A Visitor from Afar (66k)

Tujea slowly sat down. 6♥9♥s♥h♥u♥x♥.♥c♥o♥m

"Was your journey pleasant, Mr. Investigator?" a woman asked with a smile.

Her chestnut eyes held a coldness completely opposite to her expression. Her skin was pale, and a long scar ran from her right cheekbone down to her lower lip, turning her thin lips into four pieces. It was strange, and she was by no means beautiful.

Chemicals and the intensity of her work ravaged the woman's natural beauty, transforming her into someone who was clearly difficult to get along with.

But this is not something Tujea needs to worry about.

"Not very good," he said.

His journey was certainly not pleasant; he arrived in this remote world aboard a cargo ship.

Moreover, he was just one of countless investigators employed by the Imperium Adeptus Arbites Department, and his salary was meager. This made it difficult for him to secure a private room on any ship, even cargo ships.

So he had to share a filthy room with forty-two sailors; it was dark, hot, and incredibly damp. His clothes were constantly switching between wet and dry, and the food was terrible.

In reality, the food was always terrible.

"Oh, I deeply sympathize," the woman said insincerely. "So, what brings you here?"

"Investigation," Tujea said.

He tilted his head back and took off his wide-brimmed hat. This black felt hat had been with him for a long time and was no longer the same as it used to be.

"An investigation?" the woman asked.

Tujea stopped looking at her and shifted his gaze to other corners of the room. He began to observe and nodded.

"What do you want to investigate, sir?"

"Just some trivial matters," Tujea turned back and gave her a dry answer to her question.

At the same time, he reached his right hand into the inside pocket of his coat. The woman's cold gaze moved at a steady pace, following his hand into the pocket.

A few seconds later, Tujea pulled out a handful of organic candies. They were wrapped in cheap gray paper with crooked, wrinkled writing printed on them. It took him several minutes to pick out one.

The woman stared at him silently as he put the rest of the candy into the right pocket of his coat. Her eyes continued their strange, unwavering movement.

Tujea ignored her. He simply lowered his head, slowly unwrapped the specially selected candy, and popped it into his mouth. His ravaged taste buds didn't perceive any sweetness, only a strange sourness.

He squinted, seemingly enjoying himself.

"Investigator," the woman finally spoke again, "Welcome to Litatera."

Tujea nodded to her, stood up, placed the candy wrapper on the table, and carefully smoothed it out, revealing a line of small gray text.

The Emperor awaits, citizens!

He left the candy wrapper behind, put on his hat, and turned to leave the Second Precinct police station in Litatera.

His ship was docked at the starport in this area and underwent inspection, so he had to show his identification to the law enforcement team who came to check him. They immediately became nervous when they saw the identification with Aquila on it.

Even a low-level investigator possesses a certain power that they absolutely cannot defy, let alone this person who appears to be no ordinary individual.

So, about fourteen minutes later, Tujea was taken back to his post by officers from the Second District who rushed over, where he underwent a document check and some simple questioning.

Of course, during those fourteen minutes of waiting, the cargo ship's captain kept cursing him in public.

Tujea ignored him.

Just like now, he ignored the stares coming from all around him. He walked slowly, aimlessly along the dirty, greasy road for about two-thirds of Terra time.

Litatera was no different from any other Hive City he had ever seen; the environment was just as terrible, just as lifeless. Cars would occasionally speed by in the middle of the road, mostly police cars, and sometimes transport trucks.

The buildings on both sides of the road were very old and looked dusty. The sky was gloomy, and night was approaching. Workers in blue-green uniforms walked wearily with lifeless steps, heading home or elsewhere.

The workers who were to replace them walked past them with even more resigned expressions, their toes sweating and wrinkled inside their boots, cowering at the prospect of the grueling work to come, yet with no way to escape.

Tujea reached into his coat and stopped at the roadside.

He had no suitcase or anything else with him, at least not now; the captain had burned them all. He was angry and furious, so he did something irrational. But that's alright, Tujea understood him.

If a cargo ship gets involved with investigators, it can basically forget about ever engaging in smuggling again. Moreover, for all captains, smuggling is the most stable source of income.

The smugglers who roam the galaxy have a much better reputation than the Imperium.

Tujea squinted his eyes.

The crowd came and went, but he remained unmoved. He stood in the sea of bluish-gray, like a dark gray ghost. His overcoat was dirty, his pockets bulging, and his green eyes under his black wide-brimmed hat scanned the surroundings like a hungry eagle.

