By ClericWolf - Part 1|2|3|4 “A single focused rock can topple a mountain of hope.” ~ Grammaton Cleric: Ezekiel Kayne The cycle of time moved onwards with an inevitable tick-tock of hours. The fledgling Resistance had their work cut out for them dealing with a new-born society. A society, that knew nothing of the boundaries of moral decency or of the true deep, dark nature of the human soul. They were in many ways similar to a toddler that takes his first few steps on ungainly limbs, sometimes making good headway – other times falling flat on his face and squealing out frustration and annoyance to the nervous parent standing by. Jurgen had formed a kind of government, he explained to the worried citizens that this was needed, but it would not be like the ochre shadow of the Tetragrammaton and the leather-grip of the Sweepers – it would act with tolerance and understanding. This is of course, how all dreams of a perfect world begin. Months passed and the world that they all knew, the world that had changed in one night of fire and retribution rekindled into something solid, something close to miraculous. A dream that was almost too good to be true. For many it was paradise and a time for celebration but something dark lingered on the horizon. For with the newfound release came the inevitable and the perpetration of the despicable things that Prozium had prevented in the populous as a whole. There were those who took the idea of freedom too far, and for those men and women there was only one man to fear: John Preston, the near-right hand of Father during his regime, now a full time member of Jurgen's 'Liberated' ruling body. He had his work cut out for him as well, he promised the other man that he would never let the Clerics be used to oppress the population, things would always be fair and reasonable – but who is the judge, the jury and the executioner? - It was a double-edged sword and it did not sit well in the young man's hand at all. In what remained of Father's office Preston once more found himself looking at the opulence and grandeur that marked the double-standard of DuPont's reign, he felt sick to his stomach and recalled his final stand where he became a hero to the people and made Father a martyr to some hidden cause. “John?” A woman's voice snapped into his consciousness, invading it like a hissing-cobra. He turned a half-step and before he could speak, Ellena smiled. “You look worried John, you should be happy, we've built something truly wonderful.” “I am sure we have Governess.” “Ellena.” “Ellena.” He repeated adding his own half-drawn smile, still clad in black and ever the professional and perfectly-styled Cleric. “I came to deliver yet another report – I don't know what to do, to be honest.” “Another murder?” She looked somehow frail and wan in the early morning light that now streamed in from the north window, her hazel brown eyes dim and distant for a moment. “Or something worse?” “The third one this month, some people are developing a taste for taking life when they cannot have what they want, when and where they want it.” His tone was neutral and flat, almost as emotionless as when she'd lived in mortal terror of him. To her it seemed almost a millennia ago. “Oh.” “I had the body burned as per the usual instruction, I still cannot believe that you used to put the corpse in the ground.” He shook his head, he might have been off the dose himself for a while now but some things about the former 'Sense Offenders' still confused him. She laughed a little and that set her eyes sparkling again, she took a seat and looked over the papers. “John...I know this is a difficult time for you, for us all, if you need to take a break?” “No!” He surprised himself with the sudden conviction in his voice and sighed. “I am sorry Governess...I didn't mean to shout, I can't afford to stop now – you count on me, Jurgen counts on me – it seems that I have the world on my shoulders now.” “Like Atlas.” “Who?” Confusion flickered flame-like across his expressive eyes. “A myth, you really should start to read some of these things. It wouldn't do you any harm and to be honest, you may well enjoy them.” Her sad smile continued for a single heart-beat and then, “Oh dear God.” The picture before her was of someone so brutally assaulted as to appear almost akin to a doll, ragged, bloody and broken in so many awkward angles. “I can tell you one thing.” He said with a soft tone, as if preparing to deliver some mortal news. “She was still alive when we found her, but she died upon the way to the Medical Centre.” “That must have been terrible to witness.” “I have sent so many people to their deaths in the name of an order that I believed was the right way – yet nothing has prepared me for death such as this.” He stood with his hands behind his back, as if that might help him shake off the feeling of vertigo. “I saw the woman I loved sent to the fire – twice – yet this is something I cannot even begin to explain.” “We lived with it when the Sweepers and Clerics hunted us like dogs John. You get used to it, it doesn't make it right but you grow accustomed to atrocity when it's your bread and butter.” She held her tongue and curbed its sharpness, to her he still represented everything that she despised about Father's ex-regime, but she was wise enough to know the man before her was truly an exceptional one. “May I ask a question?” “Of course?” She put the pictures down and turned them to face the wooden surface of the desk. “Why did you keep dogs?” It was something that had plagued him all along when he first encountered a small puppy that would change his life. Ironically it was that dog that forced him to massacre the Sweepers in the Nethers to protect its frail life. Again the older woman laughed and shook her head, it had the effect of setting her silver hair alight with the reflections of the sunlight. “It's human nature to keep pets John, people used to think we kept them for food, but there's nothing quite like the joy of seeing such a happy friend – always there to greet you in the morning, something warm to cuddle up to at night.” He was beginning to understand this and idly his mind wandered to Mary for a moment, he longed to make physical contact with her – the fires of hate kindled again, he doused them – calling on every shred of his training to control the anger. “I see.” “Are you alright John?” She saw the change in his jawline and his whole body went rigid for a second. “The past?” “Mary.” He confided and they both let it drop there and then. “What do you want to do about this?” She lifted the last picture again. “We cannot let our society be vandalised by a unruly element – we have no place for prisoners save those pens in the Nethers and that is not exactly humane – we have almost finished the Prison modifications to make living conditions tolerable.” “They should have no rights, they took a human life for nothing more than the kick it gave them, the kick without Prozium.” The Governess looked at the man in black and the true enormity of his words hit her with more force than a physical slap. Her jaw slackened somewhat and surprise registered in her eyes, she looked to the picture again and then back to the Cleric. “Are