I was told I should do a send off post for Aria...

I rather liked her head rolling to the ground being a final moment but here ya go.

Aria had a good run, but it was time to end. Dane always was going to be the death of her!

Having word spread among the Accepted ahead of time, Lythia found herself taking corridors she'd not seen in years. Many years. The farther she diverted from the main hallways traversing the first floor of the Tower the farther back in time Lythia felt she went. She didn't glide, not like the floating visions of noble beauties poufed and coiled for court. Yet compared to the gangly, awkward pale version of herself Lythia was at sixteen, she was the Aes Sedai of her dreams. Good-fitting soft wools, gleaming waves of hair streaming down her back, sturdy boots. Lythia would change nothing to her appearance riding to battle as she would attending a summons to the Amyrlin Seat. Although, she would trade the small knife at her belt for her shawl for Mother; and perhaps secure her hair for war.

There was a time early in her years in the Shawl, when the color of rainbow hems still swirled her daily thoughts, that Lythia scoffed at the idea of a Sister too busy to pass her valuable knowledge onto the Accepted. The kiss of death. Long years later, the start of her path in the Shawl was a point far out of sight.

By the time she crossed into the common court within the Accepted tower she was greeted by almost as many gawks as she was curtsies. She'd not taught novices since before she'd bonded Blake, a man who'd shared her duty to the Light for over ten years. She'd taught aspirants to the Green here and there, however. But those impactful lessons were short and swift. Addressing as many eager faces as which turned to her now...? Well, she nodded her acknowledgement of a few greetings before simply taking her place in the center of them all when the white dresses parted.

A quiet descended as Lythia Sedai began to provide some answers. "I will not soften the blow. We all know the Last Battle comes."
Her hands clasped lightly before her, she raised her voice without the use of the Power, even as she scanned unfamiliar faces peering down from the levels of galleries extended upward. However she was curious to know the reception of her forceful proclamation of the obvious. One of the few aspirants declaring allegiance to the Green Ajah that she actually recognized nodded in agreement, but for every nod, she saw frowns and in one case, a girl actually shook her head sadly and looked at her feet.

"As Accepted you have some freedom to direct your own studies. But what can you do to prepare for the Last Battle? Really do? This is the White Tower, and you women striving to be Aes Sedai, not the Borderlands and you plate and mail infantry. Every Ajah will have its role,"
she spoke as a true believer of that statement, moreso than the confidence of the Three Oaths gave her speech, but a passion glinted, like a shot in the dark, across her eyes and Lythia raised her voice proudly, "but I am a Green. If you wish to prepare in the way I will lead you to prepare, submit your name."


Without taking questions and without providing further details, she scanned the responses - the gaped mouths, the confused expressions, the rise of whispers winging about - then, pleased, Lythia departed. She was a busy woman, after all, and as such arranged for another Ajah-Sister, Delanna, delegated to take her place.

It was the stout, but surprisingly soft spoken Cairhienin Delanna that explained to the many questions that this was not an aspirancy but an opportunity for some extreme-sort of lessons. She would not entertain the idea of giving details except that once begun, and short of life-threatening injury, loss of limb, or burning out, the Accepted must see her commitment through to the end.

The "Games" as Delanna called them with a haunted sort of smirk, would begin immediately.

Ivan stayed with ma and pop and things seemed to settle down a bit. Not that the lead ball in his stomach would go away any time soon. Not by a long shot. That bitch had him by the short hairs. And had his pops, too. And so many others.

And yet strangely, for all of that, for the magnitude of what was before him....well, just being home had settled him. Made him scared, sure. The stakes were real- serious.

But they were worth fighting for. He remembered that bitch, the casual way she spoke of shooting his dad. Just to teach him a lesson. That....the normal way she spoke of it- almost orphaning his kids, widowing his wife- and the complete lack of care....more than anything else, Ivan understood now the reality of evil. The complete and utter lack of concern and empathy.

She was a dog. And somehow he would put her down.

But he needed help. He was at the bottom. Chained. But he would not give up. He couldn't afford to.

It was the lifeline he held on to. The branch that kept him afloat as he was drowning. But he wouldn't let go. The feel of his father's arms around him, the strength of his mother's hugs, the little ones.

It was on his shoulders.

But he wouldn't do it alone.

He trusted two people.

He dialed as he drove. "Hey, Alex. This is Ivan. Listen, I was wondering if we could get together tonight. Been a rough day. Looking to spend some time with a friend."
Not quite the words for a booty call. They had never agreed on anything. Never even talked about it, the friends with benefits thing that they had. But if he was being listened to, he wanted them to think he was doing just that.

