The Slum

[Osthavula]

Surrounding the capital in the lower levels, older buildings and shops and people crowded together. No one bothered to even name it. It's just 'The Slum', somewhere the rich would avoid to let their shoes touch. All manner of people are here, all manner of shops, all manner of dreams and desire and despair and good and evil. There is no accurate map to it. Too many streets, too many spaces debatable to be streets, too many ... entanglement. But to some, this is the place where they will take a good lungful of burnt air, and let it out with a contented smile. Where the eye too busy to reach, freedom does.

 

[Osthavula]

The slum. If you say that was the meeting place, the people in the upper city will surely frown, or largely confused. Where? They ask. It's a large area, you know. Well, not large, but it's scattered. From the tower, you go North, East, West, South, you'll reach the slums in all direction.

That's why they like to say to meet in the slums.

Daniel waited in the shadow between two walls, in a place that was barely an alley. He couldn't avoid walking in here without tilting his shoulder and had to press down his hat so it wouldn't drop by a nudge of the concrete. The wait was long. His cigarette burnt a dying red in the murky wind.

Then, there came light footsteps. Someone short and young appeared from the corner. A child came with more ease than he, lowly but quickly told him what he got. "The new officer got lost. " The boy looked behind him. "We guided him round Dream Spring where he was sold a few bags of drugs. Quite easily convinced."

"Good, keep updated to the men. "

"Yes, leader. "

The man bit the wrapped tobacco, seemed to be in thoughts, before he pressed on the boy's cap as a praise, and blended in a darker path. A few turns, he was back on the normal streets, the neon light banners lack any agreement, shone above his heads like a bunch of overzealous peacocks.

Under the hat rim, his eyes blinked, watering a little. Without wiping he kept his head down and blended into the stream of people, dodging between shoving humans and looming structures. With a simple glance, he was just like any ordinary man. There was nothing special to note about his appearance, not even the worn coat and hat. The stitches near his sleeves were as common in the slum as a tie around the centre of the capital.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But as he approached his home, a tanned burly man stood near his door. Seeing that, Daniel got tensed and put his hand in his coat pocket, and walked cautiously.

"What happened?" He asked the man hurriedly. "You look nervous."

His trusty guard, the tall and burly one, turn his head at the door and eyed him uncomfortably. It was a unique reaction, which didn't take long until Daniel understood what had happened. There was a long hard sigh before he turns the handle with a certain grudge. He walked passed the living room, floored in dark wood and clean carpets, and he continued to walk into each and every single room until at last, he pushed open the bathroom door in his bedroom.

It was as he had expected.

A blonde laid lazily in the bathtub, fully dressed... Well, had all of her garments on. Chains hung her neck and bracelets weighted on her wrist. She turned her face up towards him, very subtly she smiled.

"Hi." She said.

"Get out of my bathtub." He said.

The blonde giggled, kicking up her legs playfully. "Your bathtub? If you say so. "

"Why are you here?"

"I came to ask if you have seen your brother, of course."

"No, I have said. He won't call here, and I couldn't care less about that man."

"Cold."

"And why do you dress like that?"

The woman purposely got out of the tub in slow motion, in the middle of the bathroom she placed one foot behind the other and turned a full circle like a model. "To fit in the streets, of course. How do I look?"

A vein was popping near his skull. Daniel grunted. It was a costume only too fitting for the slums. She looked as if she was born here, grew up here. Everything the people have she had too. Sly, coy, all that. The most dangerous of all was her charm if he would ever let that praise slipped his mouth ever again.

"Get out. "

She smiled, bent down to hook her heels on her fingers, and swang it while she walked passed him. She even got the cheap perfume on her to fit her role, but there was something, something that set her apart. Something in the air.... He couldn't tell. But the man was very much annoyed. His nerve begged to be rid of her presence.

While she put on her heels, the blonde's blue eyes swam up and down of his suit. "I see even today the leader is active. Which doggy did you pet again? "

He looked, and there it was, grey on his fingers but very subtle. The blonde laughed and walked outside, stopped to kiss the guard's cheek, and disappeared after a wink. She did know how exactly she would annoy him. Now in the empty room, he sat, coat and hat still on, lighting up yet another cigarette. It was very bitter, the burning of the leave fought with his senses, yet he founded calm in the torturing of it. Once again his mind was back, thinking about the future plan and the situations on hand.

Tick, tock.

He can't afford distraction anymore. One annoyance was enough.

Tick, tock.

Blue. Black. Suits and fists.

Tick, tock.

It will come.

Tick, tock.

All in due time.

 

[Sir Knight]

'....may the Lord watch over you, in times of toil and hardships. May He strengthen you and be your beacon in the darkest times of your lives. We ask for His guidance, as we pray in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.'

Silence. Silence so thin that even the slightest prick can burst it's soft shell. Yet his crowd of listeners followed the Sign. With a stand and a bow, they steadily shuffled out, offering silent 'amens' while doing so.

