20 - Mystery of the Merchants
GraftingBuddha
Retired Pooh-Bah
20 - Mystery of the Merchants
The group split apart silently, Sanagi heading to the door while Turk returned to his counter. Ahab remained sitting, mind consumed by memories which had no business hurting as much as they did. She desperately wanted to bug Turk for a bottle of bathtub moonshine, but she was fully aware that he was getting nervous about the possible contaminants seeping into that stuff. Maybe she'd steal one and leave some money in its place. She knew he'd never bring it up - Turk was nice like that - but that'd make it oddly worse. Far more guilt. She sank back into her very alcoholic tea. Taylor, on the other hand, stood from the table and followed Sanagi. Even Turk raised an eyebrow at that, while it took Ahab about ten seconds to realise she was actually gone. She shrugged and returned to the tea. Girl's gotta do what girls gotta do, or something to that effect.
"Hey, wait up!"
Sanagi paused, turning a stride into a spin with professional grace - very useful move, the improvised heel-spin. Very good for making people think you actually had some control over your body and therefore your life. Taylor, on the other hand, abruptly ground to a slightly flailed halt. She did not seem professional, and her general dishevelled appearance certainly didn't help. Sanagi silently praised her authoritarian father for drilling these ideas into her. They made life much more tinted by smugness - sure, she was a poorly paid beat cop, but damn it, she held herself well. Posture for days, baby.
"Yes?"
She asked, curtly, not too aggressive, not too welcoming, completely businesslike.
"You were still on that Henderson case, right?"
"...Not officially, but I'm still interested."
"Well, I was wondering if I could help with it."
Sanagi felt a familiar twitch of boiling rage faintly masked beneath professional courtesy.
"...How?"
A dragonfly landed on her nose. A big one, too. She let out an unprofessional yelp and jumped back, swatting the thing and wincing as she grazed her still-sore nose.
"Fair enough" she spluttered. "But you're not a cop, Taylor - actually, can I call you Miss Hebert? Feels weird calling you Taylor."
Taylor nodded.
"Great, well, Miss Hebert, you're not a policewoman. You're not even a deputy. I can't reasonably trust you with police business."
A raised eyebrow.
"You said you were on the case unofficially."
"True, but-"
"I'm guessing beat cops don't exactly get nice juicy cases like this, right?"
"Also true, but hardly-"
"So why not let me tag along? You've already taken a video from an ex-mercenary's USB-compatible eyeball seriously, why not Taylor the bug girl?"
She really needed some sleep. And damn it, she'd barely had a single cup of tea. She was getting jittery, and was saying ridiculous things like 'Taylor the bug girl'. Sanagi relented.
"Fine. You can tag along. But you do exactly what I say when I say it, no questions, no backtalk. Am I understood?"
"Crystal."
"Wrong response. 'Crystal' is a rejoinder to 'are we clear', 'do you understand' has only two acceptable responses, yes or no."
Taylor hated to admit that she was right. Again, sleep was surprisingly important.
"Yes, OK. I understand."
"Good."
She ducked into her car - a nifty little number that was still surprsingly clean. Fuel efficient, relatively aerodynamic, cheap but not poor-quality, fully insured. It was one of her little pet projects, something she spent far too long caring for. She even washed it herself on the weekends, rather than let some half-rate fresh-off-the-boat washer use knockoff cleaning chemicals that left streaks (OK, wow Sanagi, sounding like your father again). She glanced at Taylor, hoping that she'd be impressed. Taylor was not. Taylor was impassive. She hated it, she clearly hated her car, her beautiful little car which she had spent so much goddamn time slaving over and this is why she didn't let other people into her car they never understood how much time and effort was inherent to keeping these things in proper condition, content to slave away behind sticky dashboards on dusty seats with piles and piles of filthy filthy TRASH everywhere and
Sanagi calmed herself with a few deep breaths. Taylor reached over and patted her on the knee, hesitantly.
"It's OK, my… my mom died in a car crash, I was terrified of getting a ride from anyone for a while. Just take it slow, you'll be fine."
Taylor, without a doubt, needed sleep and tea. Reasonable Taylor would have said absolutely nothing. Sanagi, unaware of this, was internally screaming as she slowly eased into the road, keeping a safe distance from every other driver. She broke the silence with a strained voice.
"So, Turk's camera caught the documents you were intending on getting from that file room - only reason he left them behind, as I understand it."
Taylor blinked. How had she forgotten about that?
Oh, right, centipede cult.
"Turns out the cult kept a close eye on its followers, made sure they were staying to the straight and narrow. If this is the same cult from the 1960s, they'd be very interested in keeping things nice and quiet. Uppity members ruined them in Tokyo. So, they noticed when Miss Henderson started associating with a gentleman they classified as 'problematic'. Brent DeNeuve. I knew the name - he's a well-known troublemaker, associated with the Merchants but never pinned with anything serious. Unlike most Merchants, functional enough to actually survive without going into a drug-induced coma or being killed over something petty. Or being imprisoned by us. Whichever comes first. Instead, he just works through other people. Not talented enough to be a kingpin, but talented enough to survive. DeNeuve's a scumbag, but he'd know well enough to not go after some rich kid - Skidmark would probably kill him before we could."
