oh reckless, a boy wonder (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gramarye) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
multiversallogs2012-01-02 10:46 pm
gramarye) wrote in multiversallogs2012-01-02 10:46 pm
Entry tags:
the bloodiest cadaver marked in your words
Who: Bruce and Wolfgang
What: In case anyone needed a reminder that you all live in a police state.
Where: Bonetown
When: Sukkardi? or... like, whenever. We're good at timelines in this game.
Notes: (10:45:11 PM) batclaire: and make it like a really serious plot with this humanform rescue greyhound and kermit.
Warnings: Violence, police brutality
Wolfgang keeps his head down. He's not close with much of his Cohort since he rarely interacts on the Network, but otherwise he's a well-liked, respected citizen -- polite, friendly, kind-hearted, a little odd, but who in Baedal isn't. The fact that he's been spotted more than once at some of the seedier bars in neighbourhoods like Griss Twist mostly goes unmentioned, because there's nothing to fault him for in any other aspect of his life. He's a little flakey but he's been doing well at his jobs and even babysits for his neighbours on occasion; he teaches the kids to build little things or lets them play 'king of the mountain' with him as the mountain. He volunteers with the House Ecumenal and the university. They know his name at all the local pubs. Every other day, he gets shawarma from the street vendor down the block.
He is not unaccustomed to living a double life. He had erased all vestiges of his past long before this, and Baedal is even farther away from home than anywhere else he's lived, an exile among exiles. There isn't the slightest chance of anyone finding out who he is or what he's done unless he tells them, and he likes it that way. He can be confident in his ability to take some secrets to his grave.
Anyway, they say that the past is just a story you tell yourself. Is he less of a person for having burnt those bridges and built something new over them? Is this any less real if he omits certain facts? The ones he remembers, and the ones, more troublingly, that he does not -- it doesn't change who he is as a person. It's not relevant, he tells himself, over and over, it doesn't mean anything.
But there are certain undeniable facts of life he can't avoid. One of them is the matter of the medication he needs to keep his symptoms down -- and then the medication he takes to deal with the side effects of those medications. The problem is that Baedal is not at the same technological level of his homeworld -- in some areas it's more advanced, in others, less so, and the trouble is that some types of medicine can't be produced naturally on Baedal and taking substitutes is ill-advised for certain types of highly addictive, heavy-duty pharmaceuticals, which can have permanent and devastating effects when stopped cold turkey. What can't be made in Baedal has to be imported. Official stelanmancy is expensive, especially when you're looking at monthly imports for uncommon items, and he just can't afford it.
So he finds back doors. There's a group in Bonetown known to handle unofficial imports, but when their prices are too high, he goes even more underground -- which also carries a higher risk as they're not just targets for the Sheriffs and Militia, but also their competitors. He was pleased to find a pharmacy right in Bonetown offering, on the downlow, certain medication he couldn't find elsewhere and were costly to import, and he's been going there for the last couple weeks to get what he needs, nor is he the only one there for the same purpose. The place has the benefit of looking unremarkable, he could just be here to pick up a legitimate prescription. He's bumped into some people who know him here, and he's explained to them, in their innocent, sympathetic curiosity, that he has "migraines" for which he takes prescription medication -- and to be fair, he really does get migraines.
It's just that what he's looking for is a powerful antipsychotic.
There's no reason for anyone here to suspect that tonight is going to be anything out of the ordinary. Besides Wolfgang, there are two employees present and several other people waiting in line, including a mother-son pair he's met before. He doesn't know if they're here for the same reasons he is, not that it matters to him, and probably most of them are here to pick up legal prescriptions. It's a little expensive here, but as it's in an area with a bunch of duplexes that house families, it's more convenient for them than walking several blocks away with kids in tow. There aren't any train stops in Bonetown.
Everybody jumps when the back door slams open and someone screams when shots are fired. They don't hit anybody, but what kind of lunatics fire in a small, crowded room as a "warning"? The girl in front of him immediately drops to the ground -- she's not unused to danger like this, he'd follow her but one of the uniformed men who just rushed in has grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up hard enough to twist her arm and suddenly he's frozen in hesitation. Instinct is screaming at him to do something, but common sense is telling him to cooperate and maybe they won't beat the shit out of you, too, you idiot.
