dualisnet | TEXT: Day after the Festivities

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TEXT: Day after the Festivities

Username: dpdhank@dualislink

My name is Hank Anderson, I'm a patrol officer with Dualis's police. I think I met a few people at the Dualis Days festival, many of them during the unfortunate opening ceremonies.

The police are conducting an official investigation but I want to conduct my own independent investigation. In my experience that usually solves cases a little more quickly. [That's how he and Connor made it as far as they did, superseding what was technically required of them. The end result was also the better result for the world, not the preferred result for the powers that be, too.]

I know some of you were close to the bombing. If you're interested and able to give me some information I'll be in the kitchen on floor six for the rest of the evening.

[Anyone that comes to find him will be lucky. For the moment he'll be listening to some jazz he loaded onto a music player and speaker he found in a thrift shop rather than metal. But you better believe when it's necessary he'll switch to metal if he has to. In the meantime he's also reading an actual paper book, a softcover novel that he was lucky enough to find.]

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[Much like his roommate, Aleifr isn't really a technophobe. However, up until his arrival in Dualis, the most advanced piece of technology he'd ever encountered were the riggings on a wyrmship. Smartphones, desktops ... they were beyond his ken, and Nero cautioning him about the perils of angering machine spirits had only made him more leery of fiddling about with them.

[He did, however, see Hank's message in his smartphone's notifications. He didn't reply, but he made a note of it. So, as Hank settles in with his paperback, Aleifr makes his way down to the kitchen.

[He seems perplexed for a moment as he enters the kitchen, eyes scanning around for the source of the seemingly sourceless music until they settle on the speaker sitting on the table. He saw devices like it around the stage in the square and dotted throughout the carnival. Didn't know they got that small, though. Interesting, but not why he's here, and so his attention shifts to the man sitting beside it.]

Anderson?

Edited 2019-06-24 08:19 (UTC)

[An increasing amount of little post-it notes are erupting from his novel, little notes he's keeping in one source. He puts it down when Aleifr comes in, looking like some sort of fucking European warrior in build. That or a wrestler. One in the same, really.]

[He stands and holds out a hand to shake.]

That'd be me. Good to meet you.

[Aside from the 'European' part, he's not all that wrong either way.

[Aleifr crosses the room, offering a curt nod in response to the greeting and giving the man's hand a firm shake.]

Aleifr.

[An introduction every bit as brusque as you might expect from his stony expression.]

[Hank sits again, a pretty stocky man himself, but now with a fair amount of padding. He sits and pulls up his chair a little further.] I would rather have kept it a little more private, but this was the only way I could get ahold of people in the building.

You notice anything at the scene?

[He's willing to share what he's figured out. He's just wanting to hear Aleifr's discover first. It might take some explanation, but he doesn't know that yet. Luckily Hank's gotten used to explaining, if in the opposite direction.]

Edited 2019-06-24 08:43 (UTC)

[Aleifr shakes his head, pulling out a chair for himself.]

Not personally. Too far back to see much of the attack itself.

[He settles into his seat, frowning slightly as the wooden chair groans under his weight. It was built with smaller men in mind, like everything else in this damned place.]

Talked to a few people afterwards though, and they said this wasn't the first.

[He suspected, but didnt' have anything near confirmation. Immediately he opens up his book and starts to write on one of the notes. Not the first.]

Not the first bombing? Or not the first attention grab in general? Did they look cautious when they were telling you about it?

[Because that defines whether or not he should ask for descriptions. If they did, then he probably shouldn't keep those on him. But if they were pretty forthcoming with it, he'll know who to look out for later.]

Both. [Aleifr grunts.] And yes.

Bombings never targeted anyplace busy before - or at least not while they were busy. More about whatever message they're trying to send. Apparently, the fuckers left leaflets at some of them. Stuff with the same vague "Wake Up" nonsense.

Were any of them in heavy clothes? Dressed inappropriately for the weather?

[That's as far as he'll go with that question.]

I've heard 'wake up' before. Back in my world. I don't think it has anything to do with what's happening here, but there it was to bring attention to a sort of... well, blatantly put, it was slavery we weren't aware of.

Whatever they want, they're still assholes for hurting people for attention. I'm gonna bring 'em in for that.

[Well, maybe he in particular won't, but he will damn well try. The determination shows in the heavy set of his brow and the rumble to his voice. Even if the woefully crooning woman from the speakers contradicts it.] The other times, did anyone die?

If they did, the people I talked to didn't mention it. [Aleifr shakes his head.] Considering what happened today, though, I doubt they'd lose sleep over it.

[Aleifr's lip curls into a disgusted snarl.]

I wonder if I could find any of those fliers.

[Hank scowls with a ferocity that'd make most people's faces hurt. Somewhere to an expression of thought and palpable irritation.]

So they're going for a lot of damage but they're still low or nill on a body count.... Hey, did they tell you what places they hit before this? Or did they just say it happened before?

[He makes another note. Find where these bombings happened.]

Train stations, if that means anything to you.

[Doesn't to him. He doesn't know what the fuck a 'train' is, or where you station them.]

