Synth, p.1
Synth, page 1
The Reborn
Book One: Synth
P. J. Marie
Anxious Bean Publishing
SYNTH
First Edition
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, events, locales, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, businesses, or establishments is solely coincidental. The opinions expressed within these pages belong to the characters and should not be mistaken as the opinions or views of P. J. Marie, Anxious Bean Publishing, or any related affiliates.
Copyright © 2023 by P. J. Marie, and Anxious Bean Publishing.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this book, in whole or in part, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Book Cover Design by Alex Albornoz
ISBN: 978-1-7780028-4-7 (paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-7780028-5-4 (hardcover)
ISBN: 978-1-7780028-3-0 (e-book)
Anxious Bean Publishing
ON, Canada
https://www.anxiousbeanpublishing.com
For Dan.
Thank you for always believing in me.
Contents
Epigraph
1. Gorski
2. Promotion
3. Hawthorne
4. Hakim
5. Humans
6. Ensnared
7. Warren
8. Hunting
9. Choices
10. Jane Doe
11. Code Names
12. Rescue
13. Probation
14. Orion
15. Gloria
16. The Docks
17. Lies
18. Secrets
19. Allies
20. Problems
21. Pressure
22. Rupture
23. Gathering
24. Deadlines
25. Countdown
26. Infiltration
27. Eridanus
Thank You
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Synthetic (adj)
– produced by humans rather than natural processes.
one
Gorski
Thursday, July 2
7:40 pm
It was early.
Traces of sunlight could still be seen in the sky as dusk began to creep through the air. My watch beeped to signify sunset, but I had been up for hours. I hadn’t been able to sleep. Truthfully, I hadn’t been sleeping properly for weeks—not since I’d completed my exams and applied to the open detective position within my precinct. I hadn’t heard anything back yet, which I’d expected, but that didn’t stop my impatience from getting the better of me.
I was young by traditional standards. I’d only just met the requirements to complete the exams. My application was unlikely to be accepted, but that wasn’t a deterrent. If anything, it only motivated me to push harder.
I didn’t care that I only had ten years’ experience, which was the bare minimum required, and I didn’t care that most officers typically waited until they had fifteen or twenty years under their belts before bothering to apply. I had never been one to let traditions stop me. If I had, I wouldn’t be a cop working in the largest and most prestigious precinct within Carneth.
Instead, I would probably still be in school, completing a first or second doctorate degree. I would probably be in a relationship. I would probably be doing something better suited to my smaller stature and “non-physical intellectual capabilities”. I would probably have a better relationship with my parents. I wouldn’t be driving to work before sundown to get started on filing my paperwork while sporting a 9mm semi-auto pistol on my hip and carting blackout gear in the rear of my car with the sunshield up.
But for me, this had never been an option. I wanted to help. I wasn’t entirely sure how or why, but the feeling had always been there, inescapable and etched into my bones. I couldn’t ignore it. I wanted to change the world and make it a better place, and the obvious solution to satisfy that desire was joining the Carneth Police Department—or the CPD, as we call it—to stop crime and make Carneth a safer city.
So that was exactly what I did.
I had been obsessed with cop shows as a child, and I told my parents that I wanted to be a police officer when I was only eight years old. At the time, they had shrugged it off, thinking it was cute while expecting me to grow out of it. They figured my goals would change, and I would become something more “reasonable”. Something better suited to the family’s academic standing and tradition of pursuing higher education. Had they understood just how serious I was, perhaps they would have tried harder to keep me away from it. Perhaps they would have rethought my requests to take self-defence lessons and stopped letting me watch “those ridiculous and unrealistic movies”.
Funny enough, they weren’t entirely wrong.
The movies were unrealistic.
Being a police officer was a hell of a lot more paperwork than I could have ever anticipated and a lot less action and high-speed chases. But I didn’t mind, and I certainly didn’t regret applying to the Academy after graduating from university. It was worth it. I loved it. I didn’t care that my parents thought I was wasting my brain away in what they considered to be a menial beat-cop job—I had always preferred doing something ahead of just thinking about it.
A life of pure academics and research wasn’t for me, even if I could manage it.
I snorted as I carefully changed lanes and made my way onto the highway. My parents had looked devastated when I’d told them that I was accepted to the Academy. It had resulted in a lot of pleading, yelling, and arguments over the years. It wasn’t that being a cop was considered a poor career choice by Reborn in general. Officers of the law had an important role in society—maintaining order, keeping civilians safe, and bettering the community—and some titles within the CPD were actually quite prestigious. It was just that my family, and those like them, who came from scholarly backgrounds focused on scientific advancement, thought municipal law enforcement was a waste of valuable tax dollars. They probably would have given me less of a hard time if I had applied to the Federal Investigation Agency, but I thought it was better to start local.
