In this world, certain people are born with “gifts”
Understanding the world around you yet not your fellow man.
Understanding the past and future yet not the present.
Understanding all those around you yet never being understood in return.
I'm one of those people, though I don't know why I'm telling you. It’s not like you can do anything about it. However; why not continue, so what else to tell um … maybe backstory. I was told I was like this around four I think and taken to "the school" at five. The separation from my mom and dad was okay. I cried my eyes out, they didn't. Don't blame them, they didn't know me well, no one does, no one can. The school came with a guaranteed job so there wasn't much to cry about. I still think about them, sometimes. My mom had a minor gambling addiction she tried to keep secret despite overcoming it back when she found out she was pregnant. She never told me I just kinda knew. My dad was a great war hero killing one hundred men before defecting to the other side. Years later after helping in the defeat of his homeland he got a new name. He met my mom in a gambling den. He never told anyone but I got the gist of it.
We'd spend lots of time together, constantly going on walks and meeting people but for them, nothing came of it. I always loved those walks because I could see people. I already knew most of them though they kept forgetting me. they didn't cry either when I went away. Don't blame them it's part of my gift, to be passed over, forgotten.
"The school" wasn't much different though I did meet people I didn't know or couldn't. They were apparently like me. I can't remember anyone specifically. We tried everything to connect, talking about ourselves for hours, playing every game we could imagine, and sharing everything, but none of it worked. I think I would have remembered them if it did. I think I got a reference on how people felt around me. Never able to make a bond no matter what.
There were also others there that were like me but not like me. Some of them were extremely smart in the interests they specialized in. And the others were unbelievable.
The smart ones learned things extremely fast and when they specialized in something they learned things nobody else could. There was this one guy I spent a lot of time with who focused his gift on mechanics. The first time I met him he handed me my first rifle and didn't seem to get why handing a rifle to a six-year-old wasn't a good idea. Granted he was nine at the time and he had an odd life up to that point anyway. Unlike mine, his mom cried a ton when he went off to school though he didn't know why she was crying. He was the opposite of me; he didn't know anyone or seemed to care about anything other than his interests. His mom was odd too always coming home with a different man every night and didn't have a normal job. He never understood and I only realized years later what her job was. And it was probably why he never had a dad but he wouldn't care either way. To this day I don't know which one of us had it better. I go back and forth sometimes. Currently, my bet is on him; he'll never know what he was missing.
Then there were the oddest of us. I think the most memorable moment I had at school was when I was nine. It was the first time I met one of them in person and she was walking. They had their wing of "the school" because I was told their gift didn’t allow them to take care of themselves so they needed constant attention. Because of that, all the pictures I saw were in wheelchairs since they could hurt themselves so easily. So it was quite a surprise to see her walking even if she was being led by her mother. Our encounter took a turn for the weird when she came straight up to me and said. “Right on time.” and it took me much longer than normal to get the gist of her life and it wasn’t the normal way. Most of the time when I look at them I know the outline of their life and their personality and the more time I spend around them the more detailed it is and I start gleaming some memories. But this time I didn’t get an outline. When I got to her memories it was odd; like when you're reading a novel and you have to construct the scenes in your head instead of seeing or experiencing them yourself. She was an accident, a product of a liaison between a maid and some pointless patrician. They kept her a well-hidden secret by keeping her in a single room for the first three years of her life. She was found despite their best efforts and was taken to "the school” alongside her mother since it would be more convenient as her kind required constant care from birth to death. I wondered how they found her and as if she was hearing my thoughts she showed me a different scene.
I think it was a simplified version of how she saw things. A hard-to-describe melting pot of actual precognition, educated guessing, and dumb luck. Everything both past and future was happening all at once with her focusing on either tiny moments or massive chains of causality. Yet in all that enormity, something was missing? Something was not right? It took what felt like hours to realize it. This wasn't something she could control or more accurately chose to use. This was all she had, this was her world, this was her everything. And it was missing the now, the present what was happening right in front of her.
