Welcome to Gaia! ::

“I understand. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Cardenas, and if there’s anything we can do, please…don’t hesitate to call.” The poor woman nodded her thanks as she sniffled through the tissues in her hand. “Gracias agent Brooks, si,” she managed to stutter as she took the agent’s business card. Brooks nodded once, and reached out to gently squeeze the bereaved widow’s hand. His eyes drifted over to the nearest uniformed officer; and he nodded his head curtly. The officer came forward and gently touched Mrs. Cardenas’ shoulder to get her attention. Giving Brooks the opportunity to rise up from his seat, straighten his tie, and step away from the breakfast nook.

He passed by porcelain decor, pictures of family, and Christian religious markers as he made his way towards the other end of the house. Stepping over droplets and stains of dried blood as he went. He was nearly to the back patio when he slowed his pace; and stopped in front of the screen door. He looked through the frail netting to see something alike morbid beauty. A pair of horizon-pink curtains gently billowed inward from an open window on the far side of the room. A woman with long bleached hair tied back in a ponytail; and her platinum strands gently lifting in tune with the breeze. Her back turned on him as she stood in the center of what could only be described as a cat’s cradle of red string. Dozens of scarlet-colored strands stretched from carefully positioned metal stands were set upon the wall; outlining the large spats of blood which covered the wall and floor beneath it.

In her hands he could see she was holding something. A pair of vials; and each was filled with a different colored liquid. She was swirling one in her hand carefully; and holding the other one with a surgeon’s steady hand. “Wee boy–” Brooks almost jumped a little bit. He’d been so focused on his observation he hadn’t expected her to speak. “Get a good look at the goods?” She turned her head to look at him. Her ocean blue eyes set upon him as he arched a brow. Trying to figure out what she meant. His eyes drifted down as he thought; and the moment they hit her waist he realized the implication. He put both hands up defensively. “Oh, hey, detective Morton, I mean I’m married–”

“Relax, sir. Givin’ ya s**t.” Brooks scoffed once; and pushed open the clasp on the screen door. He carefully maneuvered around her evidence collection; and noted a few items on the floor marked with numbered evidence flags. A bic lighter…an evidence bag with a strand of clothing fabric…a broken cigarette, smashed to hell…the victim’s wallet; emptied.

Brooks flicked his chin towards her labyrinthian creation. “We been here, what…twenty minutes? Half hour? You sure this room is our best evidence pool?” He stopped walking when he neared a relatively-untouched corner of the room. Not daring to get too close for fear of contamination. But he kept talking. “A bunch of blood on the wall only means the attack started here. Our vic was lyin’ dead down the hall; in the kitchen. Most would think the killer followed him; made sure the poor sucker was dead.”

Detective Morton kept swirling the vial in her hand; and responded without moving her eyes from the liquid inside. “Most would.” The liquid finally began to change. It turned from clear and transparent to a shimmering navy blue. She finally lowered the vial from eye-level; and turned her gaze onto her assessor. “Our killer was cartel. Made sure our vic was dead alright. But he didn’t follow him. He didn’t have to. Killer came in through the window–” She pointed towards the floor beneath the billowing curtains; and Brooks followed her indication. He could make out the impression of boot prints in the cheap and haggard carpet.

“--and probably planned on huntin’ Mr. Cardenas down. But even murderers catch a lucky break now and then. Cardenas…was a smoker. The half-decent kind. Who came out to the patio to smoke.” She nodded towards the smashed cigarette on the ground. Brooks’ mind began following her words, and painting a moving picture. “Our killer comes in–and he hears Cardenas coming this way. He moves from the window,” Morton moved her body and carefully maneuvered her hands over the blood splatter display to gesture in the motion she meant. “and moves to the wall next to the door. He put–”

Morton stepped around the cradle and finally exited her sanctuary in the middle. She placed her fingertips–wrapped in standard-issue nitrile gloves–against the yellowed-white wall of the back patio. With her other hand she bent down, and picked up the forensic bag he’d spotted. “--his back against the wall; here. Left a mite of his shirt.” She dropped the bag onto the floor from the same spot she’d plucked it with impressive practise. She then mimicked the action she described by placing her back against the wall.

She kept her left arm pressed against her body. She lifted her right hand and held it in front of her body; gripped in a fist…as if she were wielding some sort of imaginary dagger. She turned her head to the right towards the patio door, and kept describing the murder. Her voice grew ever softer as even her own mind became enveloped in the scene. “He waited here. A few seconds maybe…and he didn’t panic–” she shook her head quietly, “--he reacted…perfectly. Cardenas opens the door–” She could see his face. The face of the middle-aged latino man whose body they’d just wrapped in a big black bag. Could see him walking in the room.

