BAD GRACE - quantum witch © 2005
see Prologue for warnings, rating, and summary
In which War returns and meets yet another of the Seven Sins.
4:05 – FAST & FURIOUS
IN A CERTAIN COUNTRY IN SOUTH AMERICA, one could find (if one was very unlucky) what was considered to be the world's most violent and bizarre prison. Within its walls had grown a hierarchy unlike any other society on earth. The guards only guarded the doors leading outside, and mostly avoided going any deeper than the first level of hallways. Inside was another world, almost another dimension of cruelty and savagery unlike anything a relatively normal human could conceive of. Let's not try to get into details here. It's hard enough to imagine, let alone describe. Let's only say that if you were a prisoner there, and had a strong enough will to survive, you might live through your sentence (if it weren't eternal already) managing to lose only a few teeth, a limb that you probably didn't need anyway, and all sense of whatever it means to be a virgin.
There were entire societies within the walls of the prison. It wasn't much different than a rough inner city filled with thugs fighting over turf and other petty things, such as the desire to keep their blood in their own body. The biggest difference was the inability to open a window in prison, especially in the inner areas. The stronger members of the gangs took their pick of the weaker ones as servants, brides, and other entertainment. For punishment, the stronger herded the weaker into a small area and built invisible walls around them, daring them to break free. The smart didn't resist. The smart bowed down, bent over, and grabbed their ankles.
This was not the sort of place an intelligent, attractive, sensitive person would ever venture willing. At least not expecting to come away with sanity, looks, and soul. It explained why the police officers were all nearly as mad and violent as the prisoners.
And yet, here was to be found Vermeil Vreediger, born in The Netherlands and trained as an officer of the law, as well as being a four-time black belt. She was tall and pretty, with spiky pomegranate-red hair just above her collar, a smile that normally would melt hearts, and a figure to melt loins. Vermeil had always done what she could to protect and to serve. She had taken her oath seriously when she first pinned on her badge.
Even working in earth's version of Hell (though in fact it's worse than most areas of Below) she kept that oath. She never used excessive force against an inmate unless they touched her first. Which only happened once, per inmate. After that, their instinct for survival kicked in once they regained consciousness.
She had worked diligently for Holland's National Investigation Service for four years, making her way up to Chief Constable in record time, before deciding to transfer to South America. She had a burning desire make a real difference in the world, and her country simply wasn't as volatile. When she put in her request, she was not surprised to find that they frowned upon women in uniform, and that there existed only one agency for women. In fact, it was all women. The jail they served was largely women as well, though other jails kept female prisoners without concerning themselves over such an inconsistency. She hoped to set that right.
Eventually the transfer to the Federal Police came through. After two years, she was swiftly promoted to the virtually the same ranking as she'd had in Holland. And then she began to make subtle changes.
She convincingly got enough of the scarce funding available to open a second women-only agency, and worked very hard to get as many female and child offenders transferred there. She was so persuasive that within another year, she herself transferred to the largest all-male prison facility. Though she was now of high ranking, just below the city Mayor, she often walked the halls and chatted with prisoners.
Her influence was nothing short of amazing. Even being a beautiful woman, which normally would have incited at least the nominally heterosexual prisoners to loudly invite her to osculate their manly bits, her presence was calming. They liked her. They didn't fight or yell or complain when she was nearby. They called her 'the Chieftess'.
But she detested each and every one of them with all her heart. Keeping them calm just made her life smoother, and so she worked hard at it.
And one fateful evening, after her shift, she met someone who changed her life.
She was driving through town to her favourite bar, looking for a rowdy night of getting drunk off her arse and probably getting laid by whomever she chose. After a short while, she knew was being followed, even through heavy traffic. A large motorcycle, looked like a Harley. When she arrived at the Ter Ogulho Tolo, the bike parked beside her. It was the same shade of red as her car. And it was being ridden by a tall woman, dressed in clinging red leather.
The woman pulled off her helmet and tossed incredibly long hair the colour of blood over her shoulder, and she smiled with lips like rubies. Fluent and flawless Dutch came from between them. "Hey, hot stuff. Wanna go for a drink?"
Slightly surprised, but recovering quickly, Vermeil said, "Sorry, I don't swing that way. Try Ipanema.Lots of hookers down there." She smiled sweetly and walked into the bar.
The grinning red stranger was right behind her, swaying on high heeled boots. Every head turned in sheer awe.
Vermeil sat on a barstool and ordered a beer. She was greeted by other several regulars. They were on their best behaviour whenever Vreediger was around. After having their teeth handed to them in an ashtray a few times, they learned. Even violent drunks can be taught when something is slammed into their craniums like a jackhammer. A female jackhammer was just embarrassing, and therefore not to be repeated.
Red came to sit beside Vermeil, who turned to say something but caught sight of the woman's face in the mirror behind the bar, clearly for the first time. She paused. The two of them, side-by-side…
"Hey, Senhora Chefe, you didn't mention you had a twin sister. Gonna introduce us?" the barkeep asked, grinning and leering broadly.