She pulled into a nastier part of town, dead-eyed hobos staring from street corners with unashamed curiosity and hostility. She felt oddly proud. Now that was an appropriate response to the superior condition of her cost-effective and exquisitely maintained car.
"Thankfully, DeNeuve is a known quantity, mostly. We've got an address tied to him, couple of minutes from here by car. Crappy apartment, nothing serious."
"The last time I said some place was 'nothing serious' we ran into a giant centipede."
"...this is a moron's apartment, not a cultist base. You'll do reconnaissance, make sure the place is empty. If it is, we go in. If it isn't, we buy fast food so we don't have to talk to each other. Understood?"
"Yep."
"Good."
And with that, Sanagi fell silent. Unlike the potential stakeout, however, there was no fast food, and thus Taylor was left to twiddle her thumbs and fixate on random things in the neighbourhood. They were passing by the old shipping containers they'd repurposed into homes - a potent reminder of why she wanted to leave this place as soon as possible. She saw old buildings, moving shapes passing by broken windows, eyes feverish and hungry staring at them from shadowy interiors. She smelled weed, God, so much weed, and half the corners seemed to have an abandoned needle or two. The squatters and homeless who were out and about were usually huddled around small fires, talking quietly, or were shaking alone in the grips of some poison or another.
There was a casual harshness to the place, seen in every brick, every window, every grey face. The light caught on things cruelly, never really illuminating - it was either blinding light or complete darkness. The sun threw every broken thing in sharp relief, broken windows like glass fangs, aged bricks like a pockmarked termite nest, faces harsh and unappealing. Taylor huddled down into her seat, blocking it out. Soon, they pulled up outside the place - another tall, unremarkable building that had seen better days, streaked with graffiti and with a gaggle of homeless men standing around a fire, swapping a bottle around. They watched curiously as the clean car swept into the car park, sending loose wrappers and discarded newspapers flying. Sanagi leaned back, eyes watchful and cautious.
"Well?"
Taylor blinked. Oh, right, bugs. The building, hell, the neighbourhood was full of them. Her first action, petty as it was, was to remove the lice from certain… choice areas of the people in the surrounding area. Call it her little act of charity. Or, more accurately, call it a consequence of sensing damn near everything they sensed. Then, swarms of cockroaches and fruit flies began to manoeuvre about the building, scouting out every corridor she came into contact with. She hesitated every now and again, terrified that something similar to the centre would happen - some force would steal her abilities, turn them against her, hurt her with a single twitch of its own unfathomable powers. But there was nothing. Junkies shaking, occasional men or women talking to themselves in empty apartments, even a few haggard-looking people working at something or another. Nothing major. Nothing terrifying. Nothing at all.
"Where's his apartment?"
"Penultimate floor, room 5B."
Her insects scuttled towards doors, checking the numbers. 5A, 5D, 5I… 5B. Man, this place was arranged weirdly. Still, 5B was located and infiltrated in a moment. Nothing. Discarded trash, a general veneer of filth and decay, a fridge that, to be honest, had swelled her swarm's numbers by a sickening amount… but no living person. No dog, no cat, nothing. No shivering junkies or smiling stoners. Nothing.
"Nothing."
"Good. No earpieces this time - sorry, didn't expect company. You'll come with me. Keep an eye on my car."
She paused.
"If you make some bug-related mess in my car, there will be consequences. Clear?"
"Crystal."
Sanagi smiled. It wasn't a very nice small - too tight, too small, too quick. But it was something. Taylor did still feel rather guilty about punching her in the face. And landing a spider on her face. And landing a dragonfly on her face. She very much hoped she'd never need to land an insect on her face again.
The two stepped out, Sanagi shooting a glare at the homeless men. Taylor did her best to replicate it. She failed, but it felt good to try. The moment they entered the building, some of them drifted over to give it a look, but a few mosquitoes buzzing right next to their ear made them flap around irritably, and a spider in their clothes made them back off, swearing violently. Didn't need to hurt them, didn't need to exhibit her powers openly - just needed to make them annoyed enough to not bother with the car. If they got any more determined - not sure why they would, it wasn't a particularly good car - she'd get some wasps to harass them, make them think there was a nest nearby.
The building was filthy. The lobby was a simple affair with an elevator, a set of stairs, and a black-and-white tiled floor. Well, it would have been black and white. Now it was more black and sullen grey-green. Piles of thick dust had accumulated in the corners. Dim light streamed through windows caked with grime, the overhead light flickering weakly. Sanagi withdrew a cheap pen from her pocket, delicately pushing the 'call' button on the elevator. Taylor's senses felt bodies on the stairs, some sleeping, some talking to themselves. The elevator, based on the one spider she had inside, was thankfully empty. It was, however, incredibly slow. They watched the display needle slowly sink from '5' to '1', inch by torturous inch.
