Ruin Britannia

Fiction from within the Imperialistic World of Prime Reality and the Scope.

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Post by arcanus » Mon Dec 27, 2010 12:36 am

Britannia:
1. Britain, ie. the country of the Britons

When Britain first, at Heaven's command
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sang this strain:

"Rule, Britannia! rule the waves:
"Britons never will be slaves."


Christmas Eve 1983 - The Shoreditch District of The Imperial Capital London.
"There are no strangers on Christmas Eve."
~ Adele Comandini and Edward Sutherland.


"It takes two to make a murder. There are born victims, born to have their throats cut, as the cut-throats are born to be hanged."
~ Aldous Huxley


The body was eviscerated to the usual high standard, surgically dissected and parts missing, the disquieting aspect of this kill was the symbology, the Aramaic scripture written in an encircling pattern surrounding the body, staining the rain soaked steps.

The scripture had been written in some form of gold paint, the eyes had been removed and replaced with two gold sovereigns.
Inspector Alwitcher stood upon the steps of Shoreditch town hall, the rain soaked into the fabric of his greatcoat and bowler hat, seeming to blur the entire world in shades of watery grey.

Detective Sergeant Stillwell carefully examined the corpse, Alwitcher turned checking that his constables were blocking any approaches from the adjoining roads and alleyways.
Stillwell had served in her majesties army as a field medic and was fell versed in forensic investigation, his black rubber gloves coated in a slick sheen of red blood and gore, he turned looking up at the Inspector. Alwitcher stepped nearer to the horror and looked at Stillwell's findings, within the heart cavity amidst the pool of blood, sat a lump of gold ore.

Stillwell stood and waited for his superior to comment, Alwitcher didn't, instead he drew his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket, flipped open the lid, depressing a brass switch upon its casing the lid extended a series of panels finally opening into a large round lense.
He then dialled in.
Last edited by arcanus on Sat Jan 01, 2011 7:21 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Post by arcanus » Wed Dec 29, 2010 12:14 am

Christmas Eve 1983 - The Charleston Borough of The Great Metropolis.
Fragmenting dum dum rounds flattened and chewed at the peelers cover, as officers from The Greater Metropolis Constabulary returned fire.
Unfortunately the Skulkers had found the crime scene first and now were unprepared to give it up.
Chief Inspector Samuel Burridge swore, swung his arm over the stone grit box and sprayed some rounds from his automatic pistol.
He looked across to Sergeant Armitage hunkered behind a now wrecked steamwagon, Armitage winced as another volley of autofire clattered into the wooden panels.

Burridge grabbed his newest Detective Constable Nasby and pulled him back to the safety of the pavement, flicking open his Ethercom he dialled Armitage, holding up his notepad he displayed a C written upon the page.
The Skulkers were a loose confederation of murderous scavengers, they collected anything of value, from peoples prized possessions to fresh corpses for the black market chop shops, they'd grown attached to this one, Armitage signalled that Gulliver and Banks were ready.
Burridge nodded and the COG Banks broke cover and opened fire, the sentient automaton carried two huge autoguns, one beneath each arm and rained lead down on the gangers.

Burridge, followed by Armitage, then Nasby and then his constables broke cover each firing into the tenement warren before them, as the Skulkers attempted to rally Gulliver opened fire, from his vantage point of a tenement room he picked off the gangers as they foolishly betrayed their positions.
Both Banks and Gulliver had Ethersights, the weapon sights allowing them to peer into Etherspace and see the thought trails of the Skulkers, Burridge sprinted through the maze of alleyways making up the ground floor of the sprawling housing block, the smell of piss and waste was almost violent.
As he ran he tapped two Skulkers living up to their names, behind him Armitage's gatling pistols roared.
Breaking from the narrower tunnels, the alleyways broadened and the Chief Inspector stopped, several Skulkers lay dead, the body lay just beyond them, apparently untouched.