"Carmine Zuigiber." The stranger held out her long-nailed hand, which the barman actually kissed. Speaking in perfect Portugeuse, she said, "Just got into town and I'm looking for a fight. Got any?"
He laughed. "Oh, have you ever come to the right place, lady. Just give us a few more minutes and some dumbass who's just gotten off work, got a little money to throw around, and doesn't realise the Chefe is here… Well, you'll see. Hope you can hold your own as well as your sister, here."
"You'd be surprised," Carmine laughed back.
"Excuse me," Vermeil said quietly when they were alone again, "but who the hell are you. For real."
"Your sister," Carmine turned to face her directly. "And together, we are about to make history. I've watched you for about a month now, after waltzing into that sty you call a prison. You are something else, darling."
Vermeil raised her eyebrows, then frowned. "No, if you had come into that place, I'd have known about it."
Carmine smiled smugly. "Doubtful. I have a way of hiding myself when I want to."
"What the hell are you, a ninja?" Vermeil scoffed and downed her second drink.
"Could be. They're deadly enough, but they don't wear my usual colours." She looked Vermeil up and down. "You do, though."
It was true. Vermeil wore mostly darker reds, wine-colours. It was soothing to her, even though the colour should never be soothing at all. It should be something that bulls and bull-headed men charge at, and they often did when they saw her. But red shouldn't have been the colour for her, especially with red hair and mahogany eyes. She shrugged. It was inconsequential. It was their far-too-similar faces that disturbed her. Maybe her parents had had a second daughter they hadn't mentioned? It was eerie.
"Come on, Red One," Carmine said, "let's fuck 'em up, good."
Vermeil's eyebrows went up and down again. "Don't you mean Two?"
Carmine laughed. "Why on earth would I mean that? You're the older of us. Trust me."
"Whatever. It can't be more than a couple years."
"No, probably not. Not since one tribe took away another tribe's fire. Yeah, not much younger at all." Carmine smiled and her teeth seemed to glint.
For the first time, Vermeil noticed the other woman's eyes were the oddest colour, a bright orange. Must be contact lenses. And she wasn't sure why she was entertaining the notion of a sister. It was utterly surreal. She drained her third drink hastily, and turned to look at the roomful of men.
Carmine turned with her, and surveyed the crowd of sweating men, the limitless violence simmering below the surface. She inhaled deeply and exhaled with satisfaction, as though smelling a field of pungent and unwashed roses. "Ah, nothing like it, eh, sis? So what would you like to do about it?"
"About… what?" Vermeil's vision was going woozy. Too much liquor? She usually could put away twice as much.
"About all of this. About the world…"
"Well… first I would like to beat the living shit out of everyone in this room, even the ones who act like they're nice. They only do it out of fear of me, not because they're good people inside. Then I would like to go to the prison and sit back to watch them all tear each other to pieces like lions devouring Christians, like gladiators in an arena of death. They would anyway, given half the chance. There isn't a decent excuse for a human being in the entire place. Hell, in most of the world. Humans are foul creatures. Created by a so-called perfect God, they are the most flawed things alive. Animals kill for food. People kill for fun. They are constantly torturing, raping, killing. Why don't they all just give in to it, become the beasts they are inside, what they used to be before they started to walk upright? I want them all to die screaming with spears in every orifice…"
Vermeil twitched, gave a tiny gasp, and slumped backward onto the bar. Trembling, she turned to look at her 'sister' and understood.
"War," she breathed softly. "Oh, is it good to see you. I thought I'd never get to see you up close again."
"Sis, you've just been boiling beneath the surface of humankind for a while, and now you've found your new host." Carmine squeezed her sibling's hand in sympathy. "I was gone for a little while too, but never for long. Neither of us ever are."
"Seems like forever…" Vermeil breathed shakily, then sat up straighter. "So I'm back, you're back. I sense most of the Others are back…"
"Yep, it's coming again. Won't be for a few more years. But meanwhile..."
Vermeil-Wrath grinned, her teeth like a row of sharpened bone blades. She was indeed older. People had always known her, since before War was conceived.
"Meanwhile... what were saying about fucking 'em up?"
"I could just use some real action again. It's been a while just inspiring and inciting, but not indulging, you know?" War smiled her bullet smile, and waved her arm gracefully at the crowd like a game-show spokesmodel demonstrating a fabulous prize. "Shall we?"
"Yes. Let's."
The ensuing battle in the bar left seventeen dead, twenty-four wounded seriously, destroyed the place utterly and catching it and the surrounding buildings on fire. It also spilled out onto the streets, killing and maiming forty-two 'innocent' bystanders, and swarmed throughout twelve city blocks and hit triple digit casualties before anyone even tried to contain it. The police force were reluctant to get involved, and eventually called the army, who had to give in and call outside countries for aid. Within a few days, it had become a death zone.
It made the prison look like a safe haven in comparison.
War and her Sinful Sister walked away, arm in arm, heading for another town. Maybe next they could play cowboys and Indians, instead of cops and robbers.