It occurs to him several seconds too late that they know. This isn't some random attack by a bunch of loons; this is a raid. By the police.
There's no time for hysteria at finally being caught, although that's something he'll likely indulge in later should he not get his dumb self killed, here. Some kid is shrieking; he's close to the door, he could flee, but he can see a dark-clothed, silver-hooded figure raising a baton and his stupid self turns right back around and reaches to intercept it, like the absolute bloody idiot that he is. "Wait!"
Too late he feels a pushing against the fog his mind feels shrouded in anymore, the fog that slows his reactions down enough so that he doesn't see anyone heading in his direction. He feels a sort of release swiftly followed by a horrible, painful tearing sensation, like someone ripped a hole in whatever passes for his soul. His hands go to his head as something explodes near the Militia agent he'd been trying to disentangle from that kid's mother, and he can't see anymore, everything turns all sharp edges and bright colours before, mercilessly, bleeding into one another. It feels like his brain is burning; it occurs to him that he has felt this once before, just not here. It's not the city but whatever makes Bonetown unique slamming him back with whatever thing he just tried to do.
Somewhere distant, he can hear the word arrest. He can see, in brief flashes, the college student working the cash register shoved against the counter and handcuffed. That's all. Someone shoves him to the ground hard enough to knock all the wind out of his lungs, not that he was breathing much to begin with, and he has just enough time to bring his hands up to protect his face while the Militia agents respond to his 'assaulting an officer' (was that really him?) and 'resisting arrest'.
That cracking sound must have been his skull. He wonders if he really needs that.
He is not unaccustomed to living a double life. He had erased all vestiges of his past long before this, and Baedal is even farther away from home than anywhere else he's lived, an exile among exiles. There isn't the slightest chance of anyone finding out who he is or what he's done unless he tells them, and he likes it that way. He can be confident in his ability to take some secrets to his grave.
Anyway, they say that the past is just a story you tell yourself. Is he less of a person for having burnt those bridges and built something new over them? Is this any less real if he omits certain facts? The ones he remembers, and the ones, more troublingly, that he does not -- it doesn't change who he is as a person. It's not relevant, he tells himself, over and over, it doesn't mean anything.
But there are certain undeniable facts of life he can't avoid. One of them is the matter of the medication he needs to keep his symptoms down -- and then the medication he takes to deal with the side effects of those medications. The problem is that Baedal is not at the same technological level of his homeworld -- in some areas it's more advanced, in others, less so, and the trouble is that some types of medicine can't be produced naturally on Baedal and taking substitutes is ill-advised for certain types of highly addictive, heavy-duty pharmaceuticals, which can have permanent and devastating effects when stopped cold turkey. What can't be made in Baedal has to be imported. Official stelanmancy is expensive, especially when you're looking at monthly imports for uncommon items, and he just can't afford it.
So he finds back doors. There's a group in Bonetown known to handle unofficial imports, but when their prices are too high, he goes even more underground -- which also carries a higher risk as they're not just targets for the Sheriffs and Militia, but also their competitors. He was pleased to find a pharmacy right in Bonetown offering, on the downlow, certain medication he couldn't find elsewhere and were costly to import, and he's been going there for the last couple weeks to get what he needs, nor is he the only one there for the same purpose. The place has the benefit of looking unremarkable, he could just be here to pick up a legitimate prescription. He's bumped into some people who know him here, and he's explained to them, in their innocent, sympathetic curiosity, that he has "migraines" for which he takes prescription medication -- and to be fair, he really does get migraines.
It's just that what he's looking for is a powerful antipsychotic.
There's no reason for anyone here to suspect that tonight is going to be anything out of the ordinary. Besides Wolfgang, there are two employees present and several other people waiting in line, including a mother-son pair he's met before. He doesn't know if they're here for the same reasons he is, not that it matters to him, and probably most of them are here to pick up legal prescriptions. It's a little expensive here, but as it's in an area with a bunch of duplexes that house families, it's more convenient for them than walking several blocks away with kids in tow. There aren't any train stops in Bonetown.
