Ravela picked up a newspaper on her way to the academy. From now on, she would have to keep an eye on the stories hitting the paper. As of last night, she made the crime in Pliada City officially Michael Manus’ business.
She leaned against the hood of her car, reading the paper. Michael Manus walked down the street on the front page, and Ravela thought Atla had supplied the Tribute with a great photo of him passing by. Further down in the article was another picture of her standing between the beaten mobsters and the Bomber.
As good as the images were, the article's title spoke of her as ‘Another Vigilante terrorizing Pliada City,’ which felt slanderous. Furthermore, the article's author wasn’t Atla Jaest but the one and only Constantine Severus. Ravela wondered if it was just a pen name for Atla to shield herself from people knowing it was her at the root of all the breaking stories in town.
Ravela began to wonder about the logistics of this article getting into the paper overnight. Either it was a nightmare of last second all night work, or they were holding the presses and front page since Atla had called them before taking her spot on the scene. But, on the other hand, she was happy about Morbolfr not making it anywhere near the front page with his sleazy campaign announcement to taint the prosecutor’s office with himself. That bad news was relegated to a minor article in the politics section of the paper, which most readers know to avoid.
Folding the newspaper carefully and stashing it in her car’s glove box, she mentally prepared for today's lectures. Maybe instructors and recruits had time to look into the background of the Gradjia incident. But, on the other hand, she wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of getting glared at.
On her way to the main hall for morning attendance, Ravela spotted Jocul and Donna getting out of the city bus right before she entered through the main door.
She was still wounded by the looks they had thrown her way the day prior. Jocul’s face of distrust had hurt her since she had gotten along with him so well before. It was still too early for the hall to be full, but there were a few early birds.
She spotted Alan sitting on a chair in one of the corners, outright asleep. He wasn’t usually one to be among the first to arrive. Ravela wondered what would have him sleeping in the main hall just before the start of their training day. Maybe his daughter came down with an illness, and he had to care for her throughout the night.
Pushing off the speculations about how and why Alan snored, she sat in his vicinity.
She tried closing her eyes to center herself, but somehow she felt her muscles twitch like they were restless for movement. It irked her, but tensing up wouldn’t lift the general nervous reaction of her body going from intense combat to a peaceful day in the academy.
It would take Jocul and Donna roughly five more minutes before they crossed the street to the traffic light like she knew the two commissioner’s kids would. So she was preparing herself for an awkward day.
Alan chose this moment of peace to return to the land of consciousness, groaning and coughing. He looked as though he was squinting, confused about his location, before honing in on her. “Oh, look who’s early.”
Ravela slowly opened her eyes and turned her head. “Well, you look like you slept here tonight, so it seems like I never stood a chance of being first today anyways.”
Alan laughed a husky laugh that developed into a cough. “I just couldn’t catch any sleep last night.”
“And you’re getting sick too. I hope you and your daughter get better soon. Also don’t you infect me with whatever you brought with you from home,” She countered.
“So, the fallen disciple is here. Think the instructors will not comment on what happened yesterday?” Alan asked if there was a bit of poison in his comment.
“If they are as well connected as we both know they are, I think they verified by now how Morbolfr Krone and I know each other,” Ravela responded. Nevertheless, she felt a sting since she liked Alan, and he had grown on her during the fitness test and the lectures.
“We all heard what you said yesterday. So I wondered if you’d be willing to tell me the whole story. Because, believe it or not, I don’t have a deep well of blue blood to drink knowledge from or a lifetime's worth of colleagues who happens to know a guy who knows a guy.”
“How did you join the recruits here without personal investment? You want me to believe you just woke up one morning deciding: ‘I should be a police officer.’”
“Why don’t you answer my question, and after that, I might share how I decided to join the police,” Alan replied drily.
Ravela turned in her seat to look more directly at Alan. “The story is as follows. There was a criminal duo fleeing from the law. One probably got shot and died in the deep dark woods outside Gradjia. The other twin returned to town, vengeance on his mind. There was a huge football game in town. I walked to the bathroom just before Akai Kordo enacted his great revenge.”
She saw the look on Alan’s face. He listened intently to her, and Ravela appreciated that. “When I came out of the bathroom, I saw a man jump out of a moving truck, and I didn’t know it was Akai then. He ran off, and I was confused as the truck slowly rolled onto the field. It reached the middle of the field as I walked closer, not knowing what would happen next. Then the explosion happened. All I remember was the bright light and something hitting me in the head. I was out for I don’t know how long, but when I returned to my senses, I struggled back to my feet and saw a police cruiser arrive on the scene. A deputy rushed to my side, and I didn’t hear what he asked me, but I saw Akai run up behind the deputy. I put my finger between the revolver's hammer as it snapped forward to shoot the deputy.”