It was far. Very far from the reception one would receive in the middle pillars or even the lower pillars. But that was to be expected. Under the orders and the wisdom of the Covenant leaders, he was made to preach in the more faithless areas of the Slum. It would take a while to spark their fires but it will be sparked regardless.

Reinol von Lorica nodded to himself as he gazed at the pews. Nearly everyone had left. All save for a well-dressed man draped in shadows. He walked towards the priest, fedora pulled down.

'Resume duties for now. Expect reinforcements in the nearby future. Reassignment is t be foretold at a later date.

And he left. That was a rather dull message but a message was a message.

A steady clap. An almost silent chuckle. Richard Eleison strolled over to the Austrian's side. 'A fine sermon, Brother Reinol. I do expect more from the likes of you.'

He sighed. 'Please...enough.'

Eleison smiled. His crimson eyes glittered more brightly than the golden cross on his neck.

'Had enough? Was this not your idea?'

Reinol turned, face set in a scowl. 'No. And it was.' An answer to two questions. He had no time for the American's games. 'Any report on the activities of the Crusaders.'

A shake of his head. 'None. Your message was the best we had in a long while. Rather ironic since we're supposed to be their first priority.' He minded not the lack of protection. He found the lack of one far more exciting than the presence. 'Nothing to fear. We are sufficient should the time come for battle. And what little of our forces here shall be of significant assistance.'

The Austrian priest walked away. His feet lead him to the oak doors of the small church. A few bats screeched up high in the rafters. The beauty of the Lord's creations. Eleison retreated into whatever hovel he once resided in. A queer companion but an important one. But not a man he would trust.

An aching back met ancient wood as he leaned against the door. For how long will he serve the Covenant before their time arrives? Change was coming. He knew that very well. He made it happen in the first place.

The Epsilon Covenant was to convert all of the planet. Their work on Prime was flourishing. The middle and lower classes were slowly joining the faith. The humans at least were. When their culture began to get overshadowed by the Dyn, they turned to their last source of nostalgia. The bosom of religion. And what greater religion was there to follow than Catholicism? However different it may be.

And when that was over with...it time to look up at higher places.

The Bell of St. Louis rang out at the clock chimed. Eleison returned, a bottle of wine and glasses in hand. Priests don't drink. But they weren't normal priests. He drank without a twinge of guilt. There were greater things to feel more guilty about.

And there certainly will be.

 

[Mr_DC]

(Maybe Sir Knight and Osthavula )
Religion. Nika Desh pursed her lips as she watched the crowd disperse. How are they different from those cultists? She planted her hands in the pockets of her jacket. While it was a part of her official Military Police uniform and she was off duty, Desh still wore it. Her gun was at her side as well. To her, she was never off duty. Keeping people safe was a task one doesn't take a vacation from. The MP jacket was standardly pine green but the Snow Dyn had their distinctions. They all wore the MP armband, though. Black on white, just like the flag. "They provide comfort." She mumbled, bowing her head, casting her gaze down on her black boots. And others provide chaos.

Desh was never personally against religion. She took the director's vision for Epsilon to heart and didn't intend to be a part of a government which protects people from themselves instead of others. Some needed peace of mind and belief in something greater provided it. Wasn't much more different from Desh's belief in honor. Both were intangible. Both had some rules of thought and behavior which needed to be followed. But the cultists and preachers who wanted to exploit and destabilize Epsilon had to be treated differently.

Desh turned to walk away from the place of gathering. She was a part of many teams sent into potential cultist hideouts and their zeal was a distinct threat. They weren't like the rebels who preferred living to fight another day. A cultist had no intention of surviving the fight once they were uncovered. Seeing a man who looked like an average store clerk running at her like a feral animal with the explicit intention to end her life at all costs... It made her pause before pulling the trigger. It wasn't fear - she had yet to experience true terror - but something else. It was disappointment. The disappointment in how a person could become so twisted. Manipulated into something which was no longer a man. It smeared religion in general for Desh.

A pair of civilians sitting on a bench stopped their hushed conversation and watched Desh carefully while she walked by. She could have stopped to ask some questions. Search them for contraband. She would definitely find something and would have to arrest them. Then they would fight back and she knew how such situations ended. But Desh wasn't interested in bloodshed for the sake of pulling a petty criminal off the streets. There was a reason why the Military Police was seen as noble. They didn't actively search to eliminate potential criminals. They were a cure, not a preventative.

Desh passed a hand through her short, mohawk-style hair before looking up at the sign. Hard Lessons. That bar was her quiet retreat. A place where Desh could get a drink without seeing anyone she knows. The Law Enforcement wouldn't come to the slums unless they had to break some skulls and the Military Police kept to the fortresses or patrolling the upper districts.
That's not to say that she didn't want some company. Her squads got tagged with a rough training regiment for the week and the only person she'd really call a close friend, commissioner Thorn, was impossible to contact. Paired with her personal dislike for anything Ecstasy branded, the choice of entertainment was narrowed down to dozens of bars the Koola Cartel owned in the slums and Hard Lessons.

At least the latter didn't constantly have Law Enforcement breaking down the door.

