Do you swear to uphold the tenets of the Forgiveness Corps?
Do you swear to pursue justice, and truth, and keep those things unclouded?
Do you swear to prove yourself worthy of your heightened station?
Do you swear to produce the results expected of you?
Do you swear to obey your own ideals, and those of Humilism at large?
If so, then rise a better man -- [INSERT PROMOTEE NAME HERE].
Detective Prestige Pledge, Forgiveness Corps
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Devastation. Destruction. Blood.
Opportunity. Aiden Blaith had learnt to recognise it long ago.
The ship Dr. Cloud had been using as a laboratory was an utter wreck, left floating through space, kept in orbit of the Menagerie only by the automatic systems. Shards of glass from broken monitors and sample jars littered the floor. One wall was heavily indented, sparks flying out from the machinery within. Everything was soaked as a result of the fluid still dripping from the ceiling, from the open stasis pod.
And then, of course, there was the body. Aiden squatted down to inspect it closer.
Dr. Cloud lay still, what was left of his face pale, tongue lolling out of his mouth like a fat slug. Something had smashed his face in with such force that his eyes had popped right out of their sockets, and so they rested on either side of his broken skull -- optic nerves still connecting them to his brain.
Aiden wrinkled his nose in disgust as he adjusted his fedora. He couldn't help but feel this assignment was somewhat personal for him: he'd attained his current position in the Forgiveness Corps by delivering the traitor Helga Malwarian to justice. If he was judging this situation correctly, then it was very possible that scum was on the loose once more.
He was alone in the laboratory, the rest of the investigation team waiting outside. Forensics had already taken samples for testing -- now it was time for him to do his work.
Blue-and-red Aether sparked.
Angel's Eye.
Aiden's eyes -- one red, one blue -- blinked, and as they opened again the blue eye began to multiply. More and more eyes fired out of Aiden's sockets like they were being spat, and once they emerged they floated free in the air, bobbing and weaving around him like birds.
Angel's Eye -- Seek.
As one, the eyes zoomed around the room, running their gaze over every inch of the crime scene, transmitting every detail they spotted directly to Aiden's brain. The implications of the blood splatter, the barely visible footsteps indicating multiple individuals, the slightly dryer spot where Helga Malwarian had likely landed. One of the eyes even squeezed down the corpse's throat, so as to inspect his insides for any potential evidence.
Before Aiden's eyes, nothing went unseen.
Something was spotted -- something, that before now, had been missed. A trace of organic material lodged behind one of the machines. The eyes returned to Aiden -- a choking sound coming from the corpse as the organ inside it maneuvered back up its throat -- and he stood, moving over to the position in question.
In the end, it was lodged back there so definitively that he needed Aether just to reach it without breaking his hand. Slowly, delicately, Aiden pulled it free -- and his eyes widened as he saw just what he'd found.
A severed human finger, stump still oozing blood.
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"The tests are positive," Aiden relayed, hands behind his back as he strolled through the garden. "The finger definitely belongs to Helga."
Gertrude Hearth, walking alongside him, nodded. The usual matronish aspect the Apexbishop adopted was gone, replaced with a cold iron fury. Her tail waved stiffly in the air behind her, and her hands were clasped tight as vices, her own fingers pale.
Dr. Cloud had been one of her favourites, after all. She was not happy.
"I understand one of the pods was missing from Cloud's ship, too," she said quietly. "Is that right?"
Aiden nodded. "We've confirmed that pod docked on the Menagerie afterwards, but whoever was inside ran out before anyone could get a good look at them. Security footage isn't too clear, but it looks like Malwarian."
"So she's here…" Gertrude mused, glancing down at the floor -- as if she could see right through it to wherever Helga Malwarian was hiding.
Aiden continued, eager to soothe his superior's ill temper. "The finger is a good sign for us, though," he said quickly. "It means she's injured. She'll have to seek treatment for that, and there's only so many hospitals aboard the ship. We can station men to watch them, make sure --"
Gertrude cut him off without looking at him. "There's no shortage of back-alley doctors aboard my ship. I'm under no illusions regarding the criminal element that gathers to a Truemeet, Detective Prestige."
