Ragazza Magica Renza Veneti
Chapter One: Nothing So Serious


"...I'm sorry I can't be more helpful." Renza apologised, clutching the bedsheet that pooled around her waist, her blue hair tied away in a ponytail for convenience's sake. Her civilian Jacket had been configured into a white hospital gown, her name and age displayed on her chest for easy identification by the staff. Bright sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows of the Policlinico Serenità; Valezorro's central hospital. The atmosphere was clean and sterile, pleasant and airy. They'd even given her her own private room in the Accidents and Emergency Ward, though presumably in deference to the two officials sitting before her.

The detectives - Ispettore - from the Valezorro City Judiciary hung their heads. They made a contrasting pair; a tired, sunken, middle-aged man with shaggy charcoal hair trapped in that twilight period between youth and old age, next to a woman with clearly Belkan features - blue eyes and blonde hair cut above the neck - sitting neatly and attentively, the very model of a polite but firm investigator that projected so much more confidence than the shabby heap sitting next to her. Both wore the dull grey and Caglican Blue of the Judiciary Office, the sharp fitting suits accentuating both the man's weariness and the woman's professionalism.

Behind them both and visible only to Renza, a Kyubey sat atop a shelving unit, overlooking the proceedings with an intermittent swish of its tail. It had to handle the cover-up, after all.

"It's quite alright." The man said, his voice surprisingly calm and focused for his shabby appearance, leaning forwards on bony elbows. Despite being clearly somewhere in his 30s, his air reminded her vaguely of that of a kindly grandfather.

If that was true, the woman made for a very stern aunt, or possibly elder sister. "Are you sure you can't remember anything?"

"I'm sorry; I blacked out after I was hurt. I didn't see what happened."

"Were the group that brought you in present at the time?"

"No."

"Did you know any of the people in that group?"

"No."

"Do you have any idea how you found yourself on that roof?"

"No."

The detectives exchanged a glance.

"I'm sorry." She apologised weakly.

The woman slumped her shoulders whilst the man clapped his knees, back creaking as he stood. He offered her an apologetic smile.

"Well, santina, I'm sorry we've taken up so much of your time. Your family will want to see you; wouldn't want to keep them."

Renza nodded. "Thank you."

The man held the door open to allow the sister-doctor to poke her head through.

"Your father is waiting outside." she said, as the detectives filed out the room. "Is now a good time?"

She assented, smiling. "Yes, of course!"

The sister-doctor nodded and left, whispering a few words in Belkan outside before the door reopened.

Her old man lumbered in with worry in his eyes. His face was craggy and sunbeaten, looking almost scarred; something his current expression did nothing to help.

"Renza..." He breathed.

She smiled weakly. "Sit, padre, please."

Head bowed, the man obeyed, dragging one of the chairs to her bedside. It seemed almost comically small when he sat on it, creaking as it took his weight, his arms crossing over the back of the seat.

"Renza... what happened?"

"Like I told them, padre. I was hurt, then I woke up here. I don't know anything else."

He breathed out, hoarse, giant hands gripping one of hers in a rough but warm, cradling grip.

"Padre... it's okay. It's alright. The doctors are fixing me up."

"I just..."

"The investigators will find out what happened." She patted his hands with her free. "Don't worry."

Slowly, the man nodded. "If you're sure."

She smiled, tilting her head. "I am."

He let out one final breath, the weight lifting from his frame, letting his face break into a gentle smile.

"Alright then. I've called in at school; they know you're here."

"What about your work?"

He snorted. "They'll let a man visit his daughter when she's hurt. Be sure of that."

She giggled. Her system was still full of painkillers and even though her Puella nature rendered them useless, by reducing her connection to her gem she could replicate the effects close enough so as not to alarm the ward nurses. A metal and plastic cast covered her injured leg, hidden under the bedsheets, dispensing mana at regular intervals and enticing new cells to grow. Several Physical Heals had been cast on her already; supposedly her body was reacting well; she'd be out in a few days. On crutches, or so the hospital would think, but out.

"Get well soon, mia belle." He prayed, still holding her hand. "I don't want to lose you."