Sam approached cautiously, the body was surrounded by scripture, he looked down at the gangers each had slit throats.
"It's a brave member of the Constabulary to venture down here, Chief Inspector Burridge knew who the voice belonged to,
"Mr O'Rourke, I assume you made the call!" he replied looking up.
The Irish enforcer smiled mirthfully "Can't be having this kind of high jinks on the patch" he returned
The big man turned "Be careful you and yer boys don't over stay their welcome" and with that he vanished into the shadows.
Last edited by arcanus on Sat Jan 01, 2011 7:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Post by arcanus » Sat Jan 01, 2011 7:18 pm

Christmas Eve 1983 - The Shoreditch District of The Imperial Capital London.
The rain had become a grey curtain, enshrouding the square.
News hounds had descended upon the area, trying to get past the constables, Inspector Alwitcher regarded them grimly in the unpleasant knowledge that one a member of the force had tipped them off.
He turned the dial on his Ethercom, an illustrated Scope picture of the recipient appearing on the screen, a click of a button and it started to make contact.

Christmas Eve 1983 - The Charleston Borough of The Great Metropolis.
Sergeant Armitage had cautiously crossed the circle of scripture, as he examined the corpse.
Chief Inspector Burridge knelt examining the circle of golden words, they were clearly cabbalistic, the same as before, he knew by from the previous occasions what they were and despite the fact he couldn't read them he knew that they threatened death, even annihilation to the Jewish race.

"He's definitely society, guv" said Armitage as he stood and stretched his legs, "Odd none of his gears been nicked" he added
Burridge nodded, he didn't comment on the Irish mobsters presence, the COG Banks stepped through from the alley maze, the Chief Inspector turned to the automaton "Banks what's your assessment?" he asked.
As the machine turned a head that resembled a miniature steam locomotive boiler, complete with plough where a human mouth would be, Burridge looked at the swirling green lens that made its single eye, an eye that looked at the world from within the Scope.

As the COG began to analyse the crime scene Burridge's Ethercom chimed, warily he looked at the callers image checking for the Superintendents seal, satisfied that it wasn't his overbearing superior he answered.
"Hanson, how are you?" he asked as the London Inspectors face appeared floating above his pocket coms lens
"A grim night, Samuel" he replied
"How so" asked Burridge cautiously
"Another murder, 30 years almost to the day" said Alwitcher heavily
"Does it follow the pattern" replied Burridge
"No, thankfully this ones a whore as well, although same style"
"Don't count your chickens, I've got one here, a well to do, scripture, the works" interjected the Chief Inspector solemnly
"So the pattern continues, but two victims, why the change" said Alwitcher more to himself than Burridge
"One of each, the pattern brought full circle, our killer likes to change the stakes, after all its hardly the first time" observed Burridge
"Poor Fairfax, this will break his heart" commented Alwitcher, who looked watched as DS Stillwell took pictures of the scene, detailed pictures
Sam Burridge grimaced "Indeed, he thought he'd brought an end to it!"
"I'll drop by his flat in the morning" replied Alwitcher
"We'll speak again once we've had time to establish the facts" finished the Chief Inspector

Closing the ornate brass lid of his Ethercom, Burridge turned to Banks who began his analytical report of the scene, Armitage began to hurry the wrapping of the crime scene up, the slums predators were circling once again, time was short.

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Post by arcanus » Sat Jan 01, 2011 9:11 pm

Boxing Day 1983 - CID Offices Metropolis Constabulary Headquarters Complex - Manchester Borough of The Great Metropolis.
Chief Inspector Samuel Burridge took his place at the great conference table in the senior officers conference room, assembled were a handful of senior detectives and forensic scientists.
All of whom were very disgruntled at having been summoned on the 26th of December, not least of which was the Head of CID, Superintendant Sir Ian Bestan-Lanforth.
Sam knew that there would be a great deal of pressure to suppress this latest murder, the main instrument of this suppression would be their senior officer.

