Editing Bound Fate (Warhammer High) (section)

===Familiar Itch – Friday – Septembris 16===
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Furia scratched her arm, the familiar itch biting at her mind. ''What the fuck are you doing down here?'' She wrinkled her nose. Furia could smell the soylens from here, even outside the processing district's official boundaries. It was sick, sweet and savory. She'd smelled real death before, once, a long time ago when Kharn visited. Somehow this was worse, as if the dead weren't worth anything at all, even dying. Like it didn't matter that someone had died. People dying to feed more people, or maybe this was one of the plants that rendered them into fuel too, into promethium for use in war machines and weapons.

The smell wasn't just a smell, either. It was physical, something you felt on your face and clothes. As she drew closer, Furia could see the buildings slowly change, see the rockcrete and stone higher up turn from gray to red or brown, or worse. She'd spent a day here once, almost spent the night after a week like this week, when she pushed everyone away. But after eight hours in the soylens district air her clothes were stained, fingers slippery and she could feel it in her nose. When the guy had offered her a beer and a pack of green Furia decided she'd had enough and went back home. ''Anything's better than this.'' She considered leaving right now for home, empty as it was, then sucked down the lho-stick and automatically brought the pack up, hand prodding under the lid. Her fingers found the lone remaining smoke and she swore.

"Fuck. That's my last pack." Furia rubbed her bare forearms. ''Too late to go back now. Fuckin' Coby.'' She'd been over to his house that day, more because her own home was empty than anything. It hadn't taken him long to piss her off again and she'd stormed off without her leather jacket. The gloom of the hive increased as Furia walked, eyes downcast, lower and lower into the urban accretion. Fumes collected from years of illegal promethium burner use clouded sight and smell ever more thickly.  Furia passed a school, the engraved numbers by the gate fading, barely legible as School #113. The building was dilapidated, wearing its age like an old crone, with streaks of grime and a sagging foundation.

The neighborhood matched it perfectly. Broken down cars, most missing tires, repulsors or inciters, were scattered down the streets in all directions, largely serving as makeshift shelters. Except for a pair of bars most of the buildings lacked visible lighting, drearily matching the anemic streetlights. People walked with hunched shoulders and hoods, more than a fair share scurrying to and from alleys. Furia looked around and spied a heated exchange punctuated by a brown envelop and the clatter of credits. She looked back at the school. Despite the apparent deterioration of the building and community, it still bore signs of recent use. 

A servitor, seemingly comprised entirely of rust and grime, shuffled through the structure, mopping in a slow, sloppy routine. A light appeared in an apartment window above, the outline of a head coming into view, watching. Furia lit her last smoke and continued further into the hive. The silhouette watched a little longer before departing, apparently satisfied, and the curtain fell back into place. She started to move again when she caught someone looking at her, the guy who'd just handed off the brown bag. He had bright blue eyes, a round, grimy face and a long scar down his cheek, and he looked at her with familiarity. Without a word he turned and took off down the alley opposite the school. ''Something's not right about that guy, he recognized me.'' Furia, pissed, nursing an itch she didn't want and on her last lho-stick, decided pursuing this man was a good idea. Anything to take her mind off the past week and the itch on her arm.

As soon as he disappeared around the corner Furia jogged to catch up, powerful legs closing the distance easily. Her blood was pumping, her adrenaline was just starting to edge up and relieve the itch. She could feel the anger hedging in doubt, sadness and worse. As she rounded the corner Furia felt alive, spoiling for a confrontation, physical or verbal. After she rounded the corner Furia was surprised.

A pair of long arms pulled her off balance, a surprisingly easy task given she was cornering on one foot. The blue-eyed man slammed her against the brick wall and she barely noticed. He pinioned her arms behind her, then looked down, bringing a single hand back to his chest. Furia broke his hold easily, the unfavorable position only causing her the slightest trouble in muscling out of his vise-like grip. The freed hand kept its momentum, balling up and slamming into his jaw at less than half-strength. A spurt of blood shot out of his mouth, and more dribbled down his cheek as he turned to face her again. The other blue contact fell out and into his hand, revealing an infuriatingly familiar set of black eyes. Furia regretted only holding back on the first punch as she remembered his near omnipresence over the past week.

