Tokyo Ghoul: Detroit Dogs

[Jemnite]

The sins of the past have come back to haunt us it seems. The Afghani Lion has resurfaced. He is searching for the girl. The key.

We can't let him have it. If he has it...

Yes. If he gets his hands on it, we shall be destroyed.

We should destroy it.

Yet... this represents an opportunity for us. The lion will be drawn to the bait.

...are you suggesting we use the key to lure him in? This is madness. You know the costs if he gets his hands on it. The risks we face-

Are manageable.

I cannot support this decision. What guarantee do you have that lion will not get his hands on the key?

A falcon stands watch.

A falcon.... then he has given his support to this foolhardy plan of yours.

Indeed.

...is this even a choice? No, if you have acquired even his support, I suppose I have no other choice. You've twisted my arm.

You shall give your consent?

The falcon has given his consent, and so we must all follow his path. May God help me should we fail, but you have my consent.

Good. We're in business then. This concrete jungle... shall be the lion's doom.

Tokyo Ghoul : Detroit Dogs
Act 1: Bonesmith​

Alice Taverner
Carson Maximum Security Ghoul Detention Center "The Pit", Nevada
Cell 41153
@Cat

It's hot. Sweltering. The sun bakes the prison like a giant oven, heating the air inside to absolutely unbearable levels. They keep you in here, cooking you alive like pigs for bacon.

It's ironic. You're the ones who eat them, but they're the ones who cook you.

In your cage, there is nothing but a bed and a bucket. The bed is heavy steel, nailed to the floor, topped off with a thin scratchy cot. The bucket lies below a leaky spigot, one which drips constantly, regularly. All that keeps you within this horrible cave they've constructed for you is a fragile cage of crisscrossing metal bars. You could crush it easily, if not for the RC suppressors they slip into that pale meaty mush they call food.

No bones to chew. No meat to crunch. And of course, cocoa and coffee would be unthinkable for this cage they built. Just red slop and water. For a prideful proud predator that many such ghouls consider themselves, such a life would have been unbearable. Their pride would do them in.

But you are crow. You survive. In the end, pride means nothing. The only law of the jungle is survival.

There is the pounding of boots, far off, followed closely by the chanting of inmates. Probably to remove another ghoul. You look up and listen. The ghoul in the cage across from yours flinches at your gaze and curls up a little bit, slash marks across her throat. You remember those. You did that to her, they pulled you off her before you could finish the job. She still can't talk. You wonder if they'll ever let you finish the job.

But right now she's insignificant. You're listening to something else. The sound of jackboots. Which inmate is it? You listen, as the sound's coming closer. Ah. You realize which inmate it is now.

The inmate they're coming for is you.

Six jackbooted agents of the DoGS, armored in heavy body armor, faces obscured by faceless masks. Each carrying a rifle, a gun. The ghouls heckle at them, hooting and howling- freedom or death. Freedom or death. These are the only things the DoGS offers in this hellhole.

One steps forward, through the din and the noise. He looks at you, his expression inscrutable beneath his opaque ballistic mask. "Take her," he says.

At his command, the agents move forward. One unlocks the door, and two move quickly through the gate, locking your arms behind you back, frog-marching you out. They march to to the warden's office, out of the pit, followed by the chanting of ghouls behind you.

There, they force you to kneel. They snap a muzzle on your face, and bring your head up to meet his gaze. The warden is a grizzled man, with a scar across the right side of his face, barely missing his eye. They called it lucky, for he avoided death by mere millimeters.

But for inmates, that he survived was a misfortune, for he treats ghouls lower than trash. He stares down at you in disgust. "You. Ghoul. Do you want to leave this place?"

He offers you a choice.

It is not really a choice. Well, at least you finally get to eat.

Elena Cadieux
Detroit DoGS Headquarters
Outside Ghoul Detention Room
@Lilithium

You finger the earring your mother left you. It's a old habit which never left you from your time in the academy, just a nervous tick. And you think that for this once you'd be justified for being nervous.

It's your first time meeting your partner after all! You're very excited! Hopefully you'll be able to reform them into a good person, of upstanding morale values.

Or at least that's what you hope, anyway.

Your superiors warned you about this one being somewhat of a crazy psychopathic, but you think they're exaggerating. They're too immersed in a human mindset, that's why they can't understand her like you'll be able to. That's surely the reason you've been assigned her. Not like what all the others say, that you're just cannon fodder.

And you're absolutely sure you won't need to end up using this explosive collar they gave you in any way. You take a deep gulp and open the door.

Oh. She's eating. From a body. You watch as your future ghoul partner crunches through a ribcage, bone and meat and all blending together into a crunchy slurry inside her mouth.

She looks up and swallows.

Naramsin Ashatnaya
Detroit DoGS Headquarters
Guest Dorm
@shinaobi

You know this isn't real. It's too.... light. Too fluffy. Too vague. It doesn't feel like it has any real weight to it. You suspect that you're dreaming. You're probably right. Yet, as far as dreams go it isn't bad. You walk forward.

You walk forward, and the surroundings change from vague genericness to a sense of familiar streets. Vaguely upper-middle class streets like the ones from your youth. Nice lawns. Sidewalk. Hard pavement. You walk on.

There's a girl ahead of you. You can't make out her haunting features, but she seems vaguely familiar, and you break into a jog with a sense of urgency that comes from a place you can't identify. You should reach her. Before she goes away again.

But running takes forever. You run and you run and there's no progress made- you can never get closer. You can't reach her. It's like a tunnel that only gets longer the more ground you cover. You're stuck. What happened to her... is something not even you can reverse.

She turns halfway around, still out of your reach. There is an unreadable expression on her face. "What you're doing.... do you think this is really what I would have wanted?"

You wake up to an unfamiliar room. It is not a bad one, all things considered. The bed's large, a nice view from the window, good carpeting, comfortable sofa. It's not like a prison cell or anything. But in the same way, it's still a cage. There are bars behind the windows, meant to hem you in, and guards behind the walls. And a tracking chip embedded beneath your skin.

It's a gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless. But you can't really complain. After all, you chose it for yourself, through your actions and your choices.

There's a knock on your door, and a man pushes the door open. He wears the attire of a somewhat junior level DoGS official, and trailing him into the room follows two heavy armed enforcers, both in full body armor and carrying automatic weapons and sidearms. "Naramsin Ashatnaya? Could you come with me?"

It's not really a request.

Martine Young
Detroit DoGS Headquarters
Armory
@Kensai

Your power armor and custom made quinque hang on the wall in front of you. It's funny. How the DoGS granted your requests so quickly, gave you such high quality weapons so quickly, promoted you so quickly when the Detroit PD had shunned you. Even more ironic when you consider it is for your brutality and violence, the very same qualities that they did so- the same qualities that the Detroit PD looked down upon.

Your mentor scorned you when you told him you were joining the DoGS. He cut you off and renounced you. It's strange, how this is the final straw- you finally achieve success. He did not renounce you when you disappointed him in SWAT. When you discharged, not even then did he renounce you like he has now. Disappointed, yes, saddened, yes, but he believed in you until you told him you were signing on with the DoGS.

Then he cut you off like chaff in the wind. "You spit on all of my teachings," he told you. "Leave my house and never speak to me again."

You have everything you want now. But you've also thrown away so much, perhaps everything, to get to where you are. Was it worth it?

Either way, you don't really care. The DoGS gives you a target to pummel and a means to do it with. Righteousness. Allies. All of that is means to the violence of your ends.

"Inspector Young," a technician calls out to you. "Your partner."

Led by two enforcers in full armor you see your ghoul partner arrive for the first time. He's a svelte, attractive, and fashionable young looking man of a dark brown complexion. But in reality, you understand that he's a man eating monster, the same as the sort you're meant to exterminate.

He looks up and meets your eyes.

Lyra Edgely
Detroit DoGS Headquarters
Temporary Holding Cells
@Estro

The cell they stored you in is dark and damp. They've brought you food twice so far, sloppy shit, laced with RC suppressants. You've eaten ate it anyway. It's not like you have any chance of escaping, not from DoGS HQ.

The ghoul in the cell across from yours tries to talk to you. "Stay strong, child. The one armed lord will be coming."

You ignore him. Rambling insane maniacs are not your sort of thing. Everyone knows the one armed lord is a myth. Only a legend. Instead, you take the time to think.

You took the devil's bargin. To betray your own kind, and obtain a future. Now you're a dog of the DoGS now. A dog of dogs. You laugh bitterly. What a joke.

In this dark holding cell, you've been given time to brood- to regret your decision. There's nothing else to do in the dark. Time to think on all the ways your decision could backfire, all the cruel things they could make you do. All the terrible things that come with this decision.

