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Magistrate Dunham paces restlessly from one end of the warehouse to the other. She finishes her cigarette in a single savage drag as she walks, dropping it to the ground and crushing it under her boot heel without breaking stride. She immediately prepares another, but stops short of lighting it. “What is this shit?” she snarls, gesturing to the mutilated remains with her unlit cigarette, “What IS this?”
“If I had to guess, I'd say this is some kind of ritual offering,” you reply quietly, your gaze still fixed on the body – or bodies. Since the moment you laid eyes on it, you haven't been able to look away from the desecrated remains, even as every instinct in your body urges you to avert your eyes. “Galsean, I assume,” you add, nodding slightly to the wooden idol.
“Shit,” Dunham repeats, drawing in a deep breath, “I'm going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest. Objective. Your people, your “contacts” in the Galsean community here... could they have done this?”
You don't answer straight away, your attention focussed on the remains instead. There's an obvious skill, perhaps even an artistry, to the way the bodies were cut apart and reassembled. There's nothing random or accidental about it. This was all done with a purpose, although you're mercifully ignorant as to what that purpose may be.
“No,” you answer at last, “This isn't their handiwork.”
“You're sure about that?”
“I'm sure.”
Dunham gives you a dubious look, her own gaze carefully skirting around the ruined bodies. “We need to be very careful about what we say,” she tells you, “If the higher ups see this, they won't draw the same conclusion.”
“I answered your question, so now you answer one of mine,” you counter, “Who exactly are you talking about?”
“My immediate superiors, for one thing, the Senior Magistrates,” Dunham answers, a hint of distaste creeping into her voice, “But above them, the Governing Council for the city. They've been pushing for a quick resolution here. Men like Suydam, wealthy men, hold no small amount of influence over the council. They're always keen to keep their patrons happy.”
“And yes,” she continues, “Before you ask, there ARE men on the council who would be glad to see the Galseans removed. This... this butchery here will only confirm their worst suspicions. So, as I said, we need to be very careful. But now, let's get out of here. I need some fresh air.”
“Agreed,” you reply, finally tearing your gaze away from the remains. Getting up and brushing dust from your clothes, you make your way across to the loose sheet metal flap. Dunham hesitates, meticulously picking up her crushed cigarette butts from the floor before following you out.
“We don't want anyone else to find these and get the wrong idea,” she explains, offering you a hint of a humourless smile.
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