Ravela paused, glancing at the main entrance where Donna and Jocul had just appeared. ‘They must have caught a green light for once.’ Then, refocusing, she continued her retelling. “Saved the deputy, got knocked on my ass by Akai Kordo, who was a head taller than me. The moment of distraction was enough for the deputy to pull his revolver and kill the madman. When they buried the explosion victims, Morbolfr came to bury the ‘son of a business friend.’ We had a few choice words for each other after it became clear that he was there to mourn Akai Kordo’s death. Since then, some of his goons keep tabs on me and try to annoy me however they are permitted to.” She shrugged as if that was all there was to the story, which superficially was true.
Alan coughed again and cleared his throat. “That sounds like an agreeable way to be acquainted with Morbolfr Krone and his ilk. Consider my doubts about you dropped. However, you might want to work on your storytelling. Not saying it was dull, but…yeah, I got nothing redeeming there.”
Ravela scoffed at her fellow recruit. She had told the story in vivid detail. How dare he not imagine it like he was living it. “Sure thing, Alan. I will work on my narrator skills,” Ravela chose to let it go through inwardly gritted teeth. ‘If I told you my story as it was, I bet your jaw would hit the floor.’
Their fellow recruits linked up with them, and Ravela mentally prepared herself for the doubts and side-eye. This would be a long day.
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Laena sat on a bench in the schoolyard, enjoying the spring sun. She had a free period while Safora was busy hurrying to her elective Photography and Film class.
She also had roughly two hours if she counted the break before and after class. Laena got up from the bench and walked back to her dorm. She also passed the training fields where some other cheerleader teams were practicing, among them one of Pliada City’s districts.
These girls were far up the list of people Laena didn’t want to associate with. She stopped for a moment. On second thought, they might be most of the list. However, they were mainly in a higher class than Laena and looked down on the “country bumpkins,” as they called those not from big cities. Safora and herself had been particular targets because they had left all their sports and cheerleading teams.
Slowly, she made her way back to her dorm. Thankfully the posh cheerleaders were busy with themselves and the footballers they watched.
After passing the training fields, she relaxed somewhat. Stretching her neck, Laena hadn’t even realized how tense she had become walking around school.
Out of one of the boy’s dorms came a woman Laena knew. Chi Han walked to her car with a packed suitcase and a box under her arm. One of the janitors and a security guard also carried boxes for her. Laena’s heart sank, and the world slowed down. Her body stretched the moments of dread out for her. While she was usually moving, she perceived and thought so much faster.
‘Why would Chi pick up his stuff? Is he switching schools? Did Troy die!?’
She walked up to Chi Han, calling out to her. “Mrs. Han, what’s going on?”
Doctor Han turned to Laena; she looked tired. “Laena? Oh, little Laena, how have you been?”
Laena found Doctor Han’s way of being formal and inquiring about her first state of things stiff. “Don’t mind me. What’s this? Is Troy not coming back to school?”
Chi Han nodded, “I see. You want to know how your classmate is. My nephew won’t be back in school this year. He has to recover and adapt to his new … circumstances.” The last word sounded almost bitter.
“I am sad that he won’t be back this year. But please tell him that Safora and I hope he can recover or get used to whatever is happening. We’re wishing him the best.” Laena said, her voice not quite making the cute to count a hopeful.
Chi Han gave her an exhausted smile. “I’ll tell him you asked how he was and that you two cared. I am sorry, Laena, but I am on the clock here and must pack Troy’s things up soon. You understand, don’t you?”
Laena knew that Chi ended the conversation not to pack but because she wasn’t in the mood to be questioned or prodded by a teenager who might be digging for rumors. “Of course, I’m sorry to have bothered you. Please, do tell Troy that I’m rooting for him. Goodbye.”
She hurried off to her dorm. Safora was going to hate this news. Her plans to read something fun or do exercises went out the window. Laena needed to calm herself, or she would spend the entire day walking through mental syrup.
On her way through the dorms, Laena spotted Beth rushing out of her room in a hurry barreling straight toward Laena.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Coming through! Cheerleader in a rush! Make way, make way!” She shouted.
Laena was kind enough to let the girl pass. She had overslept and was late for her first class. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to have just one day where I don’t have to drag myself out for the first period?’
As Beth ‘zoomed’ by, Laena was hit by a wall of lavender scent.