From this day forward, you are ghoul non grata, viewed as a traitor of all your kind. Ghouls will shun you. Your name will be drug through the mud and you will be slandered beyond all comprehension. Your closest friends will turn on you, those who you love will scorn you. You have contributed to the destruction of your kind in a small, immeasurable sort of way. But despite it all, you can't find it within yourself to find any regret.

For the reason you took this bargain, for the reason you made this decision, you would have taken all the hatreds of the world. You'll shoulder them all. All for her.

Even if you find one day your soul as blackened as midnight dust, you won't regret it.

So you sit here, with this explosive anklet around your right leg, this jumpsuit on your body, and in the darkness you don't regret a thing.

For you, it wasn't really a choice at all.

Rachel Adams
Detroit DoGS Headquarters
Ready Room
@Unlucky Bibliophile

Disgraced. Your reputation destroyed. Yet in the darkest places, there is still hope. There is still meaning, there is still purposes. There is still.... justice.

You lace up your boots and strap your body armor over your chest. The words of the DGGR director echo in your ears. "Don't trust the ghoul. It's best if you think it as a living quinque, only more dangerous to your wielder. Not a person. never a person."

It seems harsh to you, but you know there's truth in his words. To view ghouls as humans is a mistake and against all the DoGS stands for. While treating them with excessive cruelty is stupid, in the end the express purpose of the DoGS is to eliminate ghouls. And, while you dislike the circumstances that brought you here, you are a DoGS agent now.

You're not going to be the gear in the system that breaks down. You lace your boots, tighter and- someone touches your shoulder.

You jerk in place suddenly and look up. It's another one of the recruits that you joined with, Nick. He grins at you. "You only have to tie them once, you know?"

You look down. Your boots- you've been lacing and unlacing them over and over. You might be more nervous than you first though.

"Don't worry so much about it." He slaps you once on the back, before picking up his helmet and sliding it onto his head. "You'll be fine."

As he leaves, you turn his words over in your head. You'll be fine. A teammate worried enough to reassure you and cheer you on. Would you have those if they knew about your past? Of the stain upon your honor?

...no, the DoGS is different. It's not the same as the FBI. And even if it isn't, you'll prove that that, then, has nothing to do with you now. You'll prove it through your actions. You stand up to go meet your ghoul.

Klara Alexeveya
Fargo Ghoul Detention Center "The Eyrie", North Dakota
Cell 11732
@Azrael

"Clara." The head warden for the level picks you out while you're returning to your cell. Leann Jackson is a tall, muscled woman who has a slightly bent nose, a sign she's had it broken one or maybe a few times before, and at least once it wasn't properly set right away. She mispronounces it once again, with an air instead of a ah, but you don't bother to correct her. She's done it a few times before.

Instead, you simply nod. "Yes warden?"

She moves forward, two guards by her side and unlocks your cell door. You watch them pull the bars aside, and step forward obediently for them to put cuffs on your wrists. "Come with to me my office."

The two of you walk, her heels click clacking upon linoleum floor, yours not so much. You could probably take her out right here if you wanted to. But even if you did, what would be the point? You'd never escape, not with all the guards ready and every aspect of the prison under their control.

Plus you don't earn your keep in the lightest security ghoul detention center in the Midwest by being the person likely to do that.

You look out to the glass windows as you walk. The Eyrie... is beautiful. Despite being in the middle of nowhere, it's still beautiful. The sun shines through the mist every morning, and rise over the peaks of the mountains, filtering its light into a brilliant array of yellows and reds. Nature abounds with greenery and beauty below the steel and glass of the Eyrie. If you were the sort to delude yourself, you might even find life enjoyable here. Pretend you're not a trapped animal in a cage. Pretend that humans don't hate you with all their will. Pretend that you're only here because you're useful.

You'd love it if you were that sort of person.

You enter the warden's office, and sit down in the chair in front of her desk. She stares at you, studying your face for several long seconds. "Clara, you're a ghoul in good standing, with a reputation for good behavior. Which is exactly the sort of ghoul the DoGS has been looking for a new program. We'd like to offer you a place for trial membership."

She lays out the basis of a program that is more than you could have hoped for. It is a hard one, that requires you to betray your kin, your kind. It requires you to swear explosives at all times, like a guillotine hanging over your head if you even make one wrong step. But what it offers, a hope for freedom is more than worth it. This plan, the choice it offers?

You can't even really consider it a choice.

Erin Graham
Detroit DoGS Headquarters
Outside Interrogation Chamber
@Khawy

Director Clements meets you outside the interrogation chamber. He's a tall, broad, worn looking black man, with too many wrinkles on his face and breath that smells like cheap cigarettes. His most notable feature is a lack of a certain feature, an empty gap where his left arm should be, and a sleeve filled with nothing. But his eyes are sharp, with an unnerving intensity.

He stares down at you, a little bit taller than you, even in heels. "Doctor Graham. I've seen your work."

By which he means the papers you half doctored for the Institute for Ghoul Studies. The ones where you talk about peaceful cohabitation between ghouls and humans. The ones that Director Clement has always been loudly outspoken against. Those papers.

"They're really quite something," he says, with an edge to his voice that you can't quite recognize.

You swallow. You haven't even had your first case, and your boss already thinks you're a loose gun who can't be trusted.

Director Clements sighs. "Doctor, I'm not here to try to intimidate you. I'm only here to give you a word of warning. Don't mistake that ghoul in there for a girl who wants a normal family and a home. The family she wants will eat other families and the home she wants is filled with the corpses of innocent people. If you forget that it'll be your downfall."

"To them, you're only food. Maybe food with more uses than just being food. But food nonetheless." He grimaces, and his stump twitches on his shoulder. "Don't forget that, or it may end up costing you someday."

With that, he leaves. Leaving you free to open the door to the interrogation chamber, where you see a young Russian woman with explosives strapped to her right ankle sitting there, flipping through a book. She looks up, and you see clear inquisitive eyes.

 

[Hyacinthium]

It was fairly obvious that Elena should have knocked in hindsight. Quickly glancing around the barren room revealed nowhere to sit down, the only chair taken by the girl in front of her. The table in the middle was totally covered in what seemed to be most of a human body.

Elena had already considered getting her new partner a cup of coffee, but the coffee machine and grinds available to the DoGS here had been poor to say the least. She hadn't seen any hot chocolate either. Disappointing, and expected. Much more so than someone allowing Miss Alice to actually eat whole food and not a watery meat-shake. Didn't that mean that Alice wasn't as bad as Elena had been told?

Elena should have risked lateness to swing by that cafe after all. Miss Alice must have missed being able to drink coffee back in the detention center! The two of them would just have to go together later. Yeah. A smile tugged at Elena's lips.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your meal, Miss Taverner. My name is Elena Cadieux and I'll be your partner from now on." Elena considered her attempt at an introduction. Yeah, that sounded good. Not too eager and not rude either.

 

[Cat]

The door opens.

And behind the door is a monster in human form.

It doesn't speak, simply stares with wide unblinking eyes, as the rib cage shatters in its teeth, as it tears flesh from bone and chews, a thoughtful look on its face as it stares at the girl who enters the room. A gulping swallow as it goes down the throat of the beast, and it smiles - teeth covered in red. "You know," it drawls, "I never really expected to leave the heat."

The monster has a way of speaking that makes one shudder as it does, with lilting highs and a methodical pace to its voice. It is too normal, too casual, too human for the inhumanity that it is. It glances upwards, the slurry before it left to rot, as it stares at the girl.

Tick.

Tock.

"Heat. Sweltering, blistering heat. A haze before my eyes, really. Such a haze that the world turns red. 12."

It explains the idea of heat as if it was a normal thing, as if it was possible for it to be that blistering kind of fire that makes the world go red before your eyes. And the fire is in its voice, in its eyes and in its mouth - that blistering red hidden behind askew glasses, with dark hair far too messy and a mouth far too prim and proper for such a monster. It smiles at you, all teeth that are too sharp and eyes twinkling. It drags off a layer of meat - fatty and thick, and tears it into chunks in its mouth. "The number of meals I was given before the clock started." The way it speaks is as if time is unsurpassed - as if the Count is everpresent, and neverending. "Two million, five hundred and sixty thousand, one hundred and eighty six."

The time since it last stepped outside. A time that is not wholly deserved, and yet it is. It, that is, I, am a quintessential monstrosity.

I eat.

I sleep.

I kill.

It's a cycle, a cycle. If I do not eat, I cannot sleep for the pain in my stomach. If I do not sleep, I cannot kill to satiate my own hunger. If I cannot kill, I do not eat. And inside that cage, where I was offered a choice amidst a count that still murmurs in my head, There was no cycle. There was nothing but walls that close in on the viewer and meals of slop filled with suppressants. My back sings with glee as I stand up, clothing sloppily placed on myself as I casually wave at the girl - innocent, too innocent by half for what is to come, looks at me with nerves and worry. She's weak, a waifish slight of a thing. She's fiddling with her hands, as if to avoid looking at me. And ah! Ah, of course, she is lonely - just the sort for their attempt to change Alice Taverner; the girl who slaughtered her family in a haze of heat.

