Naturally Artificial

By Sean Casey

Detective Ben Easter is a hard-boiled police officer in a dystopic future underground city. Ben sees the world collapsing around him and is doing his best to clean up a small piece of the world, but he struggles to deal with the changing world mentally, morally, and physically.
Detective Peter Willow is an aggressive and friendly officer partnered with Ben. Peter feels at home in the dark and intimidating caves and is the opposite of Ben. Peter’s tactics and personality clash with Ben and make it difficult for them to work as a team.
Fredrick Wormwood is the heir to a tunnel construction empire, and he has been kidnapped. Fredrick was about to unveil his new project, which he promised would change underground life forever. Who would dare to take such a powerful and dangerous man? Was it a daring plot for money? Was it an old enemy, finally getting even? Was it a sibling making a grab for power?
Ben and Peter investigate the case, piecing together the strange life and disappearance of Fredrick. Medical technology has given humans near-immortality through clone organ transplants. Androids serve humans as drivers and housekeepers, and the surface of the earth has become uninhabitable. Ben and Peter must navigate their strange and uncertain society searching for Fredrick, unsure of who they can trust. Together, they discover a sinister plot to take over a mega-corporation and learn of a dangerous cover-up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369413821

Sean Casey

Sean Casey is a major in the U.S. military with two combat tours in Iraq currently pursuing a career in professional communications. He is the former Director of Marketing for Discussion Partner Collaborative and presently a public relations consultant. He is the author of the blog Sean May Be Heard and contributor to Executive Transitions-Plotting The Opportunity! Sean can be reached at [e-mail] or via Twitter:@seancasey442

Book preview

Chapter 1

I was in my office looking at the ceiling because I didn’t really have anything to do. Most exciting jobs are boring most of the time. Most of the time, firefighters just sit around, waiting for fires or training. For years of their lives, surgeons and doctors are just reading books, learning what to do if something goes wrong. You will spend a lot of time doing boring things, no matter what kind of life you lead.

When I first moved into my office, I was not sure what to put on the walls. Should I put up a picture of the president or the CEO of the police? That seemed like a very old-world thing to do, but it didn’t seem right to put up anything else. I did not have any family pictures I wanted to display. I didn’t have any kids to hang pictures of. It seemed wrong to put up movie posters or sports memorabilia. In the end, I left the walls blank. They were the same blue walls as the rest of the police structure. The blank walls make the office seem bigger, but not in a good way.

I was a rank-nine police detective. Police forces in the old America were very convoluted in their ranking names. The new naming system was simple: the new, stupid, or just bad detectives were given rank one. The hardened, experienced, smart, and capable officers earned the rank ten. Rank tens got the most important cases, and all other cases were handed down accordingly. It was very prestigious to be rank nine. It would be more prestigious and financially rewarding to be rank ten.

My assistant, Hailey, stuck her head through my office door. The lawyers said that they will be here in half an hour or so, she said.

Sure, I grunted. Thank you for letting me know.

Hailey left and closed the office door behind her. At my rank, I had two people who worked directly for me. I also had a level-six detective named Martin Green, who helped with my cases. It was a relatively small staff, but I liked to keep it simple.

I was incredibly tired. I had been working fourteen-hour days for the last two weeks with little success in the case.

I pulled out my phone and turned it on. I scrolled through a bunch of useless apps and found a video.

I found an old cartoon from when I was a child. Surfaceman, the title card said in bright green-and-red letters. Surfaceman was an old animated TV show. It was a superhero show with bright-colored animation and catchy pop music. Surfaceman was the story of a man who ventured onto the surface without any protective gear. Instead of killing him, the pollution and radiation gave him superpowers. Surfaceman would run through the tunnels in his red-and-green suit to fight evil and protect justice. I choose a random episode and hit play.

The screen displayed a green landscape. The sky was an emerald green, while the clouds were a light pink. The screen was showing a dead forest next to a lifeless small pond. The trees had no leaves, but their dead trunks had an ironically leafy green. The pond was the color of seaweed but also lifeless.

An insectoid, human-sized figure scuttled in from the screen’s left. It had bipedal legs like a human but had the upper body of a cockroach with six twitching arms. It had four eyes, but they were all completely black and pupil-less. It had a light-orange body color with a dark-brown shell. It also had a blue mohawk and aviator sunglasses that covered two of his eyes. The sunglasses had bright gold rims.

Buzz! the cockroach said angrily, No one keeps the Rad Roach waiting, especially not the Techno-pterodactyl!