you telling me that the killers are getting some kind of 'rush' from this barbarity?” “I am.” “I should have seen this, we should have seen this.” She stood up, her long dress dancing in silver and gold threads. “I must meet with the other members of the Government – John, can you look into this further – I don't want to be a burden, since I know you've had precious little time to spend with Robbie and Lisa?” “Consider it done.” He was back to his almost-mechanical persona again as he turned towards the door. “Cleric John Preston.” She said and smiled again. “What would I do without you?” “I do not know.” His mind was a whirl of information as he left the Halls of the Grammaton and headed towards his car, he looked at the horrible slate-grey buildings and thought how nice it might be to see some of the architecture depicted in the pictures in Ellena's office. He examined the dashboard for a while before he started the vehicle up and listened to the soft purr of the engine. Idly he turned on the radio, once it broadcast the 'word' of Grammaton, the voice of Father but now he expected it to be silent. An exuberant thunderous shout burst across the static and surprised him enough that he had to skew the car to a halt, he stared at it as if it were an alien creature come to devour him. “This is DJ Fusion rocking out to GEOQREEG Radio – the one true sound of Sense Offence.” The following sound barrage caused him to turn the radio down slowly until the ringing in his ears stopped, it was an oddly 'tribal' kind of music with a heavy back-beat and expressive lyrics – whatever had been dug up out of the vaults of the ex-Sense Offenders would take some getting used to. The song he found was somewhat ironic and pertained to his current mission, it had an almost hypnotic chorus and referred to the act of 'Bodies' hitting the 'Floor'. Preston's jaw dropped for a moment and he continued to listen, after a while he found that the sound, whilst nothing like the beautiful music he had stumbled upon began to grow on him – there was something in the music that sparked a light at the core of his soul. A heavy grey sky began to curl closer to the free City and clouds started to sneak across the path of the sun, breaking the beams every now and again as the Cleric made his way towards one of the many reclaimed buildings: Equilibrium had been converted into a new school for his Clerics and served as a focus for their much-needed Police Force. Clerics and Sweepers patrolled the streets day and night in an attempt to curb any rising violence and crime, it was slow starting but as some of the population were now free from one law – they thought themselves free of 'all' laws – free to indulge their baser desires, to them, 'no' meant 'maybe' and 'stop' meant 'go'. The white car pulled into the courtyard of Equilibrium and Preston parked it askew so if he needed to leave in a hurry, nothing would impede his progress. This done he made his way into the bowels of this reconstructed bastion of order. It was now full of desks and uniformed people of all kinds, those who formed the backbone of the new law in Libria. Clerics and Sweepers worked together to catalogue and file reports, they dragged in ragged law-breakers and locked them in temporary holding cells where they awaited summary judgement for their crimes. It almost worked like clockwork but then again the Grammaton Clerics who served Preston were trained as such, rote-mastery and repetition enforced a methodical ballet of regular charted activities, not a single class was skipped and not a single person was late. “Preston!” A voice caught the Cleric mid-stride and he altered his path to see a younger man, almost a mirror of his old friend Errol, he blinked once and inclined his head. “Yes?” “John Preston right?” “Yes?” The young man extended his hand as if this were a new found sense of freedom, a black glove proffered towards the older Cleric. “I'm Lloyd Allen.” John frowned slightly and then reciprocated the gesture with a firm shake. “Good to meet you, what can I do for you?” “I just wanted to say that I joined the Monastery to be just like you.” The man's eyes shone with a youthful exuberance, as if he was meeting a God for the first time – there were facets of emotion that Preston was going to take a long time to get used to. “That's...good...I think.” John replied trying to find some way to escape from the adoration he felt that leaked from every pore of Lloyd's body. “Do you have classes to attend Cleric?” The young man smiled again and totally missed the uncomfortable tone in John's voice nodding furiously, it was right about then that Fate intervened and the Cleric's watch made an angry 'wasp-like' buzzing noise as the alarm sounded. “Oh nuts – I'm going to be late.” He left in a flurry of black and papers, almost dropping them on the floor in his hurry to vacate the area. John caught the folder and passed it to him, Lloyd smiled gratefully and was gone in a flash. He sat down at his desk and called up the latest report on the last three victims, there was something that gnawed at his consciousness like a gnat. There were physical evidence reports, scene of crime information and a number of forensic scans on the system already and he ploughed through the information for hours and hours. All three of the victims had been women and all three of them had red hair. He made a note on a small piece of paper and studied a few pertinent details of the last subject, she was a young pretty woman and presented a sudden conundrum to the man. Why? What reason? What possible reason? He had first thought that it must be a 'rush' of some kind created by the act of murder. He hadn't felt it himself when he massacred the Sweepers in the Halls – only a sense of duty and a vague feeling of elation when it was all over. He put his hands together and rested his chin on his thumbs while his elbows touched the cold top of the metal table. He could feel that through his jacket and relished the sensation. A sharp 'tink' sounded to his right and he immediately turned to look in that direction, a small mug of some kind sat on the top. It had been set down by a statuesque-looking woman who was a vision in black, a Cleric, her dark raven hair was neatly pinned into a small bun at the top of her head and she proffered the cup forwards with a black gloved finger. “I thought you might like to try this, it might help you think.” He looked into two shards of jade for a moment and felt lost in a sea of uncertainty, it was almost an age before he dared reply. “I ... yes ... what is it?” “They called it hot chocolate – I can't describe it Cleric, but I think the words of a certain poet might help.” She laughed. “It's yummy.” “Is everyone immersing themselves in now un-rated materials?” Preston set his steely gaze on the cup, he gave it the same regard that he gave the radio earlier and ignored the comment about 'yummy' for now. “Honestly Preston, you need to try it.” The woman pulled up a chair and shook her head. “You have a reputation and everyone here looks up to you, some of the people like myself wouldn't have even been in the order if it were not for your guidance and tolerance.” “You don't think I'm too