Somewhere along the line, the Kyubey had disappeared. Probably tailing the detectives. She looked back down at her father, and patted his head.

"You won't." Renza promised. "I'm right here."


"I doubt I need to tell you this, but any comments would be appreciated, Schwester-doktor."

The Serenità sister-doctor sighed. It had been a long day and Fraulein Veneti had been an... odd case. It was only natural the Judiciary would be asking questions about it. Having left the room, they stood now in the corridor before the very seat Veneti's father had been waiting; the helpful but busy sister-doctor and the two stoic but polite Ispettore.

The issue wasn't that she didn't want to say anything; she desperately did. The issue was that she didn't really have any information to give, beyond what obvious facts the Ispettore could and doubtless had deduced themselves.

The paediatrician wrung her hands in frustration.

"I'm sorry, Frau Buhr, Herr Pinici." She explained, pronouncing the man's surname perfectly despite the linguistic shift, "But I really can't explain it. The wound wasn't magical; there's no foreign mana traces on her. If I had to guess I'd say some kind of industrial accident, but..."

...But that couldn't explain why she was found on the rooftop of an office building. And all three of them knew it.

"Thank you for your assistance regardless, Schwester-doktor." The female investigator - Buhr - said, bowing politely as the other, Pinici, echoed the sentiment with a nod.

"Will you keep the Church informed?" She asked.

Buhr's lip quirked. "It'll be on the news, I'd imagine."

"We'll be keeping her school up to date in any case." Pinici advised, his Belkan impeccable. The weary man bowed politely. "Though please understand there are issues of confidentiality. We cannot comment on ongoing investigations."

The doctor smiled, familiar with the issue. "I understand. Please contact me if you need anything else, though I doubt she'll be staying here long. She's healing very well!"

Pinici smiled. "We're glad to hear it, of course. Thank you for your assistance."

"A pleasure!"

They shook hands, and the sister-doctor went on her way, off to visit the other wards. The detectives left in the in the opposite direction towards the Serenità's docking stations.

"Well, Fred?" The man asked when they were safely back inside their judicial barca, hovering gently on the waterline. "What do you make of it?"

Junior Ispettore Freiderike Buhr frowned in the driver's seat, tapping her chin.

"Hard to say. Crime scene is clean but that leg injury definitely wasn't normal. Lack of security coverage and witnesses is suspicious too."

She shrugged in frustration. "If it's an assassination attempt it must have taken a lot of work, but they've hardly hidden their tracks. Last we see of her is on the Boulevard, then she shows up on a roof..."

Domhnall Pinici, Senior Ispettore, grunted his agreement. An assassination attempt with a high level of concealment... and a very conspicuous kill method. It just didn't add up. And all this for a girl from the slum-docks? Where was the motive?

It went without saying that someone had been trying to kill her; neither of them doubted that. You didn't see those kind of wounds from accidents; it was a high energy, non-magical burn, and focused too. Those just didn't happen on the pedestrian boulevards or Economic rooftops with zero accompanying evidence.

If the girl had been able to put up a Shield or a proper Barrier Jacket, it wouldn't even have worked, he had to reflect, bitterly. The perils of being a low Rank.

Freiderike looked across. "What about the strike angle?"

"I have Diarmuid working on it." Domhnall said, looking down at the bulky black box shape on his forearm. "Diarmuid?"

[Sea, mo Rí?]

"How's the trajectory assessment coming?"

[Tá siad fós ar siúl, mo Rí.]

"Very good. Notify me when they're complete. And request a warrant for information on the Veneti family."

[Mar is mian leat, mo Rí.]

"It usually doesn't take him that long." Freiderike observed neutrally.

"Mhn." The tired man sighed. Waiting around here wouldn't solve anything; they'd have better luck returning to the station and utilising the resources there. There was just one thing left he had to do.

"Diarmuid, petition Director Pascal to have Renza Veneti placed under the Witness Protection Program."

[Sea, mo Rí. However, be advised; all positions under the WPP are filled.]

"Try anyway." He ordered.

[Sea, mo Rí.]

They were obliged to at least try. Freiderike watched the device sadly, already used to this situation.

