-AN

Hello all, by writing for seven hours straight without taking bathroom breaks or consuming food/water I have managed to finish this chapter quite quickly (wow, that sounds a bit extreme now that I've written it down). I hope it is to everyone's liking and I always appreciate constructive criticism on any points of my writing that you wish. Thank you to all that are viewing this story. Now read and enjoy!

23/08/13 Update: Removed some repeated phrases and filled in a missing word or two.

25/08/13 Update: Removed more repetitions of the word 'but' and made a couple of capitalisation corrections.


The room was small and square. At its centre was a metal table, behind it, a steel chair, sitting on that, a man tied up wearing a face hugging mask with electrical wires leading from its back to the floor. A blacked out window stood sunken into the wall on the opposite side of the table from the man, and adjacent to that sat a woman with hard, radiant, purple eyes, tanned skin and chin length black hair gelled into a sort of leftwards slant. She wore some assortment of dark clothing, the details of which were difficult to discern: the only source of light was a small bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

Joanna was reading a newspaper she had acquired from a little niche marketplace. One could not imagine it being easy to read the paper's print at such a low level of brightness. However, she seemed to manage comfortably.

A loud whine of pain emanated from the man, prompting the room's female resident to lower her reading material, revealing the upper half of her face to the offender. "Shut up! I'm tryin' to read my headlines." A second, quieter groan was heard. "Better." She raised the item once again and turned to the next page, producing a satisfying crinkle of paper. "Oooh." She announced with feigned interest. "This's an interesting story: 'Ambassador Pulam's close brother Era dies after tragic heart attack'. You wouldn't happen to have anything to say on that matter would you?"

Still in apparent agony the man responded "Ahhhh, piss off you glowy eyed bitch!"

Joanna folder her paper over and dropped it at her side before crossing her arms. "It's funny, I always get called a bitch in these sorts of exchanges, makes me feel almost unwelcome."

The only sound in the room was that of the man's strained and ragged breathing.

"Do you know what 'bitch' means?" She paused momentarily, hearing no response. "Hmm. It means female canine. Now us canines like bones don't we? So why don't you throw me one or two on the topic of our sangheilian friend's death."

A longer pause occurred, preceding an exclamation by the man. "Ahh ohh ohhhhhh!" He was beginning to writhe against his constraints though he still held his tongue (metaphorically speaking of course as his hands were bound).

"Suit yourself." Joanna looked around her, purple streaks following her movements as she did. She noted the pervasive shadow she and the room's corners were engulfed in. "Bit dreary in 'ere innit? Do you know what, I think I might bring down some flood lights, set 'em up facing inwards. Could play some heavy metal too, lighten the mood a tad. Should keep you busy till morning." Joanna looked upwards in a contemplative manner. "Yeah, I'll see yah tomorrow then." The tall woman picked up her paper and stood to leave. A motion that was interrupted as the man cracked.

"Ohhh good God damn it! I'll spill everything just take off this fucking mask!"

Joanna's countenance switched from deliberately uncaring to default neutral. She lowered her reading material to her chair before walking slowly around the table, silhouette following her as she skirted the circle of light surrounding it. Placing a hand on either side of the mask, she pulled it off, tussled brown hair laden with sweat popping out as it was removed.


Half an hour later...

Joanna exited the interrogation room, paper in hand, via an electromagnetically locked door for which she conveniently had the ID implants to access. As she stepped into the light once more, the details of her outfittings were significantly more acute. A black, collared fleece ran from just underneath her hair line to an inch or two underneath her waistline. Here, it overlapped onto similarly dark jogging bottoms which, in turn, flowed over her steel toed engineer boots to end just above her ankles. Said boots were littered with buckles and protected her body until about halfway up her shins where they cut off.

After the portal behind her closed, her boots flexed, joggers ruffled and fleece scratched, to accompany the movement of her hand over her hair and her shifting of facial expression from default neutral to bemused distressed. Joanna began rubbing the back of her neck to work out any kinks, frowning all the while. I wish there was someone else here better than me at this part of the job... Her raptness maintained and her rubbing stopped as she stared into space for a further five or more seconds.

Then, in a single instant, her arm returned to her side and she switched from bemused distressed right back to default neutral. Thoughts unreadable, feelings untellable. Turning to the room's second resident, she stated "Good work on the death mask's pain modulation, Derek. I'm gonna get a tea, 'n share what we found with the Ambassador."

"Yes mam."

