NIGHTINGALE: CARDIAC ARREST

The entrance into the guard's station and holding area was a nondescript building. Once a reputable shop, it had been repurposed during the riots to create another base of operations where the guards could work out of and rest, as well as lock up trouble makers in the protected storage, once used to hold the more expensive items, now it held the people who would steal them. When the riots ended it was planned to turn it back into a shop, that was until all of Old Korvosa flooded into the city and a small guard station near the mass of humanity seemed like a good idea. The building itself was nothing special but the Guard had made good use of the space. Old sales desks had been dragged forward towards the front of the store, with a small wooden fence built on either side. Between the desks was a wooden swing door to complete the separation of space; creating an area on one side for the people of Korvosa to wait, unless they needed to be brought through for investigation, interview, or just to be arrested and held. At the desks two guards sat, listening to the problems and complaints from the irate and frustrated citizens of the restless city. The queue that morning was already stretching out the door and the weary citizens were in a fairly rambunctious mood. Fights and arguments had already been broken up multiple times. Accusations of line cutting, wasting time, and insults of personal hygiene would regularly fill the air

The main body of the shop had been renovated, all the shelves and units gone. Instead it had been filled with desks, chairs and paperwork as the officers of the Korvosan guard attempted to catch up after everything the city had been through, from riots to plagues things had gotten a little out of control.

The small storage room to the right of the building had been repurposed into a interrogation room.

It is obvious to even an untrained eye that the people working for the guard here are not the best of the best, uniforms are tattered and oft repaired, even the armour doesn't seem to fit any one correctly. On further investigation you would notice that the guards themselves do not seem to be the finest the city has to offer. Infact this entire outpost has the look of a place people are sent to be forgotten about. Those with no prospects, little skill, or those who may have annoyed the wrong people. They are overwhelmed, undermanned, and under-supplied.

Inside the chaotic hubbub a small halfling is weaving between the bodies, a shock of red hair stands wildly up from his head and a huge pair of glasses rest on his nose. Clutched in his hand is a brown envelope. He dodges between the bodies of officers and perps with surprising dexterity. Stopping only once as enraged half orc erupts from the interaction room, 3 guardsmen hanging off him as they try to subdue him. Other guards rush across the room bundling the orc to the ground. Readjusting his glasses the halfling continues on his way to the back end of the room and the single desk that resides there.

As he nears the desk he slows down, taking in the scene. On the wall a huge notice board has been pinned, it is covered in artist sketches, blurry descriptions of half seen creatures, in the middle of it all a map of Korvosa sits with different colored pins placed all over. And at the top of the board three very striking sketches, one of a monster with long hair no mouth and a black heart, another of the infamous blackjack and the third of a person shrouded in tattered fabric.

Behind the desk sits a big man, obviously once muscular the desk job has taken its toll, his shirt now stretched by his prolific belly, his lank black hair scraped back over his head and a single cigarette dangled from his mouth.

“What you got for me Williams?” he asked from behind the desk, the cigarette bouncing dangerously near to falling.

“I think we have another one of those special cases for you, Sir,” The red-haired Williams replies, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips, he handed over the envelope before sitting on the spare chair beside the desk.

“The Boys almost missed it, they thought it was just regular rival gangs fighting over turf till they found the third body...”

The man behind the desk took the file and waved Williams into silence, “Yeah yeah, let me look at it. And I told you a thousand times, knock off that Sir bullshit, My name is Samual Twitch, pick one and use it.”

“Of course, Sir.” William replied like he had the thousand times they previously had that exact conversation.

Sam grunted his displeasure as he tore open the package, its contents spilling onto the table. The artist had done a great job capturing the scene, every little detail. It was easy to see why this had been almost ignored as gang rivalry. The first two bodies had been discovered in an alley just off from Ridgefield. Both bodies had very distinctive tattoos of rival gangs, and had fallen as if they’d been standing facing each other. Each body had a single puncture wound directly to the heart.

Sam tilted his head, something was off about the image. “Something’s wrong about this, were the bodies touched?”

Williams shook his head, “No, Sir, everything is exactly as discovered.”

