A Never Ending Job

[Drayson]

Related to Dreams of Fire

Drayson stood calmly in the crowded subway station, hands clasped calmly to his front. He towered over much of the crowd, and for both his size and appearance was afforded a small circle of space around himself, save at his back. He stood with his back to one of the fresco covered pillars of Moscow's largest metro station.

It had been a long shift, even by his standards. Growing trouble in DV had led to increased background and security checks throughout the CCD; while not expected, they were still keeping a sharp eye out for potential extremist attacks in other regions. Moscow especially.

He had spent the last twenty hours overseeing the newly formed police task force's counter terrorism training. There were other organizations in the CCD that already existed for the task, but he had learned long ago that one needed to be prepared for everything, and this task force was to be the test pilot for similar teams later.

His gaze swept across the crowd with apparent disinterest; just another tired businessman on his way home at the end of a long day. Of course, he paid attention to details few in the crowd noticed; what people carried in their hands, who shied away from the two metro security officers standing in casual conversation near a vending machine and not doing their jobs to Drayson's standards. He would pay their shift supervisor a visit tomorrow. They were there to assure the people of Moscow were safe, after all.

One hand lifted to rub at tired eyes, and when he opened them again he found a pair of young girls staring up at him. The elder could have been no more then five, and the two studied him with open curiousity. He smiled tiredly and cast a glance at the crowd under his brows, before deciding on the likely parent of the two children. He opened his mouth to speak, then just shook his head in quiet amusement as the children's mother saw him and carefully maneuvered her charges ahead of herself and out of his sight in the crowd. At least someone was paying attention to their duties.

He could just barely make out the distant rush of wind in the tunnel that would signal the approach of the train he waited for, when a series of events distracted him from any thought of home and sleep. And of the paperwork he needed to do before he could sleep.

First was the sudden movement of the two terminal guards. Both men jerked upright and grabbed at their shoulder clipped radios, turning the little speakers there towards their ears in an attempt to hear something more clearly. At the same time, the lights flickered, briefly, and those in the tunnels went to emergency lighting levels. The station went next, emergency lights flicking on instantly.

The crowd quieted, asides from a few startled yelps. The sound of the train came to a distant stop, and Drayson worked his way through the crowd easily to the two metro guards, who were speaking into their radios and apparently getting no response. He pulled his badge and held it open to the two men, the exhaustion of his long day forgotten. "Situation?"


The two men glanced at his badge dumbly for a moment before realizing what they were looking at. Both looked suddenly relieved. One of them leaned in closely, while his partner tried to hide obvious worry as he glanced at the crowded station. "Chief Inspector. Something has happened at the central control station."


Drayson glanced towards one far wall of the crowded station. Sturdy, unassuming doors marked one of many entrances to the control room that oversaw the running of Moscow's entire metro system. Most of the functions were delegated to sub-stations around the city, but the one here was the biggest, and oversaw everything that happened with every train and tunnel and platform in the city.

He pulled his Wallet, and quickly thumbed a few commands into it. The Moscow metro systems were no stranger to terrorism, and the central command station was an ideal target to try and bring the city's entire public transit system to a crashing halt. Trains could be derailed or crashed together if someone knowledgeable of the controls were so inclined.

The commands he had thumbed in where to the head of the newly formed task force. Most of the unit was administrative and investigative; they were to track persons of interest, had access to the city's wide range of security systems, and through him had the ability to wire-tap or search buildings without having to hack through kilometers of red tape first.

They also had the cream of the crop of the city's various Special Purpose Mobile Unit (OMON) teams, who had just received the order to mobilize.

"Keys, now. Get the rest of your men here, be ready to evacuate, and keep everyone calm."
He took a keyring from the two security guards; any electronic locks he could bypass easily enough. Physical ones were a barrier even his Wallet couldn't get him through.

With the keys in hand, Drayson made his way through the crowd, ignoring the pre-recorded message of technical delays. Some small part of his mind pictured a bed he would not be seeing any time that night. The responsibilities of his office came with a 24-hour work schedule.

A minute later, he was out of the crowded metro station and into the service tunnels that ran behind the artistically detailed walls of the station proper.

Only the emergency lights were on there as well, and the tunnel was long, wide, and empty, save for three carts used by the night shift cleaning staff.

