A Bounty Collected

[Wiggle]

BANG! "Hahaha!"


Silas opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his quarters. He'd had the dream again, the same one he'd had a few times a month. The flashback of the "accident" that had left him with the scar under his right eye. His training partner, one who didn't like to be one up'd every time, had loaded his pistol with a tampered rubber bullet, and intended to kill Silas in a training accident. The bullet had missed it's mark, and sliced the soft flesh on Silas's cheek open.


Silas shuddered at the thought of the bullet slicing through his skin, and swung his feet over the edge of his bed and clapped his hands, turning the lights on. His room lit up, and he blinked a feet times, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sudden change in brightness. He sat there for what felt like hours, blinking until his eyes adjusted. He stood and stretched, and turned and walked to the door of his private bathroom. The door dinged, registering that he was there and slid open with a pronounced hiss. He glanced at the clock, and gave a sigh. It was eight in the morning on the twenty second of January of the year 2904. Today was the day he picked up the Apprentice that had been assigned to him at the behest of the Council.


Silas walked out from the bathroom a few moments later, drying his hair off with a towel. In a few minutes, he was dressed and about to walk out of his quarters when there was a loud ding, and a life size hologram of his personal AI appeared. She was a female AI, and served as Silas's messenger of sorts, providing proof of his completed sentences and collected bounties.


"Grandmaster, you're supposed to pick up a new Judge Apprentice today." She said. "He was sent for you for training, and his scores and abilities are quite impressive."


"Of course, Samantha." Silas replied.


He said nothing more as he walked to the door to his quarters, which dinged and opened. He stepped out into the Enclave and walked a few feet forward to look down on the lower level. The entire Enclave itself was underground in a huge man made cavern. It held nearly a hundred buildings, a training area, a few mess halls and several quarters for the few thousand Samaritans that lived and worked here. It was one of the smaller Enclaves Silas had been to, but was no small feat. It was basically a underground military base, bombproof, undetectable, impregnable, and unhackable. There was even a sublevel under the main occupied levels that housed various modified vehicles and aircraft for the Samaritans. Silas had even been to a few that held large cargo planes for transporting supplies. He sighed and made his way down into the lower level, and then to the training area where the new recruits lived, slept and trained until they were deemed ready by the quartermaster steward. Once Silas arrived, he found the quartermaster who greeted him loudly.


"Grandmaster!" He said, nearly hollering. "Welcome to my humble training area."


"Thank you, Harold." He said, "I'm waiting for my apprentice."


The quartermaster laughed and nodded.


"Of course, of course, the next batch that are prepared for field training should be awake now and preparing themselves for assignment. If you'd only wait a few more minutes, I'll get you set up with him." He said, and disappeared to bring the trainees to the training area.


Silas watched the man leave and gave a sigh, studying his surroundings. He hated the idea that he would be training an apprentice, but the council had decreed that it would be in his best interest, and so, unable to decline, he reluctantly agreed.

 

[Pine]

"We shouldn't."

"We totally should though."

And who was he to argue with that infallible logic? No one had ever accused Otis of being poor with his speechcraft.

The concern previously written on his expression, drawn with furrowed eyebrows and flickering eyes, began to melt away, replaced instead by the steady growth of a sly grin. "Okay."

"Yes!" Otis rejoiced in hushed exclamation. Alton breathed out a laugh from his already parted lips, and as though his giddiness was infectious, the darker-haired male joined in with a chortle of his own.

The pair flanked to either side of the bunk bed, stepping onto the frame so as to better level their height with the top bunk and reach around. Bryant, the boy that slept over Alton, had managed to miss waking up alongside the other trainees this morning, thus opening opportunities for all manner of mischief. There he laid, for all the world looking like a cocoon with how his cover blanket wound about him. The only thing visible to the two was a mess of blonde hair as his face nuzzled into the sheets. If he wasn't somehow awake at that point, with the two boys now grappling at his mattress, he would be soon.

Finally, Alton had seized hold of the straps woven into either side of the mattress. He looked across the bed to find Otis already nodding to him. With a grunt, two tugged at the mattress, and with some difficulty, hoisted the mattress up, Bryant and all, to hover just over the bed frame. Even with the mattress just being a single, he felt what muscles he had in his biceps popping up to flex, already a burn searing through from effort. The two dragged the mattress farther to the side, inching farther away from the bed frame and out into the open space of the side. Alton let out a great shuddering sigh when he stepped down from the bed frame and back onto the floor, and for a moment the mattress began tipping dangerously in favor of one side. However, free of the awkward angle that he'd had to grab hold of the mattress with previously, the task was suddenly much more manageable.

