[X] Choose one of the two guns.
- [X] Massarde M1298 service revolver
This I admit to be dependent on the weapon weight we can carry. @inquisition, is the SMG something we're able to carry? I presume so, just want to be sure. I think I might switch over if we can.
Why would they? Isn't this a police station/precinct, so it should be calmer around here? Judging by the night the officers are having, it's not safe on the streets, but the concentrated presence of government forces should in theory scare the random thugs away.
Or would their source of income be called into question?
It's more the latter. The Equalists may not be "proletarian" to the same extent that the Bolsheviks were, but they're still a worker-driven revolutionary movement, so flaunting wealth is a bad idea; in addition, our precinct is in an industrial area, where it'd be the most dangerous area to be seen as a "parasite."
This I admit to be dependent on the weapon weight we can carry. @inquisition, is the SMG something we're able to carry? I presume so, just want to be sure. I think I might switch over if we can.
[X] Massarde M1298 service revolver
[X] Hannz Appearance
You think for a moment, and realize that you aren't very experienced with submachine guns either. There was little use of them on the Western Front, and they were too difficult to produce during the Revolution for anyone to use. Besides, it might be a bit to unwieldy for the beat.
"I'll take the pistol, please," you say, sheathing the truncheon in your belt and nodding at the officer.
"Same here," says Timofey, perhaps a bit reluctantly.
The corporal hands you each a familiar revolver and a small box of extra ammunition - twenty-eight rounds each, enough for four reloads. You nod, giving the action a quick check and holstering the weapon.
"Will that be all, Sister and Brother?" asks the bored corporal.
You nod your head, stepping away from the kiosk. Timofey follows suit, and you make a brisk pace for the main entrance. You reach into your uniform pocket and pull out perhaps the most important tool for a Militsya officer: a steel pocket watch. While the timepiece looks mundane at first glance, the unnatural warmth of the metal and the gentle vibration give away the powerful enchantment that makes effective policing possible. Every single watch distributed by the police force is bound to the large clock tower at the center of Tarnapol, ticking away the time incessantly every day.
"It's 5:46," you murmur, more to yourself than to Timofey. "We've got to walk fast to make up for lost time."
Timofey nods, stashing his own watch. "I know a shortcut. We can just take a-"
You glare him into silence. "No shortcuts," you say sternly. "That defeats the purpose of the beat. Or have you forgotten already, junior officer?"
Unlike the more modernized police forces of Javel or Alban, most Ogromniyan cities have not had the money or the time to install a proper network of police boxes - and so have had to make do with the clock system that is as old as policing itself. There are a few scattered around Tarnapol, including a single one on your beat route, but for the most part the police officers of the Militsya have to walk a very literal "beat" to make sure that any citizen will know just where and when to find an officer.
Timofey opens his mouth to reply, then just decides to close it and nods sullenly. His leaf-shaped ears appear to actually be drooping like a dog's. Stifling a laugh, you pat the young elf on the shoulder. "Come on, this isn't your first beat. Don't be this way all day, you'll become unbearable."
The two of you step out, and you're grateful for the long raincoats and peaked caps that the Militsya provides; a drizzle almost immediately begins to hammer on your shoulders, and given the ominous look of the green-gray clouds above you, worse is yet to come.
Your beat takes you through the streets of the Nievsky Quarter and into the industrial Chertkov District. The main route goes along the Seret Prospekt, the riverside path that plays host to a large number of street performers, hawkers, and buskers--it has been given the "endearing" nickname "Beggar's Prospekt." Even today, on a rainy day, the stalwart food salesmen and the indomitable organ grinders ply their trade intrepidly. Some have erected makeshift tarps over their kiosks, others who are more magically adept cast protection runes over their shops, and still others just brave the cold and the damp. You do have to admit that it has its own sort of charm; criminal activity is surprisingly low here, as the denizens of the concourse self-regulate so as not to draw attention from the Hands and the Militsya.
(Or at least not the bad attention; you think you spy a woman in the black uniform of the Hands shopping at a kiosk selling "exotic foods from the Far West." It seems even the devout love cheap fish meat mocked up as Tsugenian squid.)