taxing, too hard on people?” John smiled a little, without the shackles of the drug the truth of the woman's words hit his core like a ball of fire for a moment. “Am I in so much need of education?” She coughed a little at that – she was one of the new breed of Clerics and Prozium lingered as just a memory. “There are many things that we need to relearn if we're to survive.” That was a veiled innuendo that shot right over Preston's head like a bullet. “You're right.” He decided to focus on the work again before he took a sip of the mysterious contents of his mug. He coughed and then took another, there was something almost pleasing about a sudden new taste in his mouth, he couldn't really describe it – there was a peculiar tingle and a sensation of something wonderful. “Well?” He smiled for a second. “I think I might have to confiscate this for being a dangerously addictive drug.” His expression was deadpan until he saw the look of horror on the woman's face. “You can't be serious?” “You're right, it was my first attempt at a joke, see you're right I have a lot to learn.” He put the mug down and studied the information on his screen once more. “Perhaps we can trade knowledge, there have to be other things you like that you think I might like also?” This was a huge step for Preston but he realised that he had to open up a little to someone and she seemed the perfect person for that. He was not at all familiar with a the sudden lurch in his stomach or the dizzying spin from his head that followed. His mind drifted back to the time he'd pawed the stolen ribbon from Mary's personal belongings, the feelings that had stirred – his thoughts shot back to the mirror and he looked up to meet those two burning shards of jade in the woman's eyes, he was stunned for a few breaths. “I never got your name.” He said as if guided by instinct, a newly awakened sense of longing pulling at his being again, he shook his head to try and clear it. “I guess this is more powerful than I thought.” “What is?” The woman asked concerned. “The drink?” “Yes – the – drink.” “Well it does have some properties or so I am told, it can make you feel good.” “It can?” “Oh yes.” She enthused. “I'm Tara by the way – Tara Night.” He looked at her again and a small smile played about his lips, swiftly he suppressed a flood of 'imperfect' thoughts and focussed on the conundrum before him once more. “What do you make of this Tara?” He slid several copies of the pictures over to the woman who grasped them in between slender fingers and lifted them to take a closer look. “I'd say our killer has a penchant for red headed hellcats.” “What makes you say that?” “Because I have had trouble from these women before.” She replied and put the pictures back down. “I never expected to see them dead of course, but I did warn them that experimentation with that kind of thing was dangerous.” “What kind of thing?” She looked uncomfortable for a few seconds and then a mask of professional repose flickered into place, her jade eyes glimmered with a kind of revulsion and yet there was also something dangerous in those depths. “This.” She rose and stepped around to lean over and access Preston's terminal, bringing up various files until she homed in on the one she wanted. “It dates back through history and there are cases of it as early as the temples in the mystery cults, our fore-fathers called it Prostitution.” The Cleric blinked again and looked at the screen, now the true nature of freedom was lain bare like some kind of spread eagle, naked men and women were brazenly conducting salacious and various acts. “Prostitution.” He mimicked Tara's comment and looked at the screen again. “This is somehow relevant to the investigation?” “I'd say so.” He forced himself to look away and bit his lip slightly, he tried to focus on the woman before him but that didn't help at all. He closed the screen in frustrated irritation, it was the second time today that he needed to call upon the Grammaton training to calm himself. “How?” “Jane Seaborne, Julia Connelly and Kate Archer.” She rattled the names off as if they were winners on a twisted game-show. “Three bright young things that should have been something more than broken and bloody dolls on the same stretch of road.” “They were selling their bodies to people for some reason?” “Sex.” Tara said and frowned. “We're learning to live again John, it's going to happen, now we can be all disturbed about it or we can accept it and try and help these people.” He was going to speak but the conviction in her voice silenced him, a rare event and he just sat there for a moment without saying another word. “Sorry, I didn't mean to snap, I guess Prozium was good for one thing.” “It was good for control.” That reply was a long time in coming and it was delivered in a flat monotone. “For them.” She sighed and gave a shrug of her slender shoulders. “I should leave you in peace and your investigation.” “No.” He stopped before he said anything else, the vision of an angry Mary coming to his mind – he wasn't going to let Tara leave on a sour note – a great part of him wanted the woman to stay, she was somewhat alluring and Preston was only now beginning to understand the deeper emotions. “No?” She turned back towards him and halted her progress. “Yes. I value your insight Cleric and the ... the company has been a most welcome distraction from the flat grey of my world.” “If you're sure I'm no bother, I don't want to disturb you in any way?” She was inwardly praying John would say he was sure and her face almost lit up when he replied. “Of course I am sure, it's my job to know what you're thinking remember?” “Oh is it?” Tara suddenly teased and a small pout danced onto her lips. “If that's the case, what am I thinking now?” Preston gave a slight smile of triumph and turned the monitor back on, twisting the screen to show a graphic picture of a couple making love. Tara blushed and put her hands behind her back looking everywhere except at him or the picture, he spared her further embarrassment by offering further insight into the puzzle. “I'll assume I was right and move along.” He replied with a professional tone but the woman couldn't help flushing slightly. “Now we have three Prostitutes? What is the motive?” The woman forced herself to meet the man's eyes with her own and tapped the top of his desk with a fingertip. “They charge for the experience, it could be as simple as a customer who didn't pay becoming violent or as complex as a 'Feeler' getting a rush of adrenaline from murder after Sex.” “What do the Intuitive arts tell you Cleric?” “Not much since we have very little to go on – you?” Preston was already putting the paths of possibility and projected outcomes through his almost machine-style mind. “I can tell you that the killer is the same and has a penchant for left handed strikes – the bodies have knife wounds from a sharp instrument and our perpetrator seems to favour slashing and not stabbing.” “I thought as much when I saw the other pictures.” “As for the Intuitive arts. I can tell there is far more to this than just murders, our killer is experimenting with the feelings and the rush from the act of murder, but he must first of all experience the