''Not just Monday, but every fucking day. Pissing me off.'' He'd bumped into her in the lunchroom Tuesday, and got knocked over a table for his trouble. Wednesday he nearly walked into Gorechild as she left the parking lot, scared the daylights out of her. ''Then he fucking asked for a ride.'' She'd peeled out, left him covered in oily smoke with a satisfied grin. Thursday he was in the hall again, messing with something on his locker, and asked for help. ''Don't know what it was, but it broke pretty easily.'' He spoke again, shaking Furia from her memories.

"Of course, how rude of me." Doug allowed himself a small, bleeding smile. 

He spoke so quietly only Furia could hear him and produced a small box, the familiar sight soothing just at a glance. She reached out of for it, but Doug deftly avoided her hand, instead opening it with a finger and sliding out a single crisp lho-stick with a short nudge. It was small and factory stuffed instead of hand rolled, but Furia could practically taste it. She eyed his face, slowly reaching out, then snatched the smoke from the box.

''I know I felt something break under that punch.'' He seemed fine, and it was pissing her off even more.

"Come on baybee, you know Ah cain't live without you!" Doug blared the line out with an impossibly thick drawl and a lopsided smile.

The sudden, confusing change in demeanor caused Furia to snort with laughter while she patted her pockets, but the needed match proved elusive. She felt her choler rising again when one suddenly flared up in front of her. Furia puffed the smoke to life and inhaled deeply, the low grade tabac still more than enough to ease her grated nerves. She noticed the other man then, the one holding the bag with a twitching hand, now looking back when Doug talked again.

"Ah missed you!" The junkie shook his head, eyes flickering between envy and loneliness, then walked away, rubbing his arm heavily. He loped with a distinctively odd hitch in his step. "Ah. Very good." Doug reached down to his pants, unbuttoning the fly and unzipping it. Furia's eyes widened at the action, then bulged further with confusion when he pulled out a long strip of dirty cloth.

"What? The fuck? Is that?" Doug's pants quickly reassembled, then he shrugged out of his dark coat, revealing a leather jacket underneath, and began pulling the coat's sleeves inside out.

"The wrap? I had it around my knee, to stiffen the joint and alter my gait." The long coat inverted, revealing a dark blue jacket that didn't match with the the long, dirty tails. Doug's tongue moved around his mouth and he spat out two cheek inserts, his face leaning up considerably. A chunk of plastic felt odd in his hand, and he looked down, remembering the blow Furia had leveled on him. "Yes, I'll have to replace that."

The girl smirked and continued to smoke while Doug shouldered the jacket. He lifted his feet, pulling an insert out of a shoe and further adjusting something in the other. A small case appeared from the jacket, producing a small white cloth that cleaned his face and neck of the fake grime, then he peeled away the scar and rolled it up. Doug continued to adjust and touch up minor details, and Furia grew more and more impatient as the biggest flaw of all remained untouched.

"You're not just going to leave that fucking skirt hanging back there are you?" The comment came out in a haze of tabac and Doug coughed theatrically, waving it away. The smoke cleared, revealing a beaming smile, marred somewhat by the blood still pooling in his mouth.

"Of course not. Observe." Doug reached down and tugged the tails apart, revealing them to be two separate pieces of fabric attached to the upper body of the coat. They slid neatly up into the shoulders of the now-jacket, remaining concealed and subtly changing the profile of the back and shoulders. He then turned to look at her, eyes examining. "Now, for you." Furia glared back, glancing briefly at the swelling bruise on his cheek. "No, no, nothing serious... we just have to cover up that hair."

The hat came off and Furia was barely surprised when it too inverted into a different article, a dark green knitted skullcap. The wide brim folded neatly underneath the hem, and Doug handed it to Furia.

"What, you expect me to come with you?" Furia hissed as she exhaled, then drew the lho-stick almost down to the filter. Doug didn't respond, just looked directly at her for a long moment. "What the fuck are you doing, anyway? Are you a wannabe Arbites?"

"No, Miss Angron, simply a concerned citizen possessed of an... inquisitive nature. Now, if you would, we have a dealer to catch up with." Doug continued to stare at her, completely relaxed.

Furia thought about chasing down the dealer and felt the adrenaline begin to return. She snatched up the cap and tugged it on, "Alright, fine."

