The early morning mist clung to the air as Detective Miller and his partner, Detective Belford, pulled up outside the victim's building. The urgency of their orders to investigate the apartment hung heavily between them. Sirens wailed through the streets, cutting through the silence as they drove.

Miller, a seasoned detective, had seen his share of crime scenes, but this one was different. The brutal murder of a young woman, her body mutilated and discarded on a footpath, was already enough to make his skin crawl. However, the involvement of the Agency, a shadowy organisation that seemed to operate above the law, added an ominous layer of tension.

The fog-swathed scene of the crime had revealed little as they'd attempted to piece together the events. Morning commuters had discovered the body just hours after the curfew had lifted.

As they parked behind a white police van, Miller eyed the teenagers lounging on the stairs nearby, his voice tight with suspicion. "They'll probably slash our wheels, knowing this neighbourhood."

The low-income estate consisted of towering apartment buildings, their age and disrepair a testament to decades of neglect. Before becoming a detective, Miller had answered countless calls in this area, navigating its maze of corridors and stairwells. He knew what to expect behind each battered door.

Belford unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to his partner. "Is something going on? I thought Leigh's orders were peculiar."

"The Agency being involved, or the fact they're already at the victim's apartment going through our evidence?" Miller asked, opening the car door. He knew Inspector Leigh's concern stemmed from the trouble the Agency always seemed to bring.

Belford stepped out, the car door slamming behind him. "Have you seen this before? Do you think this has something to do with the rebels or the enemy? That's the only time the Agency gets involved, right?"

Miller frowned at the mention of "the enemy," a term he hadn't heard in a while. He doubted the enemy had set foot on their soil for decades, but the Agency had a knack for using fear to justify their existence. If anything, the rebels were the more likely connection.

"When it comes to the enemy, at least you know who you are fighting. These rebels are despicable traitors. The Agency wouldn't even exist if it weren't for these rebel groups," Miller said.

As they approached the apartment, Miller's gut churned with foreboding. "I don't like this," he muttered, climbing the concrete stairs. "Something tells me we're in for a world of pain, so to speak."

Belford chuckled. "You okay, old man? You sound like you're about to pass out."

Miller gripped the peeling handrail, catching his breath. "One day, you'll marry and have kids, and then you'll understand why you never have time to go to the gym."

As they approached the apartment, Miller noticed a young officer standing guard at the door. He recognised her fresh face as a recent academy graduate. After confirming that the agent was inside, Miller turned to Belford with a stern expression.

"Listen, before we step in there, I need to be clear with you. I know you're used to going with the flow, but I have reservations about this. I've managed to avoid the bureaucratic mess by steering clear of promotions. The Agency is nothing but a toxic political swamp. I suggest you tread carefully. The last thing we need is to give them a reason to poke their noses into our work."

Belford's confident smile was almost infuriating as he asked, "How many times have you encountered them in your career?"

Miller huffed, irked by his partner's naivete. "Once. That was more than enough to sour my opinion. I don't get your generation; you're all so complacent. It's the seasoned detectives with wisdom and experience they target, but you lot are too busy swallowing everything they feed you."

"Detective," the officer interjected cautiously, "I've heard some of them have enhanced hearing, and this apartment isn't exactly spacious."

"Of course," Miller grumbled. "Our best scientists waste their time giving these agents an edge rather than finding cures for diseases. That alone should signal that they're only interested in power."

Just then, the door swung open, and a forensics specialist appeared. He stepped aside, beckoning them in. "You should come through. The agent's waiting in the back room."

Miller dabbed at the sweat on his brow with a handkerchief, the wrinkles on his face more noticeable than he remembered. Time had taken its toll, and as hard as he fought, he couldn't outrun the inevitable changes. His wife had been kind enough to restore his hair to its natural dark brown, but he was growing weary of the charade.

Watching Belford, young and full of life, Miller couldn't help but feel envy. He wondered if there was a way to turn back the clock and experience that youthful vigour once again.

As Miller navigated the murder victim's apartment, he marvelled at the unexpected cleanliness. He had braced himself for a run-down dwelling but instead found a peculiarly meticulous space. Sparse furniture and a glaring absence of personal effects or decorations marked the small, almost empty rooms—a direct consequence of the government's failing housing policies.

With his mind immersed in the case, Miller paid little heed to Belford trailing close behind. He trod lightly down the hallway, observing the unadorned, cream-coloured walls. The scent of dust mites clung to the second-hand furniture, further accentuating the victim's indistinctive life.

At last, Miller reached the final room, yet to be scoured by the forensic team. He nudged the door open, revealing a young woman—an agent—seated at the victim's computer. She appeared in her twenties, her brown hair swept up into a tidy bun.

The rapid tap-tap-tap of her fingers on the keyboard instantly captured Miller's attention, filling the room with an unsettling rhythm that set the stage for tension.

Miller's brow furrowed as he asked, "What are you doing?" He glanced at Belford, who looked surprised. "Did you hear me? You're compromising evidence," Miller persisted, his patience running thin.

The agent remained indifferent. He contemplated confronting the agent, but her black uniform reminded him that it was beyond his authority. Belford, still smirking, crossed his arms.

Miller surveyed the room, and it dawned on him that the victim, Mary Karter, had invested her savings in technology rather than furniture. Four massive screens plastered with codes lined the wall, all seemingly brand-new.

A soft voice interrupted the tense atmosphere. "Excuse me," said a young woman entering the room. Her petite frame contrasted with Belford's muscular build. She wore the same black uniform. Both were younger than he'd expected, making him wonder if they'd sent less experienced agents.

Belford flattened himself against the wall to allow her to pass.

