Altered Perception

Singleton Monroe had to suck in his stomach as he crept between the crates haphazardly packed into the Butcher's storage unit. 

Man, he thought sardonically. I need to lose some weight. 

However, as Monroe continued to squeeze through the metal crates and boxes, he began to give the thought some real consideration. His coat continuously caught on the pointed corners of the packages he tried to pass. Absent-mindedly, he gripped onto a box for stabilization. As his hand slid away, the sharp edges of the crate tore into his glove, exposing his flesh.

Monroe's partner, Jacob Hansley, had a much easier time slithering through the compacted maze. Thanks to his skinny frame, he could swerve and turn through the mess without issue. The movement was almost graceful, like a dancer's. 

Monroe grimaced as he pulled his coat away from the clinging corner of another box. I need to lose some weight, he thought again. Perhaps I should take Jacob up on his offer and go to the gym with him.  

The space in the storage unit opened up the deeper one descended into it, a fact for which Monroe was grateful. By the time he reached the area, Hansley was already searching through the crates and packages. 

"Man," said Monroe. "The Butcher sure owns a lot of shit."

Hansley nodded in agreement. "He sure does. This storage unit is packed. I can hardly believe you made it through." 

A soft chuckle escaped Monroe's lips. "Better than being a stick like you. You probably have to run around in the shower to get wet," he teased. 

A smirk rested on Hansley's face as he continued to rummage through the boxes. 

"You know," Monroe said. "It's a miracle that we got the tip about this place. Despite being behind bars, Mike' the Butcher' Madison still holds a lot of influence in this city. I mean, most of our officers won't arrest his lackeys, and even if they do, our DA won't prosecute. Hell, I even heard a rumor that he has bribed his prison guards to allow him a phone and television."

Hansley snorted. "Half of our city's law enforcement is controlled by his money."

"True," Monroe agreed. "That's why I'm so surprised that the owner of this storage company didn't go feet up. He's lucky he made the report to a clean officer.”"

"Sure is."

Silence lingered between the two as they continued their search through the boxes. So far, the two found nothing besides mundane personal belongings—old silverware, dusty family photos, and old clothing. Ten minutes in, Monroe began to question if they would find anything. The stars align for us, and we have nothing to show for it. 

Monroe was combing through a crate of old porn magazines when Hansley's excited voice broke through the quiet. "Singleton! Check this out." 

Monroe rushed to his partner's side. Hansley hovered over an open crate holding small, plastic bags of yellow powder. Some of the bags, Monroe noted, were torn, making the rest clouded, grainy, and caked with lemon-colored dust. 

"Do you know what this is?" Hansley asked. 

Monroe nodded. It was vrem. Just one pinch of the stuff was enough to change one's perception of time. Users of vrem could relive their past and experience visions of their future. 

Monroe thought about when his station's coroner, Doctor Howiet Furber, explained the drug and its effects in more detail. 

"Vrem is extracted from the Exteriores discovered by Roscosmos years ago. The surface of their skin secretes vrem in a slimy, liquid form, but, after vrem farmers collect it, they dry it up to make it more palatable for human consumption."

Monroe remembered being astonished at this information. Like everybody else on Earth, he had only seen the Exteriores through the blurry photographs taken by NASA and Roscosmos. They were nothing special—just white orbs floating around in the black void of space. While his mind subtly acknowledged their existence, he never gave them too much thought. They were just too distant. He never imagined that they, or their byproduct, would affect the world in any way. 

"Great," Monroe said. "So people are snorting alien shit. But that doesn't explain why that makes their perception of time so distorted." 

Doctor Furber spoke in a patronizing tone. "Detective Monroe, did you know that the Exteriores experience the past, present, and future simultaneously?"

Monroe let out a gruff laugh. "How do they do that?" 

"Simple—they occupy the past, present, and future at once."

"Those silly orbs?" 

Doctor Furber shook his finger. "That is only a small part of them we are seeing, Monroe. The rest of their forms exist in the past and in the future. Some biologists even think that the Exteriores are all part of a single being whose full figure is spread out across time, a being we could only see in full if we had the same perception of time as it has."

Monroe nodded his head slowly. "I think I get it… So then, when people snort this vrem, they see what the Exteriores see—simultaneous glimpses of past, present, and future."

"Precisely." 

"Do you know how much this costs?" Hanley asked. 

Monroe had to shake his head to bring himself to the present. Absent-mindedly, he stroked one of the bags with his torn glove. "Millions. Perhaps more. No wonder Mr. Madison is so rich. But it makes me wonder—how did he get it here? This stuff is highly controlled. Sure, it's rampant in Russia, but American customs have been hard asses about it all, going so far as to employ an army of drones to patrol the borders and automatons to rigorously search each shipping vessel. It's hard to trick drones and automatons. It doesn't make sense." 

"It doesn't need to make sense," said Hanley. "All we need to worry about is getting this vrem back to the station. When we do, the chief will have to call the FBI, the DEA, and a bunch of other alphabet-soup organizations. Let them worry about that. 

Monroe nodded. "You're right. Let's go."

A gruff voice suddenly boomed behind them. "Not so fast, gentlemen." 

Monroe and Hanley turned around. Standing approximately three meters away from them was a bald man with a thick, muscular frame. He had a sharp goatee and a callous glare. In his right hand, he held a chromium-coated pistol. 

"The Butcher will be taking that," he said.  

Before Monroe could comprehend what was happening, the man pointed his weapon at Hanley and shot. A crimson bolt shot out of the barrel and crashed into Hanley's chest. Immediately, the man's body became limp, and he fell to the ground. His coat and shirt were black from the laser's impact. 

