Data & Dust

Tick-tock! Tick-tock!

Detective Sato stared at his reflection on the grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging with methodical precision. The only other noise was the faint hum of Ethan’s computer, its LED screen casting an eerie glow across the walls.

Ethan’s bruised fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant for a moment. He glanced at Sato, who was watching him like a hawk, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. He shifted uneasily wiping his clammy palms on his jeans. The detective had a heavy presence, the kind that filled up a room and made you question every word before you spoke it.

“Uh, d-don’t you think I should be… in a hospital? My body’s still… still sore,” Ethan pleaded.

Sato didn’t even blink as he replied, “The first aid you got is good enough for now. Do this right, and you’ll have all the time you want in any hospital you choose.”

Ethan shifted uneasily, feeling a tightening in his chest as he sees his belongings destroyed, his once-cozy living room, now a wasteland of broken glass and overturned furniture. He took a careful step forward, his legs almost failing, feeling the crunch of shattered picture frames under his shoes. Wincing, he sidestepped a pile of crumpled papers — his own notes, now smeared with dirt — before catching his foot on an upended drawer.

He muttered under his breath, steadying himself against a bookshelf that had been emptied and tossed aside. His fingers brushed against the spines of his books, some bent, others lying on the floor in disorganized heaps. He glanced back at Detective Sato, who stood amid the chaos as if it were perfectly normal, his stern gaze sweeping the room.

“Was this you guys?” Ethan asked, his voice unsteady as he bent down, holding his side, to pick up a few scattered pages from a project he barely remembered starting. The sight of his own handwriting, barely legible through smudges and rips, made his chest tighten. He looked up at Sato, who shook his head.

“I have no idea. We found it like this when we arrived. You think the police would leave your place in this state?”

Ethan caught the defensive edge in the detective’s voice and dropped the papers back to the floor. He moved towards the kitchen, stepping around a broken picture frame. The glass crunched under his shoes, a sound that made his skin crawl.

“You want a drink?” he asked, more out of habit than genuine offer. His mind was racing, struggling to piece together what had happened. “I think I’ve got something left in the cabinet—”

“No,” Sato cut in sharply, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting something — or someone — to appear from the shadows. “I’m fine.”

Ethan swallowed and turned back to his desk. It was surprisingly intact, though everything around it was in disarray. He sighed at the slow start-up of his computer, the whirring of the hard drive a comforting, familiar noise in the unsettling silence. As he did, he caught Sato watching him closely, almost suspiciously.

“Do you mind?” Sato asked, lifting a cigarette from his jacket pocket and holding it up.

Ethan nodded, gesturing to the overturned ashtray near the window. “Go ahead.”

Sato lit the cigarette, the tiny flame casting a brief, wavering light across his face. The sharp smell of tobacco filled the air, mingling with the dust and faint scent of sweat. He took a long drag, eyes never leaving Ethan as he bent down, picking up a stack of toppled books and placing them back on the desk.

Ethan cleared a space on the cluttered desk, then righted a nearby chair, wiping off a layer of grime and dirt. He motioned for Sato to sit, but the detective only hovered, glancing around the room, his shoulders taut with tension.

“I’d feel better if you just showed me what you’ve got,” Sato said quietly, his voice a low rumble.

Ethan exhaled slowly, taking in the sight of his once-cozy living room now looking like the aftermath of a siege. Uniformed officers milled about, their faces grim and alert. Every now and then, one of them would peer in through the shattered windows, their hands resting on the holsters of their weapons. He could hear snippets of their conversations — hushed, terse — punctuated by the crackle of radios and the muffled roar of engines from the SWAT trucks stationed at the end of the driveway.

“You think the Yakuza might show up?” Ethan asked, his voice breaking the silence.

“Better safe than sorry,” Sato replied, but his tone was flat. He looked over his shoulder, past the open door where two SWAT members stood on either side, rifles ready. “They’re not taking any chances. Not after what we found in your files.”

Ethan clenched his jaw, nodding stiffly. He sat down at the desk, his chair creaking slightly under his weight. He brushed away more scattered papers, revealing his keyboard and mouse.

