Equilibrium Fan Fiction by Judas Austin Taking Sides 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20   Murder (mûr d r) n. The unlawful killing of one human by another, especially with premeditated malice. At least, that's what it said in that book Richardson's always going on about. Personally, I don't see what's so great about a book that tells you what words mean. After all, I grew up speaking the language same as everyone. I think I know what they mean. Richardson mentioned something about spelling, but since he had his head stuck in some archaic instrument by then, I didn't quite catch it. The man's always fiddling with this artifact or the other. I'm starting to wonder if he's really a Cleric. I'm also starting to wonder exactly what "A. Matthews" did to antagonise this person so much. Like Jurgen said, we knew this would happen sooner or later. It's just a little unnerving that it happened so damn soon. Not that I'm unnerved, of course. To be honest, I still don't quite know what I'm supposed to be doing. Maybe meeting up with Cleric Rossiter (whoever he is). One thing's for damn sure, the only way Jurgen's going to convince me to have anything to do with Cleric Halls is if he puts a gun to my forehead. And even then, only maybe. On a more serious note, Lisa didn't come home last night. Robbie's adamant he didn't see her and I think I'd know if he was lying. Then again, he and Lisa were both sense offenders for four and a half years and I never twigged. Then again, maybe I just never let myself realise it. Since it's over and done with, why am I still wondering about it? And why do I get the feeling that it's somehow important? And why the hell am I writing all this down in the damn book?? I don't know what good it's going to do. If I wanted an analysis of input data, I'd use a terminal! If I see Richardson today, maybe I'll ask him about this whole diary thing. --John Preston, Grammaton Cleric First Class Preston examined the displayer for the fifth time, trying to gain some insight into A. Matthews' life. He knew Rossiter was supposed to be handling it, but at least research made him feel like he was doing something again. Subject's Full Name: Arnold James Matthews Occupation: Vehicle Mechanic DOB: 5/11/2464 DOD: 9/6/2503 Gender: Male Height: 1.78m Weight: 81.6 kg Hair Colour: Blond Eye Colour: Brown Distinguishing Features: Scar on left shoulder Next of kin: None Living Address: Apartment 31, Corridor 12, Sector 19 Other Notes: None Preston frowned. There was something about the record that didn't quite fit. "Morning, John," Robbie said, coming in with a yawn. "Morning," Preston said absently, still engrossed in the record. Looking at it was like looking at a tapestry with one missing stitch. There was something there that jarred the eye, but it was too much damn trouble to find out what. He glanced up suddenly. "Have you seen Lisa?" Robbie rolled his eyes. "Not since the last time you asked me…five minutes ago," he couldn't resist adding, not quite under his breath. Damn, Preston thought savagely. He didn't need this. He really didn't need this. Not on top of everything else. "You're going to check out that murder, aren't you?" Robbie said rhetorically. "I have to do something." Preston frowned. "I wonder if I can get Kernachan interested in helping me," he mused aloud. Alex Kernachan was the only other Cleric that Preston had really met down here, or at least, the only other Cleric he'd met that he hadn't wanted to put down five minutes later. Richardson was plain annoying and Halls made his skin crawl. He hadn't met Cleric Rossiter yet, but if he was honest with himself, he wasn't holding out much hope there. "Kernachan?" Robbie echoed. There was something in the way he said it that made Preston shoot him a narrow-eyed glance. "Yes. You know. Cleric Halls' partner." Preston paused. That was the other thing he wasn't sure about. What were the odds of your partner becoming a sense offender at exactly the same time you did? Something about that didn't quite ring true to him. Robbie's voice jerked him back to the present. "You…haven't heard?" he said hesitantly. "Heard? Heard what?" "Kernachan…he…well…" Preston, who was becoming distinctly impatient, said, "Spit it out!" Robbie jerked as if he'd been stung, then said, "He shot himself." Preston stared at him. "He what?" "Well…I say shot himself…he slashed both his wrists first, then wrote a suicide note on the wall in his own blood, put both sidearms in his mouth and pulled the triggers." "How do you know?" "Jurgen told me." "…Did he now?" Preston said tightly. That was something he thought he'd have to talk to Jurgen about…soon. Like sometime during the next five minutes. "Uh…yeah," Robbie answered, in the uncomfortable tones of one who's just realised he's got his foot firmly wedged in his mouth. "I see." Abruptly Preston got to his feet. "If Lisa comes back here, don't let her leave again," he said flatly. "I don't care if you have to tie her to the bed, but I don't want her going out. Is that clear?" "Crystal," Robbie answered. Given Preston's