Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ SLIS - NWO ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )
Tales of the SLIS -NWO #1
Disclaimer:
Pokemon is a copyright of Nintendo. Pokègirls and Pokèwomen come from the Pokewomon Forum at http://disc.server.com/Indices/169881.html.
"Wild Horses and Pokègirls" is the creation of Metroanime.
C&C, MSTs are welcome E-mail: kelvins.choice@comcast.net or kelvins.choice@att.net
She's pretty. They always are. That makes it worse that their corruption is only inside. That people are fooled by what they say and what they do when the lights are on, and ignore how they are debased animals when only their trusted few can watch them. But I know. I've seen their hearts. I've seen their lusts and the abomination they represent. There is a ritual to the cleansing: to let them enter Paradise, they must first be encouraged to confess and repent. Then they will have the mercy of the Thousand. The shift is necessary. Though I despise treachery, I must try to save it, and privacy will give me the best chance. I owe a penitent that much.
"Lady?" the soft voice asks and sniffles, "My Growlie, she's hurt awful bad." The voice whimpers and chines."
"Where?" comes the firm reply.
Take it's hand, and lead it where I can work in peace. Praise the Thousand!
You'd think a crime scene would get routine, I think as I look at the photographer and forensic examiners working, Bag the hands, that's right. Go lose your lunch away from the crime scene. Detrimental to morale and public confidence, as well as messing up the evidence.
The Make-Up Artist Goth is scanning.
The other police psychic-type took one look at the victim and ran screaming from the scene, I remember as I scan the crowd, Even in the capital of 'Pokègirls are property', they can still feel for the fallen. And the one who did this isn't in the crowd. I glance at the camera crews. But through the miracle of modern, electronic voyeurism she/he/it can have it delivered to a screen near you.
The victim, a Nurse Joy, was found brutally murdered, just before sunrise, and everybody rolled. Even me. An SLIS agent in Johto, operating in the open.
See, a few years ago, someone got the bright idea to share the unsolved files of the Sunshine, Johto, Capital and Silver River Leagues. I know, 'That's what the Planetary League Council is for!', I used to believe in fairytales too. To say the transfer was not authorized, would be an understatment. The only reason this boy, Julio by name, isn't rotting in a prison, is he found three crime threads that had escaped the notice of the individual Leagues themselves. Julio was instrumental in solving two of them, a counterfeiting ring, and an art-theft ring. Julio has six, identical, near-perfect copies of Tats-iyama's 'Stormgale's Rage' in his living room. Even museum curators have had a hard time telling they are copies. Of course so is the one now in the Louvre, the original is . . . you'd better be able to hold your breath a long time, but that's another story.
The third was Julio's passion, ever since his little sister Thresholded into a Nurse Joy, and was murdered.
A small spate of these cases in eight Leagues over 30 years, were written off, until they were analyzed and compared. Then it was found that 178 deaths were related. Although his sister's death didn't fit the pattern, he was morally offended by the crimes.
This Nurse Joy was outwardly like the rest. Rape and an attempt to make the murder look like a Feral attack. Lab tests and an autopsy would reveal the organs missing, always three organs, or pairs, were missing although up to five were taken in some attacks, the same three were missing in each attack. I note the Johto investigators aren't able to keep all the high-ranking nitwits away from the crime scene. In the Sunshine League, Captains and above are assigned the job of keeping people out rather than trampling possible evidence. The Make-Up Artist leaves the scene in disgust. I head to where she's begun debriefing her pet.
"Nothing," she tells him, "The entire area was psychically wiped clean." She spares me a worried glance.
It's good to see Sanctuary believes its own stories about the SLIS, but my surface thoughts are exclusively about the case, and the facts associated with it, Maybe she'll get something from my impressions. I've already decided to let her slide, because I'll tell my hosts when I've got them alone, that an S-Goth is in their national Special Crimes Unit.
"That follows the M.O. of the previous crimes," I say, nearly spooking the S-Goth into full flight.
She knows the data on the previous cases is my defense, so I've not only been trained in mental protection, but think I have to use it around her.
