Coming to in custody.

"You're finally awake. Good." A man's voice alerts you as you return to consciousness. You're lying on your back on a gurney in the back of a futuristic-looking ambulance. You're not strapped down. Neither are you handcuffed, a little surprising, as you foggily remember going under in what must've been a restricted location.

Focusing your blurry vision, you take in the speaker.

He's a caucasian man, about thirty-five if you had to guess. Well-built, with dark hair and rather piercing blue eyes. He wears a sleek black overcoat, collar turned up to protect from the rain, a suit and tie underneath. Around his neck hangs a badge, bearing a shield and likeness, designating him a detective in the City Police Department.

"How you feeling?" the detective asks. “I hear DPH comes with one hell of a hangover.”

“What...?” you ask groggily. Now that he mentions it, you do feel like it's the morning after a dozen beers.

“DPH, that's the tranquiliser we found you pumped full of. Sleeping it off on one of the top floors of Deacon International's US headquarters.” he continues.

“I don't know anything about that.” you say, playing for time. This could be bad. When you'd decided you wanted to explore the future, the penal system was not what you had in mind.

“It'll come back to you.” the cop opines. “Hey, think I could get a moment or two alone with my buddy here?”

This next comment is directed to the paramedic, the only other person present, other than yourselfe and the detective.

“Fine, you got five minutes Wilde, then I gotta get this one to City General for observation.” The paramedic says grouchily. She's a black woman of about forty. Though you can't place her accent, you'd wager she's not from the US.

“Mason Wilde.” the dark-haired detective says, offering you his hand. You shake it, finding the strength of the other man's grip a little tantalising.

You offer your name in response, before the detective pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

“Want one?” he asks, his tone genuine, friendly. You decline, it's not really a habit you've ever indulged.

“Mind if I smoke?” Wilde asks. You shake your head, and he lights up.

“You have to admit, these circumstances are a little fishy.” he notes, taking a drag, the ambulance soon filling up with pungeant tobacco smoke. You stare at the cigarette butt in his mouth. Certain thoughts dance through your mind. Of course, in them, it isn't a smoke the detective's sliding into his mouth. God, you need to get laid.

“We find you on the ground, ****, no ID card, the same night The Wraith heists DI's headquarters.” Wilde notes.

“The... Wraith?” you ask.

“Yeah, maybe you heard of them?” the cop asks, as if you'd questioned the existence of the very sun. “Scourge of the corporate world, the unseen shadow. Hell, I think one of the big holo-studio's even making a movie about them.”

“Of course, the Wraith.”

“Now, according to official procedure, you should be heading straight to hospital, under strict observation.” Wilde notes, pushing part of his coat away, letting you see the futuristic cuffs on his belt underneath. “But, I'm inclined to offer you a deal.”

He holds up the knock-out dart, now contained within an evidence bag.

“We've found these in plenty of people who've been unlucky enough to get in The Wraith's way.” Detective Wilde notes. “'Course, most of them, we dig them out of their asses, their backs. You? Point blank in the chest.”

“Your point being?” You ask.

“You would've been facing The Wraith when they decided it was naptime for you. Maybe you saw something. If you did, I might be inclined to let you walk out of here a free man.”

“If that's the case, I did. I saw her.”

“Her?” Wilde's tone is surprised, albeit more by your having seen The Wraith than her gender.

“She was wearing a mask.” you put a hand briefly over your mouth to demonstrate. “But I could tell it was a woman.”

“No one's ever seen The Wraith in person before.” Wilde tells you. “But you're telling me you could identify them-- her?”

“Everything above the nose.” you say, with confidence.

“Okay pal, here's the deal. I'm gonna let you walk tonight, but I want you in Police Headquarters at 4PM tomorrow. We're gonna put together a holo-fit of The Wraith. You don't show, I'll have some of my buddies in uniform bring you in. I don't need to tell you how good they are at finding people. We got a deal?”

“Deal.” you say, shaking his hand once more.

“Okay, get out of here.” Wilde says. “I got a crime scene to go over.”

With that, you're ushered out of the ambulance. You make down the street, into the sprawling, high-tech metropolis. Cold rain beating down on you, drenching you, you're only concern is scrambling for the cover of a nearby doorway.

Once you're out of the rain, something important occurs to you: What the hell happened to your time machine?