“--steps inside–” Her imaginary knife swept outwards in a back-handed hook towards the patio door. “--and catches a knife in the throat. Cardenas drops his kit.” She points at the broken cigarette and lighter on the floor. “The killer twists, and tears out. Blood sprays here–” She points at the large spattering of blood across the wall. “--Cardenas takes his next step in. He’s in shock. Smashes the cigarette–”

She points at the second, smaller spatter on the floor. “Killer catches him in the side one more time–double tap. Pulls the blade; blood spray. Cardenas–still in shock–tries to make it back in the house. Killer grabs his wallet right out of his pocket. Took the cash…and I’d bet he took any picture of the family. It was over in seconds. Back out the window…and on the trail.” She sighed through her nose; and looked back over to Brooks.

The superior nodded his head a few times; and stepped forward. “Pretty good. Good time, too. We’re already on him. Neighbor caught a glimpse. But that’s the B-side. Excellent work, detective Morton. I can’t think of anything you did wrong. You’ve got all the qualities, you speak enough languages….If you’re still interested; I think you’d be a good fit with us. Get you back overseas. You’ll have to isolate for about a week while we run your background, social, get your credentials, procedural instruction, red tape, red tape, red tape….” He trailed off and put his hands into his pocket. “Waddaya say? Wanna roll with the big guns?”

Morton smiled at the man; and canted her head coyly. “Always loved to travel.” Brooks chuckled again; and nodded his head. “We’ve got plenty of points to go around.” He pulled his hand from his pocket, and formed a fist. Couldn’t contaminate the gloves after all. Merida Morton formed a fist of her own; and bumped knuckles with him. “I’ve got a good feeling you’ll check out, detective Morton, so…welcome to Interpol.”

[...timeskip…]

Geez. What a hassle. Two weeks waiting to officially transfer from her old position into a “temporary appointment position.” Pretty much the official lingo for proverbial purgatory. The place between “not hired” and “okay, you’re in.” Another week moving out all her furnishings. Selling, donating, scrapping, and tossing what she didn’t really need. A week longer getting out of her old place; but that had been kind of worth it. That d**k of a landlord always on her case about the smoke. Now, finally after a month of tearing down the bricks of her old life; she was finally laying on a bed in the hôtel Bayard Bellecour. They’d given her the suite royale for the next 10 days; or however long it would take for the screenings to clear.

It’d been awhile since she’d had any kind of vacation. Not like she’d ever needed it. She didn’t have any family beyond her old coworkers; and she wouldn’t be seeing much of them anymore. Nor did she have any kind of a social life. She didn’t date around the office; and doing her job better than everyone else meant forfeiting any kind of a home life. She didn’t even know which office they’d be placing her in yet. Could be here in France. Could be anywhere else in the UK. Could be Australia, Egypt, China, Russia…the list goes on.

But that’s alright. That’s what she’d wanted. Where some people found value in spirituality or religion…she found value in the process of her work. Of finding the facts. Bringing the criminals down with the trails they left behind. She didn’t carry a gun. She wasn’t an action hero. That was for the best. If she was? She’d probably be the sort of cop who killed the bad guys when she felt like it. She didn’t have that sense of humanity that most people found so easily. Not after all the things she’d seen. ‘brrrrrrrrrrr’ She perked up when her phone began to buzz. She grabbed it from above her head on the bed; and looked at the alarm.

She sat up on her bed; and glanced across her unpacked luggage. Wasn’t much point in getting too comfortable. Instead she stood up from where she was; and grabbed a particular suitcase. All the waiting was killing her. She wasn’t used to it. But she did have her little reprieves. See she’d found a use for all her free time awhile back. Couldn’t stand idle hands. A hobby of sorts. Something where she could exercise her sense of righteous living and stimulate that social side she kept locked up under lock and key. She sat down in the common room; and reached over to a port sticking out from the wall. She grabbed the port, and pulled it. It stretched from a cord that stemmed from within the wall behind it; and she raised it to her ear. She used her free hand to remove her glasses; and leaned back against the chair. She let her link stretch from behind her ear; and connected.

—-------------------------------

The telltale keening of an approaching presence began to sound within the Lumina Cloth. Rings of light descended to manifest and reveal a woman within them. White-platinum hair tied in a royal braid-ring around her head; with perfectly symmetrical bangs accentuating her delicate features. Clad in white-gold armor emblazoned with ornate design and regalia. A blue scarf around her neck that split into two ends and drifted out behind her back. A blue chainmail wardress swept around her ankles as she walked forward from where she’d logged in. A brown beast-hide flail was wrapped around her waist like a belt; and it was covered nearly to it’s end in jagged spikes that jutted outward.

