Other Gray's writing collection

GraySkyl

New Member
Just a place for me to collect stuff I've written, so people who think about RPing with me have a place to see my writing style :-)

Prologue – A murderous telegram

This day had been exhausting, as usual. Primrose Foxglove, a person about 1,70m tall, wearing a slightly scuffed padded vest and having some of this newfangled chewing gum in their mouth, left the editorial office of the “Redwick Post”-newspaper.

This day, as already mentioned, had been another bust. Primrose had such high hopes of being an investigative reporter, asking the hard-hitting questions. Reality, though, apparently had different plans. All of the other writers and reporters always threw around accusations of them being “too naïve” or “too trusting” and, worst of all, “too immature”. It’s not like Primrose was open to criticism, in fact, all she wanted to do was better.
Their colleagues, however, seemed to enjoy making them feel dumb by creating false leads and sending them on wild goose chases. That definitely wouldn’t make her a better journalist. It hadn’t even been a year, and they already were disillusioned with the life of a reporter; most days frustrated was all she was.

Those were the kind of thoughts that accompanied Primrose on their way home. Walking through the streets of this small town had been stimulating to their imagination, before they actually started working for this newspaper. She always thought about all the things she could find out and investigate as a journalist, whenever she took a stroll. Now, everything seemed so deeply disenchanted in a matter of speaking.
This day had definitely been their low point. Nothing to do but sit down in the dusty archive and sort old newspapers, day in and day out. It had been weeks, since she was allowed to actually do some reporting – and even then, it had been only three sentences about a travelling circus that would be coming to town. Not exactly riveting stuff. She seriously started to think about if it would even be worth it continuing this “career”; not that you could exactly call it that.

She had finally arrived at the door of the house where she lived. Just as they wanted to take out their keys, a small messenger boy came along and asked if their name was “Primrose Foxglove”. It was clear that this kid couldn’t read and had probably been muttering their name under his breath the whole way over. She nodded and the boy gave her a telegram. Primrose quickly took a few coins out of her pocket and let the kid take them. Before they could even ask, who it was from, the messenger was already heading down the street, running as fast as humanely possible, considering the short legs.

“Whatever”, Primrose thought and finally opened the door and entered the house. They had to climb quite a few stairs before arriving at their small flat. She let herself fall into a chair and took out the telegram.
They didn’t really expect for anything to come from this telegram, but they were way too curious, to just throw it away, even after the disappointing day they had.

“Unexplained murders in London –(STOP)- many have been killed –(STOP)- the constables don’t know what to do –(STOP)- the dead look dreadful”

Was this another one of her colleagues’ false leads? Another prank to ridicule them? Probably. Then again, would they take it so far as to send a telegram to her home? This could be a real chance to get the scoop on something big. Additionally, why would they lure them to London of all places.

Still, probably another hoax. In all likelyhood, it would be best to just burn the telegram and forget about it. Why endure another round of humiliation?

Yet, Primrose didn’t burn it, not even throw it away just to get rid of it. No, the telegram stayed not only in their home, but in the pocket of their vest. This decision, would mark the start of the adventure of her lifetime.
 
Chameleon

They say that crime doesn’t pay – Mercury knew better, of course. On the contrary, crime did pay immensely, especially if you didn’t have morals to go with it. That was always the thing that held them back from retiring early. A smuggler with a certain set of morals usually wasn’t on top of the food chain. While others were thriving in these times of conflict and outright war all over the galaxy, they needed to do more and more due diligence on potential clients. It wasn’t unusual that governments tried to hire smugglers, saboteurs and even assassins – all the ‘vermin of the galaxy’ as they usually called them in their speeches – in secret these days.
Mercury would rather be shot dead than to be paid to even lift a finger for this kind of government. This was a stupid business move no doubt and got them into more trouble than necessary.

They walked into the cockpit and looked at the nav-systems – still about 30 minutes until the ship would exit light-speed. Mercury lay back in the pilot’s seat, eyes closed, only to have a small four-legged creature jump onto their lap. They opened their eyes and looked at the face of Sirup, their orange cat with a white belly. Sirup was seen by most as a sort of living anachronism – cats and dogs being a mere distant memory for most – while Mercury just considered this small ball of energy as cute. They did, however, think about renaming Sirup to Anachronism but it felt a bit mean to them. Mercury sometimes thought about if this animal realized that she sat on highly illegal goods. Did she recognize that only a metre beneath the floor of the cockpit were crates and crates of explosives?

