“Know the rules well so you can break them effectively.” - Dalai Lama
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The change from a sharp crunch of dirt to a dull thud on hard planks signaled the halfway mark of her trek. Much as Grey loved her city and the rustic transportation of equines, bovines, and carriages, faster vehicles that don’t poop would be nice.
Everyone probably thought of the same thing as they begrudgingly dragged their feet onto the Midport bridge. Midport is Havenn’s harbor and the ring of land separating the Capital from the cities. Some boats and ships lay anchored at the docks, while others have already started sailing to open water. This is where Grey usually catches a boat ride and takes the more scenic route to work. Well, on days she has money.
"Whoa there! Beg pardon, m'lady!" A bearded old man driving a tractor excused himself. His vehicle puffed out a cloud of smoke as it heaved a broken mast, almost quadruple its size.
“O-Uh! Yes, no worries!” Grey tried to say before the man was out of earshot.
She waited until the tip of the mast had gone by, scraping noisily against the floor before the sight of a lively fishing harbor welcomed her. People were already up and about loading cargo trucks with a fresh haul of seafood, detangling fishing nets, and chatting with patrons over hundred-pound tunas. Flocks of seagulls chirp and survey the area for their next meal from an unsuspecting fisherman, perching from roof to roof of different stores and huts stationed by the harbor.
Grey crossed the slime-covered floors of the open market. She was very careful avoiding buckets of multi-colored fish and aquariums encasing live lobsters and squids haphazardly arranged around seafood stalls. There had been several incidents of that happening. Watching people chased around by angry lobsters was always a sight to behold. Arriving at the ferry port, travelers filled up the boarding platforms of assorted ships. Mountains of luggage stacked on trolleys were being pushed by bulky sailors effortlessly up the steep gangways.
Just a stone’s throw away is expensive yachts bobbing on the waters at the yacht yard as they waited for the next party at the ocean. Some travelers took pictures or skulked around hoping to see a celebrity or two. That is if they don’t get scolded by a certain skipper known to be in these parts.
“ 'Erry up! Anchors aweigh! Genis-bound through the Capital!” A woman beckoned with her deep voice. She had a full captain’s garb on, and her well-worn tricorn hat pointed at each individual as she looked at every passenger boarding her ship from her station at the bow. At the corner of her eyes, she spotted a familiar head of auburn hair.
Since her time at the police academy, Grey has been one of the few regulars of The Fat Gypsy. The quirky vessel is a stand-out in the fancy yacht yard. Its mish-mashed parts, rickety wooden exterior, and multicolored raggedy flags prove that only people of certain taste and pennilessness could possibly board it.
Grey could feel the captain’s eyes squinting at her. The woman could always pick her out in the middle of any crowd saying she could sense the “shyness” from miles away. She raised a hand up and gestured a walking sign with two fingers. The captain simply shrugged and gave an earsplitting command to her crew.
The ship raised its anchors, creaking painfully. Grey followed as it sailed out into the main channel of the Taman River— the ancient river cutting through the whole continent and the life source of Havenn.
A wave of nostalgia hit her as she turned at the harbor's edge and playfully ran a hand through the nautical flags decorating the rusted brass railings. This was her spot way back when she was still a moon-eyed cadet. At the end of the day, after she had just miraculously passed a tactical drill or accidentally shot her sergeant's foot yet again, she would always find herself here. Feeling the breeze while munching on calamari was a simple but important leisure in her life. That and staring dreamily at the parametric tower standing guard in the middle of the river.
Grey gazed at the tower and the whole island fortress, much as she did before. Her feet started moving faster as she turned at another bridge, growing closer to her subject. The fortress is home to the most prestigious law enforcement agency worldwide. If the sheer size isn’t enough to intimidate any foreign person or vessel, then the armed walls built around it will. Glinting in the middle of its nigh impenetrable borders is a gold crest. It bears an intricate symbol of a Banyan tree with a shield carved on it, its roots branch out crafting endless desert dunes, and behind it were rays leading up to initials reading, ORDER.
It took years of studying (and a few more years after that) before she could now call it her home too! Yes, she is an officer too. Technically. Before she could continue her daydreaming, a big shadow loomed in front of her.
“Badge.” A familiar monotonal voice asked.