"I'm finishing up with last bit of notes at the clinic. You can pick me up here, we can grab coffee or a drink if it's been that kinda day."


He frowned. "Drinks sound good. Any place you recommend?"


"Pick me up. I know a discrete place with decent food too."


He smiled. He let his voice get a little husky, as if it were clear what he wanted. In truth, he could have used that intimacy right now too. That kind of thing sometimes really helped a person clear their head. But that wasn't his priority. "Awesome. Be there soon."


He drove the streets, not really paying attention. Occasionally he'd pass a squad car. Always before he felt a feeling of camaraderie when he saw that. His brothers out, keeping things safe. Sure there were the thugs- the ones with power trip issues he knew of- but those were the exceptions, he thought, not the rule.

Now, it was all different. As he passed, if he saw one of them turn their head, he imagined they were making a report of him. They couldn't see him through the dark windows, he knew it. And not like his ride was all that special.

Not like paranoia was logical. Or maybe it was. For this thing to be that big, they had to be a lot- either oblivious and idealistic (like him.) Dirty or power hungry. Or forced (him again.) And how many of what type? He found himself rethinking all the people he worked with. The way they handled interrogations. Questions. Perps. Witnesses. The way they joked about a busted head. Or seemed callous. Number of tickets they wrote. Jay walkers busted. Was that a glance out of the corner of their eye when they saw him? Had what they had been about to say changed?

All of it, all of it was suspect now. Maybe the majority were bad. Or enough.

And Brandon. Sitting at the top. No. Don't go there. Not now. He would get too angry.

He pulled up and waited for her, texting here he was outside. When she came out, he honked and got out, not minding the cold. Her clothes were nothing fancy. Professional. Didn't really emphasize her assets, which made sense. Don't want some guy who's detoxing to have his eyes fall down her blouse.

He smiled, though he was sure she sensed (and heard in his voice) his sense of...whatever it was. He was trying though, if for nothing else than they might be watching. He gave her a brief hug and a peck on the cheek."Hey, thanks for coming. Hop in,"
and went around to help her in.

Back in the car, "Just tell me where to go."


She gave directions. But he knew she knew. "You feel off, Ivan. What's wrong?"


He sighed. Now that the moment of truth was here, he wasn't sure where to start.

"Just stressed. Let's get to the bar. Have a couple shots."
He smiled, tried to be the usual Ivan.

When they got there- Chesterfields- he opened his door. He looked at his wallet. "Ahh damnit. Battery is dying."
and then left his wallet under the front seat. He had cash. He touched his lips and nodded to her to do the same. Maybe they could monitor. Maybe. Prolly not but he didn't want to take the chance.

[[with Alex]]
Edited by Ivan Sarkozy, Feb 13 2018, 02:21 PM.

Walking the streets of Moscow had been a past time. Now she used her knowledge walking with a purpose. She missed the maps and the software, but she didn't need it. She could avoid people better without the technology of it all anyway.

The Red Light district was the home of a great many things. It brought on memories of happier times which brought on crushing pain that Aria holed away in the emptiness of the void she'd made home so long ago and now took up once again. Feeling nothing was better than the crushing pain of losing Dane. Lucas hadn't hit her as hard.

And Aria didn't take a look at the reason. She didn't care. She was done letting the Atharim and monsters take things from her. But first she had to test the weapon on a god. She had a plethora of gods on her list but she needed an isolated one - the red district had several likely targets, Aria chose a sickly kid who was friends with Mia. It seemed that the camps held a few of them. But they would be easy to take out. Aria wasn't sure why these gods still lived - yet they did.

Aria made her way to one of these camps where she had found Stone's daughter. Mia had lost her life much the same way despite her inability to wield the power of the gods. Aria was about to do the same thing.

Kiriena hummed quietly to herself as she tended to the plants in her greenhouse. The greenhouse was a small one behind her shop. She had a buzzer set in that alerted her if anyone entered the store. It was late enough in the evening that she had sent Tasha home.

With the upcoming fundraiser for Africa, she had a lot of people coming in for corsages and boutonnieres. That was keeping her and her two employees busy. She was really hoping that they would want arrangements for the tables at the event. Kiriena imagined that the colors would enliven the event as well.

Kiriena's hum turned into a song as she moved to a group of white roses. This particular group looked very beautiful today. She was interrupted by a ringing phone. Kiriena smiled and grabbed a hand towel and wiped the dirt off of her hands before picking up the phone.

"Good evening, Kiriena's Flowers, can I help you?"

Kiriena Blum

Age: 25
Origin: Moscow
Occupation: Gardener, Botanist, and Flower Shop Owner

Psychological Description:
Seldom is Kiriena seen without a smile on her face. She is always cheerful and kind; however she is willing to stand up for herself if people take advantage of her kindness. She is motivated not by greed or money, but just wants to help make the world a more beautiful place.

