***

Starling tosses his long coat on the bed after we enter the room. He stretches and yawns like a cat. I shut the door behind me and get my phone out to fire up the CoL-space app.

"You said you had an idea?" Starling asks.

I stay near the door fiddling with my phone. "Yeah."

"You know you don't have to hide over there, I don't bite," he says with a grin.

I look up. "Sorry, Eugene didn't seem to like me in the room."

"That's him, this is me."

"Yeah, look, are you sure about keeping this case?" I ask. "I mean, you can always duck out and let me finish it if you, any of you, need, okay?"

Starling lets out a huff of a laugh then puts his arms out to the sides. "What do you think I'm for?"

"Right, sorry."

I take a few steps into the room then hold my phone up so he can see my home page on CoL-space. My PFP is set to a drawing of a cat popping out of a carved pumpkin right now.

"This is my idea: CoL-space," I say. "If the CoL who attacked us has a profile I should be able to find it."

He squints at my phone. "Without a name or anything?"

I nod and tap off my home page and to one of the search functions. I don't like this idea one bit but I haven't liked many things today. It's a means to an end. If the attacker has an account I know we can find who they are using this.

"I need to do this privately," I say and point to the bathroom.

Starling tilts his head. "Ooookay."

I open the bathroom door. "Seriously, you're gonna want to stay out here," I say before locking myself in the restroom.

Gods, this is gonna suck.

I set my phone down and wash my hands. There's no real reason to be washing my hands but the idea of what I'm about to do has me in knots. Not literal knots, thankfully. Still, it's strange. I'm used to shapeshifting feeling natural and normal but the idea of this particular shift feels weirdly gross.

I take a deep breath and relax my shoulders, double check that the door's still locked, then focus on the CoL who had been pretending to be Patrick. Assuming the form they returned to before exploding into a flesh bomb was their Basic, then they'd have to use it with their CoL ID information to register with CoL-Space. I got a good look at them, longer than I'd need even to mimic them perfectly.

I keep my clothes on, however.

My reflection in the bathroom mirror is identical to the guy who attacked us, down to the bad ear and sandy brown hair. My clothing has shifted just enough to accommodate my new height and muscle mass.

I feel like I'm wearing a wet sock. Like my whole body is that wet sock on a foot. Socks go on feet, right? But you can tell there's something not quite right when one of them is damp. Having one stretching noodle arm wrapped around the Williamses like a snake felt more natural to me than this. I know this feeling is not because I'm currently assigned male.

It's something else I can't quite put my finger on.

This is somehow more gross than I thought it would be, I think to myself as I pick up the phone and switch to camera mode. I take a couple selfies before quickly shifting back to Basic with a shudder. Then I pop open the CoL-Space app to the search menu and select 'Basic photo friend search.'

"Dude's probably not even in here," I mutter as I upload the first photo and hit 'enter.'

The search runs for a few seconds and lights up with a match.

"Shit."

I read over the guy's CoL-space page. Martin Aaron, he/him, age forty three. His page is public. I don't even have to add him as a friend to see his wall, photos, or anything else he's posted. His photos are of him with some other people, some visibly shifted CoLs others not, in crowded areas with sometimes shitty lighting.

He's tagged himself in the photos and has a different look each time, most are related to sea creatures but still humanoid. Martin's last updates were just before Patrick supposedly gained powers. One post mentions getting a 'new job' that would keep him 'very busy for awhile.'

I use the restroom and wash my hands again. My skin still feels like it's crawling from copying the guy. I double check to make sure it's not actually crawling. I don't have this feeling of disgust because the guy favors seafood. I've shifted most of the animals he's done without having a problem like this. I make a mental note to mention this dysphoric shift to Doctor Hailu the next time we chat.

"I've got something," I call from the bathroom before exiting.

Detective Windgate is looking at a small moleskin notebook with a sour expression on his face.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Starling says you've got a lead," he says without looking up.

"Eugene?"

"Yeah. Shoot," he says tersely.

I stay quiet for a moment, my phone in hand and lips pursed closed.

"It means, 'tell me what you've got,'" Eugene explains.

"You're really not going to just pass this case on to me now, are you?" I ask weakly.

"I'm not," he says eyes still on the notebook. "Starling's right, this is a kidnapping and attempted murder. Did you get the butler out?"

I shake my head then remember he's still not looking at me. "No, Starling had us leave before I had a chance to look for him. He said we needed to go before the cops got there."

He nods. "Good. Better we don't have to deal with the police."

I don't ask him to elaborate. Instead I tell him my lead. "I found the guy on CoL-Space. His name's 'Martin Aaron.'"

He looks up at me in surprise. "You found his name? On social media? Already? How did you do that?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," I reply. "Also, it's probably best you didn't look at the guy's photos. They've got lots of shifted CoLs in them and half the time he's a lobs-"

"Lobster?" He offers.

"Yeah, dude has a thing for seafood."

"Any clue about when they were taken or where?"

"The last ones were right before you were hired, I think, about a week and half ago or so," I say looking at the latest photos. "There's no location tags on them that I can find using the app."

"Shit."

As I scroll up to the top of Martin's page a little bar appears that says 'Three New Posts!'

"Holy shit," I say.

"What?"

"This guy's an idiot," I reply.

The three latest posts are photos of Martin, with one crab claw hand, red carapace covering most of his flesh, and antennae that disappear into the glare of overhead lights. He sits in a booth surrounded by partially shifted CoLs and colorful drinks.

"'Me and the boys are back at Stick Shifter's, partying all fucking night long,'" I read out loud.

Eugene hops the bed and hurries over to me. I start to cover my phone screen but he brushes my hand away.

"Let me see," he says. "I'm fine."

I show him the posts.

"You're right. This guy's a complete idiot."