"Agent 349, what are you doing here?" the second agent asked, eyeing her colleague at the computer. Receiving no response, she seized the chair and spun it around, forcing them to face each other. "I asked you a question," she insisted, leaning in.

"I'm under orders," Agent 349 replied.

"No one was assigned to this incident when I left this morning. Who ordered you to come here?"

"Agent Davidson."

"Well, you can go," the new agent stated.

Agent 349 frowned, resisting. "I have orders." She tried to return her attention to the computers but was pulled from the chair.

"I gave you an order, and last time I checked, that was worth more than Davidson's directions."

Great. All Miller needed was an argument unfolding before him.

"Shouldn't we check with Agent Davidson first?" Agent 349 challenged.

"Why don't you tell me what you were doing on a computer that hasn't been cleared by forensics?" the other agent said.

"I will be contacting Agent Davidson," Agent 349 declared as she walked towards Miller and Belford, her glare piercing as she squeezed past them.

The second agent mumbled as she sat down and began typing. The tension in the room was evident, and Miller felt his patience reaching its limit.

Belford sniggered lightly, which only served to irritate Miller further.

"Excuse me," Miller's voice came out tense, strained with effort. "What are you doing?" He could feel the veins in his neck bulging with suppressed rage.

"What do you know about the victim?" the agent asked, her attention fixed on the screens.

Miller clenched his fists. "I can see that. I mean, you just removed that agent to take her place. You do realise you're compromising the scene? "You don't think you should sto—"

Before Miller could finish, Belford interjected, "She was twenty-two, a student, no family."

Miller stomped on his partner's foot, angered that Belford had so easily divulged details of the case.

"Is that it?" she pressed.

"What exactly do you want to know?" Belford asked. "She worked at a café part-time. We haven't gotten around to interviewing her manager yet. It looks like she was on her way to work when she was murdered."

"Why do you think all this is here? It's evident she had money problems. This is the side of town the police avoid. Why would a young student risk living here?" the agent probed further, her eyes glinting with intrigue.

"We only just arrived," Miller retorted.

"It's interesting that the Agency arrived before the police. It's concerning that this is becoming a regular occurrence," the agent remarked. She ceased typing, stood up, and scrutinised the screens filled with coding. Miller couldn't decipher what she was searching for.

"Well, if you just—"

"Shit."

"Is something wrong? Did you find something?" Miller asked.

"Out of curiosity, what was she studying?" the agent asked, ignoring Miller's question.

"Don't you know anything about the case?" Miller shot back.

Belford interjected, "Electronic sciences. She was nearly finished."

The agent placed her fingertips on her temples. "And what do you think she was doing with all this?"

"We've just walked in here," Miller said, "and you're already trying to solve the case. Do you mind giving us some space so that we can actually do some detecting?"

"Perhaps she was doing black-market work on the side," Belford suggested. "What are you thinking? She's working with the rebels? I've heard this is how they operate, and I don't think it would've been detected had she not been murdered."

"What are your names?" she asked, focusing on Miller.

"I'm Detective Belford, and this is Detective Miller."

"What was the cause of death?"

"Since when do you turn up to a murder without knowing about the murder?" Miller sneered.

"Missing lungs," Belford said, casting a disapproving glance at Miller.

"What brings us here, Detective, are two different things. Missing lungs? That's it? No signs of a stab wound or gunshot wound?"

"Well, I don't think you could get far without them." Miller rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

She raised her brow. "Something tells me you're not a fan of the Agency."

"I'm not a fan of people like you walking into crime scenes under my command."

"Detective, I'm here because there's been an information breach linked to this computer. The fact that the offender is deceased is a coincidence or a blessing in disguise. Based on the priority of the two crimes, I could easily say that I would be in command."

"You place an information breach above a murder?" Miller asked. The link being just a coincidence was unlikely. The deceased had probably been executed under an Agency death warrant, and the agents were here to clean up someone's mess.

"So that's all you've got? Missing lungs? Sounds like a black-market organ job to me," she said, her tone dismissive.

Miller clenched his jaw. With each passing moment, the case seemed to be slipping further away from the realm of a simple homicide.

"You would think that wouldn't you? She was a smoker," Miller replied. As she looked back at the screen and shook her head, it dawned on Miller that perhaps the Agency hadn't planned the murder. "You seem surprised by this information."

"It doesn't make sense," she said.

"Not everything happens the way you think it should. Perhaps you were right. Maybe it is a coincidence."

"Do you think this breach is related to her murder?" Belford asked.

"If she were working for the rebels, that would be a reason to protect her, not murder her."

"Maybe she threatened someone? Blackmail, extortion? If you could shed some light on what you've found, it could help us find a motive," Miller said.

She swung around to face the computer and typed until the data on the screens disappeared. Once complete, she approached the detectives and produced a card from her pocket. She handed it to Belford. "Keep me updated, would you?"

Belford took the card as she squeezed past. "Yes, er, Agent 411."

"Now you're leaving? Don't wish to share what you found with us?" Miller asked.

"I'm sure I don't have to remind you that Agency work is confidential," she said as she exited the apartment.

"What is it?" Miller asked, snatching the card from Belford.

"Contact details."

"What a waste of paper. Since when does an agent need a card? The way she reacted, I'd say the breach and the murder are connected. Maybe the missing lungs were to throw us off track," Miller said.

"Maybe the Agency will give the killer an award for doing something they hadn't bothered getting around to yet." Belford sighed as he placed his hand on his partner's shoulder. "You know you should be more careful about what you say. I've heard stories about these agents."

"You can't put a bullet in someone's head for being rude. Otherwise, I would've run out of bullets by now."

As they stood in the eerie silence of the apartment, the mysteries surrounding the case only seemed to grow. This investigation would be far from straightforward, and Miller couldn't help but feel the shadow of the Agency looming over them.