Editing Bound Fate (Warhammer High) (section)

===In a Menacing Sort of Way===
----


A tall kid in a black coat stepped off the airbus and hoisted a backpack smoothly over his shoulder. The bus waited a moment, as if in deference to his presence, then the doors started to close. He began to walk just in time for his long black tails to clear the pneumatic hiss of the closing entrance, and the fabric leapt up as the repulsor wells vectored their cargo back into the city. The day was still cool this early in the morning, and Doug guessed it may very well be the last temperate day of the year.

Long legs ate up the clean, squared pavement and dark eyes took in the sights. Startseite was a charming little town, a throwback to the old days of Terra far before the Unification Wars and the Technobarbarian kingdoms. Houses–mansions, really, but still small compared to the massive spires above and the arco-structures below–dotted the area. Each had their own parcel of land and each was surrounded by lush green grass and some form of fence, from stone fortification to rare nalwood picket.

The air breezed easily through the open, comfortable neighborhood, carrying the scents of various trees, plants, animals and open garages. Under it all clung the distinctive bite of pseudoweather, ingrained so thoroughly in the noses of Terra's residents they didn't even notice its presence. Doug, native to an extrasegmental agriworld called Bolanion, couldn't help the pseudoair fouling his enjoyment of the ebbing dawn. 

Dark brown eyes, nearly black throughout, but lightening around the pupil, stared lazily ahead. A roman nose sat over thin, almost colorless lips and a clean-shaven chin. The breeze picked up again, stirring short, fine hair the color of palm bark. Doug heard in the distance a massive rumbling–the roar of a powerful engine–and the faint squeak of an embarrassed young woman. He sighed, then brought a hand up to his ear. The minute, flesh-colored comm-link activated at the wave, then received his near subvocal message.

“Callie, report.”

“White, Doug! White!” The voice was clearly ecstatic, and despite how loud it was, Doug could hear many other voices, a bus full of worked up high schoolers. “Roberta wears white p-”

He sighed again. “Was anyone hurt, Callie?” He could almost picture her bright blue eyes wide with excitement.

“No, she's fine. Embarrassed as hell, though. You think she'll try to get back at Furia?” A sound rasped through the earpiece, one Doug well knew. Callie was brushing her golden blonde hair over the equipped ear, each strand scraping and the sound echoing into her eardrum.

The wheels in her head were turning, equal parts remembering Roberta's embarrassment and what she could do with the information. Callie was an attractive girl, an unnaturally flexible gymnast and capable social engineer. She had a talent for knowing just where to place and exactly how to phrase a comment for maximum effect. As well, the junior was possessed of a nearly inexhaustible wellspring of rumor and supposition. She herself was the subject of much of this gossip, at least as many around the school proper as Lady Primarch Victoria. Back-fence talk abounded that Callie had, possibly, slept with nearly every notable member of the student body, as well as a few teachers and school officials.

Unsurprisingly, Callie encouraged these rumors. As of late her attentions had been focused on more challenging targets: Doug, the newest member of her group since three months prior; Karthus Pius, a risky endeavor, considering his relationship with Isis Lupercal; and Vincent Levi DeCare. She'd already known Vin for years, and flirted with him like a smart woman playing the lottery. Callie didn't expect to win, but found it worth the effort for the possible payoff.

“I doubt Roberta will attempt any reprisals against Furia. Vin?”

“Cora and Kelly were delayed by conversation.” The voice was clipped and even, more modulated than Doug's. “They should arrive on time.”

“Any problems?”

“Cora forgot her lunch.”

“Unfortunate, but not dangerous. Thank you, Vin.” Vincent was as large as Doug, though the Tali native cut the difference between his fellow senior's tall, rangy body and their companion Ev's short, powerful build. A capable athlete and natural tactician, Vin preferred solo events, track and field taking a close second to swimming. This year he'd focused on Ladies Venus and Isis as his 'performance targets.' Vin was a powerful swimmer who far outstripped most of his classmates, but he fell short of the Ladies' literally superhuman benchmarks.