Drayson un-holstered his pistol and held it low to his side as he walked down the hallway, staying close to the left-hand wall. he stopped briefly by a service map of the tunnels, and once he had his bearings made his way to the central command station.

He passed a break room and glanced in the open door, frowning slightly at the sight that met him. Three of the night shift cleaning staff, who had probably arrived hours early for their shift, and two metro security guards lay sprawled about the small room as if someone had thrown them around. Furniture was knocked around the room, and blood spattered the walls, ceiling and floor.

His Wallet in hand again, he stepped part-way into the room and watched the hallway towards the command center. "Chief Inspector Drayson. Security breached at central metro command. Five dead. DOLAs are a go. Secure central station and metro command."

He received a surprised and worried affirmative from the shift commander for the newly founded task force. It reflected badly on the man in Drayson's mind.

Wallet returned to his pocket, on silent of course, he proceeded deeper into the service tunnel. Like a series of dominos, his message to the task-force would filter down to regional police and emergency services. The key was to try and gain control of the situation before news services could reach and contaminate the scene. The less information those vultures could get the better everything would be for people that were in harms way, and the fewer resources they would have to commit to keeping a lid on things instead of assuring the safety of the public.

He did not like reporters.

His journey to the control center was littered with broken bundles of wires strung along the ceiling, and banks of fuses blown and shredded. It was strange though; explosives or an overload would surely have meant smoke and fire, but there was no sign of either, as if the system had been shut down then destroyed manually. As if they had been crushed inside their housings, on closer inspection. Jaws of life, or some other heavy hydraulic tool might have managed that, but how could a group have gotten such equipment down there unnoticed?

Two more dead security guards lay in the hallway outside the command room, the doors of which were closed. Like those in the break room, they seemed to have been smashed against the opposing walls repeatedly. Neither man had drawn their pistol. Security cameras were destroyed, even those mounted and hidden in the concrete walls, again as if they had been crushed or torn free of their reinforced mountings.

Drayson's mind raced to piece the situation together. Multiple assailants? No...how could they have covered the distance of the corridor to the two guards and subdue them without either man pulling his sidearm? Maybe it was someone they knew? But that made no sense either. The way they were killed spoke of one violent individual, not a coordinated and armed group.

The destroyed relays and master fuses explained why the system had shut down. If central control went offline, all the lines would come to an abrupt halt. Without central control's oversight, the various secondary stations only had control of their own lines, with little input on how their neighbors ran things.

So what else could it have been? He remembered a monster that had led to the deaths of two good friends of his, in an old abandoned London subway station. Something that could possess a man's body and turn him against his friends. Could that have been it? It had been unnaturally strong, and had worn familiar faces? A Wefuke?

He approached the door to the control station, finding the heavy magnetic-lock doors offline and ajar. He paused, listening at the crack for a moment, and a desperate man's voice pleading with someone. Promises were given, the man's desperation growing more and more evident as the pain in his voice grew more pronounced. Pain and desperation that turned to horror and suddenly ended with the sharp sound of bone breaking against a solid surface.

The second man's voice was all the curses and rantings of a mad-man. An ex employee, from what Drayson could gather, but it still made no sense. It sounded as if there were only one man left in the room. One man could not have done all the damage he had seen reaching the control room.

Metal squealed and tore abruptly, and Drayson grimaced at the ear-splitting sound. He glanced at his Wallet a moment and frowned irritably; ETA 20 minutes. That wouldn't do. The team needed to be faster. He glanced back down the hallway, expecting to see more attackers, or any hint of the heavy equipment that would have been needed to accomplish what he had seen, but no answers were provided there.

One assailant, crazed and by all signs not armed. Not with a firearm at least. The room beyond sounded large, the man's ranting screams at least a few meters distant of the door. Even if he had some sort of tool, the distance was enough that Drayson could dispatch the man before the distance was closed.

Assuming it was a man. He had glimpsed the other side of the veil once already, and was painfully aware that man was not alone on the Earth. So what the hell was he dealing with?

Shaking his head, Drayson cursed his own stupidity and stepped back from the door. One practiced move of his thumb released the safety on his weapon, and a moment later he was jerking the heavy door open with one powerful pull. It swung on well oiled hinges and slammed in it's hinge-breaks before hitting the wall.

