Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

(Here's the OOC)

“Too many times have I looked at the horizon to the Spiral beyond. I have gone there only to be driven away, back to my home and prison. Is it wrong that I want to live in the spatial wilds? Is it wrong for me to live free from the people, and the filth, and the drudgery? I look to the infinite Spiral and wonder if I have to go beyond our cage to find a place solely for myself.”
-Captain Fairdale on the con-ship Flattery before he set off alone, 439 RC.

Ruin
Day 1

On the far north side of the world city Ruin the estates of Center Piece lifted up past the rim of the Spiral. As the first rays of light from Amalgam hit its towers and glass, Center Piece began to glitter and sparkle. The jewel of Ruin cast it’s gaze over the rubble and rubbish that surrounded it with pompous arrogance. As Center Piece continued to push past the rim it heralded the beginning of a new day.

In Ruin beyond windows on the surface opened to the light of a new day and the inhabitants looked up into the mottled orange, purple, green, and blue haze that comprised Ruin’s sky. On the surface vents also opened to let the sunlight streak down their mirrored corridors and into the caverns and warrens that made up the under layers of the city. Positioned mirrors at the ends of the tunnels sent the light out over the under cities and into refractions balls. Each became a mini sun, a miniature reflection of the might of Amalgam.

The world city woke sluggishly. It still spun slowly on it’s sideways axis and Center Piece would enjoy the full fifteen hours of light it deserved, but this was no time for lazing in the sun. Across Ruin there was work to be done.

Factory whistles sounded in a cacophony of cries, signaling workers to rouse themselves for their shifts. Before them the quicker cooks and merchants readied their shops for the influx of bodies that needed sustenance or goods. The streets and alleys of Ruin bloomed with banners of red, blue, or green while the electronic signs that had illuminated the night were chased away. In the wealthier parts of the city holograms sputtered to life, scorning the fabric of the lower districts with appeals that spoke with a voice.

When the second round of whistles came the sudden bloom ended and the colors died away. In the wake of motion the guild workers began to rouse themselves from their slumber. In his small, single room shack, Jordan Slurlman woke with them.

As he lifted himself from the hard comfort of his floor mat, Jordan groaned and rubbed wakefulness into his eyes. They rebelled, puffy and blurred, and forced Jordan to stumble through his home to his window. When he did finally reach it and open it, he was nearly blinded by the shining light of the refraction orb. The workers of this part of the city still hadn’t fixed the thing yet.

Subsection 43’s refraction orb was a greedy thing and had always gorged on the sunlight while giving back only a minimum in return. Now that it had been “worked on” it refracted too much and wrapped 43 in an uncomfortable heat. Ignoring the blinding light, Jordan reached for his junction box outside his window and guided the handing thing, along with it’s wire, into the receptacle on the side of his house. When it was in place Jrodan’s house came to life.

The laundry from last night swayed in the new breeze from the fan while the dirty water from the laundry pot was sucked into a purifier below. While the water was cleaned and made useable again, Jordan snacked on the left over bread and meat roll from last night. It was a little stale and hard, even after being left in Jordan’s coolant rub. While Jordan finished his short meal the filter dinged on cue and poured into a large pail next to the pot.

Jordan dipped a glass into the pail and washed down the food bits still in his mouth. Yawning once, Jordan snatched his nearly dry clothes from the line and dressed quickly. A few moments later Jordan was out the door with his guild vest and pack on his back. Before he left Jordan pulled his junction box free from his outer wall.

Out amongst the shacks the other adults that worked for Weesog were also on the way to the squat building that had one time served as the home to all of them. Jordan looked over his adopted brothers and sisters, making sure everyone was up, before joining them. It was about a mile to the office, past the five complexes that held up the roof of Subsection 43. They were all used to the walk and among the older tacks there was a morning ritual to attend to.

As they passed the edge of the first complex the tacks formed up and charged past their fellows. The impromptu race happened every morning as they headed to work. It may have seemed childish to the others, but to Jordan and the other tacks it was a matter of pride. Woe be to the tack that couldn’t run the remainder of the distance in a three minutes flat.

All the tacks knew that their legs were their life. If they couldn’t handle the run, then they were too slow to trek across Ruin like they normally did. What was worse was that they wouldn’t be able to outrun the gangs that would harass them on their routes. It didn’t matter who won, just so long as they did it.