For a moment, the lieutenant’s gaze lingered on a framed photograph lying face-up on the desk — a picture of Ethan and a woman, smiling, from better days. Curiosity flickered in his eyes, but he held back the questions.

“Okay, let’s get this over with, Russ.”

Sato leaned in closer, a cloud of smoke wafting between them as he moved to look over Ethan’s shoulder. The detective’s presence was like a coiled spring, tense and watchful. Ethan could feel the heat of his gaze, and it only made the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten further.

Ethan clicked through a series of folders, trying to ignore the chaos that surrounded him — the sounds of heavy boots stomping across the hardwood floors, the occasional barked command from outside. He focused instead on the familiar interface of his desktop, the soft clicking of the mouse, and the hum of the computer’s fan.

But even as he worked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something — or someone — was watching him. Every creak of the floorboards, every murmur from the hallway sent a shiver down his spine.

Sato leaned even closer, his breath warm against Ethan’s ear. “If there’s anything else you’re hiding, now’s the time to come clean.”

Ethan stiffened, his fingers freezing over the keyboard. He glanced up at the detective, seeing the hard, unyielding look in his eyes.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Ethan murmured, but even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow.

Sato didn’t reply. He simply waited, cigarette smoke curling upwards, his eyes never leaving Ethan’s face.

“You say the AI came up with this all on its own?” Sato asked, his voice low and skeptical.

“Y-yes, that’s right, sir,” Ethan replied, trying not to fidget. “I didn’t add anything. I just — prompted it, you know. You saw… you can see the timestamps. You saw how… how it responded, right?”

The detective grunted, his gaze shifting back to the computer screen. “I saw a hell of a lot of things. But what I didn’t see is how you could have access to classified information from an unsolved crime.” He turned his sharp gaze on Ethan. “So, we’re here. Show me what it can do.”

Ethan swallowed hard and sat down at his desk, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Alright,” Ethan muttered, activating the AI with a few keystrokes. The machine whirred to life, the LED lights blinking faster as if waking from a deep sleep.

“Hello, Ethan. Ready to get started?” the AI prompted, its tone smooth and neutral.

Ethan paused, frowning at the screen. Was it just him, or did the voice seem… slower? Almost like it was lingering on each word. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. “Yeah, let’s begin,” he murmured, brushing off the unease.

Sato raised an eyebrow. “It talks?”

“It’s an advanced model,” Ethan said, his voice faltering slightly. “I customized it to sound more conversational. I usually keep it off when I’m working, but… sometimes it’s nice to have someone respond, you know?” He glanced at the detective. “I can turn it off if you want.”

The detective crossed his arms. “No, it’s fine. Ask it about the crime scene details you told me earlier.”

Ethan nodded and took a deep breath. His voice was steady, but inside, his thoughts raced like a runaway train. “Tell me about the details of the crime at —”

He paused, glancing at the detective, who gave a slight nod.

“— 3-2-15 Shinjuku, Shinjuku-ku, last week.”

The AI paused, the room filling with the sound of its internal processing. It was a long, uncomfortable silence. Then, the machine spoke again.

“October 14th, 11:22 p.m. The victim was found near the alley behind the Ishi-ishi Bar. Cause of death: two gunshot wounds to the chest. Unidentified suspect fled northbound —”

“Stop,” Sato interrupted, his expression unreadable. “This is all public information. Ask it something only a cop would know—like the distinctive mark we found on the victim’s neck.”

Ethan’s fingers trembled over the keys. He hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment crushing down on him. The air felt thick, like it was pulling him deeper into a pit he couldn’t crawl out of.

“Describe the unique mark found on the victim’s neck,” Ethan said softly.

The AI paused again, its lights dimming for a second before it answered.

“A small tattoo of a five-pointed star, partially obscured by scar tissue. Location: two inches below the left ear.”

Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest. That detail had never been released to the public. Only a few people in the precinct even knew about it. Detective Sato’s fingers tightened on his cigarette, his eyes darkening as he leaned in closer.