Mercury had a rough idea of what those weapons would be used for by the rebels that paid for the delivery. The planet “A6I-2UARAI-r”, also known as Tuara, erupted into rebellion only a few months ago, when two villages were “cleared” – the official phrase – to make room for a new military camp. There soon were rumours about people who didn’t want to leave voluntarily and hadn’t been seen since. Resentment started to grow in the population until the “Slither-valley incident” or “Slither-valley massacre” – depending on if you’re asking the government or rebels -, when four people from the nearest town were killed in a shootout.
The valley was named Slither-valley was named for the way it “slithers” through two mountain ranges, just like a snake would. It had been a river a few millennia ago, before it dried out, but the characteristic look stayed. This valley had been a popular hunting ground for the people living there, before the military arrived to build the fort. The four killed people either just wanted to go on a hunting trip, if you believe the rebels, or were trying to sabotage the fort and kill the military personnel, if you believe the official reports. While the rebels question why four people would go to take on a whole fort of highly armed soldiers, the army pointed towards the fact that all four individuals were leaders of the demonstrations against the building of the fort in their town. This part was indeed true, but there hadn’t been any violence during the protests, they only demanded the release of those who didn’t want to leave their homes.
No matter the true intentions of the four, their deaths ignited the powder keg so to speak and sparked the first fights between rebels and the army. The town was levelled in less than 6 hours, but miraculously most of the inhabitants made it out alive. Nevertheless, this was, rightfully as most people would contend, seen as a war crime and did nothing to stop the fighting.
As retaliation the rebels attacked with IEDs and even some homemade chemical weapons. They surprised army patrols and took them hostage, trying to force the army to abandon the planet. This only increased the frequency and intensity of army attacks until it eventually led to the all-out war that had taken over almost the whole planet to this day. There were some “demilitarized zones” in the south, but even those weren’t really safe for civilians.

This was the situation that was awaiting Mercury at their destination. They would technically be committing a war crime themselves in only a few minutes time. The declared load of their small freighter was medical supplies. It had stopped being unusual for private freighters to deliver those supplies a few years ago, after the first of the many current wars in the galaxy had started and officials started to get more and more suspicious of those kinds of transports. Mercury hoped it would work one last time today.
 
Doppelgänger

Being a private investigator for the Coleman Group had its advantages. The corporation, that had not only constructed the “vitazone” on this barren wasteland of a planet and still was the de-facto government as well, paid well. They did also pay better the fewer questions one asked. There was no traditional police force in the VZ-3DGCHS-01 – the name of this vitazone-settlement -, instead, the Group used private investigators like her to keep the order. To be precise, there wasn’t a police force in any of the vitazones around A6I-3DGCHS-d, Lily just had never been to any of the other ones.

A new message popped up on the screen in front of her. The email was sent by her contact from the Group and read as follows:

Ms. Vanson,
There has been a murder in sector F9HZ. Coleman Group security has already set up a secure perimeter. You are expected to be there immediately.

Morgan Garza
Coleman Group Security and Investigations Department


Lily despised the demanding tone of the Group’s officials. Would it hurt them to talk to her like a human being for once? Knowing the robotic way in which they conducted themselves, probably.
She took her blaster pistol and her other equipment and hurried outside. She called one of the personal transportation pods – another perk of working for the Group. She boarded it, put in the sector code and sat down. The PTP (personal transportation pods) were only usable by the Group’s employees or hired freelancers, like her. They had absolute priority over all other forms of transportation. There was a complex hierarchy between the PTPs to make sure that the most important person would never have to make a stop. It was rumoured that the president’s pod even had priority over emergency services. That seemed negligent to Lily, though she would never dare to speak about those thoughts publicly – she was dependent on getting cases from the Group after all.

It took only a little less than 3 minutes for her to arrive at the scene. She saw the heavily armed security personnel, who had set up a perimeter. There was a small crowd behind the tape trying to get a glimpse of what had happened. The PTP landed and the sliding doors opened and allowed her to get a better look.
The murder had taken place next to an important street, between two skyscrapers. The body lay next to a pile-up of trash. It was technically against vitazone ordinances to discard trash like that, but there wasn’t enough security or PIs to actually do something about it, outside of the immediate vicinity of Coleman Group offices. At a glance one could think that the body ended up here to be hidden, but in fact it almost seemed to draw in attention from the street. The face of the person looked lifelessly out on the street, almost locking eyes with every passerby. The orange jacket hadn’t been removed either and a broken holoprojector made static noises and showed distorted images.
Lily furrowed her brow – everything about this scene seemed almost staged to look sloppy.

“Afraid of going near this poor soul, are we, detective?”, said someone next to her. Her mood lightened as soon as she heard the voice – she recognized it instantly.
“Dr. Ellwood, who has let you out of your cage? How come every time there’s a weird crime you show up?”, she snickered and look at the middle-aged man next to her.
“I could ask you the same question. You know, Vanson, I do enjoy working with you, but why does it always have to be the unsettling murders? Can’t we investigate a good-old gang shooting together for once?”, he said as he determinedly made his way over to the body.