Characterless as always. a subconscious, passing thought. Joanna departed at a paced walk, passing through an egress and into a well lit, plain-concrete hallway that gently sloped upwards. Each of her steps produced a sharp, hollow rap upon impact with the floor that resonated throughout the claustrophobic space. The raps proceeded further and further from the interrogation rooms, becoming quieter and quieter to those still within them. They stopped entirely once the tall woman reached the room of elevators at the end of the passage.

She typed in a command to a control panel set in a recess within the wall, requesting it to send down one elevator. It was by a startling once in a lifetime coincidence that all eight elevators were currently taking passengers on the top floor... 65 floors up from her current location. One could see Joanna assimilating and processing that information as she squinted at the panel in disbelief.

Her newspaper hit the floor with a ruffle, sheets separating from each other. "No. No, no. This just doesn't happen. Never in the history of man has that happened! Never in the history of man should that bloody happen!" Frustration was building as Joanna's face quivered and fists clenched. It burst forth when she slammed her right arm down on the panel. "Fuck you. Just fuck you you digital piece of overconvoluted shit. You twat!" Her left hand clamped down on the recess's edge, while her other pointed towards the inanimate object with thumb and index finger sticking out and all other fingers digging into her palm, an explanatory motion. "Don't you fuckin' come in 'ere again, fuckin' tellin' me all the fuckin' elevators on the top fuckin' floor. You fuckin' prat!"

Tirade ending, she attempted to appeal to the panel's better conscience. "Look. I'm sorry. I'm sorry alright! Just... Just please, I won't hit you again. I won't swear at you again I promise. But please. Work with me baby, work with me."

That attempt failing she simply broke into tears. "Ohhh, fuck it..." She clumsily slumped her forearm onto a buttonless area of the interface before even more clumsily smashing her head into the appendage. Genuine sobs racked her body repeatedly and muffled sniffles could be heard from beneath her spread of hair.

At some point she realised that crying about the problem was not progressing her past the issue so she soon sobered, stating to herself "Do you know what, ok. It's gonna get down here eventually. After it does, I'll get a nice warm cuppa and I'll sit down for a bit. I'll just... I'll just wait."

Having spent one minute in each of the five stages of grief, Chief Joannan only had to spend another three minutes waiting for an elevator. Upon arrival, four soldiers alit from it, escorting a bald prisoner who was both hand cuffed and shackled all at once. "You look a little worse for wear sweetheart. Heh heh heh." The prisoner spoke with an accent as thick as smoke and probably brought on by a long long history of smoking, and likely alcohol as well.

"You don't look too well yourself love. May I?" The question was directed towards the man's lead escort.

"Sure."

Without hesitation, Joanna stepped up close to the prisoner and threw her elbow into his nose, breaking it instantly and drawing a loud grunt from him. She then made a flourish in the direction of the interrogation rooms "Ladies."

The four guards returned "Mam." while the assaulted individual among them had slumped slightly, enjoying the taste of the blood from within his own nose.


"Further questioning revealed the names of two associates of the killer, 'Little Steve' and 'Dave', as well as the location of the flat they were operating from." Joanna had composed herself to a respectable degree, unruffled her clothing and once again assumed parade rest before contacting the Ambassador. She spoke slightly slower than normal, keeping her tone formal.

"So he did hold knowledge of one of the organisation's cells. How was it that he managed to conceal this information yesterday?" The sangheili's register had not differed by any significant amount from the evening before; however, it was slightly less saturated with frustration. He was sat in his computer chair as he was previously and this time around he had one leg lying across the other and one elbow firmly placed on the arm rest, that extremity's attached hand propping up his head.

"It was probably because the choice of words in my questioning was too specific. Apparently, Big Ben's Boys refer to cells as 'crews'. So when asked if he knew about any cells, he could truthfully say no."

"Reasonable I suppose. Back to these two men, did the detestable individual not provide last names for them?"

"He said it is a rule among the gang not to share last names. Logical, also suggests that they are in many ways quite organised." Joanna tilted her head in a "Got to give them credit" motion.

"Indeed. I presume you are going to attempt to apprehend these individuals at the flat nonetheless."

"If their intelligence is more than second rate then they probably aren't there anymore. Me and a team will drop by anyway though, inconspicuously, and see what we find."

"Of course." The ambassador was about to bid her farewell but was given pause as he looked her over. He lowered the arm that was supporting his head and straightened up a little. "Is such informal wear typical of members of your organisation?"

Joanna looked down at herself before return her gaze to her appraiser. "No, I'm an atypical individual. I understand that wearing a suit inspires assurance in yourself both to you and those around you. But I'm good at what I do. I've proven that enough times and I don't need to wear a suit to qualify it."

"Very self-aware of you." Pulam delayed for a moment. "It proposes a question though. Why were you wearing a suit when last we spoke?"

