The Orange Protocol

They broke his mind. Now he solves crimes one catnap at a time.

Luis Cannon was a hardboiled detective. Trench coat, gravel voice, bone-deep vendetta against injustice. Then he touched the Cognichonk, a cursed and possibly divine relic disguised as a cosmic cat toy, and woke up in a cardboard box with no name and four paws.

His consciousness is scattered now, spread thin across a psychic network of orange cats. When they sync, they become him: a mystery-solving sleuth with noir narration and a vendetta against household appliances. When the signal fades, they go back to licking power cords and screaming at ceiling fans.

"We are a precision instrument of justice," Luis reminds them. "Not a loofah with abandonment issues."

They are not listening. They are never listening.

Something is wrong in the network. Cats are going lucid, and lucid cats have opinions. Occult sigils are spreading across the suburbs like magical malware. And Luis's old partner, presumed dead, might be back.

With claws.

The Cognichonk is not sleeping anymore. It is choosing sides.

If Luis does not crack this case fast, he will not just lose control of the cats. He will lose whatever is left of the man.

A surreal noir where the detective has a dozen bodies and no idea which one he is in.