Initially, my parents chalked my decision up to misplaced aspirations based on false pretenses, and they assumed that I would get bored of the night-to-night grind, then give up after a year or two and return to university to complete a law doctorate. They assumed I would become a lawyer, perhaps a professor, something more respectable in their eyes. Three years in, they started to realize that they were wrong. By the fourth year, they stopped talking to me about my career choice altogether, and by the fifth year, they had begrudgingly made peace with the idea without truly accepting it.
We just didn’t talk about it anymore.
But then again, my father was a theoretical physicist stemming from a long line of multiple PhD holders who all worked in academic research. My mother was an engineer who had her doctorate in aerospace science. She was currently working for a company developing space flight systems with goals of reaching the moon. And my brother was a software engineer working for a massive financial institution. It was difficult for them to understand me. I was, and always had been, the odd one out in the family.
Well, the odd one out in most situations. It had bothered me when I was younger, but I learned to ignore it and push ahead because I liked being a police officer, and it was the nearest I’d ever come to feeling like I belonged.
By the time I reached the downtown core and exited the highway, darkness had finally settled in, and the city began to wake. A slow trickle of cars entered the streets. Shop signs turned on, and figures could be seen strolling down the pavement without blackout gear to obtain their first coffee of the night. I slowed as I looked at them.
I knew that my coworker and often assigned partner, Lexie Grace, would be in early tonight. She was going on vacation for two weeks with her husband to celebrate their anniversary early starting Monday, and she had a bunch of paperwork to catch up on that I had promised to help her with.
I eyed a few of the pedestrians carrying steaming paper cups in their hands and bit the inside of my lip thoughtfully. Tonight would be the last night that I would see her for a while, and we could use the caffeine to get through our reports. Checking my mirror, I quickly changed lanes and headed toward the coffee shop just a few blocks from the precinct.
I didn’t exactly have spare cash, what with earning my beat-cop salary, as my brother loved to call it, but I could spare a few dollars to treat myself and Grace to a nice, steaming cup of coffee. Besides, it was a Friday shift, and this week had been long—why not celebrate it being over?
I pulled into the empty drive-thru tunnel and made my way up to the ordering screen, quickly scanning the options and scoffing at the absurd prices on some of the more eccentric beverages.
“Good evening! Welcome to Grindz. How may I help you start your night?”
“Can I get two large black coffees made with synth, please?” I called out through my open window. Getting takeout coffee was one thing, paying for real blood was another, and I could not afford that. Especially not for coffee, where you could hardly even taste the difference.
“Of course!” The female voice crackled through the speaker. “We now offer RealTECH synthetic groupings as part of our
“No.” I let out a quiet sigh. That would make it nearly as expensive as real blood. “Just regular synth is fine, thank you.”
“Alright, two large coffees made with regular synth. Anything else I can get you to start your night?”
“No, thank you,” I responded, watching the overpriced total appear on the screen. “Just the coffee.”
“Perfect, drive up to the next window, and we’ll have those ready for you!”
After handing over my loose change to pay for the coffees and securing them in my two cup holders, I exited the drive-thru tunnel and made my way back onto city streets. It was still quiet outside. One benefit of coming into work so early, I got to miss the late-evening traffic and evade the nonsense of idiot drivers going to work or school. I smiled as I leaned my elbow on the open window frame and felt the warm summer breeze ghost over my pale skin.
A few more turns and one exceptionally long red light later, I reached the precinct and drove into the underground parking garage, quickly rolling up my window to prevent the stale smell of gasoline from filling up my vehicle—this building was incredibly old, and the ventilation in the garage was terrible.
“Evening, Gorski!”
“Evening, Hawthorne!” I called back, placing the two coffees on the roof of my car so I could haul my duffle bag out of the backseat.
“Ooh coffee – must have been quite the week if you’re buying,” Hawthorne said, a small chuckle leaving his lips. I watched him weave his way through the cars toward me. “That second one for me?”
“Not a chance,” I said, slugging the duffle bag over my shoulder; it was nearly as large as I was. “It’s Lexie’s – besides, you hate coffee.”
“I wouldn’t hate it if you bought it for me.” Hawthorne winked, and I rolled my eyes at him. “So when are you going to give up this game and start calling me by my first name?”
“We work together.” I grabbed both coffees again before he could reach for them. “That would be unprofessional.”
“You call Officer Grace Lexie,” Hawthorne pointed out, frowning as he fell into step by my side.
“That’s different.”
“How on earth is that different?” he asked, pressing the button for the ancient elevator and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Because Lexie isn’t trying to sleep with me,” I quipped, grinning up at the look on his face. “And I only do it outside of work. The second I step inside this elevator, she will become Officer Grace. Besides – you call me Gorski.”