"It's a dreary mess of a habit," I say to her, as I tear an arm off the corpse, a slight smile on my face as I look at her. "To eat. To devour. That's just the sort of thing a monster does, though. It eats. What's it like?"

It's a question, a question. 2,566,190. I'm interested. Being around a monster, and told that you have to work with it, when it killed your family and friends and loved ones and everyone you ever cared about not for food, or to satiate its hunger, but because it lusts for blood and desires more.

I tilt my head to the side, and stare at the girl, instead. "What's it like, preparing to work with a monster?"

Really, it's an important thing, to comprehend. Her process, her process of thoughts, of ideas, of fears - how does she justify as a protector of all that is good and kind, to work with one such as I? To work with such a quintessential, broken, vile thing that is a monster? This girl before me is kind, is righteous, is noble - she brought me drinks, she desires a camaraderie, things that I was informed were simply undeserved by a monster. 2,566,200. She wields my compatriots as a weapon, and yet I can't help but think she'd kill them just as quickly as myself. Ah, but there is a chance. A chance that those above us will not let me finish my meal before we depart, so I look at her with a soft smile, and raise a finger. "A moment."

Disgusting.

It's disgusting, to eat as a monster.

There's no sensuality, no flair, nothing that makes it enticing or interesting or even remotely palatable. I eat because I am hungry. I am hungry because I eat. It's a cycle, a cycle. What I am doing could not be called 'eating', any longer. No - I devour the corpse before me because I am insatiably hungry at this moment, and it would not be polite to go out with a stomach that rumbles.

Blood runs down pale white skin as I look up, shrugging my shoulders and wiping a single, delicate hand across my lips. "Ah. I apologize. Would you like any?"

I offer a chunk of ribs, the most delectable part of the body. The silence before me tells me she would not like any, so I eat. It's delicious.

The silence remains until I finish, standing up and stretching like a cat, my back arching and my kagune comfortably full in my stomach. A grand meal, a grand desire filled. Blood coats my clothing, but there is no reason to change. The people of this Department and of this city. They deserve to know who I am.

"Shall we?" I ask, bowing slightly.

2,566,420.

 

[Unlucky Bibliophile]

@Estro

...no, the DoGS is different. It's not the same as the FBI. And even if it isn't, you'll prove that that, then, has nothing to do with you now. You'll prove it through your actions. You stand up to go meet your ghoul.

Click to shrink...

As Rachel made her way to the holding cells to meet her new partner, she pulled out a notepad and pen. Her former colleagues in the Bureau used to tease her about it all the time once they saw her jotting something down. It was a habit she picked up during her time as a beat cop on the streets of Detroit.

Sure, her penmanship needed a lot of work, but it was legible for the most part.

Rachel chewed on the bottom of her pen as she reviewed her information. Her new partner was quite a piece of work. The ghoul's name was Lyra Edgerly, former leader of a small-time gang on the outskirts of the city -- sadly, a common occurrence in Detroit. A lot of disenfranchised and poor youths tended to congregate together for protection. The gang was connected to a series of thefts and brawls in the area, along with other juvenile delinquent behavior. Nothing that could have earned Lyra more than a few months of juvie if she was human. As a ghoul, DoGS would have killed her regardless.

After the gang members realized that she was a ghoul, they rolled over pretty easily. DoGS was notoriously hard on anyone even tenuously connected to ghouls. Once Lyra murdered an officer trying to bring her in for questioning, prosecutors threatened to charge them all with felony murder by association. The legality of it was questionable at best, illegal at worst, and made even murkier with ghouls. But it got the gang members talking. Reportedly, Lyra was furious about it. No honor between this group of thieves, apparently.

However, because of DoGS's pet project, she was allowed to evade justice.

Rachel frowned at the thought, nodding at the guard on duty to open the door. She ignored the catcalls and threats from the other inmates, having grown used to it.

Noticing that she was quickly approaching the cell, Rachel returned her notepad and pen back into her pocket. She patted the holster at her hip, making sure that her gun was still there. DoGS had issued her with clips of Q bullets, which were supposed to be marginally more effective on ghouls than regular rounds. It irked her a bit that she was expressly forbidden to use them on humans, but that was how the cookie crumbled sometimes. You can't just shoot bullets full RC at a human. Regardless, having to switch between the two types in the heat of battle could be deadly.

The jail door opened and a heady smell wafted through the air, which Rachel tried hard to ignore. She kept a hand on her standard-issue firearm, eyeing the younger girl cautiously even as a guard hovered ominously behind her. "Lyra Edgerly? My name is Rachel Adams. I'll be your partner while you're with DoGS." Short, sweet, professional -- Rachel kept a perfectly neutral tone. "If you could please follow me, we'll get you out of those rags and into a decent change of clothes."

"Jesus, she's young," thought Rachel, feeling a twinge of pity despite her effort. "It's not right that someone her age is locked up with these murderers, felons, and rapists. It's not right."

Still, she kept such thoughts to herself. One never knew who could be listening. And with her recent "transfer" to DoGS as the FBI investigates her case, Rachel was on thin ice as it is. Rachel had long perfected the art of testing her boss' patience. And despite her reservations, this was a young teen who killed an officer and countless other people to feed her hunger, too.

One thing continued to bother Rachel, though. Information on Lyra's personal life was surprisingly sparse, especially since they were expected to work together. Although her criminal record was well-documented, the ghoul's history contained little in it aside from a comment that her parents were neutralized in a sting by DoGS. Maybe an intriguing bit of information that she could follow up on later.

 

[Kensai]

@shinaobi

Naramsin looks into a pair of pale blue eyes, narrowed in suspicion, corners already creased from habitual frowning even though the rest of the face is young. Young, but not unmarked. His keen vision picks out marks and scars - the pale line of a split lip, the skewed symmetry of a jaw once shattered and wired back together.

His new partner is lithe, petite, all nerves and sinew as she stands with her weight on the balls of her feet, ready to move in any direction, as if she never allows her heels on the ground at all. Her left hand twitches in habitual motion, ready to grip and claw and twist. The knuckles are skinned, calloused, raw. The nails are short, varnished to the lustre and hardness of stone, filed to an almost imperceptible point.

Someone less observant might have seen a girl too small to be much of a threat; even the slightly more perceptive might merely deduce from her rank and standing that she had to be formidable enough to do her job; Naramsin saw an ambush predator, one that hid in plain sight until the time came to explode into vicious violence.

On the wall, behind him and to one side, so that he can barely glimpse it out of the corner of his eye, hang an armoured exoskeleton, painted the colour of arterial spray - no coincidence, surely - and a massive axe whose shaft is longer than his partner is tall, and which must surely be too heavy for a mere human to wield unaided. He is under no illusions as to its provenance. A quinque, forged from the remnants of one of his kind.

She speaks. Her voice is high, throaty. She sounds like the teenager she may never have been.

"Ashatnaya. Don't bother. I've read your file. You think you're smart." The shadow of a smirk skulks across her lips, keeping well clear of those eyes. "You're probably right. Smarter than me, anyway. I'd never have thought of hiding out from a bunch of guys who were trying to kill me by going to work for another bunch of guys who were trying to kill me."

She folds her arms. "But what do I know? I'm just a fuckup who couldn't make it in the Detroit PD. Ask Andre over there" - she points at the shorter of the two enforcers guarding him, who visibly starts - "he probably couldn't resist telling you what he's heard about me. Some of it might even be true."

She takes two steps forward, so quick and smooth it seems like she just appears closer.

"All you need to know is this. Play by my rules and I don't kill you. Try to cross me and you will die. How slow and painful that is depends on how pissed off I am with you."

 

[shinaobi]

@Kensai

Young sees something like a glint pass in Naramsin's gray eyes as he moves his head minutely to follow her motion; a trick of the light, surely. The corners of his lips stretch upwards minutely, and she's seen the gesture before, from conmen to used car salesmen to particularly enthusiastic wait staff: the smile of anticipation, at success mapped out and already achieved.

"Andre, Nathaniel," the other guard shifts uncomfortably "Bartholomew," there's the sound of shoes scuffing the floor outside the door, as the local gossip realizes he's been outed. "I'm sure it was one of them, but frankly Lieutenant, I rather think you are exactly the partner I need," he says, voice a smooth, practiced tenor. "There's no cause for concern. After all, as you noted, I'm no fool. I've never had the notion that I could turn back, that I was safe here. Even if there wasn't a chip under my skin ensuring that I'd be tracked anywhere I went, I don't have a safe haven on the outside, not anymore. And I'm certainly not powerful enough to take out a properly equipped team of hunters." The ghoul leans back, the small silver studs in his ears glinting dully in the light. "I gave up my freedom because I saw that this city has a problem that needs organized, efficient, brutal force to solve."