Sanagi was silent. Taylor was silent - a fact that Sanagi deeply appreciated. Professionalism at last. Though the kid desperately needed to find something else to wear. She was wearing smart casual - practical trousers, flannel shirt which concealed a stab-proof vest work had been kind enough to give her, heavy (but not military) boots, expensive watch poached from a military supplier, glass sanded to prevent it from giving off any glare. Her stance, her expression, her bearing, all of these screamed readiness. No-one would mess with her. She hoped. Taylor, on the other hand, was dressed… well, like a disaster. Black trousers, black hoodie, and with her skin and hair? Sanagi had to restrain herself from sniffing derisively - dressing that like, paradoxically, made you far more noticeable. Black was generally a poor colour for most practical activities - mess didn't show up clearly, meaning you could easily get some crap on you and simply fail to notice it. Likewise, it was poor camouflage in the dark - perfect darkness was rare, there was always something to it which gave it character, and stark black clothes stood out against that. Navy blue, now there was a stealthy colour. The bagginess of the hoodie made it easier to grab, the trousers looked like they'd fail to pass muster for a hike of any real length… Sanagi stopped herself. Enough with the criticism. The kid was helping. Even if she dressed poorly while doing it. Nobody's perfect.
The words 'nobody's perfect' are usually said with a sense of resignation, perhaps faint bemusement. It's an acknowledgement of imperfection, but a universal one - an indictment of humanity, not an individual human. Sanagi never said it with resignation. She said - or thought, in this instance - with anger. Simmering rage. Sure, nobody is perfect. But that doesn't mean nobody will be perfect - that was unacceptable. Nor does it mean nobody was perfect. There have been perfect people, there will be perfect people, and Sanagi had the unfortunate accident of living in an era with none.
The elevator 'dinged', and the two began to go up, avoiding the slightly sticky walls of the cramped metal cube.
Silence.
The elevator was, indeed, bloody slow. It seemed to go on forever, really. It was like a lozenge stuck in the throat of an old man - there was wheezing, rumbling, coughing, high-pitched squeaks of agitation… and eventually they were spat out on the fifth floor. It had taken them no less than four minutes to ascend four floors in a cramped building with low ceilings. Sanagi was on the verge of tears, suspecting that there'd be a crowd of criminals waiting for them in the hallway, stoned on some drug or another, but there weren't, and relief washed over her in an awesome wave.
Taylor silently preened at her companion's obvious relief. There had been a few people loitering around a moment before. They seemed to be waiting for their friend, who lived in one of the apartments, to wake from his fugue to let them in so they could enter into a fugure of a more collective nature - revolutionaries redistributing the compacted green wealth of their friend, from each according to his ability to each according to his need. Alas, their friend was blind to the hymn of their revolution (repeated knocks and shouted expletives), and remained in a distinctly bourgeois funk of foul fumes. A few choice stings had woken the man, and he'd hurriedly answered the pounding from the door. And thus, the hallway was clear. Ah, powers. How did she ever live without them.
And there it was, room 5B. Unremarkable, like all the others. Not particularly well-kept, not enormously run-down. Perfectly average for the building - that is to say, unacceptable in even a marginally cleaner place, but unremarkable here. Her bugs still sensed no-one. Sanagi quietly withdrew a small, delicate tool, and began to work on the lock. Taylor considered just getting a giant pile of bugs - Lord knows there were enough of the things in there - to open the door by weighing down the handle. She decided against it. Sanagi looked like she needed the win.
A few minutes later, the door swung wide, letting forth a noxious wave of air, all rot and pot. Nasty combination. The two entered, cautiously, closing the door behind them. Even Taylor was cautious - her bugs detected nothing, but her faith in her own powers had been tested quite severely lately. One couldn't help but be nervous when their favoured tool had a proven possibility of failure. The apartment was filthy as she had expected - but blissfully empty. There was a slightly odd air to the place - nothing major, just a sense of wrongness. The way the dust caught the light, the way the vent almost seemed to pulse like a living thing, a metal throat breathing raspily into the stale air. Tricks of the mind, nothing more. Hopefully.
They spent the next few minutes poring through the place. DeNeuve was nowhere to be found, and he didn't leave hugely detailed records of his dealings. Nothing obvious - no concrete rooms where prisoners could be kept, no blood-stained implements, no ledger books marked 'Kidnappings/Assaults/Murders (current year)'. Sanagi was growing frustrated when Taylor crowed victoriously as she stood by a bedside table. She rushed over to see Taylor proudly pointing at a bottle of nail polish.
"...Nail polish."
"Julia's nail polish"
"How exactly can you tell?"
"It's her brand - I remember… well, she was kind of a jackass at school. Couple of times she slapped me, and I noticed her nails. Just… odd, that was what they were. Different polish to most people."