At that though a new vision came to me slowly coming into focus. A young woman in a wheelchair, her wide gray eyes staring into nothing. She was surrounded by a soft, pudgy, and emotionless face with deep dirty blonde hair done up in elegant pigtails with a large frilly red and pink dress that fit her disturbing thin frame neatly and a large white armband with red stripes covering her entire upper arm with an hourglass symbol across the outward-facing side.
Behind her is another woman … her mother, still as shockingly young as when I first met her, if I hadn't known otherwise I would have thought them sisters even if you knew their ages you'd probably still think them sisters as they were barely born 16 years apart. The features of her face are similar to her daughter's though much more sullen and harsh. Her own much darker blonde hair was in a half knot with a large surprisingly fashionable hat kept on by two large and deadly looking hat pins contrasting her rather plain white shirt, brown suit jacket, and brown midi length fan skirt which ended at mid-calf button-up boots. I stared at her for a little bit though her eyes were hidden behind ornate sunglasses I quickly got a character portrait of her.
She's had a hard life, two brothers and three sisters, all long gone by now, a father lost to the war and a mother lost to the bottle. When she found employment as a maid in the wealthiest manor in the town it was a dream come true. She was expected to be tidy at all times so she had fresh clothes and a place to consistently bathe and even the servant quarters were rather comfortable. The occasional beating for slipping up wasn't uncommon but compared to the conditions of the factories or workhouses it was more than bearable. After a whole year, on what had been a rather good day, she was invited to the master's office. What happened next I need not elaborate, he told her it was out of love, and she tried to convince herself that was what love is. This happened, again and again, every week for over a year until her daughter was born and then every other week for three years. This is where her and her daughter’s fate becomes inseparable as already told.
“Thank you for accommodating my little Agnes.” she dryly spoke with small hints of both genuine thankfulness and deep bitterness with an almost foreign accent. At her words, I realized this was no vision of the future Agnes was showing me, this was reality.
“You’re welcome, Miss Inget.” I slowly came to my bearings darting my eyes everywhere desperate to figure out where I was. The first thing I saw was Agnes' hand lightly in mine, it was over-extended and barely holding on. I didn't have any idea what to do but as they said back in school, “Always remember your etiquette”. I gave her a bow and a light kiss on the knuckles. She seemed to be quite amused with the light giggle she let out at the exact moment.
“Thank you, Fritz,” she whispered like a soft and aimless breeze. “Who's Fritz?” I wondered but not for longer than a second as Miss Inget placed her in a wheelchair and began the roll away.
“Good day and goodbye Mister Bismarck.” Miss Inget stated bluntly and emotionlessly.
“To both of you as well misses Inget.” They both made their way down the road and I was left all alone. The vision faded and I finally had an opportunity to properly reorient myself to time and place and remember who I was. I started by examining myself. I started with my hands, pale and soft best suited for paperwork at the worst. From there I continued up my arm to the dirty gray suit jacket with a white armband with blue stripes and a large eye in the center. I wore a disheveled white shirt not even tucked into my horribly mismatched striped blue pants. I bent over to properly examine my shoes, a pair of very well-maintained and rather old brown leather monk straps. I think I was headed to work and had a vague idea of where that was, and was about to start on my way before catching a glimpse of my reflection in a nearby puddle. I gazed at my short and unkempt blue-black hair, the dull brown eyes, with a face so plain even I would forget it. I'm unmistakably a man but how you would tell would be on instinct and experience more than any notable masculine features. Narrow forehead, thin eyebrows, round eyes, barely defined jawline, and cheekbones that are covered in razor nicks.
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I don't know how long I was looking at that face that didn't seem entirely mine. Maybe because only a few minutes ago I was a child again lost in the visions Agnes showed me for what felt like years. Has time really changed me so much? Eventually, no matter how much I wanted to delay, I got up and searched my body, eventually finding a coin-silver pocket watch stamped with the words “new city of the republic constables” alongside a shield containing a stylized map of the city within it. I opened it and saw it was roughly a quarter to twelve (11:45).