However strange the scenario, an attacked slum-dock girl just wasn't going to get the Judiciary's attention beyond the obligatory glance that had send them her way. The odd complications they'd noted already just made it more likely to be dropped because it wasn't worth the resources. The Judiciary had bigger problems, after all. Short of this highlighting a much bigger fish for the Judiciary to be aware of... not much was going to come of it.

Domhnall tapped the dashboard, feeling old. "Let's head back."

Freiderike nodded, putting their barca in gear and feeling the hover engines whirr into life as the control circuit switched from the dock's power grid to her own magic. It drifted out from the Policlinico Serenità into the waterway, before jutting into life and merging seamlessly into the traffic skimming the Valezian Canals in the direction of the Judiciary District.

Neither noticed their passenger, sitting in the back seat, tail aswishing.


"Maaan, Ranza, you really get all the fun!"

"Eh-eheh..."

Odette Camarr sighed to herself as she walked into the hospital room. Samara was already there - as she'd heard from out in the hallway - monopolising their classmate's head in a game of noogie, blue and black hair flying everywhere in her enthusiasm.

"Give her a rest Sam; she's had a hard time."

Samara Le Bien pouted, vibrant black hair dangling around her captive's nose, and stuck out her tongue, cuddling Renza's head closer. The smaller girl seemed used to it though, putting up with her friend's affections and smiling pleasantly at her arrival.

Odette placed her bouquet of flowers (blue carmillions; symbols of good health) into the vase provided, half full of similar contributions already. Samara moved aside to let them exchange kisses on each cheek before they pulled back, Odette examining her bed-ridden school friend with a critical eye.

"...You really are recovering fine." She observed, surprised.

Renza giggled, a tiny 'ehehe'. "I told you, Odi, I'm okay. They're letting me out tomorrow."

"Eh?!" Samara gasped, leaning almost entirely over the bed (almost knocking Odette out of the way) to stare Renza right in the eyes. "That's fast!"

Odette, standing back, shook her head with secret relief. "I guess it wasn't that serious then."

Renza grinned merrily at the both of them. "Nope!"

The mood in the room relaxed, and Odette flopped (elegantly) into a nearby seat, flicking her braided ponytail over the back before it got trapped. Procuring a clementine from her pocket, she began to peel it with familiar motions, her rosette-shaped device generating a miniature green knife-laser for the purpose. Samara giggled, neatening out her friend's hair in return for tussling it up before.

"Ren, did you get my notes on class?"

Renza nodded. "Mhm. I'm all caught up."

Odi smiled serenely, pulling out a sliver of fruit and feeding it to Samara, who leaned over to bite it out of her hand. "Well that's certainly reassuring. You should keep up with your classwork whilst you're in hospital after all."

She tilted her head to watch Renza with one eye. "Now... why don't you tell us what you were doing deep in the Economic District during lunch break."

Renza winced.

Samara nodded enthusiastically, hair bouncing everywhere, eyes pinning Renza to her bed as she made what she doubtlessly considered a stern expression. "Mmphm!" She ordered through a mouthful of orange. "Telffus! Tefffus!" Swallowed. "Tell us!"

"Eheh..." Renza began, arms raised in a placating gesture. "I was... heading to the Basilica..."

Odette sighed wearily; having expected something like that. "Renza..."

Samara huffed, crossing her arms. "You religious types!"

"W-What? It's a really pretty cathedral!"

Odette rubbed her temples. "Renza, the Basilica is hours away..."

"I took a comune!"

Part of Valezorro's renowned public transport network. Still failed to explain why by the Saint's measure she'd felt the need for it. Odette frowned.

"Even so, you'd only get a few minutes at most!"

Renza gripped her sheets, looking away. "I know that... I really wanted to see it, that time."

...Odette sighed. She had to give in, with that expression. "Sorry. I didn't realise it meant that much to you."

Samara melted immediately, patting her on the head. "Yeah, yeah, you never seemed much of a believer before."

Renza chuckled nervously, playing with her hair. "It's... kindof a recent thing?"

Odette smiled. "Tell us about it sometime." She set the peeled clementine on a plate by the bedside. "Come on, Samara."