Why so on edge? the Techno-pterodactyl chided from off-screen. He flew into frame from the screen’s right. The creature had the body of a pterodactyl but the head of a robot. The robotic eyes glowed a bright red against the black of the metal.

Because I want to attack the underground dwellers! Rad Roach exclaimed. This was a common theme of the show. A huge fish or mutant cow that lived on the surface attacked the innocent people of the underground, and every week, Surfaceman saved them.

I have a great plan, Techno-pterodactyl said with a wide mechanical grin. We should steal money from the orphans. Who are they going to tell? he asked. Their parents? There was a pause for a laugh track after the dark joke.

Brilliant! Rad Roach agreed. Let’s steal that money from those dumb orphans.

There was a smash cut to a new location. It was Surfaceman’s mansion. The room was cavernous. There were colorful pictures all over the walls. The ceiling was a bright artificial blue, which accented a vibrant-green floor. Many of the pictures on the walls were of old, long-dead ancestors; they were painted by hand. They hung next to more modern photos of parties and living people. A thick piece of glass let in light from the magma outside the room. The glow let the viewer know that they were deep underground and therefore in a wealthy area. A small group of individuals, dwarfed by the size of the room, were having drinks in the corner.

The camera zoomed in on a finely dressed man with white hair and a gray beard. The man received a cup of tea from a butler in a nice suit. The man in the chair across from him was a wide-chinned, muscular man in a tan suit. It was Surfaceman, but he was in his alter ego, Norman Normal.

I don’t know how you do it, Norman! the man with the gray beard exclaimed over his tea. You are both a successful tunnel-builder tycoon and a successful family man.

A little girl in a pink dress ran into the screen, holding a cookie. Look, Dad! the little girl yelled. I baked cookies, and I want you to have one.

Norman Normal let out a broad laugh and took the cookie. I would love a cookie, Norman said with a big smile.

The butler came back from the other room. Mr. Normal, the butler said, you are wanted for a business call in the other room.

Money never sleeps, Norman told his family, and he left the room with the butler. What is it, Montague? Norman asked the butler when they were out of earshot. The butler had an elaborate French backstory that was told in a different episode.

Creatures are attacking from the surface, Montague informed in a dull, professional tone.

Just monsters? Norman asked. I thought it was a business emergency. I am on family time—no interruptions.

But what about the children? Montague asked, alarmed.

I was just kidding, Norman said. Of course, I am going to save the kids. Norman cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled into the other room. Got to get going. Business emergency!

Bye, came a muffled reply from the other room.

In a flash, Norman was in his green-and-red suit. There was a green S on the front with a red border. The rest of the one-piece suit was green with a red belt. The screen showed Surfaceman running down a long hallway, flexing his huge muscles as he moved his gigantic legs.

The screen cut to a small and dirty girl yelling to Surfaceman, Help, those bad guys are stealing all our stuff!

Rad Roach and Techno-pterodactyl laughed as they loaded the children’s belongings into brown sacks. Techno-pterodactyl had no mouth but had a speaker and a screen where his jaw would be. The screen showed open teeth to indicate laughter.

Give the children their stuff back! Surfaceman yelled at the villains.

Never! The roach and dinosaur screamed back.

I use my power of RAD-iation, Rad Roach announced. Rad put his six arms together, and a green laser beam shot out. Surfaceman effortlessly rolled out of the way.

Techno-pterodactyl flew up in the air and swooped down at Surfaceman. Taste the ancient wing with the future power! the pterodactyl screamed. Surfaceman dodged this attack too.

Laser-beam vision! Surfaceman exclaimed, and then red beams shot out of Surfaceman’s eyes. The beams hit Rad Roach in the face and knocked his sunglasses off.

Bright! Rad Roach screamed in dismay. Techno-pterodactyl was on his way back around from his last hit. He honed in on Surfaceman again and raised his reptilian claw to slash Surfaceman. Surfaceman grabbed Techno-pterodactyl by the wing as he came back and redirected the pterodactyl’s flight into Rad Roach. Both villains screamed as they collided with each other. The show added the sound effect of bowling pins being knocked over.

The orphans opened the brown bags and took back their teddy bears and xylophones from the thieving villains.

Surfaceman checked his watch. Still got some time to spend with my daughter before she has to go to bed. Surfaceman ran back in the direction he came from as the orphans looked on with cheers.