Physical Description:
Kiriena stands 5'6" tall. She has short red hair and green eyes. It isn't strange to find her with dirt on her hands or face from working with soil.

Powers and Supernatural Powers:
Kiriena is a singer and has the innate ability to encourage and direct the growth of plants. It is more than just a green thumb, and she has no knowledge that she has a supernatural ability to work with plants.

Biography:
Kiriena was born on February 10, 2020 in a small town in Germany. As a young girl she was always fascinated with plant life and spent her time outside with her mother and grandmother planting and tending gardens. They quickly realized she had a natural talent for gardening and encouraged Kiriena to keep gardening. At age 10, Kiriena's father was offered a job that required him to move to Moscow, and so she left Germany to start a new life in Moscow.

Kiriena's skill and interest in plants and gardening did nothing but increase as she grew older. She began going to fairs to show off some of her plants and often won awards for them. The colors of her plants often seemed more vibrant than others and stood out in a crowd. In middle and high school, she took science classes to increase her knowledge and upon graduating, she attended the University of Moscow and received a master's degree in botany.

Besides gardening and botany, Kiriena enjoys singing and art. She enjoys anything that makes the world more beautiful. She likes spending time in nature, and spending time with friends. Kiriena enjoys being social, and when she is not tending her garden or at her shop, she likes to have a night on the town.

In 2044, Kiriena, with the help of her parents, started a flower shop, Kiriena's Flowers, in the Izmailovsky Market. Already her shop is starting to gain a reputation. It is known that her flowers seem more colorful. When in season, she also sells some vegetables from her garden. People have also commented that they seem to have a better taste. As a result, she does have a couple employees who help her maintain the shop. Her focus is usually on maintaining her plants, but she enjoys working with people as well. It is not a strange occurrence for costumers to come in and hear her singing as she tends to the plants. Kiriena is unaware that her abilities as a singer have also played a role in why her plants seem to grow better. She attributes the high quality of her plants to her knowledge and hard work in taking care of them.

Pervaya Iiniya Securities offered unique services to their more favoured (and richer) clients. Beyond mere body guards and security specialists, some schools of thought might have seen them better registered under the hazy cloud of 'private army.' A hard sell when they employed only thirty-some specialists, but they had always been known for the quality of their personnel, not their quantity of them, like some other security companies.

John White was one of their more unusual staffers. Despite the hefty paychecks offered with a Pervaya Iiniya Security contract, he had proven long ago that he didn't do the work for the money. Although a professional in all senses of the term that could apply, he didn't do it for the joy or thrill of protecting people, either. Sure, he'd take bodyguard jobs, or security assessment contracts, but those were more often at the direct behest of his employers, as 'personal favours.'

Mr White was on the books for the 'other' jobs the company took. When the most powerful people in the CCD wanted something done 'off the books,' Mr White came in. And every one of those jobs landed his employers both hefty pay checks, and more importantly very powerful allies. Allies kept close thanks to the evidence of the jobs the company had done on their behalf.

Rescuing kidnapped daughters, fouling assassinations, 'encouraging' gangs to shift their illegal activities to new venues. Sometimes just straight up killing folks that, honestly, probably deserved it.

That was what Mr White enjoyed about his day job. And since his night job had been so quiet of late, hunting monsters hadn't been taking up much of his time.

“FUCK!”
Gun shots rang out through the old complex, and Dimitri Borisov couldn't move. He was covered in blood and worse; his hair was thick with it, and he couldn't bring himself to try and pick the sharp bits of bone, coated in rubbery flesh, from his curly black hair anymore. None of it was his own blood, at least, and he kept trying to tell himself that.

Over the past fifteen minutes, he had seen six of his friends die. He still wasn't sure who the hell was killing them, but he was terrifyingly certain that it was just one man.

He sat behind a concrete pillar, and Aleksandr was laying beside him. Dimitri still wasn't sure why he had dragged Aleksandr so far; his face was gone, just a pulped cavity, which was where much of the gore in Dimitri's hair had come from, actually. But it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, wasn't it?

He wasn't a coward. He'd tried to save Aleksandr. Aleksandr was the boss's muscle. The one the boss sent when some shit-brained addict or another didn't want to pay up. Or when some fool parent came snooping with their damn petitions and demands that they stop selling drugs, or causing trouble.

So he tried to save Aleksandr. Which would make the boss happy, right?

The gunfire had given way to muffled screams. Someone was begging, blurting names and addresses, but from the pain in their voice, it wasn't working well. And then there were no more words, and then no more screaming. And then everything was quiet.