"You're leaving?"

Her eyebrow quirked as Samara hopped off the bed. "Some of us have school to get back to. Rest well, won't you?"

Renza nodded, and they waved goodbye as they left the room.

Out in the corridor, everything was white and clean, with well-placed plants to freshen the air and inject some greenery into the scene. Shoes clacked on the artificial floor tiles as they navigated the maze of corridors and departments, following the correct colour road to the exit in companionable silence.

They exited A&E, and definitely Renza's earshot. Samara ran her hand through her hair.

"...That girl's a terrible liar."

Odette sighed. "You noticed too, huh?"


Valezorro from on high really was a beautiful city. White and blue buildings rose like ancient columns from the tended waterways, circled by sleek white barca, skimming along the water surfaces or even flying if their pilot had a high enough Mage Rank. Birds flocked and swung in the early breeze. Every once in a while, a flying figure could be spotted; in deference to its unique transportation requirements, the usual restrictions on flying mages in TSAB-aligned cities were waived within Valezorro's limits. Bathed in the morning sun that hung dull, heavy and red on the skyline, it looked as if the whole world were made of clay, shining in reds, oranges and gold.

Nestled amongst the towers of the Governance District, Renza Veneti, in full Puella costume, hair flapping out ahead of her, sat atop a white communications spire, the small maintenance platform serving as an impromptu seat. Deep down below, the city swirled and breathed beneath, out and beyond, from the centre of Governance all the way out to the Residential fringe.

Out from Governance's modern towerblocks of reflective glass and white steel, the Industrial District sprawled away in a maze of colossal iron pipes and smokestacks half-hidden in smog, connected by hedgerows of girders and walkways. Economic hung nearby, built like Governance but with more flair, corporate logos and colours proudly on display, bright and gaudy even from Renza's lofty viewpoint. Judiciary and Commercial were still in the old style; white Valezian stone and mortar, built lower and squatter than their modern cohorts, but with far more grace, a grand collaboration of towers, arches and domes that reeked of age and pride. Some large shape dropped down over her head, the spire shivering in its wake; a transorbital coming down to land at the spaceport behind her; probably to ferry off Industrial's wares. It didn't hold her attention.

Random buildings stood out from the sprawl; landmarks she knew. Close by, the towers and spires of the Basilica Vaillieu, home of the Saint's Faith, dedicated to the Sankt Kaiser Olivie, standing tall and proud as it had every right to. The Policlinico Serenità, which she was getting depressingly familiar with, sat a little further away; a large, round, domed structure twice the size of a stadium, built in the old Valezian stone, wearing the age of the institution as a badge of pride, though its inside were completely modern technologically. The Basso Trari upper secondary school, yet another 'old style' building, rose up on her opposite side in a large, ornate triangle surrounded by its own leafy non-native gardens.

And of course, what she was looking for, far, far away, far at the very edge of the city where the shining whites turned to drabber greys just before they met the glimmering sea, out in the far distant slum-docks of the Residential districts...

...Well, it wasn't actually visible from here. But somewhere down there was home.

The distance felt appropriate.

"...Was it right," she asked the air, hugging her knees close, "saying all that?"

"I can offer no judgements. But secrecy is definitely the best course of action."

The voice was from nowhere, but she knew the Kyubey was sitting by her side.

"It's tiring, having to lie all the time." She said, picking at the wire meshing subconsciously. "If I'm doing good, why can't I tell people?"

The Kyubey made a little telepathic sigh, one of its odder habits. "We Incubators have experimented with it in the past. It has never ended well for anyone involved. If you wish, the memories of those involved can be altered. They would not ask any further questions."

Renza blinked. "Why would you...?"

"The Ispettore you met before have too much information; it's extremely likely they will cause trouble if their investigation proceeds. I called in a telepath to clean up the situation; erasing the memories of your companions at the same would not be difficult."

"N-No!" She shouted, breaking out of her knee-hug. The very idea of having someone poke around in her father's...

"No! I can't do that to them!"

The Kyubey failed to react. Looking down, she found it was indifferently grooming its ear flaps. "You wouldn't be. She'll be arriving in one week. Please make your decision before then."