Drayson entered the room with surprising speed for his size, weapon up and leveled at the only man that stood in the room. The man was pasty white and sweating, spattered in blood, his clothes rumpled and soiled. His hands were raised towards one of the control panels, which even as Drayson watched suddenly crumbled in on itself as if under a heavy weight.

An invisible heavy weight, apparently. The man seemed to push down on something, and the panel finally gave way, metal screeching again as it caved in. Drayson's brow furrowed at the sight, then his gaze snapped back to the perpetrator. The ex-employee spun on Drayson, arms flashing out towards him and a look of mad glee on his face.

Drayson fired once, then everything went dark.

-----

He came awake with a start. His eyes snapped open, but the view that met him was...off. He had been standing in the doorway, but now he could only see ceiling tiles and an emergency light. And a face hidden behind a featureless face-mask. One of the members of the newly formed task force, from what he could tell of the unit name emblazoned on it.

They were twenty minutes out, how did they get here so soon? His mind raced to understand what had happened, and he tried to raise his left arm to rub at tired eyes, only to find a brief flash of pain as his reward. His brow furrowed irritably and he slowly turned his head to look at his arm.

He was in the hallway, near two dozen meters from the door at least. It was hard to judge the distance from where he lay. He was laying on the floor, apparently. And his arm was broken. Or maybe just dislocated. The officer kneeling next to him patted his other shoulder and removed his helmet; a she, apparently, not a he.

"Lay still, Sir. Dislocated your shoulder, maybe a mild concussion. Situation is secure though, Sir."
She grinned down at him, although it was easy to tell she was uneasy despite her attempted casual airs, then moved away to make space for paramedics that came swooping in with a stretcher for him.

He could over-hear the investigators, and one confirmed that Drayson had shot and killed what appeared to be the perpetrator. He sighed quietly and turned his gaze back to the ceiling. This was going to make for a lot more paperwork. And reporters...damn reporters.


Edited by Drayson, Mar 30 2014, 10:57 AM.

[Drayson]

It took only a few scant hours for Drayson to be relocated to the hospital, for his dislocated shoulder to be set and bandaged, his body checked for further injuries, and for him to get a stamp of good health. They'd hold him a day for follow up of course, and the nurses insisted a good night's rest was in order.

Of course, a good night's rest would have to wait. Well past midnight, Drayson stood at the small table in his private room, various holographic displays floating around his Wallet which he cycled through or selected for further perusal. Records on the attacker mostly; school, juvie, financial, criminal, and medical. All were an open book to him. He'd gotten deathly ill some years back, but had recovered, the family doctor even tagged it as miraculous. The man's younger sister hadn't been so lucky two years later. The Sickness, apparently, although it predated the WHO's declaration by a few years.

A few minor incidents as a teenager; a psych analysis indicated the man had an anger issue, but had received treatment and a clean bill of health before finishing high school. He was tagged as a person of interest in a case of criminal vandalism; a few cars that were flipped over and trashed in an above-grown parking lot complex. He'd been dismissed due to lack of evidence. No gang affiliation, no indication of bruising or chaffing of the hands. They'd even tested how strong the man was at that age, which struck him as odd. The case had been dismissed and forgotten.

Drayson's left arm was done up in a snug sling, but the hand was free and held a cup of water, which he would routinely take with his other arm and sip before freeing his good hand once more to work through the information.

The hospital was quiet save for the occasional nurse doing her rounds, and many of the room lights were off, save his, much to the chagrin of the night shift staff, who had insisted on more then one occasion that he get some rest. He'd assured them he would do exactly that at the first opportunity. So probably tomorrow some time.

Contrary to hospital security's efforts, Drayson's sidearm sat holstered on his table, although his clothes were still absent. They were being dry-cleaned, so he stood in an extra-long hospital gown and robe, neither of which quite fit properly, feet housed in paper slippers that didn't quite fit properly, and holding a paper cup that was far too small for his hands.

There was a knock at his door, and he half turned to face it as a not unexpected visitor let them-self in. The exact individual whom would surely be stopping by to talk to him was unknown, but he would have been more surprised had their not been one at all. The big question was whether 'they' were going to try and intimidate him into silence, or if they would have something more useful to say.

