Do android wolves dream of killing electric sheep?

Gazing over the sight of the carnage I down another swallow of liquid gold. Doctor says I'll drink myself right into the grave. We're all dying. In fact it's death brought me here.

Gaston Leroux is best known for writing that novel about the disfigured man who terrorizes the Paris Opera House. Here's a fun fact: He wrote a detective story about an impossible murder committed in a closed room. That's what this was accept the room was an entire city going to hell.

The perp had struck again this time they left two vics. Both in lab coats. This person was a ghost. They left nothing for forensics and remained unidentified in an age were intsant identification technology made both things impossible.

My partner scans the cadavers withs II contacts lenses. I don't wear any because I don't trust them. He reads off their info while my bottle forms bullet points for each category.

Metaphorically speaking I have a blood hound nose. Every dick should have one. If they don't they need to shuffle off to Buffalo. There had be something logical to this crime spree. This guy or gal killed in droves and left no trace of anything. That nose of mine was picking up a sent I didn't know what it was but it was getting stronger.

My easy chair embraced me like a lover. It was nice to have something to come home to after another long day in the year 2030. Some more liver poisoning goodness and I begin to go over the facts I had sniffing with that snoz I've already mentioned. Something was here I knew it.

A trip to the coroner revealed both of the scientists that perished had implants in their brains for listening to music. Talk about having a song stuck in your head.

Just about everyone these days had a one of those implants unless you're an old fogie like myself. Each of the murder victims had one. In each case they seemed burnt out. It was odd but didn't stick out to me at the time. Not until now.

The word ghost smacked me up side the head like an iron skillet. The killer was in fact a ghost. That was why there was not so much as blood splatter at any of the scenes.

I began formulating the solution. The perp was a hacker all they had to do was tap into the music implants and overload them boom instant high tech death. But why? Perhaps he wanted to prove a point. Maybe he was an anarchist. Who knows why they did it?

I could only hope the department would buy my theory. But even if they did how could we possibly catch him? That thought necessitated another pint glass of my choice beverage.