His gaze travels to the axe and the armor waiting on the wall, and lingers there as he continues. "And here you are."

"Are you ready?" he asks, extending a hand to shake.

 

[Estro]

Lyra Edgely
Detroit DoGS Headquarters
Temporary Holding Cells
@Estro

The cell they stored you in is dark and damp. They've brought you food twice so far, sloppy shit, laced with RC suppressants. You've eaten ate it anyway. It's not like you have any chance of escaping, not from DoGS HQ.

The ghoul in the cell across from yours tries to talk to you. "Stay strong, child. The one armed lord will be coming."

You ignore him. Rambling insane maniacs are not your sort of thing. Everyone knows the one armed lord is a myth. Only a legend. Instead, you take the time to think.

You took the devil's bargin. To betray your own kind, and obtain a future. Now you're a dog of the DoGS now. A dog of dogs. You laugh bitterly. What a joke.

In this dark holding cell, you've been given time to brood- to regret your decision. There's nothing else to do in the dark. Time to think on all the ways your decision could backfire, all the cruel things they could make you do. All the terrible things that come with this decision.

From this day forward, you are ghoul non grata, viewed as a traitor of all your kind. Ghouls will shun you. Your name will be drug through the mud and you will be slandered beyond all comprehension. Your closest friends will turn on you, those who you love will scorn you. You have contributed to the destruction of your kind in a small, immeasurable sort of way. But despite it all, you can't find it within yourself to find any regret.

For the reason you took this bargain, for the reason you made this decision, you would have taken all the hatreds of the world. You'll shoulder them all. All for her.

Even if you find one day your soul as blackened as midnight dust, you won't regret it.

So you sit here, with this explosive anklet around your right leg, this jumpsuit on your body, and in the darkness you don't regret a thing.

For you, it wasn't really a choice at all.

Click to shrink...

The bed is thin. The air is cool. Her hair lies unwashed: tangled and lank. The maniac in the next cell laughs again.

None of that mattered. Not even the hunger that has been creeping up on her, sharpening her nose and her anger, matters. It wasn't advancing, anymore, that white mess she was given to eat was probably designed to keep her in this state. Hunger made you desperate, didn't it?

Not even the anklet mattered. She had private doubts it would kill her by itself, but she wouldn't escape without a foot and the RC suppressants probably did a number on her regeneration anyway.

Escape was futile, anyway. She'd be released for her sins, soon. Released, but not unleashed. Sat in the dark corner of her cell, she pondered the two things that mattered. Her new... master.

And her sister. She had no more images. Destroyed them all. She had no mementos. She had nothing but her memories.

And so Lyra Edgely sat in darkness and burned the memories and buried her objections deeper.

@Estro



As Rachel made her way to the holding cells to meet her new partner, she pulled out a notepad and pen. Her former colleagues in the Bureau used to tease her about it all the time once they saw her jotting something down. It was a habit she picked up during her time as a beat cop on the streets of Detroit.

Sure, her penmanship needed a lot of work, but it was legible for the most part.

Rachel chewed on the bottom of her pen as she reviewed her information. Her new partner was quite a piece of work. The ghoul's name was Lyra Edgerly, former leader of a small-time gang on the outskirts of the city -- sadly, a common occurrence in Detroit. A lot of disenfranchised and poor youths tended to congregate together for protection. The gang was connected to a series of thefts and brawls in the area, along with other juvenile delinquent behavior. Nothing that could have earned Lyra more than a few months of juvie if she was human. As a ghoul, DoGS would have killed her regardless.

After the gang members realized that she was a ghoul, they rolled over pretty easily. DoGS was notoriously hard on anyone even tenuously connected to ghouls. Once Lyra murdered an officer trying to bring her in for questioning, prosecutors threatened to charge them all with felony murder by association. The legality of it was questionable at best, illegal at worst, and made even murkier with ghouls. But it got the gang members talking. Reportedly, Lyra was furious about it. No honor between this group of thieves, apparently.

However, because of DoGS's pet project, she was allowed to evade justice.

Rachel frowned at the thought, nodding at the guard on duty to open the door. She ignored the catcalls and threats from the other inmates, having grown used to it.

Noticing that she was quickly approaching the cell, Rachel returned her notepad and pen back into her pocket. She patted the holster at her hip, making sure that her gun was still there. DoGS had issued her with clips of Q bullets, which were supposed to be marginally more effective on ghouls than regular rounds. It irked her a bit that she was expressly forbidden to use them on humans, but that was how the cookie crumbled sometimes. You can't just shoot bullets full RC at a human. Regardless, having to switch between the two types in the heat of battle could be deadly.

The jail door opened and a heady smell wafted through the air, which Rachel tried hard to ignore. She kept a hand on her standard-issue firearm, eyeing the younger girl cautiously even as a guard hovered ominously behind her. "Lyra Edgerly? My name is Rachel Adams. I'll be your partner while you're with DoGS." Short, sweet, professional -- Rachel kept a perfectly neutral tone. "If you could please follow me, we'll get you out of those rags and into a decent change of clothes."

"Jesus, she's young," thought Rachel, feeling a twinge of pity despite her effort. "It's not right that someone her age is locked up with these murderers, felons, and rapists. It's not right."

Still, she kept such thoughts to herself. One never knew who could be listening. And with her recent "transfer" to DoGS as the FBI investigates her case, Rachel was on thin ice as it is. Rachel had long perfected the art of testing her boss' patience. And despite her reservations, this was a young teen who killed an officer and countless other people to feed her hunger, too.

One thing continued to bother Rachel, though. Information on Lyra's personal life was surprisingly sparse, especially since they were expected to work together. Although her criminal record was well-documented, the ghoul's history contained little in it aside from a comment that her parents were neutralized in a sting by DoGS. Maybe an intriguing bit of information that she could follow up on later.

Click to shrink...

Lyra smelt the girl before she came into sight. The guard was behind her, but their smell was ubiquitous, adrenaline and gun oil.

The new girl smelt of paper and ink. She'd met people who smelt like that before. Teachers. Lawyers. Clerks. But they didn't smell of testosterone and sweat. Not much, the woman wasn't anything near strong. But she wasn't sedentary.

The door to her cell clinked open, and the woman stepped in.

Lyra let her say her piece, before rolling over to face the woman. Long blond hair and an... Investigators uniform? You'd think they'd put the killers with the rest.

"Careful, you might sound like you care about how I'm treated."

The voice that came out was cracked and gravely due to underuse, but the sardonic tone was still wrapped around every word. The guard behind Rachel glared, and shifted her weapon from hand to hand, prompting Lyra to lazily flip her off.

Standing and stretching, she popped what seemed to be every joint in her body before relaxing again.

"If I do get to be treated better than a sheep in transit, I'd prefer a warm shower. With soap. And then perhaps something decent to eat."

Lyra rolled her shoulders, before pacing forwards to come face to face with her new boss. They were almost the same height, meaning that she didn't have to bend or stretch to ensure her eyes directly in front of Rachel's. Opening her mouth, but keeping her eyes directly on the investigators, she rolled her tongue around her teeth.

"Partner"

 

[Hyacinthium]

@Cat

She blinks.

Ah, so this is what Mother had talked about. This is what what Elena's boss had muttered about, the file had bluntly contained, and why the other DoGS had called Elena cannon fodder. Alice Taverner was broken. It was a kind of broken that Elena had seen glimpses of in her childhood, in people she grew up with and then her Mother. A kind of pain that hurt ghouls differently. Alice Taverner reminded her of them. Of other people- ghouls and human collaborators that stopped visiting with no explanation. Hazy images of a father.

Alice Taverner reminded Elena of her mother. The room even smelled like corpse, though not the lingering wisps of death that came from killing people all the time. Mother had that scent even more now. But now Elena is getting dragged back by nostalgia.

She can't really stop it by doing anything other than speaking up. To answer the other girl's question."Not so different from going to a boarding school that teaches you how to kill, but I did get excited," Elena glances away from the much emptier table. "No one was very interested in letting me actually meet anyone even during my internship during later academy years."

Five years of doing great at catching up after years of poor education, but her sponsors had grown distant after they all realized that Elena just couldn't see the world the way they wanted her to. Liked her, maybe even favored her still, but no amount of combat was going to stop them from thinking Elena was a foolish idiot. That would get killed right away because of her feelings.

"I'm surprised that they fed you something other than a shake though. They usually just do that for the long timers." There doesn't need to be an explanation for who they is.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to clean up before we go? Dried blood is annoying to deal with." Elena reaches down to her skirt's pocket. She has a small packet of scentless wet wipes there and doesn't hesitant to offer them to her new partner. A shower would work best. Somehow, Alice doesn't seem like she'd agree to get one or a change of clothing at the moment.