women that he kills in their prime – so to speak.” “That's a nice way of putting it.” “It's clinical, that's what is needed, emotions at a time like this are counter-productive, we need a surgical focus.” “Of course Cleric first class.” She responded and sat back down to listen. “The victims have all been beaten and cut after the act of sexual intercourse.” He looked at his monitor screen again and picked those words up, they seemed to fit the situation nicely. “Our murderer is a Grammaton Cleric.” Tara's eyes went wide and she blinked a couple of times. “How do you know that?” “Upon first glance the body has been assaulted yes, but a deeper look even from these pictures reveals that the murder is skilled in anatomy. The knife strikes are consistent with the seventh tier temple level of combat, close quarters and so on.” “No wonder people lived in fear of you John, no offence, you're like a machine.” “Thank you, I try to be efficient, it gets the job done.” He was falling back on his training, he didn't enjoy this but now a cast-iron determination dogged his every word and thought. “I will make sure these findings go to the new Government.” “Of course, that's only proper.” A tap of a black-gloved finger sent the incriminating notes and Preston's findings in a data-package to Ellena's office and cc'd to the rest of the new Government officials. “Will you help me in this investigation Cleric?” His question came as a complete curve-ball to Tara, who was quite obviously smitten by the good-looking and charming (if a little cold) man before her, she looked down at the table top as if searching for an answer in the ring left by the mug. “I'd be delighted.” was her final response and she gave him a professional smile, it lingered for a few more moments. “Perhaps we can spend some time together, you know, go over reports and so on?” “I would think that would be the best way to go.” Her face fell a little as Preston missed the obvious nature of her comment, however the Grammaton Cleric was quick to notice the change in the mood and he tried a new line of reply, just for size. “I'd like that.” The reaction on Tara's face was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds after a thunderstorm and she positively grinned from ear-to-ear. She sat up a little straighter in her chair and preened a little, casting a quick glance at the rest of the room, life trundled on as normal around both Clerics. “So what's our first step?” Preston sat back for a moment then he stood up, he flipped the monitor down on his station and smiled a grim determined kind of expression. “We go hunting for clues at the alley.” “Do you want to take your car or mine?” She said and followed suit, putting the chair back at the empty desk where she'd borrowed it from. “Does it matter – for now – all of them are the same.” “Good point, we'll take yours.” “Agreed.” Libria was in the grip of another torrential rain storm as both Preston and Tara exited Equilibrium and ran towards the car, the older Cleric threw his door open and leant across to shove the passenger door wide so the woman could slide in. “That's cold!” She gritted her teeth. “So many new feelings.” “Yes.” John smiled again and listened to the soft drum-beat patter of the water against the glass. “So many new sights, sounds, tastes, smells and stimuli – we have to be careful not to go overboard.” “I suppose so.” Tara wiped the glass with a cloth already it was misting from their combined breath. Preston started the car again and nosed it out onto the road, there was very little traffic apart from sanctioned Government business vehicles so he was able to make good time to the location of Libria's first murder scene, a dark and dingy alley off to the border of the Nethers. The vehicle slid through the downpour and threw sheets of liquid in torrents left and right, showering the footpaths with displaced liquid. Under the dogged 'steel' grey sky pregnant with heavy rain and blackened with storm clouds the tiny car seemed almost insignificant as it passed by several people caught unawares by the sudden change in the weather, this was yet another factor of life in Libria that made each new day somehow vital and interesting. The car turned a corner and slunk into the deeper shadows where there was already a feeling of something brooding, as if a dark fanged maw waited to swallow the vehicle and passengers whole as they breached this foreboding territory. There was a modicum of shelter in the dim confines of the alleyway as Preston and Tara made their way to the murder scene, it had been cordoned off by the Sweepers and a few of them stood silent vigil over it – the rain tapping a staccato tune on their bike helmets. “Clerics.” One of them stepped forwards. “Sweeper Collins reporting, no change, no one has been in or out – the bodies have been removed to the Medical Center for examination and then combustion as per the Governments order.” “Very good.” Preston swept past the helmeted man and ducked through the band of black and yellow chevroned tape that stretched across the entry. Tara followed glad to be under some kind of shelter for a few moments, she found the other Cleric in a squatting position and studying the blood soaked ground. This was the first time that John had been to the scene of the crime, his keen analytical mind was already conducting a thorough investigation. “Something just really struck me as funny.” Tara began as she joined him. “Funny?” “Yes you know that thing you're experimenting with called humour?” She was dead-pan for a moment and then continued without breaking her calm mask of professional conduct. “You'd look really good in a Deerstalker maybe, smoking a pipe.” “I'd look good in a what with a what and what's smoking?” Preston's face wore a varying range of responses, the final being a mix of confusion and sheer disbelief. “Ok, we have got to educate you on the finer things in life – as soon as we've got a bead on this case, you and me have a date with literature not to mention more hot chocolate.” The woman gave an exasperated kind of sigh and tried to explain a little more. “A Deerstalker, yes I know that's a stupid name for a hat, but it's one...a pipe is something that people used to put a kind of weed in and light it, inhaling the smoke...oh dear I'm not doing very well at this am I?” John was looking at her in horror once again. “They polluted their bodies with smoke from a weed?” He blinked in quick succession and shook his head, putting a gloved hand on the ground near a patch of blood. “Yes and Sherlock Holmes.” She caught the confusion again and battled on. “A character in a book I was reading when I used to be a frightened girl in the Nethers.” “I was meaning to ask why you joined up with us?” Preston neatly bisected the subject with his usual clean precision. “I wanted to make sure that the system was never abused again. When I heard that Jurgen had put you in charge of the Sweepers and Clerics – well – you're a hero to me John, you might not think so, but you're a hero to a lot of us.” She flushed again and stood up to examine another part of the alley, this was only an excuse to hide the sudden rush of hot blood. “Hero.” John said and frowned again, there