One of two things had happened. Either the attacker was dead...Dimitri glanced at Aleksandr and then doubled over, throwing up on his own pants. Or more likely, everyone else was dead, and he was the only one left.

Everything was quiet. He listened as best he could, but couldn't hear anything beyond his own half-panicked breathing and beating heart. A moment of hesitation, then he slowly slid to his feet, awkwardly trying to brush most of his dinner out of his lap, then froze. Foot steps. Calm, slow. The sound of metal grinding against metal, a click. Probably reloading a weapon.

Dimitri slowly sunk down to the floor, trying to be as quiet as he could...and then his phone rang. A catchy synth-revival ringtone. Loud, obnoxious. More importantly, loud. And he just started crying, a deep, body-wracking weeping as he curled up on himself and fell to the floor.

The foot steps continued drawing closer; no faster, no slower. And then they stopped on the other side of Dimitri's pillar. And then a hand grabbed his gore-soaked hair and dragged him out. He grabbed at the arm, trying to keep his own body weight off his hair, but he didn't struggle. There was no point.

“Probably your boss calling. Check.”


The voice was so damnably cold. No anger, no joy for what had happened. Nothing. Just a statement. He didn't look up, and when the hand let go of his hair he curled up on the ground and dug out his phone from his pocket, holding it up towards the monster that had killed all his friends.

“Check it. Who is calling?”


A hint of fading patience in the tone, a brief flash of heat. He sobbed quietly, then brought the phone around to look at the screen. “It's...it's the boss...oh god, please don't...”


A still-warm barrel tapped against his cheek. “Answer it.”

He shook, curled in tighter on himself, then fumbled to take the call, pressing the phone to his ear, “...boss?”


“What the fuck is going on over there, Dimitri?! Dmitri called, freaking out that you were being attacked...”


“They're all dead...boss? Everyone's dead...he's right here. Oh god...I tried to save Aleksandrov...”


“The fuck? The hell are you talking about Dimitri? Calm the fuck down and get your head out of your ass!”


“You should let your boss know that that Dmitri and I had a nice talk. You probably heard some of it from over here.”
The monster nudged Dimitri with one booted foot, and Dimitri yelped and curled up tighter.

“Fuck me! Is that true, Dimitri?! Did Dmitri talk?!”


“Yeah boss...yeah, he...oh god he wouldn't stop screaming, boss...”


“Tell your boss. Quality control is slipping. Don't much give a fuck if you guys are peddling, but your boys peddled some poor quality shit to the wrong people. Consequences for cutting corners. Boss-man is a professional business man though. This shit won't happen again if he gets his shit together.”


“Tell that fucker that I don't take...”


“Tell him if he doesn't sort this shit out, I'll be visiting that fancy private school his girls go to.”


Dimitri sobbed again; he didn't want to be in the middle of this conversation. He didn't get paid enough for this shit. He didn't care about whatever the fuck they were going on about; he just wanted to get out of there alive.

The phone was quiet for a moment, and then the boss spoke up again, much quieter then before. “Right. Quality is slipping. Won't happen again.”


Dimitri nodded and sputtered out his boss' words, and the monster simply nudged Dimitri with his foot again. “Good job. Better off just shaving your head. Bitch to get brain out of hair like yours.”


And then he walked away, and Dimitri just lay there weeping, a puddle spreading beneath him from wetting his own pants. The boss had hung up when it became obvious the conversation was over.

Continued in Not Terrible


Edited by Hood, Feb 9 2018, 10:09 PM.

This is not compehensive. It is merely the current so far. I will keep this list updated as the game progresses.

Pm me at any of my aliases or post in here for changes

• <li style="display:none">
  </li>
  
• Perov family - status: disbanded, territories consolidated mostly by Stoya and Mordvinov (and others)
  
  Head : Vladimir Perov(deceased)
  
  Operations : drug manufacturing (power based) and sales, blackmail, extortion
  
  Associated PCs: Vladimir, Yuri
  
  Notes: when Vlad was killed by CCDPD his organization was torn apart by power struggles. Perov territories were seized by other groups and old members joined other groups, left the city or the work, or were put down.
  
  
  
  
• Mordvinov family - status: functional
  
  Head : Rodian Mordvinov, Roman Mordvinov (2nd)
  
  Operations : drug sales, blackmail, extortion, kidnapping, stolen merchandise
  
  Associated PCs : Bas (deceased), Yuri
  
  Notes: currently allied with Stoya. Coopted Yuri to get Vlad's secret to the blue pills.
  
  Bas and Roman became friends when Bas (as part of a Gopnik gang hired by Mordvinov as muscle) saved Roman's life during a botched deal. (Kolomov was determined to be the source, resulting in blood vendetta.)
  