The hat fit snugly, but a few tufts of red hair sticking out popped visually, contrasted by the green material. Doug's hands moved quickly and effortlessly, tucking the stray hairs away and pulling it tight. Furia felt unfamiliar heat in her cheeks as his hand grazed her face, then another kind entirely as fingers plucked the still smoldering stub from her lips neatly. Doug put the shrunken stick in his own mouth, then quickly offered another, which Furia lit herself and drew from slowly. Her nerves had settled, as settled as they could be, and she let the rush of nicat linger in her lungs. The near-meditative session was interrupted when a leather jacket flopped into her folded arms and Doug pushed past her, going further into the alley as the blue jacket slipped over his shoulders. 





A few blocks later Furia shrugged unconsciously in the leather jacket, too aware of the fact that she was trying to look inconspicuous. "Where are we going?"  Her eyes darted around, away from the dealer, as if looking for someone, anyone on the lookout for her.

"Please, Furia, calm down. There's no one looking for us." They ducked into another dark alley, losing sight of the man.

"What do you mean 'no one's looking for us'?" Furia's voice dropped and flattened, mocking. "Why the fuck are we all disguised if no one's looking for us?"

Doug loped casually back out into the street, a slight snag in his step from the folded insert sitting in his right shoe. The lho stub drooped from his lips, teetering on the verge of falling out. "The disguises are so no one ''remembers'' us, Miss Angron. No one has a reason to look for us." He turned, shrugging with a grin, hands pointed loosely at his shoulders. "Or at least me."

Furia rolled her eyes. "So, where's the fuckin' dealer, huh?" She walked up and blew smoke into his face. "Didja lose him?" Doug suddenly ducked into a side alley, grabbing Furia's hand when she paused and pulling her low.

"No." He pulled back behind the building's corner as the dealer appeared, weaselly and pale, and snapped his head around, checking for shadows. He paused for a few seconds, and seeing nothing continued deeper into the squalor. Furia felt something warm on her hand and realized Doug had been holding it for the last twenty seconds.

"Hands off, fucker!" He sprawled into the street from her light kick, then stood and dusted himself off.

''At least she's holding back now.'' Doug stooped and picked up the wet paper roll, looked it over then let out a loud Eh! with a tilt of his head and stuck it in his mouth.

"Eugh, that's nasty."

"Of course it is, Furia." Doug muttered around greasy paper, striking up a match. "I am disgusting. I'm a lowerhive ganger, I'll take what I can get." The match finally lit the stick again, and it smoldered wetly in his mouth. "Now, let's not disappoint Mr. Winhus. He'll be expecting a visitor."



Winhus ducked into the shabby apartment building. The borders of the underhive were cheap, he didn't need ID to do anything and could get whatever he needed. ''Buildings're disgusting.'' Winhus slipped and twitched over the wet floors, flinching at each door as if he expected a boot or stub to meet him at the junction. He trudged up several floors, then across, stepping over a sleeping bum, a skater. ''Been here every night for three fuckin' days.'' Winhus gave the man a kick, then went up several more floors, then down, then across, up, down, across, over and over. When he finally arrived at his dingy apartment door Winhus was gasping for breath, and none too happy to see Agissa waiting. The Patrolman stood calmly, longcoat poorly concealing his bulky carapace armor. ''Why's he always gotta wear that, he knows I ain't gonna try nothin'.''

"Agissa!" The sallow-faced man broke into a broad grin as he approached, hand outstretched. Agissa simply dropped his lho-stick and ground it into the moist, dirty floor.

"I'm not here to play buddy-buddy. Where're the creds?" Agissa all but spit his contempt out, deciding instead to let the lingering low-grade tabac swim about his mouth a little longer. Winhus let his smile drop into a sneer as he moved to open the door. Another stern look from the Patrolman blasted the grimace off his face, and Winhus' voice quavered slightly.

"I-In here, like usual Ag'ssa." The door finally opened and Agissa gave Winhus a firm push, nearly sending him to the floor. "Bastard." Winhus felt the cold glare on his back and scrambled into the other room. "N-not you, Agissa. My boss." He dug through the dresser drawers, throwing aside moldy socks and underwear before finally finding his stash of payoff credits. The dealer thought about leaving a couple behind, but he'd tried that before. Winhus' hand unconsciously went to his knee, to how he got his distinctive hitched lope. He turned, creds in hand, and passed the bundle to the Patrolman. Agissa took them and counted, very slowly and deliberately, then eyed Winhus as he put them away.

