To protect us from ourselves apparently.

That's the whole point of America.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qlU5-LQ_EGE

The constable was sleeping on a public toilet with his head rested against his lap until a call received on his infolink awakened him. Abruptly he came to his senses and placed his index against his forehead.

"What is it, Jeff?"

I am outside the service station when you're ready. Also, I got your Americano... 5 shots of espresso, like you asked.

"Heh, thanks. Look, you know how my schedule is. I'll wake up when my timer is ready, you understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, toilet-sleeper."

The Constable exited the sterile service station: A 7-11 from the late 10's exhibiting its age with a complex insignia and colorful branding. Most franchises opted for simpler branding but this dirty part of town had little regard for such things. As The Constable headed down the wet sidewalk to his partner's late-model police vehicle, he picked up a news tablet from the near-by kiosk. Across its colorful digital display read:

"JAN WESKER, 24 DEAD IN LATEST ASSASSINATION"

An image of her blood-ridden and tattered corpse was blurred in below along with the images of the serial convicts. Newspapers stopped being tactful after a culture-shock of regulatory-free media based on internet content.

"Well, Jeff, it looks like we made the papers. The Constable cleared his throat and announced:

"TOP INVESTIGATOR, KEN COURTRIGHT, HEAD CONSTABLE OF THE ISSP, REGION 27 HAS ACCEPTED JURISDICTION OF THE LATEST ASSASSINATION MADE BY 'THE BLOODBATH ORGY GROUP'..."

"Yeah, yeah, I don't know if it's worth it, Ken. The bounty on this thing is only 500,000 Globals. Hardly real money in the first place but whatever. So, how about them hipsters?"

"Yep but put us into first altitude. If what you're saying is true, this place is worse than the last one"

The vehicle began to enter 100 or so feet into the air above the service station and headed towards a large cloud of pollution: New Detroit, 5th street. After passing abandoned tower after abandoned tower they had finally reached their destination. They landed on the rooftop of the most tasteful parking garage they could find. The cockpit of the late-model vehicle rised open and they jumped out. Lex walked towards the north edge of the building. He pointed down below.

"That's the place, Ken. Purgatory Alley."

"Goddamn, it smells like shit. Where the hell are we?"

"I told you where we are going, Ken. We're dealing with hipsters here. Cannibals"

Ken, the Constable, took a closer look at the building and saw rotting corpses hanging on both sides.

"Don't tell me we are going in that place... and those are -- human bodies?"

"Nah, grown vats of human meat. We're at a growing house. Urban farming at its worst."

"Goddamn hipsters, let's go inside and find who bought that butt."

Yes because accountable regulation would exist as opposed to regulatory monopolies that cannot fail and be easily displaced.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_zTtNpJSRiI

Starting the second attempt.

Also, Rassah, I'll record my blood pressure when I can.

Yeah, I am now on a digital timer. Also, I finished taking my first nap at 2PM.

I broke schedule when I tried to nap at 2AM and wokeup at 12PM. : \

I like bitches over canines.

You have to say something. To do otherwise will get you fucked over by the mods.

"It seems our perp has a thing for augmentations. Butt augmentations and their real counterparts too." the Constable said as he began to chuckle.

"So, tell me, isn't it true our victim -- Jan -- was found with her butt removed?"

The crime investigator turned from the dirty window.

"Yes, likely sold to the hipsters on 5th street. There's a cannibalist cult on the third block. They usually get their product through legal means in light of recent legalization of human cell farming; however, sometimes they tend to like the real thing... Artificially grown human flesh just doesn't have the same flavor it seems."

"Heh, one thing is for sure, our perp has quite a fetish for butts and blood..."

The Constable scratched his throat and sighed.

"Trace these transactions to the merchants. Also, make sure you have your backup gun ready. We have some cannibalistic hipsters to talk to on 5th street."

No, he's right. Being attached to your desires is only suffering in the end. He just doesn't understand the concept of self.

Like your mother.

Where are you? Why do you hide?
Where is that post trail that leads to your side?
Just like the miner goes in search of his dream of gold,
I search for love, for someone to have and hold,
I've seen your porn in a thousand dreams,
Felt my touch and it always seems,
You love me.

...said the rookie officer Dib.

Jeff and the Constable scowled at the short and fat man. He obviously stood in his mid-20s but had the poorly-shaven shadow and balding hair of a middle-aged man. His crooked smile, sunken-eyed stare along with his smug face held high likened him to a child of downs-syndrome.

"Dib, how about you help yourself to some of the donuts outside. We got some custard ones for ya."

"Sure thing, Constable. Hur."

He stumbled out with his hands help up to his chest...

"So, what's this symbol stand for besides being a magnet for idiots?" asked the constable with a perplexed smirk.

"It stands for Bitcoin, an early cryptocurrency started by a niche libertarian crowd back in the early 2010's. An interesting bunch. The currency is holding a value in mid-$3600 now per unit. It's standard affair in black market circles."

"So what do we with it? What can it tell us?"

Of course but isn't experiencing pleasure selfish? Not so "selfless" is it?

How? There won't be a man left to experience pleasure nor give it in that case.

I've had the idea of using collection agencies. I am glad to see there is a great mind out there that has had this idea and acted on it.

"What's the story here, Jeff?"

"A not-so-typical sadistic homicide. The perp was pleasuring himself as his hired group of assassins ruptured the victim's colon and caused severe hemorrhaging through grotesque sexual battery. The DNA isn't hitting anything on the database for the main perp but the assassins are typical nobodies; escaped convicts, untraceable except for the trail of DNA and disease they have left through various and morbid cases of rape and murder. This seems to be their most notable case so far. I can imagine they were paid a good sum as they were in previous stunts."

"What are the details of the room?"

"It has been leased for years under a pseudonym of John Doe. No personal belongings. The place is surprisingly clean."

"However, we did find this constable..."

The crime scene investigator reached for a brown bag and pulled out a plastic card. On it laid the symbol ฿...

I totally crashed only because my timer failed. I am restarting and doing this again. Video coming soon.

The night was as exciting as it was ever going to be. I had gone to Jan's to pick up my coat that I had left behind. I walked down the solemn and humble street of hers. Abandoned cars and vagabonds lined the apartment complexes of varying qualities. It was as humble and modest as she was. I stepped up her crude stoop and rang the buzzard. She clumsily fumbled her locks and eventually opened the door.

"Hi, Harvey. I didn't think I would see you so soon."

"Neither did I. I left my coat."

I noticed that mysterious scowl of hers with those dreaded bangs -- oh, how they wonderfully accented her face.

"Heh, aren't you lovely tonight, Jan."

She lowered her and grinned slightly, "Stop being your idealistic self."

Once again she proved to be foolishly modest...

She returned to her scowl and looked me in the eyes, "You know, Harvey..."

Continue the story...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=_8cmG5M4-DU

Day 2, Ninth Nap