Grey blinked and looked around in surprise. Her hazy mind finally caught up that she’d already arrived at the iron gates of ORDER. One of the marshalls on duty stood in front of her, stiffly and with not a single crease on his black blazer uniform. Grabbing her backpack, she dug around for the metal plate sliding deeper inside her bag's bottomless pit. Nervousness coated her thick accent every second the man stared.
"Ohh umm! S-sorry! just- I am sure it is here somewhere."
Employees strode past, unbothered, as marshalls quietly glanced at each one. Their holo-visors fed them verifications and warnings that probably popped up over her face...again.
Suddenly, the man staggered for a bit, holding his earpiece.
“A-are you sure, ma-am? But the scan- Really? Oh. Copy that.”
Clearing his throat, he bowed. “My apologies, please proceed. Have a good day, Officer.”
“Ookay…?” Grey stood dumbfounded, slowly pressing the badge to her chest while watching the man walk away. It glowed a faint shade of tan before shrinking to a small pin.
With her head down, she shuffled quickly inside an empty transportation pod. Fingers pulled and picked on her slightly frayed getup when suddenly, a long-haired guy with a ripped hoodie and battered hands in glowing handcuffs was roughly pushed, followed by a bored officer texting on his phone. Milky glass doors closed, followed by the awkward elevator music.
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“Hey,” Grey whispered, offering a friendly smile to the confused crook. “Terrible morning?”
Surprisingly, it only took that before the man gladly ranted for half an hour about a mean detective lady before the pod finally hits the first stop. Grey wobbled out and waved goodbye to her new friend. She promised to visit him soon. Normally, pods were tolerable with their zigzagging and traveling sideways but while talking proved to be a death wish.
“O Bozhe.” She leaned on the nearby wall, breathing deeply to keep from spilling acid on the aged floors.
Thankfully, Bluecoat was a ghost town. Once the only home to ORDER, the building is now tucked away in the dense thicket of the training grounds. The shabby rotunda building now housed old and low-ranking officers and a handful of paralegals. It is currently the smallest structure in the compound with just a two-floor structure with wing extensions. The occasional sight of distressed interns, old janitors more invested in their MP3s than their mops, and-
“I heard she's pregnant.”
“What!? No way!”
-the normally cold and calculated marshalls that have nothing better to do than gossip are the only signs of life in the halls.
“Way. I heard it's one of the directors.”
“That explains the promotion!”
The voices faded away and are replaced with sounds of her sole brushing on the crusty shag carpet of the right-wing. Out of habit, Grey dragged her fingers over the chipped walls, flaking small patches of white paint. The hallways were unsettling as ever, with shadows casting from skinny trees outside and the eerie silence from empty offices. She smiled as a small memory came to mind.
“Come on, G! Walk faster! This place is giving me the creeps…not to mention we’re late!”
“And whose fault is that??” A young Grey harked back, eyes cautiously flickering to every small movement.
Pushing on the mahogany double doors at the end of the hall, a cacophony of chatter greeted her. Rows and rows of desks filled the large room with folks moving about like bees, a scene not far from the first time they stepped foot here.
Bluecoat has always been a traditional pen and paper department unlike the rest of the high-tech compound. They say it's an adjustment for older officers but everyone knows this department is probably at the end of the list of ‘Things to improve’ and first at ‘Things to remove’. Her job is proof of that, actually. Despite this, the gentle whir of old printers, warm conversations, and the strong scent of brewed coffee assured that everyone is still committed to keeping the country and its people safe.
It’s definitely an inspiration and an energizer for her to do more. Which is…not a lot at the moment.
At the very end of the room, was a metal door guarded by a middle-aged Cubana known as Lupe. Like all marshalls, she used to be all business but didn’t take too long to realize this wasn’t a battlefield and she's merely guarding papers, old-timers, and three kids in the basement.
"Good morning, Marshall Lupe." She smiled, earning the usual nod from the woman preoccupied with her Vanidade's - she was always fond of those old Spanish magazines.
Grey walked through the door and took the antique elevator that clanked at every movement. The varnished oak and metal cage seem to age the longer you look. For a few moments, darkness envelops the lift before suddenly opening up, descending into the middle of a grand, church-like place buried in time. Around are rows of bookcases as far as the eye can see that seemingly grew taller as the hoist reached the bottom. Stepping out, a rusted plate that hung between large chains greets you with bold embossed letters reading ‘Archives’.
