Blood and Heavy Metals [Open]

[Emma T. Baskerville]

It was such an easy thing, death.

His name as he had given it here was Cyro. He was conventionally handsome, long-limbed, with a swimmer's build, skin pale and unblemished, still wearing a stained blue apron from where he'd been working as an alchemist's apprentice. His body had been arranged, as if in prayer, on its knees, hands clasped together. But for the tinge of purple on his lips, and the clouding of his eyes he might have gotten up at any moment. Emma sighed, and lit her cigarillo, holding it away from her lips as she contemplated the scene. Marines milled around her, uncertainly, cordoning off the area for the tenth or so time.

Another agent, dead.

That made four so far. Four highly trained, exceedingly capable assassins dead.

Emma took a drag, heedless of the ashy mess as she breathed in the tar and nicotine. The air in the heavy metals section of the Alchemist Archipelago was foul beyond belief, a muggy, sulfurous odor that stung both tongue and nose, coloring the clouds yellow and green and generally making a nuisance of the local birth rates, not to mention mortality.

Breathing smoke out of her nostrils, she bent to her knees, and carefully unclasped the hands. A single black petal fell out, slowly fluttering to the ground.

Just before it hit the ground it burst into flame.

She got up, calmly taking another puff. Well, well, well.

So it was confirmed then.

There was a serial killer stalking cipher pol agents.

Furrowing her brow, the Cipher Pol Bloodhound took a careful sniff of the air, trying to taste it for anything that would have stood out. She filtered out the blood, the mercury, and usual irritants. After a fruitless series of minutes she had to admit defeat.

That Agent Cyro he had been poisoned was obvious, the how, where, when, why - less so. If there were any point where her tracking abilities would be useful, it would have been several hours ago, when she would have been able to at least smell the warmth on his corpse. She took no pride in her abilities, that she was the best tracker on Cipher Pol was accepted just as it was accepted that she was hardly the best infiltrator. With the facts presented as they were she would be incapable of solving this mystery.

Not, at least, without more data. Or a lure.

[long3]

The blonde girl wandered along the path with a smile on her face. Not a happy-go-lucky smile of an sugar-charged child, but a very calm, serene smile. It was the smile of someone who was contented. Today had started off well, and nothing had happened to ruin the young girl's mood. She was on duty, of course, but right now she was dressed in a gothic dress of mostly black with white lace. It made her look more well-off - more refined and noble than most people, or at least wealthy. But although she was a nobleman's daughter, the main reason she walked around wearing the dress was because, well, it made her look like someone who definitely wasn't an agent. It was helped by the fact she was being escorted by a man in a suit carrying her bags.

She wasn't supposed to have him carry her things, but she'd reasoned that it was better for the sake of the act to make sure she wasn't found out. She also went to great lengths to make sure her outfit looked difficult to defend herself in. True, if she was caught in a fight it might be a bit bad for her, but Agents weren't supposed to pick fights. They were supposed to lie, wait, and strike at the opportune moment. Their job was not on the frontlines - she'd been trained to understand that. They were to stand by and wait for the right moment to act. They had to assimilate themselves into their environment and slip away from it when required. Walking with the government official beside her, she found herself arriving at the site of the murder. She wrinkled her nose as the strong smell infiltrated her nostrils and made a look of distaste.

"Not even my perfume can block it out. Such a disgusting smell, don't you agree?" she spoke, turning to the agent carrying her bags. He simply nodded in agreement. The young woman looked around, inspecting the scene before her. The dead man, sitting as if in prayer. A former Agent, with the emphasis on former. She regarded him with a rather somber look. He was another good guy, now lost to the bad guys. She was no stranger to death, but she wasn't dead inside. She had respect for her comrades, and seeing a fallen comrade was rather saddening. Nevertheless, she composed herself and looked around, turning to see a blonde woman who had arrived earlier. She recognized her from the report - this was Agent Baskerville.

Her footsteps clacked against the ground as she walked over, the blonde girl looking up to the older woman as she stepped close. The noble-looking girl gave a small smile and an incline of her head before she spoke.

"Good afternoon. You are Miss Baskerville, correct? My name is Justine. Justine Sanguine. I am pleased to make your acquaintance," she spoke to her politely. She was a born and raised noble, after all. Well, raised an agent, more like, but her manners were still that of a noblewoman's.

[Emma T. Baskerville]

Emma blinked, distracted by the sudden explosion of perfume. She could smell sun-ripened peaches, as incongruous a scent as fresh, running water in a place like this. It would soon go sour and metallic, as did nearly everything in these parts.

Still, while it lasted... it wasn't a bad thing, per se, to have around.