Forensic Chief Professor Henry Dabert started the proceedings by giving a very matter of fact but gruesome account of the murder and injury suffered by the victim.
"Let us start by saying that there is no discernable connection to any previous murders and in fact the evidence points to this being a new double murder" Bestan-Lanforth looked directly at Burridge
"Wouldn't you agree Chief Inspector?" he finished with menace
Burridge ignored this "I firmly agree that this is a new set of murders, however their connection, including the anniversary is too much of a coincident to ignore" he replied coolly
"Nonsense Burridge, this is 1983, what are we saying that a murderer waits 30 years and strikes again, also the forensics tell me that the London killing took place within barely an hour of the Charleston killing" retorted the CID Head
"Actually lets take this whole hysterical scenario to its extreme and propose that this killer has struck in 1893, then 1923, then 1953 and again now in 1983, this would place our murderer in his mid hundreds"
He looked expectantly at his officers for any foolish enough to agree or to endorse his statement.

Chief Inspector Chalder an ally of Burridge, cleared his voice "Do we have another explanation for the 30 year pattern Sir?"
he asked
Bestan-Lanforth regarded Chalder like some form of insect "Clearly not some phantom or Etheric monster, or are we in the realms of superstition or fairy tales" he barked
"Sir, if I could suggest a far more practical theory" interjected Burridge
The CID Head looked at him and then nodded, despite the political sensitivity of the matter he was clearly intrigued
Chief Inspector Burridge stood and walked behind his fellow officers “We know that the Ripper killed again in 1893, however he would have been an old man by 1923"
"What's the point of this Burridge?" glared Bestan-Lanforth
"The point sir is that the Ripper trained a successor, or rather successors, we have numerous other killers to whom cults have strung up around, what if he started his own!" Burridge looked at the concerned glances that spread around the table.
"The cult carries on its founders work, as they induct new recruits the agenda shifts, political motivations enter, hence we gain the class murders, the alternation of a member of the gentry, then a whore and so on, until now where they strike at both, a statement a whore in the Rich Capitol and a Lord in the Industrial Heartland" Burridge looked at his colleagues reactions

"We absolutely should not jump to any conclusions, especially connecting the two murders, at this time there is no connection" warned the Head
The exasperated detectives sighed "However this murderous ring does have merit, a far more practical theory rather than ghosts or immortal killers" he continued
"Chief Inspector Burridge continue with this line of enquiry" with that the Head of CID stood and marched from the room.

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Post by arcanus » Sun Jan 16, 2011 8:09 pm

29th December 1983 - The Great Metropolis Express Southern Line, Destination London Paddington.
Chief Inspector Samuel Burridge had allowed himself two days of leave over Christmas, having no immediate family his wife having died a number of years previously and his daughter missing nigh on ten years now.
He looked out at the farmlands of Derbyshire, he would enjoy the scenery until they reached Buckinghamshire where the line went underground, the Countries of Bucks, Bedford and the surrounding counties were Crown estates, with limited industrial intrusion allowed.
Millions of hardworking Englishman's pounds had been spent on drilling tunnels deep beneath the estates to allow the modern high powered steam express monsters to carry passengers and goods between the Great Metropolis and Crown Capital.

Just so that the aristocracy and nobility could maintain their precious estates and fiefdoms, it was stomach turning, and in far shores more subservient colonial subjects would be sweated to breaking point to ensure the Empires coffers were not dented by such extravagance.
Sam smiled, this however wasn't enough for the Industrialists of the Metropolis they wanted more lines and the cost of more tunnels would be exorbitant; clashes had started over two years ago in Parliament and would continue for a long time to come, it was unlikely the Industrialists would win for the time being.
As he returned to his notes, his Ethercomm chimed, passengers were fortunately scarce at this time of year, most of the boxcars having been swapped over to freight however he was still blessed with a compartment to himself.

"Sam, what time are you arriving in Paddington?" asked Hanson Alwitcher
Sam smiled "About three hours Han!" he replied
"I'll meet you there, I can attend to a few things before you arrive"
"Okay, see you when I arrive"
Burridge closed the lid of the Comm and once again returned to the notes on the Shoreditch murder.

29th December 1983 - Peckham District, The Crown Capital, Greater London.
It was the first of two visits he had to make before Sam arrived, crossing the forecourt of the Alfred Court retirement flats, great towers of dank gothic concrete where South London housed its geriatric citizens without the means to afford more affluent abodes in their twilight years.
Peckham was a rough, dangerous district, menacing shapes slid from the shadows, conscious of this Alwitcher drew his revolver.
Furtively the figures began to gradually close, these footpads had little fear of the police this was their domain, he stopped as the daylight dimming allowed them more front.