Lily tried to spot the person who had found the body. Right when she wanted to ask one of the securities, her gaze fell on a person sitting inside the perimeter, that had to be them. She approached the person and greeted them. The personal details of the person popped up on her HUD almost immediately.

“Mrs. Summers”, she began speaking, “you are the person who found the body I assume?”
The woman in front of her nodded. An audible gulp let Lily know, that she was too shaken by the experience to talk. The chances of getting anything useful out of her right now were slim.
“I know this must have been tough, but I’d appreciate any inf-“.
Before she could finish her sentence she heard Dr. Ellwood’s voice talking through the communicator in her ear.
“I’m sorry detective, but I think you need to see this”.
Something in his tone of voice made her hair stand on end. It was very unusual of this experienced coroner to want to talk to her before he had finished his examination.
“I’m sorry”, was all Lily said to the woman before she turned around and almost ran to the coroner.

“What’s wrong? Since when do you let yourself be shaken by a murder scene?”
“Look”, was all the doctor said, instead only showing her his datapad.
Lily squinted involuntarily, trying to make sense of all the things that she saw. A few seconds later her eyes widened. This dead person in front of them…lived?
“What does this mean?”, whispered Lily.
“I don’t know. I’ve ran the DNA tests three times. There’s no way this is a mistake. This body and another person have the exact same genetic code. This person is dead and alive at the same time.”, he said and pointed to the live vital reading on the pad. “This person also isn’t part of any database. This body never existed as far as the Group is concerned.”
 
On a razor’s edge

Working for Biane Ermeer meant learning not to listen. Well, you were very much expected to listen to Biane, but everyone apart from her was off limits for the ears. Alfir for one had always struggled with this part of the job description. His ears just wouldn’t stop doing their job. He had resorted to loudly singing children’s songs in his head, which, on more than one occasion, did lead to embarrassing moments, where he blurted out parts of one of them instead of answering a question. Apart from those rather uncomfortable moments, this strategy was quite successful. Still, every once in a while, Alfir’s ears stopped listening to what was happening in his head and instead turned their attention outwards. Just like today.

He had just finished shaving a nobleman’s left cheek, when he couldn’t help but overhear the words “…has occupied the Erlenhov mine”.
Alfir was lucky he hadn’t started shaving the other cheek yet. The shock induced cough would have certainly led to a bloody result. He had to quickly feign clearing his throat as if he had just choked. An apologetic smile in his client’s direction accompanied by a similarly expressed bow, bought him time to quickly disappear behind the curtain to this private room of the bathhouse.
He quickly made his way to the worker’s quarter to get something to drink to clear his throat. If what his client had said to his companion was in fact true, it was only a matter of time before war would be declared officially. There had been rumours throughout the city about a brewing conflict between Count Fuchsenrath, ruler of this city and the surrounding countryside, and Countess of Siegwalde, ruler of the neighbouring county. The rumours were even correct about the cause of the conflict; the silver mine and the accompanying small village of Erlenhov was right on the border of the two counties, and conflict about the ‘rightful owner’ had never really subsided. Still, the last actual war had been over 50 years ago. As soon as there would be an official declaration of war, however, levies would be raised, and that would include Alfir’s siblings. He would be exempt of course, since the nobility usually didn’t like losing the people taking care of them to war if it was in any way avoidable.
A pit formed in Alfir’s stomach, as he thought about the siblings he had already lost. He was the son of a simple peasant and when times got tough, the hadn’t been much wiggle-room. One particularly hard winter – Alfir had only been 8 years old - had cost two of his siblings their lives. Nothing anyone could do. The only reason why he had been given the opportunity to work in such a prestigious and well-paying profession was, you had to say it like it was, dumb luck. Alfir had saved one of Mrs. Ermeer’s daughter’s life one autumn day. He was working the field, when he had seen a seemingly lifeless body floating in the nearby river. Without thinking he had jumped in and carried it to save land, expecting the person to be dead already. By a stroke of good luck, she woke up coughing and vomiting only a few seconds later. Only then was Alfir told who he had saved and was, as a reward for his bravery, promised by Mrs. Ermeer herself, that she would take him as an apprentice. Usually, thinking about this part of his life always filled him with enthusiasm and made him have the biggest smile on his face for the rest of the day. Today, however, not even this memory stood a chance against the fear for his siblings’ lives. He knew he had to do something.

Alfir had taken too much time away from his clients already. He needed to return and finish the shavings. He hastily put down the cup he had just been drinking from and hurried down the corridor back to the private room. On his way there, he had an idea. It was reckless, totally unbecoming and potentially career ending, but also the only chance to save his siblings.

He actually had to talk to his client.
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Back
Top