6. Buying Clothes, Killing

As Horst had instructed, Tujea left the church and began walking eastward along the road. ღ(¯`◕‿◕´¯) ♫ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♫ (¯`◕‿◕´¯)ღ He still had his collar turned up and walked quickly; the Second Quarter now presented a completely different scene.

Vendors hawked their wares alongside the hurried workers, trying to sell them cheap cigarettes or unlabeled energy bars. Many vehicles passed by in the middle of the road, but there were almost no police cars.

Smoke and dust billowed in the sky as the factories, which had been working through the night, roared on the distant horizon, new plumes of smoke rising from their chimneys and drifting toward the still-unpolluted skies of Litatera.

It was an unusual sight; to call it vibrant would be an exaggeration, but it was far from lifeless. This scene left Tujea slightly lost in thought, stirring up some memories within him.

He quickly extinguished the memory, like a seasoned smoker skillfully stubbing out a cigarette. He didn't smoke, but he frequently extinguished memories.

He continued walking along the road, his pace quickening. Before long, he found the shop. The pure white signboard read "Clothing for Sale, Cutting, and Repair" in black lettering, not in fancy font, but in a very simple printed font.

Tujea stared at it for a while before pushing open the door and going inside. The shop was much larger than he had expected.

For a clothing store without a window display, the space here is surprisingly large. Not only that, there are even two guards here. They are wearing light and well-fitting bulletproof armor, and heavy pistols are hanging on their belts.

They approached him and began searching him. Tujea did not stop them, and as always, they were unable to find his gun on him.

"What is it?" a guard asked.

"Buying clothes," Tujea replied cautiously. He struggled to keep his green eyes from meeting the guard's gaze under his hat; his professional habit was becoming increasingly pronounced.

"Come in, sir." Another guard nodded to him and raised his right hand. "Ms. Anais is inside."

"Thank you," Tujea said.

He walked inside, deliberately slowing his pace and observing the various parts of the shop. The shop was probably quite old; the green paint on the walls had even faded, and a thick, dark gray carpet covered the floor.

Jackets, work pants, and boots of all kinds were crammed into both ends of the shop. The Second District wasn't a particularly upscale neighborhood; most of its residents were workers. Considering that, the shop's business was probably quite good.

But what about those two guards?

With this question in mind, Tujea walked expressionlessly deeper into the shop. Through a long white desk, he saw a blonde woman. She was thin, with sunken cheeks, and her gray eyes were staring at Tujea rudely.

"You must be the investigator who caused such a commotion here all night, right?"

Here we go again.

"Your information network is really good," Tujea said. "Yes, that's me."

"So, are you here to buy clothes, or to conduct a survey?" the blonde woman continued to press.

"Just buying clothes."

What kind of clothes?

Tujea did not answer, but instead looked away. He left his spot, picked up a heavy, dark blue long jacket, and placed it on the desk.

"How much?" he asked.

The blonde woman didn't answer, but slowly stood up from behind her desk. She wore a long, silver-white dress, adorned with shimmering sequins that followed her waistline, outlining her graceful figure.

She gracefully stepped out of the desk, her right hand still resting on her jacket. She stared coldly at Tujea, remaining silent. An awkward stalemate ensued, and Tujea had no choice but to speak again, offering a concession in advance.

"How much money do you want?" he asked again.

The woman squinted her eyes.

"It's not about the money," she shook her head. "I can't sell it to you; it'll get me into trouble. You walked into my shop in front of everyone on the street, do you understand?"

"Nobody's following me. I've made that right many times."

How do you know no one is there?

"Because I'm an investigator," Tujea replied calmly.

The woman scoffed, "Come on, an investigator who made himself known to everyone the moment he stepped off the ship? I can't trust you, and I can't sell you my clothes."

Tujea paused for a few seconds, then slowly uttered a name: "Reverend Horst sent me here."