was that word again and maybe he was – he knew that everyone was looking at him as if he were some kind of saviour. He'd started to accept that a little rather than balking every time someone came up to him and shook his hand, hugged him or even just said 'thanks'. “Sherlock Holmes is a hero, he doesn't use violence – often – to solve crimes but he's got a keen analytical mind and a very dry wit.” Tara continued and started to pace back and forth between two points. “He has Dr. Watson as an assistant and they solve all sorts of thefts, murders and so on.” “It sounds EC-10 material to me.” Preston replied and stood up rubbing the ground between his fingers, examining the soil's texture through his gloves. “Could someone learn to solve crimes better from this, what is the reason for such...literature?” He tried another unfamiliar word on his lips and rolled the sound around. “I suppose they might learn a few things, but the main reason is for entertainment – something you have got to learn, well, you don't have to learn it but it would be nice if you did.” She flushed again and forced her mind onto the job. “There are a lot of things you say I need to learn, one step at a time I think.” It wasn't a reprimand at all but from Preston it sounded like one. “Oh.” “There is one thing about this Sherlock Holmes that I would say doesn't apply to us.” John watched the pacing Cleric with a new appraisal. “What's that?” She turned to face him. “I prefer my assistant to be Tara Night not Dr. Watson.” It was a veiled compliment and as much of one that Preston ever gave, he was considered by many as extremely insular and totally dependant on one person: himself. She smiled again and knelt down as something caught her eye. “John?” He was over there in a few quick steps and they both examined a small button caught between two flagstones, nearly lost in the micro-abyssal depths. Preston flicked it out with a finger and picked it up, he turned it over and over before he placed it upon the woman's black jacket. “A match.” “So it is a Grammaton Cleric?” Tara blinked a few more times and looked to Preston again. “That changes nothing right?” “Right – apart from one thing, this button belongs to a senior Grammaton, one that must have escaped the liberation.” He narrowed his eyes for a moment and tucked the silver circle away in his top pocket. “I do not think for a moment he is one of ours.” “I would hope not – that would be a terrible blow to the morale.” “Exactly.” “What now?” “We report this to Ellena and then the Government decides what must be done.” Preston turned on his heel and made his way to the car again, Tara followed him looking a little lost. “You want me to come with you?” “Of course, Dr. Watson.” Preston tried experimenting with humour for a third time, he found the expression it created on the woman's face to be pleasing, part of him smiled deep within. “The game's afoot!” She shot back quoting from the book almost verbatim. “That's from Sherlock Holmes?” He opened the car door and they both clambered in, the engine roared into life and the Grammaton Clerics left the scene of the crime with a mixture of accomplishment and sorrow – it was a sad day when one of the Order, a trained Cleric, resorted to such things. The painful silence as both of them brooded on the revelation seemed to make the journey last longer somehow and the car trip ended with a silent exit as both Clerics once more stood before the doors of the Government Building. “Ready?” Tara said as she straightened her jacket. “Always.” “Let's go then.” The halls of the Government were silent at this time of day apart from the various quiet clerks and shuffling librarians. There was still order to be maintained and while most of Libria was computerised they kept backups of everything on file and some of the systems even used the antiquated 'punch' cards. A pair of Sweepers in clinical white coats and helmets allowed them entry to Ellena's chambers as soon as they caught sight of the familiar black clad Cleric. “Go in Preston, you're expected.” She was waiting for them in the expanse that was DuPont's former office. Tara couldn't help but marvel at all the wondrous things that stood there. There were paintings from all eras and the walls were oak-panelled and varnished to a rich beautiful sun-drenched golden brown. The rain still continued to hammer down but both Clerics felt immediately warmer as they took in the grand office. Ellena was now dressed in dark silver and she wore a single silver torc around her neck, she looked so regal and so stately that the younger woman felt as though she were meeting someone from a forbidden fairy tale. “Governess.” John stopped to bow and smiled a little. “This is Tara Night, she is assisting me in the investigation.” “My John, this is wonderful, you could do with a friend.” The elderly woman announced and gave the other Cleric a winsome smile. “Such a pretty one too, you have good taste Preston, well you would have if you bothered to learn all about such things.” He felt a warm sensation crawling over his skin and put his fingers to his neck for a moment, he frowned and shuffled uncomfortably. “Pleased to meet you Ma'am.” Tara said and added her own small bow to the end of that. The matronly woman eyed both of them and then looked down at the pictures still resting on her desk and drew herself to fix her eyes into Preston's own and waited. “I have come to report our findings so far and...” He put down a small silver button on the desk next to the picture. “We found this at the crime scene Ellena – it is the jacket button of a senior Cleric.” “Are you...?” She stopped herself and nodded. “Of course you are, you're John Preston, you don't make snap judgements and you don't make mistakes in this kind of thing.” She was almost chiding herself and by the time she sat back down she was shaking. “I can report that from the design of the button, since I had our new uniforms redesigned to reflect the changes in the Grammaton, Governess, that it is not one of ours.” The three of them seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as John revealed this information in his usual perfectly paced manner. “It is still a dark day when one of the Order falls to such a low.” Tara added and then looked to Preston for support. It came in the form of a firm, curt, nod. Already the tightness in his jaw was returning and the familiar look crossed his eyes, the only people to have seen this look were the guards that strapped him to the polygraph before his final meeting with DuPont. “You know what must be done John.” This wasn't a question and it felt like an order, wordlessly Preston replied with another nod and turned to go. “The Government has made their decision then Ma'am?” Tara questioned as Preston began to walk from the room. “Yes.” Ellena replied and lifted up a photograph. “Grammaton Cleric or otherwise the penalty for this is immediate execution on site, no reprieve and no trial.” “A heavy decision then.” She concluded and then turned to follow the other Cleric. In the dark shadow of the corridor as the storm worsened both of them stepped in time with each other. The young man was silent and resolute as he made his way to the steps