The Pleb Girl

[Tavastia]

OOC: A six part short story about Tavastia which I intend to finish. Why? Because I know what's going to happen

PART ONE​

He stepped past a sleeping bum, an Outcast, and peered forward, his eyes just visible above the lenses of simple sunglasses. Walking down the street he went past a dozen droning workers, all wearing grey or brown overalls. Factory workers, he thought fleetingly, without really paying attention. He passed another group of silent workers on their way home after another day at the simple, repetitive job. Finally stopping, he glanced around and frowned. His thoughts were evident: He wasn’t finding what he wanted. Maybe it’s the sunglasses, he considered, making him stand out of the crowd. He removed them and slipped them into a pocket of his long coat. The setting evening sun warmed his now bare face, its rays of light reaching him past the downtown skyscrapers in the horizon. It was thanks to the summertime that the sun was there at this hour at all.

Dull people, rattling cars and buses continued to flow around him. He was in the industrial suburbs of Hamina, a great coast city of Tavastian Federation, one of the major ports. From a haystack of two million people, he was looking for one particular person. Her name was Saara, a fifteen year old girl. Surname was unknown, but that’s the way it was with the Outcasts, the poorest bastards of the society, his colleague at the Security Police, Suojeluspoliisi or SUPO, had remarked to him during mission briefing.
The girl was quickly making a name for herself in the poorer regions of Hamina, and even outside. SUPO executives wanted her gone and were willing to task an entire team of SUPO agents to weed her out of the ghetto, but him, as the unit commander, had dismissed her story as ludicrous at best. Why would waste good resources on a little girl? He would find her himself and take care of her.

The local Outcasts and types of the lower castes called her a saint. How twisted was that, he sighed and produced a smoke from within his coat. He lighted it. Inhale, exhale. A pair of strolling workers at the other side of the street looked at him, clearly wondering who he was, but his stern glance in reply made them turn their heads away and move along. A saint.. a nexus of virtue and divinity. Pure godhood flows through her, they rambled. She can heal people, he had heard. She’s a living symbol of hope, of a better future for the plebs. For him and his superiors, she’s a threat and an agitator. Simple as that, he concluded. Inhale, exhale. He welcomed the easing feeling.

Of course, the man didn’t think for a second that she actually healed anything. He was not superstitious. He was of the Practitioner caste. His caste wasn’t even that spiritual, never mind his family. But some people, especially the lower castes, were. Hoaxes and bad rumours like these needed to be silenced before they became uncontrollable and turned into nightmares. He hadn’t heard of a such case happening in Tavastia before, making him even more reserved to appoint a team of agents to search her, but he recognized the threat, and made the call to do it himself. Anyways, he wondered, how hard can it be to find a fifteen year-old, especially when she’s making public appearances among the mob? He’d locate her, call in the cavalry and zoom back SUPO Hamina HQ. His first leads had been unfruitful, but he knew certain contacts that would deliver him the answers he needed to finish this lousy task. But first he needed to find his contacts, poor SOB’s lingering somewhere in this block of the industrial area 121..

 

[Kheion]

This RP sucks.

 

[Tavastia]

PART TWO​

The agent hasn't always been in the service of the Fatherland. Years ago, he had been a corporate spy, working for House Tanner itself, the most prestigious of Tavastian noble families. In his books he had been a very good corporate spy, at least until he had been caught by a rival House during an exquisite mission. He had almost faced certain death in the hands of House goons in a back alley similar to ones in Hamina's industrial blocks, would it not been his good fortunes and close connections to higher-ups in House Tanner. Rather than getting a bullet to the head, he had been pulled to the service of SUPO. Why waste good talent was his verdict. Of course, if he would betray the good faith placed on him by the Houses, he would surely face quick execution. Staying in line from that day on and his skills had made him unit commander.

But his past hadn't completely let go, and he willingly utilized it. Posing as a near-anonymous corporate spy had its perks - plebs and people from higher castes liked to talk to unharmful corporate spies better than to men they knew were SUPO agents. Whereas Exalted soldiers were feared and respected, SUPO agents were feared and hated. So to his contacts, he still was a simple company spy. And to their unknowing benefit, his contacts were not known within SUPO. The agent acknowledged he walked a fine line, clutching to his past like this, but as long as they produced results, his superiors chose to be willfully ignorant.

"Mr. Erola", a plump man called his name, half shouting, half whispering. The agent had entered a local pub. It was still too early for the rush-hours, but a few burly men sat at the counter, emptying their pints of lukewarm local beer. His contact was sitting in a corner, smoking. A empty pint with a hint of head remaining stood on the table. The agent walked to his contact and sat down, while the man nodded at the bartender, rising two fingers.

