The elderly man proffered a hand, asking for Identification. The spry girl extended her wrist, and he scanned her bar-code. When the screen came up mostly blank with Top Secret written in bold letters up top he knew to let her pass.

"Uh...third floor, Special Crimes Unit, room 303. Who are you?"

"Special" was all she responded with a faint hint of a smirk.

____

Detective Jason Falcor's office was like every other one in the bureau of Special Crimes - full of files and thoroughly lived in. The faded upholstery, dusty window shades and collection of Caf mugs told a tale of late hours and many nights asleep on the couch. The sofa wasn't for sitting.

Falcor did manage to keep his office well dusted, and the files were at least stacked in neat, organized piles. It was tastefully, if busily decorated.

Falcor was reading over a file, Centura, about some kind of organized psionic crime ring. They'd hit a couple of cargo ships, only ever taking one or two boxes and never killing anyone. What frustrated Jay was that the internal sensors couldn't register the psions, camera's went fuzzy at exactly the wrong time, and the shipping manifests always neglected to mention the contents of the crates.

Normally this thing would go to Commercial Affairs and that'd be it, but the directorate had sent it to SCU because of the funky computer tricks. Falcor hated computers, he could use them okay, but it was always better to talk with a person, you could learn people's ticks and desires - get them to play to your fiddle. Computers never flinched.

As he was about to put the file down, sigh again, and grab some more Caf he heard a curt knock on the door *rap rap rap*

"Detective? I'd like a word with you.

Its about Centura"

***