"I-I've already made it! It's done! Finito!"

The creature did not shrug, releasing its ear to gaze back upon the sea, nothing but a static smile on its face. "It doesn't really affect me. The opportunity will always be there until she leaves, in any case."

Renza shuddered.

"...What about the daemons? Were there any more whilst I was out?"

"None that I was aware of. I stored the grief cubes from the battle in a secure location. We can collect them at your convenience."

Renza nodded. "Let's do that now then." Her soul gem wasn't exactly going to get any lighter waiting.

Without it needing to be said, the Incubator scampered up to perch neatly on her shoulder, tiny paws gripping tightly in preparation for-

She stepped forward and dropped, and Valezorro rushed up to meet them.


The Incubator lead her on a winding path, taking advantage of her mobility as a Puella Magi to weave a confusing trail through the bars and girders of the Industrial district. The air was thicker here, building a rusty-red haze from the morning sun, burning more exotic colours the closer they got to the smokestacks that stabbed up like trees in a forest through the metal undergrowth, the entire place vibrant and humming with indeterminable activity.

Renza followed the Incubator's guidance, moving blindly through the maze as it instructed, speech-telepathy temporarily abandoned in favour of simply transferring directions visually. She leapt and ran from walkway to walkway to pipe to pipe until they came upon a rusted, abandoned warehouse suspended high above the lashing waves, known only by their sound as they crashed against the supports far below.

The thickness of the air deadened any sounds they made. Even the waves sounded empty and hollow up here.

Lost and forgotten, the harsh, acidic atmosphere of the Industrial District had been far from kind. The moulding flakboard that had once made up the warehouse's roof served to give away its age; newer post-TSAB building regulations would never allow it; even the pre-Alliance laws would probably have frowned on its use out here. Under the harsh red haze, the boards had softened and melted, dripping down slowly over the centuries to build a noxious, stinking carpet of filth that seeped into everything. Vague shapes of tortured industrial equipment and dilapidated storage crates stood out in the gloom. The whole thing felt like it was made of wet paper, hanging on a thread above the waves below.

They entered with no hesitation.

The Industrial District was... common, as a place for her patrols. With the haze, deadened noise and reduced visibility, it was a natural location for crime and suicides, and hence a vibrant breeding ground for daemons. A man could walk in, deactivate his Jacket and dive, and be dead long before the paramedics could arrive. Even civilian jackets could counter the corrosive air, but it was still a sticking point with the Time-Space Administration Bureau out in the wider Dimensional Sea. Governance was working on it now the greater ecological disasters had been resolved but... well, Caglica was only an Allied world for a reason. The Judiciary maintained a security cordon but they were laughably easy to get past, at least from Renza's perspective. All the sensors were on ground level.

In her 'Puella mode', as she thought of it, she had none of the features or protections of her civilian Jacket, but she didn't seem to need them. Immunity to asphyxiation, amongst other things, was yet another perk of the contract.

"Through here."

The Incubator directed her to a small side room, where a metal false ceiling, now severely rusted, had managed to protect the rest of the room from the stagnant mush. A small cubicle office, by the looks of it; mouldy paper and an almost completely disintegrated work chair sat at an ancient desk being the biggest giveaways. The Incubator directed her attention to one of the drawers, which pulled out freely, leaving her grateful that the desk, at least, seemed to be made of sterner stuff.

Within, nestled amongst degraded wire-bound files and acidified trash, eight black cubes sat, radiating a faint but palpable sense of grief. Blacker than seemed wholly natural, the cubes, currently inert, seemed to stand out against in the smoky gloom even as Renza thought they should fit in. She scooped them up in both hands, trying to collect as little grit on her fingers as possible.

"Was this really the best place to keep them?" She asked Kyubey.

"This location is too difficult to access, too distant from civilisation and too dilapidated to be of use to ordinary humans." It answered calmly. "It's too far removed for the cubes to feed and regenerate. It's the safest place for them."