mood, it was probably the only way he'd get out of the conversation without being grounded until his next birthday. "Good." Preston spun on his heel and stalked out, and Robbie settled down in front of the TV, flicking through the channels and finding himself feeling very, very glad he wasn't Jurgen. The heavy banging on the door roused Jurgen from the first really sound sleep he'd managed to get in some weeks, and he muttered something under his breath. If this wasn't a real life-or-death emergency, whoever was behind this was going to get their rations cut for a month! He stumbled, still half asleep, to the door and pulled it open. "What do you-" He broke off as the sight of his visitor effectively did the work of an icy shower and several doses of caffeine. "Preston?" "Can I come in?" Preston said, somewhat tightly. "Can I stop you?" Jurgen said wryly. "Highly unlikely." Preston shouldered his way in, slamming the door behind him. One look at the Cleric's face told Jurgen all he needed to know. "You've heard about Kernachan, haven't you?" Preston's dark eyes spat fire at him. "Yes, I've heard about Kernachan! And I'd like to know exactly how it was that Robbie knew before I did!" "I told him." "I know damn well you told him, Jurgen! I want to know why you didn't tell me!" A thought suddenly struck Preston. "Did you tell Robbie to keep it a secret?" "Not...as such," Jurgen said evasively. In fact his parting words to Robbie at that meeting had been: "And for Christ's sake, don't breathe a word of any of this to Preston until I've had a chance to, or we'll both end up in the shit!" Preston narrowed his eyes. "Let me rephrase that," he said icily. "Did you say anything to Robbie that could be construed as a specific order not to mention this...ah...incident to me?" "I wouldn't call it an order as such..." Preston's hand slammed into the wall with a resounding clang. "Goddammit, Jurgen, then what would you call it?!" Jurgen didn't answer. Experience had taught him that the best way of dealing with Preston when the Cleric was in a temper was to keep quiet and let him burn it out of his system, let him smash up whatever was available (although Jurgen devoutly hoped that he'd leave the terminals alone this time; he'd only just got them repaired) and then try and pick up the conversation where he'd left off. "We had an agreement," Preston said, his voice now deadly quiet. "Remember? I take care of the military and law enforcement side of things, you take care of everything else." Put like that, it didn't sound like a particularly fair division of labour, Jurgen thought wryly, then hastily blanked his mind. Preston continued, his voice rising again. "But there is nothing I can do if I'm kept in the dark the whole time! I'm not a damn mind reader, in case you haven't noticed!" "You're a Cleric," Jurgen risked pointing out, "and that's close enough." This reminder was enough to check Preston's anger, or at least temporarily startle him out of it. "And your point is?" he said, but it was in the tones of someone whose mouth is buying time while their brain frantically scrabbles for a foothold in this unexpected terrain. "Look. Kernachan's dead. Alright?" Jurgen paused. "There. I've told you. And what's the first thing that comes into your head?" As it happened, the first thing that had come into Preston's head when he'd heard about it from Robbie was also the next thing that came out of his mouth just then. "Where's Halls?" Jurgen grimaced. "There. You see? That's why I didn't tell you right away, because I knew you'd react like this. I know you hate the man-" "'Hate' isn't really the word I'd choose," Preston retorted. It was true, he supposed. He didn't exactly hate the man; it was just...something he couldn't quite put his finger on, something about Halls that unsettled him deeply. "I'm not going to discuss the finer semantics of emotions with you, Preston. As I was saying, I know you hate the man, but Cleric Halls is hardly likely to kill his own partner." "Why not?" Preston said flatly. "I did." "You were either on Prozium or defending yourself," Jurgen said impassively. "Besides, Halls was in the Nethers with Cleric Rossiter at the time. If my word's not good enough for you," here a slight note of steel entered his voice, "you can ask Rossiter yourself. He got back three days ago, as you were no doubt aware," he added, referring to the spies Preston had undoubtedly sent along on that particular expedition. The Cleric at least had the grace to drop his gaze, a grace that lasted all of half a second before he met Jurgen's eyes squarely again. "And just where is Cleric Halls?" he said coldly. Jurgen, who felt that enough of Preston's wrath had safely dissipated, set his jaw slightly. "I don't want you interrogating him, Preston." "Where is he?" Preston repeated. "Still in the Nethers, as far as I know," Jurgen answered. He was damn sure that Preston knew Halls' location better than he himself did, but deceit was never a good idea around any Grammaton Cleric, not just Preston. "Like I said, I don't want you interrogating