Like mother.

 

[Cat]

@Lilithium

An analysis, an analysis. Of me? Of my habits? Or simply a statement? My partner - loathe though I am to deem her so, for such a word is for someone with more guts then she - is different from the other humans that I have met. She is more, and she is less.

"A shake is for the rest," I tell her, my voice dancing along the edge of madness and mayhem, "I deserve more. After all, if the rest are part of a test, I am the experiment. The subject. The prime number, the end-all of end-alls. This is me, yes? I am here. Two million, five hundred and sixty six thousand, five hundred and nine."

She offers me a napkin, which I gladly accept with a cursory nod. Rubbing it on my cheeks, feeling the wetness coalesce with skin as white turns to red, I have a suspicion, a suspicion. A redemption attempt, yes - that is the only thing to call this. The dogs of the dogs, are, of course, supposed to show partnership. To show mutual existence. But I am no dog. Dogs are creatures that feed at the table scraps, that dance around the flames to gnaw at a bone. I am crow. Survival is all that matters, above death and life and everything in between. I will live through indignities, through pain and strife, to show that I exist.

"The gesture is appreciated," I inform my new partner, a smile slipping onto my face, with red coated lips. "You are different, yes? Different from the two outside who guard the door, different from the warden who despises ghouls." A mutual look is exchanged. An idea passes through it. A wide smile covers my lips as I incline my head. "I think... I will let you lead."

It's different, different to let someone else lead me. I am, I am, I am a monster - and monsters are not cowed, or bridled, or broken. But does a shark not allow the minnow to swim on its back, and peck at its bacteria? Does a lion not allow his pride to hunt for him? It is similar to this. Blood to be spilled, blood to be wet, and this girl to lead me to it.

It's easy.

It's too easy.

They must know, 2,566,548, that I am vile, that I am cruel, that I am callous and evil and wicked. To place such a girl before me is to ask that I not corrupt, but all I am is corrupting. Wickedness courses through my veins, steeps itself in my blood, and irons itself in my sheets. Why does one throw a rabbit to the wolf, if not to let it be devoured?

Ah. It's a test, a test. An example of failure. A way to remove a monster that is disgusting, that is hated, that is reviled. For if I turn Elena Cadieux into a corpse, remove the light from her eyes and the sunshine from her step, I am a corpse in turn, and the experiment is dust, ashes, and over. I am supposed to fail, for I am a failure. It's spite, yes? It's spite to succeed.

I will succeed out of spite.

"Please," I tell the girl, staring at her with unblinking eyes behind glasses as askew as I, "Show me the way and I will follow."

 

[Kensai]

@Kensai

Young sees something like a glint pass in Naramsin's gray eyes as he moves his head minutely to follow her motion; a trick of the light, surely. The corners of his lips stretch upwards minutely, and she's seen the gesture before, from conmen to used car salesmen to particularly enthusiastic wait staff: the smile of anticipation, at success mapped out and already achieved.

"Andre, Nathaniel," the other guard shifts uncomfortably "Bartholomew," there's the sound of shoes scuffing the floor outside the door, as the local gossip realizes he's been outed. "I'm sure it was one of them, but frankly Lieutenant, I rather think you are exactly the partner I need," he says, voice a smooth, practiced tenor. "There's no cause for concern. After all, as you noted, I'm no fool. I've never had the notion that I could turn back, that I was safe here. Even if there wasn't a chip under my skin ensuring that I'd be tracked anywhere I went, I don't have a safe haven on the outside, not anymore. And I'm certainly not powerful enough to take out a properly equipped team of hunters." The ghoul leans back, the small silver studs in his ears glinting dully in the light. "I gave up my freedom because I saw that this city has a problem that needs organized, efficient, brutal force to solve."

His gaze travels to the axe and the armor waiting on the wall, and lingers there as he continues. "And here you are."

"Are you ready?" he asks, extending a hand to shake.

Click to shrink...

Marty bares her teeth in a gesture not even a blind man could mistake for a smile. She does not take Naramsin's hand.

"Looks like we have ourselves an understanding," she says, turning to follow his gaze. "I'm always ready for a bit of the old ultra-violence, Ashatnaya."

Somehow, despite barely coming up to the slender ghoul's shoulder, she gives the impression of glaring down at him.

"Question is, are you?"

 

[shinaobi]

Somehow, despite barely coming up to the slender ghoul's shoulder, she gives the impression of glaring down at him.

"Question is, are you?"

Click to shrink...

"The work we do needs enthusiasm. I'll be the last to hold you back; and don't worry. I don't expect you to do anything, break anyone that I won't be ready and willing to crush myself, and when I need to kill you can be certain that I will bring death," Naramsin says, the hand he is holding out curling into a fist. "Indolence has never been a virtue."

He rolls his shoulders languidly, the motion producing a few softly audible pops. "Any more questions?"

 

[Kensai]

"The work we do needs enthusiasm. I'll be the last to hold you back; and don't worry. I don't expect you to do anything, break anyone that I won't be ready and willing to crush myself, and when I need to kill you can be certain that I will bring death," Naramsin says, the hand he is holding out curling into a fist. "Indolence has never been a virtue."

He rolls his shoulders languidly, the motion producing a few softly audible pops. "Any more questions?"

Click to shrink...

That brought a laugh from Marty, as bitter and acrid and cold as a cafeteria coffee after three shifts left out on a desk. When she stopped, a thick silence squatted over the armory. The technicians had made themselves scarce; somewhere a leaking pipe dripped.

Marty stood looking at Huvuddelare a long, long time.

"One last thing," she said at last. The guards almost jumped at her voice. "Bring baby wipes."

 

[shinaobi]

That brought a laugh from Marty, as bitter and acrid and cold as a cafeteria coffee after three shifts left out on a desk. When she stopped, a thick silence squatted over the armory. The technicians had made themselves scarce; somewhere a leaking pipe dripped.

Marty stood looking at Huvuddelare a long, long time.

"One last thing," she said at last. The guards almost jumped at her voice. "Bring baby wipes."

Click to shrink...

Behind her Naramsin's eyebrows raise and after glancing at each of the guards in turn--both of them seem uncomfortable at the scrutiny--he shrugs.

"Sure," he responds, before turning his back and motioning for the guards to march him back to his room.

 

[Khawy]

Erin Graham
Detroit DoGS Headquarters
Outside Interrogation Chamber
@Khawy

Director Clements meets you outside the interrogation chamber. He's a tall, broad, worn looking black man, with too many wrinkles on his face and breath that smells like cheap cigarettes. His most notable feature is a lack of a certain feature, an empty gap where his left arm should be, and a sleeve filled with nothing. But his eyes are sharp, with an unnerving intensity.

He stares down at you, a little bit taller than you, even in heels. "Doctor Graham. I've seen your work."

By which he means the papers you half doctored for the Institute for Ghoul Studies. The ones where you talk about peaceful cohabitation between ghouls and humans. The ones that Director Clement has always been loudly outspoken against. Those papers.

"They're really quite something," he says, with an edge to his voice that you can't quite recognize.

You swallow. You haven't even had your first case, and your boss already thinks you're a loose gun who can't be trusted.

Director Clements sighs. "Doctor, I'm not here to try to intimidate you. I'm only here to give you a word of warning. Don't mistake that ghoul in there for a girl who wants a normal family and a home. The family she wants will eat other families and the home she wants is filled with the corpses of innocent people. If you forget that it'll be your downfall."

"To them, you're only food. Maybe food with more uses than just being food. But food nonetheless." He grimaces, and his stump twitches on his shoulder. "Don't forget that, or it may end up costing you someday."

With that, he leaves. Leaving you free to open the door to the interrogation chamber, where you see a young Russian woman with explosives strapped to her right ankle sitting there, flipping through a book. She looks up, and you see clear inquisitive eyes.

Click to shrink...

Doctor Graham nodded. Thanking Director Clements under her breath for his insightful advice. Tensions left her as she let a breath out. Yet, her fingers continued to clench at the files underneath her arm.

Huh. That went better than expected. Honestly, she had expected the good director to throw her out right then and there. Understandable, since the man was very clear with his hatred for Ghouls. He wasn't wrong either; it was natural for Ghouls to see her as food. Their only source of nutrition were either human or their own kind, after all.

However, him being right did not necessarily meant he was correct. Sure, Ghouls ate humans to survive. And sure, their way of life was rather impossible to geld with the current state of society. Of course, they were seen as a threat to humanity as a result, especially with their superhuman abilities. But...but....but! No, wait.

The out-of-place researcher shook her head of those thoughts. She was getting ahead of herself. Again. Right now, she had something more important to do than debating with a man who wasn't even there. Namely, addressing her partner, a girl barely out of her teenaged years.