“I think I'm gonna be late.” I started running down the near-empty street as fast as I could manage. Looking at my surroundings I tried to make my conscious mind recall what my unconscious knew implicitly. This was Newtown, a massive urban expansion to the city of Porton part of the effort to transform it into the new capital. The specific area is known as the North End, a rather strange neighborhood as it is not inhabited by patricians or plebeians. The new third class emerging from the post-war economic boom, able to take more than a day off work in a month and be very loose with their money, one or two even held a higher magistrate office or had a seat in the senate or higher assemblies.
The place was almost a ghost town, the expected population boom after the capital relocation was below projections. But my musings on the changing society were interrupted as I crossed the river and entered Oldtown. I checked my watch again, seven to twelve (11:53)
“I might just make it,” I said under my breath and I believed myself for about a minute before running into the crowds. Unlike the North end, Oldtown had almost three million people, and the city center where the main constable office was, where I work, is the most densely populated. The streets are ridiculously narrow, incredibly tight and you couldn't go two steps before tripping over a beggar or someone else's foot. Eventually, I don't know how I got through the crowds, I arrived at the constable's office and just outside the front entrance, I saw a man. He was leaning against the wall smoking from a rolled-up cigarette and wearing a neat and fashionable black suit and a blue-striped white armband with that eye in the center. His face I struggle to remember but he is old, probably older than my father. I don't know him all that well other than he's like me and served in the last war the same one my father fought in. I rechecked my watch, over twenty past twelve, I'm … well surprised he waited for me usually I get here ten before twelve. I walked next to him and pulled out my cigarette case, he provided a match so there we stood smoking for a bit. I can't remember exactly when it started but it's become an essential part of my daily life. I don't care if it makes me even later to work and besides that crazy psycho princess can wait.
She is absolutely livid yet she is deathly silent as I enter her office and I am utterly terrified, only able to take quick peeks at her while she continues reading the gazette. I’m usually scared of her it's just the sensible thing to be when within 50 meters of her because she is bloody evil. Now she’s giving me a death glare - h-how does she know?
“Because you were scowling and then acting surprised you idiot, besides you things are supposed to read minds?” She spoke over her paper to my scared trembling body.
I’ve been called a lot worse but coming from her it just bites so much harder, but she's right the only reason I'm here is to read minds and I shouldn't keep her waiting any longer so I take a deep breath and take a long look inside her head. Marcella Luisa Alessio Vivaldo Massimo A. Minervian chief magistrate of the national constabulary of the republic or just chief Marcella for short. Despite her short life it's full of so many important people and events it’s like a bad serial that crams more things than are possible for one woman to go through in just 27 years. I am going to skip over it as it is very long hmm here are some more recent event oh the first time we met what does she think of me? let me see my designation number is 1928 (nineteen twenty-eight) and my job is interrogations and interviews oh that's all she thinks of me … here's something else two years ago she was appointed as magistrate with much consternation as it's considered well to put it plainly ‘unwomanly’. If you're a woman interested in politics you go to the assembles or senate, magistrate positions are not limited to but are always given to men. I am getting sidetracked now back to her, today is the beginning of the centennial games, a week-long celebration of the founding of the republic 400 years ago. and all the important patrician families, military commanders and plebeians who matter are having a big Ball at the place Hill to start it.
And on today of all days, the Gazette di Porton owned by the Elio family who to put it simply do not like the Minervian’s had a hit piece against the constabulary, particularly the woman in charge of it. Especially its overuse of ‘Cerepsy’(cer-ep-sy) (the most common word used to describe my kind. I don't use it.), the questionable effectiveness of the non cerepsy officers, and of course the most important thing the character of Chief Marcella. To be honest, I giggled at how petty it got. It started with more popular points of discussion on how ‘women’ are 'naturally’ more suited for the civilized discourse of the assemblies and senate. As if those aren’t cutthroat nightmares of constant plotting, backstabbing, factionalism, and everything else short of assassination as I have learned from Marcella herself, her mother is a senator you see. Then brings up things that are a bit unrelated like how her grandfather Dante et cetera et cetera Manius was the leader of the cerepsy nationalization movement. And finally the funniest part about how she uses shouting and vulgar words when disciplining the men under her command.
