The Battle Royale S2 [Round 4: Burnination Studios]

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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Minister Norve was less than pleased with how the day was turning out. First he had been assigned by Acolyte Midro to keep an eye on Calor - not officially, of course, but Norve knew enough to read between the lines.

Unpleasant as that duty was, it was only made worse by the fact that Calor was very good at devising tasks that the Minister couldn't easily pass off to a page, due to the sensitive nature of the data involved. It turned out there were quite a few such distractions you could plausibly construct when two murderers suddenly disappeared. And, of course, if Norve were to suggest that another Minister perform these menial tasks, he would be rebuked for insubordination.

The worst of it had been scouring the archives. One of the suspects - or "cold-blooded killers", as Calor had called them - appeared to be a genetic construct, and so poor Norve had been ordered to find a profile for him. He hadn't even seriously considered asking why it hadn't already been done - why would it have been necessary, after all, when the suspects were right there to be questioned, tried and convicted?

That task had taken several hours. Several hours during which Norve had no idea where Calor was or what he was doing. The worst part was that Norve had been completely unable to locate any file on the suspect - he half-expected Calor to miraculously have it on hand already, just to ensure his watchdog would be forced to check every last record.

It was almost a relief when that wasn't the case.

"No file whatsoever?" Calor asked incredulously.

"None. Looked everywhere, no one fitting his description."

"That could mean a number of things, none of them good. For one, he might know our system well enough to find and remove his own file. Unpleasant as that would be, I actually find it the least disturbing possibility."

"How so, sir?" Norve knew the answer, but appearing ignorant was better than appearing complicit.

"Because the next possibility that comes to mind is that someone in the church removed it for him."

"Oh. I should hope not, sir; the thought that one of us could be aiding such a criminal is most disquieting." And also completely true, he was sure.

"Worse yet, he might be the work of an unlicensed geneticist. That would provide a clear motive, of course... perhaps the human was the geneticist, and the Grand Inquisitor, rest his soul, had uncovered their operation."

Norve could tell Calor liked this theory. He expected it would become the official truth if the escapees were caught.

"That does sound plausible, sir," he said noncommitally.

"Or worst of all, he might be an off-worlder. That would be a grave problem, as you surely know."

"Absolutely, sir," Norve replied. He found himself wishing he had gone with Zaedr instead.

Calor stared at the Minister for a while. Were it not for his great self-control, Norve would have sighed as he anticipated Calor's latest excuse.

"Well, we apprehended some other prisoners last night," he mused. "I need to question them as well."

Norve was almost certain he wouldn't be coming along.

"But we cannot ignore this murder, of course. Look into the files on past incidents involving rogue geneticists or off-worlders. Perhaps they will give us insight into which of those we are dealing with."

"Yes, sir," Norve agreed reluctantly.

He was not looking forward to reporting back to Midro later.

Calor smiled as his guard dog wandered off. There was only one more matter to take care of before he could let Midro's little spy see all that he pleased.

****

Brother Lanston was beginning to think he had been forgotten. He had been captured at least eight hours ago, and there was no sign of any Inquisitor, Grand or otherwise.

Finally, Acoylte Calor stepped in, alone.

"I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience," he said with a smirk. "The day has been quite a bit busier than I expected."

"You're not the Grand Inquisitor," Lanston noted calmly.

"Alas, the Grand Inquisitor departed this mortal coil last night. I am left to take on his Earthly duties."

"I'm sure you're devastated by his passing, Acolyte. However will you cope, having so much less work involved in talking to your old friends alone?"

Calor sneered as he grabbed Lanston's arm.

"I think I'll manage. Don't think this will change anything about the usual arrangements."

"Didn't think so," Lanston murmured. "This is always such a fun part."

Calor dragged Lanston to the wall and shoved his forearm into a small opening. He turned a crank; Lanston howled with pain as the unknown machinery crushed his fingers, but really, it wasn't as if this was a new experience. The anguished screams were more for the sake of appearances than anything else.

"Enough pleasantries, Brother Lanston. We have business to discuss. I assume that's why you raised such a ruckus, after all." Calor fiddled with a dial, and two long chains with shackles attached dropped from the ceiling.

"Wish I had more exciting news. AAAAGGH!! IT BURNS!" He screeched again, just as Calor locked up his ankles. "The Matriarch wants her payment to keep quiet, as usual - AAAAAAA!! - and that traitor you mentioned last time has been taken care of."

"Good, good," Calor said absentmindedly as he turned the dial the other way. The chains retracted back towards the ceiling, pulling Lanston's shackled legs with them.

"Oh, wait. There was one other small matter - MERCY! MERCY!" Lanston howled as Calor pulled a hot poker from the wall and prodded his back. "When I was arrested at Johnny's, I saw a rather interesting customer. Most likely a reject, given where he was, not to mention what he looked like..."