She rather doubted that last point, but still, she could see its logic. If left alone, the grief cubes would, as per their title, draw in and amplify the ambient disorder and discontent of those around them, leading them to respawn the daemons they contained; obviously something that just served to make things worse. If left unchecked, the levels of grief could spiral and reach heights so high they formed a barrier and entirely new daemons would start to spawn, upon which things could get very rapidly out of hand.

It was her duty, as a Puella Magi, to prevent that.

Torn for a moment between leaving this horrible place and difficulty of doing so with a fistful of grief cubes, she eventually decided to just detransform, setting her gem upon the desk and laying the grief cubes around it, ignoring the dull return of residual pain in her thigh.

Coral blue, just like her hair and the rest of her outfit, the small egg-sized gem glowed as little trails of grief peeled away into the cubes, making the gem shine visibly brighter by the second. She watched, arms folded and favouring her good leg as the taint she incurred from the battle drained away, like a heavy weight lifting from her shoulders. Paradoxically, the air felt fresh again, and soon even her ruined surroundings couldn't keep her spirit down, despite the seriousness of the situation.

When her gem finished draining - shining a point of brilliant, glorious blue alone in the haze of red - she cradled it in her hands and transformed back again, the gem exploding into motes of light that re-condensed at the base of her neck. The throb in her leg faded entirely.

The cubes, hard to look at now and radiating a truly dangerous sense of malevolence, were not much a concern. The Kyubey had already jumped up on the desk and begun flicking the cubes one by one into an organic 'hatch' that appeared from the teardrop marking on its back, going at its task in a way that Renza really, really wanted to describe as 'merrily' even though she knew better. It had disturbed her the first time she'd seen it, but felt familiar now. Reassuring, even; now this way the cubes couldn't harm anyone.

For a second, Renza wondered by just what Kaiser the little Kyubey had managed to even get them up here, but she discarded the thought just as quickly. They were Incubators; some things were just better unasked.

"All done?" She asked, as it finished the last one off with a little 'kyip!'

It answered by darting back up onto her shoulder; Renza almost protested before realising it had left no prints in the dust. Sure enough, a quick check proved there were no marks from it scampering up her costume. Well wasn't that convenient.

"Certainly. You gathered a profit from that engagement; good work."

She nodded, smiling. She'd found, through experience, that if she took out as many as possible in her opening strike she could focus more magic on the remainders; the cubes harvested from her opening salvo making up for the deficit in dealing with the survivors. She was getting there, slowly.

"Then, lets head back."

"As you wish."


At the Evidence Table, things were rapidly turning sour.

"...This still makes no sense." Ispettore Domhnall muttered, sipping a caff that had long grown cold and bitter since he'd snatched it from the cafeteria several hours ago. At the opposite end, Freiderike slumped, tapping her temple with her black glove-Device, dredging her brain to try and find some fresh, new angle they hadn't looked at already.

Between them, a matte black box - Diarmuid - rested, projecting pictures and information across the desk. Normally, the Evidence Table itself would handle that but Diarmuid, being an Investigative Device, had better functionality. A cable linked the two, connecting it to the Judicia Polizern's databases, as well as providing additional power.

On display was a map and overlaid 3D model of their two 'crime scenes'; the Polincia Boulevard, which was where the Veneti girl claimed to have last been conscious, and the roof of the office block on which she'd been found. Camera stills and markers hovered above the relevant points along with building information windows and demarcation of security viewcones, all in all serving to build a complete picture of collected data, evidence and events, in turn theoretically serving to build a picture of...

Domhnall frowned.

A picture of what, exactly? They'd been at it for three days, processing witness statements and waiting on lab analyses, but the whole thing remained stubbornly nonsensical; a jigsaw puzzle with half its pieces missing.

Those employed within the office building were proving increasingly a non-starter. Their contracts were all legitimate, their backgrounds checked out, and not a single person had seen Renza Veneti either carried up to the roof, or even before in their lives. When they'd found her, they called the emergency services, the Judiciary and the Medical Rescue Service swooped in, and the rest was pretty much history.