This didn't seem to trouble him and, when pressed, Vin would always reply that he 'preferred to take the long, difficult shot over the easy one.' The rugged, brooding, gray-eyed and black-haired teenager was the subject of extensive speculation by female Imperatores. Much of it centered around the great deal of time he spent at the local coffee and bagel shop, making stilted conversation with one of the proprietors. In Doug's memory Vin was always the first to sign up for morning detail, and always picked Cora and Kelly for the opportunity to spend his short free time each morning at the cafhouse.

“Janus?” Vin's laser-like focus on one job at a time was in stark contrast to Janus' inability to keep on task, especially when Callie or any of the blonde Daughters were around. “Janus?” 

“Huh. Oh- oh yeah? A- Affirmative.”  Doug could all but hear the boy blushing, whether due to Callie's excitement or the thought of what provoked her state was unknowable. 

''More than likely both.'' “Angela, Janus. Her status?”

“Right. She's fine.” If anything the boy's voice became even more distracted.

Still, Doug knew he was being honest. ''Unfortunate, but he has to watch Angela, she never suspects a thing from him because of his obvious infatuation.'' Doug himself was always shadowing Miranda Magnus; between his discipline and domus mnemonic Doug had been trailing her every day for two weeks without being detected.



A few blocks away Janus blushed when he realized he was being observed in turn by Angela, and pushed harder on his bike, trying to keep up with the rocket-assisted Daughter soaring away. In his downtime, Janus Sigitine was usually buried in his latest book. At least, when he wasn't fawning over Callie or one of the Daughters.

A voracious reader of everything Emperor-related and many religious texts, no one would hesitate to label the Titan-born Junior as a spiritual person. He somehow eluded the persecution Catherics and Emperor worshipers drew, though this was likely because of his apparent lack of any true religious beliefs. An unsanctioned Epsilon-classed psyker, the shy boy carried himself with a quiet dignity and ignored conjecture about the extent of his psychic abilities or his presence outside the Scholastica Psykana. 



Doug cycled to the next frequency on his comm-link, and Chucho heard static briefly precede his check-in prompt. “Chucho?” Janus could always be found at the opposite end of any gathering from Chucho Alexis. The short, pale boy hailed from a Southern Merican hive city and had a drawn, flat face with sunken gray eyes. Most of the other students were quite unnerved by the freshman when they bothered to notice him, and psykers outright refused to remain in his presence.

Still, the withdrawn boy proved to be even more socially insightful than Callie when asked, having spent his life quietly people watching. Most of the group felt sorry for Chucho, but not much could be done besides giving him a group to sit with, somewhere to belong. He had no hobbies of his own, but liked to meditate with Doug, lift weights with Ev, run and swim with Vin and assist or compete with any of the others in their respective pastimes. Chucho was fiercely loyal to his friends, as they accepted him more closely than even his own family had.



“Safe, on time.” The fit young man responded in his gravelly voice; he had no problem keeping up with traffic through the city, even following cars. Chucho drew near his charge once more, and Remilia let out a small shudder, looking around. She saw nothing and suddenly felt better as she took off again, another intersection closer to Imperator High. Chucho smiled to himself, an expression no one saw, before he moving into the next alley.



Doug cycled once more. “Ev, report. Why are you so close to the school already?”

“I dunno, man. Victoria prodded her little gang into gear fast today, in a rush to get there early. You think I'd have a shot with her?” The sandy-haired sophomore's honey brown eyes kept darting around, cheeks flushing at the thought. Ev was by far the most muscular of the group, and exuded a physicality that belied his size. While he stood at only 1.6 m, the handsome boy was more than capable of overpowering most everyone else in school, and had set the school's bench press weightlifting record higher and higher four times in the two years he'd been attending.

Doug sighed. “Unfortunately so, Ev. But you know that's a proscribed activity. We're supposed to observe and protect, never interfere except for their benefit. And as for that... I can only imagine one faster way to get removed by father.”

Ev gulped. “Right, right. Guy can dream though, right?  You think she'd ever get into a fight with Fre-”

Doug cut him off, cycling again. “Violet?”