“Then this scene was staged... Look- the scuff marks on the ground indicate something has been dragged. I would guess they were made by their feet. The blood pooling on the bodies is on the front of the shirts. Meaning when they first hit the ground they were face down, not face up... And finally... those are exit wounds not entry wounds... Some one tampered with this before we even got there..”

Williams smiled, always impressed by what his partner sees that others always miss. “Remind me again, Sir, why are you here at this dead end instead of helping Kroft with more important matters?”

Sam snorted taking his cigarette and waving it like a tiny conductor's baton. “Just be careful who you piss off, it can change your job outlook and your life expectancy drastically. Wait didn’t you say there were three bodies?”

Nodding Williams reached into his coat and pulled out another envelope which he handed over to an eager Sam. “This is the one that changed it from gang crime to one of our vigilante friends.”

Sam ripped it open and examined the contents. As well as multiple artist sketches there was a written report of the scene.

The victim’s body had been discovered chained to a chair in one of the abandoned buildings just a few streets away from the first crime scene. It was obvious from the images alone the first two had gotten off lightly. Where the first two had been quick and clean deaths, this death had the same surgical procession, but used to torture. The victim’s nose had been melted shut, from what they could tell it seemed like a powerful acid had been poured into the nasal cavities closing those airways leaving just his mouth. The assailant had then spent time torturing the gang member until, finally they either got what they wanted or tired of the process, they then drove a blade directly through his heart, killing him instantly.

Looking away in disgust from the image, Sam turned to the ‘evidence board,’ taking the new information and pinning it with the others. “Well, from the violence of the crime I think we can rule out Blackjack, so that leaves our other two. I would say from the evidence this is more likely the work of the Blackheart than the Fallen. But my question is why these criminals. And why together...” slumping down on the edge of the desk he lit up another cigarette, his brow furrowed in thought. “Williams, hand me that file over there, third one down.” He gestured the newly lit cigarette at a pile of files slumped next to his desk.

Williams sighed to himself and tried to extract the file in question, causing others to tumble to the floor in an avalanche of paper around him, until finally he stood proudly holding the correct file. “Here you are, Sir.” His small cheeky half-smile tugging at his lips.

Nodding, Sam took the file and leafed through the documents until his eyes lit up and he launched from the desk. “I knew it!” He pointed in turn at the three dead gang members, “three random gang members, no obvious ties or alliances in the past. Each of these gangs have been setting up shop harvesting organs from the different races to create ‘old world cures,’ you know the types... got a rash down there that won't go away, rub the spleen of a halfling on it three times over a week and you will be cured. Problem getting it up? Half orc testicles will cure that. Bloodveil brought back the belief in those old cures, and these gangs have been raking the money in... There is a file somewhere of people going missing from the shanty town of Old Korvosans, then their bodies showing up stripped of organs. But why would three gangs all in the same business start working the same territory.”

Sam took a deep drag on his cigarette as he studied the board, looking from map to the images and back again.

“SHIT!” he yelled and leapt to his feat, his newly lit cigarette tumbling to the floor forgotten about. He spun on his feet grabbing his wand holster from the coat stand. As he squeezed into it he opened the drawer on his desk, grabbing out the strange weapon he insisted on using: a small thing shaped almost like a hand cross bow, but without the arms and string needed to launch the bolt. Williams had seen it in use once before, and because of that had dubbed it Sam’s thunder stick.

“What are you waiting for Williams? Grab your shit and lets go. Grab any one else free on route. Lets go, lets go, lets go.” With out waiting for a response Sam began shoving his way through the crowd and out onto the streets of Korvosa, Williams being dragged along in his wake, trying to gather any one he can as they move.

The journey through Korvosa was a blur, rushing through the streets and people until finally they came to stop outside a gated building with a highwall running around the outiside. The building itself sat in the center of a small garden- a bit of a rarity in this part of Korvosa. It was also the well-known headquarters to a small up-and-coming gang known as the Wreckers, and the gang the torture victim just happened to belong to.

Sam strode up to the gate, and raising his fist he brought it crashing onto the metal door, causing it to swing open ominously.

