A quick note before we start: As of this point, Approval Voting is no longer allowed in this Quest.
If it were not for an Index Proselyte, then everything would be okay.
No matter how often you revisit the memory of those minutes, you can not come up with any way it could have ended differently.
The pack just finished their run, carefully inching around an area policed by the Zwei with their next paycheck in a cooling bag. You got two careless folks who were dressed a little better than yourselves; just not so much to set off alarm bells.
It happened just as you all stopped to orient yourselves in a side alley. He was among you before anyone even realised, no more than a blur of black and white. Then there was red, a familiar crimson coating the cobblestone.
By the time you saw him, it was already over. Dead sacks of meat flopped to the ground, surrounding a lean man clad in a dark suit with white cloak. He sheathed his sleek blade, barely even touched by the blood it just spilled. Heads rolled this way and that as you stared in abject fear, caught up between the instinct to flee and horror at the sight in front of you.
The Proselyte paid you no mind. Though blindfolded, he studied a piece of parchment, then glanced around. "Seven, eight," he finished counting the dead, then nodded. "Good. Thirty-five Rats, all beheaded. That is my Prescript complete."
Then he left without so much as looking your way, long black hair trailing behind. Perhaps he watched you and the blindfold hid it, but not a word was spent on you. His mission was complete and though he could just finish you off, he did not. You were below his notice, even as the pipe in your hand shook.
Visceral anger bubbled in your guts, hot like fire. But even that could not overcome the fear, the knowledge that going after him would be death. Proselytes of the Index are powerful. Terror doused the flames as fast as they sprung up.
So you stood there in this alleyway, surrounded by the remains of your pack. All of them gone in an instant. You were powerless to protect them and you hated it. The anger turned inward then, from the Index to yourself. If you were stronger, this would not have happened.
You hated it.
You wanted it to stop.
Then you snapped out of it, but could not quite flee the scene yet. Eight dead bodies, freshly killed. Money was the issue, always was, you thought in that moment. But with enough money you could also solve some issues. Start getting stronger, follow your dream at last. They were all hollow justifications, you feel now. Hiding your greed, your desperation.
So you put down the filled sack, drew your knife, and got to work.
Your cuts were precise as always, but only the numbness that followed the anger kept you from collapsing. You moved through the day in a haze, so familiar to the past yet completely unlike it. All because some elusive force decided to order a man to kill Rats that particular day. All because you took this alley and not the other one.
After filling every sack you took off the corpses and stuffing all their belongings into your pockets, you marched on. Be it luck or the Proselyte having killed other Rats too, you made it to the dropoff point without incident; then to another and another, not stupid enough to try selling all the harvested organs in one place. Money changed hands, but today it did not make you happy.
Then you skittered home, still free of other packs. You somehow kept it together until the moment the door closed behind you and only you.
You did not really do much of anything since. Simply lay there and wallowed in misery. Living as a Rat made you numb to the many ways you or yours could die, but you never encountered such effortless brutality before; only the shining beacon that is the Purple Tear compares, but she did not come for you.
You want revenge on the Index and its Prescripts, but can not conceive how. Proselytes are the lowest rank and thus weakest members, yet a single one could slay you a hundred times in a single minute. You remember the face of the one who attacked you, but half of it was hidden by a blindfold.
And honestly, does it matter? Even if you got strong enough to kill a single Proselyte, that would not stop the Index. Killing all the Proselytes will not stop the Index. People die all the time in the City, the one you are after may already be dead by the time you get strong enough.
That does not mean you can just let it slide, though.
No.
The shivers stop. You slowly slide the cloth off your face and stare at the ceiling, hidden by near perfect darkness.
A deep breath is taken.
Blaming the Index is meaningless, in the end they all just follow orders from someone else. Maybe one day you can find out who that is and kill them. But you know one thing for certain: you do not want anything to do with that damned cult, or any cult. Mindlessly following whatever their Prescripts tell them, the thought is inconceivable. It is the same as being dead!
You sit up in the dark. The noise of Sweepers outside has passed, but the digital clock on the nightstand says there are still ten minutes until the Night In The Backstreets officially ends.
