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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.]

Someone told me that they were detained by the iterations- robot cops -at the event because they came in covered in blood. The head brought them after he was stabbed in the fuckin' throat, but he came in intact.

The head, however, remembered to leave him conveniently covered in blood. Because, as well fuckin' know, that's not gonna attract attention.

So yeah. Can't decide whether that's a favor or not.

[Because some people would want to see lost loved ones again, some people would want to see their enemies stay dead, and particular angsty assholes would prefer too stay dead if it came down to that.]

[Aleifr snarls, shaking his head.]

Not fucking right.

[Said with distaste that probably goes beyond annoyance at the stupidity of resurrecting someone to get them arrested.]

Maybe, but at least I got a feeling that this wasn't a Pet Sematary scenario. [Because Jason seemed like a regular dick and not a possessed dick. Which he can handle. Regular dicks are just fine.]

Uh, Pet Sematary is this... [book?] ...old story where this guy buried his kid in a place where the dead were meant to rise and they came back possessed by something. They weren't even technically alive. They were just moving like they were. It's not a true story, just one of those cautionary tales about how your greed shouldn't outweigh your common sense. Even if it's for someone you love.

This just seems like "hey, have a brand new body, on the house! No clean clothes though, because fuck you."

Fuckin' makes no sense either way but in this case I'm not gonna doubt it. Just... [He wonders if they're really them. Or if they're just copies of themselves. A big question, right there.] This bomber is the easier thing to deal with.

[Aleifr arches an eyebrow. Doesn't matter what it seems like, magic is dangerous. If you don't watch it and soothe it, keep it sweet, it has a way of turning on you. Turning all the good that it's done to you.

[Basically, Pet Sematary makes a very literal kind of sense to him, and he's very skeptical that whatever the Head had done is actually harmless.

[But Hank is right that the bomber is easier to deal with. Aleifr's no gothi. Magic, demons, and spirits are beyond his ken. Doesn't know what to do about it other than stay clear, so he nods.]

Agreed. Once we find them, that is.

Did they tell you how many people were hurt before, by the way?

This bomb was meant to hurt the people on the stage, at the very least. [The mayor specifically, he guesses?] Did anyone mention people being hurt by the train bombings?

[He needs to at least know if that came up.]

No. [Aleifr shakes his head.] At the very least no one that I spoke to had heard of anyone being wounded in the earlier attacks.

Huh....

So they wanted to get attention, but they didn't go out of their way to injure people. That, or they did a damn good job of covering up any injuries or deaths.

[His face twists up in a hard, contemplating grimace. All steeped brows and hard frown and palpable, unhappy thought.]

There's another story in my world. About a cop who found out that a rich man had done awful things with his daughter, and that poor woman had a kid of her own because of it. So the cop tries to get her out of this bad situation. It doesn't work, the woman gets killed, the woman's little girl gets given back to the terrible rich man, and they just tell the cop that he can't do anything to people that powerful.

That story always pissed me the fuck off.

[Meaning that, very likely, he's not going to accept any 'It's Chinatown, Jake' sorts of ideas if they get thrown at him.]

[That story ... that one seems to make less sense to Aleifr. His head cocks to one side like that of a curious dog, and his eyes narrow.]

Cops.

[It's still a concept he's becoming familiar with. Organized law enforcement didn't exist on Fenris. The Jarl's men kept his peace, and the rest was sorted out between individuals.]

Supposed to uphold the law, yes?

Yeah. This guy was a different sort. [He almost goes through the explanation of paying someone to dig up dirt on a person so you can take legal action yourself. But it doesn't matter at the moment.]

But that's what they're supposed to do.

[Grimly. And there are a lot of thoughts tied into it. Obviously these bombers hate that kind of story, too, and it seems like they're kind of treating everyone as complicit if they're in the wrong place at the wrong time. The other though? He's not planning to let it go. And he'll hang on to whatever he finds out.]

Then why's the rich man still breathing?

[Where he comes from, if you cross those lines, if you do that evil, you die. That simply.]

Because he was a very rich man, and men with that much power know how to take advantage of it. I guess I was thinking of all the reasons there's so little fucking information out there.

[He wonders, legitimately, how many Jakes backed off their investigations before. Or how many went down with the effort. It's not only the Head that he's thinking of, either. He's also thinking of how the bombers might have successfully hidden themselves for so long.]

You'd be surprised how many worlds out there have people unable to resist or they just refuse to see the flaws in some full-of-themselves asshole.

TEXT: Day after the Festivities

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