Waiting for all of them at the door was Weesog and the children that lived in the building. In the rising heat of the over acting refractor globe, Weesog’s bright green flesh was already covered with a thin, gray sheen of sweat. He silently handed out last night’s orders with a mental push. It was obvious that the vench looked distracted and kept glancing towards Jordan. Jordan quietly shifted to the back of the line and waited for the others to take off on their errands or to go inside to filter through the new orders that were already coming through the mail tubes.

Without needing to motion Jordan away from the building, Weesog left the doorway and heaved himself to a side street. Jordan followed as he was expected, a little bit of anticipation sweeping over him a he wondered just what was so important to ask him out of sight and earshot of the others. However, Weesog started with some old business that Jordan thought was settled.

“Have you decided to accept my offer and take over the office with Reg, Jess, and Viki?”

Jordan’s face creased with annoyance at the topic of “the offer” and resigned himself to explain his feelings again, “I told you Weesog. I don’t want it. I’m happy where I am. It’s just a lot more work than I’m willing to do.”

“You already ‘do’ most of the work,” Weesog retorted, “You’ve nearly taken over running this place for me. Reg and the others can fill in for me when I retire, but with you they can make this guild great. One day you’ll be like me and learn that you aren’t young any more. It’s best that you get an early start at the head of a guild than trying to move up later when you can’t keep up with the other tacks anymore.”

“Look, it’s my life and I’ll do what I want to with it,” Jordan spat, keeping his anger in check, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to stay a tack and unless you fire me its going to be what I’m doing for as long as I can. Now do you have some work for me?”

Weesog’s mouth parts scrunched up as the vench was going to say something back, but he held it in and floated a sealed note to Jordan instead, “It’s from Professor Salarishkay, that elf at the school in Sub 2 West. One of his brothers had a sample for him, but couldn’t make it to the school before having to turn back due to a nutrient crash. He left the package in an alley way, but has been too root ridden to go back and show Sal where to look for it. You know the drill. Find it and deliver it.”

With that Jordan and Weesog turned from each other and walked away. Weesog headed back to the office and Jordan headed to the north transit gate. They had more to say, but both were too stubborn and proud to admit it.

__________________
I wouldn't touch it. That thing is made out of like 95% pure, unadulterated, badger-in-my-pants crazy...
-Geist Panik

My scroll

The Amalgam's light shone weakly through the single dirt-caked window of EV's underground lab. The screeching of factory whistles and rumblings of a city beginning to stir made no difference in this dim cluttered room. She hadn't slept yet. Time did not touch this place, the passing of the artificial days had no meaning except for the tightening of her skin and the crackling when she moved. Ten sunrises, eleven - there was no office to travel to and no master to answer save science. And he will not wait until the dawn to call upon you.

A single guttering oil lamp hung over the central work bench, illuminating a single circuit board with a variety of etching tools hovering delicately overhead. EV moved them with infinite precision, painting of the thin layer of silicon with an artist's touch. Only a vench was capable of such a task - human hands simply did not have the steadiness and the refined touch to do such complicated work. The final bit finished and she moved it aside to dry with a light psychic brush.

The technology in the small room was a far cry from the marvels of Centerpiece. Only a water purifier and a well worn crockpot scavenged out of an old collapsed house occupied one corner of an overcrowded workbench. Any remaining electricity she could draw went straight to the machinery, her makeshift tools. It was a life that would have horrified any of her compatriots upon sight, but the absence of material luxury or mechanical convenience had ceased to bother her.

EV turned slowly to study the plans once more, her movements deliberately placed so as not to stir up even a single eddy of air that would knock down all the delicately balanced paperwork. The outer casing would need a special alloy zirconium alloy. And platinum plugs so the high temperatures wouldn't cause adverse reactions. These were not things that were easy to obtain in Ruin. Particularly not in this rundown section of Sector 5 she had managed to make her home. It looked like she would need to talk to some of her 'contacts' in Centerpiece. Too risky for direct conversation - she needed a Tack. Discreet, fast, it would have to be Weesog's. The Vench had arranged some deliveries for her in the past, though she always had to be careful to hide her true race.

With a great tiredness that was not entirely resultant from her lack of sleep, EV nudged the ceiling hatch to her lab outside and was momentarily blinded by the sudden shine of light from the refraction orbs. She had no eyes per say and thus could not blink off the sudden adjustment. However, soon enough her psychic vision was able to equilibriate and she made her way slowly down the wreckage of street to the nearest Data tube. Punching in the appropriate codes, she sent her request for a pickup off to Weesog's office, giving the address of one of the many drop spots she had acquired. Satisfied, the Vench slowly made her way back to the lab, safe in her small cocoon of darkness once more. Now to prepare an appropriate missive...

