Editing Bound Fate (Warhammer High) (section)

===Far Worse - Tuesday, Septembris 20===
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The duty room at Precinct 23 was not impressive, at least not compared to other duty rooms in other Precinct Courthouses. Its walls described a rectangle precisely fifteen meters wide and thirty meters long, with the ceiling exactly five meters overhead. Long panel displays lined the walls and a single, massive oak table dominated the center. It had seats enough for thirty comfortable Arbites functionaries and Arbitrators, and bore the signs of long years with quiet dignity: scars, pits and discolorations abounding. It seemed alone now, even mournful as three or four tired and sunken-eyed Detectives puttered around, sipping cold, stale caf from staler paper cups. The few patrols Precinct 23 had out at five in the morning trailed along serenely on their respective holodisplays, projecting a half-meter away from the wall to encompass all three dimensions. The table sat empty, a few chairs turned around and set askew, the surface bare save for a half-empty box of old sweetened phyllo, dry and crumbly.

The morning shift began to pick up, the weary night personnel dutifully logging out before shuffling off to home for a chance to sleep. Office workers came in first, simple observers and information processors, they were bored, boring and dressed in plain clothes. They began to move about and perform vague, sometimes meaningless tasks, the room and its work unchanged in their passing. The Arbitrator-Detectives began to arrive next, and the stale phyllo disappeared quickly, eaten and replaced with fresh sweetbuns. The murmur and chatter increased; the 24 hour crime record began to pick up and the display panel promptly filled with fresh data, then began scrolling with yet more. More Detectives arrived, more crimes, the room now nearly at its thirty person intended capacity. The morning report was quickly assembled, the late night and early day's information compiled, sifted and distilled to the broadest patterns and most important actions. There was no Commander to read the summary, the man having been executed for perverting the course of Imperial law. So the report was filed away, waiting to be sent to the empty office, where it would simply wait more.

The stirring slowed, buzz and palaver dulled and ceased. Another Arbitrator-Detective entered the room. He fit in perfectly, flint gray eyes and granite chin set grimly in anticipation of a hard day's work. Recently promoted Arbitrator-Detective Idiam Thar was of average height, powerfully built–despite his unassuming profile–and younger than his worn countenance suggested. He'd worked a disturbing case involving cultists last week, and met resistance when he tried to gain warrant for a twenty block sweep of the area around school #113. It'd taken only a few minutes of questioning to realize Commander Baren was in with the Slide dealers, in deep. At-the-time-Patrolman Thar didn't think twice about pulling his pistol and ending the man. Though the investigation that followed was thorough and blame-seeking, Idiam had ultimately been absolved of all wrongdoing, then given a commendation and promotion for this fine work.

The new Detective didn't ask or think twice about picking up the morning report before it left. About putting in his own careful and thorough report of the overdose, the corrupt Commander and the discovery of the area's drug dealers following a simple domestic disturbance call. Idiam smiled bleakly as he tucked in the last addendum, on the detainment-chastening of Patrolman Ippit Agissa, which had led them to a dozen other dealer nests covering a few hundred blocks. He'd earned a Service Distinctia after that, another commendation to go with the Order of Valour he'd received for dealing with Baren, both now tucked away in his desk. Still, despite everything he'd done, Thar was looked down on, considered too new to the job. He'd brought up concern that uncut slide showed up at a school, and had done the barest preliminary footwork. It didn't take him long to find a number of other such cases, and he had the feeling it would form a pattern with proper inspection.

So Thar left, left the digital records and holodisplays, and headed downstairs. The storage room was massive, containing hard copies of nearly all the bureaucratic procedure they'd followed for twenty years. Every year anything over twenty was sent to the even more massive deep repository under Precinct 15 for final storage.

An hour later, Arbitrator-Detective Idiam Thar sat in the musty conservation room, pathetically small even for a low-hive Precinct, and set down the enormous file he and the clerk had assembled. Every strange, unlikely or unexplained death in Hive Tetra in the past twenty years was in this file. ''Or at least should be.'' Thar thought as he took a cursory scan through its contents. At least fifty sheets of hard copy from the past year had been redacted by his former Commander, Baren Radador.

