Cass' hand gripped your shoulder as she prepared to shuffle you toward the exit, but you pushed her back, glancing at the door and taking a deep breath.
"We need to defuse this situation before it becomes a crowd in the hospital or a war in the hold. Sergeant, clear me enough space to speak to these people," you instructed, gripping your Interrogator's badge for comfort and trying to steady yourself. It maybe wasn't the smartest move, but this is what the Inquisitor would have done.
Sergeant Strakhard nodded and moved to the door, unclipping the sheath of his enormous machete from his belt, though not drawing it. He gripped the door and nodded to Private Hollis, who stood back and snapped open a boxy silver lighter with her free hand. She touched the dancing flame to the muzzle of her flamer, and the pilot light caught in a flash of acrid fumes as she snapped the lid of the lighter shut and tossed it to another Catachan.
The Sergeant pulled the door open with both hands, and the crowd that was going to surge toward the door instead found themselves scrambling the other way as Private Hollis advanced, flamethrower braced at her hip.
"BY ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL INQUISITION, BACK RIGHT THE FUCK UP!" she announced, her voice carrying over the crowd as she pushed out through the door. The other Catachans followed, their shortened lascarbines slung at the hip to leave a hand free for the dizzying variety of knives and cutlasses they carried. Guns were more lethal, the Sergeant had once explained, but there was a primal terror to the edge of a blade.
You followed, Cass behind you with the confiscated lasgun slung just in case somebody came from behind and dragging something in her free hand. Just as you realised that you couldn't see the crowd behind the wide, muscled bodies of your escort, that something turned out to be a chair from the waiting room for you to step up onto. It still didn't get you high enough, not until Cass unslung her backpack power pack and placed it on the seat so you could finally see up over the crowd. Your hair almost brushed the steel ceiling.
There had to be two hundred people packed in the tiny intersection of hallways, the ripple of shock and deference still travelling through the ones at the back. Those up front had fallen to their knees, eyes to the deck plating, stark terror evident. The shouts and cries and prayers were dying down to a still silence, just the strained breathing of many sets of lungs blending with the low hum of the flamer's pilot light.
There was a trio of figures in yellow robes at the edge of the crowd, armed but with weapons slung, watching.
"Is there a Flori among you, mother of Ada?" you called out over the silent crowd. One of the figures, a mother, a
young mother, stood, trembling. Her face was twisted with emotion she couldn't contain, tears streaming down her face, her eyes locking with yours just long enough to see it. You'd never be a mother, but you'd had three and had known how they loved you, feared for you, how they'd let the galaxy burn for you. You saw it here and it felt like like a weight pulling at your sternum, a cold pain in your soul.
You nodded to her and gestured, unable to muster words yourself. She stumbled forward over the prone man in front of her, and several others moved before you found your voice.
"Just Flori is allowed through. Remain where you are," you said, but the words came out too soft, too quiet. Strained from the effort of holding back somebody else's tears. Cass repeated the instructions in firmer tones, and the other sank back, hands retreating as Flori picked her way forward and the Catachans parted to let her through. She stumbled as she slipped between them, gathering up the hem of her robes as she tried to press forward; it looked almost like she was walking into a gale.
"Cass, go with her," you instructed. She hesitated just a moment before turning, offering her arm to steady Flori as they moved for the door. The poor woman hung off like it was the only thing keeping her standing.
"A crime was committed today, a crime against the Lex Imperialis, and against this community. It is my understanding it is the latest in a long line of crimes," you said, your voice firm now. You pulled loose your badge and held it out in front of you, the red and gold glinting in the artificial light of the hallway. "I am Interrogator Hussain of the Inquisition, an agent of divine justice and revealer of truths. Your hold has come under my scrutiny; where there is heresy, I bring light, and where there is injustice, I am punishment. I, and I alone, am the law."
It was still silence, still terror, but it wasn't confusion or the fear of sudden violence. This was the reverent silence of a congregation.
"Any who acts in retaliation for the events of today will become a part of my case and subject to my scrutiny. Any who disturb the process of justice commits a grievous offence. You are to return to your homes, knowing justice will be done."
There was flinching among the prostrate crowd, but nobody moved. Nobody wished to be the first to move.
"This intersection is off-limits for those without official business or aliments for the next forty-eight hours. Those of you at the back of the crowd, stand and walk away now. Once those behind you have moved, you move as well."
There was movement, but it was slow.
"NOW, you degenerate fucks!" Sergeant Strakhard boomed, and they moved much faster. Within a minute, the halls were empty to the next intersections, where those three armed men waited and watched.
"... Sergeant, can you spare a man to help me down? It is a long way."
---
You have an investigation ahead of you. Where do you start?
[ ] You came here to visit Hammock-Hang Alley, and you may as well go now. The Inquisitor used to say the poor could not afford the illusions that cloaked the vision of other subjects; that clarity may be helpful.
[ ] Those three armed men, presumably members of the Popular Crusade, were an obvious path to a meeting with Father Rharv, the leader of the local faction, the Church of the Sanctified Saint. The clerics are the law in the hold; you should speak to him.
[ ] There was another story here. The Illuminated Church of Saint Malpeus, its cleric Father Gründ, and their militias represented the other side of this conflict. A masked member of their Martyr's Platoon pulled the trigger which had killed Ada, but you suspected they had tragedies of their own.
[ ] Tensions had been calmed. This might be a good time to regroup and get your bearings (clear penalties and gain XP).
[ ] Write In