"Ms. Sanguine," she nodded to the young woman. The gothic lolita was unexpected, but ultimately irrelevant. The young woman's profile had been on her desk this morning, the usual commendations, redacted details, mission summaries, learned Six Powers, etc. None of the official details had stood out particularly, but, unusually enough, a warning from her previous handler had been etched into the margins of the report: annoyingly optimistic.

Annoyingly early too, apparently.

"I was under the impression, you would be arriving tomorrow," Emma noted, giving the former aristocrat a nod in return. "As you can see, a minor issue has popped up -" the issue being her contact was dead, and the entire operation in trouble "- I will be unable to show you around town - perhaps we might meet at a later point to discuss your arrangements?" Without giving her the time to reply, she turned to the marines, still milling around like useless insects. "Private Halsted, Mooker, please show Ms. Sanguine to the Red Dragon Inn."

As the young lady, left, Emma furrowed her brow, re-juggling her plans. The situation was manageable. The entire point of bringing an Agent in from the outside was having someone be obviously an Agent, Cyro being back-up. Now that the boy was dead, something this blatant would spell trap to anyone with two solitary gray cells to rub together.

The excellent thing, though, about serial killers, was that they craved attention. She or he might not be able to resist the lure.

For now though, she had to continue to pretend that she was an investigator, Sanguine would require a new cover story, not to mention a debriefing in person, Cyro's body required the relevant paperwork, official and unofficial, and there was a serial killer that needed stopping. Taking a puff from her cigarillo, Emma smirked, ever so slightly.

Yes, everything seemed to be coming together quite awfully.

------------------------------------------------

Hours later... Red Dragon Inn

The Red Dragon Inn was imposingly large, located on the topmost plateau of the island and supposedly the former mansion of the preeminent alchemist of the area. It was as reasonable a supposition as any given its luxurious furnishings, impressive courtyards, and ample, walled defenses. The smell of the smelters, forgers, and petty alchemists did not quite make it up here - some trick of its geography conspired to move the howling winds ever downwards, towards the city. As such, it also enjoyed the hospitality and defenses of the nobles who had made the immediate environs a small aristocratic nobility.

As such, its guardians were many: clockwork golems, mercenaries, demons, animals. None would have hesitated to shoot, slash, bite, or kill an unauthorized human, no matter their standing.

At midnight, Emma was directly outside Agent Sanguine's excessively large veranda, not a hair out of place

[/justify]

[long3]

"Of course, Miss Baskerville, but the winds were more favorable than we imagined. Sailing was, in a sense, a breeze," she spoke, her eyes focused on the other Agent's. She couldn't help but afford herself just a little humour. Everyone was always so lifeless and boring. She knew, of course, that they were taking their job seriously, but still. Perhaps it was a side-effect of her work - she could afford to be a little more loose and humorous. The whole point of her job, after all, was to slip seamlessly into the world of outside and play a role as an actor would.

"Certainly then, Miss Baskerville. I shall see you this evening," she spoke, turning as the other men began to escort her back towards the better parts of town. Better not as in the more wealthy part of town, but better as in "Thank God I'm not in that foul smelling area anymore". She wouldn't have let it get in the way of her work, but she was tempted to just bathe in perfume to ensure she didn't end up choking from the foul smell. She hadn't spoken much to Miss Baskerville in that brief exchange, but she'd learned that she took her job seriously. She didn't waste any time in making new arrangements. But it would remain to be seen just how she truly acted when on the job. Right now she'd only scratched the surface. But then, with Cipher Pol Agents, the surface was a bit thicker than you could imagine.

---

Justine had to admit, though, that the Red Dragon Inn was a marvelous place. She wasn't on holiday, obviously, but it was an incredibly nice place nevertheless. She couldn't just sit around and enjoy it to her leisure - she had a job to do. But for now, until Miss Baskerville arrived, she could wait. With her bags left on a table in her room, containing her clothes for her stay, Justine had decided not to keep the other agents waiting with her inside and let them go about her business. Justine had taken time to learn how to occupy herself when alone. It was a necessity. So she decided to entertain herself the simplest manner she knew how - playing solitaire. Laying out the cards before her, Justine must have spent hours playing games again and again. Sometimes she succeeded. Sometimes she lost. What was important was that time passed.

Finally, someone had arrived for her. Standing up from her seat by a desk, Justine didn't bother cleaning up the cards before stepping across the room, walking towards the door. Delicate, pale hands clad in white gloves clasped the door handle and twisted it, turning and pulling the door open to reveal the blonde woman from earlier standing on the veranda; Miss Baskerville. A light smile graced Justine's features as she opened the door wider for the woman, though she didn't smile to widely - they were on business, after all. Be polite, she reminded herself.