“Yeah?” Vivian 'Violet' Munev was a sophomore with a penchant for biology and chemistry. She commanded twofold notoriety: first, for being the only student ever to best Isis in the yearly Ascension Day baking contest; and second, for her large, startlingly violet eyes.

Shipped in from Cadia, Violet rarely spoke of the military experience she had as a result of living there from birth to the age of six. The olive-skinned, dark-haired girl was perhaps the most unreadable of the group, even within its own ranks. She wasn't stoic, like Vin, or unnaturally composed, like Doug or Callie, but simply unpredictable. She veered wildly from one emotion to the next, almost always one flavor or another of excitement over one of her many hobbies and interests.

“Oh, right, Farah's gonna be a little late. She got stuck in the garage doing something and only left because Johor showed up to remind her it's time to go. You think he's ever going to tell her how he feels? And how do his ears work, is that all genetic or is there some surgical modification? I wonder-”

“That will be quite enough Violet, thank you. I should be coming upon my own charges in a few minutes.” 

Doug continued for another ten minutes, privately enjoying the small trip: the town's imperfect reflection of the home he'd left behind months ago, the sights, sounds and smells, before finally putting his earplugs in, the right snugging neatly over his comm-link. With five minutes left in the journey Sol came out of the sparse cloud cover in earnest, quickly warming the air and giving a brisk undertone to the crispness of the dying morning.
Life seemed to stir at this new light, though Doug knew more than anything it was due to his proximity to the school: his destination, Imperator High. The building itself finally appeared from around the last great stone obstruction's corner. It was large and, like most public buildings, primarily built of rockcrete. The outside was layered with old-style brick, giving the institution a dignified grandeur at odds with the other visible construction. 
The roar from before sounded again, this time promptly fading to a low rumble as it entered the school's protected parking area. A sea green gravcar–a top-of-the-line model–zipped by just after, and Doug assessed its contents in turn: Isis Lupercal, daughter of Warmaster Horus, was the driver, obvious from her tumble of pale blonde hair and orange eyes. Selphy Talbot, face downcast not in sadness, but eternal gossip, was in the front passenger's seat, topknot threatening to obscure the driver's view with each swish of her head. Behind Selphy sat a slight and unassuming but attractive blonde girl, whom he guessed by the lavender hairband and frigid blue eyes was Petra Perturabo.

Finally, another face appeared just as the car left sight, a great fall of thick red hair and an even redder single eye just visible before it all vanished. ''Miranda Magnus, no doubt. Seventeen years, and they are nearly done with their basic education. I wonder how we will be assigned after next summer?''

The school seemed almost welcoming as Doug made for the front entrance, unimpeded by any need to park in the rear lot. Dozens of students, a ridiculous number for such a small town, were slowly working their way toward the two-layer double doors. ''Most are from the upper spires, of course.'' Doug glanced at the few, for a hive, spires jutting above the hiveskin, each far broader and many times taller than any of the buildings in Startseite's business district.

He slipped through the press of bodies easily, high point of view easing his path through the crowd of students. The journey through the school's interior was just slower, until the last great wave of students piled in behind him, seeming to buoy him forward on a swell of resignation and hope for an easy day. Locker #447 appeared from the great mass of students, left bare just for its occupant, Doug Hanlon. He spun through the combination easily, impeccable memory and sensitive fingers guiding it through the proper numbers and turns.

Despite the effortless unlocking Doug's locker had its own charms. Specifically, it was as stubborn as a mule, and refused to open except to great pressure at the proper angle. Doug shed his backpack and removed his coat, revealing a crisp white button up shirt at odds with the almost identical garments around. While nearly every other student rolled up their sleeves and left their collars up, Doug's sleeves lay long and buttoned at the wrist, his collar fastened tidily down. The shirt was tucked neatly and evenly into flat front black pants, themselves ending over clean, glossy shoes a brown almost as dark as his eyes.

