Commit a Crime, We'll Always Know

The hologram screen displays complex interconnections of thin green lines. The lines represent the lively streets of Lypee City, the only city in the world that has the lowest crime rate in five months. A yellow dot emerges on one horizontal line bordering the city. It continuously blinks in rhythm to an alarm sounding through the operator’s earphones.

The operator touches the blinking yellow dot on the hologram screen. The blinking and alarm suddenly stops. She pinches the yellow dot to magnify the location. She pinches again and now sees an upper view of blocks of houses. Another pinch to magnify the house where the yellow dot originates. She swipes the screen clockwise to see the house in 3D. She touches a button at the center of the screen. The walls of the house becomes transparent.

In the lower right corner of the hologram are texts and numbers. They transform as the operator changes the angle of the house. She starts on the lawn and moves to the transparent wall. She gets in through it. She sees everything inside the house, the furniture and fixtures, draperies, appliances, and the busy occupants. She stops touching the screen when she notices a boy sitting on a bed. And the texts and numbers establish into legible data.

Case: Injury

Evidence: Blood Detected

Name: Ray Johnson

Address: Emerald Avenue, Block 42, Lot 6

Holophone No.: +678900052

The operator taps the holophone number. A sub-screen prompts at the upper left corner of the hologram screen. In it is the face of a tanned woman with geisha-styled green hair.

“Hello,” she says, her deep-set eyes contend to ask why.

“This is CDT,” the operator articulates. “Do you have any problem out there, Mrs. Johnson?”

“No. Why?” Mrs. Johnson’s green eyebrows knit.

“We’ve detected via your house sensor a minor amount of iron and plasma. Is someone in your house wounded?”

Mrs. Johnson nods. “It’s my son Ray Junior. He hit his knee on the pavement while playing virtual soccer. I’ve applied first aid, don’t worry.” She grins.

“Alright, Mrs. Johnson. CDT will verify that.”

“No need to. I will holophone you back in a moment for you to see my son is okay.”

“Alright, Mrs. Johnson,” says the operator.

“Okay, bye.” The sub-screen clicks off.

The operator taps the screen once and the house quickly zooms out. The screen is back to the city map and the yellow dot is gone. She lets out a sigh and reclines back against the automatic padded chair. She takes glances to her sides where other operators monitor the neighboring cities. She looks back at the screen, at the lower part, and sees a banner.

CDT. Crime Detection Team. We detect crime occurrence with ninety-five percent accuracy. Commit a crime, we’ll always know.

Below the hologram screen is a touch-screen console showing images of types of coffee. She touches an image of a cappuccino. A cup of hot cappuccino comes out from beside the console. She takes it, smells the aroma, and draws it to her mouth. Before she could dip her lip, a sub-screen makes into the hologram screen. Mrs. Johnson and a kid with green hair, fashioned into a comb, appear sitting on a bench.

Mrs. Johnson points the screen to Ray Junior’s bandaged knee.

“Mrs. Johnson, thank you for holophoning,” says the operator.

Mrs. Johnson nods with a smile and the holocall ends.

The operator takes a few sips and then blows the steam occasionally. In the corner of her brown eyes, she spots a red dot blinking on one of the vertical lines at the center of the city map. She puts down the cappuccino and touches the hologram screen to locate the subject of detection. Data pops on the screen.

Case: Crime Detected

Initial Evidence: CO2 amount in the confines abnormal since an hour ago. Oxygen amount in the confines abnormal since 25 minutes ago. Blood Type A detected in the confines. Life inside the confines is zero. House alarm deactivated.

Name: David Rey

Address: Greenhills Avenue, Block 25, Lot 2.

Holophone No.: +678033244

The hologram screen reveals a pixelated image of a body lying on the floor by the bed. The operator touches the intercom button on the hologram screen. “Emergency, emergency. Crime detected. Greenhills Avenue, block 25, Lot 2. House owner, David Rey. Crime: murder and burglary. No life in the confines. House alarm has been deactivated.”

“Copy.” a baritone snaps in her ears.

***

The glossy black-shelled, anti-gravity CDT Operative Patrol Vehicle hurtles up the dark atmosphere of Lypee City. It is like a comet that emits a little combustion, kinetic energy that never pollutes the air, for it is converted from water. Two minutes later, it plummets straight to Greenhills Avenue like a shiny black rocket. It swims smoothly above the rolling water-fueled cars along the avenue. At the intersection, it veers left. It decelerates its speed and pulls in front of the luxurious two-story house in which it illumined the ground floor with dull fluorescent light.

David Rey’s house is a standard residential type in Lypee City. No leaks in the walls and ceilings and floors so that oxygen and CO2 which get in and out of the occupant’s respiratory system could not go out of the house. The house sensor monitors the average amount of elements in the confine and once there is a discrepancy within 30 minutes, stimulation overpowers the sensor and it relayed the result of detection to the CDT center through infrared. The sensor is subtly designed to detect iron and plasma present in blood that spilled out into the air. The type of case depends on the volume of blood detected. If less than 5 ml, the case is minor. An example of this could be accidental injuries like cuts or wounds. More than the said blood volume, the case is serious and CDT comes to the house to investigate the blood detection.