"Looks like you get to keep that other knee, Whine-us." Agissa smiled harshly and slammed the door open, then took off at an easy stride down the hall. The skating bum stumbled down the steps, into the Patrolman's path and Winhus let out a crowing laugh as Agissa thumped him to the ground, then made for the stairs. The cackle turned into a wheezing cough, then Winhus grabbed his door and pulled it shut.

Winhus started as an arm jammed into the door at the last second, pulling his knife reflexively. He made to cut the arm,  then stopped when he saw the grimy nails and scarred fingers. It was all rough, but obviously feminine. ''And I like a rough trick.'' Winhus grinned to himself and let the trick open his door, only to see the bum standing next to her. He dropped the rags he'd been in several times in the past three days, revealing a dark brown longcoat, then briefly flashed a badge.

"Arbites, Winhus."

"I-I already puh-puh-paid off Agissa!" Winhus stumbled back, throat quivering, and fell to the floor.

"And we ain't Agissa." The girl stepped forward. She was wearing a green skullcap, pleated skirt and a leather jacket, long legs bared. Her voice was iron hard and she clenched her hands like a practiced cage fighter. Winhus took one look at the scars on her face, shifting as she let a slow, evil grin come over her compelling features, and began rubbing his arm compulsively.

The door closed quietly.



Winhus thrashed in his bindings, but only for a few seconds. His weak attempts at escape didn't loosen anything, and the dealer quickly surrendered to his plight. The girl was was rummaging through his kitchen, cursing loudly at his lack of any real food. A pack of soylens came screaming into the living room, nearly scaring Winhus back into a stupor.

“Kak! Don't you have anything besides fuckin' soylens!” A drawer crashed to the ground, then a cabinet opened and more soylens spilled out. The man, the Arbites, simply leaned against the opposite wall and smiled.

“Perhaps if you tell me what I need to know, Winhus, I can feed my companion before she becomes any more aggravated.”

“Raah!” The refrigerator tipped over with an almighty crash and Furia stomped back into the living room, anger incarnate.

“I don't know how it happened, I swear!”

“What're you talking about, anyway?” Furia began digging through her bag, looking for a pack of lho sticks that wasn't there. She turned and eyed Doug expectantly.

“Perhaps you should vent your frustration on our friend here, as he seems reluctant to be honest with me.” He leaned forward, smiling, and produced a small brown envelope. “See for yourself, my dear lady.”

Furia huffed at the honorific, but after a moment curiosity got the better of her and she snatched the package from his hand. A scarred finger simply tore apart the tiny, thin metal latch, and pulled out the sheaf of photographs. At first she glanced through them quickly. But, as she realized what she was looking at, Furia's pace and breathing slowed. Doug leaned back against the wall once more, smile widening. She grimaced, then sneered, then went farther. Winhus looked back and forth between the Arbites' satisfied smile and the girl, her face blackening with outrage. Not simple anger, but something deeper, mingled with true disgust and hatred.

“Is this what I think it is?” Her lips peeled apart and the words ripped through the air.

“Unfortunately so. That child purchased a hit of slide from our friend here.” Doug let a hand fall casually forward, as if he was introducing the two for the first time. It felt like a death sentencing to Winhus. “It was uncut, far too much for the poor boy's system to handle. The caused a tremendous fluid pressure differential between his circulatory system and the surrounding tissue; you can see the hard veins, the bruising, the ruptured eye. I'm sure he had horrific damage to his kidneys and bladder, judging by the color of his urine. Terrible.”

Furia turned a shaking eye on the dealer and he paled immediately. “Nonono, it wasn't me!” He started to cry, to bawl like a child. “I didn't know it was uncut I was just doin' what Garlan said, I swear! I swear! I swear! I swear!”

She began to advance, uncaring, but Doug stopped her with a light hand on her shoulder. She rounded on him, only to find a pack of lho sticks waiting. “I believe him. Still, he was selling slide to schoolchildren, and we can't have that.” He turned to the dealer. “You can start by telling me how to contact your friend, Garlan.”

It was Furia's turn to lean against the wall and smile, pulling hard on the tabac as Doug approached Winhus, wearing an ominous grin.