According to Veneti's own testimony, she had been attacked on the Boulevard, not on the roof. The evidence at least bore out the second part. It was a clear puncture wound caused by something extremely hot ramming cleanly through muscle and bone, yet the only bloodstains they'd found was the pool caused by the victim's leg bleeding out, not by it getting hit in the first place. A wound like that should leave some very explosive splatter marks. Conspicuously, both the roof and the Boulevard had neither.

It was possible, theoretically, that Veneti could have been incapacitated, injured elsewhere and then dumped on the roof, but that then rather begged the question of how her attacker had managed to miss. If they'd just intended to wound her - some local cartel or the Tosca trying to send a message - then... well, put bluntly, it was overkill. Especially when the girl lived in the slumdocks where the security grids were effectively non-existent, which seemed a far more intelligent place to stage this kind of thing.

Speaking of the cameras...

On the street-level feeds - private owned security loggers, which again had taken some time to get hold of - Veneti walked out of screen on one, never appeared on the other. That gave them a predictable area in which the crime took place (or started); the blind spot between the two security cameras, a small wedge-shaped area highlighted in blue on their map.

From the wound profile, they knew the girl had been hit from behind, from a low point of origin. They also knew roughly where she was standing and what direction she was headed when she want off camera; just walking down the centre of the Boulevard. A white dotted line plotted out the extrapolated path from where she left the first camera and should have reappeared on the next had she continued on her course. Only... for that to be true, whatever struck her should have appeared on both cameras; first as it came to strike her from behind, second as it continued straight through the other side as it had to have done with that kind of injury. That ruled out the attack taking place on the Boulevard.

Yet the only logical method by which Renza Veneti could reach a rooftop on Economic without ever appearing on cameras was the direct one: teleportation. Veneti herself was obviously ruled out from that (E-Rank), so that meant someone else would have to have taken her. A check with the Office of the Watch confirmed... no teleportation requests between those locations, no 'odd' signals and no attempts to bypass the interdiction network, which existed precisely to stop that kind of thing. And the idea of getting past that without leaving any traces whatsoever...

...None of this made sense. Instinct said that had to a simpler solution; they had to be looking at the data wrong somewhere; but it couldn't identify the correct means to approaching this.

He sipped his caff. It didn't help any.

Freiderike looked up as an alert blinked on her glove-Device. "Ah, that information warrant came though."

"Oh?" ...Which one was that again? "Let's have it."

The Junior Ispettore rapped her knuckles gently on the top of Diarmuid's blank surface, a soft green glow on the glove's part the only indication of a data transfer.

Windows, images and scrolls of text popped up around them, the 3D simulcra of the Polincia Boulevard shrinking itself into a corner to stay out of the way. Ah, his memory jogged; the request on the Veneti family. Chief amongst them was the Department of Health and Records' file on the Veneti girl; Domhnall pulled that over first with a mental command.

He sighed, rubbing at his stubble, and looked at the ID photograph of Renza Veneti hanging in the air before him. Most of the file was nothing new; just an ordinary 14 year-old from the slumdocks, the only mildly interesting thing about her the blue hair that spoke of some distant Al-Hazerdian contaminants in her genetic history. She wasn't even a powerful mage, just an E-Ranker; a regular civilian who could support a basic Jacket and not much else. Student at the Basso Trari on the Saint's Charity; studied Belkan history and kept the Saint's Faith. Nothing stand-out or exceptional.

He skimmed through what they had quickly; after the bio it was mostly just school records and attendance - odd number of hospital visits these past three months he noted; might mean trouble - before it went on to family history-

He flinched. "Wait. Take a look at her parents."

Freiderike, disturbed by his reaction, pulled up her own display - he'd long ago granted her access rights with Diarmuid for convenience's sake - and skimmed it herself.

"Sole guardian Ciardo Veneti, biological father; C-Rank mage, Myedoan style; dock worker. full time, Pasodine Shipyards." The Belkan read aloud. "No surviving extended family, shoplifting charge when he was 13, no further criminal record. Small hut on the waterline..." she frowned, reading the address, "that's Tosca territory, isn't it."

Domhnall nodded.

"Think he missed a protection payment?"

"Keep reading."

"Mother died in childbirth... Jeanne Delgado?" She pulled back, trying to pull the thread of information at the back of her mind. "Delgado." She tapped the table. "That name... where have I..."

