Existence Oblivion by Kai Ellory Viola (All my friends are Reapers Book 0)
English | 2020 | Fantasy | ePUB | 2.7 MB
Maebh had discovered early on that of all the things she had to deal with, sometimes using her middle name was easier than explaining why “Maebh” was a trick name. So she was Mae to her close friends, Hellenna professionally (Siobhan, again…arguments). So, when she died, she thought there would be a feather, her heart, points would be awarded for not dicking people around with her name, and maybe time for an “Oh bugger,” if she was eaten.
Instead, she awoke in a place that could not be, surrounded by nine people, weapons drawn. And they were all squabbling over who could claim her soul!
Relieved as she was that no one Reaper could claim her, things got a bit complicated when each of the nine Reapers’ gods appeared. Eight of which she had venerated in one way or another. And one she had to be introduced to. The ninth, sputtering at the indignity, demanded, that to make the Game fair, she is partnered with another like her.
So…the Game was proposed. Souls as rare and open as hers were hard to find. Each reaper’s next 20 claims would be weighed, measured and held. The pantheon with the most got the prize…Except, the reapers could go anywhere in time to find them, so there was no time limit. Probably a good thing.
Mae’s job? To ensure they were taking people at their time, not before and that they were not interfering with the people they collected beforehand. Not easy when she had 10 people to watch, including her opposite.
Oh, and if the God she didn’t believe in wins, her existence, and part of the universe, will be completely obliterated. Heaven hath no fury like a diety unacknowledged…
The room held hushed portents. Kinetic potential that expressed itself in rape, murder, the restraint offered to criminals and police officers. There was a musty, sharp, almost acrid smell of over-brewed coffee and overused coffee grinds. Overlaid was sweat–it was high summer and the air conditioning had stopped working again. While the heat shimmered down the street outside, inside the ghosts of unsolved cases flickered across every detective’s mind.
‘Death Wall A’ was Elliot’s desk, and he shared with no one. The sloppy slurry of paperwork that moved, scum-like across the surface, appeared to be still but only because whenever he cleared a portion, more miraculously appeared. Other policemen managed to file their work – Elliot was lucky that they were still in the right files. But when push came to flutter, he could grab anything out of the slurried mass and it would, invariably be right. The tingle wasn’t completely tech either – he had this instinct that told him where something was. Like picking ‘death’ from a tarot deck.
Elliot had often worked out that the paperwork he needed was always right within fingertip’s reach, and so, his desk stayed the way it was. And as it was against the main wall, the piles were at least propped.
He only moved – vacated the room entirely – when the ‘Death Wall’ above it was being used. Then, his desk and his space was used as a projection area – the images flashing across the murder wall for a once a month presentation on *the* case that everyone needed to pay attention to. There was only so much deference afforded to each detective – at some point they had to bow to their masters, the cases. So those days, Elliot would slink away, and keep working on his stuff, in a quietly cordoned off area with more old guard. Boxes would appear and carefully file his work in crime-scene accurate piles, before returning it when they were done.
It was never his cases on the CORETEX presentations. He’d stopped caring years ago; his cases didn’t rank that kind of attention. After a while, he’d deliberately started taking the ones that didn’t get as much air time, or weren’t as important.
CORETEX – the core system that ran the city – was a data bank, first and foremost. As with everyone else’s ideals and ideas, the system was used to support the tracking and monitoring of criminals, which was added much later, with much ceremony. Crimes could be analyzed, tied to areas, to gangs, to patterns with ease – saving the police for the never-ending job of prosecution, and lately, not getting to the criminals because their tech wasn’t against the law. And the law lagged so far behind now that it seemed like it would never catch up. Newer police officers were indoctrinated to CORETEX – not as an external interface, but as an ever watching, ever on-camera that documented, recorded and fed back information via their COREPORTS. Older officers who resisted fitting COREPORTS were sharply and subtly punished.