Sanagi examined the bottle closely. At first sight it was unremarkable, but the brand set it apart - something called Jurchen Tongue, a slightly nauseating logo of an open mouth with a long, curling tongue emerging, glowing a near-radioactive colour. She checked the rest - foreign import, Mongolian brand. Rare stuff - but she could see the appeal. As unpleasant as the labelling was, Mongolian goods these days were damn well regarded - the success of Mongolia in evading the troubles of the Last Depression (as some called it), the Endbringers and the emergence of parahumans meant that they had had a bizarre surge of popularity in some circles. Now she thought about it, she remembered seeing that Julia's father had worked with some Mongolian PMC hired by the mayor's office a few years back, maybe Julia had picked up on this stuff then. Either way, it was notable in its oddness. No way a junkie would own this little bottle.
They were on the right track. Sanagi allowed a small smile to come through. And then a knock came from the door. The duo froze. The knock came again, this time with a voice:
"Open up, DeNeuve, I know you're in there"
Sanagi slowly raised a finger to her lips.
"DeNeuve, you blister, I know you're in there - answer or I'm calling Moses."
Shit. That could be a problem. Sanagi was still paralysed - she was a cop, if she got dragged into trouble because of breaking into someone's apartment, her career would be held up for sure. Taylor had no such inhibitions, and seeing Sanagi's stillness, rushed to the door and opened it just enough to peer out.
It was a woman waiting on the other side, dressed… honestly, in a very dated way. Her hair was done up in a peculiar style more reminiscent of the 80s, and her blouse, skirt, and high heels were all in shades Taylor was more familiar with through old photos of her parents. Her face was lined with stress, but she was young - young enough to have a certain vitality about her, old enough that she could look down her nose at Taylor as if she were some upstart imp.
"Who on earth are you?"
"I'm… Juli-(shit she might know Julia was here)-an-(Julian's a boy's name you idiot)-etta? (Brilliant, flawless, perfect - you frog-faced twig)"
"Julianetta?"
"It's French."
"Well, Julianetta, I need to see Brent. Is he in?"
"No, just me. Julianetta."
"I see. Why are you in Brent's apartment?"
"...We're friends?"
The woman was looking deeply suspicious, but there was an odd hunger to her eyes.
"Well, if you're Brent's friend, then you'll know what I want. The last shipment he gave me is all used up, and he promised he'd have more."
Crap. Drugs. She scanned the room wildly, looking for something, anything…
"Ah, well, see, he didn't quite show me where-"
"Under the sink, fool. He keeps it under the sink!"
Taylor retreated hastily, closing the door behind her. She could already hear a high-heeled foot tapping away. Under the sink, under the sink… her insects found something, a cardboard box, opened, hidden in a small alcove formed by the pipes and the wall. She hadn't noticed it on account of it being so profoundly unremarkable that her insects had simply breezed over it - she was, after all, far more focused on finding a potentially kidnap-happy junkie than unmarked cardboard boxes under sinks. Sanagi was watching silently, eyebrow raised. Taylor shrugged helplessly. She opened the box.
Meat. The box was filled with hunks of greasy, slightly yellowed meat. It smelled foul - opening the box released a foul odour into the apartment, and the woman knocked frantically.
"Come now, Julianetta, I know you've found it, please bring it here would you? Please?"
Her voice was pleading, simpering, far from the casual derisiveness she'd exhibited earlier. Taylor felt sick to her stomach. She had no idea what was going on… but she couldn't afford to have the woman call in someone else. She poked her head back out, seeing a hungry-looking Julianetta dancing from one foot to the other. She shoved the box into her face, relieved when she took it.
"A whole box? Well, goodness gracious Julianetta, I think you might well be my new favourite person!"
Grease was dripping from the bottom of the box, yellow and cloying, seeping down the front of the woman's blouse.
"No… no problem" She struggled to say, retching a little.
"Well, dear, if you're in the neighbourhood again, look me up - Brent may be a frightful bore, but Brenda is always available for a chat."
Taylor nodded mutely.
"Ah, what a dear. Well, see you Julianetta!"
The woman swept away, shoes clicking, skirt swishing, mouth humming, box of meat dripping a steady beat against the dirty floor. Taylor felt the urgent need to leave the place. She returned to Sanagi, slightly reluctantly.
"...What."
"Indeed."
The two fell into silence, Taylor unwilling to talk, Sanagi unwilling to waste time. She pointed at a bookshelf - most were filled with junk, wrappers, boxes, but this one had actual books. Annuals, really. Big baseball annuals - DeNeuve was apparently a fan. From 1991, year after year, marching up to… Taylor paused. The final annual, lying on its side, was marked for 2024. She blinked. Sanagi bustled past her, and opened the fridge - the insects having long vacated. She pulled out a bottle of relatively fresh milk, and examined the side.
She showed it to Taylor.