[Alric Xavier Rainer]

What stepped into the room was a soldier in civilian garb, as the Inspector would surmise. His dark grey suit lacked any excessive fashions save for the fact that it was tailored by a master. The simplicity of the suit would tell everything one would want to know of him; confident, smart, and well put together. Alric wasn’t a man that needed or thrived on flash like some of the wealthier men his age seemed to need.

His eyes darted about the room gathering minute details. Areas of concealment, or what could pass as them in such a room, his subject’s position and the presence of his weapon near his body. He retrieved the wallet that contained his identification. “Hello Chief Inspector. My name is Agent Xavier of the CSS.
” Alric opened it when he was within acceptable range allowing for a moment so the chief could read and inspect it. Alric's quick read of the man’s dossier did little to impress just how large the chief was. The man could’ve been the stereotype of law enforcement.

In a practiced motion Alric replaced his badge, drew out a chair opposite of Drayson and sat down while unbuttoning his coat. “I’m told that you’ve had something of an interesting day.
” Alric thought it best to take on labourer’s tone with the man. Alric’s mannerisms weren’t fitting of a God, even one that worked under another. His Divine right could overwhelm lesser mortals. Drayson, Alric assumed, would work best with someone that he perceived as having worked through the trenches. Alric reclined back into the seat, crossing one leg on top of the other in a non-fussed manner. The seat itself was barely serviceable for the time being. His slant back into the chair not only allowed him to keep the chief in his full view but also the doorway. He wasn’t worried over much of an incident occurring, but trouble came when the guard was laxed.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here. It takes powerful people to get me pulled from the field to handle sensitive matters.
” He didn’t need to brag nor coat his words with a veil of honey. Drayson was known for his ability to play the game of politics so long as nothing was out of hand. Otherwise, he was a picture perfect officer. Someone who didn’t mind for his list of responsibilities to grow. Drayson was also an inspector and, were the situation reversed, would be in Alric’s seat. Memories fade rather quickly in a stressful situation. It was critical to get any eye witnesses to tell what happened at the time before details begin to get fuzzy and then fade. “I read the preliminary reports handled by the young task force and been to the scene. However, what I need is your account of what happened.
” Alric could sense the remanence of another’s divinity down at the metro command station and saw the havoc that it wrought on the place. What stepped into the room was a soldier in civilian garb, as the Inspector would surmise. His dark grey suit lacked any excessive fashions save for the fact that it was tailored by a master. The simplicity of the suit would tell everything one would want to know of him; confident, smart, and well put together. Alric wasn’t a man that needed or thrived on flash like some of the wealthier men his age seemed to need.

His eyes darted about the room gathering minute details. Areas of concealment, or what could pass as them in such a room, his subject’s position and the presence of his weapon near his body. He retrieved the wallet that contained his identification. “Hello Chief. My name is Agent Xavier of the CSS.” Alric opened it when he was within acceptable range allowing for a moment so the chief could read and inspect it. Alric's quick read of the man’s dossier did little to impress just how large the chief was. The man could’ve been the stereotype of law enforcement.

In a practiced motion Alric replaced his badge, drew out a chair opposite of Drayson and sat down while unbuttoning his coat. “I’m told that you’ve had something of an interesting day.” Alric thought it best to take on labourer’s tone with the man. Alric’s mannerisms weren’t fitting of a God, even one that worked under another. His Divine right could overwhelm lesser mortals. Drayson, Alric assumed, would work best with someone that he perceived as having worked through the trenches. Alric reclined back into the seat, crossing one leg on top of the other in a non-fussed manner. The seat itself was barely serviceable for the time being. His slant back into the chair not only allowed him to keep the chief in his full view but also the doorway. He wasn’t worried over much of an incident occurring, but trouble came when the guard was laxed.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here, Inspector. It takes powerful people to get me pulled from the field to handle sensitive matters.” He didn’t need to brag nor coat his words with a veil of honey. Drayson was known for his ability to play the game of politics so long as nothing was out of hand. Otherwise, he was a picture perfect officer. Someone who didn’t mind for his list of responsibilities to grow. Drayson was also an inspector and, were the situation reversed, would be in Alric’s seat. Memories fade rather quickly in a stressful situation. It was critical to get any eye witnesses to tell what happened at the time before details begin to get fuzzy and then fade. “I read the preliminary reports handled by the young task force and been to the scene. However, what I need is your account of what happened.” Alric could sense the remanence of another’s divinity down at the metro command station and saw the havoc that it wrought on the place. Drayson, if he proved useful enough to be brought into the Ascendancy’s personal hunt for other godlings, would soon learn just how lucky or cursed, he was.