In the shadow of one of the complexes Jordan settled into a kneeling position. He unfolded the note carefully and read the simple note aloud and in his head several times over.

“349 Street Alley B. 349 Street Alley B. 349 Street Alley B.”

He kept repeating it for five more minutes and let his eyes wander over the area. He blocked out his own thoughts and subdued his impulses to notice that synchronicity was occurring around him. If he thought about the field it wouldn’t form. He needed to concentrate on the location alone for the field to work properly.

If he thought about synchronicity then he’d just end up leading himself to a library book about it, a place with a great deal of resonance with the fields, or chasing his old paths through Ruin. The unthinking was what kept most people from being good tacks. There was too much meaning and chaos in most people’s lives that only the ones with care-free minds or ones that rigidly controlled their thoughts could make the fields work quickly and well.

As Jordan was about to repeat the words again, the field snapped into focus. He watched a piece of newspaper flutter by with the words Cashian Road printed in bold. The newspaper caught some foul smelling wind and was carried away into the heights of 43’s vaulted ceiling. Without dwelling on the paper for any longer, Jordan was off and running. He streaked past and around the few pedestrians left on the streets on his way to the dead end of 3rd street. There he took a left and ran for a brick wall. At the wall’s leading edge was blue and white reflective tape. Two feet away was a pole that was eight feet high, covered in the same reflective tape with a sign of a stick figure jumping halfway up its length.

Jordan picked up speed and just before running between the pole and the wall he leapt into the air. The was no pause he could notice as his surroundings were gone, switched with the sky blue wall of a food store and a padded mat several feet below. Jordan pumped and angled his legs to avoid the pad, which would slow him down, and hit the ground running. His foot accidentally kicked a can and he raced along behind it. It came to a rest against another building’s wall and completed an arrow of made of trash that pointed up the side of another building.

Jordan skidded to a halt and shimmied up a pipe attached to the wall. From his vantage point he could see a small human gang loitering in the alley beyond where he was about to pass. From the roof he also saw another newspaper on the wind. He held it in his gaze watching where it went, knowing instinctively that it was linked to the previous paper. Halfway through its flight the paper vanished into thin air and Jordan was running and diving after it.

The ground rushed at him again, but this time there was no mat to cushion his ill-timed fall. Jordan tucked and rolled, banging his leg and arm into the ground. Otherwise he was fine when he rose in front of a few startled pedestrians. The first thing he laid eyes on was the sign for Cashian Road. Another sign was below it with 349th Street dented into it’s metal. Jordan hobbled for a few steps, walking the pain out of his leg before he started running for Alley B. He felt the field slide away from him and dissipate as he entered the alley. It felt like a wash of cold and sent goose bumps up along Jordan’s spine.

Someone must have been trying to hide the package from anyone that could have scavenged it. He assumed that it was Salarishkay’s brother, or sister, or whatever. Weesog always had trouble telling so he just called them all hes and hims and left it at that.

Jordan rummaged through garbage piles and other things that he would have rather forgotten, but he finally produced the package. It was sealed in white wrapping paper and tied with twine. Pretty ritzy for a simple sample package, but Jordan’s job wasn’t to ask questions. He just had to deliver it.

He hid behind a dumpster and started to work his field against the block. It was tough and kept assaulting his mind with other feeling, emotions, and images that were not his own. For a time Jordan wondered just what kind of sample this was. The layers of synchronic protection that was placed upon it was impressive. Jordan finally had to give up and move out from behind the dumpster.

He knew Sector 2 well enough to make the tip to the school. Once there he’d get some answers from Salarishkay about the package. It take him a bit longer to make the journey, but at least he’d get a chance to look around the Sector that he visited often, but never got to look at in detail. He slipped the fine box into his pack and took off down 349th. He’d catch the tram at the far end to the First University of Ruin.

Behind him in the alley, hidden in a nook that Jordan hadn’t searched, was his actual goal in a simple brown box. It was stained with the rapidly decaying sample of fern rat and would soon be a worthless pile of sludge in a brown box. It would never reach Salarishkay.