Expires May 25, 2025.
Taylor's heart sunk. It was happening again.
The group split apart silently, Sanagi heading to the door while Turk returned to his counter. Ahab remained sitting, mind consumed by memories which had no business hurting as much as they did. She desperately wanted to bug Turk for a bottle of bathtub moonshine, but she was fully aware that he was getting nervous about the possible contaminants seeping into that stuff. Maybe she'd steal one and leave some money in its place. She knew he'd never bring it up - Turk was nice like that - but that'd make it oddly worse. Far more guilt. She sank back into her very alcoholic tea. Taylor, on the other hand, stood from the table and followed Sanagi. Even Turk raised an eyebrow at that, while it took Ahab about ten seconds to realise she was actually gone. She shrugged and returned to the tea. Girl's gotta do what girls gotta do, or something to that effect.
"Hey, wait up!"
Sanagi paused, turning a stride into a spin with professional grace - very useful move, the improvised heel-spin. Very good for making people think you actually had some control over your body and therefore your life. Taylor, on the other hand, abruptly ground to a slightly flailed halt. She did not seem professional, and her general dishevelled appearance certainly didn't help. Sanagi silently praised her authoritarian father for drilling these ideas into her. They made life much more tinted by smugness - sure, she was a poorly paid beat cop, but damn it, she held herself well. Posture for days, baby.
"Yes?"
She asked, curtly, not too aggressive, not too welcoming, completely businesslike.
"You were still on that Henderson case, right?"
"...Not officially, but I'm still interested."
"Well, I was wondering if I could help with it."
Sanagi felt a familiar twitch of boiling rage faintly masked beneath professional courtesy.
"...How?"
A dragonfly landed on her nose. A big one, too. She let out an unprofessional yelp and jumped back, swatting the thing and wincing as she grazed her still-sore nose.
"Fair enough" she spluttered. "But you're not a cop, Taylor - actually, can I call you Miss Hebert? Feels weird calling you Taylor."
Taylor nodded.
"Great, well, Miss Hebert, you're not a policewoman. You're not even a deputy. I can't reasonably trust you with police business."
A raised eyebrow.
"You said you were on the case unofficially."
"True, but-"
"I'm guessing beat cops don't exactly get nice juicy cases like this, right?"
"Also true, but hardly-"
"So why not let me tag along? You've already taken a video from an ex-mercenary's USB-compatible eyeball seriously, why not Taylor the bug girl?"
She really needed some sleep. And damn it, she'd barely had a single cup of tea. She was getting jittery, and was saying ridiculous things like 'Taylor the bug girl'. Sanagi relented.
"Fine. You can tag along. But you do exactly what I say when I say it, no questions, no backtalk. Am I understood?"
"Crystal."
"Wrong response. 'Crystal' is a rejoinder to 'are we clear', 'do you understand' has only two acceptable responses, yes or no."
Taylor hated to admit that she was right. Again, sleep was surprisingly important.
"Yes, OK. I understand."
"Good."
She ducked into her car - a nifty little number that was still surprsingly clean. Fuel efficient, relatively aerodynamic, cheap but not poor-quality, fully insured. It was one of her little pet projects, something she spent far too long caring for. She even washed it herself on the weekends, rather than let some half-rate fresh-off-the-boat washer use knockoff cleaning chemicals that left streaks (OK, wow Sanagi, sounding like your father again). She glanced at Taylor, hoping that she'd be impressed. Taylor was not. Taylor was impassive. She hated it, she clearly hated her car, her beautiful little car which she had spent so much goddamn time slaving over and this is why she didn't let other people into her car they never understood how much time and effort was inherent to keeping these things in proper condition, content to slave away behind sticky dashboards on dusty seats with piles and piles of filthy filthy TRASH everywhere and
Sanagi calmed herself with a few deep breaths. Taylor reached over and patted her on the knee, hesitantly.
"It's OK, my… my mom died in a car crash, I was terrified of getting a ride from anyone for a while. Just take it slow, you'll be fine."
Taylor, without a doubt, needed sleep and tea. Reasonable Taylor would have said absolutely nothing. Sanagi, unaware of this, was internally screaming as she slowly eased into the road, keeping a safe distance from every other driver. She broke the silence with a strained voice.
"So, Turk's camera caught the documents you were intending on getting from that file room - only reason he left them behind, as I understand it."
Taylor blinked. How had she forgotten about that?
Oh, right, centipede cult.
"Turns out the cult kept a close eye on its followers, made sure they were staying to the straight and narrow. If this is the same cult from the 1960s, they'd be very interested in keeping things nice and quiet. Uppity members ruined them in Tokyo. So, they noticed when Miss Henderson started associating with a gentleman they classified as 'problematic'. Brent DeNeuve. I knew the name - he's a well-known troublemaker, associated with the Merchants but never pinned with anything serious. Unlike most Merchants, functional enough to actually survive without going into a drug-induced coma or being killed over something petty. Or being imprisoned by us. Whichever comes first. Instead, he just works through other people. Not talented enough to be a kingpin, but talented enough to survive. DeNeuve's a scumbag, but he'd know well enough to not go after some rich kid - Skidmark would probably kill him before we could."
