The Partner

The man who entered Brokheim's office looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a crop of blonde hair neatly combed in place. His eyes were a shocking green color, slowly turning into a light brown at the edges. His brows were furrowed in a look of annoyance, and his lips were set in a grim, annoyed expression. His eyes swept over the neon-lit office with clear distaste, and when his eyes landed on the detective he had a look of surprise on his face. Brokheim could feel the younger man's eyes rove over his scars, then look down at each hand, scanning for something that wasn't there.

"Detective Misthenkul?" the man asked, his voice a soft but controlled. There was a hint of implied authority, but the detective waved his left hand dismissively. "That's the name on the door, bud. Come on in."

The man shook his head, annoyed at some slight. He entered and shut the door behind him. He took a few steps forward and held out his right hand formally. "I'm Chris Uldorf. I believe you were expecting me?"

Brokheim looked down at the hand, then scanned the man's clothing. He wore a thin navy blue coat, and peeking out from underneath was a formal shirt collar and a tie. The coat was unmarked and unassuming, but there was a space on the chest where some stitching was out of place. It looked like something had been removed. He also made note of the shoes, a more modern design with neatly tied laces. His eyes returned to the hand and he shook it slowly, sternly. The two men locked eyes and he made a motion for the man to sit with his left hand.

"I read the email, but I was hoping for the real story. It's uncommon for people to get approval to move to town, and even more uncommon for them to want to join our small police force. Newcomers aren't exactly seen in a good light, especially ones who aren't... of a certain disposition," Brokheim replied, his words carrying implication.

The man sighed and shrugged. He tried to smile but his lips didn't match his eyes. "I won't lie, it took a lot to get into this town. My dad was an in the war before the cease fire, and he became an amp. He passed away before the quarantine was set in place, and I grew up wanting to know more about him. When I got accepted into the force, I had a hard time fitting in. Eventually I got it in my head to come here."

Brokheim studied the man slowly, digesting the information. "So you're a second gen?"

Chris tilted his head, confused. Curiously, he asked, "Second gen?"

The detective shrugged nonchalantly. "It's a military town, we use a lot of lingo here. Second gen means someone who was the son or daughter of an amp. Even the term amp was a military term. It originally stood for all amputated people, obviously, but eventually it became a term for those who gained their abilities after amputation. It became a term of endearment after the quarantine."

The young man nodded, taking in the information. "Makes sense, I suppose. Anyway, I was hoping to come out here, and I heard from a friend that there was an opening. I sent letters to half the military people I could find to get in here, and even then it took a lot of convincing. I have two years of police training, and I'm willing to learn. So anyway, I guess I'm here to be your new partner."

Brokheim sighed unenthusiastically, rubbing his face with his right hand. "I get it, kid, you're trying to do right by your dad. But there's not much love for outsiders here. And really this job isn't terribly exciting. It's glorified police work most of the time. We deal with amps here, sure, but there isn't much action to be had. Most of the rough ones got sent to the vault in the last couple decades. Now it's just grumpy old vets trying to get by without being harassed by the military."

Chris smirked at the detective. "I can at least watch and learn. Worst case scenario, I can put in a transfer in a couple months. Plus, I want to learn more about amps. Most of what I hear comes from books and old recordings, but most people talk about them like boogey men. A lot of people talk about this town like it's a portal into another dimension."

"Well, what do you know about amps then?" the detective asked, curious.

Mr. Uldorf looked up to the ceiling and started reciting from memory, as if reading from a book. "Amps. People who have gained powers from the loss of a limb. First coming to the attention during the third world war, their sudden appearance caused the unconditional cease fire between all civilized nations almost thirty years ago. Only about ten percent of all people who lose a limb become amps, and their powers vary from person to person. Each one gains an object, also known as an amp arm, or amputated armament, which their powers supposedly originate from. Five years after the cease fire, due to many tragedies caused by amps after the cease fire, a quarantine was enacted where all amputated individuals in the United States were sequestered to a single city, controlled by the military. A wall was erected, and the inhabitants were forbidden from leaving. It also became against the law to cut off a limb or to cut off the limbs of others for any reason besides saving a person's life. By law, an amp is no longer considered a person, but rather property of the state."

"A fine definition," Brokheim stated in a grumpy tone. "You forgot to add that most amps are former military. Lots of the people in this city were veterans who fought for their country. They got pretty sour when the people they fought for, lost limbs for, and were willing to die for, threw them in a cage. This town was a dump before the quarantine, and it's a bigger dump now. It was a steel manufacturing town, you see. When the war stopped the market for steel dropped. It was almost a ghost town, which is why the military chose this place. It's been thirty years since the war, but the people here still have that wound."

Chris opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. His eyes ran across both of Brokheim's hands, then back to his face, looking at his scars. "Were you in the war?"

The detective snorted and ran his right hand along the deep diagonal scar on his face. "No, nothing that noble. I got these scars after the war, from a bit of bad luck. Nothing you need to think about."