  This was the first time he channeled. He quickly rose in the ranks, finding a place for his brother among them too. He served as Roman's right hand man until paranoia led to a public assualt on CCDPD officer Ivan Sarkozy, Zoya Bocharov, and other bystanders in Izmailovsky Market. He was cut loose and soon after was hunted down by the Archangels and killed by Jacinda Cross.
  
  
  
  
• Stoya family - status: functional
  
  Head : ? Stoya
  
  Operations : drug sales, blackmail, extortion, kidnapping, stolen merchandise, human traffiking
  
  Associated PCs : na
  
  Notes: currently allied with Mordvinov, unofficial fued with Kolomov
  
  
  
  
• Kolomov family - status: functional, but very weakened. Losing territory and power
  
  Head : ? Kolomov
  
  Operations : drug sales, blackmail, extortion, kidnapping, stolen merchandise, human traffiking
  
  Associated PCs : na
  
  Notes: currently involved in blood vendetta with Mordvinov and Stoya.
  
  
  
  
• Solntsevskaya Bratva - status: eliminated- territories absorbed into Kolomov primarily, and others
  
  Head : na
  
  Operations : drug sales, blackmail, extortion, kidnapping, stolen merchandise, human traffiking
  
  Associated PCs : Mikhail
  
  Notes: eliminated. During the post USSR era until formation of ASU, was the most powerful organized crime group in Russian federation. Mikhail's father was muscle for Solntsevskaya Bratva before it was eliminated. Kolomov was responsible for their demise.
  
  
  
  
• The Syndicate - status: functional
  
  Head : Yun Kao
  
  Operations : facilitate illegal activities of DI crime group and those who purchase their services
  
  Associated PCs : Yun Kao, Ivan
  
  Notes: A collection of dirty cops that facilliate illegal activities for various crime families and other rich and powerful people who need favors.
  
  Aside from police, they own judges, DAs, lawyers, prison guards, and others. They often are the go betweens for the criminal world and make problems disappear.
  
  They get rich of course, but they also have a tremendous amount of power as a result. If they decide, they can even cut a rogue family out of the loop and eave them to the wolves.
  
  
  
  
• Yakuza (Japanese)
  
  
  
  
• Triads (Chinese)
  
  
  

Descending from honorable pasts was all well and good if you felt the need to keep such traditions alive. But for Yun that hadn’t been an option. She’d never really been one to follow her families rules. Her father was a good cop. Her father before him an even greater one in her eyes. But grand-da was gone from this life and there were only stories to tell. And stories were always grander as time passed.

Yun remembered her grand-da telling her stories amongst a bunch of old dusty books. It was her favorite place in all of the house. It smelled like grand-da even though he was now long since gone. But the stories he told lived on. But Yun would never be one of those heroes. No she knew she was the opposite end of the coin.

She was an officer of the law. Just like her father, and his father before her. But before Yun could dawn the badge she’d fallen and fallen far. Rules weren’t her strong suit. And when someone tells you not to do something your first instinct is to do it - not ask why? Or maybe I shouldn’t. Yun followed her first instinct and did it.

Sadly that one little rule - don’t steal. Bit her in the butt at an early age. Her mother had said she had always had sticky fingers. Even as a toddler. Yun was good at removing people from their possessions. Except this time she stole from someone she shouldn’t have. He had looked innocent enough. He was old even then. His hair graying, Chinese by the look of him, his eyes had the murky color of blindness. An easy mark.

Yun found her hand in his pocket and had taken the contents and was halfway back home when two men grabbed her and dragged her kicking while their hands muffled her screams of protest. Even as she struggled they held on tighter, they dragged her into a room similar to the one that her grand-da used to tell her stories in. This one was more impressive and it wasn’t dusty - it was perfect. It didn’t smell like grand-da at all.

The men let her go and she tried to make a run for it but they barred her way. The old man spoke. “Yun Kao, stop.”


The voice made her obey. It wasn’t that he was forceful but she knew that tone. The way he spoke, like her grand-da. But he didn’t know him. Didn’t know her. He knew her name though - how?

“You think I let you take the tracker without knowing you, child? We’ve been watching you for some time. Daughter of Yi Kao, Grand-daughter of Yung Kao. Child I know more than you may think. Sit. Have a drink.”


Yun opted to stand, but she was thirteen. The man standing at the door picked her up and sat her down and handed her the drink that was poured on the table in front of her. “Drink.”
Was the only gruff word out of his mouth.

Yun complied only because she felt she had no other option. It was sweet and fruity but held a bitter aftertaste of whatever chemical they had used. Yun’s eyes flicked up to the old man. “A little truth serem as they say.”