The two lowered the mattress closer to the ground with as much care as they could as two maybe sort of kind of semi-fit guys. It was not long before Alton's arms had begun shaking uncontrollably with effort, and this seemed to finally alert Bryant, who had begun stirring from his long slumber. The shift in weight was too great for him to manage any longer, and with a loud grunt, he let the mattress slip through his fingers, Otis stumbling forward somewhat as he was forced to follow suit.

In one single, glorious moment, Bryant seemed to come alive — hazel eyes popping wide open and a futile, premature struggle to untangle himself from his bed sheets. It was all to no avail, and the boy found himself plunging nearly a foot from the air straight onto the floor, and the resultant spring off from the mattress produced an alarmed yelp from the male.

The other two burst into a raucous laughter, Alton tilting his head back somewhat and draping an arm across his stomach. In that moment, it was very easy to forget the aching throbs that overtook his arms. Bryant had ended up landing on his back, or at least that's what it had looked like in his sheet bundle, and now rolled over onto his side with a pained groan. "You fucking dickheads," he managed after a while of that, each word deliberate and punctuated. This only seemed to further encourage Alton and Otis, only taking a reprieve from their uproarious laughter long enough to step around and give each other a high five.

"A-hem." An exaggerated clearing of the throat was what initiated the process of the two calming their laughter, and finally when they could turn their heads to the source of the expressed impatience, their chuckles were suddenly very easy to swallow — or, perhaps more aptly put, forced down their throats to choke on. It was the quartermaster, looking none too pleased with the display he had likely just witnessed. Harold was an amiable guy until something went wrong, and this little stunt was far from what he deemed to be stellar behavior, if the angry crimson shade of his ears were to give away anything. Alton was not quite sure he had even seen them turn that shade of red before. "The Grandmaster would like to see you, Mr. Foster. Now, please." The strain in his tone made it evident that the quartermaster had selected much more polite words than he would have liked.

Harold turned sharply on his heel to march out, and Alton was short to follow after, but not before Otis got a chance to coo out one last mocking remark. "Ooooh, someone's in trouble."

Alton did not bother with a verbal reply, tempted though he was. Instead, falling in a spot he knew would be out of the quartermaster's peripherals, he held one arm out behind him, proudly displaying his middle finger sailing high above all others.




It was a good thing, as it turns out, that Alton had prepared himself for the day ahead when he had. Harold left no room for slack in their brief travel, walking as though training to run a marathon, and soon Alton's mouth hung open just enough for him to breath from. He knew he wasn't in trouble. Unless, of course, that innocent sort of prank was somehow enough to warrant the Grandmaster's extreme displeasure, but knowing Harold's militant, business-oriented way, he doubted the incident would be brought up at all. It was a simple matter of his own negligence to inform his friends ahead of time. Or, perhaps just friend, depending on how much Bryant hated him now.

It had simply not been something he wanted to brag about, considering he was less than thrilled to move ahead through the program and leave them behind. The group's collective intent was to do as little as possible, hence similar age between them all in their early twenties, even as they had all remained as trainees. Up until this moment, of course. As Alton drew closer to the Grandmaster, he felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach, and the young Judge was unsure of whether he could credit the feeling to nerves or something else. Nevertheless, the two drew to a halt before the man. Alton's eyebrows lifted. "Grandmaster," he greeted flatly, somehow failing to keep the arrogant tone out of that single title.

 

[Wiggle]

Silas had been standing in the Academy's training yard for what seemed like hours, his eyes studying the equipment that closely resembled a pre-collapse military boot camp. There was everything from an obstacle course, to a Discord area, and everything in between for the young Samaritans in training to succeed. This one wasn't too far off from the one Silas himself had trained at, at Enclave Kilo just outside Dallas, Texas. Silas pursed his lips as he remembered the old, but well maintained equipment, the Discord training areas, and the simulation room. Silas's thoughts were soon interrupted as he heard the doors to the Academy opening and then sliding shut with a hiss. Harold lead a totally unassuming young man out from the Academy, one Silas's eyes immediately zeroed in on. The boy was not impressive in the slightest, and frankly, it irritated Silas that they had given him this boy as an apprentice but the Grand Master hid it well with his stoic expression. He uncrossed his arms and watched as the two drew closer, eventually stopping in front of him. Silas had heard of this boy, and his record of slacking off, despite his potential and the strength of his Discord power.