The young man looked down and seemed lost in thought. Muttering to himself, he raised his head again. "What kind of powers do amps in this town have?"

"It varies," Brokheim responded, waving a hand dismissively. "First rule of this town, never assume you know an amp's powers. A lot of people learned to hide what they could do when the military started throwing people in the vault. Best to believe what you see is a fraction of what people can actually do. If they can help it, most people don't use their powers at all. Of course some can't help it. Powers aren't like a light switch - you can't just turn em on and off as you please. For some it's like radiation; it follows them like the plague."

The phone on Brokheim's desk let out an old ring tone, and he glanced at the young man for a moment before picking it up. "Detective Brokheim Misthenkul speaking."

"Detective, this is the front desk. Frank is here looking for you again. I told him you were busy, but he won't leave, you think you could get him calmed down?"

"The Phone again, huh? What's he babbling about this time?"

"The usual. End of the world stuff. Says someone's coming to destroy the city."

"I'll be right down. Tell him I'm on my way."

The detective placed the phone back down and looked his new partner up and down. "You want to see what a usual day is? Fine, come with me. You might as well meet The Phone while you're here."

"The Phone? Is that a nickname?" Chris asked, rising from the chair energetically.

"More like a joke," Brokheim replied. "You'll see when we get there. He's down in the lobby."

They quickly left the office, Detective Misthenkul grabbing his metal case before rushing out and locking the door behind him. They walked down the long hallway to the elevator, the camera watching their passage as it swiveled to follow them. As they waited for the elevator, the detective filled Chris in on The Phone.

"His real name is Frank. Former military. We also call him the black cat of the city. Guy has a habit of knowing where trouble's brewing and always manages to show up when it happens. Every major incident that happens, he's there for," he explained calmly as the elevator doors slowly opened. "People are so used to it, they just avoid him like the plague. The local belief is that he causes the problems somehow."

A small metallic grinding noise issued out of the elevator as it slid down to the lobby. After a moment, the doors opened. There stood the same receptionist as this morning, but in front of her desk stood a man dressed in tattered clothing, with unkempt facial hair. The smell from him was so strong, both men had to take a moment to steel themselves against it as they approached. Brokheim's face was unreadable, while Chris looked openly disgusted.

"Frank, we talked about this, you need to take care of yourself. You look like you've been dumpster diving again," the detective stated, keeping a distance from the man.

"I'm The Phone," the man responded grumpily. "And I forgot, til I remembered. I came to tell you. Today's the day. He's here! The worst is here! Today he arrives. It's bad. Worse. Worst. I couldn't remember til today. The Phone made it hard, but I'm here now," the man rambled, clearly excited. He continued to gesticulate wildly, as if trying to accentuate the severity of his words. Some bits of dirt and other filth fell from his clothing as he moved, and the woman at the front desk crinkled her nose in disgust.

"Frank, calm down. Frank! I know he's here. He's standing next to me. It's fine."

"No!" The man shouted, frustrated, not even glancing in Chris' direction "Only The Balls - only you can stop him! It'll all turn to dust and ashes. I know, I've seen. I forgot, til I remembered. So cluttered. But he's here. And. Well I uh, I forgot. But it's bad! The Sword and The Spear won't do at all! It has to be you!"

"Frank, I'm going to call for your attendant. Is that okay?" Brokheim asked.

"Yes! No! It doesn't matter! I have to warn you. Cause he's here. Or maybe he hasn't arrived yet? It's hard. So cluttered. But I know!"

It took several minutes before the man calmed down, and the detective eventually used the phone at the desk to call someone to come take Frank to his home. "He was former military, before the cease fire," he explained to Chris once it was over. "Claims he's an amp, but he's not missing any limbs. Says he's The Phone. Pretty sure they diagnosed him with schizophrenia, but he doesn't bother to take his pills. Believe it or not, some days he's completely lucid. Today must have been a bad day."

"What was that about 'The Phone'?" Chris asked, perplexed.

"Amps in this city eventually get a nickname based on their amp arms," Brokheim replied. "For instance, if he carried around a phone with him all the time, he'd be called The Phone. There aren't any naming conventions for these things - most people decide the nicknames by popular opinion. There's The Glass Eye, The Tuning Fork, The Sword, The Spear, etc. If they have a nickname, they're a known amp. It's implied with the nickname."

"Sounds like more lingo," Chris remarked. "Who are The Sword and Spear?"

"My fellow detectives. They're partners, former military types. Don't piss them off, or they'll likely make your life a living hell."

"And The Balls?"

"Nobody worth mentioning. Don't worry about it," Brokheim grouchily replied, grabbing his case. "Now, the chief wanted me to show you around town for your first day, show you the jewels of the city. Three amps, all used to working in the public eye. You want to meet some amps who aren't whacked out of their minds?"

Chris nodded, smiling, and both men left in the direction of the detective's car.