him!" "Still in the Nethers," Preston said thoughtfully, ignoring the last part of Jurgen's answer, almost like he hadn't heard it. Jurgen knew better. "Preston!" he said sharply. The Cleric blinked, his train of thought involving Halls momentarily derailed. "I don't want you interrogating him," Jurgen repeated. "That's the third time you've made that point." "I know. And I'm going to keep on making it until I'm sure you understand. I don't like that look in your eyes." "What look?" Preston said. "Okay, and I really don't like that one!" "Then close your eyes," Preston retorted unsympathetically. "Preston, if you'd stop and listen to what you're saying for just one minute-" "I am listening to what I'm saying," Preston cut in, not missing a beat. "And I think I'm the only one! As to Halls, why don't we just get rid of him?" Jurgen sighed. "This is the ninth time we've had this discussion, Preston, and for the ninth time I'm telling you, we have precious few Clerics on our side as it is, without killing them off ourselves!" "Did I suggest killing him?" "Then what else did you have in mind?" Jurgen said bitingly. "You want me to thank him for all the times he's risked his life for us, but he's rubbed you the wrong way for some reason and so now he can go play in the furnace with the Tetra Grammaton?" "Well, it would be a start!" The two men glared at each other. "I still don't know what he's done to piss you off," Jurgen muttered. "Nothing. I just don't like the guy. He reminds me too much of Brandt." "I know he does." Jurgen sighed. "Look...I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Kernachan. I just thought you had enough on your plate, what with Lisa going missing-" Preston stared at him. "You've really been keeping tabs on me, haven't you?" "What? No, the sentry on duty said that she passed through the gates at around one thirty this morning." "Which way was she going?" "Towards the old part of Libria," Jurgen said quietly. "I'm sorry." Preston grit his teeth. The old part of Libria was where the Second Resistance were purportedly based, along with the Tetra Grammaton. "Damn, Lisa," Jurgen heard him mutter. "Just what the hell have you got yourself mixed up in this time?" Jurgen started to say that Lisa plainly took after her father, then bit his tongue hard. He didn't think Preston would react particularly well to a comment like that, not when he was already having difficulty in keeping a rein on his temper. "I'm going down to that murder site," Preston said suddenly. "You can solve mysteries now?" Jurgen said, unable to keep the facetiousness out of his voice. "I can do many things," Preston said, the barest hint of a warning in his tone. Jurgen took the hint and changed topic obligingly. "So-just out of interest, you understand-how are you planning to accomplish this...uh..." Jurgen bit down hard on the word 'miracle' "...feat?" he finished, somewhat lamely. Candidly, Preston had no idea. "I'll think of something," he said flatly. "Right," Jurgen answered, in the tones of one who really doesn't want to shake the proverbial beehive any more than he absolutely has to. Preston's eyes narrowed very slightly, but he let it go. "And...Preston?" Jurgen said as the Cleric turned to leave. "Yes?" Preston stopped moving but kept his back to Jurgen. "Give Halls a break, will you?" Preston's fist clenched at his side, tightly, briefly, then he walked stiffly out without answering, banging the door behind him. Jurgen sighed. If this went on much longer, he'd have to do something about one or both Clerics, and soon. Corridor 12 was in a somewhat run-down area of Sector 19, which, being one of the three Sectors that was bordered on both New Libria and the Nethers, was a pretty dilapidated place in itself. Various Resistance slogans had been spray painted onto the walls decades ago, and nobody had got around to cleaning them off yet. Preston had once asked Jurgen if he'd had anything to do with the graffiti in question, and Jurgen had denied it with an alacrity that was perhaps slightly too emphatic, but the fact remained that it was just as much a part of the Sector as the apartments themselves. Apartment 31 was on the third floor of the Sector, located a fair way into the centre. The door was hanging on one hinge, although judging from the state of that remaining hinge, it had probably been like that before the killer had ever arrived. Preston squinted at it slightly-half the lights in Corridor 12 didn't work-then froze. He knew, just knew he was being watched, and by someone who wasn't friendly either. Preston shook his head. Had half these people lost their memories along with their Prozium? He might not be working for the Tetra Grammaton, but he was still a Cleric, and if whoever was there thought they could just take him from behind like a sweeper, well, thought Preston, they were in for one hell of a shock. Straightening up, he spoke into the seemingly empty Corridor. "I know you're there. You might as well make it easy on us both and come out." There was no sound, no visible movement, yet something