" Grand Master." The boy said, a hint of arrogance in his voice that Silas dismissed.


"Alton Foster." Silas replied, his voice deep and gruff. "Thank you, Quartermaster, I will handle it from here."


Harold gave a bow and disappeared back into the Academy, presumably to rouse more Trainees for their Journeyman trainers, leaving Silas alone with Alton. Silas studied him for a little bit more, his one purple and one green eyes studying the boy before him. Silas didn't say a single word, and turned on the heel of his boot and walked off down the street, towards the armory, leaving Alton to follow behind. Without looking behind him, Silas began to speak.


"Listen up, Foster." He said, his voice strong and stern. "I've heard about what you like to do, and I've read your record. There will be no slacking with me, is that clear?" Silas didn't bother to stop long enough for Alton to respond, and continued to go on. "You're twenty one years old, and just now making it to an Apprentice? I was already a Journeyman at your age, and was well on my way to becoming a Master. You will work hard, and if I see that, I will award you the title of Journeyman. There will also be no foolish behavior, my targets are very, very deadly, and will kill you without lifting a finger, you will listen to every order and instruction I give, without question, and we both will survive. Right now we will head to the armory and I will present you with your Samaritan weapon and your new wristcom, and there I will explain our first mission."


Silas finally fell silent, and the only sound coming from him was the sound of his boots echoing against the stone. He led the boy down the street, and made a left turn at an intersection, and continued down the street until they came to the armory. It was a huge building, with the face of the building prefaced with a giant blast door, thick enough to survive several hundred pounds of C4, that would most likely collapse the cavern regardless. In short, the building was impenetrable, and only accessible if your wristcom and your AI had the proper codes to enter, which Silas did. Silas stopped short of the door, and stood there for a moment, until Sam appeared from his wristcom.


"Accessing Enclave Jericho's Armory . . . awaiting response . . ." She said, her blue eyes focused. "Access granted, please step back as the doors open."


Silas complied and took a single step back, and watched as the doors squealed and opened slowly. Silas waited until the doors had been open wide enough for him to slip through, and led Foster deep into the armory, towards the back where his new weapon and wristcom awaited him.

 

[Pine]

Alton's eyebrows remained peaked and his eyes wide, moving in grandiose gesticulation the longer the Grand Master stared at him. To say it was a breach on his comfort zone would be an understatement. A man that practically radiated severity locking strangely colored eyes on him, largely unblinked. Alton made a concerted effort not to stare back at the fleshy scar the man had under one eye. It took more effort than he cared to exert on any given day. Finally, when it seemed as though the man was intent on doing nothing but standing there, his jaw dropped to interject the overbearing, awkward silence he felt lay heavy on the pair. "So..."

Then the Grand Master spun around and started off in the opposite direction. Alton's eyebrows dropped to a perplexed furrow, the pinched corners of his lips falling with them to a frown. Am I supposed to follow him or what? As though reading his mind, the Grand Master began his clipped, militant speech. Green eye floated shut, a soft, yet laborious sigh passing the crack of his lips. Great. It didn't take much imagination to catch onto this man being a total hardass. Indeed, the future was looking quite grim. Reluctantly, and with a sniff of a perpetually stuffed nose, his legs began to follow after, jogging the first few steps to catch up and tune in to the man's tirade.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of the whole situation was that he knew a handful of other boys who wet themselves at night thinking about working right under the Grand Master, and if he were to be honest, they were more deserving of it than he was. They worked hard and had a genuine drive to become Journeymen, perhaps ambitious enough to seek the Grand Master's title for themselves. Yet out of all of them, they had picked perhaps the least motivated out of all of them. All Alton wanted to do was kick back and relax, and especially under the Grand Master's strict regiment, this wasn't a job that allowed that. Silas' warnings about the targets did not even faze him. Being told that an occupation is dangerous throughout a whole lifetime makes it all the more difficult to believe.

When it seemed that the man had finally finished hounding on him, Alton clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Great."

