"Is this a joke? I'm filing a complaint. This isn't some supernatural incident—it's an ordinary crime!"
The shadowy figure in the room remained silent under the questioning. The rifle in its hands was as dark as death's shadow in the faint streetlamp light filtering through the window. Its breathing had become mechanical through the air filtration system, and the visor of its fully sealed helmet was as crimson as the blood flowing from the corpse at its feet. The soldier's emotionless eyes surveyed the young man standing at the door through integrated low-light night vision. Sherlock Holmes raised both hands to show that he meant no harm, lest the soldier lurking behind him pull the trigger.
"I was just about to track down where this group was delivering their goods," Sherlock Holmes said irritably. "Hey! I'm unarmed. The person hiding around the corner had better not shoot."
"The First Secret Regiment has taken over the drug smuggling case."
As soon as the words fell, the soldier concealed in the hallway shadows stepped out without a sound. Holding a matte monomolecular-coated combat knife in reverse grip, they pressed it against Sherlock Holmes' back and forcefully shoved him into the room. Holmes felt that the hand against his back possessed neither the roughness of a tactical glove nor the softness of flesh, only the hardness and chill of steel. During the search, that steel prosthetic arm pulled a stun gun from his pocket. Sherlock Holmes shrugged as he watched his defensive weapon being confiscated. However, he strongly insisted on keeping his cigar tube, claiming it was a gift from someone else.
The closer Sherlock Holmes got to the body, the more clearly he could smell the stench emitted by its diseased, tainted blood. By the faint glow of the streetlamp, he saw