__________________
I wouldn't touch it. That thing is made out of like 95% pure, unadulterated, badger-in-my-pants crazy...
-Geist Panik

My scroll

Jordan disembarked the tram after paying two shills and a care. The prices, which were regulated by the Committee, were going up. Before long Jordan was sure that it would be two care per trip. With the average wage for workers being four cares and a shill, it wouldn’t be long before the wealthiest would be the only ones that could ride the tram lines. It was depressing and Jordan was sure that the community representatives from each section would be feeling the pressure of their tax payers. Not that the Committee would care, but he expected a riot or two before long.

When he disembarked he was swept up in the rush of the larger section. Humans swarmed in and out of the titanic tram cars that were headed out of section while vench mechanics squirmed along the sides of the cars, fixing small dents and other problems. Elves huddle together in grove packs and shared stolen or bought nutrient packs while a performing troupe of heshin chose to mimic the grove with their molten and mineral skin, shifting to resemble the elves in all but their color. The real surprise for Jordan was one of the reptilian dac in an environment suit. It clicked incomprehensibly at each passerby, probably asking where it could find some new water to refill it’s breathing supply. Luckily for it a human seemed to understand it and clicked out a response. They both went into a café together.

As Jordan moved from the tram station into the west side of Section 2 he didn’t have to look hard to find the University. All around him students milled and walked to their classes clad in the required uniform of a white long shirt that reach even the tallest student’s knees with its sleeves and bottom. The smaller students and vench had to lift theirs up to just walk.

While Jordan walked he blanked his thoughts out again, letting his field take hold. Thankfully, now that he wasn’t focusing so much on the box, it took hold. The thought about Salarishkay. About the old elf’s sparse leaf hair that tended to brown earlier and earlier each year. He also thought about it’s mottled bark skin that had a jagged run along it’s shoulder where it had been caught by gun fire in the student riot of ’53.

The field did its job and after only a few minutes of aimless walking the two stumbled upon each other.

“Ah Jordan,” Salarishkay began, “I see that Weesog sent his best. I was getting worried. The fern rat wouldn’t keep for much longer. Was their any trouble?”

“Yeah,” Jordan replied as he fished the box out of his pack, a little disgusted by the idea he’d been carrying around one of the dead plant creatures, “Your sibling put a hell of a lot of wards on this thing. I had to take the tram up here.”

Salarishkay gave Jordan a puzzled look as it turned the finely wrapped box over in it’s hands, “This isn’t my box. There’s no rot smell and there’s no way Vaniquay could afford this packaging.”

With hesitant and curious fingers, Salarishkay undid the ties and carefully undid the paper so as not to rip it. Beneath it was a black box stamped with the seal of the Committee. The golden seal depicted a round table surrounded by seats. Each had the name of a prominent member along with the Section the member governed. With a mix of wonder and horror Jordan and Salarishkay realized that they held an official document that belonged to the highest echelons of the Committee.

“Oh gods…” Salarishkay swore quietly, “What the hell have you done Jordan? Do you have any idea how much trouble we’re in just for undoing the paper and the ties?”

“We!?” Jordan yelled a little too loudly, drawing curious looks from some of the students before he brought his voice down and ushered Salarishkay and himself away from the crowded area, “You opened the paper, I just watched. Listen, give it to me. I’ll take it and drop it off at Center Piece. I think they’ll understand that it was a mistake. I can still run back and grab the rat from the alley when I’m done.”

“Don’t bother,” Salarishkay huffed, glad that Jordan had taken the responsibility of the box off of it’s hands, “It’ll be fully decayed by the time you get back. Just take that thing and get it out of here.”

Jordan took off after that, the box weighing heavily on him. He’d have to take the tram again, it really would take the rest of the day to get to Center Piece. He wanted to make things right with Salarishkay and get the box, but the professor was right. There was no point if the fern rat had wasted away. He tried to act nonchalantly, but as he traveled every look from Committee security became accusations in his mind. It was times like this that Jordan wondered if turning down Weesog’s offer was such a bad idea.

--

Back in Alley B and man flanked by three members of Committee security fished around in the refuse. All he’d found so far was a dead fern rat in a box. The plans were no where to be seen. He rose, his black coat and shoes stained, and looked at the end of the alley.

“It’s not here,” he said aloud; none of the guards responded.

“I know how important it is. The gate project is dead in the water without it,” he paused, listening, “I’ll set up the field and find who ever took it. The box will protect him, her, or it, but I’ll head back to the thief’s origin. I’ll contact you again soon.”