Alwitcher waited and a grim smile crossed his face, the gangers approached more brazenly now, knives in full view, until one screeched from the rear, an almighty crunch painfully echoed around the towers.
The gangers looked to each other fearfully, from the very shadows they'd originated a tall powerfully built man appeared, his fist darted out smashing into the nearest gangers jaw with such force that an audible crack resounded.
A second foolish ganger thrust his switchblade towards the mans torso, this was intercepted casually, the blade removed and savagely rammed into its owners throat.
By this time the gaggle of scum had turned upon their heels and fled, a brutal, murderous lesson but a sadly necessary one, the Inspector nodded to Sergeant Butcher, who obediently stepped in beside him.
An extremely apt name Alwitcher had often thought, Butchers old army skills razor sharp and sadly practiced more often than any of them liked.

Hanson was already frustrated this trip had been delayed for several days longer than he'd wished, the whores murder had provoked a considerable amount of interrogation and censorship from the Yard.
It had rattled some very senior officers and undoubtedly beyond them in Whitehall, Sam had commented that a similar punishing reaction had be forthcoming from the Metropolis's senior constabulary.
Still the pact was made they had a duty to join the succession of investigators who had tried to stop the thirty year murders, one of whom he was going to see now, the one who thought he had stopped the killings.

DS Stillwell had by this time caught them up, Butcher assumed a place at the base of the flats stairs, while the Inspector and Stillwell continued up the numerous flights of drab grey stairs until they reached the apartment they sought.
Stillwell nodded and also assumed a guarding stance at the door as Alwitcher nodded firmly upon the sturdy wooden door, no reply was forthcoming, he knocked again, it could be simply that he was out but in Peckham Alwitcher didn't want to take the chance.
Slipping his mechanical lockpick from his pocket he rapidly opened the lock and hesitantly entered, it was common for poorer residents to booby trap their living places, no such deathly snare activated.

Hanson cautiously entered, his potential host was slightly fortunate in that he had three rooms rather than the single coffin rooms of the flats below, negotiating the numerous cardboard boxes lining the short porch hallway, each box filled with yellowed newspapers.
He stepped into the living room and his fears were realised in a single glance, in the form of the old mans body lying near the window, immediately Hanson's shoulders dropped and tears broke from his eyes.
For a moment guilt and recrimination flooded through him, why hadn't he visited more often, even visited on Christmas Eve when he'd said he would, he knelt laying a hand on Chief Inspector William Fairfax's face.
The old man had been dead for several days, Hanson cast his gaze around the damp flat, a poor final place for an esteemed and decorated officer, the officer who at the time brought down a brutal serial killer.
"Sir I'm very sorry" came Stillwell's respectful comments from behind
Hanson nodded in appreciation, the collection of old newspapers from 1953, alongside new copy featured the Shoreditch murders were not lost on the Inspector nor his deceased mentor.
"Goodbye Bill, sleep easy now, don't worry we'll get this bastard!" he whispered

He stretched to his full height, dusted himself down and turned to Stillwell, Alwitcher's face had hardened once again
"He may not have lived as he deserved, but he'll be buried with the respect we all owe, make sure his body is taken to King James"
"Consider it done sir!"

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Post by arcanus » Mon Jan 24, 2011 1:23 pm