Started happening about six months back. Not sure if any of those fliers are still hung about, but I wouldn't be surprised. Not if this is about some kind of message they want to spread.

That does. It's pretty common for terrorists to attack areas with a number of pedestrians and civilians. People gather at train stations to board trains. Train routes get heavy traffic, even from people just walking along sidewalks nearby because they mark a clear path. They're an easy way to navigate and train routes are usually better protected against criminals. More surveillance.

These people can shut down surveillance, though. At least they could this time.

[Hank's making another note. 'Check train routes for fliers stuck nearby areas.' If he can find one, he can probably figure out how they made them. He's guessing a private printer, but he needs to be sure. He could be wrong.]

Hey, if you find any of those fliers or anyone else mentions something, can you tell me? The uh.... The bomb had to be blown up at the scene. I don't think the bomb was small to limit the explosion, it was small so the suspect wouldn't be hit and so he could stay within range to set it off. It was homemade. They didn't buy it from anywhere. They had to come up with their own detonator.

Someone was there, and had the detonator on them. And someone had to be able to smuggle that bomb in somehow before the event.

[He wants to check every possibility that he can.]

[Aleifr nods along. He doesn't understand all the terminology, but he seems to pick up the gist of it better than Hank might expect a walking anachronism like him to understand it.]

I take it that they won't be easy to track, then? If they're clever enough to get past whatever protection there was at the train station and the gathering in the square.

Yeah. These guys are smart. Not smart enough not to injure innocent people.

[Hank tips back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he blandly regards the table.]

Think you could find out more if you asked around a little bit more?

[Because, honestly, a giant tattooed guy is more likely to get people to trust him than a cop. He'd have to do most of his actual searching out of uniform, he know, because hell, he wouldn't trust him in a place like this. Even if he looks like an English sheepdog. But he also knows one of them has to be on this side of the blue line. It's the only way finding the bomber work.]

[He leans forward again.]

I am betting that there are some places, underground entertainment stuff. You can't have this kind of control without a few people sneaking around. Someone this active might be a regular client, and maybe a little more noticable. A lot of these guys end up being 'nice guys' [he makes quotes with his fingers] who seem quiet and maybe a little creepy.

[Then he huffs a hard breath.] I miss partner. He would have been able to track this guy pretty quick.

"Underground entertainment?"

[Aleifr isn't saying that he won't dig around as asked, but what in the hell are they doing that requires them to be under the ground? Something foul, more than likely.

[Hank's admission, though, draws a sympathetic nod of commiseration from Aleifr.]

I understand. Wish my wife was here. Better tracker than I am. Good with people, too.

Sometimes if people are living in bad political conditions, the only way they can deal with them is music, humor, art, even drugs. Now There's been some obvious white-washing in this place- White-washing meaning that you cover up whatever is unpleasant or bad and instead of using it as a learning experience, you just fuckin' pretend it never happened and hope no one notices.

So people aren't going to be heard on things that hurt 'em. They have to have places to show it to people that'll listen. People that won't round 'em up and send them to the police for being disorderly.

[Which he knows, in just saying that, he's in a bad position. That he's even working with people that might want to drag on just anyone dissenting.]

[But they need to know bombing innocents isn't going to cut it. But the comment on his wife finally makes Hank chuckle a little, cracking a real smile.] Fuckin' A. It's always good to have a reliable partner with a good eye on 'em. Not that my partner was like a wife or anything. [He just stumbles over that a little bit. Just... come on, he's doing his best.] But I'd love for him to be here right now.

[Besides being extra analysis, Hank would feel less lonely. He doesn't even have his fucking dog.]

[Aleifr doesn't do a damned thing to disguise his disgust with what Hank's outlining. Burying your head in the dirt and ignoring problems is, to him, contemptibly stupid for a whole host of reasons, but his opinion about Dualis as a whole is low enough that he wouldn't be surprised to learn that Hank was right about the lot of it.

[Begs the question of why Hank is working with the authorities within Dualis in the first place, but his doubts seem genuine. Real enough that Aleifr will accept his intent for long enough to hear the rest of this out.

[The talk of his partner - brief stumble included - does a bit to help his case. Aleifr doesn't quite crack a smile, but you could interpret the softening of his expression as the beginnings of a smile.]

I understand.

[He's got siblings, friends, and brothers-in-arms he'd want here for the same reasons.

[However, they've got matters to settle here.]

Where would you have me look? For the people who've gone to ground.

[So far Hank's discovered something among the police; the flesh and blood or predominately sentient ones seem like, for the most part, good folks. By ratio a lot better than what he's come across in the DPD.]

[But those robots leave a steep pile of failings. Failing to properly screen suspects being at the tip top. Generally Hank doesn't think the other cops can help what they decide. At least, he'll find out one way or another.]

[And hey, the big guy can almost smile. He'd tell him he hopes his wife ends up with him but fuck, no one wants their loved ones to end up here.]

Poorer areas. More secluded areas. There aren't many of those in a city, but usually people that want to remain hidden from scrutiny end up staying the fuck out of places where skittish bastards will call a cop on anyone they see on the sidewalk with a smudge on their coat.

