[Whom Do You Serve?] The Breath of a Soul - Zita

Inquisitor

Inquisitor

The Most Adorable Thing Ever, Costume Edition
@Alexandra


112.994.M41


They say that death is sacred. Spilling the blood of your foes is a ritual, the end result being to free the soul from the body. They say this is the greatest honor you can give someone, to give them the chance to be judged in death for their past. Providing this is your duty, and it's difficult to think of anything else you could be better at than providing this opportunity.


Murder is an artform, and the blade is your weapon.


...


You'd been on countless missions like this. Bring death to an individual or group of individuals. It was an easy task to perform, and you'd done it more times than you could count--and you certainly enjoyed counting that number.


You found yourself being sent to the Agripinaa System, to Narsine, the system's chief supplier of labor. There was a revolt brewing, and the system needed its leadership decapitated. Literally, if need be.


The planet's surface is constantly frozen, maintaining an average of -100C at all times. You're dropped into the largest city on the planet--as well as the heart of this rebellion--called Margdis, with the weather-proof clothes on your back, your weapons, and names of who to speak to to track down the leadership. First on the list: Fardin Cunniff.
 
Zita subtly checkes her weapons, out of habit, breath steaming in front of her. Cold renders the body less responsive; making it her least favourite factor to have to deal with on a mission. But at least it doesn't carry the smell of the slums as effectively...


She checks her location against the address; somewhere very nearby as it happens. She begins walking, not looking at anyone; some gangs in the underhive like to take eye contact as an invitation towards violence, and she really can't afford any wasted time this early on.
 
Cunniff's building sits down the street on the right, a towering spire of thousands of tiny residences. People move in and out of these slum houses almost daily, which will make tracking down Cunniff difficult. Reading up on the given physical description--long, greasy brown hair, gaunt, gangly and awkward, with piercing grey eyes--you feel prepared to search, at least as best as you can be.
 
Zita pauses in front of the building. Dwellings like these in the underhive always seemed familiar to her, though she had no concrete memories associated with them.


Choosing a long way around the spires, she began a first sweep over them, walking like someone who is supposed to be there. She takes note of sections that look as though residents have been there longer, as her contact should be among those somewhere.
 
You can denote at least twenty homes that have likely been inhabited the longest. Given how ingrained Cunniff appears to be--so much so that he's part of the leadership of a rebellion able to seriously threaten the Planetary Governor. Of them, you can determine that four are inhabited by single men of moderate age--the best estimation you have for Cunniff.
 
Zita has no real knowledge of the inner workings of the rebellion; but more specifically, has no idea how regularly the ringleaders check in with each other. Some reconnaissance may be necessary...she would only make her job harder if Cunniff's death alerted her remaining two marks to the presence of a third party. And besides, he may be able to provide information that could bring her closer to the other two.


Shifting her gear, and formulating some kind of story, Zita begins knocking on doors, planning to answer queries as to her identity with a somewhat cryptic "I'm here to see a man about some work," if the inhabitant is clearly not Cunniff.
 
Knocking from door to door seems to be a futile task, but at least people don't really question your explanation too often. Seems like people have heard similar things enough, and just gave up asking.


After several failed searches, you find a room, with a rather fat, greasy man at the door. "What do you want?" he mutters, not really looking at you. Not Cunniff. But if you glance over his shoulder, you see a gaunt, gangly man, greasy brown hair, green eyes. That's Cunniff.
 
She doesn't do much more than glance at Cunniff for the moment; her having his name right now might be a little out of the ordinary.


"I have been led to believe I could find work from someone living in this general area; that my skill set could prove useful. Would it be you looking to hire someone?"
 
Fat Man looks back at Cunniff, who nods. "We're always looking for help around this place. Messes to clean up, and what-not." Fat Man deadpans at you as he says all this. "Come on in and we can talk it over." He moves aside, waving you in.
 
"Sure," she replies, stepping into the room.


"I can do a variety of things", she begins, "but it's mostly been protection lately. Y'know the way of it; someone needs something moved, or removed, and someone else might be inclined to interfere..."


As she talks, she keeps the fat man in the corner of her vision and assesses them, and the room for weapons; it would never do to get jumped this early on.


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You don't see any weapons around. Nothing. It almost makes you think you're in the wrong place, which conflicts so thoroughly with the fact that the second man so clearly resembles Cunniff.


"Yeah, I know what you mean, little lady," mutters Fat Man. Cunniff remains silent in the background. "And what makes you think we need a little lady like you on the job?" He smirks over his shoulder at Cunniff. "Looks more like ya'd be more suited to provide... Other services." This elicits a chuckle from Cunniff, and a guffawing laugh from Fat Man.
 