29th December 1983 - Barnehurst, Harrow, The Crown Capital, Greater London.
Dr. Frederick Gordon Brown wrote:After washing the left hand carefully, a bruise the size of a sixpence, recent and red, was discovered on the back of the left hand between the thumb and first finger. A few small bruises on right shin of older date. The hands and arms were bronzed. No bruises on the scalp, the back of the body, or the elbows. ... The cause of death was hemorrhage from the left common carotid artery. The death was immediate and the mutilations were inflicted after death ... There would not be much blood on the murderer. The cut was made by someone on the right side of the body, kneeling below the middle of the body. ... The peritoneal lining was cut through on the left side and the left kidney carefully taken out and removed. ... I believe the perpetrator of the act must have had considerable knowledge of the position of the organs in the abdominal cavity and the way of removing them. The parts removed would be of no use for any professional purpose. It required a great deal of knowledge to have removed the kidney and to know where it was placed. Such a knowledge might be possessed by one in the habit of cutting up animals. I think the perpetrator of this act had sufficient time ... It would take at least five minutes. ... I believe it was the act of one person.
Catherine Eddowes Autospy, 1888.
Inspector Hanson Alwitcher sat within the modest if not comfortable flat in Barnehurst, not far from The Duke of Carnarvon’s estate on the Mound.
He sat with his anger, resentment and grief simmering below the surface, due to the arrangements at Fairfax’s flat he’d elected to go straight to Paddington and meet Burridge, said Chief Inspector now sat across from Hanson. The third person and the owner of the dwelling was a short dark man, of oily complexion and Gaelic origin, one Bertrum De’Goshe or Chrono’s if you preferred his professional moniker.

Bertrum was making coffee, the scent of Parisian espresso pervaded the lounge, Burridge’s face was unreadable, Hanson was unsure of the Metropolis’s officers opinion of the Frenchman nor his faith in him.
Chronos didn’t drink tea, a vapid English drink and poor imitation to coffee, the fact that it cost a small fortune and was well beyond the means of most folk mattered little.
Sam cast his gaze around the flat, French impressionist paintings adorned the walls, notably those of Jean Frédéric Bazille which leant a tranquil, calm air to the room.

Setting their coffee down, Chronos took a long draw on his strong Turkish cigarette and settled into his large rattan chair, “So I understand that a cult is too blame for the murders?” he started
Burridge looked up but said nothing in response, Hanson smiled “Your very well informed Bertrum!”
Chronos merely nodded his head and smiled “Details that haven’t been made public” finished Alwitcher
“And nor will they” added Burridge with a degree of scepticism
“You think I am the killer” chuckled Bertum
“The cult aspect is known only to a select few within the Yard and Metropolis constabulary” his eyes now narrow
The Frenchman smiled “And what about details you haven’t shared with even them?”
The Chief Inspector almost snarled, Hanson gave him a look, “Such as?” Burridge slowly responded
“Such as the same fingerprints left upon the victims throats, the same fingerprints that were found on all the victims in 1953, left by the same hand, despite the killings having been only moments apart, something that wasn’t put in any report because it just couldn’t be explained!”

Burridge shook his head “There’s a rational explanation”
“Really Chief Inspector, why did Chief Inspector Fairfax swear his immediate officers to secrecy, as well as the small piece of preserved kidney found in the mouth of each victim, kidney from Catherine Eddowes” replied Chronos
“This is ridiculous” stated Burridge
“If so why are you here, Chief Inspector, Catherine Eddowe’s was suffering from Brights Disease, was she not, each piece of the found kidney had this virus”
“Look Bertrum, I realise that your stock and trade is dramatics, the mysteries of the occult and all but this is not the work of an immortal killer, such things are impossible!” Burridge stated moving to look beyond the blinds of the window and into the street, his sense of paranoia growing.
Alwitcher looked at Chronos as Sam grew silent and lost in his thoughts, the problem was that they both knew that something was greatly amiss! Something that couldn’t be simply explained away by a group carrying on Saucy Jack’s grisly work, but they were confronted by the same mystery as there predecessors, the same lack of knowledge, the same feeling that someone was playing with them.
The Frenchman was similarly lost in thought as he finished his cigarette.

“What did you find out Bertrum?” said Alwitcher
“Well both scenes had the same overtones as the killings in the 50s, same trappings and the killer performed his craft in the same way, the coroner would find that both victims were dissected by the same blade” Burridge turned and scowled
“The other key detail that is not widely known is the Scope, there is an area synonymous with both scenes, its blasted and warped as if attacked by a bomb, a ritual circle is present, the Aramaic detailed there is a curse upon the Jewish peoples”
Burridge now stalked back to his seat, “A place in the Scope linked to this, that could be it, Scope entry was in its infancy in the 50s” he turned to Alwitcher and then to Chrono’s we need to go there and quickly.
Chrono’s looked grave “I warn you it won’t be pleasant”
Both officers merely nodded.