Everybody jumps when the back door slams open and someone screams when shots are fired. They don't hit anybody, but what kind of lunatics fire in a small, crowded room as a "warning"? The girl in front of him immediately drops to the ground -- she's not unused to danger like this, he'd follow her but one of the uniformed men who just rushed in has grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up hard enough to twist her arm and suddenly he's frozen in hesitation. Instinct is screaming at him to do something, but common sense is telling him to cooperate and maybe they won't beat the shit out of you, too, you idiot.
It occurs to him several seconds too late that they know. This isn't some random attack by a bunch of loons; this is a raid. By the police.
There's no time for hysteria at finally being caught, although that's something he'll likely indulge in later should he not get his dumb self killed, here. Some kid is shrieking; he's close to the door, he could flee, but he can see a dark-clothed, silver-hooded figure raising a baton and his stupid self turns right back around and reaches to intercept it, like the absolute bloody idiot that he is. "Wait!"
Too late he feels a pushing against the fog his mind feels shrouded in anymore, the fog that slows his reactions down enough so that he doesn't see anyone heading in his direction. He feels a sort of release swiftly followed by a horrible, painful tearing sensation, like someone ripped a hole in whatever passes for his soul. His hands go to his head as something explodes near the Militia agent he'd been trying to disentangle from that kid's mother, and he can't see anymore, everything turns all sharp edges and bright colours before, mercilessly, bleeding into one another. It feels like his brain is burning; it occurs to him that he has felt this once before, just not here. It's not the city but whatever makes Bonetown unique slamming him back with whatever thing he just tried to do.
Somewhere distant, he can hear the word arrest. He can see, in brief flashes, the college student working the cash register shoved against the counter and handcuffed. That's all. Someone shoves him to the ground hard enough to knock all the wind out of his lungs, not that he was breathing much to begin with, and he has just enough time to bring his hands up to protect his face while the Militia agents respond to his 'assaulting an officer' (was that really him?) and 'resisting arrest'.
That cracking sound must have been his skull. He wonders if he really needs that.
no subject
So he's the opposite of surprised to discover that the Militia has a habit of giving people a particular brand of shit in the offbeat district; Bruce thinks it's full of ingenious diversity, the police state thinks it's full of unpredictable variables that need to be reminded who's in charge. There's illegal activity everywhere in Baedal, but Bonetown is no hot-spot - to find it, one has to really dig, and it doesn't take a detective (of any caliber) to note that pushing into an otherwise peaceful area takes attention away from genuinely high-risk ones. Why? Intimidation; no one ends up shaken when the police break down doors out in the slums. Doing it to the middle class, though, that turns heads. Too weird to really garner any support from the rest of society, not powerful or wealthy enough to pitch a proper fit, but just respectable and mainstream enough to make the neighbors wary. Meanwhile real crime goes untouched, because it's too hard or it's too dangerous or unglamorous, and the resources are here, instead.
Not that it's unique. The whole city is flawed; it's not Gotham, it's not a roiling black hole with hands reaching out of it, clawing back to the light - but there are cracks in the veneer. He wants to know what's on the other side.
Captain Arceneau, part of the sector of the Militia that handles the northeast chunk of the city - divided by the river - is out again today, suiting up for a raid with his team. And so Bruce is also out, in a very different fashion, wearing plain, unremarkable clothes and a cap, carrying a plain brown paper bag full of a few groceries. Unless he wants to be noticed, he isn't; he relies on no supernatural influence, here or anywhere else, just a particular sort of skill. Today he's using it to watch someone particularly cruel, though so far, Bruce hasn't been able to establish if Arceneau is corrupt, or merely just very enthusiastic about his job. In general, it seems like there's nothing to corrupt, about the Militia. It was never meant to be impartial - it was meant to keep a population of terrified abductees in line. And yet some men and women do their jobs completely fairly, while others end up like this - violent, obsessive, erratic. This is just one man on a long list, and Bruce needs to know what drives him. Just the Militia, or something more? If it is just the Militia, what happens behind those classified doors?
Bruce sits down on the curb across from the pharmacy he knows is going to get it, pops a stick of gum into his mouth - "like peanut butter", the clerk had said of the flavor, though as of yet he's not convinced it's like anything he's tasted before, which means he's going to end up calling whatever alien flavor this gum is meant to replicate as 'monkey sticker covered gum flavor' for all time. There's a few other people sitting around, mostly waiting for taxis, or for the dance class across the road to let out; parents and baby-sitters milling about, chatting.