There was a cut, and Surfaceman raced into the cavernous room from before. Only Montague, the butler, was in the room now. Surfaceman was dressed as Norman Normal again. Little Suzie has gone to bed, sir, Montague informed Norman. It was her bedtime.

Nooo! Norman yelled as he dropped to his knees. Who will make me cookies now?

I could make you cookies if you want, sir, Montague informed Norman.

OK, Norman said, and the show cut to credits.

I had more time to kill, but I wasn’t in the mood for more cartoons. I flipped to a documentary show. The show was called Little Billy Explains. It was a documentary show narrated by an eleven-year-old boy named Little Billy. The show had been on the air for years, and the program had gone through several Billys, but they always acted and sounded the same.

Today, I am going to learn about digging tunnels, a high-pitched voice announced. The bright-blue logo of the show was shown against a dark tunnel lit by lanterns. The screen showed the names of several producers or executives while childish music played.

The view switched to a small Billy wearing an oversized orange construction vest. Hello, everybody, the little boy announced to the camera. Today, I’m gonna learn about the tunnels and how they work and stuff.

The screen changed to a bright forest in the old world. This is what the world used to look like a long time ago. Billy narrated off camera. A bunch of people polluted and blew stuff up and wrecked the air—so this. Billy paused for a moment. The screen changed to a green wasteland with husks of dead trees dotting the landscape. Became this. There was a pause before Billy spoke again. There was a quiet rustle as the wind blew through the skeletal trees. Billy’s voice continued narration, When we could not, like, live on the surface anymore, we needed to find a new place to live. Billy’s voice paused again, and the screen changed to the cement gray and black of the tunnels. People had to live underground and stuff no matter which planet they went to. Like they could have gone to the moon or Mars or stuff, but they would still just basically live in the same cement tunnels. So people were like ‘Why not just stay here?’ and everyone was like ‘Yeah, it is cheaper, so we will just dig up the ground here,’ and we did.

The screen showed Little Billy standing next to a much larger construction worker. I am here with construction worker Bob, and I’m going to ask him about the tunnels and stuff, Little Billy said in a cheerful voice.

My name is Robert, but I go by Bob, and I am a construction worker, construction worker Bob said from the background.

So how do you dig the tunnels? Construction worker Bob, what kind of tools do you use? Little Billy asked construction worker Bob. Billy raised the microphone as high as he could above his head, but Bob still had to lean down to speak into it.

My name is Robert. I rarely go by Bob, the construction worker began. The TV channel disagreed because they gave him a title card that read Construction Worker Bob.

We use big drills and explosives to break up the rocks, construction worker Bob continued. We use computers, of course, to make sure it is all safe. But we break up the rocks. Then we use big lifts to carry the rock up to the surface. The camera panned up and down to show that there was no ceiling in the tunnel. Far above Little Billy and construction worker Bob, you could see a glint of the sky. The sky was a pleasant lime green.

So you use these big machines to take the rocks to the surface? Little Billy asked Bob.

Yes, they are powered— Bob responded, but the microphone was pulled from his face before he could finish is answer.

Could we ride on it? Billy asked Bob.

Yes, Bob said in a very scripted way.

The camera cut again to Billy and Bob wearing hazmat suits. They were standing in a small metal box with tiny box windows. If you looked closely, you could see movement through the windows of the cars.

So is this safe? Billy asked Bob.

Bob seemed surprised by this question. Yes, Bob said in a slightly rushed, slightly panicked way, all these tunnels are extremely safe. There are very rarely any collapses. Our company is especially safe. Bob was sweating a bit.

What about that collapse a few months ago in New Seattle? Little Billy asked and raised the mic to Bob.

The collapse in New Seattle—thoughts and prayers—was the result of an unregistered old digging from a hundred years ago. Our tunnels are completely safe, Bob responded.

So people don’t have to worry about that with your Worm Construction tunnels then? Billy asked.

No, Worm tunnels are very safe. Bob cooled down visibly when he realized this was not a surprise, in-depth digging interview. Worm tunnels—the worms know how to dig, Bob recited his company’s slogan.

What about the tragic collapse in Deep Lakota? Billy asked Bob about a different disaster.

The tragic events of Deep Lakota were carried out by evil terrorists, but Worm tunnels are extra reinforced to withstand explosions and structural failure. Bob nodded as he said this as if to be reassuring.

That is good, Billy said. Then, immediately, he asked, How do you make the tunnels with the glow walls? Billy questioned.

You must be thinking of the deep-earth construction, Bob answered. We don’t work that deep here. You will have to talk to someone in— The scene cut abruptly, and Little Billy was standing with a man in a lab coat.