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Post by arcanus » Mon Feb 21, 2011 8:42 pm

January 1984 - Somewhere in the UK Scope.
The trip was rough, both officers felt as if they were sat within a rocket leaving the safety of Earths sky, they’re senses turned over and over, however throughout it all they kept hold of the line that Chrono’s had somehow attached to them.
Burridge tried to give it little in the way of thought, it just wasn’t something he could get his head around, give him a good crime to be solved any day.

Hanson opened his eyes, he’d found the tab trip to be nauseating, they stood upon a blasted waste ground stretching for as far as the eye could see, in the distance the outline of monolithic buildings.
An acrid smell assaulted the senses, which confused Alwitcher as he thought they’d send their consciousness into the Scope, how could he smell?

Chief Inspector Burridge looked around, Chrono’s stood across the site, near to a pure ebon figure two slightly archaic constables stood guard, as his vision became accustomed he identified the detail.
The red soil had a dozen corpse shaped white scorch marks, an elaborate series of symbols wove around each body, the ground was moved by an ever moving layer of what appeared to be soot.

Hanson crouched warily examining the symbols, each was raised from the ground, the lines made of objects, peering more closely he realised they were bones and metal shards.
“What the hell is this” he asked looking up in disbelief
“You may not be so far from the truth” replied De’Goshe
Burridge slowly walked throughout the wasteland, eventually reaching the black figures position
“In your experience what do you make of this constable” he asked
The figure, one Jacob Croaker from the Yards Etherscope Investigation Branch or EIB, betrayed nothing his Avatars face featureless and as black as night itself “It reminds me of something I’d prefer to forget Sir” he replied
Sam turned and looked at him quizzically “Go on”
“I think the victims must have suffered terribly sir, it’s the only thing I can think of, their pain so great it left these marks” the EIB constables voice distant
Alwitcher looked up, as Chrono’s floated over to the pair “How could that be?”
The mystic turned to look at the London Inspector “There is a great deal of theory and a degree of evidence that the Ether transmits human brainwaves, what constable Croaker is suggesting is that their pain was so great that it transferred the tortured thoughts into the Scope”
Alwitcher stood his head cocked, an inquiring look crossed his face, his thought processes whirring,
“Could these mental remains be connected to the killer in some way?”
Chrono’s frowned “What your suggesting is spirit mediumship”
“I can see where Han is coming from” interjected Burridge “We’re not suggesting summoning ghosts, more using these as the start of his trail, could the killers throught patterns have been captured?”

Chrono’s grinned, particularly at Burridge’s scowl the policemans annoyance that they were considering the occult as an investigative tool was most amusing.

“There’s far too many here for the latest killings” observed Burridge
“Could be the previous victims as well” said Alwitcher thoughtfully, Burridge didn’t like what that suggested.
“I suggest we take this somewhere else” said Croaker ominously, each of the party turned, the soot had now billowed up into a cloud and through the gloom figures shambled.
“What are they?” asked Hanson warily, he winced as a chronic headache seemed to be coming on, from the look on Burridge’s face he appeared to be developing one as well
“Anomalies” replied Croaker “Rogue drones, but anything in this place can’t be good”
With that both Hanson and Burridge were picked up by Croaker and Chono’s and sped from the horrid place.

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Post by arcanus » Fri Mar 18, 2011 11:13 pm

January 1984 – The Brookwood Metropolis Cemetary, Brookwood, Surrey.
Great Metropolis Chief Inspector Samuel Burridge stood stoic, but calm, almost aptly it had started to rain.
He looked down into the empty grave, then along the path towards the great throng of black clad mourners who watched Inspector Hanson Alwitcher and the Scotland Yard boys who carried Chief Inspector Fairfax’s casket.

