Morrigan: Year 3101.

Jacques approached the Parisian Truth building, a towering monstrosity that pierced the smog-choked sky. The skyscraper stretched a dizzying 250 stories high, its twisted form dominating the city's skyline like some alien parasite.

"Architect must've been high on syn-coke," Jacques muttered, craning his neck.

The building's façade was a nightmare of fractured glass and nano-carbon composites, each panel shifting and realigning in real-time. It created a constantly evolving outer skin that reflected and distorted the surrounding cityscape. One moment it mirrored the grimy streets below, the next it shimmered with holographic headlines pulled from the day's news cycle.

At street level, the structure bulged outward, creating a canopy of razor-sharp angles over the entrance. Holographic adverts flickered in the overhang, hawking everything from neural enhancements to off-world vacations.

The building's base was fortified with layers of shock-resistant polymers and reactive armor plating – a necessity in these times. Higher up, the structure tapered and twisted, spiraling towards a needle-like spire that housed a quantum relay array.

As Jacques neared the entrance, he noticed the faint shimmer of an energy field – a last line of defense against unauthorized entry or airborne attacks. The revolving doors were framed by biometric scanners and concealed weapon detectors.

The lobby buzzed with activity, journos and corpo suits mingling like oil and water. Jacques made for the elevators, cramming himself into a packed car.

"Top floor," he grunted, ignoring the dirty looks from the suits as his trenchcoat dripped rainwater on their shiny shoes.

The elevator shot up, Jacques's stomach lurching as it hit Mach 2. The elevator doors hissed open, and he stepped out onto the top floor. The contrast with the grimy streets below hit him like a brick to the face.

"Well, ain't this fancy," he muttered, taking in the scene.

The entire floor was an open-plan nightmare of gray surfaces and holographic displays. Transparent smart-glass partitions shifted and realigned, creating fluid workspaces that pulsed with data streams and breaking news feeds. The air hummed with the barely audible buzz of quantum processors and neural-link interfaces.

Journalists huddled in bio-metric pods, eyes glazed as they dictated stories directly into the building's AI. Others lounged on self-adjusting ergo-chairs, limbs twitching as they navigated virtual reality archives.

The ceiling was a massive holo-display, currently projecting a real-time map of global hotspots and information flows. News tickers crawled along the walls, spewing an endless stream of updates in a dozen languages.

In one corner, a group of reporters argued with a flickering AI avatar - probably some deep-learning fact-checker. Near the windows, a holographic globe spun lazily, peppered with glowing markers of ongoing investigations.

The reception desk stood out like a island of calm. Its curved surface was inlaid with haptic controls and biometric scanners. Behind it, the receptionist's smile looked as artificial as the synthetic plants dotting the office.

Jacques caught a whiff of ozone and chemicals - probably from the air purification system working overtime to handle the sweat, coffee, and God-knows-what else that permeated the place.

"Time to shake some trees," he thought, striding towards the reception desk.

The sooner he found Tanaka, the sooner he could get out of this high-tech hellhole and back to the streets.

A perky receptionist beamed at him from behind the desk. "Welcome to The Parisian Truth! How can I assist you today?"

Jacques flashed his badge. "Detective Moreau. I need to speak with Kazuo Tanaka."

"I'm sorry, Detective, but Mr. Tanaka isn't available at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?"

"Uhm, but you've not even checked your records. How did you know that he's not here?"

A brief moment of silence passed between them as they stared at each other, waiting for one to break the stillness and speak.

"No problem, Detective. I'll check if he's here," she tapped a few keys on her holographic interface. "According in our records, he's out doing an investigative work."

"I see. When will he be back?" Jacques pressed, leaning on the desk.

"I'm afraid I don't have that information," she replied, her cheerful facade cracking. "Mr. Tanaka's schedule is... unpredictable."

Jacques felt his bullshit detector ping. "Unpredictable," his ass. This reeked of a cover-up. Either Tanaka was avoiding him, or someone was keeping the journalist under wraps. The receptionist's plastic smile and evasive answers only fueled his suspicion. He'd have to dig deeper, maybe shake down some of Tanaka's colleagues. One way or another, he'd find the truth hidden behind this wall of corporate secrecy and fake politeness.

"Listen, it's important I speak with him. It's about a case he worked on years ago."

The receptionist's fingers flew over her holo-keyboard. "I can schedule you for a call next week—"

"Bullshit," Jacques cut her off. "I know he's here. Just tell him it's about Margot Lyons."

Her eyes widened for a split second before she regained her composure. "I'm sorry, Detective, but please refrain from that disrespectful tone or I'll be forced to ask security to escort you out of the premises."

He felt his blood pressure spike. This plastic-faced receptionist thought she could intimidate him? He'd faced down cyborg hitmen and rogue AIs. Some corpo drone with a fake smile wasn't about to scare him off. The mention of security was a bluff, he was sure of it. They wouldn't risk the bad press of roughing up a cop. No, this was just another roadblock, another layer of bullshit to wade through. But Jacques had come too far to back down now. He'd get to Tanaka, one way or another. If they wanted to play hardball, he was more than ready to oblige.

Jacques opened his mouth to fire back at the receptionist, but a gravelly voice cut through the tension.

"Marie, did you file those expense reports I sent over?"

An old man with a salt-and-pepper beard and thick-rimmed glasses approached the desk, his eyes glued to a holo-tablet.

The receptionist's demeanor instantly shifted. "Yes, Mr. Dubois. I've processed them and sent them to accounting."