Beth was many things, but she had never been that heavy-handed with perfume. Maybe she met a boy and was overcompensating for her complexes by going for a lot of perfume, but to Laena, it was just too much.
As the cheerleader hurried off around the corner, Laena remained stuck in a hallway that smelled like a flower field.
“Achoo!” She started sneezing uncontrollably. “Achoo!” Fleeing the corridor to her room, Laena had the thick taste of flowers reach her tongue. Whatever Beth was thinking or hoping to achieve with this perfume would backfire horribly.
“Achoo!” With one last sneeze, she closed the door to her room and hastily opened the window for some fresh air. “Oh, screw this!”
That had been decidedly the weirdest part of her morning. The floral smell didn’t dissipate. It was as though it was stuck in the room.
Laena thought about what to do now that her room smelled like someone had hosed it down with pollen. She could go to the library and read. She could go to the music room where she had spent the evenings practicing every day since Safora had stopped accompanying her to the library.
She was getting good with the electric guitar, and now that her room smelled like a ghost with a flower bouquet haunted her, the thought of practicing while others were in the music hall didn’t bother Laena anymore.
“Achoo.” Laena shook her head wildly from side to side as her nose began to winkle again for the next sneeze. “Oh, double-screw this!” She declared while checking outside the window for anybody who might spot her.
She had to get out of here, and she wouldn’t return to that hall. ‘This wasn’t just perfume,’ she thought, seeing no people who would spot her immediately. So Laena took the risk and, together with her backpack, quickly climbed and jumped down the side of the building.
Once outside, she took a deep breath. Then, turning around, she saw the dorm's front door fly open and a running Beth bursting from it. The girl made it precisely three steps out the door before Laena once again went into a fit of sneezing.
Beth didn’t even stop and wondered why Laena was outside the building when they’d just met in the hall; such was her rush. She repeated her earlier warning she had in the hallway, and Laena couldn’t even hold her breath or cross her fingers for the cheerleader not to realize they’d just passed each other upstairs because she was sneezing up a storm.
In her wake, Laena was left fleeing the scene, taking a wide berth to not cross paths with the cloud Beth was leaving behind. She thought about going to Safora and getting her out of class to tell her about what just happened, but there was no way this wouldn’t be the talk of the school within the hour anyhow.
Instead, she stuck with her earlier plan and went to the music department and checked out the guitar she had gotten used to for a while.
Picking a practice room, she quickly set it up and dug through the songs in a stand near the entrance. Most songbooks were already used to the point of missing covers and sites falling out. To the credit of all involved in studying these books, even pages that had fallen out were stuck back in their proper place. There was no stopping students from scribbling the occasional jokes or comment on the sites, but at least the songs remained whole.
She picked a small booklet with the flag for a cover. Laena wanted to try something new. The anthem of the Unified States was on the first page. It was due for an update, and Laena was ready to practice her skills on it.
The book went into a stand so she could read it while playing. Laena took her time studying the notes, but she knew how the anthem should sound by ear already, and these notes and her instrument weren’t exactly soulmates yet.
She tested the guitar strings by putting the sling around her and over her shoulder. To her relief, nobody had taken her instrument since she last played. Laena hated coming back to a differently-tuned instrument. That was part of the reason why she had picked an electric guitar. The other reason was that if all her life ran in slow motion, at least the songs she would play would give her an adrenaline rush.
After a few arm rotations where she ran her plectrum over the strings soaking in the energetic vibrations and sounds, Laena readied herself to play.
“Please rise for our national anthem,” She told the imaginary crowd.
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Ravela was currently in a class with the other recruits, and Instructor Harmond had made his entrance moments earlier for a new module.
“Now, allow me to introduce you to the people who will be all over every little mistake you make in the field. The Police Department loaned these fine Detectives on this beautiful day to give you a comprehensive rundown on how things should be handled properly.” He announced as men in suits walked in. Granted, their suits weren’t anything fancy, primarily brown or grey, but they dressed to make a good impression.
Ravela looked them up and down. It was a line-up of the people responsible for solving crimes in Pliada City. She saw many different stations in life, clean, successful, and confident, depicting men who still had some nervous energy about them to rough-looking, sleep-deprived men who looked like they’d rather be anywhere but here teaching recruits.
Her eyes fell on Detective Thorn and Detective Gell, and to her surprise, one of them had already spotted her.
Detective Gell walked up beside Instructor Harmond, whispering something in his ear. The Instructor seemed to think something over for a minute, then nodded. Ravela watched as the detective went down the line of his colleagues, heading for a man dressed more like a banker would. They exchanged a few words before the overdressed detective made a throw-away gesture, which Detective Gell acknowledged with a short nod.