It was only when the imposing face of the armory appeared, looming forward, that his steps began to slow. It felt larger than normal, as he had never bothered to get a good look at it in passing. Now that he did, his gut churned, unsettled.

Belatedly, he recalled to skip forward a few steps to catch up with the Grand Master again, just before having to take a step or two back as the blast door withdrew.

Seconds seemed to drag by as the heavy doors parted, moving at an agonizingly slow pace, if only to reveal an exaggeratedly long hallway. As he followed the Grand Master deeper into armory, an itching boredom began to nag his mind. The man permeated dull, no personality, and it ached him so. This was the guy that he would have to spend the next few years under? Alton contented himself to clapping his hands on the sides of his legs until that was no longer sufficient distraction. "So, what do you do for fun? Kick puppies? Make babies cry?"

 

[Wiggle]

"So, what do you do for fun? Kick puppies? Make babies cry?" Came the first snarky question Silas had expected from Foster, and a sly smile spread across his face as he considered his answer.


"Usually depends on the day." He answered gruffly. "Most of the time I like to put holes in Apprentices who ask stupid questions, but sometimes I'll do all three on a good day."


He glanced over his shoulder and gave Foster the same sly smile, and continued to lead him down the hallway until he stopped at a door to their left, and it slid open, revealing a room full of plain, basic weapons from small handguns to large rifles, but what gather Silas's attention was the oak table in the middle and what lay directly on top of it. Silas stepped further inside and made his way to the table, and picked the ornate pistol that was placed on top of the table, besides several magazines, a gun belt and a fancy leather holster for said gun. There were a few other things that were set on the table as well, namely a wristcom for Foster, a combat knife that looked just as fancy as the pistol and several biomed syringes to heal wounds.


The pistol was what Silas was curious about, and he pulled the slide back on the weapon and let it slide forward with a loud clack, and gave a nod of approval, and pulled the slide back and forth a few more times, just to loosen it up. The weapon was extremely well made, with the base metal seeming to be made of blued steel, with silver scrollwork. It was made using the M1911 platform, complete with a flashlight and laser sight combo, with night iron sights, chambered in .45 ACP, more than enough firepower for the lanky boy that stood adjacent to Silas.


"It's traditional that when an Apprentice graduates from the Academy, they're given a weapon." Silas began. "It's your reward for passing your training, and a symbol of your new position in the Order. You will keep the weapon throughout your life, and when the times comes, you'll be buried with it. This weapon is your life, and one of the numerous pieces of evidence that you are indeed a member of the Order, along with that little rose that's embroidered on every piece of clothing you own. Don't lose it, they're quite expensive, Foster. Now that you've received it, once you graduate your field training, you're free to do whatever you wish to it. If you want to change the scheme, you're allowed to, if you want to customize it more, you're allowed to."


Silas held the pistol out to Foster, and moved on to the wristcom, picking it up and handing it to him.


"Next to your weapon, this is arguably the most important thing you'll ever own." Silas explained. "This is what's called a "wristcom," and the reason it's very important is this: It is your only way to communicate with the Order outside of an Enclave or a safehouse, it also acts as a key, granting you access to most everything in an Enclave, and the Enclave itself, and the many safehouses scattered throughout the world. You'll use it to access targets that have been assigned to you, to send evidence that you've completed a judgement, and to request backup or supplies if needed. It's also very, very sensitive, as it contains every location of every Enclave, every safehouse and whatever vehicle you use, and holds your very own AI, which in itself is important, as it's like your personal assistant. He or She will help you with any questions or problems you may have once you're out on your own and during your training, who you get depends on your personality assessment, as most are made to be cohesive with your personality to ensure a good fit. And it will also track your movements, just in case you happen to be ambushed or killed, we can find you and prevent the Families from learning about us, and in the highly unlikely event you decided to betray us, it will fizzle out and prevent you from accessing our network, while still allowing me to track you so I can kill you." Silas said, flipping the wristcom over. "And in the event that you're surrounded and there's no possible way for you to get out alive, there is four ounces of high explosives in the back, you may order your AI to engage Subroutine Omega, and it will destroy both you and the wristcom, preventing them from finding out about us. Your AI is also authorized to engage the subroutine if your vitals drop below a certain level for so long."


Silas handed Foster the wristcom and nodded.