She pulled into a nastier part of town, dead-eyed hobos staring from street corners with unashamed curiosity and hostility. She felt oddly proud. Now that was an appropriate response to the superior condition of her cost-effective and exquisitely maintained car.
"Thankfully, DeNeuve is a known quantity, mostly. We've got an address tied to him, couple of minutes from here by car. Crappy apartment, nothing serious."
"The last time I said some place was 'nothing serious' we ran into a giant centipede."
"...this is a moron's apartment, not a cultist base. You'll do reconnaissance, make sure the place is empty. If it is, we go in. If it isn't, we buy fast food so we don't have to talk to each other. Understood?"
"Yep."
"Good."
And with that, Sanagi fell silent. Unlike the potential stakeout, however, there was no fast food, and thus Taylor was left to twiddle her thumbs and fixate on random things in the neighbourhood. They were passing by the old shipping containers they'd repurposed into homes - a potent reminder of why she wanted to leave this place as soon as possible. She saw old buildings, moving shapes passing by broken windows, eyes feverish and hungry staring at them from shadowy interiors. She smelled weed, God, so much weed, and half the corners seemed to have an abandoned needle or two. The squatters and homeless who were out and about were usually huddled around small fires, talking quietly, or were shaking alone in the grips of some poison or another.
There was a casual harshness to the place, seen in every brick, every window, every grey face. The light caught on things cruelly, never really illuminating - it was either blinding light or complete darkness. The sun threw every broken thing in sharp relief, broken windows like glass fangs, aged bricks like a pockmarked termite nest, faces harsh and unappealing. Taylor huddled down into her seat, blocking it out. Soon, they pulled up outside the place - another tall, unremarkable building that had seen better days, streaked with graffiti and with a gaggle of homeless men standing around a fire, swapping a bottle around. They watched curiously as the clean car swept into the car park, sending loose wrappers and discarded newspapers flying. Sanagi leaned back, eyes watchful and cautious.
"Well?"
Taylor blinked. Oh, right, bugs. The building, hell, the neighbourhood was full of them. Her first action, petty as it was, was to remove the lice from certain… choice areas of the people in the surrounding area. Call it her little act of charity. Or, more accurately, call it a consequence of sensing damn near everything they sensed. Then, swarms of cockroaches and fruit flies began to manoeuvre about the building, scouting out every corridor she came into contact with. She hesitated every now and again, terrified that something similar to the centre would happen - some force would steal her abilities, turn them against her, hurt her with a single twitch of its own unfathomable powers. But there was nothing. Junkies shaking, occasional men or women talking to themselves in empty apartments, even a few haggard-looking people working at something or another. Nothing major. Nothing terrifying. Nothing at all.
"Where's his apartment?"
"Penultimate floor, room 5B."
Her insects scuttled towards doors, checking the numbers. 5A, 5D, 5I… 5B. Man, this place was arranged weirdly. Still, 5B was located and infiltrated in a moment. Nothing. Discarded trash, a general veneer of filth and decay, a fridge that, to be honest, had swelled her swarm's numbers by a sickening amount… but no living person. No dog, no cat, nothing. No shivering junkies or smiling stoners. Nothing.
"Nothing."
"Good. No earpieces this time - sorry, didn't expect company. You'll come with me. Keep an eye on my car."
She paused.
"If you make some bug-related mess in my car, there will be consequences. Clear?"
"Crystal."
Sanagi smiled. It wasn't a very nice small - too tight, too small, too quick. But it was something. Taylor did still feel rather guilty about punching her in the face. And landing a spider on her face. And landing a dragonfly on her face. She very much hoped she'd never need to land an insect on her face again.
The two stepped out, Sanagi shooting a glare at the homeless men. Taylor did her best to replicate it. She failed, but it felt good to try. The moment they entered the building, some of them drifted over to give it a look, but a few mosquitoes buzzing right next to their ear made them flap around irritably, and a spider in their clothes made them back off, swearing violently. Didn't need to hurt them, didn't need to exhibit her powers openly - just needed to make them annoyed enough to not bother with the car. If they got any more determined - not sure why they would, it wasn't a particularly good car - she'd get some wasps to harass them, make them think there was a nest nearby.
The building was filthy. The lobby was a simple affair with an elevator, a set of stairs, and a black-and-white tiled floor. Well, it would have been black and white. Now it was more black and sullen grey-green. Piles of thick dust had accumulated in the corners. Dim light streamed through windows caked with grime, the overhead light flickering weakly. Sanagi withdrew a cheap pen from her pocket, delicately pushing the 'call' button on the elevator. Taylor's senses felt bodies on the stairs, some sleeping, some talking to themselves. The elevator, based on the one spider she had inside, was thankfully empty. It was, however, incredibly slow. They watched the display needle slowly sink from '5' to '1', inch by torturous inch.