The long coat folded neatly in half and lay over his left arm, the right hoisting the heavy backpack easily up onto his shoulder. Doug's right hand felt around to the side pocket, noting that the squaring clamp was still in place; he'd been planning to fix this locker since his first day, and only recently had the free time and credits to design and fabricate the necessary tool.

The pack slid all the way to his back and Doug braced himself to battle the locker one last time. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sea green car's occupants take up position on the opposite wall, chatting while they waited for class to start. He felt a prickle, a feeling he'd long come to attribute to psychic probing.

''Miss Magnus seems to have noticed my mnemonic.'' Just then a loud bang echoed down the hall, then another, quieter bang followed by a near-complete hushing of the student body. A dull slap sounded, the telltale signature of a small body hitting the floor and Doug chanced a look in the offending direction.

A shock of short, bloodred hair snapped into view, swaying gently atop the striding form of Furia Angron. She was clearly on the warpath. Her teeth were clenched, her temple throbbing, her limbs swinging in hard, short motions. The crowd parted, allowing Furia through and exposing Doug to an unexpected sight: he caught a clear view of her eyes. 

Furia's brow was knotted in anger, her high cheeks rising further underneath with rage. But her hazel eyes weren't maddened. They were soft, and tears were just visible at the corners. A hand darted up swiftly, removing his left earplug, and Doug heard her breathing. It was heavy, fast, but only in imitation of fury. It was all a mask, hiding a sadness that seemed terribly recognizable to Doug. The plan formed in an instant, and Doug began to pull on his locker again, gauging the resistance.

''Should be no more than ten seconds.'' He shifted his stance, pushing the right shoulder and backpack a little farther into the hall. ''You shouldn't do this, you know.'' Doug considered the thought, then remembered those eyes again, a doleful hazel. ''It wouldn't do to have her storm out of the school. It's far more dangerous outside.'' Nodding with self-justification, Doug executed his plan nearly to the second. The door broke free of its comrade's tight embrace and Doug slid back, perhaps a quarter of a meter. Just far enough to bump into Furia Angron, who responded immediately with a growl.

“Oh, I need this.”

''Beautiful voice. Sultry, even. In a menacing sort of way.'' Doug thought as he began to turn. But only began when the backpack was kicked away and a prodigiously strong punch, far more powerful than any he'd received in combat training, sank into his right kidney. He felt a peculiar sickness rise in his stomach, and thanked long years of muscle control training as his bladder strained against shock and the pressure ballooning through his midsection.

Doug began to sink forward into the locker's embrace, and heard the rustle of hand in bag as Furia turned to leave once more. ''We can't have that.'' Doug stood, making a show of shaking his head, and was rewarded with two more powerful blows. He hadn't realized how much she was holding back the first time. 

The locker claimed him fully this time, and Doug returned to his senses minutes later aching, feeling sick and heavy. He became aware of a monstrous roar behind him, ''No, wait... two monsters,'' and, as his faculties returned completely, finally managed to separate them out into Furia and Dean Yarrick. Doug breathed carefully, slowly regaining his composure, then hung the coat neatly in his locker. The backpack opened next, the small bag of squaring clamp parts seated themselves on the eye-level shelf at the top of the locker, and books slid out into the lower part.

"Furia, do we really have to do this ''again''? How many times do I have to catch you beating another student to a pulp before-" Yarrick gestured at the victim, then turned to emphasize his point and stopped dead. Doug was regarding him over-shoulder with a mild, curious look as he pulled books from his locker, then stuffed the backpack inside.

Furia's compelling features crooked into an amused smile, and Doug barely hid his own reflexive grin when her hazel eyes twinkled with glee. The old soldier's single organic eye grew wide with confusion, then narrowed in indignation. Dean Yarrick turned and grabbed the student roughly, oversized claw scraping crazily against the lockers as he pivoted.

"YOU."

"Yes, Dean Yarrick?" Doug's voice was modulated, even pleasant, barely concealing the fresh pain coursing through his back. An eyebrow crooked up, as if he couldn't possibly be aware of what the administrator needed.