"Turn it on, we'll get it started up."

 

[Pine]

When Silas answered his questions with a quip of his own, Alton smiled and snorted a little, amused. As annoyed as the Grand Master tried to come across, and the tough front he put up, what with his gravely voice and all, he still took the bait. Even holding the all-important title of Grand Master, Silas was still young, barely older than him. A lot of the try-hards Alton had trained with made sure to gawk at how Silas had ascended through the ranks faster than anyone in the Order's history. Impressive as the feat may be, it gave Alton the wiggle room he needed not to taking Silas too seriously, and maybe hold out onto some hope that Silas' regime might not actually make him want to kill himself in the coming years.

Still, he stayed conscious that Silas wasn't exactly going for friendly banter with him.

He followed the Grand Master the rest of the way to the armory without response.

Once inside, Alton's head turned in awe by the sheer amount of stuff crammed in the room. The wall was lined with guns, nearly all the same polished black. Exact copies hung parallel to each other, the guns seeming to be organized neatly by length. As he looked more, however, he was disappointed to find that none of them were anything he hadn't seen before.

Unlike his apprentice, the Grand Master had not been distracted by the wall decorations, and instead headed straight towards the table that was centered in the room. Alton caught up to him.

He heard a clacking as Silas toyed with the pistol that had been set on display. Alton guessed it was meant to be his before the Grand Master dove into his long-winded speech.

Alton looked at the gun attentively as Silas spoke. He wanted to grab it already. He knew that wouldn't go over very well with the Grand Master, however. He could tell that Silas was the kind of guy that moved at his own pace, unyieldingly, and there any effort on his part to rush him would probably only be ignored or deflected with scolding, which would only slow him down. So instead, Alton reigned in his patience and improvised with moving onto what else was on the table.

He looked past the watch and syringes and onto the knife. He nudged the hilt, just to where it had tilted at a slight angle. The texture felt like it might be some hardened rubber with thick lined grooved etched into it. It would probably be easy to grip.

Finally, Silas held the pistol out to him.

Alton took it eagerly in his hands.

Silas had moved on to explaining the wristband thing to him now. Alton had seen it in glimpses worn by judges, but he just didn't know the name of it until now.

Alton pinched the hilt of the pistol to dangle between his thumb and index, and the weight of it nearly made the weapon slip out of his fingers. He quickly flipped it, then bounced it a couple of times between his palms. It certainly had some weight to it, and he felt this drag his arm down a little each time it fell back in his hand.

Finally he let it rest, turning it over and inspecting it. He looked down the cylindrical attachment where the laser light was, then looked on the handle. Unlike the drab assortment of weapons hanging around the room, the blued steel and silver scrollwork looked beautiful, and he traced his the etching with what he could of his short fingernail.

Alton tuned back into Silas' speech and heard him say, "... the highly unlikely event you decided to betray us, it will fizzle out and prevent you from accessing our network, while still allowing me to track you so I can kill you."

Alton looked up from the pistol and directly at the Grand Master then, mirroring Silas' permanent grave expression. He was quiet until Silas had finished, holding the wristcom out to him.

"Couldn't have ended on a happier note," he said, replacing the pistol on the table and taking the wristcom into his on hands.

His fingers glided along the sides, finding no button. Alton tapped his finger on the wristcom's small bulb where the AI should project from, only for a robotic voice to boom from the device.

"Name," it boomed.

He sniffed, a little surprised, then said, "Alton Foster."

The projection lit for a brief moment, a line circling the air to indicate something was processing, then it disappeared.

"Alton Foster," it said. "Son of the late judge William Foster and the late hunter Lori Foster of Enclave Jericho. Is this correct?"

Alton's jaw tightened. "What does it matter?"

"Verification is needed to make sure that the right records are accessed," it explained. "Alton Foster. Son of the late judge-"

"Yes, correct," he said.

Again the spinning wheel appeared, longer this time. Then when the spinning wheel flicked out, it was replaced with a humanoid figure standing atop the wristcom's surface. It had no distinctive features. It wore no clothes, had no genitals, no eyes. It was merely a being of light, with moving lips and the unnatural looking gesture of holding one arm out, palm up and waving a little as it spoke, "Hello, Alton Foster." Its voice was no longer the cutting robotic one used earlier, but was nevertheless indistinguishable between male and female. "I will be your AI to help you as you continue on your path to becoming a Judge and long after that. I have accessed your file and will continue to calibrate to best suit your needs as you use your wristcom. Your wristcom will be a vital tool for you as-"

Alton waved his own hand impatiently. "Yes, I know. Been over that already."