“Weapons at the ready. Remember we are here to capture the perp, not kill him. Aim to subdue and arrest.” With this, Sam drew his thunder stick, and with Williams at his side they entered the gardens followed closely by four other guardsmen.

The garden was a beautiful piece of work. Flowers bloomed coating the paths with a fragrant bouquet of scent, near by a small stream could be heard trickling, and birds sang in the air around them. Smiling some of the guardsman laughed and joked about this being a waste of time, and whispered there was a reason Sam worked the streets of Ridgefield. Willams glared daggers at them, but Sam didn't seem to notice, his attention was solely on the building itself.

Quickly they moved through the beautiful landscape and up to the main doors themselves. Carefully the men set themselves around the door, positioned ready for anyone to charge out. Sam confidently strode forward, raising his big arm again he rapt firmly upon the door.

“This is the Korvosan Guard, open up, we have reason to believe you could be in danger”

The guards waited, the tension now palatable in the air, knowing they’d just announced their presence to either an incredibly violent vigilante or an incredibly violent gang, either way could easily have led to bloodshed.

Sighing, Sam Stepped forward again, and raising his hand he pounded firmly onto the oaken door, “I said open up, this is the Korvosan Guard, this is for your own safety!”

Again he is greeted by silence.

Nodding to himself, Sam turned to his partner, “Did you hear that?”

William looked quizzical, trying to focus on what his partner may have heard, “I.. Ermm... No.. I don’t think I did.”

“You didnt? I’m sure I heard glass breaking. And now I think about it, some one was crying... they said, ‘Sam help us, we need help!’ That seems like enough reason to enter, don’t you think?”

Williams almost laughed out loud and nods “Yes.. You know what I think I can hear that as well”

Grinning Sam takes a step back and ran full force into the door, slamming his shoulder into the wood. The door creaked, trying its hardest to do its job and resist the force being rammed into it. But this door has never tried to stand up to the full charging weight of Sam Twitch. It quickly gave up its valiant stand, bursting apart and shattering against the wall.

The foyer itself looks almost pristine, you could expect servants to walk in carrying trays of food, or offering to take the Guards to wait for the owners to return. But on the opposite wall to the entrance lay the ruined doors of the main dining hall. Even from this distance served limbs and the still smoking bodies are easy to see. The dining room was the site of a massacre.

“Fuck... we were too slow,” Sam cursed, holstering his weapon and drawing out another smoke. “Alright, get in there boys, lets see what we got, see if we can find anyone alive. See what we can salvage from this shit show.”

The guards fanned out through the rooms, searching for any clues as to what could have happened. Finding only a few bodies of tattooed gang members outside of the main hall, it seemed these were look-outs placed around the building, and doing an appalling job. Each had been killed with one efficient thrust to the heart.

The main hall itself was a different story, most of the death toll took place in this room, wreckage of tables and chairs littered with bodies and what was left of bodies. The room was a grisly slaughter house, the floor sticky with blood.

Sam heaved one of the few salvageable chairs up, he plonked his frame down onto it sighing softly with relief, he waved Williams over to him.

“Ok Williams, tell me what you’ve got. What do you think happened?”

Williams stood to his full 3ft 3 height and cleared his throat seriously. “So we have two gang heads dead at the end of the table. Tarn of the Korvosan Justice Deviation and Rumble of the Mayhem Attack Squad. From the destruction around the door, I would say that is our attacker’s point of entry, blasting the door open they then launched a fireball into the enclosed space causing the majority of the damage. They then entered through that door with their sword, and what looks like a wand of maybe magic missile, finishing off any one still standing. Then taking their time to make sure everyone is dead before exiting through the window and out the back of the building.”

Sam nodded to himself, taking another deep drag of his cigarette, the smoke dancing around him as he exhaled. “Not bad Kid. But I think you may have gotten a few details slightly off.”

Williams looks perplexed, pushing the glasses back up his nose “oh... Please do enlighten me, Sir.”

Grinning Sam pointed to the bodies at the end of the table. “You missed a gang boss... Admittedly easy to do when all that seems to be left of him is his right arm and left foot... that would be Springer of the Wreckers. So those are our three gang leaders... Seems to me they were meeting here to form some kinda alliance, working together they could easily triple their profits from their organ harvesting, but our vigilante friend seems to have objected to this alliance...”