It's almost a disappointment when your route curves away from the Seret River, leaving the colorful street behind and only gray industrial areas in your path for the next few hours. The Chertkov District is certainly a stark contrast with Nievsky, with half of it covered in dilapidated state housing created for older citizens and the other half covered in a veritable jungle of brick columns, twisting steel constructs, iron gates, and concrete worker residences. Sometimes the two sides of the District become intermingled, with wizened octogenarians mingling with burly workers. The only similarity between the two groups is that they both walk stooped, like they're carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.
You've barely taken ten steps into the brick-and-steel forest when a shrill noise heralds the coming of a powerful headache.
"Brother Officer! Sister Officer!"
You feel your lips tighten. Her again. At least five times before, you have been accosted by the same angry old woman, hobbling on a cane that was likely too long for her. Each time, she would make you deal with a group of teenagers that seemed to enjoy tormenting her and her neighbors.
"I was tending to my flowers, and then these hooligans… well, I never! They've gone from throwing eggs at my home to using fire spells in my lawn!"
You glance at Timofey. He shrugs. It is true that they're just kids, but now that they're setting fires, this is a much more serious thing. Adolescents and young adults often flub spells and incantations, and those can sometimes lead to disastrous consequences if left unchecked.
Still, you do need to keep the beat moving--and you can feel the precious seconds ticking away in your pocket.
[ ] Follow the woman to at least help her clear out these idiots. Timofey can handle the beat for a few minutes.
[ ] Send TImofey to deal with it. They're just kids.
[ ] Ignore her complaints. They're just teenagers.
__
For reference:
Name: M1298 service revolver Manufacturer: Massarde Works (Frisia), Temnoreka State Arms (HEU) Country of Origin: Ogromniya/Frisia
Stats Type: Pistol Base Dmg: 1d6 Range: 3 Accuracy Modifier: 0 Rounds per Reload: 7
[X] Follow the woman to at least help clear out these idiots. Timofey can handle the beat for a few minutes.
Throwing eggs at a house is a minor thing but to start a fire that is quite an escalation also the fire could spread to other places if these idiots lose control over their magic
[X] Follow the woman to at least help her clear out these idiots. Timofey can handle the beat for a few minutes.
Juvenile criminals? Not an unlikely sight in the aftermath of two wars - orphaned kids thrown to the streets to fend for themselves can easily fall in with the wrong crowd. If so, not sure what we can do there except apprehend them, though - it's a problem that needs to be tackled on a different level. Looks like we've been at it 5 times already, and things have only got worse.
[X] Follow the woman to at least help her clear out these idiots. Timofey can handle the beat for a few minutes.
You grimace. This is actually serious, especially in a neighborhood where there are a lot of flammable things near wooden houses.
"All right," you say, turning to Timofey. "You keep the beat. Hopefully I'll be done soon, and I can meet you at…" You check your watch, doing some mental calculations. "Terebovlia Street or thereabouts."
At his nervous shifting, you give him a pat on the shoulder. "You'll be fine, Timofey Alexeivich. Just keep your wits about you. It's just for a few minutes."
You turn back to the old woman. "Lead the way, miss."
__
You can't quite call what the old woman points out a "yard." The small square of concrete surrounded by a dilapidated wooden fence barely qualifies as a "front porch," much less a yard. Sure enough, a small circle of teenagers stands there, the telltale glow of a fire spell lighting them up.
"There, you see?" says the old woman, pointing with her cane as you approach. "They just come here to annoy me. Every week, they do this! Every time you run them off, they just come back…"
There are five of them, four boys and a girl, of varying species. Two stand across from each other, tossing what looks like a gout of fire of all things between each other like a ball. These two are probably young magi, trying out an elemental spell they just learned; like many things, fire spells are extremely dangerous, especially to their own inexperienced casters. The oldest can't be more than sixteen, so you honestly doubt that any of these kids really do have any experience, and that's not even counting how many laws they're breaking by tresspassing in the poor woman's lawn. And that's not even counting how annoyed the Hands would be at them for "frivolous magical use..."
"Hey!" you shout, approaching the group. As one, they all turn to look at you, their eyes bulging almost comically. The fireball fizzles out of existence in one of the boys' hands. There's a moment of tense silence. Then one of the boys shouts out loud, "Run!"