"Those ones are on you Mr.", he grinned, revealing a set of bad teeth. The agent shrugged. "If you have good info, Mr. Laitinen."

"Of course, of course", the fat man responded and rubbed his hands together. The agent knew the money he paid for his contacts and their information accounted for a fair share of their monthly pay - only if it was good, naturally. Laitinen was his third contact of the day, and he was growing restless. The earlier had presented nothing of value, but Laitinen felt to him like he knew something. At least, he was already looking eagerly at his coat pockets, awaiting his Tavastian Marks.

They remained silent until the bartender brought the pints of beer. "Ah, the good stuff", Laitinen sighed and licked his upper lip in anticipation. He had ordered the best and most expensive beer in the pub, but agent Erola didn't mind, as it was actually the only one he could have the stomach to drink anyways. "Cheers", the round man of the Servant caste declared and downed a manly amount of the beer. "So, what does your employer want of the little girl anyways", he grinned again, rubbing foam off his mouth.

Agent Erola wouldn't normally have answered to a question like that, but he decided to maintain Laitinen's good spirits. "She's seen as good for marketing purposes", he lied and smiled lightly, "you know, as an advocate". Before letting his contact reply, he pushed on. "What do you know of her? Where can I find her?"

Laitinen sobered and coughed. "How much?" Of course, normal proceedings first, Erola thought. A half of the Servant pleb's monthly income should motivate him, he considered. "500 Marks for her exact location", he told him and produced the cash discreetly from within his coat. Laitinen raised his eyebrows, taken aback. His surprise turned into a smile. "I know where she's appearing next. She'll preach to the folk of industrial area 98 tonight, they say. At nine pm", he whispered and took another great swig from his pint. This time, agent Erola took one too. Now we're getting somewhere, he smirked to himself.

 

[Tavastia]

PART THREE​

If something, there was a sizeable crowd waiting for her. At the center-right of the mob, agent Erola had perfect view of the podium, or rather, a pile of wooden crates which were yet standing alone without a speaker to carry. He wagered at least a hundred of the plebs had gathered to the empty warehouse, an abandonded building that possibly had belonged to a minor House that had lost its business to a competitor or relocated it elsewhere. The port city of Hamina had several like these, unattended, unguarded industrial buildings and warehouses that had been left to rot. They were perfect locations for meetings like these.

The mob was talking in hushes and low voices, eagerly anticipating the appearance of the girl. Agent Erola made his way through the crowd, circling the warehouse with the intention to move behind the podium and seal the exit as the girl would show herself and call in rapid backup. In a flash, he saw movement up ahead. Boys, teenagers appeared from the back of the warehouse, their heads scanning the mob, examining it. Masters of ceremony, or bodyguards of some lame joke, agent Erola considered, pushing through a pair of Shaper caste members and pressing his concealed PDW sidearm closer to his body with his hand.

The other boy, the younger one, no more than 12 years old, caught the mysterious man wading through the crowd with his eyes. Immediately, he turned to yell a warning to his peer. The other boy's eyes bulged and he shout something.

Shit, Erola cursed between his lips and increased his pace. He was now gaining irritated comments and shouts from people in the crowd he was pushing from his way, but he dismissed the outright, keeping his focus on the boys. The girl was here, right there somewhere, he vindicatively assured himself. There was no point in concealing his approach anymore. Striking a pleb down from his way, he started to run towards the podium. No time to call the cavalry either, he cursed.

Realizing the potential threat, the boys turned on their heels and ran to the back of the warehouse. Erola was just less than ten meters behind him, gaining on them. The crowd roared its dismay and restlessness for the disturbance and the no-show of the girl, their saviour, but did nothing to stop the man in the long coat, who had now dissappeared to from the warehouse to the street in the tail of the boys.

The street was not dark, thanks to the summer sun of the northern hemisphere still lighting the evening, and offered no hideouts for the boys. Erola crashed through a simple sheet metal door and was outside. With a trained, swift movement he pulled his MP7 sidearm and shouted an order to the boys who were quickly running down the alley. "Stop! This is the Security Police!" The kids didn't heed the order but kept running. Erola quickly noticed two other boys, somewhat older, maybe 16 to 19 year olds had been waiting outside behind the warehouse and were standing before the kids. Their gazes were bewildered and shocked. The younger boys cried the others to run. More guardians? Erola thought and took aim, repeating his command. "You little fuckers, halt or I will shoot you all in the name of the Fatherland!" Still, the no-one seemed to notice - the kids were crying warnings to each other and the older boys were turning to run too, recovering themselves from the shock and quite madly deciding for some reason they had a chance to outrun bullets. Damn it, Erola muttered and was about to pull the trigger as a clear and high-pitched plead of a young girl rang from behind him.

"No!"