''Still have plenty to work with.''



A few hours later, and a few hundred meters higher up, a conversation between student and teacher wound down. "Thanks Professor Qruze, I wasn't sure if the Caucasus Wastes were an ethnarchy or a hegemony. I'll see you tomorrow!" Isis strode cheerily out the door knowing that, like every day, Julius would be waiting for her. It was the high point of her day before lunch. Julius saw his girlfriend round the corner from the History classroom, and his eyes softened immediately, growing warm with affection. Still, he Saw something was upsetting her and resolved without question to pry the issue out of her.

"Isis." Julius greeted her warmly, or at least as warmly as he was willing to in public. She shifted her books easily to her left hand, leaving the right free for Julius to take, and thought briefly about giving him a peck on the cheek. The memory of the last and only time she'd done so came to mind. Isis couldn't help giggle at the memory of the normally composed Julius suddenly turning red-faced and uncoordinated.
"Julius." She settled for a firm squeeze of the clasped hand.

"I trust Professor Qruze cleared up your question about the Caucasus polity?"

"Yeah, I still think you could call it a hegemony, too. But history's already been made, no reason to argue about it. Especially when an A+ is on the line."

Julius smiled briefly, then probed deeper. "There's something else on your mind, isn't there?"

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go try that new restaurant in Solvang District, Galtic Ksine..."

Julius' smile returned, knowing. "Not that. Of course I do. But you know what I mean."

"Well..." Isis sighed, her own composure now relaxing as they left the mass of students behind. ''I should've known better than to try and hide it.'' "I'm worried about Miranda." Julius returned the squeeze now, and the physical reassurance pushed Isis to admit her concerns. "Arthur really upset her, and then what happened at lunch yesterday. I don't know what would've happened if Simon wasn't there." Another sigh. "It feels like I'm losing her, Julius. Every time we try to bring Miranda out of her shell, she just ends up deeper inside."
"She's a psyker, she can see more than we could ever imagine. She sees inside of people, and believe me few should ever have to see the darkness in the hearts of men."

"But if she doesn't try she's just going to end up sad and alone. I wish she was lucky like Angela. Michael was just there for her whole life."

“All we can do is be there for her, Isis. As long as she has you, Angela, Freya and the others she’s never going to disappear. There’s someone out there for everybody, including Miranda. Someone who won’t care that she has a third eye or the power of the Warp, who will love her regardless.”

Isis thought for a long moment as they walked. "I guess.. I guess I already knew that. I just didn't know if it was right, if I should do more. Thanks, Julius." The hand drifted up to his face, provoking a small blush. "You're my compass." They walked in silence a little longer, before Isis noticed that same knowing smile plastered across his face. 'How does he always know?''

"You're worried about Petra, too."

"Yeah... it seems like every time we really start to get close she gets scared, runs away to Victoria or Roberta. And then a couple weeks later she's back. I just don't understand her."

“More people need to realize how smart she is. She’s a genius, but no one ever sees it between you and Roberta. You drown her out.”

"I don't try to, it's just... she never asserts herself. And every time we try to get her to open up, she just runs off again.” Her eyes became downcast. “It's like she's afraid to really be friends with anybody. To trust anyone."

"Just give her time, Isis. Roberta's nice, and she'll be just as good a friend as you. As long as you keep her away from Victoria, Petra shouldn't have any problems coming into her own."

"Well, If she’s anything like her father, she'll be a good friend if I can get through to her. At least, that's what dad told me." Isis finished, and they walked in comfortable silence for another minute, enjoying each other's presence, but eventually Isis had to break off and head to English with Professor Oliton. Julius continued, only to find his path to Cogitator Science interrupted by something blonde.

"Caroline, what can I do for you?" He said, voice polite and measured.

"Hey Julius, Isis around?" Callie stood comfortably in the middle of the hall, a little too close.