__________________
I wouldn't touch it. That thing is made out of like 95% pure, unadulterated, badger-in-my-pants crazy...
-Geist Panik

My scroll

[[About 2 hours ago.....]]

Lefo sifted through the catalog in Karl's shop and quizzically looked at each item while cocking his head to one side.

"Karl, what's the word on the streets about these spatial condensers?"

Karl popped up from underneath his desk and his wrinkled face made the spectacles on the bridge of his pudgy nose squirm.

"Not worth it. A sham. There's a bloke who used it trying to go through Ice Hell quickly. He never did."

"Ahhhh....," Lefo remembered his last expedition to that pace. He came out alright but it wasn't pretty at all. In fact he was very much near death at the time. Luckily the gate that he took wasn't a hunting gate. That would've been disastrous indeed. Ice Hell was always known to be strewn with these horrors.

Lefo popped another crumb of his precious nutrients in his mouth and munched slowly while turning the page again.

"I don't know why you keep looking at those catalogs Lefo. More than half of it is shite and hoaxes to get your cares and shills anyway."

"Perhaps, but then less than half of this would be true, yes?"

Karl simply shrugged and went under his desk again, evidently working on something. Lefo closed the catalog and got up, peering to whatever Old Karl was doing.

"You really should get a vench assistant Karl. They work faster and it'll be good on your bad back anyway."

"Bah, vench hires are expensive. Besides, they don't stay alive long enough for my tastes."

"True... well I must be off then."

"Delivery?" Karl's voice came muffled from under his desk as the clink and clangs of machinery was worked on.

"Always the case. Professor Salarishkay of Sub 2 West University has agreed to help me distribute these at his colony, makes my hard job simpler."

"Well go on then.... you might pollinate my shop if you stay here any longer."

Lefo made a small laugh and stepped outside amidst the chaos and the strange coloured sky that everyone here calls home.

[[50 minutes ago...]]

Lefo rang the buzzer in front of EV's door many times. Yet, there was no answer. She was no doubt wide awake, he could hardly remember if the vench had any sleep lately. Still, she always requested the latest edition of the gate running guild's catalogs from him and he always delivered while she always ignored the buzzer, much less open the door for him.

Lefo opened the mouth piece guard and spoke into the steel pole, the sound should reach her basement perfectly as always.

"I'm going to drop this into your chute EV, and goodness inviting me for biscuits at least would be nice for a change!"

He rolled up the catalog and dropped it into the plastic tube besides her door. The catalog was sucked in like a vacuum and made its way towards EV's basement.

"Well, I must be off then," Lefo spoke under his breath and kept on going.

[[Around 20 minutes ago. A good measure after Jordan left and on route to Center Piece.]]

Lefo finally reached the University and walked up the steps briskly. He knew where Sal's office was by heart, being there countless times already. He was worried that Sal was getting old fast. It seemed that with every visit he seemed more haggard than before. He surmised that it might be the emerging effects of stagnant colonization, but he had no solid proof other than his own existence. He's as old as Sal was yet Lefo looked half his age.

The synchronicity fields on this part of Ruin seemed odd to Lefo today. It appeared to be more disjointed than usual. He wondered what could've caused it but could find no more logical answer than that's the way Ruin goes. Life in Ruin has always been unpredictable, so this phenomenon shouldn't be any different. Yet it bothered him all the same.

He opened the door to his office and found that Salarishkay was slumped down on his desk, a knife portruded from his back.

Lefo immediately went to his friend's side and shook him up.

"Sal? Sal???!!!? Cubes, no....."

Green sap dripped from Salarishkay's corpse and pooled on the floor beneath his chair. What exactly have happened here? Why did Salarishkay die? These were among the foremost of what filled Lefo's thoughts at the moment as he buried his face in his hands. Finally he got up and called for help outside the hall.

[[Present.]]

Lefo readjusted the bag that was slung over his shoulder and was on his way to the Center Piece. The authorities were already investigating the murder and Lefo's testimony was already taken. But there was something in the mannerism of those that investigate the case that seemed off to Lefo. It's as if they didn't care at all. Center Piece officials could hardly be trusted at the best of times, but the nonchalance stroke a nerve in Lefo. Something was not right. He had to get an answer from one of his informants from within Center Piece. Getting in would be difficult, as always. But he always managed.

He accidentally bumped into a running human boy, a tack by the looks of it. The box the boy was carrying accidentally dropped at his feet.

"Sorry about that."