“That is because I respect you as a fellow police officer. I value your opinion. I think you are a huge asset to the force, possibly one of the best officers that we have ever had, and thus, I hold you in the highest regard.”
“Sure, alright.” I gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m still not sleeping with you.”
“Even if I told you that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on?” Hawthorne teased as the elevator finally dinged to signify its arrival.
“That would just be workplace harassment,” I said. “Didn’t you go to the HR training session last week? I would have thought that Mallick would have you front and center for that.”
“Hmm,” Hawthorne hummed, stroking his cheek as he pretended to think about his answer and followed me onto the elevator. We both swiped our passcards, then he pressed the button for the eighth floor. “I was there… but I was pretty distracted—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—by the instructor.”
“You’re a pig,” I said, closing my eyes and letting out a sigh as I leaned back against the elevator wall. He was a lost cause, and some days I wondered why we were friends. I turned to look up at his amused smile, the minty scent of his shampoo improving the usual hint of hydraulic oil and grease that lingered in the elevator. Then I elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Honestly, I have no idea how you’re still employed – you’re a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“It truly is one of life’s greatest mysteries,” he mused, ignoring my jab and leaning against the wall by my side.
He towered above me. At just a hair under six feet tall, I was by far the shortest person in the precinct, so I had to crane my neck to roll my eyes at his seven-foot-nine frame.
“But I’ll have you know, despite what you and everyone else here think of me, when I do take someone out on a date, I am quite proper. I would never be this blunt and indecent.”
“Really?” I arched a brow, studying his traditionally handsome bone structure and innocent expression. “So am I just a joke to you then? Practice? An object for your amusement?”
“Careful.” He grinned, his pale green eyes crinkling with his lopsided smile. “You almost sound upset that I might not actually want to sleep with you.”
I turned my eyes away from him and let out a huff.
“You’re lucky I’ve known you since the Academy,” I muttered. “And that I know what you’re really like.”
“Charming? Intelligent? Handsomely good-looking?”
“A degenerate who would make any mother ashamed,” I shot back, and he snorted at my words. “But utterly harmless, and a surprisingly talented ballroom dancer.”
“You swore you would never tell anyone about that – you know what the guys are like here.”
“And I never have.” I turned to look up at him once more, and my eyes narrowed at him. “So why are you here this early anyway? You hate waking up.”
“Ughhh.” He let out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I lost a bet with Hernandez, and now I have to finish our paperwork – which I’m behind on.”
“Behind? Paperwork is the one thing you’re good at. How did that happen?”
“I got stuck on crowd control for the last four nights,” Hawthorne groaned. “The protests downtown got a bit larger than they anticipated, and they needed an extra crew, so Hernandez and I were added to the list.”
I frowned as I looked at him, truly looking this time and taking in his exhausted appearance. There were slight bags under his eyes, and he looked paler than usual. He gave me a weak smile, and my gaze locked to his teeth as he closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath. His fangs were a bit more prominent than usual. As with the other signs of fatigue he showed, it wasn’t overly noticeable, but I had always been attentive to detail, and they were definitely longer and more pronounced, which was never a good thing.
“Hawthorne,” I said, my voice low as the elevator slowed. “When was the last time you ate?”
He cracked an eye open to look down at me and shrugged. “I dunno, sometime the other night? I think I forgot to eat dinner. I just went right to bed when I got home.”
“Here.” I shuffled the coffees in my hands to reach for my vest as I followed him off the elevator and onto our floor. I paused just off to the side and flicked open one of the many pockets, pulling out a small silver packet. “Take these. They’re not fancy like the ones that Grace stocks. It’s just a cheap synth mixture, but it will tide you over until you can grab some proper food.”
“Gorski, you don’t have to. I can just grab something from my desk and—”
“We both know that you don’t keep anything at your desk,” I said, thrusting the two sealed tablets into his chest. “And once we get in there and you get started on those folders, you’re going to have a hell of a time trying to leave to go pick up food. I don’t need you going depraved on me or having Mallick think you’re draining. You could lose your job over that.”
He snorted again, but his eyes softened as he smiled down at me. “Thanks, Gorski. You’re always looking out for me.”
“Someone has to.”
I rolled my eyes as he clapped me on the back and took the tablets from my hand. It was a habit he had developed during our days at the Academy, and I had never really understood it.
“So, did anything happen when you were there at the protests?”
“Thankfully nothing too bad,” Hawthorne said, unwrapping the first gelatin cube and popping it into his mouth as we started to make our way across the empty floor toward our desks in the northeast corner. Day shift was still out on patrol, so there would be another solid hour of silence before night shift started to arrive and shift change began.