caused Preston to turn to his left slightly. Two people stood there, both armed with what looked like lengths of lead piping. Judging from their faces, Preston didn't think the oldest of them had hit twenty yet. His instinct-what Jurgen usually referred to as his 'Cleric-sense'-informed him that three more people had just stepped out behind him. Well. Let them. Preston hadn't had any really strenuous physical activity for a while, and he could do with the exercise. "We don't like Clerics down here," one of them said, in a tone which was probably supposed to be menacing but, due to lack of experience, came out sounding almost flirtatious; so much so, in fact, that Preston had to suppress a desire to grin, or even laugh. "So...?" he said politely. If the expressions on the kid's face was anything to go by, this was one answer he obviously hadn't been prepared for. Preston took pity on him. "What do you expect me to do?" he prompted. The youth's face cleared slightly. This was more like it. "Leave. Now." "I see." Preston turned around fully, giving the illusion that he was completely unaware of the three who were now attempting to creep up behind him. "And...if I don't?" The leader shifted his weight meaningfully, adjusting his grip on the pipe he held. "What do you think?" "I think you're making a very big mistake," Preston said quietly. "So are your friends back there." He paused. "I'm not from the Tetra Grammaton. I'm here to look into the murder that occurred here." The others exchanged a nervous look. Preston realised that the incident must genuinely be news to them. He held up his hands, palms outward. "I'm not looking for any trouble," he said calmly. "Trouble seems to have found you, Cleric." There was a smirk on the leader's face that made Preston want to punch it hard. "So you can walk out of here, or you can be carried out." In all honesty, if he hadn't been looking for a scapegoat, Preston might have considered just leaving; he really didn't want any more dead bodies on his conscience. But since this guy seemed to be so determined to pick a fight…well, it would be an interesting diversion, if nothing else. Still… "Don't be so damn stupid," he said sharply. "I'm a Cleric, first class. You won't stand a chance." "We'll have to see about that, won't we?" Preston raised an eyebrow. There was a clack as both his sidearms were ejected into his waiting hands, followed almost immediately by a clatter from behind as two of his would-be assailants cut and ran, clearly possessed of more intelligence than their compatriots. "One last chance," Preston said impassively. He could feel the Gun-Kata stirring in his mind and knew full well that if he gave in to it then none of the kids would walk away. "Keep it." Preston shrugged. "Have it your way." He flipped the guns around, spun and smashed one of the butts across the face of the one youth who was still behind him. The pipe fell out of a suddenly numb grip as the kid dropped to his knees with bone cracking force, both hands plastered over his face. Blood was already spurting out of his now broken nose, and his palms were slick with it. Not dead, not even in any serious danger, but no longer any threat either. Preston turned to face the two remaining attackers, slowly, deliberately, wearing the half smile of someone who knows the shit's really going to hit the fan any second now, because they're the one throwing it up there. Did these kids really think that he'd never seen trouble until he'd seen them? How arrogant. "C'mon," the leader said to his friend, who was showing signs of hesitance. "There's only one of him and two of us." Yeah, Preston thought with a kind of grim humour. And there were five of you not two minutes ago. The same thought had obviously occurred to the youth, who glanced at Preston, then at his buddy, then spun on his heels and bolted. Preston gave the other a look that said So it's just you and me, then. The kid narrowed his eyes, then suddenly raised his weapon above his head and charged. Well, give him credit for guts, Preston mused as he stood there, waiting. For intelligence, no. But he wasn't a coward…or at least, if he was a coward, then he was a kamikaze one. The Cleric flipped his guns over and reholstered them. He didn't think he needed firepower to deal with this problem. He waited until the kid was almost on him, then feinted left. As his attacker moved to stay on target, Preston dodged to the right and brought his knee up sharply. He pulled it at the last second, reducing the damage significantly, then as the kid bent double, gasping for breath, the Cleric slammed one elbow down hard onto his shoulder and stepped away, letting his opponent fall. Somehow, the teenager still found the energy to glower at him balefully. Preston walked past him calmly, not paying any attention. He'd seen far too many hate-filled stares over the years to be moved by one more. The interior of Matthews' apartment was in an even worse condition than the exterior, if such a thing was possible. Dust coated every available surface, including the floor. In the