In 1852 The London Necropolis Company were awarded the contract by Parliamentary decree to manage the capitals growing number of dead, initially they did this by establishing the largest cemetery in Europe, later they went onto the construction of great necropoli where the wealthy could be interred within the capital.
The not so wealthy still came to Brookwood, via the special funeral train.

On the edge of the gathering stood The Great Metropolis’s Head of CID, Superintendant Sir Ian Bestan-Lanforth.
Hanson had been so successful in contacting a vast number of people who would pay their respects to the late Chief Inspector that a number of notable officers from a number of forces were included, Bestan-Lanforth couldn’t avoid attending, it just wouldn’t be the done thing.

However this presented Burridge with a problem, his superior was now aware that he was in London and would draw obvious conclusions, even now he was glaring at his officer.
Sam ignored him as the procession reached the graveside the casket laid upon the pall, he patted Hanson on the shoulder
“We’ll done Han, you’ve done him proud”, both men nodded and smiled as Father Brompton began the service.

Across the expansive fields Chronos stood, watching the proceedings, he listened to the chatter that surrounded him and nodded.

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Post by arcanus » Sat Mar 19, 2011 3:30 pm

January 1984 – The Great Docklands Borough, The Great Metropolis.
Detective Sergeant Croydon Armitage cursed, basic error and he’d fallen for it, driven by impulsiveness and not a little frustration.
He’d allowed himself to become separated from his colleagues and plunged into the rabbit warrens of the Docklands warehouse district.
They’d received a tip off that another body had turned up, one that might be of interest.
However when they’d arrived they’d found Skulkers here as well, the scavenger gang had responded once again with dogged resistance.

He spun through the alleyways, now well aware that he was being hunted.
Drawing his Gatling pistol he swiftly made his way down the alleyway taking care not to trip over any rubbish, the alleyways must lead eventually to the wharfs and open air.
He turned a corner but to his dismay another lengthy corridor, and then another and another, exasperated Armitage paused to take stock, his senses already playing tricks upon him, movement behind him, ‘Damn’.
He broke into a run, the movement invisible to his vision but nether the less pursuing him, running out of breath and with no exit in sight he pulled himself into a doorway.
His pursuer didn’t appear from his right as expected instead dropping down from the wall space above and kicking his pistol from Armitage’s hand, before the Sergeant could react his pursuer jabbed a knife into his chest, then again repeatedly into his torso.

His masked attacker stood back as he sagged, then looked to his right, more of them.
The Skulker watched for his opponents demise, eyes narrowing as this didn’t seem to be occurring, Armitage thanked his lucky stars for the Chiefs insistence that they were Mesh armour vests.
Grunting a curse the killer moved in again, the door behind Armitage exploded and a huge metal hand enclosed the Skulkers head, hoisted him off the ground and hurled the flailing body into the opposite warehouse wall.

Armitage tumbled out of the way as Bank’s smashed through the remainder of the door and intercepted the next Skulker, delivering a blow to their head that knocked them out cold.
<Are you functional Sir> asked the COG
“Yes, how did you know where I’d got too” wheezed Armitage
<Simple sir, I plotted your point of entry in the maze from the ambush point, calculated your running speed, logical attempts to leave the maze and travelled parallel, our opponents had denoted you as our leader and therefore expended the most effort in ensuring your elimination>
Sergeant Armitage merely looked at the 9 foot automation in amazement, he now fully understood why Burridge had accepted Bank’s application into the CID

Armitage followed Banks a far shorter route than he’d taken to the murder site, enroute Banks expertly thwarted further ambushes returning fire and sending more Skulkers to meet their makers.
Members of the Greater Docklands constabulary were now pouring into the complex, the Skulkers having to retreat, Armitage moved to the body, the anti Semitic scripture was present, another well dressed victim, this time a lady.
Across the scene DC Lucy Palmer was engaged in a fierce argument with a Sergeant from the Docklands Force, catching the gist of the spat the sergeant was claiming the crime, Armitage sighed and circled the murder until he reached the pair.
A pair of Docklands constables stepped in his way, looking at the nearest Armitage allowed his experienced gaze to settle upon them “Piss off lads, mines bigger than yours” a backwards glance drew their attention to Bank’s, oddly both officers moved aside.