The Butcher's thug didn't have the chance to turn his weapon on Monroe before Monroe grabbed his own pistol and, his hands shaking, shot blindly at the man. Thankfully, the beam hit the goon in the face. His face was charred, and his eye sockets glowed an ember-like orange as he fell backward. 

Monroe returned his weapon to its holster and rushed to Hansley's side. "Jacob," he yelled, shaking the limp man's shoulders. "Jacob!"

There was no response.

Tears began to swell in Monroe's eyes. "Jacob!" 

*     *     *

"I don't think I can do it. That girl's too good for someone like me."

Hanley nudged Monroe on the shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Don't sell yourself short like that. You're a cop. Girls like cops."

Monroe and Hanley were getting a quick drink at the Trinity Bar at the end of a long shift. Thankfully, this was their last shift of the week, so they wouldn't have to worry about nursing a hangover for the next one. 

Monroe shook his head. "We're just highway patrolmen. Women don't want a pee-on like me. They want the guys taking on real cases, the guys taking on the Butcher."

"She doesn't have to know exactly what you do," Hanley said with a chuckle. 

"No. She'll see right through me." 

Hanley nudged Monroe again, this time harder. "Listen. I don't want to hear that doubtful talk from you again, Monroe. Get a drink of liquid courage and go talk to that girl."

Monroe wasn't sure what it was, but something in Hanley's words invigorated him. He felt an energy trickle up the nerves of his arms and back. "You know what. You're right. I'm going to do it!" 

Without another word, Monroe took a swig of his beer and approached the pretty brunette sitting at the corner table of the bar. 

*     *     *

"You know, Singleton and Lesley would never have met if it weren't for me," said Hanley.

Monroe let out a soft groan. He knew that Hanley was going to bring this up. He was about to roll his eyes when Lesley Miller—now Lesley Monroe—squeezed his fingers tenderly with hers. Monroe turned toward her and smiled. Man, she looks so beautiful in white. 

Hanley went on to tell the story of Monroe and Lesley's first meeting at the Trinity Bar. As expected, there were some embellishments, but Hanley got most of it correct. However, after the story was finished, Hanley went on to say something Monroe didn't expect. 

"I know that it was I who had pushed him that night three short years ago, but I have to tell you—it is Singleton who pushes me to be a better person every day. Never in my life, before or after my time in the police force, have I met anybody as genuinely kind and brave as Singleton here is. New Haven City, sadly, is filled to the brim with those pushing and seeking drugs, many of whom society has forgotten. But Singleton here—he treats these people with the same respect and courtesy he would you and me. I remember this one time—"

Monroe's smile widened as Hanley's speech continued. He had to blink continuously to prevent the tears from falling onto his cheeks. 

*     *     *

Monroe sighed as he shut his front door behind him. 

"Singleton. You're home." 

Hanley was sitting on the living room couch but rushed over to greet Monroe when he walked in. 

"Hey Jacob," Monroe wearily said. "How were the kids for you?"

"Rachel and Stewart were great. We watched a movie and had some popcorn, and then I sent them to bed," said Hanley. "They haven't come out once, not even for a drink. Can't you believe that?" Hanley let out a short chuckle. "But, more importantly, how's Lesley?"

Monroe sighed again. "The doctors injected the nanobots into her pancreas today. They say they should get rid of all cancer cells within a week. The only problem is that the entire process is painful for her. Apparently, this was expected, and the nanobots are supposed to secrete a cocktail of pain medication and numbing agents as they do their work. The problem is that they don't seem to be working. Lesley has been moaning and groaning all day. My fingers are numb from her squeezing them so hard."

Monroe put his head down and looked to the floor. "I wish I could do something more for her."

Monroe felt Hanley's hand on his shoulder. "That sounds rough, Singleton. Sorry you have to deal with that. Just know this—if you need anything, I'm just a phone call away."

*     *     *

Monroe felt a pat against his side. "Singleton," said Hanley. "Singleton. What was it that you were saying?"

Monroe's body jerked, almost as if he were jolted out of his sleep. "Wuh… What?"

"You were saying something about this not making sense." Hanley brushed his comment aside with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter now. I agree, it doesn’t make sense, but it doesn't need to right now. All we need to worry about is getting this vrem back to the station. When we do, the chief will have to call the FBI, the DEA…"

Monroe's head hurt as he listened to his friend speak. Haven't I heard this before? Didn't he just say this moment ago? 

The gruesome picture of Hanley's body, charred from the heated charge of the laser blast, suddenly flashed through Monroe's mind. Hell, isn't he supposed to be dead? What happened?

Monroe quickly glanced at the box of vrem. Though the bags were cloudy with the powdery substance, one had a clear line as thick as the pad of Monroe's index finger running across it. So I did touch it, Monroe thought. But you have to snort it to get the effects, right? It doesn't absorb through the skin, does it?

Before Monroe could think on the matter any further, a gruff voice sounded behind them. 

"Gentlemen."

Still disoriented from the strange reoccurrence of events, Monroe turned towards the sound. As expected, it was the goon from before. Still, his chromium-coated pistol was pointed toward them. 

Though previously muddy, the sight of the weapon brought Monroe's racing thoughts into focus. Hanley! 

"I believe you have something that belongs to the Butcher," the man said. With this, he turned his pistol toward Hanley. 

As the man's finger pushed down on the trigger, Monroe's thoughts raced back to the memories that the small dose of vrem had taken him through. Hanley giving him the courage to talk to Lesley, the years they worked together, the many times he watched the kids while Monroe was taking Lesley to doctor appointments and procedures. The man had given so much and asked for nothing in return. 

It's about time I return the favor, Monroe thought. 

The barrel of the gunman's beam began to brighten with a crimson glow. Immediately, Monroe leaped. 

The last thing he remembered seeing was a stream of red plasma zooming toward his chest.