‘Looks like those two came to an understanding.’ Ravela sighed. It looked like her past would come to jump right into the eyes of her fellow recruits. But, at least, it was a past that would help to ease her comrades' suspicions.
‘Well, maybe.’
Instructor Harmond waited for Detective Gell to retake his place in the line before he spoke again.
“Today, you will receive a crash course on how you, as a future police officer, are to handle yourself in the following disciplines: Securing evidence, securing a crime scene, interviewing the victim of a crime, arriving on a crime scene, how to spot Lookouts, how to handle onlookers, and the most important discipline of all, how to deal with journalists.” Instructor Harmond paused for a moment looking at the detectives. “Actually, that one I will teach you right here right now myself. If a journalist asks you anything, the correct response is as follows. And repeat after me: I am not authorized to give any statements. Please reach out through the official channels.”
Ravela repeated with every other recruit and spotted the detectives repeating along with them. It had to be a well-used line. She committed this line to Ramiel’s professional repertoire but not to Michael’s or her other possible disguises.
“Your respective detective will call out your group number, and you will follow them to the prepared training field. I expect a proper work ethic here, as this is your future trade. Learn it well. I will be watching with the other Instructors.” He ended his speech.
With that, the first detective stepped up and called for his group. It dawned on Ravela that she already knew the detective group one would get for their lecture.
On his turn, Detective Gell stepped up and called out for Ravela’s group, and she followed her group to the seminar room.
“Group One is one of the best groups in this year’s recruits. Let’s see how you do in some practical applications of real police work. Not physical training or dry theory, but the craft of the thing.” Detective Gell began his lesson without addressing her. She didn’t mind that the detective did not call her out in front of the other recruits.
“My name is Viktor Gell. I have been a Detective with PCPD for ten years now. Let me tell you anything on a crime scene that could help resolve a crime,” The man stated while walking over to a few plastic bags and printed-out photographs. “For instance, take this cigarette bud. In and of themself, nothing important, right? That is until you match the cigarette brand to one of the suspects.”
Putting the bag back on the table, the detective pointed to one of the photographs. “And here you have the reason why. Cigarette bud and a suspect were smoking the same brand, big woop. How does it help your investigation? You start digging through the evidence and the statement of the suspects or witnesses. There it is, the one photo that connects you criminal to the crime scene beyond some vague hunch.” Passing the photo around, Ravela looked at what was supposedly so helpful. She turned the picture left and right with Donna beside her holding her hand out, waiting. It was a picture of random rubbish and confused her. ‘How was this picture helpful at all?’ She reluctantly passed the picture to Donna with a frown on her face.
“What do you think connects the suspect to the cigarette and this picture most?”
The question was aimed at the room, but to Ravela, it felt like she was the odd one out in the group. She thought that if they sat in a hall filled with all the recruits, she might be one of the few who wouldn’t get it. It was vexing, but there was no helping it.
“Show of hands, who’s got what it takes to become a detective?”
Ravela looked at her group; all the other recruits had raised their hands. This would be humiliating, she realized.
“Recruit Madri, what do you think is in that picture that solved our problem?”
“I think the match wrapper is what solved the case here.”
Detective Gell nodded and agreed, “Indeed, it did. You see, this wrapper is a special brand from a hotel in Pliada City.” Ravela could tell that he was passionate about his profession by the excitement snapping into his voice. “At first, you think nothing much of it, but then the picture comes together. The suspect stayed in that same hotel and smoked the brand of cigarettes. Not a common cigarette brand, I might have to add here. But back to the matches, those aren’t just for any room in the hotel. Those are exclusively placed in suites or better rooms, and guess who rented a suite? Not just that, but they are marked with specific room numbers. With our first questioning of the suspect, we could place him at the crime scene while he claimed he wasn’t even near the place.”
Ravela wondered if that was enough to put a person in prison, but by the gleaming eyes of Detective Gell, it had to be.
“Now that you understand the importance of packing any evidence, and got a rough idea of the importance of everything left on a crime scene, let's move on to the how and why of the process. This right here,” The detective said and held up a bunch of empty plastic bags. “these are evidence bags. Note that they come with serial numbers, an extra window to put a proper label in, and are sealable. Allow me to regale you on the wonders of bureaucracy.”
Ravela’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. This would be a long day.
Stretching her neck, Ravela prepared herself for a day full of knowledge that she needed to function as a police officer and an intelligent human being in this society. Her fellow recruits knew details like matches and hundreds of other points of trivia. On the other hand, she would have to study those ridiculous minor details from now on like they were an entirely separate discipline she had to master.