A few minutes later, he left his spot and continued walking along the sidewalk. He had never been to Litatera before, and this area was naturally one of them. But somehow, he seemed to know how to find his way.

As time went by, his footsteps quickened, and the ground beneath his old boots grew increasingly dirty and filthy. The air he breathed was also changing from sweltering to cool, and the pungent smell of chemicals filled his nostrils.

He walked downhill until he reached a strong man, at which point he slowly stopped.

The man was slightly taller than him and was looking down at him. His leather coat didn't fit him well, and it was very tight around the arms. He was holding an Autogun and stood in front of a door.

The surface of this heavy iron door is dazzling, displaying a myriad of colors. But these are not its original colors; they are created by the neon tubes that have been tied to the door with wire.

The light bulb bent, forming a dozen or so letters, which then pieced together a difficult neologism. A terrifying noise was coming from behind the door, accompanied by vibrations.

[Giggle Kiss]

"What do you want?" the man with the gun asked rudely.

"I want to go in," Tujea said.

What are you doing?

"Drink wine."

"We don't sell alcohol! Get out of here!" the man roared rudely, stench and saliva spraying from his mouth.

His teeth were in terrible condition, and of course, the claim that he didn't sell alcohol was a lie, not to mention his utterly rude "get lost." However, for the sake of the gun in his hand, Tujea temporarily accepted the lie as the truth and silently forgave his rude behavior.

Logically speaking, people who are looking for trouble would usually be scared off at this stage, but Tujea is different.

He's an expert at creating trouble out of nothing.

"Let me in," he said, tilting his head back. "I won't be in there for long."

"Oh, don't even think about it." The man forced a fake smile at him. "Do you think I don't know who you are, idiot? News of what happened at Starport has already spread!"

At the same time, Tujea keenly sensed some deliberately made noise behind him. Some people were gradually approaching; clearly, this bar, like countless others in its line of work, had deployed many guards.

He frowned.

Yes, everyone living in the gray area of Hive City has an intelligence network, whether rudimentary or complex. They are always well-informed and always manage to get what they want through various means.

However, he only stayed at the police station for less than forty minutes.

Even including the time it took him to get here, it wouldn't have taken more than three Terra hours. That's not even enough time for an addict to get a quickie, yet his identity has already been completely exposed.

Just as he was thinking, a gun was pressed against his waist. Tujea turned his head and saw an ugly, sweating face.

"You don't want to die, do you, Mr. Investigator?" the man asked.

"Of course," Tujea said.

Aside from that, he didn't say anything. Everything seemed calm, but his muscles were completely tense. All of this was due to a scent he had smelled.

It was a strong, abnormal stench emanating from the owner of that ugly, sweaty face.

Tujea slowly raised his hands, turned around, and walked through the ill-intentioned crowd, gradually leaving the alleyway, memorizing the faces of those who reeked of foul odor.

To his slight surprise, everyone except the big man had that smell.

Thinking about these things, he walked out of the alley, but didn't go far. Instead, he leaned against the wall on the left side of the alley entrance and slowly reached his right hand into the inside pocket of his coat.

By now, the sky had completely darkened. Perhaps because it was far from normal residential areas, the place was neither dark nor bright; the low-rise buildings possessed an eerie quality that was unsettling.

Tujea glanced at them absentmindedly, and then pulled out a heavy revolver. An extended barrel, twelve rounds, a composite grip.

He had been searched three times on his journey to this remote world: once on a cargo ship, once by a law enforcement team, and finally at a police station.

However, for some reason, neither the sailors, the distracted law enforcement team members, nor the officers on high alert noticed the heavy weapon that had been tucked into the inside pocket of Tujea's coat, as if it had never existed before.

"That bastard is absolutely insane, damn it, these investigators are crazy. Litatera isn't a place they can just run wild in," someone said as he walked towards where he was.

There were many footsteps, not just one. The sound of their boots hitting the ground was not pleasant, as noisy as their snickers. They joked as they slowly approached. Clearly, they were worried about Tujea and wanted to confirm that he was really gone.

This gave him an opportunity.

A gunshot rang out, a bullet piercing a sweat-drenched, ugly face. Three more shots followed. Tujea emerged from behind the wall, his overcoat billowing, his green eyes beneath his felt hat intently fixed on the group of dumbfounded guards.

That was their final expression.

Tujea fired all twelve bullets in one go, leaving seven corpses behind. He turned around, ejected the bullets, reloaded, and slowly returned to the alley entrance, leaning against the wall again to wait.