"The Economic District." Domhnall supplied, watching Freiderike's eyes widen as the connection snapped into place.

"That Delgado? The conglomerate from Castilla? With the villa?"

He nodded, bouncing mental commands to Diarmuid whilst switching and scrolling datascreens. "The same one. I just checked the family tree; Jeanne Delgado was the 16th in line as heir. Even Renza Veneti is listed, down in the hundreds, if only on Governance records."

"...Kaisers."

"Yeah."

Freiderike stared at the display in a whole new light. "...and they live in Tosca territory. Saint's mercy..."

The Tosca. The Valezian Mob. Calling it a 'Mafia' implied too much class. Alongside the more mercenary Cosa Nostra, they were the biggest thorn in the Judiciary's side; part of what the organisation had been formed to break up in the first place.

Valezorro had a... complicated cultural history. Founded by the Valezi, the original settlers from Al-Hazard that had terraformed Caglica and built Valezorro upwards and outwards from its collection of island chains back in the ancient era, it had just been another island-city, like the neighbouring Castilla and Chaomin; Domhnall's own original port of origin. Throughout most of Caglican history it remained fairly isolated; just another link in the equatorial chain; developing its own culture and dialect like they all did, holding even throughout the Dawn States era that put the planet under Galean control, on the Belkan border.

And then the Warring States era happened. Caglica found itself swing back and forth like a pendulum; Belkan, Galean, Belkan again... and then some idiot detonated an ice cap.

Immigrants and refugees flooded everywhere. The Saint's Church practically had to form their own de facto governments just to organise the relief effort; the early starting point for the now separate Calgican Governance. The TSAB arriving - something he still vaguely remembered, though he'd only been ten at the time - was like a gift from the Kaisers themselves. Once the Ocean Crisis was resolved, Caglica could finally make the effort to modernise, leading to cities like Valezorro becoming even more multicultural with the rise of global transportation. And all that within a very condensed period of time, leaving some people with extremely ruffled feathers.

Increasingly, elements of the unemployed and working classes had begun to form groups. Accusing all non-Valezi of stealing jobs and destroying their culture, the Tosca took to its self-appointed task of keeping Valezorro 'clean' with batons, protection rackets and nail bombs, and with a disturbing amount of support amongst the slum-docks and the unemployed.

And if this girl was a bastard from a powerful Castillan clan...

"...We have a racial motivation." Freiderike concluded, having followed the same trail of logic. "Fuck."

Domhnall nodded. That had been pretty much his reaction. Not killing her made a little more sense in that light, at least... they'd been focusing on the method, not the motive. The truth would follow, now they knew where they were looking.

"You think they're sending a message to the Delgado?" Freiderike asked.

When where the Tosca not? "It seems the most likely option. I'll contact the Director; it looks like we'll need to flush out some rats..."


Ciardo Veneti drank. He drank so as to not think, to not worry about his injured daughter, so small in her hospital bed, his precious last piece of her, to not think of the medical bills that would rise even with the blessing of the Saint's Charity, to not think of his paycheck and how thin it would have to spread.

He drank to not think about the man opposite him.

"And the Judi seem to think we're responsible; white-washed traitors." The man spat, greasy blue hair wild and rough. "You've paid your protection money, good and loyal. Those Delgado bastards are probably trying to sweep up their trash, quei figli di puttana."

Ciardo choked. "Don't..."

"Si, si." The man waved him off. Every motion of his felt like a pulled spring; tense with anger, passion and a bitter, blinded rage that was held at bay, just for the moment. "Your daughter's no trash; is good girl. Probably good mother too. Those Castilli bastards won't care. Don't want a Valezi dirtying up their precious pictures, no? Probably sent the Judi up on us, miserable fucks."

Ciardo didn't think. Just nodded.

"You've always been right by us, Ciar." The man patted him on the shoulder. "You've always been loyal. We take care of our own."

The man pulled him close, made him see the fire and vengeance in his eyes and Ciardo desperately, desperately did not think. "We'll look after your daughter, camerata."

"The Tosca swears on that."