The woman's expression changed instantly. It wasn't that she immediately started smiling, but rather that her initial icy demeanor softened slightly. However, she remained vigilant, her hand still resting on the jacket.

Tujea knew his strategy was working, so he began to skillfully obscure the facts to give himself an advantage in the stalemate.

"I spent the night in the church," he continued, tugging at his coat so she could see the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. They had been changed and were now covering his blood-stained shirt.

The woman sighed helplessly and released her right hand.

"Five Imperium Currencies," she uttered a number.

Tujea nodded, immediately took out a banknote and paid the money without the slightest hesitation.

What followed unfolded quite naturally; the woman led him to the back door of the shop. She looked surprised when he pulled a handful of candy from his coat. However, when she saw the gun, her face quickly darkened.

"This isn't your shop assistant's problem, ma'am," Tujea said. "Besides, could you please keep this dress for me for a while?"

"What do you mean?" the woman asked, staring at him.

I will come back to get it.

The woman gave a soft snort, "You'll be successful if you just survive today."

Tujea said nothing, simply placing the gun in the deep pocket of his jacket; he hadn't put it in any other clothing for many years. And with that, he left the shop through the alley.

Compared to the streets, the world in the alleys is much more oppressive. Although the buildings in the second district are relatively low, sunlight hardly reaches them.

The homeless men reeked of a sour stench, lying listlessly in the shadows, their hands either empty or strewn with a few syringes. Tujea walked calmly, staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

He spent two Terra returning to the Second Precinct Police Station in Litatera. As he stepped up the stairs and pushed open the door, he immediately attracted countless eyes.

The police officer standing behind the filthy reception desk stared at him, as did the two law enforcement team members escorting the prisoner, and the clerks behind their desks, wrestling with their documents.

Even a Servo-skull paused its movements, its red-glowing eye sockets aimed at Tujea's face.

Something's not right.

Tujea gripped his gun tightly in his jacket pocket, ignoring the stares, and walked toward the room he had once been in.

He knocked on the door and only entered after receiving permission. Just a second before he closed the door, the world outside suddenly returned to normal, with all sorts of noises rushing back in, completely transforming the scene into what a normal police station should look like.

As he listened to those sounds, Tujea's mood gradually sank.

He closed the door, and the soundproof office fell silent once more.

"Investigator, you're back. Is there any progress?" the woman behind the desk asked with a smile.

Her chestnut eyes remained very indifferent.

Tujea didn't speak, but slowly returned to the chair he used to sit in. It still made him very uncomfortable, and the woman's gaze was fixed on his eyes, trying to dig something out of them.

As she wished, Tujea slowly began to speak.

"Now, under your desk, there's a Catachan MK3 pointing right at you. Twelve rounds are in the magazine, waiting for me to pull the trigger and fire them."

"Gentlemen--"

"--Shut up, and listen to me." Tujea interrupted her coldly and pressed the hammer. A hint of tension finally appeared in the woman's eyes, meaning she heard the click of the hammer being pulled down.

That's good, just what he wanted.

"I have some questions for you," Tujea said. "From the time I finish asking the question to your answer, the time should ideally not exceed five seconds."

"Once you exceed that limit, I will shoot. I will fire all twelve bullets into your body, turning you into a bloody, mangled mess. At the same time, I require you to remain calm. If I see even the slightest irrational behavior, I will still pull the trigger."

"You'd better not beat around the bush when you answer my questions. If I sense even the slightest hint of deception, I'll still shoot. And I'll deliberately miss the first few shots so you don't die too quickly. My first question is, is my whereabouts being leaked related to you?"

He slowly leaned back, calmly pressing down the brim of his hat with his left hand.

"You can start answering questions now, or start betting on whether what I'm saying is true or false."

The woman stiffly placed her hands on the table, behaving very tactfully. Then, she exhibited symptoms of oxygen addiction very similar to those of Tujea.

She took a deep breath and said, "Yes, sir, it's related."

Why did you do that?