About half a minute later, heavy footsteps echoed rapidly from the alleyway, followed by a man's heavy breathing. He approached, then froze, his breathing ceasing instantly. Tujea could almost picture the expression on his face.

But he still wanted to see it with his own eyes.

So he left the wall and returned to the alley.

He was holding a gun.

"Don't move," Tujea said, coughing twice. "You don't want to die, citizen?"

The strong man released his grip at lightning speed, wisely tossing his Autogun into the pool of blood and the corpses of his comrades. The shock and confusion on his face were rapidly transforming into a more complex mix of emotions. Tujea ignored him, merely tilting his head to signal him to turn around.

The man nervously complied, sweat beading on the back of his neck. Tujea raised his right foot, kicking him to the ground and pointing a gun at the back of his head. He glanced back at the alley entrance; no one had come to check yet.

That's good; it shows that the security situation here isn't much different from the worlds he's experienced. Law enforcement and officers prefer to stay in relatively safe areas, while these gray areas are maintained by their inhabitants themselves.

Tujea turned around and pressed the gun against the back of the man's head.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"What?"

"Who's in charge of this place?" Tujea asked, slowly pressing down the hammer.

He had asked this question at least a dozen times; there were many such people in every Hive City. "Manager" was just one of the titles; they were also bosses, bastards, sluts, and murderers or sadists.

But to Tujea, they were all the same. They all deserved to die.

"Gore!" the man answered immediately.

"I won't ask how you knew my identity, but I need to know something else. I have only one request of you: citizen, do you understand? Just this one request. If you agree, I'll leave immediately."

"Speak up, you damned bastard!" the man said, trembling.

"Where can I find him, Gore?" Tujea asked. "I need to hear at least three place names from you."

The man did as he was told. Tujea only wanted three, but he gave him twelve. His mouth became a machine gun, and the place names were the ammunition, gushing out of his mouth incessantly.

His Low Gothic accent was very strange. Tujea yawned and couldn't help but tap his head with his left hand. His mind was gradually drifting away; while memorizing those names, he had even begun to speculate about the big man's childhood.

"Is that all?" Tujea asked.

"Even if you kill me, you won't get any more!" the man screamed in reply.

"Well then, thank you for your cooperation, citizen," Tujea said. "I won't kill you, after all, you are a citizen of the Imperium. Of course, these people don't count. Now, I want you to do two other things for me, can you do that?"

The man nodded stiffly.

"I want you to lie face down with your hands behind your head and stay there for at least five minutes. I'll leave at four minutes and thirty seconds. You can choose to wait until the time is up, or get up early and take a gamble with me."

"Just a friendly reminder, I value punctuality very much and absolutely keep my promises. Therefore, I go crazy whenever I see someone who is unpunctual and likes to lie. Do you understand?"

The man lay face down in the pool of blood, letting out a muffled groan.

"Thank you, citizen. Well, one last thing. I need you to report something to your boss."

Tujea turned his head to look at the seven corpses.

"W-what's wrong?"

"Have him investigate these people," Tujea said. "A gray order is still an order, don't you think?"

--

Tujea didn't particularly like interrogations.

Don't get me wrong, he likes what he gets after interrogations—intelligence, information, names, or locations. But he dislikes the interrogation process itself; he doesn't want to get himself all dirty. However, sometimes you have to do that to get the job done even slightly.

"Continue, citizen," Tujea said. "Until you finish drawing."

A female employee sitting opposite him, sobbing, nodded tremblingly and began to scribble and draw on the paper in front of her with double the effort. She was not harmed; after all, this was a legitimate institution, and she was just an ordinary person trying to make a living.

The reason she was crying was simply because she was frightened. This was understandable, after all, not long ago, Tujea had taken down all the guards in the exchange right in front of her, very swiftly and efficiently, without a single shot being fired.

Tujea listened to her sobs and the sound of a pencil scratching on paper, and slowly lowered his head. He raised his right foot and kicked a man. The man groaned, his hand reaching for his gun froze, and a vicious look mixed with fear appeared on his bruised cheek.

"Gore will kill you, investigator," he mumbled. "You have no idea who you're up against."

"No, I understand perfectly," Tujea said. "Also, I'm sorry, citizen."

He raised his foot and kicked the man in the face, knocking him unconscious.

Of course, Tujea didn't know if Gore had the guts and determination to kill an investigator, but he would decide whether or not to kill Gore based on the circumstances.