living area, a dilapidated couch that was stained and collapsed in the middle faced a tiny TV, three foot by two. Preston hadn't thought you could still get screens that size. The kitchen was even worse. Blood spattered the floor and walls, where it had trickled down in countless streaks. Well, that should piss the cleanup team off thoroughly. That much blood was going to be a nightmare to get off again. He shook his head, half amused, half appalled at himself, and returned to his inspection. Dirty dishes, cups, glasses, cutlery and just about everything else was piled haphazardly in the sink. The stench of rotted leftovers and filth was overwhelming. More curious than anything, Preston reached out and turned the tap on. The handle juddered alarmingly in his hand, then, with a series of gurgles and rumbles, a thin stream of brown water finally trickled out. "Cleric?" someone said, jerking his attention back to the present. Preston spun around and crossed the room rapidly to the doorway, arriving at the same time as his visitor. "I thought you were in the Nethers," he said flatly. "I was," Cleric Halls said composedly. "So what are you doing here?" "Much the same thing you are, Cleric." Preston grimaced. Well, he thought, perhaps he shouldn't be all that surprised. The Clerics in the First Resistance, with the exception of Richardson, had nothing to occupy them in between missions. Any sign of infractions, no matter how slight, acted as a beacon to the nearest Cleric. Hell, Preston knew for a fact that Halls and Rossiter had joined forces not too long ago to break down the door of a man suspected of illegal alcoholism, and the poor guy had only been putting a drop in his food for flavouring. Preston suppressed a sudden desire to grin. That had actually been pretty funny, in an incompetent sort of way. But with nothing to distract him from guilt, Preston supposed it was small wonder Kernachan had taken his own life. Still, it was damn annoying! "And what good do you think you'll be able to do?" Preston demanded. "I'm not sure yet," Halls answered evenly. "I could probably give you an answer to that question if you'd let me through the door." Preston hesitated. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he said. "No," Halls answered simply. "Are you going to let me in, Cleric?" Preston regarded the other Cleric coldly for a minute or two, then grudgingly stepped to one side, not having a valid reason for getting rid of him and resenting the fact enormously. Halls moved through into the kitchen, taking in the blood spattered on the wall and floor. "Interesting pattern," he remarked. "I suppose." Preston considered this a rather odd view of the situation but offered no further comment. Halls looked around, scanning the area keenly. "Where's this Matthews character?" "Gone." "Damn. I wanted to check him out." "I'd say someone already 'checked him out', Halls." "I know," Halls responded evenly, refusing to be drawn. "I just wanted one or two answers off him, that's all." "You have supernatural powers now?" Preston said, not bothering to keep the heavy sarcasm out of his tones. Halls, who was running an ungloved hand over one of the walls, paused briefly, then grinned, albeit without much humour. "Cute, Cleric. That's real cute. But I think you and I both know I was talking about forensics." There was a silence. "What are you doing?" Preston demanded. "There's something in this room. I can feel it." Preston paused, sensing the air around him. "You're right," he said thoughtfully, all current animosities forgotten, or at least temporarily put on hold. He reached out his own hand, feeling the cool metal of the walls, wincing inwardly as he brushed over the blood there, then hesitated. "Strange." "What is?" Halls said, more interested in his own investigation than Preston's. "Feel the blood." "Must I?" Halls drawled, then caught sight of the expression on Preston's face. "Alright then." He ran his own fingers over it. "Well?" Preston said. "Well what?" "The blood." There was a pause. "I'm not quite with you here, Preston," Halls answered eventually. "What do you want me to say?" "This murder took place two days ago, didn't it?" "Correct. And your point would be…?" "If this man was killed two days ago, then why is the blood still wet?" Halls frowned slightly and tested the blood again. It wasn't wet as such, more sort of tacky. But it was a lot wetter than it should have been after two days. Acting on instinct, Preston suddenly turned, walked over to the TV and smashed the screen with one hard blow of his fist. "What the…?!" Halls said, startled out of his normal composure. Wordlessly, Preston nodded towards the now wrecked TV. Curious, Halls crossed over to stand beside him and peered into the debris, then whistled softly. "Well. There's a thing." The wiring and circuitry had been painstakingly removed, rendering the TV nothing more than a metal box. Lying in the shards of the shattered screen were what Preston estimated to be at least a hundred and fifty vials of Prozium. Chapter 4>>> more Equilibrium Fan Fiction