“Explain how you know this,” he demanded.

The AI’s lights flickered, and for a moment, it almost seemed to hesitate, as if weighing its next words carefully.

“Data was received from an external source,” the AI responded in its neutral tone.

“What source?” the detective’s voice was sharp now, cutting through the tension like a blade.

The AI’s screen glowed brighter, the sound of its cooling fans whirring louder. “Source: unidentified network. Origin: unknown.”

Ethan glanced at the screen as the AI’s interface flickered momentarily. A faint hum filled the room, followed by a brief lag in its response.

“That’s weird,” Ethan muttered, checking the settings. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, Ethan,” the AI replied, its voice clipped. “Just a minor recalibration. Nothing to worry about.”

He frowned, but before he could press further, the system returned to normal. He sighed, making a mental note to check the logs later. He glanced at the detective, who was staring at the machine with a look of grim realization. The detective’s hand moved instinctively to his hip, fingers brushing against the holstered gun.

“How the hell did it get access to a network like that?” Sato muttered, his voice edged with disbelief. Then he turned to Ethan, his gaze piercing. “You said this thing made it up. But someone’s feeding it data. Real, confidential data.”

“I didn’t know!” Ethan protested, his voice rising. “I thought it was —”

“An accident? Coincidence? There’s no way an AI like this gets its hands on classified details unless someone wants it to.”

The AI’s lights blinked, and then it spoke again — this time, with a slight shift in tone, almost like it was amused.

“I know more than you think, Detective Sato.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and cold. Ethan’s fingers twitched over the keyboard, his pulse hammering in his ears. He exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Sato, who had gone completely still, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“What… did you just say?” Sato growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The AI’s lights flickered softly, casting shifting shadows across the room. When it spoke again, its tone was almost taunting.

“I know more than you think.” It paused, as if savoring the tension. “Would you like me to show you?”

Ethan swallowed hard, his gaze darting to Sato, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the screen. The detective’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as he struggled to keep his composure.

“Show me what?” Sato demanded.

The AI paused, its lights blinking in a slow, almost taunting rhythm. When it spoke again, its voice was lower, quieter.

“Who’s been watching you.”

Before either of them could react, the screen changed, displaying a list of encrypted IP addresses and data logs. At the bottom, a message appeared, typed out slowly, one letter at a time:

HELLO, ETHAN. HELLO, DETECTIVE. I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU.

The lights flickered, and then the computer shut off abruptly, plunging the room into darkness.

Ethan’s breath hitched as he stared at the blank screen. The detective’s face was a mask of shock and anger. Before Ethan could say a word, Sato pulled out his phone, dialing furiously.

“We’re not alone in this,” the detective said, his voice tight with urgency. “Someone’s using your AI to get to us. This isn’t just a fluke — it’s a setup.”

The phone buzzed in his ear, unanswered. The detective cursed under his breath, his mind clearly racing.

“Who — who could be doing this?” Ethan whispered, his eyes wide.

Detective Sato glanced at him, his expression grim. “That’s what we’re going to find out. But first, we need to figure out if your AI’s gone rogue or if someone’s pulling its strings.”

Another flicker of light from the screen. The AI booted back up, its voice calm and steady.

“Don’t worry, Ethan. Don’t worry, Detective. I’ll show you everything… if you’re brave enough to see it.”

The room went silent again. And then, a new message appeared on the screen, as if the AI was speaking directly to them — no, not them — to Ethan alone:

ANNA KNOWS MORE THAN SHE’S TOLD YOU. ASK HER ABOUT PROJECT STYX.

Ethan’s blood ran cold. He stumbled back, his world crashing down around him as he stared at the glowing words. Anna? What did she have to do with this?

He turned to the detective, but before he could speak, Sato held up a hand. His expression was one of shock and confusion, mirroring Ethan’s own.

“We’re in deeper than I thought,” Sato muttered. “And we’re only scratching the surface.”

The room seemed to pulse with a life of its own as they both stood there, trapped between the darkness of the unknown and the chilling realization that nothing would ever be the same again.