You curse as the five make a break for it, scrambling over the low fence quicker than you expected. You give chase, thankful that the bullet you took to the leg in 1315 didn't hit anything vital. With a grunt, you vault the low wall, landing on your feet and making chase after the delinquents.
They're fast, but you have years of experience in running across battlefields with a medical cit to reach wounded soldiers. "Fuck, she's gaining!" you hear one of them yell. "We'll lose her in the alleys!"
They split up. Two of them sprint into an alleyway to your left, while the two magi and one of their friends make for the industrial areas. You go after the magi; you at least know they were the ones playing with fire. Taking a breath in, you pour on the speed. The three know you're closing the distance, so they quickly try to lose you in the maze of alleyways and passages that snake between the great brick factories of the Chertkov District.
You round a corner and find yourself faced with a particularly unsavory-looking building. Its slate gray concrete walls appear to be crumbling, the roof is missing in places, and the entire place looks about ready to fall down in on itself. The kids turn a corner into another nearby alleyway, likely leading to the factory's side gate.
And then you hear a horrible, bloodcurdling scream of horror, followed by another, and then another. You slow to a trot, goosebumps marching up and down your arms. You hand drops to your truncheon as one of the hooligans rounds the corner again, but he obviously has no intention of attacking. The boy's eyes are opened wide, and his mouth is frozen in a rictus of terror. He bounces off of you, stumbling and falling despite your attempts to catch him. He curls up at your feet, sobbing and shaking.
"What happened?" you say, kneeling down to the boy's level. "What is it?"
He doesn't reply, squeezing into an even tighter ball and screwing his eyes shut. He can't be older than twelve or thirteen, and he's obviously seen something horrible. You won't be getting anything out of him. You stand up, and see two more of the kids round the corner. One has obviously been violently sick, as his shirt and shoes are splattered with bile. The other, an orc, is shuddering like a leaf, his normally green complexion a pallid gray.
"What is…" you begin. The orc boy just points a shaking finger wordlessly around the corner. You give him a look, before cautiously drawing your revolver and stepping into the alleyway. The tiny area is dark, shaded by the imposing figure of the abandoned factory in the background and the thickening rainclouds. You take a quick look around, before stopping dead as you see what provoked the teenagers' reactions.
A single humanoid leans against the chain-link fence at the far end of the alleyway. It's impossible to tell the species and the sex for sure - because the entire front of the body is little more than mincemeat. Whatever happened to this unfortunate individual, it put their innards on the wrong side of their ribcage.
You fight down a twinge of nausea as you approach the mangled body. In your time as a battlefield medic, you've seen all the ways that modern war can destroy the body. This person, at a glance, looks like they were the victim of a direct hit by artillery. Trying not to breathe through your nose, you lean in.
[ ] Examine the corpse. Try to find out what killed it. (Medicine roll; modifier +12; +5 xp on success)
[ ] Take stock of the crime scene and try to deduce what happened. (Investigation roll; modifier -4; +15 xp on success)
[ ] Nopenopenope. Get the hell out, find Timofey, and call for backup.
[X] Examine the corpse. Try to find out what killed it (Medicine roll; modifier + 12; +5 xp on success)
The thing about leaving to get help there is chance whoever or whatever did this could come back and clean up after themselves maybe send the kids to get help?
The kids won't be getting anything or anyone. They are delinquents, and you send them to contact the police? Once the shock wears off, they'll scatter because they don't want to get in trouble, and don't want to deal with whatever that is.
Being detained as a witness is probably last on their priority list, especially after breaking a few laws. We should either let them go, or keep an eye on them ourselves.
[X] Nopenopenope. Get the hell out, find Timofey, and call for backup.
For the moment I just want to take them away from here. Even if it means losing on juicy XP.
But if we can take a quick look without lingering here, that might be worth it too. I don't want to drop an existing task of setting them straight because something more serious turned up, though.
[X] Examine the corpse. Try to find out what killed it. (Medicine roll; modifier +12; +5 xp on success)
-[X] See if one of the kids is in a fit state to run to where your partner is, and tell him to get help and come here. Try and make sure they know not to run off, as if they do this, whilst you will have a talk with them, this crime takes precedence over punishing them...