This is my friend Steve the Scientist, Little Billy announced to the camera.

Hello, Steve said as he waved his hand.

We are deep down, Billy announced, and he moved to show the camera the wall. The wall gave off a warm red glow. What is that light? Billy asked scientist Steve.

The iron out there is in a liquid state, and it is very hot, Steve explained to Billy, so it gives off light you can see through a special type of building material.

Cool, Billy stated, then asked, How do you dig these things?

That is a great question, Steve said. We don’t really dig them. We push a hole in the lava, then harvest energy to make the hole solid and permanent. It takes a lot of science and math and computer technology, but with all these tools, we can venture farther than ever before. We can create deeper and safer tunnels. Steve smiled into the camera as he said this; he obviously practiced.

I saw that there was a news flash in my inbox. I turned off the old education video and switched to a news report. The video showed a man wearing a suit and holding a microphone. The man had neatly combed brown hair, and there was some dust caught in it from the ceiling of the chamber.

"Ethan Bitz here, reporting for Now News! Ethan shouted into the camera. The sounds of drills mixed in with the sound of Ethan’s voice. There is not yet an official death count in what is being called the New Duluth massacre. A huge section of the habitat, spanning five to seven levels depending on conflicting reports. Dozens are dead. The camera widened and showed someone next to Ethan. It was a small woman in a cozy knit sweater. She had a terrier on a short pink leash. I am here with Mrs. Yedead, a witness to this terrible tragedy. What did you see, Mrs. Yedead?"

I was walking my baby Sammy, Mrs. Yedead began, gesturing toward her dog, when the walls just started shakin’. I was so startled I fell over, and Sammy ran away. Thank god, I was able to find Sammy.

You must realize many lives and homes were lost, Ethan hinted to Mrs. Yedead.

Oh yes, of course, Mrs. Yedead said. But I didn’t lose my stuff because I live over in that direction. Mrs. Yedead pointed off into the distance. And my husband is at work, so he should be safe. I was just out because little Sammy needs his exercise. Otherwise, he will be fats-watsy. Yes, he will. Yes, he will. Mrs. Yedead nodded and smiled at the terrier. As she spoke, she was talking to the dog and not to Ethan. The dog jumped up and down in excitement. Little Sammy was completely unaware of his near-death experience.

The camera pulled back to Ethan Bitz. New reports are coming in about the area of the collapse. Levels of damage vary widely from level to level. Some layers sustained damage to square kilometers of habitat. Other levels suffered only a few square meters of collapsed area. Investigators from the Civil Engineering Planning and Regulatory Agency still have not released the cause of the collapse. Ethan stopped talking. He paused for a moment, then pointed off to the right. The camera turned and showed a group of engineers standing around huge drills and dump trucks. They were clustered in groups, tapping on tablets. They were trying to find a safe way to remove the earth. They would try to find any survivors, but there were not high hopes. I turned the screen off. I knew that I should be reviewing the details of the case.

Chapter 2

My years of experience on the job and hard work had made me a rank-nine detective. I was investigating a serial killer in my current case. The killer struck in the upper layers of the tunnels; he hit impoverished areas with poor surveillance and security. I flipped through my tablet to review pictures of the case.

The first picture in my case file was a victim named Amanda Mox. Amanda was twenty-five years old when she died. She was in a mostly empty tunnel very close to the surface. She died on level ten, but she lived even closer to the surface on level nine. That far up, housing was cheap, but it was dangerous. The tunnels closest to the surface were the oldest and, therefore, the most prone to collapse. They also had higher levels of radiation. The filtration systems kept that out in the lower levels, but you could still get lung cancer from the air when you were close to the surface. In a neighborhood like that, there were many suspects. I looked at the sad picture of Amanda’s broken body. A promising life cut short. Her dark hair was a mess and coated with sticky dark blood. She was wearing a light-purple sweater. She had been completely unaware of what would happen that day when she got dressed. At first, this case got handed to a pair of incompetent level-two detectives; the family did not have enough money to make the case important. That changed very quickly.

I flipped to the next file on my tablet. Four days after Amanda died, there was a second victim. A young woman named Emily Clair. She also had long hair like Amanda. Emily had red hair, in contrast with Amanda’s black hair. She was found on level nine; the killer had ventured higher this time. Emily’s killing had a link to the death of Amanda. Both women had a short lock of their hair cut out by their killer. No one made this connection until long after Emily’s death. The level twos were barely qualified to be police officers. The connection between the killings would not be noticed until the fourth victim. None of the low-level detectives assigned to the case had any leads.