"Good evening, Miss Baskerville. Do come in - I am sure you have come on important business," Justine spoke, her eyes resting on the blonde woman. It was time to go over the new specifics of the mission. She originally played a different role, but now it seemed that the death of another agent was going to change the mission.

[Emma T. Baskerville]

For a moment, the Bloodhound of the Cipher Pol suspected that the newest agent would be unsuitable for the job - but then, in a fluid motion that did not quite betray the decade and a half of training invested in her, the blonde rose to her feet and padded softly towards the veranda.

Situational awareness, check.

"Good evening, Miss Baskerville." The girl said, her voice achingly genteel. "Do come in - I am sure you have come on important business,"

"Indeed," Emma replied, stepping in. She was on guard for a sudden attack - it was not unknown for agents to give each other little physical tests that occasionally resulted in death, theirs was an occupation that produced a particularly paranoid subset of people, but after a moment of inaction, the Baskerville decided that the 'annoyingly optimistic' assessment was perhaps not entirely off.

She was still curious about it, admittedly. What would provoke a man to write such a thing?

"The Mission parameters have changed," she said brusquely. That they could be overheard was, of course, a possibility, but in this case, the risk was both low, as well as beneficial. Cyro was no longer a viable candidate, and Justine's presence too ostentatious to be anything other than 'mysterious agent.' Some rumors might help more than hinder. As a Marine Investigator, it was already widely assumed that Baskerville had some ties to Cipher Pol.

Of course, it would be best if they heard nothing at all.

"Your contact has been killed, six months of infiltration work lost, your current assignment scrapped." Her words were clipped, quick, and precise, not a word lost or overly redundant. "That, you should have surmised from the scene this morning. What you are unaware of is the deaths of three other agents in similar low-risk positions." She handed over a folder, with the bare bone details. It would be burned by morning, per the usual rules. "The boss believes it to be the work of a rival organization, possibly pirate, possibly local. Orders are to capture and interrogate."

[/justify]

[long3]

Shutting the door behind her, Justine remained quiet as she patiently listened to the woman before her. Emma certainly wasn't wrong - Justine had been made well aware of the loss incurred by the death of a Cipher Pol Agent. Not just the death of an Agent, but a loss of months of research and information. With regards to the mission, strictly speaking, it was a setback. Continuing to listen, Miss Baskerville began to make everything clearer with her explanations. It wasn't just the one Agent, but several lower Agents as well. In all likelihood, this was the work of a rival organization. Still, there seemed something suspicious about it all. The fact that they could lose so much information as well as have Agents dying seemed... Off to her.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Justine began, her eyes sharper and more focused-looking than before. "But for a rival organization to be able to kill several of our Agents so easily and disrupt our operations... I can't help but feel there is something off. After all, we are the Cipher Pol that's not supposed to exist..." she spoke, her eyes moving across to a window, gazing out before looking back to Miss Baskerville. "Nevertheless, I understand my role. It is my job to continue where the last Agent left, is it not?" Justine responded. Of course, she was aware what Miss Baskerville actually meant - her true job was not necessarily to find information, but be the bait. She was aware that, now that they had no leads beyond knowing they were killing Agents, they had little other choice in the matter beyond providing bait.

"Still... From what I was told, an Agent was killed via poison. But killing someone via poison would only work if you were able to make certain that the person will ingest it and no one else. If you kill the wrong person with poison, the target will become suspicious, which means that whoever poisoned the Agent managed to get very close to the Agent before he died... In the worst case scenario, we've got a mole infiltrating our organization," Justine thought to herself, remaining quiet as she waited for Miss Baskerville to speak.

[Emma T. Baskerville]

Critical thinking facilities, check.

Her gloved hand brushed across an ancient oak desk, fingers trailing as she walked towards the young lady. "Excellent point, though perhaps not quite for the reasons articulated. Do not be duped by the primers or propaganda, we are not the only ones in the Intelligence business, the further you travel past the Four Blues, the more you will discover - ah - persons and agencies unfriendly to the World Government who are rather aware of our existence. An open secret, as it were. It makes our presence in the New World... tenuous at best."

Truth be told, one of the 'Unfriendlies' was standing right before her at this moment and was acting as her immediate superior. That hardly required pointing out, of course.

For now Cipher Pol objectives and Baskerville's coincided. That was enough.

"But you are correct, the patterns of movement of this 'rival agency' are not consistent with that of an organization skilled enough to employ individuals capable of assassinating Cipher Pol agents. If anything, we appear to be regarding a single individual. One that is leaving a... calling card."