The young cop smiled, taking a whiff of the familiar musty air of their ‘office’.
Throughout the aisles were messily stacked files and boxes all stamped with ‘Confidential’ and ORDER’s crest. Some had already spilled to the floor or teetered on broken shelves. She and her colleagues have tried to clean things up but these are decades of files starting from the typewriter era we’re talking about.
Speaking of colleagues.
“I told you it's double x, square, man! You foolin' right now!”
“That's what I did! Did you even fix this controller?!”
“Is Deeb blaming the hardware again?" Grey asked, laying eyes on her two friends seated on the altar steps in front of an old LED TV connected to presumably, their latest vintage gaming device haul from old evidence boxes.
“Not you too, G.” Deebo hunkered in annoyance.
"Sorry. But it’s Stacks. You know he is a magician.” Grey sat beside him, playfully ruffling his brown fringe.
“Ey! G knows what’s up!” Stacks reached out and dapped Grey with their secret handshake in front of their friend’s face. Deebo playfully swatted their hands, snorting at the duo's infectious laugh.
All around the altar was the crazy contraption that was their workspace. Deebo’s was a simple tall wooden desk with metal legs and a bar stool. His old model holocom—a holographic computer, is a white rectangular block with a hologram that flickered on top and controls flashed on the desk.
On the opposite side is Stacks'…stack of computers. Screens predating holograms were arranged like puzzle pieces with cables snaking all over that tripped them countless times. He controls everything from one physical keyboard currently resting on a ripped gaming chair.
Being the lead archiver, Grey had the largest workspace. The enormous block desk housed several hidden holocoms they constructed from scavenged faulty equipment on a boring day. They affectionally called it "Mother Blocker".
Screens collectively beamed as it powered up with a push of a button. Blue lines glowed on top of the block, creating an entire control board pulsing with different light shades.
"So freaking cool!" Grey bit her lip, containing her giddiness.
"By the way, G. We all got new loads today.” Stacks hollered, eyes never leaving their game.
"Oh! Sure, just give me everything."
"All of it? Now?" He quickly paused the game and looked at her in shock.
“Yup, just leave it on the desk.”
The two guys looked at each other before slowly moving to their job crates, specifically the one labeled as ‘Requests’. If you look closely, a fine print was added below reading ‘Shitty Errands’.
Stacks’ orange slit hoodie went up as he jumped inside the sizable container, moving bundles of files out without breaking a sweat. With his army green harem sweatpants, dress shoes, and orange top complimenting his dark complexion, Grey always thought he could pass for a dancer or an athlete. He was a talented and outgoing guy with stylish short dreads… with a fade! He's definitely not someone you’d think is working at what is essentially a storage facility.
Deebo was a lot like her. Timid, unathletic, with embarrassingly limited skills, therefore, opted to go through the dog door opening on the other side of the crate. His pale, scrawny build hidden under a black, half-sleeve shirt tucked in ankle-length trousers perfectly slipped through with no problem. His folded legs exposed animal printed socks in white-soled shoes. The whole image makes him look like a weird lovable smart guy you can't help but tease, which he is.
"You sure? We're not that busy, dude.” Stacks looked at her again, now helping Deebo with his load.
"Yup."
"Positive?" Deebo chimed in, also concerned.
"Yes."
"You know... you really don't have to overwork for them or us."
"Are you going to give me the files or not?" She barked. They all sensed the conversation going somewhere they know too well.
"Okay! Okay, geez." Stacks hauled two bundles of 30 thick envelopes on each arm, followed by a teetering Deebo with 1/3 of a bundle.
"Fuck." Grey stared at the towering files on her desk, suddenly cursing her conviction.
"Captain Salazar?" She asked.
“Yup, that geezer. Said for us to deliver everything this morning. If only he did his own job maybe he won't have as much problem fitting his fat wrinkly ass at the elevators.”
They burst into laughter for a whole minute, remembering the time they did see said fat wrinkly ass. The stuff of nightmares but very funny.
Grey started loading up the documents in the trolleys as the two simply watched.
“Best of five. Winner takes all. Ramen for a week.” Deebo whispered.
“You’re on!” They bumped fists. “After Grey leaves. The guilt will kill me.”
“You feel guilt?”
“Sick burn.”
They waved goodbye until the squeaks of the trolley vanished in the distance followed by the sound of the lift closing before breaking into a mad dash to get the better controller.