The dim light of the forensics lamp cast long, distorted shadows across the sterile room. I knelt beside the two bodies, my gaze sweeping over their unnervingly serene forms.
It wasn't the grotesque violence often associated with death that struck me, but an unsettling stillness, a finality that hinted at something deeper, more philosophical.
By the way, for a moment, the condition of those two bodies reminded me of something I once read.
I whispered to myself, the sound barely audible above the hum of the ventilation system, staring at the two lifeless forms sprawled before me.
My mind, usually a fortress of cold logic and empirical data, began to drift, pulled by an insidious current. The faint scent of decay, a metallic tang mingling with something cloyingly sweet, and the pervasive coldness of the room seeped into me, chilling me to the bone in a way that went beyond mere temperature.
A terrifying, taboo concept, already fading into obscurity by 2035, flashed through my mind, unbidden and unwelcome: the Death Drive theory.
It's a concept where humans relentlessly pursue their desires until death claims them. A scientific instinct, an inherent pull towards self-destruction, without exception. The very idea sent a shiver down my spine, a sensation not unlike the static electricity that sometimes prickled the air in the lab.
A theory so horrifying, so repulsive, that the entire field of psychology had, for decades, outright rejected what Freud posited, regardless of whether he was right or not. They had buried it under layers of new research, reclassified it as an anachronism, a dark stain on the optimistic tapestry of human potential.
It had even begun to be forgotten, systematically erased from standard curricula, eroded by an era that seemed to repeatedly ignore its warnings, preferring to believe in progress, in growth, in the triumph of life over entropy. But standing over these bodies, in this silent, frigid room, that forgotten theory felt terrifyingly relevant, a specter resurfacing from the collective unconscious.
"Kei? What are you thinking about?" Kenta's voice, surprisingly chipper, sliced through my morbid introspection, pulling me back to the stark reality of the crime scene.
"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all," I dismissed, my voice sounding a little too quick, a little too high-pitched, even to my own ears.
I tried not to worsen the mood, tried to project an air of normalcy, but the images in my head persisted. My focus needed to return to the task at hand, to the methodical cataloging of evidence, to the detachment that professionalism demanded.
"It's better if we finish this and head back to base,"
I stated firmly, my words carrying a conviction I hoped would reassure Kenta—and perhaps, myself. The sooner we were out of here, the sooner I could banish these unsettling thoughts and redirect my focus to the familiar, predictable logic of a virtual world—complete with its latest features
Kenta chuckled, a bright, almost incongruous sound in the grim setting. "It's rare for you not to grumble. But oh well... I won't bother with it. I want to go home quickly too."
His easygoing nature was, as always, a stark contrast to my own perpetual intensity.
He was probably eager to get back to his routine, to his family, to the comfortable banality of his life.
Me? A loving family? That thought has never once crossed my mind, let alone been something I'd consider. No, it probably never will.
"Oh, your wife? Please send my regards to her, dinner tasted really good tonight."
I tried to sound casual, to blend back into our usual banter, to dispel the heavy atmosphere that had settled around me. I genuinely appreciated her cooking; it was a welcome respite from my usual sterile, solitary meals.
Hearing that, a flicker of mock exasperation clouded Kenta's face, though his eyes still held a playful glint.
"Kei, if I'm going to be honest with you... I don't really like it when you stay there because she keeps praising you when you are away. 'You're so handsome!' 'you're so kind!' 'you're really great at helping!' Like, dude... I'm the one who suffers here, for fuck's sake!"
A bitter laugh escaped him, accompanied by a half-hearted, playful nudge to my elbow.
Just another performance of his, landed somewhere between weary and resigned.
I knew he was just kidding. It was an old running gag between us, a testament to the easy camaraderie we shared.
Besides... how could I possibly dare to steal my best friend's wife?
The thought itself was absurd, a betrayal I wouldn't even contemplate.
And anyway, I was never interested in his wife, let alone a marriage.
My mind didn't gravitate towards such conventional attachments.
What for, anyway?
After all, there's no need to rush. I'm only 20 years old.
The world was vast, full of mysteries to unravel, complexities to dissect. Romantic entanglements felt like a distraction, a complication I didn't need.
"Well, even so, thank you very much. Your presence has been a great help to us, even if your original intention was just to laze around and visit because you were bored."
Kenta's sincerity was evident, cutting through my usual cynicism.
"Yeah, same here." I placed my fist on his shoulder, a shared gesture, a silent acknowledgment of our bond, a bro code that was trending in 2035.
It was a simple, uncomplicated connection, a relief amidst the chaos of my thoughts.
Kenta and I then quickly packed up the evidence, meticulously sealing bags and labeling containers. I kept my expression neutral, my movements precise, ensuring no lingering trace of my earlier morbid thoughts betrayed me.
I had to maintain my composure.
I had to.
I offered a final nod to Kenta as I headed back home, my personal sanctuary, while he, on the other hand, had to report the findings from the crime scene investigation back to headquarters, immersing himself once more in the bureaucratic labyrinth of our profession.
Meanwhile, I preferred my own, less conventional methods of investigation.