"I think you already know the answer to that question. What do you really want?"

Callie stepped a little closer, edging a little more into Julius' comfort zone. "Just wondering where you're going?"

"I have Cogitator Science in five minutes, Caroline."

"Well, that's more than enough time to..." Callie waved a hand. "Talk."

"Well, despite all appearances, you are here to talk." His tone was sure: Julius had already learned to See through Callie's constant innuendo as the distraction it was. The girl let out a frustrated sigh, but saw it fail to provoke any real reaction from Julius and relented.

"I'm just worried about Doug. He seems to have a thing for Furia... I don't know if it's good for him."

"I think Doug can handle himself, if that's what you're worried about. He hasn't seem to have had any real trouble with her so far. You, on the other hand..." Callie's eyes bulged, but only briefly. This wasn't the first time she'd been blindsided by Julius seeing through her, but she still wasn't used to it.

"Well, what do you think I should do?"

"Be honest."

Callie laughed bitterly, but it sounded derisive despite her feelings.

"You're concerned about more than just Furia. If you're afraid of him leaving or being taken away, you should be honest with him. Be honest with yourself. This isn't just Furia taking him away, Callie. He has feelings as well, and he's acting on them. Maybe you should talk to him about it, instead of just avoiding it. You may not like the answer you get, but it's better than no answer at all." Julius saw the gears turning in Callie's head, and knew he'd done all he could. "Now, I need to get to class Caroline. Please, think about what I said." He headed off to Cogitator Science, leaving Callie alone with her thoughts and feelings.





A long and arduous day preceded Doug's afternoon, chock full of tests, extra assignments and reminders of semester projects. He'd heard whispers, bathroom gossip confirmed almost joyfully by Callie, that Furia had been in a fight with Hana at the beginning of the day, precipitated by a scratch on her bike. He had seen them talking before, like they were thinking each other's thoughts, sisters almost as close as The Twins.

''It seems this relationship is temperamental, the tiniest change becoming a complete swing to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum.'' Doug hadn't seen Furia all day and had assumed she'd been sent home for one reason or another; the news of her fight with Hana only confirmed his suspicions. ''Perhaps that is why Freya never showed up. She had other sororal responsibilities to tend.''

He continued to put books away, trying to keep his mind busy, keep it off of what was coming after school. Doug could almost hear it, the rumble of the black car, quiet as a wraith, exuding the lines and antique dignity of the very first luxury cars from over thirty thousand years ago. He could see it now, hovering ominously in his mind, the gently rounded boxlike rear, the long, elegantly sloping vector wells, the massive grill and flat front balancing the gentle curves of the vehicle. The design was not one of performance, at least not the body, but aesthetics, almost proud in their defiance of aerodynamics. Against his will the mental door opened, the inside somehow blacker than the outside despite his experience. ''Of course it is a neat, charcoal gray in the real world. The darkness is a product of memory, of emotion.''

Doug finished placing books in his backpack and closed the locker, then turned. “Ah, Miss Russ.” His heartbeat elevated in surprise, he had expected to see her today, but not so suddenly. “I assume this is about Furia?” Across the hall was a woman, a girl, really. She was there naturally, timelessly, as if she had taken up watch long ago. As if the school were erected and the lockers installed carefully around her. 

''Freya Russ.'' Her long hair, a bright, natural red, was braided in a manner reminiscent of the ancient vikings, a major inspiration for the pre-Crusade technobarbarians. Freya was sizing him up for Furia's benefit, amber eyes flicking here and there, and so Doug did the same. She clearly possessed the bearing and presence of a warrior. Her face was sharp and feral, but a noble strain of feral. Long, lean muscle lay thick over her limbs and core. The overall effect was that of a predator. Freya's proud, domed forehead was concealed behind long bangs, hanging down past her eyes. A pair of small cowlicks stood up from the thick tresses at either side of her crown, both completing the wolfish look started by her fangs and complementing the narrowing of her face from prominent cheekbones to pointed chin. She was not made unfeminine by these traits; in fact, they created the opposite effect. The savagery seemed to break the bounds of propriety, but not dignity. Freya's body was athletic, powerful, but also carnal, balancing violence and pleasure equally. She finally moved, her vigil broken, and began to talk.