Lefo bent over to pick up the box to return it to the boy when he noticed part of the seal of Center Piece on it. He looked at the tack in fear and whispered silently to himself.

"Cubes....."

__________________

PM me if you see any lying around. Join my crusade!

[08:00]
The completed list of needed supplies had grown quite long, but EV was satisfied as to its completion. She wanted to make contact as few times as possible. No point in making the rate limiting step on your research waiting for a few bundles of fibers. Besides, she had the cash to pay for it now and she might not later. Business was getting slow lately and parts were expensive.

She bound the scroll in brown paper and sealed it with some old wrapping tape. There were a few drops she used in the alley down the street from her lab - it was easy to watch from her window as the tack retrieved it then set off running again through the streets. EV turned away from the window and moved slowly back to her work bench. Her head was beginning to beat with the first stirrings of a headache and there was no point in doing any more fine work while she couldn't concentrate. Perhaps a few moments of sleep would be best...anything to replenish her while she waited.

[10:10]
The Vench was jerked awake by a pounding on the door knocker. The closeness of the sound almost knocked her from the ceiling, but she recovered and held herself where she was until the knocking stopped. The voice that called out was familiar - that elf always came around, trying to be cheerful. Why couldn't he just deliver things and leave like any normal paperboy? She shook herself and tried to clear the cloud of sleep from her head. It was getting more and more tempting to lose herself to oblivion lately - harder and harder to rouse from that slumber. She felt discouraged, but went to cheer herself up with the latest mag.

It always amused her to see what her colleagues back over in the fancy labs were dreaming up. Ways to suck the already poor inhabitants of Ruin out of a few more bucks for inventions that weren't worth a shill. Sometimes she could recognize the handiwork of a certain professor who had been little more than a student before she had left and could not help but laugh. But the laughter was a little self-deprecating. What had she come up with in the last five years that was worth more than these? The room of scribbled calculations and a few circuit boards.

She tossed the catalog in a corner and went back to her notes.

[10:45]
The reply arrived from her contact, Dreg. Just one sentence, scribbled on a piece of brown paper obviously torn up from her wrappings.

Don't contact, they're watching the university.

She crumbled the note then burned it over her gas lamp, watching the smoke drift up to the already soot blacked ceiling. A slight wash of frustration swept through her and the note dropped into the oil, vastly increasing in smoke. EV ignored it. What was going on at the university? She had an irrational need to know what was causing her research to be so slow. So much to do, so little time, and yet all of it outside of her control.

[11:20]
The neon lights advertising Zef's Bar were always on, even this early in the day. EV pushed open the doors then eased herself through, looking at the floor with disgust as she wormed her way across it. From behind the bar, the balding human looked up and saw EV with some confusion. "Actually ventured out from your lab today, did you?"

She sighed and shrugged as best a creature without shoulders can. "Here for news not conversation Zef. You know that."

He looked disappointed but didn't protest. The few times EV deigned it necessary to care about the outside world they went through this same dance and each time it got a little shorter.

"Well, the stock market's gone down..."

EV cut him off with a look. "The university, what's happening at the university."

Zef's face turned more serious. "Apparently one of the professors...a Salarishky or something like that - he was found murdered by some street gang."

The name sounded vaguely familiar - she might have seen him around during her own university days. But a street gang making it that far in? It didn't make sense. EV nodded and bid a terse goodbye to the bar master before heading back to her lab, deep in thought.

A Few Days ago

“All we hear is.” Bang, bang “Radio Goo Goo.” Bang, bang “Radio Ga Ga.” Bang, bang “Radio Blah, Blah.” Bang, bang “Radio, someone still loves you…” Bang, bang.

Frederick put the hammer down, now letting the music wash around the shop without him hammering to the tune, letting the track come to the end he changed the tubing that was on the phonograph. Inside it were dozens of small minidisks, all being alternatively played as he let it run, he replaced it now with a tube marked “Classical” and put it on. Vagner began to play gently in the background as he picked up a grinding disk specifically designed by him for wood-carving. Quietly he began to get to work on the large box, carving into the side the symbol of the nearby merchants guild.

This was a new “community” lockbox, a chest specifically designed to be ornate and able to be secure to hold large amounts of money inside of it to refurbish the market place with new sheeting bought from the central spire. The lockbox was to deliver the necessary money to the spire in as grand a style as possible, and as a member of that Guild’s committee, he was doing this as a favour to refurbish the area and hopefully bring in new trade.