"Because..." The woman pursed her lips, appearing very hesitant.

This was only the second question, yet she already showed this expression. Tujea narrowed his eyes, already having a guess in his mind. So, he calmly finished the second half of her sentence.

"Is it because a nobleman asked you—no, asked you all to do this? He or she probably also asked you to monitor me and immediately send the message back the moment I appear."

The woman stared at him in astonishment.

"Yes, or no?" Tujea asked calmly.

The woman nodded with great difficulty.

"Very well, I understand," Tujea said. "Then, could you provide me with a name? Something about this nobleman?"

"Moran."

Tujea nodded, took off his hat, and deftly ran his left hand behind his left ear. In front of the woman, he placed the wide-brimmed hat on his lap and reached inside to grope around for a moment.

The woman watched him nervously, but the height of the desk prevented her from seeing what he was doing. Tujea slowly crumpled the candy wrapper he had folded into a long strip into a ball, then gently tossed it on the ground.

The office was eerily quiet; even the sound of crumpled paper hitting the floor was clearly audible. The woman swallowed hard, and before she could ask anything, Tujea put his hat back on.

He slowly stood up, the gun barrel inside his jacket pointed at the woman's head.

"What was just placed under your desk was a miniature time bomb, provided by Terra's Adeptus Arbites headquarters."

The woman's face began to twitch.

"It can blow you and this entire precinct to smithereens. Your body will vaporize right there at this distance, leaving no trace. They'll declare you dead in the line of duty, and there won't be anything in your grave."

Please, please.

"Shut up." Tujea gave a calm, comfortable, and slightly amused smile.

"I'll leave now, and you'd better keep quiet and not give any orders. I'll wait across the street for about ten minutes before leaving, and if I see any officers leaving the Second Precinct during that time, the bomb will be detonated."

"You don't have to do this," the woman said, her mouth dry as she began to try to save her life, which was not in any real danger. "Listen to me, sir, you really don't need to do this."

Tujea shook his head.

"No, it's necessary. Besides, because of what you said, I might have to wait even longer before leaving. This is the second bet between us; you can try testing my patience."

The woman was speechless; her pale face was covered in sweat, and her lips trembled uncontrollably. Tujea nodded to her, his smile fading, and slowly walked to the door.

"Now, I'm leaving. Please remain calm, rational, and peaceful. If you make a sound or give any signal to anyone else, I will kill you first and then detonate the bomb. Do you understand?"

Also, thank you for the excellent soundproofing in your office.

The woman wiped the cold sweat from her face, nodded with trembling hands, and even forced herself to return a smile.

Tujea pushed open the door and walked steadily away from the police station in charge of the second district. However, he did not leave immediately but instead turned and went into a small alley.

He remained in the shadows, waiting patiently. His green eyes glowed eerily in the darkness, like those of a ravenous monster.

Three Terra later, after Tujea had eaten his eleventh candy, the police station doors were flung open. The enforcement team and officers rushed out, got into their vehicles, and sped away. Those without cars ran as fast as they could, afraid of falling behind.

Judging from their expressions, some of them probably made them some promises.

How interesting, such a grand gesture!

After waiting in the alley for another twenty minutes, Tujea raised his hand and slowly unbuttoned his newly bought jacket. He took off the jacket, folded it up, and wrapped it around his right hand.

His gun was tucked inside his clothes, his index finger firmly on the trigger. He left the alley, calmly crossed the street, and pushed open the revolving door again, going inside. A Servo-skull hummed as it turned its head, stared at him for a moment, and then the red light in its eye sockets suddenly began to flash rapidly.

Without hesitation, Tujea fired a shot. It fell to the ground, billowing black smoke and sparks flying. Tujea strode over it and began to run at full speed toward the office.

He burst through the door and saw a woman, her face contorted in panic, trying to pull a gun from her belt. On her desk lay a crumpled piece of gray paper used to wrap candy.

Never disappoint the Emperor, citizen!