Sanagi was silent. Taylor was silent - a fact that Sanagi deeply appreciated. Professionalism at last. Though the kid desperately needed to find something else to wear. She was wearing smart casual - practical trousers, flannel shirt which concealed a stab-proof vest work had been kind enough to give her, heavy (but not military) boots, expensive watch poached from a military supplier, glass sanded to prevent it from giving off any glare. Her stance, her expression, her bearing, all of these screamed readiness. No-one would mess with her. She hoped. Taylor, on the other hand, was dressed… well, like a disaster. Black trousers, black hoodie, and with her skin and hair? Sanagi had to restrain herself from sniffing derisively - dressing that like, paradoxically, made you far more noticeable. Black was generally a poor colour for most practical activities - mess didn't show up clearly, meaning you could easily get some crap on you and simply fail to notice it. Likewise, it was poor camouflage in the dark - perfect darkness was rare, there was always something to it which gave it character, and stark black clothes stood out against that. Navy blue, now there was a stealthy colour. The bagginess of the hoodie made it easier to grab, the trousers looked like they'd fail to pass muster for a hike of any real length… Sanagi stopped herself. Enough with the criticism. The kid was helping. Even if she dressed poorly while doing it. Nobody's perfect.
The words 'nobody's perfect' are usually said with a sense of resignation, perhaps faint bemusement. It's an acknowledgement of imperfection, but a universal one - an indictment of humanity, not an individual human. Sanagi never said it with resignation. She said - or thought, in this instance - with anger. Simmering rage. Sure, nobody is perfect. But that doesn't mean nobody will be perfect - that was unacceptable. Nor does it mean nobody was perfect. There have been perfect people, there will be perfect people, and Sanagi had the unfortunate accident of living in an era with none.
The elevator 'dinged', and the two began to go up, avoiding the slightly sticky walls of the cramped metal cube.
Silence.
The elevator was, indeed, bloody slow. It seemed to go on forever, really. It was like a lozenge stuck in the throat of an old man - there was wheezing, rumbling, coughing, high-pitched squeaks of agitation… and eventually they were spat out on the fifth floor. It had taken them no less than four minutes to ascend four floors in a cramped building with low ceilings. Sanagi was on the verge of tears, suspecting that there'd be a crowd of criminals waiting for them in the hallway, stoned on some drug or another, but there weren't, and relief washed over her in an awesome wave.
Taylor silently preened at her companion's obvious relief. There had been a few people loitering around a moment before. They seemed to be waiting for their friend, who lived in one of the apartments, to wake from his fugue to let them in so they could enter into a fugure of a more collective nature - revolutionaries redistributing the compacted green wealth of their friend, from each according to his ability to each according to his need. Alas, their friend was blind to the hymn of their revolution (repeated knocks and shouted expletives), and remained in a distinctly bourgeois funk of foul fumes. A few choice stings had woken the man, and he'd hurriedly answered the pounding from the door. And thus, the hallway was clear. Ah, powers. How did she ever live without them.
And there it was, room 5B. Unremarkable, like all the others. Not particularly well-kept, not enormously run-down. Perfectly average for the building - that is to say, unacceptable in even a marginally cleaner place, but unremarkable here. Her bugs still sensed no-one. Sanagi quietly withdrew a small, delicate tool, and began to work on the lock. Taylor considered just getting a giant pile of bugs - Lord knows there were enough of the things in there - to open the door by weighing down the handle. She decided against it. Sanagi looked like she needed the win.
A few minutes later, the door swung wide, letting forth a noxious wave of air, all rot and pot. Nasty combination. The two entered, cautiously, closing the door behind them. Even Taylor was cautious - her bugs detected nothing, but her faith in her own powers had been tested quite severely lately. One couldn't help but be nervous when their favoured tool had a proven possibility of failure. The apartment was filthy as she had expected - but blissfully empty. There was a slightly odd air to the place - nothing major, just a sense of wrongness. The way the dust caught the light, the way the vent almost seemed to pulse like a living thing, a metal throat breathing raspily into the stale air. Tricks of the mind, nothing more. Hopefully.
They spent the next few minutes poring through the place. DeNeuve was nowhere to be found, and he didn't leave hugely detailed records of his dealings. Nothing obvious - no concrete rooms where prisoners could be kept, no blood-stained implements, no ledger books marked 'Kidnappings/Assaults/Murders (current year)'. Sanagi was growing frustrated when Taylor crowed victoriously as she stood by a bedside table. She rushed over to see Taylor proudly pointing at a bottle of nail polish.
"...Nail polish."
"Julia's nail polish"
"How exactly can you tell?"
"It's her brand - I remember… well, she was kind of a jackass at school. Couple of times she slapped me, and I noticed her nails. Just… odd, that was what they were. Different polish to most people."
