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CHAPTER IIII (IV): https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5424481/
> “Don’t know either of ‘em, kid. I know the Marshal’s got all the Proctors gathered for a debrief on the riot, but I doubt your Inspector’s there.”
“I see. Er- I guess that means the riot’s over?”
> “Damn straight it is! Last holdouts were pried from their barricades this morning, ringleaders identified and sentenced. Plenty more room in the prison levels now though, they ought to throw us a riot once a month to keep us below capacity!”
“This morning?! How long was I out?!”
> “Do I look like your Hospitaller? Why don’t you ask her?”
> “Heh, if I were you, Trooper, I’d crawl back into my bed and act a little more wounded. Get her to spoonfeed you, maybe get a sponge bath.”
> “Alright, Hughes, he’s just a kid. It’s noon now, Trooper, if that helps.”
“Thanks…”
Your name is Janus Caskett, Trooper of the Adeptus Arbites, although you wouldn’t know it looking at you right now. Currently, you look like a 15 standard-year old boy who lost a fight with a flight of stairs, adorned in a hospital gown that covers your bruised and stitched body quite nicely, except for your backside. Two days ago, you wouldn’t dream of approaching your fellow Arbitrators in such a state, but as your training and experience grows your urge to acquire helpful information is slowly eclipsing your latent social phobias.
Right now, you’re standing in the hospital wing of the Hall of Justice, the nerve-center of all Arbite activities on Hive-World Icarus. It’s been a while since you’ve been in the building, but you have no idea what floor you’re on, let alone where the rest of your unit is. Additionally, and more concerningly, you’re not sure how long you’ve been incapacitated. The more you wonder about how long you’ve been out, the more you remember what critical, important evidence you’ve unearthed right before losing enough blood to sleep on Grove’s shoulder of all places. The Constable Badge, the bullets, the hysterical, foul-mouthed wife of Tiber… You feel your arm start to throb as your heartbeat picks up before a jolt of deductive brilliance shoots through your aching spine.
“How long ago did the riot start?”
> “Hmmm- I think ‘twas two days ago when it started? It was the wee hours of the morning, though, so maybe you’d count it as a day and three quarters.”
“Got it, thanks!”
The riot started while you were all gone on Harvestfall, and was in progress when you returned to Icarus. You weren’t away from Icarus for more than a day, so if it was two days since the riot started, it must be the day after you got shot up and passed out. You feel relieved that it hasn’t been too long, but also annoyed that you’ve been sleeping for several hours regardless.
> “Don’t know either of ‘em, kid. I know the Marshal’s got all the Proctors gathered for a debrief on the riot, but I doubt your Inspector’s there.”
“I see. Er- I guess that means the riot’s over?”
> “Damn straight it is! Last holdouts were pried from their barricades this morning, ringleaders identified and sentenced. Plenty more room in the prison levels now though, they ought to throw us a riot once a month to keep us below capacity!”
“This morning?! How long was I out?!”
> “Do I look like your Hospitaller? Why don’t you ask her?”
> “Heh, if I were you, Trooper, I’d crawl back into my bed and act a little more wounded. Get her to spoonfeed you, maybe get a sponge bath.”
> “Alright, Hughes, he’s just a kid. It’s noon now, Trooper, if that helps.”
“Thanks…”
Your name is Janus Caskett, Trooper of the Adeptus Arbites, although you wouldn’t know it looking at you right now. Currently, you look like a 15 standard-year old boy who lost a fight with a flight of stairs, adorned in a hospital gown that covers your bruised and stitched body quite nicely, except for your backside. Two days ago, you wouldn’t dream of approaching your fellow Arbitrators in such a state, but as your training and experience grows your urge to acquire helpful information is slowly eclipsing your latent social phobias.
Right now, you’re standing in the hospital wing of the Hall of Justice, the nerve-center of all Arbite activities on Hive-World Icarus. It’s been a while since you’ve been in the building, but you have no idea what floor you’re on, let alone where the rest of your unit is. Additionally, and more concerningly, you’re not sure how long you’ve been incapacitated. The more you wonder about how long you’ve been out, the more you remember what critical, important evidence you’ve unearthed right before losing enough blood to sleep on Grove’s shoulder of all places. The Constable Badge, the bullets, the hysterical, foul-mouthed wife of Tiber… You feel your arm start to throb as your heartbeat picks up before a jolt of deductive brilliance shoots through your aching spine.
“How long ago did the riot start?”
> “Hmmm- I think ‘twas two days ago when it started? It was the wee hours of the morning, though, so maybe you’d count it as a day and three quarters.”
“Got it, thanks!”
The riot started while you were all gone on Harvestfall, and was in progress when you returned to Icarus. You weren’t away from Icarus for more than a day, so if it was two days since the riot started, it must be the day after you got shot up and passed out. You feel relieved that it hasn’t been too long, but also annoyed that you’ve been sleeping for several hours regardless.