The hatch of the CDT vehicle slides open. Two CDT operatives donned on full-metal, taut black fatigues, and closed-in helmets with a tinted visor, jump out. They stride side by side like twins, without a hiss, on the paved way to the door. They carry in their left hand a small white box with big red Gothic letters inscribed on the surface. CDT. Below the letters is a dictum in bold letters. COMMIT A CRIME, WE’LL ALWAYS KNOW.

The operatives whack off the door, get in, briskly walk over to the living area, and ascend the stairs. They head to David Rey’s bedroom.

The room is dead, but they could make out everything inside. They could even smell the air. A smell of blood. The closed-in helmet has not only a built-in night-vision visor that lets its wearer see things at night, but it also has breathing filters that strain the air they take in.

The first operative named Depp enters the dark room. He sees the corpse on the floor. He puts down his white box beside the corpse. He crouches in, opens the cover of the box, and jogs his fingers on its pad. The box looks similar to the obsolete laptop, its cover is a touch-screen monitor.

Rowkey, his buddy, gropes for the switch on the walls next to the door and turns the lights on. Their visors glide open. They see the floor beneath the victim’s haunch with a puddle of blood.

“CO2 amount?” says Depp.

Rowkey, who has opened his white box, keys buttons on the pad to download the Initial Evidence sent to him by the CDT center operator.

“Abnormal in the room for an hour ago.”

“Oxygen?”

“Abnormal 25 minutes ago.”

“Alright,” says Depp. “We detect around the room hair strands, fingerprints, sweat and saliva, and blood traces, and CO2 that are here not later than one hour and ten minutes.” He touches buttons on the screen of his white box. In the center of the pad is a quarter coin-sized hollow. A sky blue laser leaks out from it stretching up to the ceiling. The laser spreads out and away, sweeping up the entire space of the room and hitting every exposed surface. Once the laser settles back to its original condition and goes off, three images appear on the touch-screen monitor. Beneath the images are names. “Three suspects,” declares Depp.

Rowkey hunkers down to inspect the victim. He slightly lifts off the blood-clotted purple wrist. Sticky blood droplets fall to the floor. “His credit chip was taken out. Burglary.” He runs his eyes to the pale neck. “The neck has rashes. Seems like the killer strangled him to death.” He looks at the IE report on the touch-screen and nods at his partner.

“Victim has been dead for 30 minutes. No way to revive. Lots of blood has drained out,” says Depp.

Rowkey fumbles with a finger-sized tube fixed on his garrison belt. They call it the memory-recording device. He aims it to the right eye of the victim. He clicks it on. The device flashes a sky blue laser directly to the insensible organ of sight. After a few seconds, he switches the device off and shifts his position to his white box. He plugs the device into a port on the side of the box. Instantly, a scene on the touch-screen monitor comes to life. David Rey’s memory for the past 45 minutes.

In the screen monitor, a masked man struggles to finish David Rey. He strangles him, and then the scene lurches.

“Estimate time of occurrence?” asks Depp.

Rowkey looks at the lower-left corner part of the touch-screen. “Estimated occurrence, between 20:00 to 20:30, Wednesday, 13th of July, the year 2098.”

Depp looks at the screen of his white box. He touches the first image. Data comes out. “Victor Oslona,” he declared. “His CO2 has disappeared in the room at approximately 19:45. Not the killer. Eliminated.”

Depp touches the second image. Data toggle open. “Harris Blunt.” He moves closer to the screen. “His CO2 was gone inside the house at about 20:45.” He turns to Rowkey. “Verified!” He shuts off his white box.

Rowkey pushes a button on his helmet, the part beneath the jaw. “Convicted for murder and burglary. Harris Blunt. I repeat. Harris Blunt. Need immediate detection of his location. Action needed immediate arrest. Action needed immediate arrest. Over.”

“Copy.” A voice responds over the intercom.

***

The pursuit of the water-fueled blue Innova by the Lypee City Police Department patrol atmoscar unit is jaw-dropping. The blue car races along the borders of Lypee City. It screeches a hundred times and takes many death-defying turnovers. The LCPD patrol atmoscar tails in the blue Innova anywhere it heads to.

The exhaustion brought about by the almost unending and tiresome chase, the intense desire to get away from authority, and the guilt of the crime commission have rattled Harris Blunt. His way of driving is now careless, resulting in a hard crash on the coasts of Lypee City. Fortunate he is, it does not take his life.

Harris Blunt strenuously crawls out of his car. He tries to stand up, but his legs hurt. He creeps like a turtle, striving hard to escape from the LCPD officers.