of the building. Then he stopped suddenly as inspiration slapped him in the face under a bolt of white lightning. “Cleric?” “Yes?” The woman looked at him and a puzzled expression crossed her face. “What is it John, what's wrong?” “What would Sherlock Holmes do at a time like this?” She blinked again and her lips made a small 'o' of surprise. “I – he'd probably want to trap the killer somehow.” “Trap...” Preston tapped his finger on his lips. “How do you get a weapon away from a Grammaton Cleric?” He repeated. “You ask him for it...” “Pardon?” “Something that was said to me, tell me Dr. Watson – how would you trap him?” The vestiges of a tiny plan were forming in his mind, he just needed to focus upon a catalyst and ignite the deeper spark. “Well Holmes.” She replied in kind smiling a little more. “I'd set up some kind of bait for the trap, put on a red wig and some revealing clothes and stalk that alley acting like a prostitute.” There was a sudden yawning pit in John's stomach and he almost found himself balking at this idea, only his determination and training stopped him from making a mistake in Tara's case. He mused on this particular plan and nodded. “Then that's what we'll do.” “We will?” “Yes.” She was expecting the classic book style confrontation where the hero tells the heroine it's too dangerous and there's no way in hell she'd be allowed to do it, for a moment she'd forgotten she was dealing with the legendary John Preston. “Even though it might be too dangerous for me?” “Yes.” He said and then suddenly worked out what the woman might be expecting, he had to laugh ironically at this – he put on his best poker face (if he knew what that game was) and smiled grimly. “It will be too dangerous for you, but I like you and I have faith you can do it – you're a Grammaton Cleric from the Monastery and you're trained to be the best – you're perfect for the task.” She was a bit taken aback by the sudden authority in Preston's voice and she swore than beneath that tone there was a subtle caring. This was all she needed to hear and it bolstered her confidence no end. It took them a few days to secure the correct attire for her and manufacture a red wig. Tara was outfitted by Ellena in her office and the elderly woman took the time to discuss a few pertinent details with her while there was no one else present. “I don't wholly approve of this Tara but I think John's right, you're perfect for the job, at least you have a fighting chance.” The new red-head smiled as she admired herself in a mirror, she canted her head to the side as Ellena made a few more adjustments. “Ma'am, do you think that John will like this?” “John Preston.” The older woman began with a slight laugh. “Is a dear-heart, such a sweet man and yet so blatantly naïve about matters of the heart, you must remember that for many years he was a machine effortlessly dispensing Father's will, you can't change him overnight and he needs that certain 'logical' approach to function.” “I guess.” “Now don't be all down and despondent about that, old women like me can sense when a young gal has a fancy for a bright star.” She chuckled a little and applied just the right amount of rouge to Tara's lips. “We have a man sense – now if I were younger – so my advice is be patient and try to coax those feelings out of him, you don't want to frighten the poor lamb now do you?” This frank comment from the Governess caused Tara to blush again and the Cleric coughed slightly and nodded. “No Ma'am...I don't...” “Now shush, because your Prince Charming approaches, Cinderella.” Ellena winked and whispered one final thing. “Just think of me as your fairy Godmother.” True to the canny old woman's words the door opened and in strode John Preston looking much better for a few good nights sleep. He paused as Tara turned to face him and Ellena swore the younger man's jaw might have just touched the floor, she smiled a little and gave him a polite nod. “Well John – what do you think?” “She looks the part.” He tried not to look at his new partner but her hair was unbound, red and flowing like a bloody river. Ellena had done a wonderful job on making her over, hiding the woman's natural hair under the red wig, it was hard to tell that it was false. “Only that, dear me, Mr. Preston.” The Governess' tone was formal and she chided gently. “When a lady asks you what she looks like, you must be truthful, shall we try this again?” “What do you think John?” This time it was Tara who spoke and Preston felt that tiny part of his heart, the part that he liked to keep dead stir into a thunderous roar of life. “You look stunning.” Another new word and one that found his lips a lot easier than he expected it to. Tara blushed, Ellena clapped and took a little bow with a showman's flourish and then smiled. “Now that wasn't too hard was it Preston?” “No Ma'am.” “To business then.” The Governess preened. “Is everything set?” “Yes Governess.” He tried not to look at the beautiful Cleric and for her part she closed the leather jacket and hid her gentle curves from sight. She had been dressed in a short skirt, high boots and a figure hugging tube-top. “The witching hour fast approaches.” The older woman announced. “Remember Tara, if your life is threatened do not falter, no second chances – you are a Grammaton Cleric and the law.” And with that said both of them left the Governess to fret in her office and paced the familiar route to the internal car pool, where there was a nondescript vehicle waiting to ferry her into the darkness close to the Nethers. She paused as Preston opened the door and ushered her in, perhaps it was just a fluke of the character she'd chosen but an impulse washed over her and she quickly pressed her lips to his before she vanished into the depths of the vehicle. It had the effect of stunning the Cleric in his tracks and he lifted his fingers to his lips, looking at the red that was left on his black gloves, suddenly he discovered a new emotion – one of fear, for the woman that could well die tonight at the hands of an experienced Cleric of DuPont's reign. His wife, Mary and now Tara. 'Not without incident.' His reply to Father's mocking tones repeated in his head and he moved to his own car, spying a Sweeper bike sitting against one of the walls – the Sweeper was putting his helmet on and Preston recognised him as a man called Michaels. “Sweeper Michaels.” He began with a sharp crack of tone. “I need to requisition that motorcycle.” It was a highly suspicious deviation of protocol, but to the man, Preston was his mentor and teacher. “Sure Cleric.” He replied and tossed the keys. “Whatever it is you're going to do, try not to break the bike?” “Trust me.” “I do, that's the trouble.” “Thank you.” In a scream of tires and a growl of engine John put his foot down and raced off into the darkness, following his heart for a second time. He kept the lights on the bike off and made sure to trail the car from a suitable distance, the last thing he wanted to do was ruin the trap. Tara was cold and lonely while she stood on the sharp corner of the dim alley, the soft lights of Libria's well kept areas in the distance, she didn't feel like a Grammaton Cleric at the moment – she felt like a