I flipped to the next set of images on my tablet. The picture showed the fifth victim, Alexandrea Tera. She had blood in her curly blonde hair. The case moved up the chain at this point. Level fives and sixes produced suspects, but the killings continued. Sevens and eights tried even harder—they arrested and held almost a dozen people—but the killings continued. By the time this case reached me, seventeen women had died.

Most of the normal routes of investigation had been exhausted by the time the case reached me. Surveillance cameras had been reviewed, but no suspects had been identified. DNA samples had been taken, but there were no DNA strands but the victims’. Locals in the poor neighborhoods had been harassed, but no one said anything because no one knew anything. The killer had made very few mistakes. Seventeen samples are a lot of data to analyze. I expanded the search. I looked for all security footage around where the victims were found. Hundreds and hundreds of cars drove in the areas near the body, most of them purely by chance. Many of these people had already been interviewed in the investigations of previous officers. I identified one man who appeared in random cars multiple times. He was first photographed in a Toyota Wormrider near the murder of Emily Clair. I had a picture of the man in the black sedan driving near the murder scene, seemingly purely by accident. I investigated him. His name was Robert Yoke, and Robert had no reason to be so close to the surface.

Robert was an executive in an advertising company and earned a respectable salary. He lived on level forty, and he worked on level forty-five. No respectable businessman would wander into such a bad neighborhood. Robert was photographed next driving a Chevy BlackBear. Robert sat high in the truck with big aviator sunglasses on. Robert might have been noticed by some of the earlier investigations, but he had never been questioned. This could have been because he was too peripheral to the investigation to be worth talking to. But I do not think that is the reason. I think no one questioned Robert because he was too important to accuse without direct evidence. He had simply been pushed to the side in every investigation. He was driving a Ford Hyper in a nearby street when Stacy Word had been murdered. Then he was photographed by a street camera near where Nancy Shell was killed, again riding the Toyota Wormrider.

My thoughts were interrupted by someone entering my office. It was Commissioner Jordan, a balding large man who oversaw all investigations in this area. Jordan opened the door with a sharp twist and jerked it open. He slammed the door behind him as he pulled his mass into my office. Do you think that just by stirring the pot, you are going to prove you’re not incompetent? The management is fuming mad about this! Jordan accused.

Did you know that knocking was invented hundreds of years ago? I informed Jordan.

You need to take me seriously, Jordan snarled at me. You may think you are all high and mighty with your level nine, but you still need to listen to the brass.

And what is the brass saying? I questioned Jordan. Is the brass telling me not to investigate a possible serial killer because he is too rich and important? I put Jordan’s unspoken meaning into words.

You know that is not what I am saying, Jordan defended himself.

Then what did you come into my office for? I accused.

I am just here to tell you to be careful, Jordan told me. You are on thin ice. People want results and not controversy. Jordan ripped open the door again and stormed out.

You don’t become a level nine by caving into every hotheaded commissioner. I wasn’t worried about Jordan. All the time I had spent awake was starting to get to me. I had a minifridge in my office, and I checked it for an energy drink. I opened the door and was disappointed to find it empty. There was a machine down the hall, and I decided to get one from it. I was really craving a cigarette too. All my vices were hitting me at once.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The brand was Sunlight Leaf, and the cigarettes were in a green-and-red container. The writing on the pack was stylized like the Old West. The pack was only half full and a bit crumpled. I pulled out one of the cigarettes and lit it up. The rush of nicotine made me feel calm for a moment. I stood up from my swivel chair and walked to the office door. It was time to get an energy drink to wake me up.

I opened the door more gently than Jordan. I slipped out the door into the hallway outside. Jordan had not moved away from my office. He had caught an officer named Jane and was chewing her out over something. Jordan’s eyes moved from Jane to me, and his anger only increased.

Ben, is that a cigarette? Jordan yelled. You know you can’t do that in here. Put that darn thing out.

I pulled the flaming tobacco from my mouth and put it out on the metal rim of a trash can. Then I threw the butt into the garbage.

You are already on thin ice, Jordan said as he pointed his finger at me. Make sure you don’t fall, though. Jordan stormed off in a huff.

You caught him on the warpath, Jane reported to me. I guess he has had to deal with a lot of crap today.

That does not excuse his behavior, I told Jane.

You look rough, Jane told me.