Setting out from the False Note, Diana moved swiftly across town, the rain coming down much harder than it was before. She made her way from the coffee shop to a warehouse and chained her bike up outside.

     Stepping into the warehouse, she found the studio she had expected, where Diode’s bandmates were waiting. She had called ahead, so they knew to expect her. The high-roofed building had been converted into a studio, with the windowed ceiling casting light inside. She approached the bandmates sitting in a small break area, with two rust-colored couches and a flatscreen tv, where they were discussing in low voices.

     “You’re that detective, right?” One of the bandmates approached her, they wore torn black jeans and a bright green shirt, under a black hoodie with a bright green trim and the hood up. Their face was obscured by a black, metal mouth mask and a pair of green steampunk goggles with black tinted lenses.

     “Who else?” Diana raised an eyebrow, looking around at the other bandmates. They all wore much the same outfit as the one who had spoken to her, but the highlight color changed between them, “I’d like to ask a few questions regarding your bandmate Diode.”

     “Uff, nasty business, that.” A blue-highlighted man spoke up, “I’m Amp, green is Fuse and purple is Relay.”

     “DN-144, Diana. I’ve been hired by your friend’s lawyer to prove his innocence.” Diana introduced herself.

     “If you think it’ll help, we’re happy to answer your questions.” The girl he had identified as Relay gave a thumbs up, sitting down on the rust-colored couch, “What do you want to know?”

     Diana brought up her OI and prepared to take notes, taking a seat on the couch they had offered her.

     “What was Diode’s relation to Atticus Chambers?”

     “Atticus got him started on all this, gave him a loan to start the studio. Diode’s father had hooked them up.” Fuse explained, “That’s about the time we met. Diode was ecstatic about it.”

     “Do you know if Diode paid this loan back?”

     “It was getting about time to pay Atticus back, but Diode hadn’t delivered the money.” Amp told her, “He hadn’t gotten all the money yet, but our newest album was going to fix that.”

     “It was gonna be a smash hit, but Diode getting arrested tanked our numbers…” Fuse crossed her arms, “If he hadn’t gotten wrapped up in all this, it would’ve topped the charts.”

     Diana remembered that from Argil’s report, he had theorized it was the motive, but she wasn’t sure.

     “I’m sure. Can any of you confirm Diode’s whereabouts the night of the murder? About nine PM?”

     “‘Fraid not, Diode left at eight-thirty, said he was heading home to work on a project.” Amp sighed.

     It was a little after two when Diana left the studio, she hadn’t gleaned much from the interview, but felt satisfied that none of his bandmates were responsible. From there, she made her way to the holding facility in the center of the city, leaving her gun with the guards she made her way into the building.

     She was escorted to the interrogation room, a small, oppressive room with a two-way mirror, and little more than a single table and two folding chairs. She took a seat on the chair farthest from the door and waited patiently. Within a few minutes, Diode was brought in.

     A short, unintimidating man in handcuffs, he had short black hair and black eyes, with small metallic pieces around his eyes betraying his augmented status. Diana paid special attention to his stride as he entered, he dragged his feet as the two guards escorted him to his chair, standing on either side of him.

     “Ethan Miller, correct?” Diana’s OI began recording as she spoke.

     “That’s correct.” Diode’s voice was rough and loud.

     “I am DN-144, Diana, the detective in charge of proving your innocence. I’d like an account of where you were on the night of the murder, at eight-thirty to nine PM.”

     “Well, I left the studio at eight-thirty and made my way to my house, I worked on a new song until nine-thirty, when I went to sleep.”

     “Can anyone corroborate this?”

     “I texted my bandmates when I got home.”

     “A text saying you’re home doesn’t exactly confirm you’re there.”

     “I know.”

     “Do you know how your guitar pick would have ended up in the victim’s home?”

     “Not a clue. It went missin’ a few days back, but I didn’t think nothin’ of it.”

     “When did this pick go missing?”

     “I noticed it gone on the second.”

     “But it may have been before that?”

     “I know I had it as recently as the thirtieth of August, last month.”

     “Any idea of who took it?”

     “I figured a fan might’ve stolen it at our show on the first.”

     “Do you have any enemies? Anyone who might want to frame you?”

     “I’ll tell you the same thing I told the cops, it’s that bitch Williams.”

     “Williams?”

     “Hecate Williams, the casino owner. We got into a row over a charity event she paid for, wanted a cut of the profit.”

     “Anyone else?”

     “Not anyone I can think of.”

     “Thank you for your time, Mr. Miller.”