Dead Protocol

Act I: The Case

The rain in Port Haven didn't fall so much as hang in the air, a permanent mist that coated everything in a fine layer of salt and regret. Daniel Cross had been a detective for twelve years, which meant he'd spent twelve years watching the city slowly dissolve into its own reflection.

The case came in on a Thursday, delivered through the usual channel: a woman in a coat that cost more than Daniel's apartment, sitting in his office with the kind of calm that usually preceded expensive problems.

"I want you to find out why your colleagues stopped working," she said.

Daniel poured himself coffee from a pot that had been brewing since Tuesday and looked at her. He was used to people asking him to investigate other people's problems. This was different. She wasn't asking him to find someone. She was asking him to figure out why everyone he knew had suddenly stopped being a detective.

"Explain," Daniel said.

"O