The projection paused for a moment, a line scanning over the humanoid form. As it did, some features became more refined. The fuzzy light around the head molded ears, and the body shape began sharpening into a mesomorphic shape. "Very well," it said. "Is there any way I can be of assistance now?"

He puckered his lips, shaking his head. "Don't think so."

The AI nodded at him. "Until next time, Alton Foster." The light clapped shut, then retreated into the wristcom's bulb.

Alton stood still for a moment, holding the wristcom limply from between his fingers. He felt uneasy. He was sure there was more to setting up the wristcom than that, but he didn't like that Silas was standing right there watching.

He began undoing the latch on the wristcom to fit it on his wrist. "Cool," he said, trying to shake off whatever melancholy was trying to eat at his mind. "What now?"

 

[Wiggle]

The Grand Master had fallen silent, watching Foster fiddle with his new wrist-com. The scene before the slightly older man reminded him of his first experience with his own wrist-com, which felt like it was just yesterday. Samantha had appeared much like Foster's AI had, with no discernable gender or features, just a blank slate with bits of binary and letters flashing across the AI's form. Silas himself had been born in a larger enclave further east of Enclave Jericho in an enclave that was in the former state of Georgia, codenamed Enclave Canaan. Born to a set of judge parents, Silas was not expected to be much past a journeyman judge, but his determination, willpower and strength to see the Order's mission through propelled him through the ranks of the Order. In truth, Silas never really wanted to be Grand Master, never wanted any sort of responsibility past being a Judge. He had heard the stories of the world before the Great Collapse, before the world fell apart and descended into chaos and degeneracy. Before the Families and Clans that controlled the surface and enforced their tyranny on the common folk below them, and before the need for the Order to go to such lengths to accomplish their goal. That was what Silas was striving for, he was striving for the goal of bringing law and order back to the world above, he was striving to create a world where there was civility, where there was unity. This was a difficult goal, but it was one that Silas would give his all to accomplish.

The goal Silas had set before himself was ingrained in him by his own mentor, Judge Aren. Aren was an older judge, salt and pepper hair and gray in the beard, complete with hard creases in his rugged, worn face. The lines told of the Judge's life, of hardships and of trials and tribulations, and the wisdom such had brought. It was through this rugged, older man that the fresh-faced youth who would become the Grand Master was taught the morals, the determination, the strengths he would need to go far within the Order. It was Judge Aren that had led Silas into Enclave Canaan's armory and gifted him his wrist-com and his dual revolvers, Retribution and Judgement, both of which were extremely similar to Silas's father's weapons. The man's hand brushed the ivory and pearl grips of Retribution in thought, emerald eyes now locked on the empty table, no longer paying attention to Foster. He remembered when he had heard news of Judge Aren's death, and how hard it had hit him. Aren was the only father Silas knew, someone he had idolized and looked up to for several years, and he had passed away in his sleep from a heart attack. Silas wouldn't let Aren down, and he would teach Foster as best as he could. The sound of the clasps on the wrist-com closing on Foster's wrist brought the Grand Master back to reality and snapped his attention back to Alton just as he finished speaking.

"We begin your training." The Grand Master said, the serious tone from before making a full comeback. "Regardless of if you've just finished your training at the Academy, your training as a Judge is not over, nor should it ever be and as long as you live, you should always be striving to make yourself better and stronger. After our time together is over, continue to learn all you can from the older Judges, they have succeeded in their lives and have obviously done something right. However, for the time being, you'll listen to me from here on out. Comply with every order, and every bit of instruction I give you, and you can guarantee you'll live to see journeyman, Foster."

Silas studied the apprentice for a few seconds before turning on his heel, to face away. He took a step forward, the sound of his worn boots clicking against the polished stone floors of the armory. The Grand Master circles around the log mahogany table and paused at the head of the table. Sighing softly, the rugged man rested both hands on the table and looked down at its surface for several seconds, lost in thought. When he was ready, he pulled away and cleared his throat in preparation to speak.