...Honestly, I'll probably go looking, too. Besides investigating I'm betting there'll actually be some good fucking music.

Okay if I ask what the tattoos are for? [Because he knows prison cred tattoos. And those aren't exactly tattoo gun quality, but he doesn't recognize a single one of them.]

I'll look. Might be quicker if you point me in a direction, though. Don't know cities. Didn't have them back home.

[Odds are that he could find the sorts of places that Hank were talking about in time, but he's a foreigner. Alien to this place and disoriented by it. Hank seems to know what he's doing.

[As for the tattoos ...]

Lots of things.

[He taps a finger on one of the tattoos inked on the opposite arm - a diamond shape, bisected by a vertical line that made the whole thing resemble a slit-pupiled eye.]

Protection.

[He indicates one on his other arm.]

Strength.

[Next, he gestures to a series of five tattoos running the length of one forearm, and then a similar series of four on the other. These are more elaborate, made of a series of runes instead of a single character.]

My family.

Yeah, I'm sure I'll see a lot of places when I'm dealing with traffic. [It's a good start.] Hell, I could probably show you some parts of the city myself once I find some.

[They do seem to be much more... innocent? Is that the description? No, more virtuous than most of the tattoos he's acquainted with.]

[Though tattooing the name of loved ones? That probably makes more sense to him than this guy with a locket or something. There's something specifically 'fighter' about someone willing to etch his family into his or her skin.]

That generational or do you have a big family? [No judgment there. He would have had a big family if he could have, if things had worked out better.]

Big family.

[He points to the first one on his right arm. It's old. A little worn, as are the first few underneath it.]

My father, Bjorn. He had his thread cut two great years ago when a group of Balt attacked him on the ice. Trackers say there were eight of them, and they still found five bodies with his.

[On to the next.]

My mother, Fjalla. Took care of us all after father passed into the Underverse.

[Two more, now.]

My older sisters, Freya and Helka. Born two seasons apart, but no twins were ever closer than the two of them. They taught me how to use an axe, a spear, a bow ...

[The next.]

Arvid, my older brother. Taught me how to hunt, but he still nearly had his thread cut when we were out on the ice.

My younger brother, Einar. Good lad, but he's a little shit. The gods meant for him to be a berserker, and he gave mother no end of trouble until he was old enough to get some sense.

My younger sister, Tyra. She's the smallest out of us. Tongue sharp as a good knife, though. Clever.

[And his finger settles on the last one.]

My wife. Aila.

[It's pretty endearing, to be honest, and a little heartbreaking. Here this big hulking Viking of a man sitting across from him is listing off his family a whole universe away from them. Hank only had one dumb fuck that gave a shit about him. Here Aleifr is with his whole family, many of them still living, right on his skin, and far off somewhere where he couldn't reach them.]

[Well at least he left with a lot of love at his back, and they say they'll be able to return once they're done, right? Everything he's being told is with all the affection he'd imagine from a biker pointing out his tattoo of a heart with a beloved woman's name in it.]

I'm used to tattoos telling a lot of secret information where I'm from. Sounds like yours are pretty up front.

[He can appreciate that. And he reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out an old style wallet, one with some spare credit cards and useless money and a card-sized photo-changer.]

[He shows Aleifr a picture of a little boy.] Cole. My son. Thread was cut in an accident three years ago. [Somehow that's easier to say it that way, and to not place the blame on the shoddy piss poor medical care that followed. He's done his best to deal with the weight of that.] No wife, though.

Too damned young.

[Aleifr mutters. Those trace hints of a smile fade, replaced with sadness and disappointment ... but not the sort of dismay one might expect at hearing of the death of a child. Hank might get the sense that, where he comes from, it's not uncommon for people to die young. That it isn't pleasant, nor is it welcome, but that's simply the way of the world as far as Aleifr understands it.]

I'm sorry.

[Threads are cut, lives are lost, and all things change. It isn't fair, it isn't unfair ... it just is.

[Doesn't make those losses sting any less.]

I'm trying to hang onto the good parts. He was a good kid. [He's not offended by the implication. Not many people are posed with the social challenge of discussing a dead child, anyway. It's more an exercise in discussing family, and not being an absolute fucking sadsack while doing it.]

[He's not downing whiskey while he does it (he can't afford it right now) and he's not angrily sniping, so he'll deem that test drive in not being a complete ass about his losses a success.]

[Then something occurs to him, amidst the talk of present and lost relatives. Here, that stuff might not be permanent.]

When I was talking to someone earlier, they mentioned they'd come here directly from being dead. I guess we might get hit with a few surprises at some point

All you can do. [Aleifr replies, stroking his beard and leaning forward to rest his weight on his elbows.] Remember them. Talk of them. So they don't get lonely down there.

[He's distant for a second, but Hank's next statement snapped him back to reality. It takes him a moment to respond - as though he has to process what he just heard.]

Come again?

[His eyes narrow. Suspicious. Not entirely trusting of what he's just heard, or maybe not comfortable with it. Hard to tell.]

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