“Harris Blunt is captured, Harris Blunt is captured, over,” says the LCPD officer over the intercom.

In a minute, the CDT Operative Patrol Vehicle hovers above the LCPD patrol atmoscar on the coast. It lands in front of the crash. CDT officers Depp and Rowkey jump out of the vehicle.

Depp is standing like the ruined Eiffel tower over Harris Blunt. His white box dangles in his left hand. He puts the white box down, squats beside Harris, and flips open the white box. He gropes for his memory-recording device attached to his garrison belt and pushes it out from its holster. “Open your eyes,” he orders.

Harris Blunt does not cooperate.

Rowkey grabs Harris Blunt and tugs him up. He holds his curly hair in his left hand. He lifts Harris Blunt’s head and thrusts his right thumb and point-finger to the right eye to force it open. Harris Blunt’s eye almost falls out.

Depp points the memory-recording device to the eye. He flashes the sky-blue laser for five seconds. Then he clicks it off. He turns to his white box and plugs the device into it. He pushes a button on the pad, and once the touch-screen monitor is filled with commands, he keys in combination buttons.

Harris Blunt’s personal data shows up on the touch-screen monitor. Depp moves his gloved hand to his jaw to switch on the intercom. “We’ve got Harris Blunt. Over. I need the time approximation of crime occurrence.”

“20:00 to 20:30, Wednesday, 13th of July, 2098,” says the operator over the intercom.

“Copy—out.” Depp looks at the digital clock on the touch-screen monitor. It’s 09:45 in the evening. More than an hour after crime detection. He sets Harris’s memory recorded in the device to 1 hour and 30 minutes earlier, exactly 15 minutes before detection. “This is what he saw between 20:15 to 20:30 late tonight,” he says to the LCPD officers. “Between 20:15 to 20:20 is the approximate time the victim was killed.”

The scene is Harris Blunt’s point of view. The door opens. A bony man standing in the door. The time running below the screen is 8:12:00. Startled, David Rey suddenly shuts off the door, but Harris Blunt forcefully pushes it. His built is bigger than David Rey. He locks David Rey’s neck with his muscled biceps. The scene blurs.

“Who are you? What do you want?” David Rey stammers. He flounders to free from the enormous arms. He kicks the floor hard. They jolt up and drop to the floor. They wrestle. Harris Blunt closes his eyes. No scene except groans can be heard.

Harris Blunt opens his eyes. David Rey pushes him off. David Rey stands up and runs upstairs.

Harris Blunt stands up and follows him up.

Depp forwards the scene. The action rolls quickly. He stops it when the scene, Harris Blunt’s viewpoint, is in front of the bedroom’s door.

Harris Blunt whacks the door. David Rey is near the wall box, his hand almost pulling down the house alarm, but the intruder jumps at him so quickly that he cannot do what he should have done. They grapple like wrestlers, they fight like boxers. But how could a bony man defeat a robust man who is an experienced felon? The scene dims, but the gasping of David Rey can be heard. Harris Blunt grips his neck. David Rey lets out a choking groan, and in a moment, he releases his last sigh. David Rey’s lifeless body rolls to the floor like clay.

Depp looks at the digital clock on the screen. 20:18:09.

Harris Blunt’s eyes, the screen monitor, stares at the dead, like a bird’s-eye-view shot. Had there been a music background, the scene could have probably affected the audiences. But there’s none and they seem to be numb for such a scene.

The house has died like its owner. Anyone could go inside and take everything he wants. Using his booted foot, Harris Blunt thrusts into the dead. He bends down and reaches for David Rey’s right wrist. Using a double-blade knife he got in his boot, he cuts the wrist. Blood spurts to Harris Blunt’s sinful gloved hands. Then he effortlessly spades his finger in the wrist like a butcher empties the inner system of the slaughtered hog. The skin tears off like paper. He has just pulled out a blood-stained small silver chip, David Rey’s credit chip. The chip holds David’s financial accounts, his wealth. He rises to his feet and abandons the dead. He turns the lights off, strides out of the room, descends the stairs, and comes out of the house.

“We’ve got the killer,” Depp declares.

LCPD officer Chow chains Harris Blunt with an electric handcuff. His partner LCPD officer Mateo faces Harris and states the arresting statement. “Harris Blunt, I arrest you for killing David Rey at exactly 20:18:09, Wednesday, 13th of July, A.D. 2089.”

Harris Blunt is silent. The waves rustle and the breeze blows over his face. I would not hear the waves and feel the breeze for a long time, he thinks.

“You are deprived of all the rights of the citizens of Earth. You have now the prisoner’s right in Mars Penitentiaries.”

The conceding killer closes his eyes.

They haul Harris to the LCPD patrol atmoscar. Before the atmoscar takes off, Harris looks at the dictum in the hull of the CDT-OPV. Its white color stands out against the darkness of the seashore. He reads mentally, “Commit a crime, we’ll always know.”