Kaimon City, Crime Tribunal Headquarters
Deputy Captain Amy strode down the polished, opulent corridors of the Tribunal, her heels clicking with determination. Without missing a beat, she shoved the heavy doors open.
"Director, issue the inspection order now! I'm taking a squad to shut down the broadcast station!"
Behind the ebony-carved desk sat the director, bathed in the full glory of the Blood Moon's light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her disheveled silver hair resembled a bird's nest, and though her uniform was finely tailored, several undone buttons gave her a careless air. What could have been a stunningly beautiful face was marred by heavy bags under her eyes and smudges of makeup resembling clown paint.
Hearing the door burst open, she calmly turned off her display. "Is it quitting time already?"
"Quitting time? The escapees haven't been caught yet!" Amy marched over and slammed her hands on the desk. "I called the broadcast station to stop the trial coverage, but they refused! Director, sign the order, and I'll handle them myself!"
"You'd better keep talk like that within these walls," the director said dryly, "unless you want our department's reputation to tank further. Gerald's hundred complaints a month are already giving me migraines."
"Director! The order!"
"To raid a broadcast station? That requires cooperation from the City Hall. Have you contacted Deputy Mayor Gulo?"
Amy's tail bristled in frustration. "I tried! The only person I could reach was the mayor's secretary, who said Gulo is tied up in emergency meetings with other departments and can't respond!"
"Sounds about right. A prison break like this would require coordination across departments to draft a proper response—"
"He's stalling! Gulo's waiting for Fernash to die during the trial so he can drop the 'Deputy' and become Mayor himself!"
"Don't assume the worst of people. Under the Blood Moon's glory, the bad guys are all locked up in prison," the director replied, her voice light and teasing. "The Crime Tribunal answers to the City Hall. Without their directive, we can't just raid a station on a whim."
"So we're supposed to sit back and watch this circus play out?"
"And why not?"
The director scratched her head, her posture oozing indifference. "It's not just City Hall. The Research Institute and the Church haven't raised any objections either. If they're not panicking, why are you?"
"But—"
"Don't forget," she interrupted, spreading her hands wide, "the ones truly controlling the trial aren't in the prison. They're out here, in the city. Why so serious?"
Amy's mouth opened, but she found herself unable to argue against the director's maddeningly reasonable tone. Her wolf-like tail drooped as she clenched her fists, muttering, "Why are the priests just letting this slide…"
"Careful with that tail," the director said, waving a hand lazily. "You're shedding fur on the carpet again, and cleaning it is a hassle."
Amy pouted. "I can't! Permanently locking in certain Moonshadow traits is a mark of my strength! Plus, everyone loves it!"
The director sighed dramatically. "The Church and Research Institute really love sending troublemakers my way. Do they think this is a daycare for grown-ups?"
When Amy finally left, shutting the door behind her, she heard the director chuckling to herself.
"Hah. This Ash Heath fellow is entertaining. I'll have Gerald keep him alive a little longer."
Amy froze, her face contorting in exasperation. So the director just wants to watch this trainwreck unfold? I nearly bought her excuses!
She contemplated storming back in to argue but paused, recalling an old priest's joke about the Blood Saints:
"When a Blood Saint gets interested in something, the only way to stop them is to nail them to a coffin. Their blood rushes faster, and their intelligence takes a dive."
Amy groaned and gave up, storming back to her own department. Sitting at her desk, she opened the broadcast display. Fine. Let's see what chaos Ash Heath stirs up.
Coughing violently, Fernash spat out two mouthfuls of foul black blood. His abdomen ached with a dull itch, and his sticky, blood-soaked clothes clung uncomfortably to his body. The dizziness from waking up disoriented him, briefly transporting him back to his childhood.
Fernash had grown up in the Bonehead Orphanage, a run-down institution in Kaimon City's lower districts. Most of its wards were orcs and ogres—hardly by choice but because those races came with higher subsidies. The headmistress, a sharp-featured woman, cared little for the children's futures, pocketing most of the funds while adopting a laissez-faire approach to their upbringing.
Unlike the prestigious Emerald Garden Orphanage, which nurtured exceptional talents and relied on their graduates' "paybacks" to flourish, Bonehead operated on a much simpler model: scam the system. It accepted the most undesirable, state-mandated children under the guise of "preserving diversity" and provided the bare minimum of care.
To outsiders, the orphanage's chaos was framed as "naturalistic upbringing," lauded by academics as a method of "respecting the inherent nature of blue and green-skinned children." Critics of structured institutions like Emerald Garden claimed those programs stifled childhood joy and individuality.
For Fernash, who grew up in this "natural" environment, survival meant fighting for every scrap of food, dodging fists and claws, and finding stolen moments to study. It was anything but civilized.
Under the Blood Moon's gaze, Fernash shuddered, struggling to ground himself in the present.