victim. There was no one around and the whole area echoed with the ghosts of memories – running from Sweepers and Clerics. She rubbed her shoulders under the coat and all she wanted at this moment in time was a nice long, hot shower. At least it wasn't raining and the wind while biting, kept her awake and focussed. She waited like this but no one came for hours, she was numb to the bone almost and about ready to leave when a small round tin rolled against her foot. One eye tracked the motion and already her training was drawing a line to possible trajectories. Another tin followed, this one was a little beaten around the edges and a gravelly voice announced in the shadow. “What can I get for those?” “What do you want?” She answered and scanned the darkness for a possible shape, it was hard to make out, but there seemed to be a man hiding there just out of sight. “I want lots of things, I have more, how much would I have to give you for a kiss?” The shadow moved and became more predatory, it turned her stomach enough to make her gag a little, she hid it with a cough. “Oh one tin for a kiss, three for a grope and darlin.” She enthused. “Five tins if you want any more than that.” The darkness did a mental count and seemed to be satisfied. Tara's barter gamble worked and a slick shape emerged. Preston was right, he was an older man and he had the Grammaton look about him. “Do you have a name My dearest?” She didn't like the way he stressed the My. “Candy.” “How sweet.” “You only find that out if you give me more tins.” She was already studying him with the practised nature of a Cleric, but she had to give the impression of being naïve, if for a moment the other figured out she was not an easy target – she didn't want to think about it. “I have more than five tins.” His eyes went to a big leather bag and he almost purred now. “Do you have anyone looking out for you Candy?” “No, all alone, got no one and I needs my fix.” She let out a little giggle. “You know all about that don't you dear?” “Oh yes.” He relished this it seemed as if he were acting out something from a sick and twisted author's mind. “How long have you worked the streets? Are you fresh meat or are you a seasoned steak?” She blinked a little at that and replied with a flustered tone. “Here now, I don't think I like the way you're talking about me as though I'm food sweetie.” “Steak needs to be carved you know, just right before you eat it.” A silver knife flashed in the darkness and he brought it up towards his face, turning it so she could see her reflection in the mirror-bright metal. “That's nice.” She stammered and tensed a little, just enough to appear scared, in truth this was what she wanted – she had a backup. “Do you scream? Because I've had my fill of sex for the night, I just need a screamer – a bleeder and a corpse to round things off nicely.” He had a glint of madness in his eyes, an advantage in one way, since he wouldn't be operating on his full potential – at least that's what she hoped. “Only if I meet the right man.” She countered and tensed again, her fingertips touching the palm of her hands. “Do you think I'm the right man.” He was about to spring, but she had already determined the how and when of his attack. Two glittering blades dropped into her hands and she brought them around and forwards, one set to guard and the other set to impale the man as he leapt. “No!” He skidded to a halt and looked as though he was about to turn tail and run, a low growl echoed in the back of his throat. “You were supposed to die, like in the books, you can't fight back – it's just not fair.” The stage was set for some kind of confrontation, if she was going to die then she was going to make sure she cut this bastard to ribbons first, her lip curled into a sneer and she threw off the wig. Falling back on her Grammaton training, her voice was like cold iron in the darkness. “By the laws of New Libria and the Government for the crime of murder you have been sentenced to death, I am the instrument of that sentence, Grammaton Tara Night.” “You can't be a Grammaton.” He snarled and stepped back dropping the knife to draw two sleek black pistols. “You're a woman.” There were two shots and a shower of sparks as both guns sped painfully from his grasp, Tara tensed again and turned at the same time as the madman. In the baleful glare of a suddenly appearing full moon that had slid from behind the clouds, a ship of the waters of the night sky. Grammaton Cleric (First Class) Preston stood like an avenging angel of death, his hands now down by his sides, smoke filtering from the muzzle of his pistols. “No guns.” The fallen Grammaton picked up his knife and gave Preston a grim nod, as if deferring to the man for some reason. He looked at the woman and then leapt again. Preston wanted to intervene but Tara needed this, there is a time when every young eagle needs to spread their wings and fly. Life and death were the best teachers of them all, he had to come to terms with the fact that he might well lose another woman he had become 'interested' in – but he was going to make sure the fight was 'fair...' Knife met knife in a sudden ballet of sharp steel death, flickering strobe-like in the darkness, as both combatants sought an opening in the others defences. The Kata of the Clerics covered a cornucopia of style, weapons and mediums, this was seventh tier training and Preston watched Tara's form noting her strengths and weaknesses. The other Cleric was stronger and more determined but he fought with a burden of madness in his movements and nature, he was a corrupted individual and his mind assaulted by a lack of his precious drug and the fantasy of forbidden materials he'd read. Still he was a powerful opponent and he almost broke the young woman's defences by sheer strength alone, she had to rely upon technique more than anything now. Her heart raced in her chest and she tried to calm her mind, watching the movements and countering as she'd been taught. He gashed her right hand and now she was forced to fight with only one blade, against his single glittering knife. John's finger tightened on the trigger of his gun but he kept his arm locked in a single position for now, he was determined not to intervene, he kept telling himself she could do it. But this man was a senior Cleric who had been trained at the feet of DuPont himself, Preston saw this in his style as the fight progressed, it was eerily similar to his 'push' battle with Father and he recognised certain tell-tale moves. Had it been Preston battling this man, it would have been over in seconds. It is said that life and death are transitions of liquid time as you move between states, perhaps then this is why John with all his experience of such, saw the final moment of Tara's life lain out before him like the threads of the Fates. Three old crones ready to cut the life-line of a promising young woman in two. “No!” Tara was caught unawares by the older Grammaton's last move, it was a feint from the right to the left with a spin that drove the blade towards her chest, it all happened so fast. In the split second between living and dying, Preston made a conscious choice to break a cycle that almost seemed to be