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Lady Jingling Drifter
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I’m almost ready to leave, just putting on my hearing aids, when I feel the mind of someone else within the Aggregate clumsily barrel into mine. Sharp terror and unease roll through my body in waves, like someone’s struck a tuning fork in my chest. It’s harder to breathe, suddenly.
What the hell WAS that? Did someone just DIE? the owner of the horrible wave of anxiety asks. We should call the cops, right? I mean, I don’t exactly trust the cops to do jack shit, but -
I am the cops, I tell him, before he can go on.
Oh. Haha, shit, sorry. Are you, like, investigating, or what?
Sort of. I check my makeup one last time in the mirror by the door. Are you new? It’s rude to connect like this with people you don’t know very well.
I - uh, yeah, he says, sounding sheepish. Sorry. I just got off work and my boyfriend’s asleep and I’m kind of freaking out about, uh, the whole murder thing. So I was kinda looking for anyone close by who knew what was going on.
He does sound new. Really new. And there’s no faking the anxiety he’s feeling. I could offer to let him ride along in my head to the station, I suppose, even though we don’t know each other. The Aggregate is supposed to be familial like that, everyone helping each other. Or, if he really is close by, I could meet up with him in person.
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