"I think I can bet what this one's particular kink was."
The officer and the S-Goth nod.
That's the other thing, the missing organs always overlap the Nurse Joy's particular sexual fetish. Too many people don't understand the stresses Joys are under. Hurt humans and Pokès show up on their doorstep practically everyday and at all hours, and they have to be strong and supportive, never letting their feelings out. They also tend to be alone a lot. Pokègirls are pack animals, who use sex as a way of answering all their existential concerns, 'Am I a good Pokègirl?': if she gives her Master or her Harem-sisters orgasms, then yes; if not, then not really. Worse if her Master or Harem-sisters don't come to her for sex or cuddling, and Joys are designed to give comfort, yet few are there to comfort them. So they focus all that emotional energy and sexual need into a certain sex play. Bondage, anal, leather, rubber, tickling, inflation, cosplay, etc. Every kink imaginable, but one critical caveat, they won't ever harm another person. If they're into whips, they'll be the one getting whipped, although they may threaten, tie you up with one, or run one into or over more intimate places. You are safe. It's the main reason that data never went into the 'dex. The run of the mill Joe or Jill Tamer doesn't need to know that, but a traveling cop does. There's always a hot cot and a welcoming embrace, as well as a real eye-opener at the local Pokècenter. And they're so happy when you come back.
There's the local Officer Jenny, I think and head towards her. That's the other thing. In a town like this, they often keep each other Tamed.
It's necessary for any human to have someone they can interact with, especially if they are going to be under constant stress.
Normally, I don't like them. Too many think they are cops. Cops know they are to protect and serve the people, but Jennys think they are to serve the Law. Proof a politician programed them, I think and keep my smirk to myself, That makes the cop's principle tool and guideline, the law, into the Jennys' Master. Any cop knows a politician, judge or shyster can make the law sit up and beg, if they want it to.
This time, she was one of the bereaved. That, I can easily deal with. "Ma'am, I want you to know how sorry I am for your loss."
She raises her head and goes from tearful to defiant. "But you have some questions."
"Just one, and there's no delicate way of putting it. She had certain unusual . . . tastes. What were they?"
The Jenny looks shocked and offended, then remembers the description of the mutilations. "She was always willing to serve as wet nurse to any one in town . . . folk who either couldn't or didn't have enough," the Jenny says, staring at me and daring me to make light of it.
I only nod. Since I already know what was cut off her.
"Thank you, that confirms our suspicions."
She looks shaken and heads off, while I head back to where the locals are trying to keep back a few politicians who seem desperate to see and be seen caring about the deceased.
You didn't give a shit about her when she was alive, I think as a scan the faces, Or did you? 'Any one' the Jenny said, not just any family.
"Good day. Do you currently have a relationship with the deceased?" I ask, pulling out a note pad and readying to record anything said.
"Why no?" one bombast replies, "Why?"
"Did you previously have a relationship with the deceased?" I ask, ignoring him and letting him see the badge is SLIS, not the local cops.
"No, you have no authority here." The other politicians begin making themselves scarce.
"You are mistaken, sir," I reply, "Did you mean to answer 'no' to the question on your relationship with the deceased?"
He bustles off, grumbling. The other cops don't let the public see their relief.
I look around and realize that the forensic people are done, and the crowd has perceived that the show is over. Then I see the worried look on one of the forensic people's face.
"I think we have a problem," the A-Bra tells me nervously.
Crap, is all I can think as I head over to where a whole collection of people are lifting the police tape up and poking at something on the ground, So much for securing the scene. It's just a bloody shoe, but it's 15 meters from the body.
The officer who'd been assigned to guard it is nowhere in sight. One idiot has picked it up using a pencil, like they show in crime dramas.
"Excuse me," I tell them, "That's evidence, and you shouldn't be disturbing the scene."
"There were no officers, just this silly tape," one of them tells me.
My badge still hangs from my coat pocket. And a few of the smarter reporters get the new picture.
"If you're trying to destroy evidence and ensure that the criminal goes free," I say loud enough for the media hounds to pick-up, "You've nearly accomplished it."
