Anyway, another chunk of the 'novel' - more a short story than anything, but never mind that. I hope you like it, and I'll hopefully have those pictures for next week.
Cheers for reading.
Volodanti out.
I arrived in a rented automobil; a short, grey wedge of plastic and faded leather driven by an inbuilt servitor. The sky was a dreary grey; a thin mist of rain fell almost constantly over the city, and the wind was blowing up from the south, bringing with it the chill of polar climates. The few pedestrians we passed hurried on their way, none desiring to remain in the miserable weather for longer than was strictly necessary. The streets were made almost entirely of a mottled grey stone; pavement and walls alike, almost perfectly matching the grey clouds overhead. Even the few, dim streetlamps we passed were unadorned gunmetal grey, their lights blinking weakly above me. It made me feel almost like I was passing through some great stone tunnel, as if the whole city were a series of corridors drilled through the bedrock of the world.
It reminded me of home.
When we pulled up, I saw that it was much like any other crime scene; a crowd of gawkers, shrunk somewhat by weather and waiting, grouped around a ring of tape and officers, hoping to catch a glance inside the plastic tent that had been erected around the body. I turned my collar up as I left the cab, leaving behind a half dozen Crowns in payment and strode towards the yellow ring.
The officers attempted to stop me as I approached; shooing me with half-hearted threats. They quickly stopped when I showed them my rosette, and invited me under the tape to investigate.
I was shown inside the tent; thankfully out of the rain which had near soaked my coat, and to the ranking officer. He was a young but hirsute lieutenant by the name of Riggs.
“He’s as we found him sir.” he said, gently tugging at his moustache. He seemed uncomfortable; but then, being in the presence of an Inquisitor is something few men feel safe with. “We’re still waiting for the medicae to inspect him and… well, frankly sir if it is a plague it’s above and beyond me.”
I grunted noncommittally. Whilst I appreciated the honesty, I couldn’t help but think it was more for his benefit than mine.
“What I can tell you,” he added hastily, as if fearing my displeasure, “is that the witnesses report the victim suffered something like a stroke, or a fit. He was reported as shivering heavily beforehand, and that became more violent towards the end. Eventually he cracked his head off the pavement… and stopped. The also said he was muttering something throughout, but of the few who could hear it couldn’t understand a word. May just have been a side-effect of the…” He trailed off, but I knew what he meant.
I leant in close, inspecting at the body. He was middle-aged; thin and wiry but gone to seed with the incurable turning of the years. His dark hair was thinning on top, face well-lined and his eyes were dark and baggy from numerous long shifts. He wore the robes of a scribe, and though no definite identification had been found he was thought to be a worker for the Administratum, as their offices were less than a five minute walk from the plaza. Given the time of day, it was likely that he was on lunch break when he died. We would probably be able to identify him simply by the work roster; comparing those who had signed out at lunch to those who had failed to sign in after.
My inspection was interrupted by a displeased cough from behind me. I looked back to see the medicae had arrived; a short, gently rounded woman with what seemed to be a permanent scowl and an augmetic left eye. She was wearing a set of blue scrubs under a heavy rain-jacket, her prematurely greying hair bound in a tight, damp bun. I could not see much more of her, as the majority of her face was obscured by a surgical mask.
“Who are you, and why are you interfering with the body?” She spoke quickly, agitation clear in her tone.
“I am Inquisitor Cucullatus Peregrinus,” I replied, rising to my feet, “And I can assure you I have not touched him.”
She blanched at that, just a little. She lowered her eyes, mumbled a quick, if forced apology and went to inspect the body. I stepped back, watching her work with a quiet interest. If my presence further disturbed her, she didn’t let it show; carrying out the post-mortem with quick, efficient movement; a quick incision into the skull, inspection of the brain matter, and closing the wound. She repeated this on the spinal cord and the heart before stepping back, marking down her findings on a data-slate, quietly speaking as she wrote them down.
“Cranial haemorrhaging, unknown cause, acerbated by a partial epileptic fit. Cause of death though, was impact trauma from striking his head on the pavement. Would have died within a minute anyway – likely saved himself significant pain in doing so. Otherwise, identical to every other case. Will have to run full blood works back at the hospital to ascertain the cause, if any.” She finished writing by signing her name at the bottom before turning back to the tent’s entrance. “Bring on the stretcher.”
“Wait a moment,” I interjected, holding up my hand to the incoming interns. There was something about this body that I could not put my finger on, something...
I reached down to my waist, unhooking my helmet from my belt. It was a simple thing to look at – a close-faced, silver helm, moulded to fit my head perfectly. It was roughly skull shaped; a dome of plasteel that followed the line of my jaw below my ears, meeting at the base of my skull. The front was a blank face, the eyes two slits of amber plastic. It provided some protection, but was more valuable for its autosenses.
When I fastened it into place the eyes immediately lit, glowing dimly in the dark confines of the tent. I blink-clicked through a few spectrums before I settled on the one I required; Ghost-Sight. It was based loosely on a psyocculum;, capable of directing my limited psychic potential. Through it, the world was a faded blur, lines distorted and the physical became insubstantial. The individuals in the tent – and those beyond – glowed with an inner radiance; faint blue but wavering, never static, always curling like a slow-burning flame. These were the souls of those around me – or rather, their psychic resonance. All but the most powerful of Pariahs glow in this light, though everyone has a different brightness.
I turned my gaze upon the body lying before me. Its flame was near extinct, only the faintest afterglow of life remained; the edges sticking stubbornly to the frail and broken shell. But that was not what interested me.
In the head, there was a dark, dull red glow, shrinking now but still noticeably there. It was an ugly thing – like a bruise in reality, torn and weeping black fire. It made me sick to luck at, but proved that I was right in remaining on Trea’vil.
Chaos had come. And only I could stop it.