They rush in like ghosts.
Anywhere else, the reaction to such a show of force might cause the crowds to scatter, but in Bonetown, full of anarchists and chipped-shoulders, the knot of onlookers only grows, shouting, screaming, a dozen people recording on their CiDs. The Militia men seem to hardly notice, too intent on their job - but this is not the first time violence has come to this district at the hands of the government, and tempers were already on edge. No one's running away. No one's interfering, either, but there will be witnesses to this.
When Bruce catches sight of someone familiar - a neighbor, in more ways than one - he frowns, and pulls his own CiD (it's his, because he paid for it) out. And clicks record.
no subject
It's just that he doesn't know why they brought them, the batons would have been enough, not to mention that several of their agents seem magically endowed -- nobody here is armed, not even the people they're bringing up from the basement in cuffs, he can sort of see them, blurrily, out of the corner of his eye. Why so much force? There are no drug lords, here, no gang leaders, no well-oiled criminal machines -- just a couple people who wanted to make things easier on their neighbours, in the process deliberately breaking the law, sure, but it's not like this is the Broad Arrow.
That is a lot of complicated thinking for someone with a concussion, though.
He's trying to hold still with his arms over his head to protect it (not having much luck, there) but he can hear a child screaming. He can't reach them from here, and wouldn't be able to do anything if he could, his head is swimming and he can't focus on anything long enough -- but he can at least make himself a bigger target. More of them focused on subduing him means fewer of them on the rest of them.
He will also take some time later to be thankful that he didn't actually get himself killed.
When he gets to experience something that can only be described as a magical taser, that's it. He's done. Thoroughly subdued (and unconscious), he has no choice but to be dragged out to the cab they have waiting for their detainees. It's horse-drawn, although they could probably afford the fossil fuels needed for a car, and has a space in the back for transporting large groups of people at once -- they came prepared for this. Wolfgang is not a big guy -- he's tall, but he's thin and mostly leg, like a stork -- but all dead weight, it takes two of them to drag him. There's blood in his hair and his face is a mess; he's just barely recognisable. They haul out a lot of people, most on their feet, a few needing to be dragged/carried.
There are several crying children.
People are harder to scatter in Bonetown, but a group that has no problem beating on innocent people and firing at children has no problem threatening anyone away from them -- the people here are brave, but most aren't brave enough to cross that line, knowing the kind of justice citizens get in Baedal. Anyone who steps over that line, gets too close, spits in an agent's face, say -- they're going to end up detained with the rest of them and they know that. The most anyone can do is record this, and most of these recordings will probably get passed around in the underground, and that's all. The government controls citizen broadcasts.
At the station, wherever they're taking them, most of the victims will eventually be released -- shaken, in various states of physical harm, but alive and not charged with anything. The rest -- the pharmacy's employees and owner, people who resisted like Wolfgang -- go in and never come back out.
no subject
More than one person is unconscious when they start dragging people, some of them kicking and screaming, some terrified and silent, some not moving at all, out to the transport. There's a sick moment of horrified quiet that spreads out over the gathered crowd as one officer drags an unconscious xenian woman up by her hair to get her properly onto the back of the cab, and it's so surreal and nauseating it looks like it can't really be happening, her eyes rolled back and her head being jerked about cruelly by a man in an armored uniform and a mask. That quiet lasts one brittle heartbeat before someone from further back in the crowd shrieks, "MURDERER!" and it's like lightning.
All at once people are screaming again, shouting, full of rage and fear and panic, and the Militia officers are plunging into the scattering knots of people shouting for who started the cries, out for blood. It's a frenzy, and Bruce abandons his observation to back away, instead coaching the people around him with well-timed seemingly accidental shoves and aggressive body language to move here, run there, so at least one exit pathway isn't bottle-necked. He helps the owner of a book shop organize a quick line through his store and out the back for people to run through, before they bar the door and pull down the blinds so that he can pretend he wasn't ever open that day anyway. He vanishes after that, taking to the higher vantage points he's uncannily comfortable with.
Bruce sits on the roof of an old brick building, CiD in one hand, and runs a very difference scenario in his head.