“Excuse me, Mr Duval?” a man in a grey suit said from the door of his shop, Frederick wound the drill back down before looking over to the gentleman, who’s frame blocked most of the doorway. “Yes?”

“I wonder if I could make a request for an ornate container for the Central Committee.” He asked quietly.

“I see,” he put the drill down properly and instead removed a sheet of paper and a pen. “What’s the dimensions?”

The man spoke for some considerable length, evidently knowing the detail of what needed to be placed inside, and then the designs needed around the outside, and for some reason it needed to be delivered in secrecy, wrapped up in paper and string.

“Of course, I understand that, it’s such an ornate piece it could fall prey to gangs, even if you used a track.” he said nodding and continuing to run the pen over the paper. “I can have it ready within… a week or so.”

“We’ll triple your fee if you make it in 48 hours.”

Frederick blinked and looked at the man in the suit. “Of course sir.” He immediately turned to get to work on the box, using some black wood.

“I will return in two days to pick it up.” the man said as he vanished from Frederick’s doorway.

Shaking his head, Frederick got immediately to work on the new box, removing some special black wood he had kept for just such a special occasion.

A Few Days later

The box was actually done in forty hours, and he had left it near to the store window for the gentleman to pick it up. Two days later and it had simply disappeared, being replaced instead by a cloth sack of a considerable amount of money in coins and notes. Simple and untraceable. With a nod Frederick had merely pocketed the money and left it at that.

At that moment, he looked up from his work for some reason as a tramcar slid it’s way past. It was an old, battered and tatty thing that came past towards the university, rattling and rumbling through the market place and his shop. He spotted a young tack he had occasionally used to run lighter deliveries with little note or registration, but when the men in grey suits passed by on foot a few moments later, asking about the direction of the tram to a woman at the small soup kitchen opposite from him, his interest piqued a little. As it stood, he didn’t think much more to it until lunch time, and he now felt like a walk. Before he knew it he was headed towards the university, where numerous members of the local authorities were gathered. With a shrug he wandered over and began to casually ask as he grabbed a bowl of ramen from a nearby mobile cart.

“Something about a proffessor getting shanked.” the woman behind the cart said. “Some big-wig, I dunno. Some of the students seem a bit messed up about it.” She sighed and shook her head. “Seems the gangs are starting to get into this part now, huh?” she rolled her eyes and began to pull her cart onwards.

“God’s shit…” Jordan hissed as he scooped the box back up and away from the elf.

He’d seen the look on the elf’s face and knew that it knew exactly what he was carrying. Tacks carried official packages all the time, but they never carried ones that were signed in the names of Committee members. He was sure the elf had to think he was some sort of thief; or worse a member of the Five Reaves, the Knives Under the Table, or one of the other groups that discretely or openly opposed the Committee.

Jordan whipped off his bag and shoved the box inside, backing into the surrounding crowd slowly. When he was a good few paces away Jordan turned and made a run for it. He slipped through the crowds and ran like the militia was on his tail. If he was lucky most people would think he was a tack that was running late.

He chanced a look back and was unable to see whether or not the elf was following him. He was sorry that he did. He didn’t see the enormous orange vench in his path until he plowed right into the rotund thing. He was bounced back a few feet, scraping his already bruised arm and leg. He got up as fast as he could and limped on towards a waiting tram.

It was headed to Section 4, but right now he didn’t care much about where it was headed so long as he was on it. He slipped in through the doors and tried to lose himself in the crowd until the large thing started moving.

--

There was a knock at the main door of Weesog’s Runners. The usual business of delivery continued around the office as the children and few adults that were in the office ignored the knock. There were a few moments of quiet by the door before the knocking came again, much more insistently. It was still ignored by those inside, even by Weesog himself.

They didn’t meet clients face to face when setting up deliveries or drop offs. It was policy and it should have been plain enough on the sign outside the door. It gave them a sense of security. If they were investigated, it meant that unless they met the recipient of a parcel they were not legally liable for what was done with it. They’d help with investigations if requested, but they weren’t required to do anything.

Unfortunately for the people and vench inside, the armed men on the outside weren’t interested in any delivery services. With their knocking summons ignored they slammed aside the flimsy door and entered without a sound among the cries and bellows of Weesog and his workers.