The local cops and the politicians are shocked by my calling the kettle black.
"Sir, ma'am, I think you can help best by staying behind this tape and letting these good folks do their job. During an investigation is not the best time to express your solidarity and support."
Two of the politicos get the hint and take part of the crowd of reporters away. The third gets irate.
"I happen to be - "
"Impeding an official interLeague investigation," I told her, "Which is conspiracy after the fact. If necessary, ma'am, I'll have you arrested and taken to jail on that basis."
She flounces away, with a pack of media starlings chattering in her wake.
"There'll be trouble from that," one of the other forensic people warns.
"If she checks, she'll find out I have killed a number of mobsters and crooked politicians."
I leave at that. No use giving them ideas. I fully expect to be called on the carpet. But I intend to hit back.
"You were expected to show some restraint," the police captain tells me.
"I didn't shoot the stupid dink," I tell the captain, "If she queered the evidence, we can say bye-bye to any chance of conviction."
In your messed up courts, I don't add, although the Make-Up Artist reads that loud and clear.
"And that maniac walks free. I would have been well within my rights to arrest someone who was working to let the bad guy go."
"No one is above the law, in this League," the captain tells me.
"But too many people are above being annoyed," I reply, "We are either trying to solve these murders, or we're running a day camp for elected nincompoops. Who called them anyway?"
"That's none of your business."
"Because that toady - excuse me, that saboteur should be tossed out on his/her ear. The SLIS doesn't get its high success rate by torturing confessions. We get it by scrupulously maintaining the chain of custody of evidence, of maintaining the sealing of crime scenes, and by making sure every trooper knows that they are as responsible as the lab boys and girls are for clues. If they haven't been trained how to act in a crime scene, they should stay the Hell out of one. If the politicians and reporters have to be part of the story, train them not to disrupt things and make it clear they are responsible for their actions."
It's clear that the idea of training these yahoos never occurred to them, I realize.
"Very well, what did we get?" the captain asks.
"Whoever killed her, knew her habits," I tell them.
"She didn't really hide them," the Goth adds
"The shoe has no usable prints, unless we want to convict half the Senator's investigating committee," the Goth's pet says, "The residue is too messed up to be of any use, and forget admissibility. All we really know is it was thrown there, after the cutting began."
"Killer trying to get it out of the way, or did she try to use it as a weapon?" I ask.
"No way to tell," the pet admits, "There's skin on the heel, but that could be from the people who touched it, but the blood is all hers. No psychic residue on it either."
"Either?" the captain asks.
"The area was wiped, again," the Goth says with disgust, "Next time, we should let a mage sweep the area, to determine if the wipe is mystical or psychic."
"The budget won't cover," the captain replies.
"I'll get someone," I volunteer, "A mage-trained psychic." I turn to the Goth. "You might want to work on your defenses." I picture the person I had in mind, and the Goth cringed.
"You're joking!"
"Hand of God! Stack of any religious book you think would work," I reply.
She shakes her head and snuggles against her pet in fear.
Yeah, Carmen take a little getting used to, I think and shudder at my memory of my first encounter with her.
'George S. Patton, and his tank, in drag', I remember, It describes Carmen to a 'T'. She's not a PsiLady, but she manages to get around the bad behavior of many PsiDykes by disconcerting everyone in other ways. Not that I ever had a problem. I smirked at that. I wonder, have I also put one over on our all-knowing Goth from 'You-Know-Where'?
"SEAN!" she calls, waving like an antebellum coquette complete with the dress that looks straight out of Gone With The Wind and a mantilla out of a Diego Velazquez painting. Ignoring the fact she's 6'8", solidly enough built to lay out an Amachop with one punch, and that silly veil carrier stores several nasty surprises even James Bond would be impressed with.
"You naughty, naughty child!" She swats my rump while giving my cheek an air kiss. "Why didn't you call me in earlier?! You always keep the most fascinating cases to yourself!" Then she focuses on the Goth, who visibly shies away. "Ack! What a filthy mind! I'll have you know, I'm not that kind of girl! No matter what lies Sean has been spreading about me!"