Palmer turned to him “Sarge this plod wants to take control of the scene”
Armitage regarded the older Docklands Sergeant “This is a CID case” he stated simply
In a deep Liverpool accent the sergeant spat “Always the same with you tossers waltz in like you own the place”
“Stop being a dick, we were here first and we both know why your making a fuss, Tennyson dosen’t want a fuss on his docks, tough shit!”
“You can’t speak to me like that!” retorted the uniformed officer
“I just did, and your lucky my guvnors away, else he’d really hurt your feelings, now take the hint and piss off” dismissively Armitage turned back to the crime scene looking at DC Nasby expectantly
“Same method as last time sir” he mumbled
“And” responded Armitage
Nasby bucked up, Armitage mentally prodding him “Apart from the clinical if not macabre way of dissecting the body and the anti-Semitic scripture, very little blood, curious that the Skulkers were at a second murder scene this is far from their territory”
“Hear that lads, a toff dick” came the voice of the Docklands Sergeant over the mass grumbling of the constabulary, Armitage gave the plod a dark look before turning back to Nasby
“Paid it no heed lad, goes with the territory, especially from plods on two payrolls” again he looked at the sergeant
“The Chief Inspector wanted to be notified as soon as we found another one” added Nasby
“Good lad” with that Detective Sergeant Armitage dialled his Ethercom

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Ruin Britannia

Post by arcanus » Wed Apr 20, 2011 9:54 pm

January 1984 – Scotland Yard Head Quarters, The Victoria Embankment.
Bestan-Lanforth had wasted little time, having used his influence had acquired an office in the yards immense twenty story bastion of law and order, one carved in stone and etheric steel.
Burridge had been summarily summoned, highly predictable, but nether the less a bollocking heading his way.

Sam stepped into the office, tipping his hat to his superior, in return he received a baleful glare.
The Superintendent was making a show of reviewing a pile of documents whilst sipping his American coffee, Burridge didn’t wait for his superior to grant him permission to sit, he wasn’t some whipping boy and he sat, another glare.

“So Chief Inspector what inventive explanation will I receive for your being in the Capital without authorisation” Bestan-Lanforth started, and continued
“Because if you were by chance here as part of the ongoing murder investigation that would suggest you were following a line of enquiry linking the two murders, something the Chiefs have implicitly stated is not to be looked into, or putting it simply insubordination” his gaze settled upon Burridge

“We needed specialist help”
“Oh pray tell what manner of specialist help would be required outside of the force” Bestan-Lanforth almost purred
Burridge screwed up his mouth in prudent thought “Sir, can we dispense with ritual humiliation, the line of enquiry required follow up on a cult having developed around Saucy Jack, the killings of course started in Whitechapel”
Bestan-Lanforth scowled as if he’d been deprived of his satisfaction.
“That is how we agreed we would proceed sir”

“The Chief Inspector has also been most helpful in helping my department” came a voice from the door, Burridge knew he’d closed it, and turned to see their visitor.
The Superintendent’s face developed an even darker look, which gave him an almost cadaver like look.

“Chief Inspector McKenzie, to what do we owe this honour” he growled
The Head of The Great Metropolis Special Investigation Branch merely nodded in acknowledgement,
“I merely wanted to take the opportunity to comment your officer on his diligence, the SIB has interest in the Whitechapel murders and Chief Inspector Burridge has been most helpful”
Bestan-Lanforth looked as if he’d discovered something incredibly disgusting on the bottom of his shoe but didn't comment
“We’re still in them midst’s of the enquiries and therefore it’s all very hush hush, I’ll bring you up to date when Whitehall is happy” McKenzie finished, his eyes very bright but solid.
“Thank you Chief Inspector” said the CID Superintendent stiffly, with that McKenzie was gone

Burridge sat in silence as Bestan-Lanforth returned to his reports, gravely pensive, quietly he stood and headed for the door
“Chief Inspector, Sam”
Burridge turned somewhat surprised
“Be careful, this one’s getting poisonous” both nodded and he left

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