Recollecting her trains of thought, Erin opened the door and let herself into the interrogation chamber. Her strides even, her back straight, looking professional as she could be. She neatly placed her partner's files on the side of the desk, before sitting down in the chair across from the girl. Arms laid over the desk, her hands steepled together. Yellow eyes carefully observe the young girl in front of her.

Erin sighed.

"To think that they would partner me with a child." So young and so much potential. "That aside, I am Doctor Erin Graham, and I will be your handler. More or less."

 

[Azrael]

Recollecting her trains of thought, Erin opened the door and let herself into the interrogation chamber. Her strides even, her back straight, looking professional as she could be. She neatly placed her partner's files on the side of the desk, before sitting down in the chair across from the girl. Arms laid over the desk, her hands steepled together. Yellow eyes carefully observe the young girl in front of her.

Erin sighed.

"To think that they would partner me with a child." So young and so much potential. "That aside, I am Doctor Erin Graham, and I will be your handler. More or less."

Click to shrink...

The girl looks up as the door opens. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in the one who will serve as her 'caretaker' for the foreseeable future. Not too tall, nor too muscled. She seemed to be in good shape, and somewhere between late twenties and early thirties.

The instinctive urge to spring from the chair is suppressed. Thoughts of ripping open her stomach to feast on her innards are dismissed. Patience. She would get an opportunity to eat something besides quasi-meat slurry eventually. There would be opportunities in the midst of battle to satiate her craving. Patience.

She averts her eyes, and closes the book in front of her. A brief glance would reveal it to be a middle school level English textbook. She swallows loudly. That she was salivating isn't immediately obvious.

As the older woman introduces herself, the girl looks up at her with warm brown eyes, staring more at her nose than her eyes. Her shoulders are hunched, as though she is trying to make herself smaller, and the smile she offers her future partner is small, somehow fragile-seeming, and does not reveal her teeth.

She had learned a long time ago that humans were rarely comfortable with a ghoul showing their teeth. It made sense. What sheep would be content with a wolf baring its fangs?

In a small, quaky voice, with the hint of an accent, she responds to her 'partner'.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Investigator. I hope we will get along well..."

 

[Unlucky Bibliophile]

Lyra rolled her shoulders, before pacing forwards to come face to face with her new boss. They were almost the same height, meaning that she didn't have to bend or stretch to ensure her eyes directly in front of Rachel's. Opening her mouth, but keeping her eyes directly on the investigators, she rolled her tongue around her teeth.

"Partner"

Click to shrink...

Rachel squared her shoulders and stared right in the eyes, ignoring the rancid smell of decaying flesh off Lyra's breath. Thankfully, the former FBI agent was used to the scent from many investigations and autopsies to be bothered by it. Breaking eye contact, she turned towards the guard, who seemed more irate than ever. "Do we have a shower around here?" Rachel asked.

The guard scowled, making sure to keep Lyra within direct line of sight. "Yeah, there's a shower here. But --"

"I'm the one who has to be in close proximity with her and I will not have her going around smelling like shit," stated Rachel, firmly. "Despite your thoughts, I have standards. Standards which happen to include not smelling like shit, even by proximity."

The guard spent a moment looking between Lyra and Rachel, before conceding. Grumbling under her breath, the guard replied, "Fine, fine. It's your funeral, girl."

Turning around to her new... partner, Rachel said, "A shower is reasonable enough. I can arrange for your clothes that we confiscated to be released from the evidence locker as well. I'm not sure what I can do about decent food, however." She shrugged. "From what I've heard, all the ghoul feed around here is that horrible meat slushy they give you."

"Nothing less for you fucking monsters," opined the guard, sneering.

Rachel ignored her. "I'm not an unreasonable sort, Lyra. While we may not like each other, we are expected to work together. The least I can do for you right now is to get you a shower, some clothes, and maybe a meal that isn't shit." The guard leveled Rachel with a distrustful glare.

Maybe she was being a bit nicer than strictly necessary, but it helped to build a rapport with her partner. Hypothetically, Lyra was supposed to watch Rachel's back while in the field and vise versa. Like it or not, they were stuck together for the immediate future. It only helped Rachel to get her foot in the door, so to speak.

 

[Estro]

Rachel squared her shoulders and stared right in the eyes, ignoring the rancid smell of decaying flesh off Lyra's breath. Thankfully, the former FBI agent was used to the scent from many investigations and autopsies to be bothered by it. Breaking eye contact, she turned towards the guard, who seemed more irate than ever. "Do we have a shower around here?" Rachel asked.

The guard scowled, making sure to keep Lyra within direct line of sight. "Yeah, there's a shower here. But --"

"I'm the one who has to be in close proximity with her and I will not have her going around smelling like shit," stated Rachel, firmly. "Despite your thoughts, I have standards. Standards which happen to include not smelling like shit, even by proximity."

The guard spent a moment looking between Lyra and Rachel, before conceding. Grumbling under her breath, the guard replied, "Fine, fine. It's your funeral, girl."

Turning around to her new... partner, Rachel said, "A shower is reasonable enough. I can arrange for your clothes that we confiscated to be released from the evidence locker as well. I'm not sure what I can do about decent food, however." She shrugged. "From what I've heard, all the ghoul feed around here is that horrible meat slushy they give you."

"Nothing less for you fucking monsters," opined the guard, sneering.

Rachel ignored her. "I'm not an unreasonable sort, Lyra. While we may not like each other, we are expected to work together. The least I can do for you right now is to get you a shower, some clothes, and maybe a meal that isn't shit." The guard leveled Rachel with a distrustful glare.

Maybe she was being a bit nicer than strictly necessary, but it helped to build a rapport with her partner. Hypothetically, Lyra was supposed to watch Rachel's back while in the field and vise versa. Like it or not, they were stuck together for the immediate future. It only helped Rachel to get her foot in the door, so to speak.

Click to shrink...

Lyra looked at the investigator, dipped her eyesight from her face, before giving the guard a practiced derogatory look.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can stop fidgeting with the pistol, I'm not gonna try and fight my way out of the DoGS HQ, I ain't stupid. And it'll make you sound nicer and less like your gonna shoot me or summat."

Grinning, Lyra danced round the guard and Rachel, stepping out of her cell for the first time in... In... Huh, lost track of the days. Her bare feat barely made a sound as she whirled over the floor.

The maniac in the cell opposite was watching them all, hands round the bars and face pressed close. His grin was apparent and he opened his mouth again as Lyra drifted closer.

"High day, freedom! Freedom high-"

Slamming her heel against his hands, he cut off with a yelp. Lyra bent her face closer to his, eyes suddenly alight.

"You loco fucker. You couldn't just fucking shut up, could you? Kept us all awake with your mad ramblings."

The ghoul looked pathetic now, face turned to the floor, just saying ow over and over. Lyra wasn't done, and as he opened his mouth to say ow again, she kicked him in the chin, smashing his mouth shut and sending a piece of his tongue flying through the air.

"Fuckin comeuppance."

Stuffing the piece of tongue in her mouth, she ate the meat as after turned to face Rebecca and the guard again.

"You know, ghoul tastes shit and yet it's still better than that slop. Must have really put some effort into that, eh?"

The guard had their weapon pointed directly at Lyra, but she didn't care. Wouldn't do anything now. Bouncing on her feet, her expression finally cleared of the last bits of the anger that had raced across it.

"So, newbs, which way to showers? This way or thata way?"

 

[Hyacinthium]

@Cat

Elena watched as Alice's glasses bobbed slightly. The ghoul was still covered in blood but at least her face was somewhat more presentable. It might be that she wants to make a statement of some sort, Elena considered, but uneven glasses just seemed like a pain in the butt.

"I'll do my utmost to lead you well then." Elena's finger carefully tucked stray locks of hair behind her ear. Fixing Alice's glasses sounded nice but was ultimately rude. They had only just met, and Alice didn't have the advantage of a case file to fall back on like Elena did.

Oh well. The two women had a meeting to go to and being late to their first debriefing really wasn't an option. Saying something like 'My partner and I spent too much time cleaning up, after someone decided to give her a full meal with nothing to keep things from getting messy!' wouldn't be taken well. Even though it would be more a reason than excuse.

Elena turned and opened the plain metal door behind them. There was a slight burst of fresh air when the smell of meat and blood leaked into the hallway outside. The Detention Room's lights were overly bright in comparison. Some stray feelings of anticipation curled in her stomach.

Mercy sat just outside the door in wait, exactly as Elena had left her, which the cheap wrist watch said was 20 whole minutes ago. Still time to spare then. She nodded and turned back to Alice, bending slightly to take hold of the unassuming suit case that contained her weapon.

The smile on Elena's face was smaller but still present, "Let's go to our debriefing then, Alice. We'll talk more later!"