For now you just breathe. Your clothes are sweaty, but not so much that you need to wash them. Clammy hands rub each other for a little more warmth. You stick them under the thin blanket to absorb its warmth.
"Watch me," you then tell the empty room, eyes closed. "Arin, Mu. I will go where no Rat ever was. I promise."
Were you speaking to the living, those words would be meaningless. Rats can not afford to make or keep promises, having to break every single one sooner or later. Just another bitter reality in the City. But right here, right now, you vow to them and yourself that this is a promise you will keep no matter what.
Then you stand and turn on the light. It is deceptively soft, as much as anything can be in this hole. Weak bulbs that use less power, but at least they do not sting your eyes. You shuffle about the room to check yourself over; no traces of blood on your purple coat or dark slacks, blond hair unruly as always. You brush it a few times, not that that helps much.
Then you store your money. All of it. As great as it is to have, you will get nowhere sitting on it. This is all you have left of your little family, their own broken dreams among yours that yet takes breath. You will use every last coin.
Once the clock shows 4:34 AM, you open your door and scurry along. Head kept down and through the side street your little hovel opens into. Neon signs begin to glow already, diners that welcome customers and try to entice the early birds. You are among them today, but your mind is elsewhere. If anyone sees the money in your wallet or makes the connection with the pouch at your waist, you may be very dead very quickly.
You move through familiar streets under cover of night, clothes rustling ever so faintly. Along the way you think about recent events; if that Proselyte killed Rats in just this neighbourhood, then you have somewhat free reign for today. It will be a bit until other packs realise there is some space up for grabs and move in. By then you will not be one of them anymore.
You deftly jump over a beartrap that has been there for months. Its teeth are encrusted with dried blood, you know that even without seeing it today. It is always in the same spot, not that you ever learned who it belongs to.
A number of people are out and about, but most of them skitter through shadows like yourself. Better dressed people walk in the streetlights' shine and no one is dumb enough to try for them. You almost run straight into another Rat going the other way, only hearing their light steps in the last moment. You dodge right and they dodge left, you both pretending not to have seen the other. Whatever business they have, it is important enough to be out before dawn just like yours. An unspoken truce among the lowest, to live and let live when far more dangerous beings may lurk nearby.
It is in the twilight hours that you reach the Hana Assocation branch office. First of the twelve associations and often seen as the greatest, they grade Fixers and their offices, as well as all the City's dangers. It is here that your journey will truly begin, as it has for so many before you. Even the Purple Tear and Red Mist once walked up to such a quaint office building much like you. It is hard to imagine that all Colors started like this, but it also makes them feel a little closer to you.
The air is warmer on the inside, courtesy of a heating grid that the association can afford. The entire building stood out from the urban jungle already, mostly clean and without any visible damages while a neat sign above declared its purpose and whom it belongs to. Even the most ruthless Syndicate would not dare strike at an Association Office without good reason.
You immediately feel out of place upon stepping inside, suddenly bathed in white light that hurts the eyes. The receptionist's eyes are on you, too; you can feel her gaze, dissecting your every motion. She clearly notices the pipe haphazardly strapped to your back. It is hard not to hunch over reflexively, find a darker corner to hide in. Years and years of experience scream at you to not be caught in the open. It is just the two of you. If she wanted, she could kill you without anyone ever knowing.
Nothing happens for a few tense seconds. When you finally manage to look up, her expression shows no hostility; she does not seem to have measured you up before even though you know she did. Her white suit is ironed and immaculate, much like the visitor area itself is clean and tidy.
Taking a deep breath, you stomp on your instincts this once and move forward. The receptionist waits patiently until you stand before her before greeting you: "Welcome to Hana Association East, Section Six. What is your business with us today?"
Not a word is spent on the early hour or your being armed. Then again, you know she could kill you with a flick of her wrist; she knows that, too. Your throat is dry, but you force out the words you always wanted to speak.
"I want to become a Fixer."