"Good, good," he muttered, still tapping away at his device. "Oh, and can you remind Léo that his expose on the syn-coke trade is due tomorrow? The kid's brilliant, but he'd forget his own head if it wasn't attached."

"Of course, sir. I'll send him a reminder right away." She paused, glancing at Jacques. "Mr. Dubois, this detective was just asking about Kazuo Tanaka."

The old man finally looked up. He studied Jacques for a moment before extending a hand. "Antoine Dubois, Editor-in-Chief. And you are?"

Jacques shook his hand, feeling the surprising strength in the old man's grip. "Detective Jacques Moreau, Homicide Division."

"Homicide, eh? What's this about then? Kaz isn't in any trouble, is he?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm looking into an old case. Thought Tanaka might be able to shed some light on it."

"Old case?" Dubois' interest was clearly piqued. "Which one?"

Jacques hesitated, then decided to lay his cards on the table. Well, most of them anyway. "Margot Lyons. Murdered about five years back. Nasty business."

"Ah, yes. I remember that one. Caused quite a stir at the time," Dubois glanced around the newsroom. "Probably not the best place to discuss this. Why don't we step into my office?"

Jacques nodded, following Dubois through the maze of desks and holo-displays. As they walked, he filled the editor in on the basics – the similarities to his current case, the apparent cover-up, the missing files.

"Sounds like you've hit a few walls," Dubois commented as they reached his office.

"You could say that," Jacques grunted. "Seems like someone's gone to a lot of trouble to bury this case."

Dubois ushered him inside and closed the door. The office was all polished wood and leather, with actual paper books lining the walls. A massive window offered a vertigo-inducing view of the Paris skyline.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to a plush chair as he settled behind his desk. "Now, tell me everything."

Jacques sank into the chair, feeling the tension in his muscles ease slightly. He laid out the facts of his current case – the victim drained of blood, the puncture wounds, the traces of unknown compounds in the bloodstream. He explained how it had led him to the Lyons case and his meeting with Amélie Rousseau.

"I've hit nothing but dead ends and redacted files," Jacques finished. "Thought Tanaka might be able to fill in some gaps."

Dubois leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard. "Kaz did work that case with Amélie. It was... troubling, to say the least. Not just the murder itself, but the pushback they got while investigating."

"Pushback?" Jacques leaned forward. "What kind?"

"Threats, mostly. Veiled at first, then not so veiled. Someone wanted that story buried." Dubois's eyes grew distant. "I've been in this game a long time, Detective. I know when to back off a story and when to push harder. This one... this one scared me. And I don't scare easy."

What kind of power could make a veteran journalist back off? Government? Megacorps? Or something even darker? Jacques' instincts screamed danger, but his curiosity burned hotter. He'd come too far to turn back now.

"So you killed the story?" he asked, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice.

"No, but we... softened it. Stuck to the facts we could prove, left out the more... outlandish elements."

"Outlandish how?"

The old man sighed, reaching into a drawer. He pulled out a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses. "You look like you could use a drink. I know I could."

What had Tanaka and Rousseau uncovered that was so dangerous?

"Mr. Dubois," Jacques said, accepting the glass, "I appreciate the hospitality, but I really need to speak with Tanaka. Where is he?"

Dubois took a long sip before answering. "Kaz is... well, he's off the grid at the moment. After the Lyons case, he got a bit... paranoid. Started digging into things best left buried. About a month ago, I assigned him a new case to fill. Next day, he didn't show up for work. Haven't heard from him since."

Jacques felt his stomach drop. "A month? Have you filed a missing persons report?"

"Don't worry. Kaz does this sometimes. Goes dark when he's working a big story. But..." he trailed off, looking troubled.

"But what?"

"But never for this long. And never without leaving me some way to contact him in an emergency." Dubois drained his glass. "I've been telling myself he's fine, that he'll surface when he's ready. But now you show up, asking about Lyons..."

Jacques leaned forward. "Mr. Dubois, I need everything you have on the Lyons case. And anything Tanaka might have been working on before he disappeared."

Dubois studied him for a long moment. "You're poking a hornet's nest here, Detective. You sure you want to go down this rabbit hole?"

"Pretty much."

"Why is that?"

"I have this hunch, you know. That this will lead to a much more bigger expose."

"Expose? Do tell."

"I'm not sure. But I think there's a large hidden organization that's behind this."

"I'm sorry? A large organization? Isn't that a bit too much? I mean even for you, Detective. I'm sure you don't believe in conspiracies."

"That's why I need evidence to prove it. And Tanaka might fill me in on that."

The old editor nodded. "Alright. I'll get you what I can. But be careful, Moreau. There are forces at work here that... well, let's just say they play by different rules than you and me."

Jacques stood, extending his hand. "Thanks for your help. I'll be in touch."

As he reached the door, he paused, hand on the handle and turned. "Oh, one more thing. Does the name 'The Bloody Shadows' mean anything to you?"

Dubois's eyebrows shot up. "The Bloody Shadows? Can't say it rings a bell. Why do you ask?"

Jacques shrugged. "Just something that came up in my investigation. Thought it might be connected."

"Sounds like some kind of secret society bullshit to me. But then again, in this city, who knows?"

"Yeah, who knows," Jacques said. "Anyway, if you could send over those files on the Lyons case and anything related to Tanaka's recent work, I'd appreciate it."

"I'll have Marie compile everything we've got. But remember what I said, Detective. Be careful. This shit goes deeper than you think."

"I hear you," Jacques said, opening the door. "Thanks again."

The Bloody Shadows, Tanaka's disappearance, the cover-up – it was all connected, he was sure of it. But how? And more importantly, why?