“Furia's been spending a lot of time with you. Almost since the day Coby let his libido replace his survival instincts.”

“Yes, dreadful situation to be in. But, we didn't spend any... significant time together until friday.”

“I don't have a problem with her being happy.  In fact, after what Coby did, it's probably for the best.”  Freya crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the lockers behind her.

“Thing is, though... I don't know anything about you. Furia'd never met you before last week. So, is there anything she needs to know?”

"Just that I have only good intentions in mind." Doug smiled, his face open and honest, his breathing and heartbeat normal.

“Are you using her?”

“No.”

“Are you putting her in danger?”

“No more than she was already in.”

Freya stood now. “Where are you from?”

“A little backwater world called Bolanion.”

“What do your parents do?”

“They work at the local post. Back home, of course.”

“When did you get here?”

“I started this year.” Doug nodded. “My senior year.”

Freya's eyes narrowed. “How did you get into Imperator?”

“I was brought in by a high-ranking member of the Adeptus Terra.”

“Who?”

“I'm not at liberty to say.”

“Stop dancing." Freya said curtly.  Her hands fell to her sides, and Doug caught a glimpse of two wolf's-head tattoos on her arms before sleeves concealed them once more.  “I'm asking you some pretty basic shit, here.  Why are you trying to distract me?”

Doug crooked an eyebrow. “Distract you from what, Miss Ru-”

“Let me make something abundantly clear to you.” Freya cut him off with a snap. “You're actively avoiding answering questions here. Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

"If you find my answers unsatisfactory, please, feel free to ask again.” Doug recalled details long ago cached away in his mind. Freya Russ was more than just genetically enhanced: senses wrought by the Canis Helix allowed her a level of physical perception into behavior and appearance that he simply couldn't match, and thus couldn't conceal. So he didn't. "Am I to believe there is a reason for..." He gestured comfortably. "This?"

"Sure." Freya nodded. "I don't trust you."

“Of course. And how am I to remedy that?"

"You could start by just telling me what I want to know.  In fact." Freya said, cocking her head. "Does she even know your last name?"

"Yes. I told her during our encounter with Dean Yarrick last monday. She knows most everything you know. She also knows that I have a twin brother, that I like old musclecars and that I cook an excellent pot of loseyn."

Freya bared her fangs at that, the last in a long line of bullshit answers. The action had never failed to get her to the truth of a matter, and she only rarely used it.

Doug rolled his eyes, and his voice came out thick with frustration. “Please, Miss Russ. If I am to see Furia again, tonight or in the future, I'll have to contend with something far worse than you.”

It was Freya's turn to roll her eyes, then raise an eyebrow. “Angron?” Her voice was dripping with contempt.





Doug sighed and cringed visibly. “That will also be an issue.” He pulled on his coat, each movement bringing a myriad of scents from the garment: the reek of grime, chemicals, urban decay, meat, spices and vegetables, sweat, promethiate exhaust, astringents and a thousand other smells. Below all that, nearly four days old and only just imprinted, was Furia. Like her sisters Freya was worried about the girl, who always seemed on the edge of plunging into a world of chems and excess. Still, she was satisfied he was being honest about this, at least.

"I gather it's too much to assume I'm a... member of the pack now?" Doug was calm, completely composed again.

Freya gave him another once over, a quick appraising look, then nodded to herself. "No, but it's a... first step." Her posture and tone of voice made it obvious she was not wholly convinced he was trustworthy, but relented that his intentions towards her sister were good enough.

"Excellent." Doug moved his right shoulder, shifting the backpack. "Ah, yes. Furia asked me to tell you something." He waved briskly, smiled genially. "Hi."

