10-08-2023, 05:54 PM
The BID was in a state of intense chaos. There were now three major operations occurring simultaneously, and only two leaders to head them. The first was Mindy Mendel, head advisor of the BID and right hand woman of the director. She was currently caught up in the foreign affairs situation in Huenya, and given the state of war that region was currently experiencing, she had little to no reliable contact with the rest of the BID. Neither did she have the time to be dealing with anything else.
The second leader, and the only leader currently alive and in Thousand Branches itself, was Kaya Hargrave. She was the BID liaison, and the woman who facilitated the connection between the department and Levensky himself. Normally her role was one mostly of communications and administration, but given the current absence of the director, she was now the head by default.
The director, of course, was currently lying in a body bag in the city morgue. That really was not helping the situation. And of course, that problem was exacerbated by the massive investigation that now had to be held to answer how in the actual fuck the director had been murdered and her body dumped in broad daylight. The device was simple enough — two bullets to the back of the skull. Execution style. No signs of struggle.
Then there was the problem of Nils and that whole situation which had somehow still not been resolved and a singular journalist was apparently somewhere in the woods on the Southern border of TB carrying information that if given out to the public would immediately implode the entire nation.
But no no, that was not all the stress currently laying on Kaya’s shoulder. the director herself, before her death, had been involved in an investigation of her own. One that was increasingly looking like the cause of death. And one they still had exactly zero leads into.
•••
Kaya’s head hurt. The massive director’s desk sat in front of her, papers strewn violently about the surface. Everything was happening at once and she’d never been expected to do anything like this before. For the last 14 hours, she’d slugged along through calls with various members of government, memos from individual investigations, case reports, and a constant metaphorical hand in her hair — Levensky demanding to know how we had let this happen.
Privately, Kaya hated the president. Tulen Levensky was a stuck up brat who believed himself the center of the world. And he was fucking crazy. He was the type of boss who would demand absolute perfection at all times, even while making mistake after mistake after mistake himself. He talked down to his subordinates as a way to keep his own fragile male ego intact.
Kaya had believed for a long time that males should not be in power. She’d done a long historical study period before she’s been recruited to the BID. Eight years of reading about every terrible thing males had done in nations across the IDU tends to discourage you from believing a male presence could really be positive. Which wasn’t to say that men or women could not be leaders, just males. Testosterone, as a chemical hormone, made males ill-equipped to hold a position that required humbleness and admission of wrongs. That was her sincere belief. And Levensky was by no means an exception.
But today that was the least of her problems. There was a damn body in her basement and she needed to figure out how it had gotten there stat.
The investigation file sat front and center on the director’s desk. It was so odd to see the face of her dead boss (or one of them anyway) on the very table she used to give out leadership for the last 13 years. Several questions remained, even after the autopsy and analysis. Why had she been so interested in the Drowned Angel case? What had prompted her to pull it from the police — especially personally? Where had she been for the three days before she died? Where was the chief of police who currently stood out as the main suspect for her murder?
The autopsy had revealed two bullets fired from a standard issue police revolver, at point blank range, without seemingly any signs of struggle. She had then been dragged for some time, and from what the autopsy could tell, simply placed lightly into the fountain without a single soul noticing. That it shared with the case she’d been investigating, but the murder weapon it did not. It was baffling.
If it was the police captain — Allen Mackleby — how had he found her? How had he killed her without any struggle? How had he disappeared into the night without a trace? If the assumption was that the two murders had two different killers, how had both, separately, been able to get the body into the same fountain without anyone noticing?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door swung open to reveal a small mousy intern carrying a single piece of paper.
“They found out who the girl was, and they wanted me to inform you,” the intern said
She snatched the paper from him. At the top it read “The Drowned Angel” in quotations. Below now, there was a DNA match.
57% match
Pamela Wyatt
(Former) Director of the BID
Fuck, it was the director’s kid.
The second leader, and the only leader currently alive and in Thousand Branches itself, was Kaya Hargrave. She was the BID liaison, and the woman who facilitated the connection between the department and Levensky himself. Normally her role was one mostly of communications and administration, but given the current absence of the director, she was now the head by default.
The director, of course, was currently lying in a body bag in the city morgue. That really was not helping the situation. And of course, that problem was exacerbated by the massive investigation that now had to be held to answer how in the actual fuck the director had been murdered and her body dumped in broad daylight. The device was simple enough — two bullets to the back of the skull. Execution style. No signs of struggle.
Then there was the problem of Nils and that whole situation which had somehow still not been resolved and a singular journalist was apparently somewhere in the woods on the Southern border of TB carrying information that if given out to the public would immediately implode the entire nation.
But no no, that was not all the stress currently laying on Kaya’s shoulder. the director herself, before her death, had been involved in an investigation of her own. One that was increasingly looking like the cause of death. And one they still had exactly zero leads into.
•••
Kaya’s head hurt. The massive director’s desk sat in front of her, papers strewn violently about the surface. Everything was happening at once and she’d never been expected to do anything like this before. For the last 14 hours, she’d slugged along through calls with various members of government, memos from individual investigations, case reports, and a constant metaphorical hand in her hair — Levensky demanding to know how we had let this happen.
Privately, Kaya hated the president. Tulen Levensky was a stuck up brat who believed himself the center of the world. And he was fucking crazy. He was the type of boss who would demand absolute perfection at all times, even while making mistake after mistake after mistake himself. He talked down to his subordinates as a way to keep his own fragile male ego intact.
Kaya had believed for a long time that males should not be in power. She’d done a long historical study period before she’s been recruited to the BID. Eight years of reading about every terrible thing males had done in nations across the IDU tends to discourage you from believing a male presence could really be positive. Which wasn’t to say that men or women could not be leaders, just males. Testosterone, as a chemical hormone, made males ill-equipped to hold a position that required humbleness and admission of wrongs. That was her sincere belief. And Levensky was by no means an exception.
But today that was the least of her problems. There was a damn body in her basement and she needed to figure out how it had gotten there stat.
The investigation file sat front and center on the director’s desk. It was so odd to see the face of her dead boss (or one of them anyway) on the very table she used to give out leadership for the last 13 years. Several questions remained, even after the autopsy and analysis. Why had she been so interested in the Drowned Angel case? What had prompted her to pull it from the police — especially personally? Where had she been for the three days before she died? Where was the chief of police who currently stood out as the main suspect for her murder?
The autopsy had revealed two bullets fired from a standard issue police revolver, at point blank range, without seemingly any signs of struggle. She had then been dragged for some time, and from what the autopsy could tell, simply placed lightly into the fountain without a single soul noticing. That it shared with the case she’d been investigating, but the murder weapon it did not. It was baffling.
If it was the police captain — Allen Mackleby — how had he found her? How had he killed her without any struggle? How had he disappeared into the night without a trace? If the assumption was that the two murders had two different killers, how had both, separately, been able to get the body into the same fountain without anyone noticing?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door swung open to reveal a small mousy intern carrying a single piece of paper.
“They found out who the girl was, and they wanted me to inform you,” the intern said
She snatched the paper from him. At the top it read “The Drowned Angel” in quotations. Below now, there was a DNA match.
57% match
Pamela Wyatt
(Former) Director of the BID
Fuck, it was the director’s kid.