Without wasting a second Weesog snatched a gun from the wall with his mind. Before the gun could reach it, the appendage erupted in flesh, blood, and chitin. The screaming intensified as Weesog’s mind grip on the weapon slacked and the vench staggered back. The man who’d shot Weesog, expelled the cartridge from his shot gun and gave a predatory, wolfish grin made up of sharp and obviously modified teeth. The vench hadn’t dropped the gun yet.

He fired again and Weesog’s left side exploded, mirroring what happened with the now missing arm. The man’s black coat and shoes were further stained with the nearly clear jell that served as vench blood. Weesog crumpled and twisted in on himself in his death throes. Underneath the wounded flesh and skin the beginnings of azure wings and a vaguely humanoid form could be seen. Weesog was closer to his metamorphosis than he’d been letting on.

Shocked by the death of the vench that most of them considered their father, the rest of the workers offer little resistance in being rounded up by the guards that followed the fang-mouthed man inside. He looked them over and they did the same to him. It was, at this point, a predator and prey situation. The children huddled behind adults and teens in a vain attempt to hide themselves. The adults and teens, for their part, held a kind of resolution about them that was rare these days. This all told the man with the black coat and shoes that they’d be less than helpful.

“I’m at the start point of the carrier,” he said aloud, “There’s no sign of the package or anyone trying to escape with it. We’re probably looking for a tack that stuck his nose where it doesn’t belong. The scent from the alley definitely originated here, I haven’t picked up any casual threads since I left Section 2. Tell your men to keep an eye out for a tack with a Weesog’s Runners badge vest in your area.”

“You what?!” he yelled, after a pause, to the hidden voice he could hear, “Is the professor dead? Did he have any information? Stick a knife in him. Make it look like a gang did the deed. I’ll be in touch.”

He signaled to the guards and watched the people herded outside into a transport that had arrived a few minutes after the shots began. It was a clean operation and soon the fanged man was left alone in the empty offices. He set his synchronicity field up quickly and looked out over the office. Papers rustled in the fake wind of the fans and only one piece of paper blew out and away from the stacks. There wasn’t a name or anything, just and order. He seamlessly swapped his field to the paper and waited for the next clue to come his way. While he waited, he noted with interest that the order smelled like another vench.

“Looks like I’ll be squishing more than one bug today…”

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I wouldn't touch it. That thing is made out of like 95% pure, unadulterated, badger-in-my-pants crazy...
-Geist Panik

My scroll

The tram rocked a little as it’s ageing electric engine growled and shuddered as it’s wheels protested going around the tight corner as it looped around the

The hand plunged itself onto the boy’s shoulder gently and firmly gripping it was Frederick’s hand. “Stay calm kid, you caused quite a commotion back there, another one so soon wouldn‘t be to your advantage. Running like that makes me think you‘re either hell of a worried, or responsible for the death of a certain professor.” he said very quietly to the tack before reaching up and ringing the bell for the tram to stop.

It screeched to a stop along the same street, the tram lines running along the same street before splitting East or West to head to either the other sections, or along to section 4 and he led the tack across the street from the tram, the very firm grip on his shoulder making the boy consider otherwise of either fleeing or fighting.

Pushing the boy inside he pulled the store door shut and made sure the closed sign was still firmly flicked over he shoved the tack inside and pulled the blinds. “So, want to explain what the heck is going on and wh-” he looked at the box in the boys hands, the paper having shifted again slightly, revealing the box inside. “Where did you get that?” he said quietly, pointing in slight shock. “What’s a tack doing with a box for the Central Committee?” He looked a little pale, his voice a bare whisper. “A box I made too. What are you doing with it?”

The boy quickly retrieved the black box and scampered away before Lefo could get up. Already the crowds were covering well for the boy and Lefo thought the better of it rather than giving chase. He now had more reason than one to go to his contact to the Center Piece, but for some reason he felt very worried about something.

In his line of work, being worried meant that it was a good thing. It shows what the next possible bad thing might happen and how one might think up of ways to counter it. Usually he calls up his field to assess the situation, he found no good reason to drop his habit now. The synchronicity field around him flickered and the crowds seemed to part away, forming a path to somewhere he knew so well. The scene went back to normal again as Lefo gasped.

Lefo hoisted his bag as he ran towards EV's lab. Somehow he had a bad feeling about this and he couldn't shake the feeling that the box and Sal's death were interconnected somehow. The fact that his "field of bad vibes" showed its way towards EV's lab suggested that something dreadful was about to happen and that he had to be there quick to warn her.

Other than that, Lefo wasn't sure what else he could do if trouble got to her first before he did.

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