Standing back up, Sam rubbed his lower back and leaned, cracking his spine loudly. “I think the window was the entrance way. Notice how the glass on the other window has small melted holes in it, I believe the attack started outside before entering the building. The Door was a trap...”

Dragging the chair behind him Sam used it as a step and heaved himself up to the window. “Yup, there's some boxes piled up out there. Perfect steps up to the window. And the garden slopes up giving a shooter a good angle into the room. Alright... Ready for a show?”

Reaching into his coat Sam pulled out a scroll, much to William's amusement. Sam was a visual detective, he always preferred to see the crime in action so had a habit of recreating the events through magic, sometimes to the delight of those around him, other times to their horror. Sam began to read from the scroll, the words floating around those in the room, creating ghostly images throughout the dining hall of how it would have looked before the attack. Images of the hard-faced men and women of the gangs take up their places as Sam’s show is about to start.

Stepping into the garden Sam took the place of the vigilante killer. Raising both his hand into air, they now contained the ghostly outlines of magic wands. He smiled as he took aim down the wands, focusing on the two gang leaders sitting perfectly in line with the two windows. They were all too arrogant to believe someone would attack them now with the three gangs here... How wrong could they be.

“Show time.”

The wands reined death down into the conference room, streaks of ghostly fire arced out slamming repeatedly into the two targets, he doesn't stop until the wands fizzle empty. The gang leaders and some of those close to them lay slumped around the table. Dropping those wands he strode forward, drawing another wand and a blade ready to fight.

Inside the room there was Pandamonium as the gangs began to turn on each other, blaming each other for the attack, while some of the more gung-ho gang members, eager to prove themselves, ran to yank open the double doors to the foyer and out to the attacker. Wrenching the doors open, they froze, eyes doubling in horror by what greets them. Suspended by a mage hand is a large pot of alchemist's fire- beneath which are multiple pots of explosives, and in front of the explosives are open jars of sling shot bullets. As the doors opened, the hand dropped its payload onto the carefully laid explosives below. The results were horrific: the explosion launched the bullets forward annihilating all in their way, ripping apart the ghostly thugs, sending their bodies and limbs tumbling through the air to their final resting places. People writhed on the ground, clutching at severed limbs attempting to stick them back on, one man is desperately trying to gather back his spilled intestines as they snake and unfurl across the floor, only for another gang member blinded by shrapnel to step on them and send him tumbling to the ground.

The few gang members still standing after the blast stumbled around disorientated, obviously shocked by the violence of the explosion. Casually climbing in through the window is Sam, cloaked in the ghostly image of the Blackheart, he almost danced through the room, body spinning lazily to avoid half-hearted attacks by shell-shocked gangsters. His blade lanced out delivering justice in arcs of acid and blood, the ghost like bodies fell down clutching at fatal wounds until none are left standing,

Slowly and methodically the Blackheart began moving between the bodies. He took the time to make sure they were all dead, and putting any still living out of their misery.

Finally returning to the head of the table, there trapped under the wreckage of the table and the bodies of the fellow gang members was Springer, Leader of the Wreckers, his arms ruined. He lay there, spitting silent curses at his reaper. The Blackheart image leaned in and whispered something to Springer, then lighting one of the bombs he placed it next to Springer’s body, before calmly climbing back out the window and exiting the slaughter house.

Sam, sat back onto the floor as the scene came to an end. The bodies of the dead melted away revealing the real corpses below.

“That’s how I see it any way. Either way, this person came in here, took out three gang heads, and left a building full of bodies. Yet, every one he killed was a gang member, not a single innocent amongst them.”

Williams pulled his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose in contemplation. “Makes you think really. This vigilante did what we couldn't because our hands are always tied. He took three violent gangs off the streets. If this was the act of one of our guard units we would be celebrating them, and yet we are trying to punish him for it.”

“Everyone deserves a trial, no one’s above the law, Williams, and no one person has the right to decide who lives and dies.”

Williams smiled and replaced his glasses. “I know Sir, but it does make you think... doesn’t it?”