I almost feel sorry for the S-Goth, I think, Almost.
"Where's the crime scene?" the sudden change in Carmen takes the Goth and the other officers by surprise, but not me.
"This way," I say as we head towards the car.
"She isn't very bright, is she?" Carmen asks in sotto voce, "Hasn't figured you out."
"The badge and the reputation help. You flirting with me just confuses her," I whisper back.
Carmen throws a glance back over her shoulder and the S-Goth cringes. "Poor, poor dear," Carmen says as she flutters her fan, then turns back to me, "And the government is worried about these people . . . why?"
"Because once they get you, and Granny, the whole League is wide open."
"Yes," she says thoughtfully, "That is true."
"Darling," she interrupts herself by kissing my cheek, "Just who is this 'Thousand'?"
"The Thousand Gods," the Goth replies petulantly.
"Honey child, if you need more than one, you are in terrible trouble," Carmen replies, "No wonder you poor dears could never crack the case." Carmen pats the Goth on the head, and walks back to the cars.
"That's it? We get out, you glance around and we leave?! That's all you find?"
"In that is says: motivation, revelation and fear. One mote of lust and devotion was all I could pick out. But it was there. The one thing our villian couldn't truly erase. Now you can solve the case."
"How?" the S-Goth demands.
I'm going to let you keep acting like an idiot, I want to tell the Goth, Because you're doing so well drawing things out of Carmen.
"Poor, poor girl," Carmen says sympathetically, "You'd have to be nuts to have more than one god. Religions are all about sacrifice. Imagine how difficult it is finding a Nurse Joy who is perfect for the sacrifice for each god?" Carmen clucks at that, and stands beside the car expectantly. I open and hold the door for her.
The Goth and her pet are still rooted to the spot, both looking positively green. "Sacrifices," the S-Goth mumbles, and gets sick all over the road.
The ride back to Carmen's hotel has the Goth's pet trying to soothe his Pokègirl, while Carmen entertains herself with a private conversation she knew the S-Goth couldn't let stay private.
"Where ever did you find such a girl with such a delightful combination of naivete and hubris? She's just so adorable. I may even keep her a while."
I can imagine that little scene, I keep deeply hidden.
"Oh, what do you expect?' I say breezily as I drive, "I knew I had to keep you entertained while you let us think we were helping."
"It's just so tragic she marred herself with those tramp stamps. At least she has the common sense to cover them with pancake, but anyone with eyes can see them clearly enough. You'd think someone trying to be a make-up artist would have some knowledge in that regard," Carmen sighs and fans herself, "But no, too much to ask. I understand why Shaw said in reply to 'Are you enjoying yourself', 'That's all I'm enjoying.' Such a witty man. If he were alive today, I think I'd steal some Jusenkyo water." She elbows me hard enough to nearly break bones while she titters. "And that Master of hers, I've seen some limp . . . wrists - in my time, but such a noodle spine. So gauche."
Miss S-Goth-in-hiding grinds her teeth at Sanctuary's highest malediction.
"She seems to enjoy his company," I counter lamely.
"Oh honey, unless he can lick his own eyebrows, there is nothing about that man that could passionately inspire, except peaceful sleep."
"Maybe he's a necrophile," I offer too low for him to hear, "A girl doesn't have to be conscious to benefit from Taming."
"Genius! I never thought of that! Maybe she's a vampire wannabe!" Carmen announces, "She's certainly a Vamp wannabe. When did people decide the skanky 12-year-old look was 'in'?"
"Sometime before the Revenge War," I tell her, ignoring the steam coming from the Goth's ears, "At least in the fashion industry."
"Oh, expensive clothes hangers. Why didn't they switch to animatronics? Like at the Kingdom of the Mouse?"
I shrug. "You get close enough to see one, you tell me."
"Oh honey, there are some places even I won't look," she sneers.
"So you really think these are sacrifices?" I ask loud enough for those in back to hear.
