Detective Alice Silver

I wake up to the dawn's light. Well…at least the Rejuvenation works. I look around… stinky, dank alley. Yep, that tracks. Ugh, and there's a naked corpse. Eyes open and staring… she still has them, must be a recent ****… black skin, hair down to the middle of her back, mouth looks perfect for wrapping around the dick I no longer have… oversized knockers… all… four… of… them.

I hear a scream. It takes a bit to figure out I'm the one making it. My own corpse. I'm face to face with my own corpse, and she looks like a bimbo whore.

At some point a woman in a police uniform drapes a big green blanket around my shoulders and sits down next to me. I blink a few times, and find my throat doesn't feel sore… right, fatigue immunity.

The police woman smiles, and hands me a cup of coffee. She doesn't say anything, just sits down next to me. I take a sip.

About halfway through the cup, the caffeine being about as effective as the ****, the officer… ‘A. Silver’, per her badge… a detective in blues? Huh… she speaks up, “First corpse is rough.”

Especially when it's your own… “I hope it's my last, this is…” I trail off. What am I going to say? The truth is insane.

“I'm Alice,” the officer holds out her hand, “Mind if I take you down to the station for a statement? I can also raid lost and found… there's usually at least a couple baggy sweatshirts and sweatpants available.”

Best offer I've had since I woke up in this body… I shake her hand, “Sure. I'm… umm…” I can't say Dan…

The officer tilts her head, I catch something in her eyes… but she keeps smiling, “It's okay. You've clearly been through a lot. If you don't remember who you are, we can run your prints through the system, maybe sit you down for a chat with the staff counselor?”

“Sure…” we head to her car, which is a well-maintained white SUV. She opens the passenger door for me, and I climb in, clinging to the blanket, trying to keep it around my shoulders as I juggle the cup of coffee. I look at the electronics as she walks around to the driver's side… yeah, it's a plain car police rig. Two radios, flashing lights built into the windshield, extra switches… a steel and plexiglass barrier between us and the back seat, and the back seat is all hard plastic… okay. She was in uniform, it makes sense. Except why was a detective in uniform?

Ugh, I feel so weak, awkward, and helpless… and I'm not sure how much of that is from talking dex and strength due to plans for obliviating the stats later, and how much of that is the giant jello jugs in front of me all the time.

As we drive, I ask the question, “Your badge says detective… I would have thought you'd…”

“...be in regular clothes?” She chuckles as she drives, “I normally would be, but the uniform puts certain expectations in people's heads, which makes them feel safer in certain classes of situations. I'm allowed either: Most of the time I keep to plain clothes, but when the chief called me in for this… I figured the uniform was a good idea.”

“Fair…” I nod, and consider, “...called in?”

“Your case was something of a hot potato,” Alice shrugs, “The detectives who wanted to interview you are the ones the chief didn't want anywhere near you, and everyone he found acceptable for the approach didn't want there to be the slightest chance of it getting back to their wives. I'm not married, and there's not going to be a scandal if I handle things, so I'll get a comp day later,” she shrugs, “...anyway, we're here.”

She parks in a garage underneath the police station, hands the keys to a mechanic, takes me through processing, gets me printed, and lets me wait a bit in an interrogation room with a camera in the corner. I get some alone time, so I amuse myself by cupping my hands around my eyes right up against the ‘one way mirror’ (there's no such thing: It's relatively normal glass, bright lights on one side, dim lights on the other, change the lighting and it's one way the other direction)... and there's nobody in the other room.

I do overhear a conversation just outside the door, though: Perception is a pretty good skill for me:

“We got a hit on your Jane Doe,” man's voice that I don't recognize, “but you're not going to like it.”

“Which one?” That's Detective Alice Silver. “And in what world is this not good news, Frank?”

“Well… okay, so the computer didn't recognize the prints of the whore in the morgue… not unusual, only about a third of people are in there anyway. We filed her prints and moved on.” The male voice explains, sounding like he's working up to something.

“Have more respect for the dead,” I can actually hear the detective's teeth grinding, “few people get to choose their body. Until such time as we have evidence that she engaged in such activities, she's just another citizen who needs justice.”

“Right,” I'm guessing that was accompanied by an eye roll from Frank. “Anyway, we then ran the prints on the Jane Doe in the interrogation room, and got a hit… on the Jane Doe we just submitted for the one in the cooler.”

“That's not possible,” Ms. Silver objects.

“I thought so too,” The man's voice replies, “So I brought hard copies and a magnifying glass. Take a look.”

There's some shuffling of papers, and several minutes of dead silence, “There has to be a mistake.”

“There's no mistake here. If someone is pranking us, it's a billion dollar job. I have no explanation for the evidence of my eyes: This should not be possible.” Frank takes a deep breath, “but somehow, the live black bimbo with four huge hooters on the other side of that door is a perfect match for the dead black bimbo with four huge hooters downstairs. I thought you should know.”

There's a long pause, followed by the detective's voice, “Thanks Frank. Keep this under your hat for now, please.”

“That's going to be easy, nobody's going to believe it anyway,” A deep breath, “back to work for me.”

“Me too…” and then the door creaks open as Detective Alice Silver enters the room.