Your voice is soft, much like it always was. Some called it weak, but it rarely ever breaks and neither does it now. But there is neither ridicule nor denial from the woman; if anything, what wariness the receptionist still held is gone. She immediately turns to business, falling into a sort of monotone that tells you she repeated these words a thousand times: "Of course. To obtain a Fixer license, you need to fill out these forms. In addition, the processing fee and assorted sums must be paid up-front."
She names a number that has you wince. Knowing it would not come cheap was one thing, but being confronted with it directly is still different. Maybe she waits for you to say you do not have that much money, even if it is just chump change for her. But instead you simply nod and draw your wallet, no matter how much it hurts.
She does not become friendly afterward, but there is at least a trace of warmth when she offers you a pen. Or maybe she is just pleased that you do not make trouble for her. Perhaps both.
Regardless, you then spend half an hour filling out paperwork. The Hana take everything in triplicate, your citizen ID and personal details as well as information about previous occupations and the like. The section about ongoing lawsuits confuses you even as you make a cross at 'No', at least until you realise this covers being in debt.
Though it is early, two other people come in while you work away at one of the small tables they set up just for this. Each time you flinch and risk a peek, but both wear the same white uniform. Hana Fixers without doubt. You get wary looks from each, though they lose all interest when they see the papers you work on.
With a faint sigh you place the last signature and return to the receptionist, who stops idly spinning another pen between her fingers faster than the eye can see. She receives the papers and studies the pages, then nods. "Very good, this is all in order."
You then have to wait another ten minutes before she hands you a card carrying your name, a Fixer identification number, and a prominent 'Grade 9' stamped on it. The Hana's seal makes it official and you receive the ID card with reverence.
"You will begin as a Grade Nine Fixer," she explains and you hang on her lips. "You are free to apply to any Fixer Office or form your own, a catalog of options is presented in the room over there. Hana Association recommends not to act as a one-person Office and find employment at an established one. In addition, all cases you resolve require a written report be submitted to Hana Association. For more details, you may consult this guide."
A booklet out of sturdy paper is handed to you. A quick skim down the table of contents tells you this has everything you need to know about your new obgilations, up to and including the taxation of every Fixer Grade. You clutch it to your chest like a new treasure and nod.
"Okay. Thank you."
She huffs, breaking the professional mask and throwing you a wink. "Don't thank me yet, fresh meat. Lotta folks have no idea what they're getting into. But being polite'll get you places," she praises with a smirk. "So I'll give you a freebie: it doesn't really matter which Office you go to. Associations don't take Grade Nine's and all the Grade Nine or Eight Offices just grab what jobs they can get. No specialisations or anything."
You soak up everything and thank her again, then hesitate. "If I may ask, what is your Grade, ma'am?"
"Six."
That one word makes you firm up unconciously, almost standing at attention. Just like you thought, she could break you to pieces without breaking a sweat. The receptionist huffs over your reaction and makes a dismissive motion. "Good to know you know how things work. I could probably go higher, but I like being safely behind this desk."
You have opinions on that, but know better than to say them. You just nod and glance to the room she indicated earlier. "Erm, is it okay to come back later to look at the different Offices in the area?"
"Sure, these services are offered to all Fixers. Anything else?"
She slipped back into her montone, but you notice the twitch of her brows and the hint of annoyance. Seems her patience is running out pretty quick now. You decide not to risk bothering her further, thank her again, and wish her a calm day.
Leaving the Hana Office, you feel like a weight is lifted off your shoulders. The atmosphere in there was stifling for some reason. Yet the edges of your Fixer ID dig into your palm. That sensation grounds you as you stand in the shadows. It is sturdy enough not to break even though you squeezed it hard, faintly reflecting a nearby streetlight.
You did it. You are a Fixer now. Even if it is the lowest Grade, you made the first step.
Despite the awful yesterday, knowing this draws a faint smile onto your lips. Step by step toward your goal.
Next up, your stomach aches in a reminder that your last meal was a full day ago. So you quickly dart away and toward a cheap diner you know. Dawn breaks in the meantime and you slowly start to see people you recognise in the streets.
It is the same crowd, the same colours, smells, and sounds. Yet today the City feels a little different. Instead of skittering around, you force yourself to walk amidst the throngs of people; nobody pays you any mind, the faceless mass accepting you without complaint.