"Get to the point, Lanston. I've had enough delays already today." Calor grabbed Lanston's other hand and drove it through a spike on the wall, prompting another shriek. "And you could stand to be a little less melodramatic about this."

"My apologies, Acolyte," Lanston grumbled. "Here's what matters. This stranger looked human, except for one little detail. He had wings. Great big white wings."

Calor actually stopped a moment before he pulled the next lever. It was Lanston's least favorite, but he knew the reprieve would be brief.

"Would you say they were the purest white?" Calor asked, before pulling the lever. The mechanisms inside the wall began drawing Lanston further in, even as the chains continued to slowly retract towards the ceiling.

It was the anticipation that was the worst part, really.

"Bit dirty, but yeah, probably would be if you cleaned them off. Anyway, that's my report. Mostly I came to see if you had a new job for me."

Calor chuckled.

"As a matter of fact, I do. It's interesting that you should mention the Matriarch. I have recently come to the conclusion that trying to please that woman simply isn't worth the trouble."

He pulled a small circular device out of his robe, then pulled out a dagger from his belt. He stabbed Lanston through the heart and stuffed the device in the wound.

"So I've decided to give her a little gift. Just leave it in her desk, where you usually leave my payments. She'll be certain to find it there, I should think."

Lanston felt the world fading.

"Got it. Don't know why you waited until now to do this, but then, I'm not paid to ask questions. Just the opposite, really."

"A wise man. You'll go far, Brother Lanston." Calor smiled, then stabbed the cultist in the stomach a few times for good measure. "Oh, yes, you won't be leaving by the usual route this time. Someone appears to be targeting our members, so we're changing our regular plans to throw them off. You should wake up near Dr. Lo's office, in the company of two recruiters. They'll guide you back to headquarters once their shift is over"

"Got it. Don't see what I have to worry about, though."

"We would prefer not to take chances," Calor said solemnly, slicing off Lanston's head. "And, of course, should you happen to find our Winged Arbiter again, bring him to me one way or another. I believe he could prove very useful."

"That'll cost you extra, you know," Lanston's head mumbled just as he passed out.

Calor released the body and pulled it out, along with the head. He left them on the floor, and left the room, only to find Norve waiting for him with a stack of papers in hand.

"This is everything I could find, sir," the Minister said, doing his best to hide his annoyance. "I would have knocked, but I wasn't bred with an extra hand."

"Good, good," Calor said. "Why don't you take those to my office while I question our remaining prisoners? Oh, yes, and there's a mess that needs cleaning up in there. There's no need to attend to it yourself, but I would appreciate it if you could inform one of my pages."

Norve sighed.

"Fine. Would you like me to take your notes on the last interrogation while I'm at it?"

"That won't be necessary," Calor said. "I'll bring all my notes with me when I arrive later."

After you remember to write them, no doubt, Norve thought.

***

It was not easy for genetic rejects to see a doctor on Endymion. Though recent laws banned them from being refused service outright, most doctors had simply opted to discourage rejects in other ways.

Dr. Lo had stepped in to fill that void. He had resigned from a lucrative post at Genetics to serve his fellow man, even if most of his former colleagues would never see them as equals.

But his clinic was not merely a medical center. Dr. Lo realized that as matters stood, rejects had few opportunities for education. As a small step towards rectifying that problem, he had gathered a large collection of books and opened a library in the clinic's basement.

At first, it seemed like the library was a futile gesture; more than three-quarters of Lo's patients were illiterate. But those who could read were eager to teach others, at least once Dr. Lo told them how much he was willing to pay for their services.

Sirius was finding one of them especially eager.

"You really can read already?" it asked. It was a large toadlike creature, and Sirius had no idea of its gender.

"Yes," he said. He turned his attenton back to his book, A Brighter Future: The Path To True Equality For Discontinued Genetic Lines. He was beginning to understand how Wardell felt.

"Come on, I bet you can't get all the words in that book. 'S a real fancy one, y'know. Good, though, real good - gave me lots to think about."

"Please leave me alone," Sirius said firmly. "I've had a long day, this is the first time in a good while I haven't had my employer shouting in my ear, and I don't need anyone else getting on my nerves."

"But I get a bonus if I teach the most people to read this week! Come on, it won't take long! I could give you the advanced course, you'll like it!"

"No."

"Ah, come on! I really need that bonus! Why, I'll even treat you to one of Johnny's meat pies..."

The force of Sirius' glare convinced the tutor to look elsewhere for students.

"Finally," Sirius grumbled, focusing on his book again. The Eccentric had agreed to a half-hour of quiet time, and Sirius intended to make the most of it.

His solitude didn't last long. Less than a minute later, what appeared to be a four foot tall mound of hair pulled up a seat next to him.

"Good... book?" the hairy creature asked, slowly. Sirius simply nodded.

"Glad... think... so," it said. "I... wrote."

Sirius looked at his new companion, surprised. "You wrote? You mean, this book?"

The creature excitedly nodded what seemed to be its head. Its rapid movements contrasted strangely with the pace of its speech.