“Why did you steal from me Yun Kao?”
he asked. His words sinking deep inside her skull and pressing for an answer.

“You looked like an easy mark.”


“Is that the only reason, dear one?”
He asked. His voice was soft and soothing.

She nodded. “That’s all. Easy. I could sell or ditch whatever I found - either way - easy.”


He grinned at her and waved off the thugs in the room. “Good. Child. We have much to discuss. Unless you’d like me to remove your right hand for stealing from me.”


Yun snatched her hand into her lap and shook her head. “Talking is good.”
She said. And that was precisely what they did - talk.

But it wasn’t always talk Yun did. She learned, and watched and she became better at pilfering. Not just things, but information too. She was 13 and in the city of the Ascendancy she went pretty much unnoticed. Everyone looked a like in a huge city. If you knew what to do you could blend in anywhere - even in the high dollar fancy places. Yun became Sheng Lo’s top information gather when it was outside of the precinct. It had turned out Lo’s connection were all over the CCDPD. He wasn’t just some gangster making it big time. No he ran between the mobs and the gangs and the corporations. Lo was the middle man - cleaning up messes for a hefty price. And Yun was helping him make a profit on the criminal underground.

She only had one person who got in her way - Lei Lo. He was the only son of Sheng and an idiot too. He was idealistic and had irrational goals for The Syndicate and his father knew it. Sheng didn’t precisely say it but he was grooming Yun to replace him. Her fingers were everywhere. And when she joined the CCDPD Academy Sheng Lo held a grand party. And when she graduated top of her class he threw an even bigger one.

He invited all the players. Anyone who was anyone and they all mixed and mingled in his house and there was no blood shed. No guns. No knives. Nothing, not even a cut finger on a dropped champagne glass. There wasn’t even the slightest shove as everyone raised their glass to Yun’s achievements. Sheng was proud. But he had a two tasks for her.

The first was easy - give a ‘good’ cops a ‘good’ warning as to what happens when you try to leave The Syndicate. Yun remembered when the man’s partner got his warning. Apparently it didn’t stick with him. He needed a second dose of it. Shooting him was her first option, she didn’t want him dead. And she did it face to face. There was no pretense to it. Yun took him aside down a camera-less alley way and shot him with only a fews words. “Consider this a warning.”
The next time won’t be so pretty.

Yun made an anonymous phone call and he’d be right as rain later. But he got his warning and Yun wouldn’t have any qualms about carrying out further warnings. But it really was a shame to lose human life. She still was a cop after all.

But the second task was much easier. Lei Lo needed to have an accident. He was a good cop too. Couldn’t have two good cops shot at the same time. No, Lei went missing that same night. Never seen again, until his body washed up from the river with the classic cement boots from the mobster movies. It was Yun’s warning to the rest of the groups they worked with. Don’t mess with them. There really was no way to seal the deal with the classic head of a horse in your bed with Lei Lo - maybe some other day.

It wasn’t for another few years that Sheng took sick. Everyone thought he was lying on his death bed when he gave Yun The Syndicate. It was supposed to be temporary until he got better. But no one believed he would. So life went on. Yun took over. She profited. Made more money in those few months than the three prior to that.

But Sheng got better. Some say he was poisoned, others say it was cancer. But Yun knew it was far more dangerous - he’d had a rare heart attack but had survived. He had been remanded to bed rest and relaxation. No one was allowed to see him. And none could. Sheng had been high up in the Himalaya mountains in a private retreat relaxing. Bringing his blood pressure down and getting older as he did.

When he returned he did so as an adviser to Yun. He was her most trusted voice. And he would be until the day he passed from this earth. And much like the celebration he’d given Yun when she graduated Yun would celebrate his passing with the same grand gesture. But Yun hoped not too soon. She didn’t want to lose her second father.

She'd been about to sign off to the night shift when an RTA sent the emergency room into a tailspin.

The girl was the worst casualty, spilling blood faster than they could pump it in. The power webbed through Morven in the same touch that found a line for the IV, her concentration split to the task; fumbling, twelve hours deep into a relentless shift. The team worked seamlessly around her. Barking orders and feedback from the machines. But the weaves were unravelling as fast as she could form them, the damage raging at a swifter pace than she could work. Monitors began a shrill warning; a drill on her focus. Somewhere distant she could hear her name pointed in question, the words muffled. Darkness misted in the edges of her vision like the night she had collapsed at Soren's feet.

You're going to lose her.