 

[Zaltusinel]

The Lingering Gash
Josef Lashinji

Sirens, shattered glass. Scattered as tainted dreams by the nightmare of a thousand years, the blood leaped to assist. Spraying all over the television, the counter, and the refrigerator; the corpse itself laid over what appeared to be a dismembered couch. The cushions laying in defeat as torn banners. Little flowers of the yellow wallpaper seemed quite happy, giving a semblance of hope. Josef stared at the apartment, focusing on splatters, trails, and signs of the struggle. A slightly visible curve of events aroused Josef's eyes, coming together to paint the picture. He walked in slowly, expecting the police to be about ten minutes behind. His leather jacket rubbed across the doorknob, sliding out of the way of his fresh latex gloves. His boots silently pushed against the pink carpet. Josef nodded to himself, rolling his shoulders back.​

"Human, female; roughly five foot, four inches tall. Multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, spread indicates separate shots." Josef gazed behind him, rubbing his hands slowly. "Well, this blood makes little sense, unless of course..." Josef examined the gun left behind, an old revolver made on Earth some ages ago. Light grey, a Smith and Wesson Ladysmith with a lovely sky blue grip and freshly polished handle. Josef sighed, seeing the casing for the bullet near the body. "Guess you shot the guy almost too late did yah? Oh well, a wounded guy wouldn't be too far. Either way, I'll finish this little blackmail situation nicely." Josef rose from the body, writing a little note to the police with the date, time, and the number of his license on the nightstand. He stretched his arms over his head before walking out of the apartment. Walking next door, he confronted the neighbor, room 312.

His knock light yet easy to hear. His hand lowers as the door opens, a distraught older Dyn woman with an apron over her waist. The oven was on cooking some fruity dish. His eyebrows raised, "Ma'am, are you alright?" Her legs seemed unsteady, her light snowy coat of fur.

She looked up briefly, "I'm fine, just... the age. Nothing else. I saw a man, he was taller. A little thin, he went down the fire escape into an SUV. I think he was human, but I don't know much more." She smiled briefly.

"How common are crimes here in your complex ma'am?"

"A way to tell the times are passing youngin'. Cheers."

"Cheers ma'am." Josef reentered the apartment, collecting blood samples of every distinguishable different blood pool in the room. Storing the vials in his jacket. He judged towards the window, hearing the sirens as they pulled up. Time to leave. Josef strolled down the fire escape, whistling hymns or whatever of the top of his mind. A small blood trail led straight across the street, pooling at an outer point of the sidewalk.

"So, I see the old gang needs to run and hide." Josef smiled, chuckling softly as he strolled down the alleyway to the highway where his driver was waiting for him. "Give this to the boys back at Solid, tell Mathael if you see him that I'm alright. Know he doesn't care...but at least I do." The driver nodded, driving Josef onto the other side of the Slums. Josef quickly exited the vehicle, holstering a rifle on his back with two pistols in holsters. A knife in his sleeve for a little backup plan.

The soft breeze of the city wisped by as Josef reentered the slums, holding up his phone for notes of previous encounters with this little gang. His eyes roll as he starts with one of the few bars not owned by Ecstasy Trust. He walks into Hard Lessons, passing by a woman on the way. He raised his eyebrow out of curiosity, smiling softly before heading in. He approaches the bar, smiles and waits for the bartender to roll around to him.

[Mentions/Nearby]: Mr_DC Osthavula

 

[Mr_DC]

Zaltusinel Osthavula
Desh made her way to the bar, keeping her gaze on the floor but her eye sharp and a confident, faint smirk on her face. She wasn't looking for trouble but wouldn't ignore it. A message she wanted the patrons to understand. It wasn't often that she had a chair smashed over her back because some slum-dweller was wanted for this or that but it still happened. Paranoia in the slums was as thick as the smoke of whatever narcotic the patrons were using. Even without the MP jacket, Desh would be suspicious. The Snow Dyn suffered the stereotype of being law enforcers.

"Ecstasy's Red Orchard." Desh flashed a smile at the bartender and gave her order as she sat down, the wooden chair creaking beneath her muscled form. She would hiss at the mere mention of the Ecstasy name but their brand of liquor was simply irresistible. From their bitter Natural line to the mouth-wateringly sweet Orchard collection, Ecstasy covered all their bases and they covered them perfectly. The Red Orchard wasn't what one would call a "tough" drink and she got plenty of grief about that from her squad members whenever she ordered it but few would dare mention it to an armed Snow Dyn in an MP jacket.
Desh licked her lips. She could almost smell the fruitiness. Almost - the narcotic smoke was a fire in her lungs. Only a long and thorough wash would get it out of her fur.

"I come here for the deep, stimulating conversation." Desh cracked a grin and turned to look at the man beside her. A handsome man who didn't exactly look like a resident of the slums. Not her type but who was? "What about you?" She leaned on her elbow against the bar. The Snow Dyn might have a reputation for being the quiet, strong ones but times were changing. Her sister was a clear indicator of that. Desh just didn't want to drink in silence. That was how an alcoholic is brewed and she knew exactly how that looked like.