Even the food tastes better; maybe it is because you decided to treat yourself with some of the middling options instead of the cheap stuff, but the super sweet coffee invigorates you and the sandwiches make you feel full. Throughout the meal you peek at your new ID and feel a surge of confidence.
Today marks the first day of your new life, for good or ill.
But you still have a decent amount of money burning a hole in your pocket. Rent will be no problem for a few weeks, tax season is still months away. Now is the perfect time to spend it all and you will do that. The question is on what.
After eating and taking a quick walk through an area policed by Zwei Association to clear your head, you decide to ask someone who knows better than you. The receptionist lady is still on duty by the time you return to the Hana branch office, she even recognises you by the look she gives. Seeing that she is not busy right now, you approach her.
"As a Fixer, what is the most important to spend my money on?"
"Good question," she muses, thankfully willing to indulge you. You take note of her red hair as she mulls it over, tied into a bun that makes her seem more stern than she is. It seems almost silky and gleams in the office lights. She definitely has enough money to afford caring for it, is what you realise when she finishes thinking.
"Okay, there are two really big things to start with: augments and equipment, well weapons mostly. Both are important, but I'd say you should start with augs. Whatever sort of Fixer you wanna be, get started on it the moment you can. You won't get much fighting done at Grade Nine unless you go looking for it, anyway. Can be a good way to grab some more jobs though, I guess?" She shrugs off the notion and waves toward you. "The other thing is that you can lose a weapon unless it's bionic. Or someone can steal it if you don't pay attention. Losing a limb or your heart or eyes is much harder, you get me?"
You nod. Her reasoning makes sense, although you personally feel that information is equally as important as either of those things. Then again, that is probably much harder to buy at your Grade.
"Great. So yeah, augs over weapons is what I say. And don't skimp on quality if you can afford it. One good aug or sword is better than a shitty version of both."
Again you nod, having received her wisdom. You quickly disregard the idea you had earlier to buy as much as your money can afford. Stretching each Ahn as far as it can go works for food, but not this.
It is also Rat thinking, and you are a Rat no more.
"I got it, thank you very much."
"Heh, don't mention it. Ciel, was it?"
You freeze up for a moment, wondering how she knows your name. Then you realise she must have seen it on your paperwork. For some reason she barks out a little laugh at your reaction. "Name's Giano. Drop by if you make it to Grade 8, I'm curious how far you can go."
"I will. Thank you again, Ms. Giano."
She waves you off and you head into the adjacent room to look at the local Offices. But the matter you spoke about remains in mind. Before actually going to any of them, you will spend the rest of your money. There are countless options in Workshops and enhancements or weapons, you can get just about anything as long as it is not too fancy.
[] Follow Giano's advice and get an augment
-[] (optional) write-in what type, what organ, or what effect (be as precise or vague as you want)
Examples: Strength augment, enhanced eyeballs for toggled low light vision
[] Pick up a decent weapon first
-[] (optional) write-in what type, a particular Workshop, and/or what else it can do (be as precise or vague as you want)
Examples: A concealable weapon, something that can change size, a Stigma Workshop burning axe
No write-ins beyond the subvotes. I will say if a proposed option goes above Ciel's budget.
We also have a nine hour Moratorium. Please do not vote for 9 hours.
-Ciel receives a new trait.
(Noting Ciel's current traits for posterity, so people coming in later do not need to brave spoilers)
-A Stroke of Purple: Even if it was ultimately nothing, Ciel will never forget that encounter.
-Beloved Gold: Ciel dares have a favourite colour. It shines bright like the future they envision.
-Indexed the Index: Due to past grief, Ciel will never work with members of the Index unless there is absolutely no other way. They are wary and distrustful of religious groups of any kind.
-Ciel's occupation changes from "Rat" to "Grade 9 Fixer"
-Ciel's Wealth will change from "Well off (for Rats)" to "Completely Broke (for Grade-9 Fixers)" after the currently voted purchase
-Unlocked Contacts, to be found in Dramatis Personae
-Added Hana Fixer Giano to Contacts