Set upon her back were a pair of large golden Chakrams; wreathed in ornate silver decor depicting skulls, and roses. One set upon her lower back; roughly the size of a large dinner platter. The other was set higher up on her back; and was about the size of a car wheel. It as set in such a way that her head was centered in its circumference; and it resembled a bladed halo. Her Chakrams were imbued with a pale golden glow; that could almost be described as a sickly holy light. She walked quietly across the stone floor as other players passed her by; and she smiled as she recognized a small party approaching her. A multi-classed group of players who each wore a black cape upon their backs; and the emblem of The Silent Choir emblazoned on them.

“Cardinal Grigorii.” Kandross–her first lieutenant–placed his fist over his chest, and addressed her as the rest of their party began trading equipment and items among themselves. “Kandross. How did you fare?” Kandross shrugged before answering. “Been better, and been worse. Did alright overall I’d say. Got m’self some new weapons which is always a plus. Still, none of us are anywhere near your rank. Your username actually gets around here in the arena. You gonna hop in? A few more and we could get some choice clashes goin’.” Bishop opened her mouth to answer–and caught a notification in her HUD. She pulled up her player menu; and opened the social tab. She smiled to herself; and shrugged at Kandross.

“I’m afraid I’m called to a more personal endeavor today, Kandross.” Kandross nodded his head. “Thinkin’ about that new dungeon, ain’tcha? Sure you don’t wanna let a few Apostles tag along?” Bishop shook her head. “Artoria watches over me; and if I’m right, I’ll be riding with the Empire anyway.” Kandross nodded knowingly this time. “Uhhhhh-huh. Goin’ to hoard your loot with Hera and the Imps again, eh? Well they’d do the same for us. Give ‘em my best.” Kandross stepped closer to Bishop, and extended his forearm for her to take. “Until the Trumpet sounds,”

Bishop took his forearm with her own; and nodded at her comrade. “and the Choir sings.” They released one another, and Kandross returned to his party. Bishop made her way towards the Chaos Gate; and was stopped on her way by a fellow arena warrior. A mage of some impressive standing whom she recognized.“Hey, you’re Bishop, right? The Pale Bishop? Do you remember me, we fought in the–” Bishop nodded her head, and cut the man off. “I remember. You fought well.” The younger man laughed heartily.

“Did my best! You’re everything they said you are. Crazy concept, negative and holy. Was it rough startin’ out, ‘cus I’m kinda thinkin’--” Bishop raised her hand, and cut him off again. “Sorry lad. I’m due to seek revelation. Find my Apostles; and they’ll show you right.” The guy awkwardly apologized, and took her up on her advice. He went trotting after Kandross; and Bishop graciously escaped the confrontation. She finally got to the Chaos Gate; and stepped inside.“Traverse; Kia Kasa.” She was enveloped in the warping light; and rematerialized within the forested realm of Kia Kasa.

It’d been a couple months since their last Guild-Allied raid. Sometimes they paired their lower Guild members together to raid when their class-balance numbers didn’t quite even out among the Guilds respectively. As of late it hadn’t been necessary; and so they’d kept to their own machinations. But these days there were rumors of some kind of hidden dungeon, or some newly released content that you had to find yourself. Sounded more like a ghost story. But with her skills she was the perfect candidate to do some cautious investigation.

She stepped down the platform; and her eyes fell on Hera. “Hey there beautiful. Hope you didn’t send anybody in yet.” Bishop walked up to her, and offered her arm for Hera to take. They shook firmly, and Hera rolled her eyes at Bishop. “Still insatiable.” Bishop opened her arms in a priestly manner. “The Light shines through any orifice, love.” Bishop turned her gaze onto the rest of their party; and saw a few faces. Some she remembered and others she hadn’t worked with yet. But they were all members of the Empire; and that made them allies.

She placed her fist over her breastplate; and spoke clearly. Her accent coming through loud and clear. “Bishop Grigorii. Ready to support.”

A rather colorful group of warriors they had here. It wasn’t like she found it distasteful. She rather enjoyed the conflagration of specialties, classes, and appearances. The Silent Choir prided itself upon their pale-gold raiment…but such was the nature of their faith. She did not command it of them. They simply followed those who had first joined her; and it became tradition after that. She felt rather at ease among these perfectly misfit party members. Her own regal armor felt a bit superfluous. But she evolved such lingering insecurities rather quickly, and so it was back to the business at hand.

Bishop chose to walk beside the mad-looking Orc among their party group. He seemed the most brazen and therefore the most likely to get along with her besides Hera. With whom she was already quite acquainted. “You’re humble; but you do a good thing.” Bishop remarked to Jazzy when she said she should stop selling gear. “Every market needs someone willing to keep the goods coming in.” Bishop stopped her walk in stride with Oboro; and watched as Jazzy broke from the group to go and collect another party member. Their odds were increasing. What a merry band they had so swiftly grown to be.

