August 17, 2025
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The Needle & The Veil
Shadows on 113th Street
The city of Birchfield never really sleeps. It twitches. It jerks. It sweats through the night like a body in withdrawal. On 113th Street, the air smells of rain-soaked concrete, stale urine, and burnt chemicals. In the shadow of the nonprofit’s glass doors, life is cheaper than the needles scattered on the sidewalk.
East 113th Street – Late Afternoon
Some cops say the street tells you everything if you listen. I say the street lies… and the people who own it lie better. Detective Ruby Lee watches from an unmarked sedan, camera lens focused on the entrance to the Who You With Safe Injection Center. A man and woman sway in each other’s arms, oblivious to passing pedestrians.
Detective Ruby Lee (into comms): They’re not even hiding it. Broad daylight, four-thirty in the afternoon.
Detective Robert Anderson (over comms, from a nearby corner): Ruby, that’s not the worst thing happening out here. Look east—truck just pulled up. That’s Los Reyes del Norte’s stash run. Emilio’s got a crew unloading fast.
Detective Dewayne “Smitty” Smith (gravelly tone, leaning against a lamppost across the street): Yeah… and Wei’s boys are watching from that bodega. Two moves away from a shootout. And City Hall thinks the center’s the only problem here.
Detective Ruby Lee: Speaking of City Hall… any word from our inside source?
Detective Dewayne “Smitty” Smith: Podluck’s office says he’s in ‘budget meetings’ all week. Translation: he’s in on something he doesn’t want us near.
Detective Robert Anderson: Keep eyes sharp. Turf wars are loud. Real threats are quiet.
The addicts shuffle in and out like ghosts passing through a wall. No IDs. No questions. They’re handed clean needles, rubber tourniquets, and a safe place to ruin themselves. The politicians call it harm reduction. Ruby calls it marketing.
Alley – Behind The Center
A faint groaning echoes from the shadows. Ruby moves in, gun drawn. A man slumps against the wall, shirt torn open.
Detective Robert Anderson: And we’ve got a serial butcher carving people up behind the scenes. Pick your fire, Lee!
Every detective knows there’s no such thing as one case at a time. The streets write their own rules. And tonight, 113th Street just handed them three—war, corruption, and a killer with a scalpel.
The gunfire faded, leaving nothing but sirens in the distance and glass crunching under boots. Dealers scattered like roaches, blending into shadows and alleys before backup ever showed. On the surface, it looked like another night in Birchfield — crews flashing steel, cops flashing badges. But in this city, the real danger never runs when the cops show up. It hides in the corners, waiting to be found. And Smitty, with all his years in the game, had just stumbled into something no one was ready for.
Smitty (kneeling near a dumpster, flashlight out): Hold up… what the hell is this?
Detective Ruby Lee (stepping over glass, crouching beside him): Looks like… Jesus, is that flesh? Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.
Detective Robert Anderson (grimacing, pulling a glove from his pocket): Careful. Don’t smear it. That’s human skin… wrapped around something metal.
Smitty (lifting it gently with his gloved hand, eyes narrowing): No. Not just metal. Look at the joints — this is a prosthetic. A mechanical hand. And it’s still fused to tissue.
Detective Ruby Lee (disgusted, pulling back slightly): Somebody grafted human flesh onto a robotic frame. That’s not street science. That’s surgical.
Detective Robert Anderson (clenching his jaw, scanning the alley): Surgical, precise… and experimental. This reeks of Siegfried.
Smitty (turning the piece over, noticing fine sutures): Perfect stitches. No tearing, no rough edges. He wasn’t just attaching this. He was testing it.
Detective Ruby Lee (shaking her head, voice low): He’s using addicts like lab rats. Cutting them open, sewing them into machines. God… what kind of mind thinks this is progress?
Detective Robert Anderson (stepping back, looking to the street): The kind that isn’t finished. If this is just a scrap, imagine what the full design looks like.
Smitty (placing the evidence into a bag, voice heavy): This isn’t just a murder investigation anymore. This is something else. Something the city’s not gonna want us touching.
Detective Ruby Lee (locking eyes with him): Too late. We’ve already touched it.
The bag sealed with a quiet click, but the weight of it felt heavier than 10 bulletproof vests. Flesh fused with machine, discarded like trash behind the city’s “safe haven.” It wasn’t just a clue — it was a warning. Someone out there was building something out of addicts, one body part at a time. And in Birchfield, when the street gives you a message, you don’t ignore it… not if you want to live.
“The small things, make all things.” – The Wise Bear
LEGOS & WORDS
We are all inspired by something, me, I am inspired by my childhood, and Legos were a big part of that. Putting word together is the equivalent to building things with Legos. To me at least. Anyway, feel free to check out my blog for some exclusive content that will disappoint you, and more importantly, waste your time.
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