I probably don't.

"Raise your hands," Tujea said slowly.

The woman did as she was told, her movements swift, more than twenty times faster than when she drew her gun.

"Detective Nitaroya, has anyone ever told you that you're actually not suited for the job of a sheriff?"

"No, no," the woman replied, her face covered in cold sweat.

Tujea nodded. "So now you've heard me, stand up, Inspector."

What are you going to do?

"I'd like to borrow your badge," Tujea said. "It's completely useless on your chest; I'd rather use it for something truly useful."

Yes, it was useful—at least in Tujea's view, using the sheriff's authority to access the entire police intranet of Litatera through the Cogitator within the police department was a very useful thing.

He stood in the police station's records room, holding a gun to the back of Detective Nitaroya's head, watching her clumsily and laboriously retrieve data from the Cogitator's console.

The wonderful taste of candy still lingered on his tongue, while the astringent taste of industrial chemicals made him squint slightly, his attention extremely focused.

"It's all here, I swear," the female detective said with difficulty. "All the information on the Moran Family is here. Listen, this is just a political deal, sir. You've seen this countless times."

"Yes, yes. I've seen it all before," he thought to himself.

The female detective, of course, was unaware of his inner thoughts and continued to chatter nervously, trying to buy herself another chance at life.

"You know how someone like me survives, so you don't need to kill me. I promise, I'll forget your face. As long as you leave the police station, I won't remember anything."

Tujea didn't speak, but slowly imprinted the words on the Cogitator's screen into his mind, word for word. Investigators in the Adeptus Arbites all had some talent in this area, and Tujea was naturally one of them.

He memorized them and silently repeated those key pieces of information several times before removing the gun from the female detective's head. She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, forcing a smile as she turned her head, only to see Tujea's expressionless face.

"Where do you live?" he suddenly asked.

Nitaroya froze, only snapping out of her daze when the gun was pressed against her forehead. She gave a place name, Tujea nodded, then asked, "How big is it?"

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"How big is it, Inspector?"

"It... it has four layers," the female detective said with difficulty. She had realized something, and her body was trembling.

"And your salary is clearly not enough to afford a house like this," Tujea said, then suddenly nodded at her and moved the gun away.

He said, "I understand. Corruption is the norm in the Hive City's bureaucratic system, and I don't despise people like you. Collusion between nobles and bureaucrats is a normal practice within the Imperium."

The female detective's lifeless expression slowly came to life. She looked at Tujea in disbelief, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

"Thank you! Thank you, sir! Thank you--!" She broke down in tears, as if she had been rescued.

Then, she heard a soft click.

Tujea pressed the hammer.

"But I don't believe you know nothing about what happened last night," he said expressionlessly. "You know exactly what Chupani Moran is up to, yet you still chose to help him today."

The female detective trembled violently, shaking her head repeatedly, tears streaming down her face, but she couldn't utter a single word.

"You're a man without principles, Inspector. I hate people like you, but that's not why I decided to kill you."

Tujea pulled the trigger, turned and left without giving a reason. The female detective, her eyes wide open in death, leaned her head back against the pierced Cogitator, her expression blank, overflowing with fear and blood gushing from the smashed back of her head.

The police station returned to silence, but soon after, a gentle breeze from who-knows-where blew open the floor-to-ceiling window of the archives balcony, and a giant appeared silently like Ghost.

He stood beside the female detective's body for a moment, her unfocused pupils reflected in his somber yellow glasses. After a few seconds, he extended a finger and closed the female detective's eyes.

A hissing sound began to echo in the command room.

"He has obtained the crucial information."

"Yes, I understand."

"Continue to follow him? But without leaving a trace?"

The giant sighed, "Very well, my lord. In Shen's name, I wish you a glorious death, free from the need to enter the sacred realm of Dreadnought and endure suffering."

A foul curse rang out from inside his helmet, the giant chuckled, and as the breeze blew again, his figure vanished.