He had that authority. The term "investigator" was essentially a euphemism, and Tujea was well aware of the nature of his work and understood the Adeptus Arbites's sole requirement for them. Tujea didn't always follow that requirement; he had his own principles.

However, this Gore, whom he had never met, may very well have violated this principle.

His principles, not those of the Adeptus Arbites.

Frankly speaking, there are quite a few people like this. Most people who have a certain amount of power in the gray area are actually very afraid of dying.

They know what they can and cannot do. Smuggling contraband and dangerous goods are two completely different things, but some people just can't distinguish right from wrong. They not only like to challenge local laws, but also the laws of the Imperium.

Tujea would not refer to these people as citizens of the Imperium.

The pencil scratching sound suddenly stopped.

"Have you finished drawing?" Tujea asked.

The female employee nodded tearfully and handed him a rudimentary map marked with twelve place names that Tujea had gotten from the big man. Also, if you ask, yes, the exchange he was currently in wasn't any of those locations.

He wasn't familiar with Litatera, but he was very familiar with the gray area. He understood that in such a place, any "legitimate institution" that might have even the slightest connection to the authorities must have someone standing behind it.

So he chose an exchange and barged in. He was lucky; although he didn't find Gore, he also didn't run into a new "manager" and even got a map—

"--Ring ring"

Tujea turned his head and looked at the telephone mounted on the wall with a brass handle. He didn't answer it immediately, but first nodded to the female employee and thanked her for her help.

He then lowered his head and began to carefully fold the map, taking the opportunity to observe the view outside the open door. Sure enough, he caught a glimpse of several Shadow flickering in the darkness.

Tujea raised his head, put the map into his coat pocket, then walked to the phone and answered it.

He didn't speak, just waited. A few seconds later, a woman's voice came from the other end of the phone. "You're a madman, investigator."

"Thank you, Citizen Gore," Tujea said, leaning against the wall and putting his right hand into the inside pocket of his coat. He remained motionless in that position, observing the view outside the door.

The number of Shadow he saw was increasing.

"You've humiliated me today. Although Giggle Kiss isn't my business, the people you killed will be held accountable. I was paid to send them there, do you understand?"

"Are they your people?" Tujea raised an eyebrow.

"So what if it is?" Gore asked, sounding slightly impatient.

"Then I suggest you investigate them. This isn't meant to sow discord, just a simple suggestion; whether you follow it or not is up to you. Also, Citizen Gore, did you send anyone?"

"No, just a few little bastards who tipped me off," Gore replied after a moment of silence. "What do you mean?"

Tujea put down the phone and pulled the trigger towards the door. Twelve bullets, twelve shots, deafeningly loud. After firing all his bullets, he tucked the phone between his neck and head before continuing to reload.

"Damn it, what happened?!" Gore roared into the phone. "I'm warning you, you better not touch anyone in that exchange!"

"I didn't kill them," Tujea said. "It was others who wanted to kill me."

As if in response to his words, a corpse smashed through the glass doors of the stock exchange, fell backward, and blood immediately stained the black and white floor.

"What?"

"You heard me right," Tujea replied, beckoning to the female employee, but she wouldn't dare leave her desk. He could only sigh and switch to another plan.

He raised his gun, aimed it outside the stock exchange, and then said into the phone, "Can you send someone to support me?"

"What?" Gore asked in a puzzled tone.

"My death will do you no good, Citizen Gore. Given the speed of your intelligence network, quite a few people probably already know I'm looking for you."

"Therefore, if I die or go missing, the news will quickly leak out and rumors will spread that you killed me."

"Then, according to the law, Litatera's law enforcement and police will have no choice but to come looking for me. You will be in trouble, believe me. Therefore, your best option now is to send someone to support me and pray to the Emperor that I will not die."

After finishing his long speech, Tujea shut his mouth and fired twelve more bullets toward the gate.

The attackers yelled and returned fire from outside, but their aim was terrible, and very few bullets even penetrated the exchange. However, Tujea was now beginning to regret stunning all the guards.

He lowered his head to reload and awaited a response.

After an extremely reluctant silence on the other end of the phone, Gore spoke.

"Go out from the back and head east. You'll see a church," she said slowly. "There are still twenty-two minutes until midnight. If you can get into that church before midnight, you'll be safe."

She hung up the phone.

Tujea slowly frowned.

Midnight? Church?

For some reason, he felt a chill.