Sanagi examined the bottle closely. At first sight it was unremarkable, but the brand set it apart - something called Jurchen Tongue, a slightly nauseating logo of an open mouth with a long, curling tongue emerging, glowing a near-radioactive colour. She checked the rest - foreign import, Mongolian brand. Rare stuff - but she could see the appeal. As unpleasant as the labelling was, Mongolian goods these days were damn well regarded - the success of Mongolia in evading the troubles of the Last Depression (as some called it), the Endbringers and the emergence of parahumans meant that they had had a bizarre surge of popularity in some circles. Now she thought about it, she remembered seeing that Julia's father had worked with some Mongolian PMC hired by the mayor's office a few years back, maybe Julia had picked up on this stuff then. Either way, it was notable in its oddness. No way a junkie would own this little bottle.
They were on the right track. Sanagi allowed a small smile to come through. And then a knock came from the door. The duo froze. The knock came again, this time with a voice:
"Open up, DeNeuve, I know you're in there"
Sanagi slowly raised a finger to her lips.
"DeNeuve, you blister, I know you're in there - answer or I'm calling Moses."
Shit. That could be a problem. Sanagi was still paralysed - she was a cop, if she got dragged into trouble because of breaking into someone's apartment, her career would be held up for sure. Taylor had no such inhibitions, and seeing Sanagi's stillness, rushed to the door and opened it just enough to peer out.
It was a woman waiting on the other side, dressed… honestly, in a very dated way. Her hair was done up in a peculiar style more reminiscent of the 80s, and her blouse, skirt, and high heels were all in shades Taylor was more familiar with through old photos of her parents. Her face was lined with stress, but she was young - young enough to have a certain vitality about her, old enough that she could look down her nose at Taylor as if she were some upstart imp.
"Who on earth are you?"
"I'm… Juli-(shit she might know Julia was here)-an-(Julian's a boy's name you idiot)-etta? (Brilliant, flawless, perfect - you frog-faced twig)"
"Julianetta?"
"It's French."
"Well, Julianetta, I need to see Brent. Is he in?"
"No, just me. Julianetta."
"I see. Why are you in Brent's apartment?"
"...We're friends?"
The woman was looking deeply suspicious, but there was an odd hunger to her eyes.
"Well, if you're Brent's friend, then you'll know what I want. The last shipment he gave me is all used up, and he promised he'd have more."
Crap. Drugs. She scanned the room wildly, looking for something, anything…
"Ah, well, see, he didn't quite show me where-"
"Under the sink, fool. He keeps it under the sink!"
Taylor retreated hastily, closing the door behind her. She could already hear a high-heeled foot tapping away. Under the sink, under the sink… her insects found something, a cardboard box, opened, hidden in a small alcove formed by the pipes and the wall. She hadn't noticed it on account of it being so profoundly unremarkable that her insects had simply breezed over it - she was, after all, far more focused on finding a potentially kidnap-happy junkie than unmarked cardboard boxes under sinks. Sanagi was watching silently, eyebrow raised. Taylor shrugged helplessly. She opened the box.
Meat. The box was filled with hunks of greasy, slightly yellowed meat. It smelled foul - opening the box released a foul odour into the apartment, and the woman knocked frantically.
"Come now, Julianetta, I know you've found it, please bring it here would you? Please?"
Her voice was pleading, simpering, far from the casual derisiveness she'd exhibited earlier. Taylor felt sick to her stomach. She had no idea what was going on… but she couldn't afford to have the woman call in someone else. She poked her head back out, seeing a hungry-looking Julianetta dancing from one foot to the other. She shoved the box into her face, relieved when she took it.
"A whole box? Well, goodness gracious Julianetta, I think you might well be my new favourite person!"
Grease was dripping from the bottom of the box, yellow and cloying, seeping down the front of the woman's blouse.
"No… no problem" She struggled to say, retching a little.
"Well, dear, if you're in the neighbourhood again, look me up - Brent may be a frightful bore, but Brenda is always available for a chat."
Taylor nodded mutely.
"Ah, what a dear. Well, see you Julianetta!"
The woman swept away, shoes clicking, skirt swishing, mouth humming, box of meat dripping a steady beat against the dirty floor. Taylor felt the urgent need to leave the place. She returned to Sanagi, slightly reluctantly.
"...What."
"Indeed."
The two fell into silence, Taylor unwilling to talk, Sanagi unwilling to waste time. She pointed at a bookshelf - most were filled with junk, wrappers, boxes, but this one had actual books. Annuals, really. Big baseball annuals - DeNeuve was apparently a fan. From 1991, year after year, marching up to… Taylor paused. The final annual, lying on its side, was marked for 2024. She blinked. Sanagi bustled past her, and opened the fridge - the insects having long vacated. She pulled out a bottle of relatively fresh milk, and examined the side.
She showed it to Taylor.
Expires May 25, 2025.
Taylor's heart sunk. It was happening again.