"Name. Now." Yarrick's face quickly regained composure, despite the fresh anger creeping up his neck. Doug could see the veins beginning to stand, ready to pulse to life in a literal heartbeat.

"Douglas. Douglas Hanlon." Doug stretched out his right hand, then apologized quickly, exchanging it for his left. "Sir."

Yarrick shook the offered hand harshly. "And you expect me to believe she wasn't just laying into you?" Yarrick's glare intensified, his eye boring into the young man.

"Well, we did bump into each other but, I assure you, nothing untoward happened. In fact, I was just about to apologize to miss...?" Doug turned and looked at Furia questioningly.

She glanced at him, then at Yarrick, then back at the senior. Her eye twitched threateningly, but she managed to control herself and force a small smile. "Furia. Lady. Primarch. Furia."

Doug offered his hand to the Lady Primarch and, after a long moment she took it. So hard, in fact, that Doug's knuckles popped and whitened, the blood within forced out through pressure.

"Doug." He withdrew his hand. "Strong grip." He smiled, as if amused at his small joke, then coughed when he saw the furious looks on the pair facing him. "Is there anything else, Dean?"

"No, that will be all. Furia, my office. NOW." Yarrick grabbed Furia  by the collar and drug her away.

Doug nodded jauntily, allowing a small smile to the departing commissar and sighing Furia, then slammed his locker shut and and raced to the bathroom. A shaky hand closed and locked the door, and he all but fell onto the sink. His stomach contorted and leapt as the vomit poured out of him.

After what seemed an eternity of retching Doug finally stopped, legs and arms shaking, and looked at himself in the mirror, his features miserable with pain and sickness. ''Bad move, Doug. You shouldn't have involved yourself with a Daughter. Not part of your operational parameters.'' His skin had paled considerably, a stark white as clean and lifeless as the wall behind him. The sudden loss of blood gave lie to his dermal treatments, synthetic patches revealing a lifetime's worth of concealed scars and marks etched into his face. 

He turned the water on, scarcely able to support himself with a single arm, and sunk to his elbows. ''Why did you do that, Doug?'' Cold water splashed onto his face, pulling him out of his semi-torpid state, and he waited. Furia's eyes came to mind again, sad before the encounter, but simply annoyed after.

''She is rather cute when she's angry.'' After another minute of steady breathing the feeling of sickness, of turmoil and upset in his core, finally subsided. As it passed, the dull ache of his lower back swelled to life, carrying a familiar urgency, and Doug darted over to the urinal. His bladder evacuated, the tinge of red slowly fading as the thankfully short process wound to completion, and he cleaned himself up. Doug flushed the bloody paper in a toilet and made to go, pausing only to check the condition of his back before leaving.

Three larger than fist-sized bruises overlapped there, the dark purple fading out to sickly green, and he gently massaged the area, wincing, then tucked the shirt back in and hoisted his books once more. After taking a moment to compose himself Doug pushed back out into the hallway, towards Biology. The effort was almost unbearable, but he hid the limp, pretended the bruising wasn't there.

It was harder to hide the anxiety, even justified as his actions seemed at the time. Doug's initial Appraisal was long past, but the lessons had been drilled into him regardless. He'd interposed himself in the life a Royal Daughter. ''Even if only in the smallest way, and positively, I have to say. There will be repercussions.'' 

Doug opened the Bio door and walked in, his face flushed but otherwise unperturbed. "My apologies, Professor Bile, I had... to unexpectedly visit the restroom." The words rolled out casually, easily. He'd long learned that lying and avoiding the specific truth were entirely different things, and that the latter was much harder to notice.

"Of course, Douglas." Mr. Bile nodded and mumbled in agreement, but didn't stop laying out his lesson plan. Doug strolled to the back of the room and sat down, wincing a little at the feeling of the seat against his aching back. Soon enough the cool plastic and metal soothed him, if only just so, and he opened his textbook. Doug felt the prickle again, the gentle touch as a psyker tried to sense his surface thoughts. He was sure it was Miranda, the only psyker he was aware of in the class, but said nothing, letting the long built walls of his mnemonic home do their work.