 

[Jemnite]

"Sure," he responds, before turning his back and motioning for the guards to march him back to his room.

Click to shrink...

One of the guards shakes his head. "Waste of time," he explains. "They're going to brief you on your first case in a couple of minutes. Actually, it's about..."

@Kensai

Right as he says that there's a vibrating sound from somewhere on Marty's person. A quick check reveals that it is in fact, her standard DoGS assigned pager. There's a short message flashing across its screen: <Report to Briefing Room 4, for initial team assignments once you've picked up your organic resources.>

Much the same is flashing across everyone-else's pagers. It seems it's time for the team briefing.

@Lilithium
@Cat
@Estro
@Unlucky Bibliophile
@Azrael
@Khawy

When you all arrive in Briefing Room 4, dribbling in pair by pair, you find it is already occupied by two men. One of them, sitting at the desk, is a bald, tall, and thin black man wearing a bulletproof vest over a shirt and tie. He chews on a piece of jerky as he flips through papers, marking them off with a pencil. The other is a white man with somewhat curly black hair wearing a police uniform who looks like he's been through the wringer. He's got red circles around his eyes and a stare that could melt a man alive. He sits loosely on the edge of a table as he nurses a mug of coffee. Honestly, he just looks like he's had a real banger of a night. If you look closely enough you might notice that there's a pistol hanging off his belt from a holster.

((Ghouls: There's a familiar scent filling the room. It's the scent of ghoul. It is likely that at least one of these men are of your kind.))

The black man watches you all through the corner of his eyes as you walk in, and once everyone is arrived, he looks towards his friend. "Which ones do you want?"

His partner shrugs. "Dunno. You have a preference?"

"I'll take the humans then," the first man chooses. "You take the ghouls."

"Right then." The policeman hops off his desk. "C'mon chickadees. You're all with me. Leave the adults to their adult talk. Off we go."

((Splitting scenes here, ghouls are in the hallway, humans stay in the briefing room))

His partner makes a tsk noise, as the policeman walks out of the room. Once they're out they're out of the room, he turns back to the remaining human inspectors in the room. "To everyone who's left, welcome to provisional Ghoul Suppression Squad G7. You're a four inspector unit under the remit of the second generation DGGR program. Before we go forward with the briefing, could an... Inspector Adams please identify herself?"

 

[Unlucky Bibliophile]

His partner makes a tsk noise, as the policeman walks out of the room. Once they're out they're out of the room, he turns back to the remaining human inspectors in the room. "To everyone who's left, welcome to provisional Ghoul Suppression Squad G7. You're a four inspector unit under the remit of the second generation DGGR program. Before we go forward with the briefing, could an... Inspector Adams please identify herself?"

Click to shrink...

Oh, this was never good. Internally, Rachel furiously tried to recall anything that could have had gotten their attention. Getting called and singled out during her could mean many things -- one of which was making an example. Rachel nervously fidgeted on her feet, before stepping forward with admirable confidence. "I'm Age -- Inspector Rachel Adams. What seems to be the problem, sir?"

What was the problem that couldn't be discussed privately, was left unsaid.

 

[Jemnite]

Rachel nervously fidgeted on her feet, before stepping forward with admirable confidence. "I'm Age -- Inspector Rachel Adams. What seems to be the problem, sir?"

Click to shrink...

"Hm?" He studies your face. You notice that his gaze is very stern, very intimidating. The equal of any team leader you've ever worked with in the FBI. It's like a ten million gigawatt stagelight getting shined onto your face- the very notion that it is illuminating you is enough to drive heat into your face and sweat to your forhead.

"Hm." He turns back to his papers. "Then, Inspector Adams, I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear that you've been selected as the lead element of provisional Ghoul Suppression Squad G7. As of now you are responsible for leading your squadmates in the field and maintaining discipline in Squad G7. Congratulations."

He places his papers down to clap slowly, for about three seconds, then turns around to start drawing a diagram on the whiteboard behind him. It seems to be a basic spiderweb diagram, with bubbles and lines connecting them from intial appearances. "Now that promotions have been awarded, we can move on to your briefing."

"How much do you know about the ghoul underground weapons market?"

((If you have applicable lore ratings (@Lilithium, @Unlucky Bibliophile) roll Lore + Cognition amount of d10))

 

[Azrael]

"Right then." The policeman hops off his desk. "C'mon chickadees. You're all with me. Leave the adults to their adult talk. Off we go."

Click to shrink...

Obediently following the man she assumed was a ghoul, Klara cast a look over her shoulder at her 'partner' as she filed out with the others. In all likelihood, the briefing room was soundproofed to at least some degree. It was unlikely she'd be able to effectively eavesdrop, and so she'd have to rely on her handler's good will when it came time for information to be disseminated among the attack dogs.

Her eyes narrowed slightly for an instant, then she returned to her earlier nervous expression. It wouldn't do to get worked up about things beyond her control. It was always obvious that she- and the other ghouls- would be kept at arms length and not treated like equals.


Standing in the hallway, she moves a bit away from the others and looks them over. She had noticed as they had all reached the room, but the dark-skinned man was the only male. Strange for an agency dominated by men, as most combat roles were.

Well, she supposed equality was moving forward. What was worth more of her attention was the girl with the glasses.

That bomb collar was on her neck. She was considered high-risk, too dangerous for a merely crippling explosive device.

'She'd better not be one of those crazies. This will be hard enough to handle without a ticking timebomb in the group.'

Contrary to her inner thoughts, Klara swallowed nervously and stepped forward, naturally making herself the centre of attention for the moment. Good relations would need to be fostered with her kind as well as her handler, after all.

She could only hope they were reasonable people.

"Uh... I guess we're going to be working together, more or less. My name is Klara Alexeveya. It's... nice to meet you?" She said, giving a hopeful smile to the others in the hallway.

 

[Cat]

I wave a cheery goodbye to the girl who let me walk out of a cage, 2,566,900, as we are kicked out, because we do not belong. Yes, yes, it's true - belonging is a thing for others, for the weary and the rested and those who deserve to be where they are. We are not they, and as such, we flee, flee, go elsewhere, to a new place, a new time, where there is nothing but dust and grey and emptiness.

I am impatient, with my glasses askew and my foot tapping, my kagune whispering into my ears - fight, die, eat, flee - all lies, all empty of any meaning but the meaning that I attribute to them. It's a hazard, a hazard, to listen to ghosts of the past.

"But Alice, don't you love doing that?"

It's true, I'm a hypocrite. I'm a liar, a thief, a villain, a monster. But there is a line, a thin line of the finest shade of gray, between monstrous and madness. Ah, someone speaks, someone desires attention, to be the forefront, to be in charge. Pity, that.

"Uh... I guess we're going to be working together, more or less. My name is Klara Alexeveya. It's... nice to meet you?"

Ah, it's nerves, it's nerves. Nerves can't stand in the forefront, can't be the one, can't open the door. How boring, and trite, and worthless, to be such a thing. To be this kind of person, even though you are ghoul, you are predator, you do not allow prey to run, you hunt it and rip and tear and devour it. Lazy, lazy, lazy. My feet tap to a beat that no one can hear as I look at her, a smile curving onto my face.

"Alice," I say, with a smile with too many teeth and all of them are knives. "Alice Taverner. Let us compare."

I hold up my hand, and lower a finger. "One." Then another, and another, and another, and another and ah! I am out of fingers on my hand. "Five."

I shrug my shoulders and laugh, a loud and lilting sound that tilts my head back before I lower it once more. "The ghouls I have slaughtered." I am what they want, yes? I am a killer, a deceiver, and have no cares for ghouls or humans. To care for them is to want, to wish, to desire - and to desire is to lose, to fall, to sink. I cannot hope. I am hopeless. I cannot love. I am loveless. To do these things is to deny, deny that I am what I am, to fall into a never-ending spiral that goes down, down, and drowns me in a black pool of desolation. I despair of this. I detest this.

A pause. I must think. I must consider. The humans, have I ever touched one? Grabbed one? Ripped them to shreds like I would before I was put away. Ah, it's a thought, a thought - and the answer is *****. I have ****** before, and I will again. There's static, static where there should be thought should be ideation should be what I know. Have I? I can't tell. I can't tell if I've slain a human before. I can't look through the fog in my mind to see if I've ******* a *****. I have to, yes? I was jailed, I was imprisoned, for being a monster with red eyes that adores blood and death.

I have killed ghouls.

I have ****** ******.

I don't know what I have done to humanity.

An interest, a thought, an idea - my companion, the girl, perhaps will understand what I do not. It's interesting, to think that there's a part of my mind that has been blockaded by me, that my time in these cells has eroded away at my sense of self. I giggle helplessly, tossing a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. "I am the ghoul with the girl they call fodder. And you? Who is your handler?"