She drew deeper, could feel the sweetness begin to hurt as it surged and the flows strengthened. But even then she could still feel her slipping away, each touch of the power a drain, like the girl simply didn't have enough energy to support the work. No, no, no, no, no. There was sudden stillness around her, like the world had suddenly frozen. Morven chose not to acknowledge it. Her shoes slid in the blood underfoot as she tried to get a better grip; as if that would help anchor her; help the weave stabilise and penetrate. A colleague caught her elbow, pulled her hands gently away. Everything blurred when he glanced at the clock hanging overhead and called it.

"Time of death, four fifty-three am."


***

By now the red glow of sunrise was a memory, and Morven should have been home hours ago. Instead she'd only just snapped the gloves from her hands and clocked out, pausing momentarily at the door the nurses sneaked out to for a cigarette. Numbness cocooned her against the worst of it. The grief. The anger. She'd always had a temper; one liable to get her into trouble one day. But she'd swallowed it down to inform the family of their loss; absorbing those pale faces, the broken sobbing as worlds imploded, all the sharp edges embedding inwards. Knowing her failure was part of it.

She weathered it with the solemn professionalism she fought so hard to maintain during all her years training. Realised for the first time how tightly she had to hold on just to keep herself together.

Now, though, now she wanted to ram her fist into the fucking wall until the bloody pain eased out the knot in her chest. She choked the urge down instead, running her hand over the tight braid of curls at her crown; breathed in deep like Lyall suggested whenever the wolf bit chunks from her humanity. It didn't work, but it was better than grazed knuckles she'd have to explain later

A beep at her belt drew her gaze down wearily, then. By now her eyes burned raw with fatigue, but her brows still daggered low when she comprehended the message. The tight ball of kindling in her chest burst into abrupt flame.

Marcil was in theatre.

He must have been prepping for it even as the girl's life was bleeding out in Morven's hands. That little fucking shit! Her jaw set hard, and despite her exhaustion she began fumbling for her car keys, threading through the parked cars in blind haste until she found her own. She needed to get to the university hospital. Sage Parker was her patient and the bastard had no fucking right.

"Miss Kinnaird?"


She twisted from her car to find two suits approaching up the path. Government, clearly. Wonderful. Just wonderful. "Aye, that's me, and I've no time spare for words, not right now. Find me when I'm off duty."
Her palm rested on the door.

"Your shift ended at midnight, Miss Kinnaird, and we have already been to your apartment. We need to speak to you. It's a matter of some importance. This way, please."
The taller of the two, hair cropped short to his scalp, offered a tight smile. The fine lines about his eyes deepened, but his gaze was slate. A man running through the motions of pleasantry. Morven's lips pursed as he presented an ID holo formalised with the Ascendany's orange stamp. She could almost hear the low growl that'd be burrowing in her sister's throat had she been here. Her gaze moved to the shorter man, his face utterly impassive. Fuck.

"This needs to be quick. Understood?"


***

A nondescript office in the hospital complex housed their meeting. The smaller of the two men hovered by the door, hands braced in front of him. The other sat opposite her, caught amidst the glow of several screens pointed inwards, all shining with the hospital's logo revolving about as slowly as he chose to speak. He introduced himself and his colleague formally. Pointed out coffee steaming in a cafetiere, should she desire it (a nice way of saying she looked like shit; his flat lips almost quirked a smile). A jug of water too, if she preferred. Morven dampened the urge to bounce her leg under the table, the sheer leisurely pace with which he directed proceedings galling to every fibre of her desperate to be in theatre.

While he spoke he fiddled with the tech in front of him. Inserted a stick. Prodded a few keys. The glow against his pale skin faded, replaced with something darker, waiting. Finally he laced his hands in front of him and leaned in, the twin dark of his eyes meeting her own. He did not smile, not a hint; she counted the lines on his face while she waited for him to speak. Then, finally:

"Do you have any idea why we're here, Miss Kinnaird?"


Aye, she had an idea that the rumour of one too many miracles brought them to hound her doorstep. She'd known this would happen eventually, but keeping the secret had been secondary to making good use of it. Still, she cursed the ill timing. It made her feel more belligerent than she ought, even knowing that noncooperation on her part would only make things worse. Her lips pressed thin, but she didn't answer him. Silence reigned on the small hope she was wrong; she'd kick herself sharply if it turned out she spilled the secret freely when they were here for something else. Unlikely, but she hated regret.

He sighed. "It is required of all Custody citizens to register if they believe themselves in possession of Ascendant power. For the good of the Custody, and at the behest of Ascendancy himself. We believe you to be one such person, and yet you have not registered."


"Aye, I'm one of them. Aye, I haven't filled in the forms. Doesn't seem to me history's ever shown it to be a wise move. But I suppose you're not here to give me the choice."