"Even so, if she's after Panacea…"
"She may not seek Panacea. It's entirely possible she'll just accept the loss of her finger and attempt a further escape. Don't assume these things, Blaith."
Aiden thought of providing another argument, but Gertrude's face said that would be disastrous.
"My apologies, ma'am," he finally settled on.
Their stroll paused, right on the edge of a little pond. Some of Gertrude's pet ducks were swimming in it, quacking merrily. As Aiden looked down, he could see their reflections in the water, warped by ripples.
"You brought the finger?" Gertrude asked, her feline ears perking up.
"As you requested." Aiden retrieved the digit, wrapped in bandages, from the inside pocket of his jacket.
As Gertrude extended a hand, he gave it to her, brushing some of his slack brown hair out of his eyes as he did so. Without any trace of distaste or disgust, she unwrapped the cold and bloodstained thing, turning it over in her hand. No doubt it would start rotting soon.
"Hm," she sounded distinctly unimpressed.
As Aiden watched her, he saw a spark of dark purple Aether run out of Gertrude's fingernails and into the severed digit.
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"Aiden," she said gently, taking a length of Neverwire out of her pocket and sawing through it with one of her sharp fingernails. "I've always admired your drive for self-improvement. Did you know that?"
"That's very kind of you to say."
She wrapped the section of Neverwire she'd removed around the severed finger, tying it into a knot right over the stump. It looked to Aiden now like some kind of eerie talisman.
"You went from relative nobody to Detective Prestige in just around a year. Not everyone is capable of that -- no, I must correct myself: not everybody is capable of spotting the opportunities for that. You're someone who's very adept at that sort of thing." She glanced at him. "That's why I want you to handle this. I'm giving you another opportunity, you understand? Don't waste it now."
She handed the finger back to Aiden, now bound with Neverwire. Aiden accepted it, careful not to touch the exposed wire directly with his skin: the black gloves he'd taken to wearing came in handy there.
"Find Helga Malwarian and bring her back to justice, Aiden," Gertrude commanded. "Should you find yourself in a dire situation, snap that Neverwire bond and you'll receive assistance. If things get even worse than that…"
As Aiden looked down at the finger, he heard a wet tearing noise -- and when he looked up, he saw a bizarre and grotesque sight.
Gertrude Hearth's face was twisted in agony, her ears flat against her head, as she slowly peeled off one of her fingernails. Finally, with one fast motion, she tore it free like she was ripping off a bandage -- and with practised bleeding hands, she wrapped that in Neverwire as well. She dropped it into Aiden's palm with the finger, panting for breath.
"...if things get worse than that," she repeated. "Use this. It'll put you on an even footing with anyone."
Aiden looked down at the stripped-away fingernail, at the drips of fresh blood trickling from the underside onto his palm. Doing his best not to grimace, he nodded, and carefully deposited the gifts into the pouch on his belt.
"Now go, Detective Prestige," Gertrude commanded, standing just a bit taller for a moment. "Enact justice."
The audience was over.
Aiden turned on his heel and made his way back to the entrance of the garden. As he did, he felt a sly smirk spreading over his face. Gertrude was right: he was a man who knew how to spot opportunity. He'd learnt that lesson the hard way.
Sometimes even now he dreamed of those automatics pointing their guns at him, of his comrade being melted down by their plasma, of the cruelty of Samael Ambrazo Zakos. Back then, on Yoslof, he'd known what it felt like to have your life dangled over a void, subject to someone else's whims -- and he refused to be put in that position again.
He understood now. He understood the shape of this world. There were people who climbed, and there were people who were climbed on. He'd do whatever it took to be the former, no matter how distasteful.
As he reached the exit of the garden, he pulled free the stun-staff he'd left embedded in the dirt there. He'd used the very same weapon to incapacitate Helga Malwarian back on Yoslof, and now it had become something of a badge of office for him. A marker of his authority as Detective Prestige.
He'd climbed to this height from nothing in such a short time. That alone proved he wasn't your average person. His resolve was exceptional.
"Oh, and Aiden?" Gertrude said sweetly.
Aiden turned -- and his body stiffened, as he saw malice.