"My associate, Agent Johnson, forced me too," The sangheili crossed his arms while Joanna continued "and since we had several hours to prepare for our talk with you I did what he said." Her arms had fallen from behind her back to her sides as she shrugged. "However, if I'm going to be updating you frequently then it would be faster if I didn't need to put a suit on."

"Your at attention stance has fallen."

Joanna started slightly and returned her arms to their linked position behind her. "Sorry sir."

"Though I do not believe I approve of your lack of uniform you have made yourself clear. I'll consider it to be special case."

"Thank you sir."

"Although you could do worse than find a less bland outfit."

"My choice of clothing is for me to decide and others to observe. So long as I'm not prancing about like some cheap whore I think that's something everyone can respect."

"Hmmm, well said. Until next time Chief."

"Ambassador." She nodded her head politely before the comms link was severed.

"I like that human."


Cafés and bars (or pubs as the Brits call them) are the two primary meeting places between members of Big Ben's Boys, so long as nothing too important is to be discussed. Many such meetings are likely occurring at the present moment but one in particular is taking place in a pub named "The Tight Wallet" which was, coincidentally, owned by a firm supporter of the gang. Its interior lighting was low key and held a rich orange tint to it, lending to the place a warm and inviting ambience.

For understandable reasons, the conference was situated in an especially dark and visually obscured corner of the bar. One participant was lent back and shadowed enough as to be difficult to distinguish, to his right stood an empty wine glass and to his left an uncorked bottle of wine.

The other was sat opposite him in the light and could be identified as Little Steve, in his hand was a three quarters full pint glass with some form of frothy, golden liquor within it.

"Shouldn't Dave be here." The shadowed man's voice was deep and sonorous though it was fairly unaccented. It hinted towards a firm intelligence and self-assured demeanor.

"Nah, that boy doesn't have the IQ to understand stuff we say the first time round. It'll be faster if I just brief 'im later." Little Steve's voice was, conversely, higher pitched and faster talking. He started downing some of his pint once he had finished speaking.

"And what about the new guy with the fancy facial fuzz, Daws I think his name was."

The shorter man lowered his drink to the table and wiped his mouth on a sleeve. "Would you trust a guy with a moustache only one day after meeting him?"

"No I suppose not. Anyway Steve, how are you finding the new place?"

"It's quaint. Gotta nice view, comfy chairs. But a bit spartan. Lookin' round your room and feeling like your in an 18th century utility shack yunno."

Shadow man had been pouring wine into his glass as Steve spoke, it was now full once again. "So long as it does the job. I'm not gonna bust the boys' budget on a hotel suite with a king size am I?"

"Well yah fuckin' asked didn't yah boss, you stingy bastard."

The boss brought his glass into the shadow and gulped down some of its contents before responding. "You're calling me stingy, if you were in my position the boys would be eating dog food and showering in cold water."

"And they'd fuckin' enjoy it too."

"There's that dynamism we've all come to know and love." The glass reappeared and was settled onto the table. "Now, more importantly than moving in, how did you get on moving out?"

"Ah yeah. We cleared the place out properly: all the NDA 'll find if they search it is dusty floor boards and rusty pipes."

"Good good." The man paused. "Have you heard anything that suggests that the suits will indeed search the place?"

"Well, our martyr had a bit of difficulty martyring himself. He lost 'is nerve... Botched it up, shooting 'imself in the chin. Now the NDA has 'im, and they ain't gonna be drinkin' Fosters and playing poker together." Steve tilted his pint a tad for emphasis, the golden liquid swaying from side to side for a bit.

"Poor bastard. There's no way he's holding out on those guys. They hold in reserve some satanic shit for breaking people."

"That's why he shoulda shot himself innit? It'd save us all trouble."

"You can't be too harsh on him. Nature is abhorrent to suicide after all. So, though he failed that part of his mission, he was working against the odds, and we prepared accordingly for if the odds defeated him."

"Yeah I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am, loyal side kick."

"I'll kick your side in a minute."

"Heh heh."

"Oh yeah, and I placed that invisible camera you gave me in the old flat so I'll keep you updated on the if, what, how and when of any NDA break-ins."

"Good. How was your birthday by the way."

"Shitter than last year's and hopefully shitter than next's."

"That's the way to look at it. Now, a toast to my good friend Little Steve, me and the boys." The man leaned forwards into view revealing brown eyes, a dark tan trench coat, a close shaven head of black hair and similar stubble.

"To me, my good friend Big Ben and the boys." Little Steve raised his fluid container in the air and leaned forward as well. Pint glass met wine glass halfway and a satisfying clink resounded from the contact point.