The horror … the horror just wait till you hear the other-. Oh gods that poor squirrel oh gods the blood! That forced me back to reality gaging at the sight and the first thing I saw was Marcella who smirked seeing my disgust. “How does she do that, just making see whatever she wants?”
“I had a feeling you were getting off-topic please continue.'' She spoke full of playfulness as if the images of her as a child torturing a defenseless animal were the height of childhood amusement. I … hate this so much but I shouldn't leave and even if I did, where would I go?! Ooh, Ahh deep breaths oh no here comes the chills and the shakes, deep breaths … once more into the fire.
“I'm pretty sure I got the most relevant information, ma’am could you please just explain what you want from me? I’m late and have at least seven interrogations and ten interviews to get through.” my eyes were darting all over her office desperate not to make eye contact. From the hardwood floor, I think it is wenge from Tenebris, and her massive mahogany desk imported from Novulocu coated in ornate carvings of people and monsters and symbolism I don't understand. The whole office was resplendent now that I think about it with great bookshelves and a large chandelier lighting everything. Eventually, I dared to look at her again starting with her full dress uniform, initially she just wore the male uniform but probably anticipating the possible scandal of a woman dressing like a man she quickly commissioned a female uniform.
“Tch lazy bastard.” she tossed the gazette into the bin, stood and circled the desk letting me see her in full. Going bottom up she was wearing normal black leather-heeled shoes and a deep blue maxi-length a-line skirt that led seamlessly into the blue asymmetrical button-up jacket with all the buttons of the far right side forming a flap that all the constables wore. “I am not going to let this slight go unpunished so 1928 you’re coming with me to the ball at Palace Hill.” her voice was brimming with confidence.
“ … ma’am permission to speak freely?” for the first time in a long time I looked her in the eyes. Those piercing vibrant green eyes hid the devil within surrounded by her immaculately groomed eyelashes, a deadly sharp face though with oddly full cheeks, and vibrant brown hair in a long straight ponytail. Her makeup was surreal as it is noticeable unlike the invisible look popular among mature patrician women but not the treat your face like a canvas style popular with the teenagers who have too much free time in the North end, with silver eyeshadow and blood-red lips over her olive skin.
“Yes that is what we pay you for is it not?” her snark was palpable.
“All right ma’am … that is a terrible idea.” why am I talking back to her?
“And that is why you things aren’t allowed opinions, go about your duties at 5:00 I'll get a cab so you can retrieve your dress uniform and we’ll head to the ball at 5:30 to arrive shortly before its beginning at 6:00 we’ll be one of the first to arrive giving you plenty of time to mingle. And get me plenty of ammunition against the Elio's alongside anyone else who dare to insult me”
“But my watch doesn’t end until 8:00 what about?” Oh gods why am I questioning her?!
“Anyone brought in can wait until the third watch now go 1928.” with that firm command and one subtle point from her finger I was away. I'm normally scared of her but today was unreal. Plus she was using my full designation number usually she just uses ‘thing’ I have no idea what it means as her behavior changes with everyone. Oh hell, I'm gonna get a week of hazing at least, what is wrong with me today?
Back to something normal and comprehensible my primary job, interviews and interrogations. Running out I gave a quick wave to her secretary I believe she’s the only other woman in the force and went from the second to the main floor. When I reached the lobby I got a look at the new massive ceiling clock and saw the time 12:55 a whole hour late … I probably could have cut that smoke short. The lobby used to be much more simple and utilitarian but when Marcella was made chief everything became much fancier, with lots of carved wood, marble with lots of other opulent things that have just become a gray blur at this point. Of course, it was, despite its large size, packed as always with people coming, going and arrests being processed. Eventually, I made my way to the tiny, cramped questioning room said hi to Everett the constable on duty, and prepared to spend the next eight well four hours in there. I set up the typewriter on the small table and the repetitive task of inserting paper and double-checking the components provided some sense of normalcy.
“Constable Everett I am ready please send in the first suspect or witness.”