Hmm. No weapons.


Either they hide their equipment well, or they don't shit where they eat. Both seem like sensible approaches, but Zita knows better than to take it as an excuse to relax.


"Do me a favour." she responds, rolling her eyes a little.


"That wouldn't make me nearly as much money for the amount of effort I'd have to put in. Besides; that's not the kind of work I'm interested in."


She looks around the room, being a bit more more obvious than before, and shrugs.


"Though if I'm in the wrong place, and you fellas aren't looking to hire some kind of protection, then this is wasting all our time."
 
Fat Man looks back over his shoulder, a faintly worried look on his face. Cunniff scowls and stands up. He towers over you, his ragged clothing and gaunt figure making him appear all the more unnerving. He walks toward you and practically shoves Fat Man out of the way. He shuts the door, moving in front of it. "Alright, lady. Yes, we can use you. Yes, we're willing to pay you. Now, what exactly do you do? You don't seem like the usual big and buff guys we could hire for things like this."
 
Zita grins at the comment about her size.


"Exactly. Being a little girl in the under hive teaches you real quick how to keep your head down. And which end of a knife goes in the person standing over you."


She shifts her equipment to her other shoulder before starting again; not cheeky, as that would not go down well, but more matter of fact.


"So how often do those big, buff, obvious guys get made? That's what made me so employable in my last position...not that you'd be able to get feedback from the Beast House."


She pauses, with a brief, hurm...a release of air...


"As to what I do...item retrieval, reconnaissance, and a certain amount of protection. I mean, like you said; I am a little lady, so I go where I will be most useful."
 
They look between each other for a moment and share a knowing look, nodding. Cunniff looks back at you, a stern look on his face. "Alright, you've got the job. But we'll be keeping you on as tight a leash as we can for now. It's hard to trust new folks, sometimes. I've got a job or two for you." At that moment, Fat Man passes you a sheet of parchment. "Go talk to this guy, make sure he's okay. We haven't heard from him for a week. Kinda worried. We don't like losing track of our friends."


You open the parchment and see the name: Baelin Gurdrid. Attached is an address, on the far side of town. Target two: acquired.
 
Zita nods.


"Sure," she replies. "Just want me to get eyes on him, or deliver some kind of message?"
 
They share another glance, and Fat Man hands you a second envelope. "His eyes only. Now go."
 
She slips the letter into a pouch without really looking at it. There will be time for that later.


"Hey, I don't need to know everything about what kind of business you guys are into; in fact, in my experience it only complicates a job. And I like things kept simple."


She nods to the two men and heads for the door.


"I'll be back once I know something." she says over her shoulder.
 
The trip scross the hive city takes most of an hour. Plenty of time to prepare for the inevitable kill to come. Gurdrid must die, and his soul must be offered for judgement to the Emperor. Deliver unto Him the souls of the damned, so that He might bless them with His might.


By the time you arrive, the faint and distant sun is high in the sky. Little saving grace this far out; the temperature likely only rises from -100 to -80C. You can still see the icicle-like bodies of the homeless, frozen in the street. Nobody knows if they're still alive in that state or not; nobody bothered to check. Perhaps they'll thaw some day soon, and enter a world unlike this one today. But such is not for you to contemplate. The positioning of your blade, however, is.


Gurdrid's 37th-floor apartment is dirty, grimy and greasy, just like the rest of them. The door appears to be scaled in dirt, crusted on from months--if not years--of not being cleaned. Poor upkeep, no matter the neighborhood. Twenty minutes of knocking yields nothing. Patience wears thin eventually, even for His Blades.
 
Zita sighs a little. She'll have to look for another way to gain entry. There is a third mark out there without a location to their name, and getting into this awful apartment may speed things along.

So. Windows, ventilation? Zita will absolutely check the apartment for points of entry. He may be hiding inside, out somewhere, or dead already. That third option is one she'd definitely be pissed at. Time to get her sneak on.
 
It doesn't take long at all for you. While this city and it's building style is new to you, the basic entryways are still present. Moreso, you find many plausible exits that your target could use; there's the possibility you could use them to escape as well.


Aside from the door, you find a small grate on the ground--possibly big enough for you to squeeze through, but not much more. You quickly discover a duct system in both the floor and ceiling. Each is easy for a large man to fit through. They lead to a central ventilation shift in the core of the building. Escape could be possible from there.


You remember a fairly easy climb up the outside of the building, with a solid landing just a few floors below this one, as well. During the time you spent searching--about an hour--there is not so much as a squeak from the apartment.
 
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