"Oh yes. This latest one is to some new-age fertility goddess whose milk fertilizes the world. So why are the appendix, the tonsils and spleen removed?" Carmen waits for an answer, when she doesn't get one, she supplies, "Because you don't really need them."
"It's also possible our sicko wants something to nosh on while he or she does - "
"STOP THE CAR!" the Goth demands, a moment later she's outside, butt in the air, head down, technically littering.
You're evil, I put forefront in my mind.
'Well you were helping', appears in reply, 'And you nearly lost your lunch when you thought of it.'
"I'm ready," the Goth tells us as she climbs back into the car. Carmen shakes her head but doesn't say anything. I change our destination to the police station.
"This case isn't any good," Carmen soothes the Goth, then turns back to me, "I have this most wonderful Armsmistress. She's just gone through her second puberty, and is interested in settling down. Just, not all the way. She too stolid and conventional for my tastes."
"My life is too chaotic for that right now," I reply.
"It wouldn't be, if you sat for the Major's exams. I know you could pass them."
"A Major is stuck at a desk most of the time. I like going out on cases, as a Captain you can do that," I argue.
"Sean," Carmen says, all the seriousness in the world in her tone, her demeanor of a tired but loving grandmother passing on hard-won wisdom, "Sit for the Major's exams next month. Please?"
Do I want to know what you've seen? I ask her silently, Normally you try and act trivial.
'Except when I'm deadly serious,' comes her reply, 'You know I use the mad old poof disguise as a defense, so people don't think about what I can really do, or how long I've really lived. But you've seen it, and I know what you can be, and what you're supposed to be, and why we both hate them so.' She turns and smiles at the S-Goth in back, then turns back to me.
"Good," she says cheerfully, "Good. I'll have enough time to convince you to take the Jusenkyo trip and come back as . . . something more acceptable."
"We've been over this. What did Gretchen say, oh yes, 'As a man you're quite acceptable, but as a women, what was God thinking?'"
Both of us laugh uproariously at that, not just because it's an old game with us, but because poor Gretchen stumbled closer to the truth than she knew.
"When are you going to call Julio and put him on this?" she asks, completely throwing the conversations and her manner off one track and onto another.
"Once I drop these two off, and can get to a secure link." We pull into the police yard and turn the vehicle over to the Tigress running the motorpool.
In the temporary office I've been granted, I pull out a box that looks very much like a 'dex, but isn't. Carmen gestures at each corner of the room, pulls the shade on the window, and then pulls the 300 kilo desk aside so she can sit behind me. I've plugged the box into modem cable and am plugging in the special keyboard as she sets the chair down behind me.
"No eavesdroppers," she says, "Honestly, are you holding up? And why haven't you found a nice Pokèwoman and raised some kids?"
"It would feel like I was giving in to them I guess. Letting them win."
"Look at the real genetic charts that you can access as a major. There haven't really been any Pure Strain Humans for 300 years. Even the worst Six-Packs couldn't produce kids with a Pure Strain, not viable ones anyway."
"Yeah, isn't it funny. Sukebe gave women the bad rap they gave him. Nobody ever dreamed that women didn't change, all the men did. All that crap in the 'dex about women passing on their infertility, when the Bloody Flu changed all the men."
"Two different species can't produce kids," Carmen chuckles about that, "We're all monsters now. So why don't you raise a whole flock of little monsters and quit fighting a battle lost 300 years ago. You say the word, and I'll have a pack of willing Pokès at your doorstep who'll just drool all over themselves at the chance to be with you."
"Could they keep a secret?" I ask seriously.
"Honey child, I talk like a house afire, but when have I ever given away a secret -?"
"That someone told you was a secret," I finish her old tag line, "Okay, point made. I'll think about it. After - I've passed the Major's exams and have a more stable posting."
"That's all I ask. Let's go torment Julio. I know to back off, when I've won."
The pseudo 'dex shares with the regular 'dex little more than a webcam and a screen. The rest of it, instead of sensors and memory storage for species analysis, is encryption, compression and data transfer gear. The best the Sunshine League has to offer, and regularly updated.