Gertrude was still standing in the shade of an apple tree, hands clasped before her, looking directly at him. Yellow light reflected off her eyes, making it seem as though they were glowing, and the darkness made a silhouette of the rest of her form. Her tail waved sinisterly behind her.
She hissed: "If you find Mila Green along the way? Bring me her head."
Swallowing down his nervousness, Aiden nodded -- and hurried out of the room.
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Helga Malwarian adjusted her stolen clothing.
A shirt that was far too big for her and a pair of denim shorts. Hardly good gear for a combat situation, but they were better than being naked. When you were snatching clothing off washing lines, you couldn't exactly be picky.
Her hand still hurt like hell. As she walked through the crowds, she glanced down at it -- the stump of her missing finger still wrapped in bandages. She didn't have a good idea how long ago she’d lost the digit. Had the golden hours for Panacea already passed? If they hadn't, they were certainly close.
The streets of the Menagerie were packed with all sorts -- merchants and shoppers, mercenaries and thugs, Superbian nobility striding by and Humilist children running underfoot. In that melting pot, Helga's unusual attire didn't seem unusual at all -- even if her shirt read, in colossal text, 'BIG BURGER'. It was a good feeling, to sink into the crowd and forget yourself for a bit.
A shame it couldn't last forever.
The blurred memories of what had happened after her awakening still haunted her. It wasn't her attack on the GID agent that concerned her, though -- it was the face of the young girl who'd been accompanying him. She'd looked familiar, instantly familiar, extremely familiar… but there was no way. Lyons had promised.
Was she really foolish enough to think Jean Lyons would keep a promise, though?
The streets of the Menegarie converged here, in a massive courtyard. A water installation of rusted metal and carved stone, rough and jagged, loomed over the passing civilians -- and the liquid that cascaded down it was nearly deafening. She'd retrieved a map of the Menegarie from a navigation console, and this was the place she was looking for.
To get anywhere on this ship, you had to go through here -- and if Jean Lyons was aboard the Menegarie, he'd definitely be watching this spot.
Helga sat down on a nearby bench, and it took only a few minutes of looking around for her to find what she was looking for. A camera, expertly concealed in the dark space between two fingers of a nearby statue. The black lens of the observer was only barely visible, and only if one was specifically looking for it. Helga stared directly into it.
Here I am, Jean, she thought bitterly, cradling her injured hand. Come get me.
The river of humanity passed her by, shops opened and closed, and all that time Helga just stared -- glared -- deep into the camera. The lights shifted to night mode, casting Helga into darkness, and still she just stared. It began to turn cold as the heating was reduced, and still Helga stared.
Finally, though, someone sat down next to her. By the time she realised it, Jean Lyons had already put an arm around her shoulders.
"So good to see you again," he purred. "Shall we go?"
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"Nice of you to get back to me," Skipper grinned, looking down over the city from the hospital balcony. "I'm assuming you're all for it, yeah?"
The voice on the other end was crackly, deep, modulated. The kind of voice a mountain would have.
"This is Zachariah Esmeralda?" it asked.
Skipper's grin twitched out of existence. "This is Skipper, pal. Maybe you've got the wrong number?"
"This is the Apexbishop Asmagius," the voice continued, ignoring his rebuke. "Of the Paradisas sect. Recently, you got into contact with us. You requested our aid with clandestine activities against the Supremacy."
"Yep," Skipper poked at a potted plant, watching the leaves twitch irritably in response. "That was me. Nice to hear from ya."
"Our answer is no."
Skipper's finger stopped mid-poke, and his face finally adopted the scowl that had been building. His eyes narrowed. "No?"
"Hamashtiel said as much when you last spoke. Your story was insufficient to sway our interests. We thank you for your time. However, we will not speak again."
Skipper sighed. "Well, I guess I can give ya a chance to think about it. No problemo."
"We will not speak again."
The call clicked off, and Skipper quickly stuffed the script back into his pocket. Turning back to the hallway -- where Dragan was waiting -- he put a considerate hand to his chin.
It seemed the Paradisas weren't going to act as he wanted just from him acting nicely and telling them an interesting story. He'd half-expected that, but it was still a disappointment. He certainly didn't relish the prospect, but…
His grin returned.
… it looked like he'd have to do things the hard way.