“You’ve spent a solid portion of your life within the academy, learning about the Order’s ways while learning about yourself as a Judge. All judges before you have gone through this, and most have succeeded. The next part is going to be the most difficult part of your training, there is no doubt about this. This is where you put all of what you learned in the academy to the test, and you learn how the real world is, and what works for you as a judge. Normally, I only have one job as the Grand Master of the Order: hunting down and judging those who betray our Order, hunting and judging the higher leaders of the crime families who are too dangerous for lower ranked members, and hunting and judging those who’ve killed our members.” The Grand Master said. “However, I cannot do any of these things with an apprentice, and so the council has given me an easier task for the moment to assess your strengths and your weaknesses. Samantha, can you open File 867-AF9?”

“Of course, Silas.” Came the reply. “Bringing it up now.”

The lights in the room darkened and a hologram of an ugly bald man appeared, hovering over the center of the table. The photo rotated, eyes eventually meeting Silas’ and then Foster’s, and then coming full circle once again. The man was missing his left eye and there was a gnarly scar that said why. The look on his face was that of pure evil, and every time his eyes met Silas’s, he cringed in disgust.

“This is Paul De Rege.” Silas explained, eyes shifting to Foster. “This is the second cousin of Giovanni De Rege, the Patriarch of the De Rege family. They own and operate Karat, an over the top casino on the strip geared towards those of extreme wealth and those with insatiable lusts and degenerate desires. However, Paul De Rege isn’t well favored in his family due to an incident several years back in where he impregnated an expensive slave girl and had her murdered to cover his mistakes. Giovanni De Rege discovered his mistake, and since he was family, sent him to operate a brothel in the slums of New Las Vegas. It seems the De Rege Family doesn’t like to kill family members, no matter how badly they mess up. Unluckily for Paul, he’s only just the first in our efforts to dismantle the De Reges.”

The image of Paul De Rege disappeared and was replaced by a picture of a gaudy building with several flashy, neon lights that read “Babes!” There were several photos of nude women, and claims of how fine their women were. There were several armed guards outside the building, and several people vying to get inside.

“This place is called Babes, as you can see.” Silas said, as the image shifted to that of a blueprint. “This place operates as a strip club and brothel, but there is a more sinister side. There is also heavy drug and human trafficking activity that goes through here, and most of the women are hooked on a drug known as Poppin. Europhia is the main side effect, but there’ve also been reports of hallucinations and necrosis at the sight of injection. It’s heavily addictive, and so to earn it, the women here work harder to please their owners. This is but just a cell of this world, but it is a good start to help you understand what we really are facing. Any questions before I continue?”

 

[Pine]

Alton nodded along, showing barely any patience as Silas went over things he already knew. Of course there was more training to be done, and of course they would start him off on some cushy mission. The Grand Master had proved to be nothing if not dull so far during the time of their interaction, why should he expect anything different for his training? Idly, he wondered if there was a single judge around who didn't have a stick up their ass.

He had followed Silas to the table. He stood opposite of him, miming how he rested his hands on the table, then really leaned into it when the projection of Paul De Rage came up.

The first thing he noticed was that the man was ugly as sin. With humor, Alton noted how close Silas' own scar had come to fucking up his face the same way.

This humor was spent as Silas gave an overview of this man's crimes. Raping, very likely, a slave, then discarding her as a consequence for his own actions. He was outcast from his family, yet all they did was relocate his operations elsewhere. That accomplished nothing, and as far as Alton could see, did nothing to stop him from repeating his exact same actions. It was sickening to think this man got let off so easily.

Then there was a hint of excitement in Alton as De Rage's projection flickered to the scene of a brothel. It wasn't the flashy lewdness of the club that enticed him, but rather just simply that he was able to catch a true glimpse of the world above. Of course he'd seen pictures before in textbooks and video clips from training videos, but now seeing in real-time people from the surface wading in and out of the club's doors, guards breaking stoic character only to scuff a boot or spit on the sidewalk, brought an unexpected eagerness to Alton.

Maybe this wouldn't be as brainless of an activity as he'd expected. Maybe he was actually going to be able to do something that felt real here.

He tried not to get his hopes up.

Alton thought for a moment about Silas' question, then replied, "So what're we going to do for the women there? Like we're going to go in and kill this Paul guy and shut the operation down, right? But what about getting the women off of that drug? Can they come down here for rehabilitation?"