[Drayson]

Chief, was it? Custody Security Services. About what he expected in truth, although now was the gamble of what answer the man was looking for. He eyed the man's badge briefly; he recognized the emblem and doubted there were many out there foolish enough to run around pretending to be what the man claimed to be.

The man's suit said it all. Expensive and well tailored, but otherwise plain. Drayson's suits were well tailored too, but they also came straight off the rack. He had the budget for more expensive clothes, but wasn't interested in those finer things in life. Hell, he was a Chief Inspector of the CDPS and relied on the metro system to get to an from work.

Drayson finished his cup of water as Agent Alric introduced himself and took a seat, then set the discard-able paper cup aside. There was a stack of others yet, each individually wrapped in plastic to assure they were sterile, but Drayson would continue using the same cup. Each one of those cups were only a penny at most, but those were tax payers dollars. Dollars he was wasting with staying in a private room under the care of the finest doctors the city could offer, as was afforded to his position.

There seemed a moment when the CSS Agent first entered the room, when he first laid eyes on Drayson, that he was...not intimidated. But perhaps surprised, at least. That was good, wasn't it? If the Agent was sent to silence a possible leak, he would surely have been better appraised on Drayson's considerable size.

Alric seemed almost too casual at first. It certainly didn't match the expensive clothes. No man who wore a suit that expensive, but actually held a governmental job, would sit so casually. That was bound to cause wrinkles in an expensive suit like his.

He stood studying Alric for a moment, picking up what little details the man gave away about himself. But finally his good arm was raised and he pulled up his freshly written report on the incident in the metro. A report that was collaborated by those of the newly formed task force. He'd already checked the security footage to know what he could get away with omitting.

Lone assailant, known to the employees, had gained access to the area likely using copied keys and not yet deleted codes. Had managed to kill the staff through brute force, likely on illegal drugs. Destroyed equipment. It was all boring and clinical and without a single mention of telekinetic ability or magic.

"Mr Arkady Ipatiy Lagounov was terminated from his position in the central control station one week ago for gross negligence. Past psych reports were discovered to be falsified after an internal investigation by Metro Security. He was assessed with megalomaniac tendencies, which explain the restraining order one of his female coworkers placed on him, which lead to the investigation and termination."


All of that was in the boring, mundane report he would submit in the morning. "Mr Lagounov gained access to the secured portion of the control center by somehow destroying the fuse box which ran the magnetically sealed doors, and pulled the mechanical lock from it's housing in the metal firedoors. He killed four armed guards before they could draw their weapons, and three night shift cleaning staff single-handedly, and from a distance in most cases. High voltage cables were torn from their ceiling mounts, master fuse boxes were crushed and shredded as if from a powerful hydraulic tool, of which none are found at the scene."


"All of this cannot be explained through use of any drug in existence. When I entered the control station, I watched Mr Lagounov crush a control panel with a gesture, and decided to shoot the man. Apparently, not quickly enough, as I woke up a few dozen meters from where I had been standing before I fired. I have no prior experience with telekinetic ability, but felt that I would not appreciate to learn of it first hand. I was not quite quick enough."
He patted his slung arm.


"Of course, all of this is impossible and obviously a flight of fancy constructed by a mild concussion and operational stress and lack of sleep. Utter nonsense."
His tone was entirely dry; everything he had just said would never be repeated, and the investigation would be guided carefully to assure the crime scene investigation collaborated what the filed report would have to say.

There was a similar report early in his career that was equally carefully written. Three senior investigators had gone searching for a murderer, and two had been killed. One by Drayson's own gun. Of course, the report said the culprit had gotten ahold of the weapon in the struggle. It was mundane and unfortunate and nothing more. And not a body-possessing ghost.