Two corpses, one name.

Britt had almost grown accustomed to machinery failing around him. He was never very fond of technology to begin with, and as much of a walking cliché he might be, he accepted it in stride. Mankind had functioned well enough for the thousands of years before all of this technology was invented, so why did they need it, now? Kingdoms had been built and had fallen by way of hard copy and analog recordkeeping; which is why Britt liked it. He could depend on it. It was faithful.

This is the best reason that he could come up with for being so frustrated with the corpse in front of him. He knew, in the far recesses of his mind, that he needed to grieve for this stranger. Society demanded that he respect this recently departed individual, but he could find nothing but irritation. The machine that identified Jane Summers back in the music shop was lying, and there was little reason to believe that the computer would not lie again. Despite the claims by the technologically enlightened, he was sure that this computer, as well as all the others, knew very well what they were doing; the smug way they sat on the computer shelves planning his demise. If he had any way of identifying Jane Summers beyond a shadow of a doubt or computer screen, then he could have solved this case within a few minutes.

Britt let out a deep sigh. If it weren't for the unique nature of this case, and the victims therein, he would not have even remotely been aloud to stand in the virtual environment he was in, now. A couple of decades ago, the Concerned Citizens for Privacy activist group successfully convinced the government to pass a law that dictated that personal property and living quarters (without concent) were off limits to holomatrix activities. This, naturally, created an uproar online, driving free information activists to post any holocaptured, private property they could find online -- free for anyone to download. By doing so, although the quality of work decreased significantly, it's availability skyrocketed. Laws were passed to protect the innocent's home from being holocaptured, but the damage had been (and continued to be) done. Your home, in its tangible state, was safe enough -- but anyone who knew a thing or two about the 'net and could (atleast momentarily) ignore their morality was free to experience it almost as authentically as you did. Your favorite chair could very well also be the favorite chair of a serial killer.

In this instance, here, Britt felt confident that he could plead his case. He still wasn't sure who Jane Summers was, nor did he know if she still lived. The corpse in front of him offered no comfort nor proof of Jane Summer's existence. The computers were still, even now, lying to him.

The wounds on Jane Summers looked recent. He leaned into his ankles as he knelt down to get a closer look at the body. This Jane was covered in cuts and bruises and sported a significant gash in her back, again near her left kidney. That much seemed significant.

Sure enough, this Jane Summers looked nothing like the first one. This vic was about 22, Britt estimated, and had long, straight blond hair. She was wearing a bathrobe and black undergarments, barely peeking out from beneath her cotton garments. There was -- so far -- not a single clue he could fit to a pattern, save for the stab wound near her left kidney.

"Bloop!" Britt heard from behind him, followed by a, "Ooooh, shoot. Britt! You beat me to it," The voice belonged to Officer Michaels. He had arrived in a blink of light to the holomatrix, likely in hopes of finding this peice of the puzzle before Britt. As per usual, Michaels was falling behind the investigation.

"I thought you were just being a jerk," Michaels continued, pulling a clipboard from his shirt.

"I wish that's all that I was doing," Britt said, laying his face in his hands. He activated his passive scans, and the warm glow of the Virtual Sensory Input Field (V-Sif) came to life. Sure enough. Jane Summers. Credit AA++. The White Album. "The data itself seems sound," Britt continued, "the question, now, is why two people are pointing to the same identity."

"It wouldn't be the first time. That's been happening for hundreds of years," Michaels replied, cocking an eyebrow.

"Not in a long, long time," Britt reassured, "the system is sound enough that it shouldn't happen anymore."

"Well," Michaels began, "smarter fools and all that."

Britt was slightly amused that Michales considered that a valid argument. It's true that the system had been compromised before, but not since the more recent security measures had been put in place. The law was finally at a place where people didn't have to worry about thier idenfitication being used without their knowledge, even if the holocaptures of their homes could be.

Britt sighed again. He found it helped him clear his head.

"What is it?" Michaels asked, "If it's the blood, you can activate your Censory Routine again."

"No, no," Britt responded, "it's nothing like that. I just really, really hope this is actually Jane Summers. She deserves to be put to rest," he finished. This, of course, was a lie. Britt just wanted to stop being audience to the fallability of technology. He wanted to see a system at work that, well, worked. Not one that lead them in a red herring chase across the Neuroplane.

Britt stood to his feet and dusted himself off. He wanted around a bit, seemingly aimlessly. It, of course, was not aimless, but was merely being done in the interest of combing the virtual environment for The White Album. That was the key to the whole case, as best Britt could surmise.

Find the album. Find the girl. Crack the case.

This was Britt's mantra. It's all that was keeping him going at the moment.