Once again the party started forward; and–suddenly–the sound of a weapon being drawn had them all turning in unison. Oboro had drawn in response to Bishop. Bishop who had for whatever reason drawn her spiked flail, and faced the direction in which they’d just come. Oboro–being closest–was the first to ask. “Well? What is it?” Bishop shook her head. It didn’t make sense. “Something is following us. Something…white.” Now that was interesting. There were no pursuer-type monsters in this particular region. Too low level. Plus, white? In this forest? A hard color to camouflage. Programmers wouldn’t do that. So what did she mean? Another player?

“There. There!” Bishop called out in a mixture of triumph and violence. She rushed forward, and the party was swift behind her. She crossed through a copse of trees; leaped over a boulder; slid beneath a log; crashed through a sheet of moss-covered vines, and finally…she arrived upon a clearing. At it’s center lay the statue of a young girl; and the statues itself was wrapped tightly in chains. The cave they had been searching for lay not far behind. But…this statue. There was an–an air to it. As the rest of the party came crashing through the trees behind her, Bishop was already approaching the statue; and wrapping her fingers around a few links of the heavy chains.

“My God does not believe in chains.” Bishop’s right eye began to glow with a pale golden light; and the chains beneath her hands began to rust. They browned; then blackened; and then grayed. The links in her hands collapsed into dust; and she held tight to one end of what remained. She yanked backwards. Intent on casting the chains away. But before her arm even fully extended…the chains vanished from her hand. They reappeared in transition of blue/gold flicks of data blocks about the statue itself. As if they’d glitched right back into place. Bishop turned on her heel to look at her comrades as if to say, ‘you saw that too, right?’

“Freaky…that…shouldn’t be happening. Right?” Hera asked as she stepped forward behind Bishop. A few others had as well. But Bishop raised her right hand into the air as if to stop them. Could it be she thought it was a trap? No. Nothing so simple nor benevolent. In a much more petty fashion she had insisted they stop because she was intent on solving this riddle. “Release Her!” She shouted towards the statue itself; and nothing happened. She rubbed her chin momentarily; and stepped closer. “In the name of the Light’s-Bane I command this girl’s freedom.” Again. Nothing happened.

Bishop shook her head. “I cannot help her…so I will pray.” Hera had met Bishop in their physical lives. Knew the blood and death she waded through in her day-to-day. What incited her to act so religiously in this game? A question many wondered. But none had asked. Nevertheless. As evidenced by her proud Guild, her faith was inspiring, and whether her deity was virtual was really a moot point. Were not all deities fictional characters of stories made by man? Bishop knelt down onto one knee; and set her flail in the dirt beside her. She placed both hands over her heart; and bowed her head.

“Our Father who art in Twilight; hallowed by thy name. Creator of Elysium, of Earth, and all that goes unseen. I, Cardinal Grigorii, Prophet of your Silent Choir, bask in the cold of your dim glow. Light's-Bane...Ever-Dusk...Shadow's-Father...we give thanks for your boundless blessings, and generosity. We give thanks for all that rests within us: for the imperfections, the darkness, the richness, and the light. For every waking morning, and every gentle night. We ask that you turn your glory upon this forsaken soul, bound and left to wither; and grant her the same freedom which we--in our errs--take for granted. We ask that your ashen eye look upon our party; to let your pale light shine before us, and guide our way. Beannachd Artoria Dhuit.”

‘Help Me.’

Bishop’s head snapped up; and she looked over her shoulder at Hera. Hera was standing there–somewhere between impressed and amused with Bishop’s prayer–but she hadn’t heard it. Had anyone? It didn’t matter. “There’s someone in there.” ‘Help Me.’ Bishop didn’t wait another moment. She swung her flail downwards towards herself; and the spiked weapon wrapped around the midsection of her armor as it had a thousand times before. She reached behind herself and grabbed the larger of her two white-gold chakrams; and gripped it tightly as she charged into the cave. The weapon emitted a sickly holy light; and illuminated the cavern as she delved into it.

She stopped about twenty feet in. She could see it. Where the cave walls became brick and mortar. This must be it. The maze. The path split here. How was she going to–something was growling. It looked like the maze would be her next immediate priority. Bishop turned on her heel and gripped her weapon tighter; and the pale light shined evermore. Hera and the rest of her party were already on her heels. Perfect. “Behold his Eye that dwarfs the heavens–” Bishop committed 25% of her insane mana pool to a passive ability; “The EverDusk Blessing.”

“Behold his Wrath that darkens the void.” Any and all party members received a 20% damage and defense boost. Their already impressive assembly would make mincemeat of whatever came crawling out of the blackness.