A moment later, the connection is made.
"Julio! And Shirley!"
The hacker and his Data Dog both cringe, visible even on the 5 centimeter screen.
"Why haven't you written?! I figured you two would be perfect together!"
"Car-men!" I complain at her, "They're young, if they're 'perfect together' they'll hardly come up for air, let alone writing to boring old people like us."
"But eleven months?" Carmen asks, "Wouldn't one of them have sprained something by now?"
Julio looks like he wants to die and Shirley has pulled the covers over herself. Although she's still snuggling her Master while hiding. Indicating she's quite satisfied by his performance. In that regard, I think, Let's turn to their other shared passion.
"Oh, I'm being an old woman!" Carmen moans, "When I can't be in on 'it', even when I set 'it' up."
I think it's time to rescue the kids, I think and don't care if Carmen picks it up.
'Quite right,' comes her reply.
"Julio, have you ever heard of the 'Thousand'?" I ask.
"Thousand Gods?"
"The Thousand," Carmen interjects, "The Thousand Gods are a teensy bit different."
Flamboyant and eccentric as she is, I think, She's still a first-rate investigator.
Julio picks up the pseudo 'dex of his own and carried it near the computer set up he has. Shirley ignores her nakedness and who's watching, and sprints ahead so she sits in the big chair first, and wraps her legs and tail around Julio when he sits down.
Carmen puts her finger under her chin and does a simulated curtsey. I give a head bow in return.
The four-armed, two-headed, half-furry creature seated at the computer set up is hard at work. Little sounds and gestures tells one or the other that some data has been found and a search should be refined.
I begin, "The Thousand, and any sacred -"
"Or profane -" Carmen adds.
"Internal, or external organs," I finish.
"And don't cross-reference with the murder data, until you've collected the data on the Thousand," Carmen adds, "Mustn't smear the results. That's his job."
The normally 'can't shut him up with a death threat' Julio silently nods, lost in the battle with cyberspace and the mystery. He raises a finger, indicating he's just about found what is needed.
"Once that's done, cross-reference with the vicitims. I want the raw data, and any apparent pattern that appears. Also look for patterns with a very small percentage of contra-indications, the killer may have gone off schedule by design, or driven by need. Copy the results to Carmen. Don't stop with one answer, look for a possible second, or third. And on the contra-indicated ones, note the contra-indications. We aren't dealing with a rational person, so I want to get any possible patterns. That's all for now."
Julio's questing hand touches the screen a couple times, before a furry hand reaches past his and hits the off-button, cutting the connection. The two of us sit back. Carmen fires up my 'loaner' computer from the Johto department.
"I'm not going to ask how you got my passwords," I tell her as she types away.
"Same way you did, plucked them out of your imagination," she says, in her investigator mode.
"It's the S-Goth's password besides," she says, "Oh, this is not good. Her system's been hacked. Key logger, a virus scan disabler, other intrusion stuff." Carmen begins rummaging through her purse.
"She could have put that in place herself, as cover for the leaks," I offer.
"No, she could teleport anywhere to report, and no one would be the wiser. Besides, Sanctuary doesn't get the best hackers. And this is deep stuff," Carmen says as she slips a disk into the machine, "Let us see what we shall see," she carefully enunciates each word, slipping into her own problem solving mode. She begins humming the Navy Hymn as her fingers dance over the keyboard.
"You don't look like an Oni," I tease her about her time with the Office of Naval Intelligence.
"Not supposed to . . . crap, a Termanex cell, right here in town."
"We both know they hate S-Goths," I reply.
"Termanex, not Terminatrix," Carmen corrects, "A virulent anti-Pokègirl group, beyond even Human supremacist. They'd make this the last human generation, if it meant Pokègirls were all destroyed." Carmen ejects the disk and logs off. "Excuse me." She practically runs from the room.
I log back on, using my own identity, and change the password. I run the checks on my system and find it clean. "No surprises there", I say as I plug in a data key, and run the checks again, using the programs in the key. Again the system comes up clean. The irony is not lost on me.