He patiently swiped at the screen in front of him, ignoring the jibe. She could see the reflection of the registration form blinking in his eyes, that bloody orange text she'd stared at numerous times back in London -- when she'd first made the decision not to submit her life into the government's hands. Preliminaries began the interrogation. Her name. DOB. CID. When he asked her occupation her stony expression swiftly urged him to move on. Still he made her waste the breath saying it. Asshole.

"How long?"


"Since I was nineteen."


"And how did you first discover your ability?"


"That's not on the fucking form."
The words snapped out before she thought to control herself. The glare burning up in her eyes was as much frustration at her slip as irritation at her predicament. Sage's face flashed with every blink. The glint of skull. The glisten of brain. All those fucking wires weaving in an out; his parents' twisted love. How many times had she warned him? And he had promised to wait for her okay before he proceeded. Either he broke that promise or Marcil twisted him into it. He was a kid, and she knew how eager he was to jack back into the ether. The protectiveness swept over her again, and for one stupid moment she thought about re-purposing the fire in her veins. Just enough to get out of here. Deal with the consequences afterwards.

Her hand stayed, but perhaps only because she could feel how slippery the power had become; she'd wrung herself nearly dry trying to save the girl. A short sigh heaved out from her chest, a note of defeat. Trapped and cagey as an animal. She rubbed her face. Blinked out the tired burning. Tried to concentrate. Then leaned over to pour herself some of the coffee. Jerk awake her senses.

He watched her do it, stoical.

"My sister and I hiked a lot in the Cairngorms when we were younger. Tough terrain. Isolated wilderness, A real tough fucking show if you don't know what you're doing, and when you're really deep there's nowhere to go for help if you fuck up. One time my sister injured herself. A deep gash, flash o' bone in it. I bandaged her up and in the morning we hiked back out. Drove to the hospital in Inverness. But when the nurse peeked a look, the wound might have been healing a week already. No bone to see. Just an ugly scar now. That was the first time, I think. Not that I really ken the significance at the time."


She'd killed a man that night, but the guilt had never weighed on her. Even now, skirting around that little detail, her gaze was clear of it. He nodded, checked his screen.

"Summarise your abilities, please."


Her hands wrapped the cup. This time there was no hesitation. "I can ascertain injuries at a touch. Heal some of them, or aid it to happen more swiftly. Easier if I can see it, not impossible if I can't. Sometimes there's nae even a scar."
She paused, deliberating whether to add the new snippet tonight's tragedy made clear. In the end it all poured out. "Though it takes a certain amount of strength on the part of the patient, I think. I can give a boost of energy. Like adrenaline. Short lived. Sometimes that helps, with the minor things. I can ease pain too. And other, more mundane things. I assume you don't know the intricacies of it. How it's made up."
She shrugged. "It's easy to move things with it."


Less mundane things, too, but she wasn't stupid enough to talk of how the same power could shove a man backwards like he was a marionette; how easily bones snapped and cracked and twisted until that marionette barely resembled a man at all. How ropes of it could coil and tip that wretched twist of limbs into the rush of savage summer floods, never to surface again. She blinked, arms resting on the desk in front of her.

"Are you able to show us any of this?"
That, from the man at the door.

"Do I look like a fucking show pony, gentleman? Ask the next question."


***

Hours passed in that damn office, unpacking and unpicking her words; the bare bones of the registration form, and much more besides. They were interested in the healing, she realised; its strengths and limitations, so far as she understood it. She'd never paused to consider that it wasn't something everyone with the power was able to do, and even now did not really care. Impatience was sharpening her to a blade's edge, battling the sheer fatigue weighing heavy as a cement shroud. Sage might be dead by now. Or they might be sealing up the incision and wheeling him to recovery. And she hadn't been there for any of it. Despite vowing, and meaning it with her very marrow.

She rubbed her face again, asked him to repeat another question stuffed in her ears like cotton wool. Sometimes he paused after she'd finished explaining something, eyes wavering as he read text on the screen, but by now she'd stopped noticing -- or wondering what the fuck it was he clearly referenced. The coffee pot was empty, even the dregs stone cold. Her thoughts were a strange collision of jittery and sluggish as she checked her wrist watch for the third time that minute. He'd been quiet the whole time, perhaps reading through to make sure he had not missed anything. Finally he stood, jerking down the hem of his jacket. When the stick uncoupled from the screen, the holos flickered and brightened to their usual screens. "Thank you for your time, Miss Kinnaird. We will be in touch."


Morven stood too, slicking back her hair once more, blinking rapidly. He offered his hand as he passed her, but she ignored it. Moments later they were gone. She was not far behind.

She needed to get to the university; she needed to find Marcil.