Coruscant. Gross and dirtier the further down you went. However, Dax wasn't aware of how dirty it could get. He would know- he'd know soon enough. Dax climbed out of the car, donned his helmet and approached the mark of the crime scene. Or, what would be the crime scene. Sure enough, there was that metallic odor in the air. Not blaster-fire. Like iron. The smell of rusty metal.
Blood.
It was so dense in the air that he could taste it. He took a deep breath, stepping into the streetlight of the dimly-lit Coruscant streets. Rain pitter-pattered against his uniform and body armor, and darkened the skies and streets. Rain here was often torrential and short. He wasn't sure if it was artificial or just the habit of the massive city-planet. This level was largely deserted, and the smell of blood in the air made him tense. He turned on his shoulder-mounted light, most of the lighting here for the night subpar at best, and on average, horrible. His flashlight beamed across the streets- and found the first sign of trouble:
A foot. Not a whole leg, or sticking out. A foot.
Humanoid, or near enough. Probably female. The small foot, and recent nail polish. White painted toenails.
Cut clean- straight through. Fresh enough, blood was still liquid and hadn't crusted over. He called it in on the radio. Backup was still roughly ten minutes out. His eyes cast downward, following the blood splatter. Arced to the right. Whoever did it, was standing near or about Dax was. Dax looked up, and blood droplets on the ground led to a shutter door. Light was just poking out from the bottom of the door. He took a deep breath, pulled out his sidearm, and turned off his flashlight. It was never a good time to be CSF, but there were definitely better times than this. He knew whatever he'd find behind that door would ruin the rest of his shift. What Dax was not aware of, however, was how bad it was going to get.
He pulled the slide back, and stood near the door. He pushed it opened, and waited for just a moment before pushing inside, the door not locked and the door switch pulling the hydraulic door aside.