Grecian in it nature, a curse that every woman he met would perish in some horrible way. A single report echoed in the night and the hilt of the Cleric's knife impacted with Tara's chest harmlessly, the blade spinning off into the alley behind her. John's gun was a smoking monument to the shift in his life's path, and gave the younger woman the moment she needed to drive her own blade into the senior Cleric's throat, he staggered backwards with a gasp of air and his eyes went wide. “Jack.” He said with a remorseful tone. “Jack's not supposed to die, it was never solved, I was never caught.” “John!” Tara was running over to him now and he stood there as if he were a statue carved out of ebony, a black dark-knight returned to save her from a terrible demise. A second shot ended the gasping Cleric's life and the man dropped down with a single shot to the heart. “I'm sorry.” He said, she wasn't sure if it was to her or to the man he just killed. “So sorry.” She nearly bowled him over as she flew into his arms. The young man had no idea what to do, save for a dim and distant memory of holding his wife like this. Instinctively he put his arms around her as the street behind them lit up, the Sweepers had followed the Cleric but Michael's had let him do his own thing. “We'll take it from here Cleric.” The Sweeper said as he stalked past John, the other man nodded almost dumbly. He was awash in sensations and feelings for the first time in a long time, something inside him cracked and a second flood-gate opened, and under the lights of the Sweeper's vehicles he kissed the woman that he'd fallen for, her response was a tearful one and a new sensation crept across his skin – one he liked. The Sweepers took little notice of this as the two Clerics were backlit by the bright white, they went to the body of the senior Cleric and examined it, retrieving Tara's knife from his throat and the other one from where it fell. “Search his bag.” Michaels ordered and the other one complied without a word. The black coated figure knelt down and opened the zipper, he began to rifle through various things, in echoes of DuPont's reign, save that now of course they were upholding a fairer law. He seized upon one particular item and brought it to his commanders attention. The other Sweeper looked at it puzzled somewhat and lifted it to the light It was a book of some kind, no doubt in Father's era it would have been rated EC-10. “Who was Jack the Ripper?” “What?” said his subordinate and took the book from him. “No idea, Jack the Ripper – a Dramatization in three parts.” He began to leaf through the book and then passed it back. “Show it to the Clerics, it says here it's based on a true story.” Both Sweepers looked at the fallen Grammaton's body, a slow spreading red pool under the raven-black of his outfit. Tara and Preston had broken their embrace and her hand was now bandaged, she was sitting with the younger man at the back of the Sweeper's van, shaking from the adrenaline of battle. “Sir?” Michaels put the book in Preston's hand and he looked up to see his reflection in the black visor. “We found this, a bunch of knives and lots of food tins.” “Jack the Ripper.” John began to read the cover and blinked a couple of times as he picked through it. “Tara?” “Huh?” She was in a world of her own and turned to face him. She went ashen-white when her eyes fell onto the cover. “Oh no way.” “What? What is it?” Preston was concerned. “Jack the Ripper, some of the Offenders read this as a kind of warning to us – it's based on a true story, a murderer in the City of London – he kills prostitutes and cuts them up, he was never caught.” “He was tonight.” John replied in cool tones and stood up. “You're staying with me tonight, you can meet Robbie and Lisa, they'll do you the world of good. Sweeper Michael's will you please escort Cleric Night to my apartment and make sure she's settled in?” Tara blinked at this and gave another tiny blush, there were undertones of more than concern in the young man's voice and he finished that order with a soft smile. “You going to report all of this?” “I have to, it's my job...you need to rest for a while, I'm ... proud of you.” That compliment set Tara's heart a-flutter and she wordlessly went with the Sweeper into the back of the van. John was left alone with his thoughts and he brooded on the book in his hands. If this was the kind of reaction that the New Libria could expect from being immersed in new sensations and materials, then they would have to be restricted. “No!” The Sweepers looked around and saw him standing there, for a moment they thought he was going to shoot them all, the look on his face mirrored what they had come to expect from him when he reverted to his Cleric's tenth tier training. “Preston?” one of them ventured. “Are you alright Sir?” “Yes, I was just remembering.” He said and shook his head to clear it. “I need to return Cleric Michael's motorcycle, if you can make sure this area is sanitized and the materials removed for proper inspection.” He passed the Sweeper the book. “If anyone wants to look at this, they are free to.” He stalked off into the shadows to find the bike and stretch his legs, as the sound of the vehicle tore into the night he left the Sweepers a little bemused but mollified. In other darker halls there was another man that brooded upon the near-year long change to a beloved old friend. Rather like Jurgen in the underground they were forced to dwell in murky shadow. The half-burned face of Ezekiel Kayne was lit by the barest white light as he tapped a black glove on the table-top in irritation. So far he'd kept things in order but their stores of Prozium were running out. “I presume you've heard they found the body of senior Grammaton Caldwell?” A voice off to one side in complete darkness interrogated the seated man. “Yes.” “We are running low on Prozium, since DuPont's mishandling of matters I will have to step back into the light again and perhaps, make a few changes, retake Libria by force?” The brooding figure turned his head and narrowed his eyes. “Your assassination so that DuPont could replace you was somewhat of a smokescreen, but you will always remain my Father.” “Our Father, Ezekiel, who art in Heaven.” “Hallowed by thy name, till thy Kingdom come.” “Exactly – we have much to do old friend and one person still stands in our way.” “Preston.” The Cleric snarled almost as if he were no longer on the drug that Father had perfected. “Calm yourself, I know this is a weaker dose than usual, but when we retake Our Earth, we will make sure we can never fall again.” The voice was serene and it made Ezekiel want to obey, as if he were programmed to. “But how do we begin?” “This will lead the way.” There was a thud as the shadowy figure threw a small paperback book onto the desk, the cover read: 'Sun Tzu's: The Art of War' Ezekiel Kayne looked at it and took the book in his black gloved hand, he opened it and smiled for a moment. “Relearn the lost arts?” “To make a wheat field grow strong again my friend, one must cut down the chaff and burn the crop.” “Thy will be done, Our Father.” “As it should always be, my son, as it should always be.” Part 1|2|3|4 more Equilibrium Fan Fiction