"Yes... I... wrote. Wrote... about... us. Tell... world... of... struggle. Our... struggle."

"Did anyone help you?" Sirius asked, staring with disbelief at an eloquently-written passage. It was hard to reconcile with the image before him.

"New... ones... always... ask. Because... I... talk... slow." The hairball laughed weakly. "But... no... wrote... by... self. Talking... hard. Writing... easier. Learned... read... then... learned... write. Then... wrote."

"You're very good at it," Sirius said, surprised. "How long did it take you to write this?"

"Two... months. Doctor... printed... for... me. Said... not... likely... sell."

Sirius couldn't help but agree. The book had no kind words for the current leadership, and it had little sympathy for the ordinary citizens who, despite the new laws, mostly continued to mistreat rejects - or "discontinued genetic lines", the author's prefered term. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to buy a book that told them how terrible they were.

"But... he... liked. Told... me... talk... to... us. Get... more... writers. More... voices... heard."

"And has anyone else started writing?"

"Not... many. Too... busy. Need... money. Doctor... tries... to... help. But... he... needs... money... too."

Sirius doubted that Dr. Lo would have much luck getting a publishing house interested, either.

"I... write... new... book. Here... take... look."

The hairball thrust a limb into its thick fur, and pulled out a partial manuscript. The title read A Comprehensive History of Endymion.

"I... write... for... us. Next... write... for... everyone. Doctor... thinks... might... sell. Give... us... chance... write... more."

Sirius thought he heard a mental yawn. He suspected that his break was nearly over.

"I wish you the best," he said.

"Thank... you." The hairball giggled. "You... hear... about... Director?"

"No," Sirius lied. News travelled fast, apparently.

"Genetics... Director," he continued, clearly pleased. "Slipped... on... peel. Stuck... on... back. For... one... hour."

"Really? I wish I could have seen the look on his face," Sirius said, smiling awkwardly. "But listen, I'm afraid I have to go now..."

"Back... to... work... yes?" the little creature said, sighing a little. "What... job?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Sirius replied. "I prefer to think about it as little as possible."

"Hear... that... lots," the creature said with a nod. "Hope... you... find... better... job."

"That makes two of us," Sirius agreed, stepping away just as he heard the Eccentric's familiar mental tone.


Ah, that was a good nap. Where are we? A library? Ooh, grab a book or two before we leave, I know some good tricks with books...

****

Lanston groaned. He looked down at his body.

"You've put it on backwards, you idiots!" he yelled at the two cloaked cultists hovering over the table. He grabbed his head and snapped it off. "Now do it right, hopefully before I pass out again."

"Well, sorry! It's not like any of this is marked or anything!" the shorter of the pair retorted, grabbing Lanston's head. His taller companion flipped the body over, and the shorter man shoved the head back on.

"Much better," Lanston grumbled. He picked himself up and threw a cloak over his body, much to the relief of the other two; few had seen Lanston without his cloak, and those who had generally regretted it. "Ugh, wish they'd sent me to the usual place instead. Where I could be put back together competently."

"We had little choice, Brother," the taller cultist replied in a raspy, feminine voice. "Someone seems to be aware of our activities. Several members have been struck by unusual pranks since last night."

"Pranks?" Lanston sneered. "This is what has you all worried?"

"It's worrying as hell!" the shorter cultist declared. "Whoever it is knows who we are. Maybe the pranks are just a warning. Maybe they're toying with us before these pranks turn more dangerous."

"Or maybe it's just dumb luck," Lanston said. "Whatever it is, I doubt I have much to worry about."

"The rest of us lack your particular talents, Brother," hissed the taller cultist. "Pardon us if we are more concerned."

"Whatever," Lanston grumbled. "So when's your shift over? I've got business with the Matriarch, and I don't know my way around this part of town."

"It might as well be over now. Lo's been bad for business. He's got his own line with the rejects, and he warns them not to have anything to do with us. It's been weeks since we got anyone around here to join."

"Then quit wasting my time. You know where I'm headed, show me the way."

Grudgingly, the pair walked out, with Lanston following at a distance he found comfortable. They soon passed Dr. Lo's office; Lanston noticed that his companions were walking quite a bit faster.

"What's the rush?" he asked. "Afraid he'll give you a flu shot?"

"Afraid of his patients. I told you, most of 'em don't like us."

"The door's opening!" the tall cultist hissed. "Move faster!"

"Cowards," Lanston muttered, glancing back at the door. "What's one reject going to..."

He smiled beneath his hood as he saw a familiar face step out of the clinic. Or more accurately, a familiar pair of wings.

Lanston leapt in front of his fleeing companions and held out his arms.

"What's the big idea?" the short one asked. "You got a problem with us hurryin' to get you home?"

Lanston pointed behind them at the angel spreading his wings.

"Our Winged Arbiter has arrived," he said simply. "And I think the Matriarch will want some words with him."