There were entire worlds of subtle human quirks unknown to her. Comparing her life experience in a bubbled colony as a gladiator fell comparatively flat. The fact that this lack of personnel depth came to her in the form of an empty match wrapper was especially devastating. Ravela tried not to stew on the fact that tossed-away things held more cultural value than the poor warehouse thief turned gladiator.
Involuntarily she gritted her teeth. This chance to have a fulfilling life, Ravela would use to her utmost. There were wells of knowledge so obscure, yet, to her, they were all water she wished to taste. She wanted more from life than combat.
Her mind wandered back to the previous night and how she had enjoyed the moment in battle. She was biting her lower lip at the memory. It took her a moment to snap out of it.
“Alright, let’s move on.” The detective pulled Ravela back to the here and now of things.
“Securing a crime scene is very easy,” Viktor Gell said while grabbing a yellow and black roll off the table. “This here is crime tape. It does indicate to the public that an area is secured as a crime scene. Unfortunately, while journalists can write, they are innately unable to read. Hence we post rookies on the edges around this tape to prevent the illiterate and colorblind from entering our crime scene.”
The man slowly tossed the roll up and down as he elaborated on his dislike of journalists. “When you are charged with cordoning off a crime scene by a detective, you’ll need a roll of this. You put it at the distance the detective tells you to. Wrap it around lamp poles, fences, or even a car’s side mirror. If some clown complains, tell them their car is part of the crime scene, and only the detective can change the zone. If he tries to move the car before you secure the tape elsewhere, guess what? That’s right. You arrest that man for interfering with our crime scene. Inconvenience is no excuse for them. This holds until it is, naturally, the car of the mayor, state senator, or some other official that can directly scream into the ear of your superior’s superior. Any questions?”
“The mayor’s car can hold evidence if the culprit bumped into it. Hell, the mayor can be the culprit. Can we just let them go?” Donna piped up in confusion and with a bit of shock in her voice.
“Great question. If the mayor comes at your superiors, it is the chain of command, and all is well. You just do what your higher-ups tell you. But if you are unlucky enough to find yourself nose to nose with the mayor right on the curb, that is different, and that is what we are currently talking about. Because NOW it is your ass on the line. So here’s the brilliant time-tested solution.” Their teacher drew them in.
Ravela noticed Donna actually leaning forward a bit; she was hooked.
“If the mayor tells you off. You turn, click your heels twice and run up the chain of command as fast as possible. Away from the mayor...first stop the detective on the scene. Hide behind him like your career depends on it because it does.” Donna visibly deflated like she was watching a movie, and a poorly written twist villain ruined the entire film.
Kahli Madri raised her hand. “You said that last bit like it happened before.”
“In your future careers, anything can and will happen eventually.” He threw the roll high, and it came down over Kahli’s head. “Think quick,”
Kahli managed to catch the descending roll before it plopped on her head. “and act smart. Because if you insist stubbornly and get your way, you WILL end up in that kind of mess. So treat your fellow citizens like they were the mayor or senator’s son, and you won’t have to find out firsthand what happens to the kind of moron that does things like that.”
Detective Gell paused for a moment and looked at the ceiling. One hand wandered to his chin as he hummed. “Yup, that about covers that. Except if a superior tells you to guard a crime scene, you do that not just till your shift ends. No, you do that until you get relieved from that post. If you have a twelve-hour work day because of that, so be it. We’ve all been there. But, trust me, if you leave a crime scene unguarded, you won’t be in this job for long.”
Ravela thought back to the officer on the roof. Police had to look out for each other, or else they might end up forgotten on top of a building for one or two days.
“Now, let’s see, arriving on a crime scene is always something.” Their teacher for the day moved on. “First, treat any crime scene as if the culprit is still there because they might be. It doesn’t matter if they’re playing the distraught husband or wife. Some victims on a crime scene may still be alive and need your help, support, and guidance. Verify with neighbors, even if you think a place is empty, how many people should be in the residence. You never know when one old lady opposite the house asks you if the children are okay, and suddenly you have a disgruntled ex-husband or ex-wife with a two-hour headstart because when you first arrived at the scene, you didn’t bother to verify who’s still in the house and who should have been there.”
Ravela soaked up the information like a sponge. She would probably never have thought of inquiring about such things before this moment, but now she had committed the importance to memory. The duty of care extended further than to the immediate situation. There was a web at play here, and navigating it required awareness. Since arriving in this dimension, Ravela had become more perceptive to her surroundings, but there was still a long road ahead.
“So, lookouts. A tough thing to spot, but… .”