Freya's demeanor changed again, where before she was almost predatory, now she was more akin to a pup, friendly and restless. "Oh, thanks." She paused, unsure what to say. "So... how many times?" She blanched even as the words came out, patently offensive to most people.

"Two nights, no more. Last friday and monday, yesterday night, of course." Doug's face became slightly surer, no implication of a particular emotion, just an upbeat posture.

"Uh... Great." The conversation turned awkward as Freya realized she knew next to nothing about the man, only gleaning from Miranda today his name and a rough outline of his schedule.

"It's been interesting, Miss Russ." Doug extended his right hand, firm and unwavering. Freya grasped it and he clasped his left over hers gently, pulling slightly and giving the shake three smooth pumps before letting go."But, unfortunately, I have a schedule to keep."

"Oh, alright." Freya was relieved, but not visibly so. Doug turned to leave, but stopped at the sound of Freya inhaling just slightly. He turned back to see her, a single fang bared, her look knowing.

"And tell her I said hi, 'kay?"

"Of course, Freya." Doug bowed lightly, "Have a fine evening."

"You too!" She skipped and bounded away, all fire and furor, barely contained by a not quite mortal coil.

''Charming.'' Doug walked down the hall, around the corner, and was unsurprised to find his lunch group there waiting for him. "Ah, yes. My apologies. I had a-"

"Yeah, we heard." Ev quipped. "Thought we were going to have to bail your ass out."  His eyes glazed briefly at the thought of wrestling with the hard-bodied Freya, "Hoped, even."

"Who cares about that?" Callie was smirking again, even more self-satisfied now that yesterday's ignominy, the only blemish on her perfect gossip record, was erased. "I wanna hear about Furia." She stood and stretched from her seat against the locker, a single eyebrow quirking. "Or join in maybe?" 

Doug looked at Janus, his stare snapping the suddenly starry-eyed youth back to the present. "I doubt that. I assure you that today's Appraisal will be far more dreadful than any such evening could be worth." 

Janus nodded sagely, a nod that not one person in the group would doubt for a second, despite his youth and naivete. The boy was far and away the most familiar with the Appraisals. Vincent clapped Doug on the back and squeezed his shoulder lightly, the simple gesture carrying an entire paragraph's worth of empathy and support from the stoic young man. Doug looked to Chucho, somehow even more despondent than usual, and realized why: the boy had a metal plate on the back of his head. His skull had been almost entirely replaced by metal, and what little hair remained had been shaved clean off.

"Yeah, dude. Check out Metalhead. fuckin' bad-ass." Doug picked up that Ev wasn't lying about his own feelings, but that he was covering up Chucho's insecurity.

"Chucho, I'd like to talk to you later about... something important." Chucho nodded at Doug, movements still slowed by gloom and doom. 

Doug's gaze shifted to Callie, whose distracted stare conveyed her understanding of the situation perfectly, and finally to Violet, who was tapping and swiping away on an adjustor, seeming almost like a full data slate in her small hands.

"Inverted Key Lime Double Fudge Chunk... Who sent this?" Violet continued to tap away, completely oblivious to everyone's stares. "From RegCom, 68th Krieg FA, Saghalain, care of A.V.... Ohh." Violet looked up, a smile breaking like dawn over the horizon on her face. Ev's mouth and posture slackened considerably. "Ohmygod! This'll be perfect! I barely beat Isis last year!" Violet raised a quivering fist in triumph, as if she could already see the Prime Daughter and the rest of the class bowing before her culinary prowess. "Isis' Gyptian Rice Pudding Buns aren't gonna stand a CHANCE! I'll win EVERY category this year!"

"Violet." The tone was whisper quiet, but carried a subtle, inherent menace that Doug found even shouting and screaming failed to match. It had served him well this past week, and would again in the future. ''If I'm still around after tonight.''

Janus smirked, he was a big fan of that tone, and more than once Doug had found him practicing, trying to imitate it. Violet stopped, her trance broken, and looked up.

"Shall we?" Doug smiled grimly, arm extended in a neat gesture of departure.