The girl is not my handler, never my handler - no, this is a mission with one purpose, one goal, one reason - to kill me. If I die, it is a success, and I only die if I kill the girl. So I will not. It's simple, isn't it? To die is to kill and so I will kill to not die. I will slaughter ghouls by the hundreds to live, bathe in their blood and laugh all the while.

I look around at the ghouls that surround me - weak, and empty enter my thoughts.

"Who holds each of your reigns? Who looks at you and decides if you live or die? Is it the investigator? The man who smells of death in there? The innocent one, the betrayer, or the one who would be king? Who? Who? I hold my own reigns, and allow others to grasp them if they wish. And yourselves? Do you hold your own fate? Or have you given it to the dogs?"

I laugh at my own joke, a small and quiet thing as my hair falls in front of my eyes once more, and I drag another hand across my face, red eyes flaring. It's interesting, to think of these as my 'fellows'. For how can a ghoul be fellow to one such as I? I have eaten the likes of them before, in a haze of red and a flash of iron. Have they? Have they touched the fires of hell, and then dragged themselves out? Or are they simply content to be captured and offered a chance, accepting it only because they cannot imagine otherwise? It's curious, it's curious. I smile widely at the ghouls around me, and think of the future.

 

[shinaobi]

Naramsin wishes idly for a cup of coffee, because there are a great deal of expressions you can hide behind a slightly tilted cup of coffee, but instead he just places his back to a wall and leans casually against it. He has to exhale through his nose to rid himself of the desire to react, because even implicit threats demand a response in kind but he has an image to uphold; he has not only to show restraint, but to make a show of it, because magnanimity is the virtue of the powerful, and its demonstration as much a statement of strength as is crushing stone.

"Naramsin Ashatnaya. I prefer not to talk about myself with strangers." The white man knows this to be a lie at even the most casual perusal of the ghoul's file; Naramsin Ashatnaya is perhaps Naramsin Ashatnaya's favorite subject, on which he will gladly weave vast tapestries of elaborate falsehoods, sometimes for nothing but the apparent satisfaction of crafting a narrative.

 

[Azrael]

I wave a cheery goodbye to the girl who let me walk out of a cage, 2,566,900, as we are kicked out, because we do not belong. Yes, yes, it's true - belonging is a thing for others, for the weary and the rested and those who deserve to be where they are. We are not they, and as such, we flee, flee, go elsewhere, to a new place, a new time, where there is nothing but dust and grey and emptiness.

I am impatient, with my glasses askew and my foot tapping, my kagune whispering into my ears - fight, die, eat, flee - all lies, all empty of any meaning but the meaning that I attribute to them. It's a hazard, a hazard, to listen to ghosts of the past.

"But Alice, don't you love doing that?"

It's true, I'm a hypocrite. I'm a liar, a thief, a villain, a monster. But there is a line, a thin line of the finest shade of gray, between monstrous and madness. Ah, someone speaks, someone desires attention, to be the forefront, to be in charge. Pity, that.

"Uh... I guess we're going to be working together, more or less. My name is Klara Alexeveya. It's... nice to meet you?"

Ah, it's nerves, it's nerves. Nerves can't stand in the forefront, can't be the one, can't open the door. How boring, and trite, and worthless, to be such a thing. To be this kind of person, even though you are ghoul, you are predator, you do not allow prey to run, you hunt it and rip and tear and devour it. Lazy, lazy, lazy. My feet tap to a beat that no one can hear as I look at her, a smile curving onto my face.

"Alice," I say, with a smile with too many teeth and all of them are knives. "Alice Taverner. Let us compare."

I hold up my hand, and lower a finger. "One." Then another, and another, and another, and another and ah! I am out of fingers on my hand. "Five."

I shrug my shoulders and laugh, a loud and lilting sound that tilts my head back before I lower it once more. "The ghouls I have slaughtered." I am what they want, yes? I am a killer, a deceiver, and have no cares for ghouls or humans. To care for them is to want, to wish, to desire - and to desire is to lose, to fall, to sink. I cannot hope. I am hopeless. I cannot love. I am loveless. To do these things is to deny, deny that I am what I am, to fall into a never-ending spiral that goes down, down, and drowns me in a black pool of desolation. I despair of this. I detest this.

A pause. I must think. I must consider. The humans, have I ever touched one? Grabbed one? Ripped them to shreds like I would before I was put away. Ah, it's a thought, a thought - and the answer is *****. I have ****** before, and I will again. There's static, static where there should be thought should be ideation should be what I know. Have I? I can't tell. I can't tell if I've slain a human before. I can't look through the fog in my mind to see if I've ******* a *****. I have to, yes? I was jailed, I was imprisoned, for being a monster with red eyes that adores blood and death.

I have killed ghouls.

I have ****** ******.

I don't know what I have done to humanity.

An interest, a thought, an idea - my companion, the girl, perhaps will understand what I do not. It's interesting, to think that there's a part of my mind that has been blockaded by me, that my time in these cells has eroded away at my sense of self. I giggle helplessly, tossing a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. "I am the ghoul with the girl they call fodder. And you? Who is your handler?"

The girl is not my handler, never my handler - no, this is a mission with one purpose, one goal, one reason - to kill me. If I die, it is a success, and I only die if I kill the girl. So I will not. It's simple, isn't it? To die is to kill and so I will kill to not die. I will slaughter ghouls by the hundreds to live, bathe in their blood and laugh all the while.

I look around at the ghouls that surround me - weak, and empty enter my thoughts.

"Who holds each of your reigns? Who looks at you and decides if you live or die? Is it the investigator? The man who smells of death in there? The innocent one, the betrayer, or the one who would be king? Who? Who? I hold my own reigns, and allow others to grasp them if they wish. And yourselves? Do you hold your own fate? Or have you given it to the dogs?"

I laugh at my own joke, a small and quiet thing as my hair falls in front of my eyes once more, and I drag another hand across my face, red eyes flaring. It's interesting, to think of these as my 'fellows'. For how can a ghoul be fellow to one such as I? I have eaten the likes of them before, in a haze of red and a flash of iron. Have they? Have they touched the fires of hell, and then dragged themselves out? Or are they simply content to be captured and offered a chance, accepting it only because they cannot imagine otherwise? It's curious, it's curious. I smile widely at the ghouls around me, and think of the future.

Click to shrink...

'...Is it too late to go back to the Eyrie?'

Klara watched the girl with glasses carefully. She tried not to look like it, but she was prepared for the possibility of the ghoul launching at her to try to rip her throat out or something.

Okay. Alice Taverner. Grade-A Psycho, like so many of the ones she'd met on the street. With luck, she'd do something stupid and get herself killed while on duty.

Still, Klara had to consider how to respond. The purpose of her act was forfeit if she let it slip, yet proximity to such a bestial example of her race would be dangerous if she continued playing meek.

She briefly recalled the time she managed to rid herself of an over-aggressive fellow inmate by convincing them to try to break out. Perhaps she should try the same here?

"I've... killed a few scavengers." Klara eventually answers, "I never thought to count them. I try not to think about it."

Rather, she did not care to think about them. They meant nothing to her, then, or now. They were only obstacles or food, nothing more.

The same with everyone here.

At Alice's second question, Klara smiled and clapped her hands in front of herself.

"My partner is Doctor Erin Graham! She hasn't had time to really talk about herself, but she seems nice!"

'Maybe she'll be easy to manipulate.'

For all her obvious instability, she felt Taverner was actually rather sharp-witted. By comparison, her handler had seemed incredibly unguarded, mentally.

She did not hold the reins to her life. Not while she was here. Not while she was in the Eyrie. Not even with the family before then, though it was perhaps the closest she had ever gotten.

She would change that.

She would have to play the long game of course. She would have to keep her feelings hidden, present only a mask of kindness and obedience. They were on guard. Against monsters, against wolves in human skin, but they could not be vigilant forever.

Cracks would show. Opportunities to exploit. As long as they crumbled before she did...

She could rip the bit out of her mouth, trample her 'master' underfoot, and thunder off leaving her chains behind.

"Naramsin Ashatnaya. I prefer not to talk about myself with strangers." The white man knows this to be a lie at even the most casual perusal of the ghoul's file; Naramsin Ashatnaya is perhaps Naramsin Ashatnaya's favorite subject, on which he will gladly weave vast tapestries of elaborate falsehoods, sometimes for nothing but the apparent satisfaction of crafting a narrative.

Click to shrink...

Klara turned her attention to the dark-skinned man.

"I'm sure we'll not be strangers for long. While I doubt we'll have an opportunity to share a meal together like humans do, perhaps we could all go for coffee at some point?"

She smiled hopefully at him. So far no one had actually tried to attack her, so she considered this attempt at socialization to be a roaring success. Even the Eyrie had its shares of dominance fights.