She took out a single black rose petal and, in a gesture full of theatricality, let if fall to the ground. Before quite hitting, it flared and burned away like an oddly shaped matchstick.

"They're called Phosphoflowers. He or she tends to leave them clasped into the hands of their victims. I've compiled a psych profile of our perpetrator," this she extracted from her voluminous jacket and placed on the oaken desk. "You'll understand, however, that our best guess is that we are dealing with a serial killer. One with an unusual grasp on both our methods, as well as our vulnerabilities."

"Your assignment remains unchanged. Instead of dealing with the deceased Agent, you will be dealing directly with his master. Take any precautions you deem fit, your cover story is an eccentric noble - that you will only drink a certain variety of tea, or eat a certain dish, is to be expected. I leave such measures at your discretion."

"Your primary objective is to capture the agent in our 'rival organization', HQ will handle interrogation. Your secondary objective is to complete Cyro's task in obtaining conclusive proof, one way or the other, that the Alchemists on this Archipelago are scheming to overthrow the duly appointed representatives of this Island. Questions?"

[/justify]

[long3]

"So there are people even aware of our existence... This is very important information. I must make a note of it," the young blonde thought to herself, mentally taking a note. If she was going to succeed in her line of business, she couldn't simply remain ignorant of important things like this. Knowing that your secrecy wasn't a foolproof protection forced you to do your job better. It seemed unlikely there'd be many out here in the Four Blues, but in the Grand Line and the New World... As Miss Baskerville had said, there were far more who would be aware of the existence of the Cipher Pol Agency and, particularly, Cipher Pol Number 9.

"A Serial Killer skilled enough to target and assassinate Cipher Pol Agents... Serial Killers can usually be divided into visionaries; people who believe themselves to be following a higher calling, mission-based killers; people who, like visionaries, kill in the name of a higher purpose, albeit with a greater grasp on reality, hedonists; people seeking thrills or comfort, and those who kill for the sake of power and control," Justine spoke, processing all the information as though she were a computer. She'd been raised to recognize all sorts from a young age. She may as well have been reciting from a book. "Given that the Serial Killer in question is targeting Cipher Pol Agents, we can probably assume they are trying to inflate their ego. A power-obsessed Serial Killer, then. I can't be definite, but it seems to be our culprit's most likely motivation," she finished speaking, turning back to Miss Baskerville to listen.

The Phosphoflowers were an odd calling card, however. It didn't seem like the kind of thing the killer would leave behind at first, but thinking about it, it was likely the killer wanted them to know it was the same person responsible for all of them. They wanted attention. Serial Killers were often like that, but this person may as well have been showing off, shouting "Hey, look! I killed your Cipher Pol Agents!" from a rooftop. But she moved her mind away from profiling the killer. Miss Baskerville was giving her orders - to go undercover as an eccentric noble and report to Cyro's old master. An eccentric noble wasn't exactly a difficult role to play. She gave a small smirk of confidence, but held back from saying anything. She was going to have to obtain proof as well, however, of the Alchemists' schemes. That might be a bit trickier, but she would find a way. When asked if she had questions, Justine shook her head.

"No, I understand my orders completely, Miss Baskerville," she told the older woman with a smile. It would soon be time to begin the mission.

[Emma T. Baskerville]

Agent Baskerville remained silent as the young woman went through her own mental profiling, articulating her thoughts out loud in a manner that Emma hoped was supposed to be for her benefit, because if Agent Sanguine routinely spoke her thoughts out loud, this mission would quickly become a trifle problematic. Cipher Pol agents were dissimulators, investigators, but most of all liars. Those that could not keep their thoughts to themselves tended not to last very long in this business.

She would give her the benefit of the doubt though. Even if a former aristocrat, the young lady could not possibly have survived the rigorous training it took to become a Cipher Pol agent if she had not first learned to withstand rather prolonged mental siege.

No doubt this was some test of some sort. Was she probing for her superior's reply? Or perhaps just bouncing thoughts off of her? The idea of cooperating in such a manner was not completely foreign to Emma, but she herself had never indulged in it. Cooperation between Agents tended to be of the sort that involved knives, guns, and copious use of the the Six Powers.

Agent Sanguine interrupted her vague mental musings by shaking her head and informing her that she had 'understood completely.'

"Excellent," Emma replied, deciding not to give voice to her doubts.

She did have high hopes for Justine. Although the decision to spout basic psychology had been a bit... odd, she had evidenced, until that point, an ability superior to any Agent that Baskerville had at her command prior to that point. No doubt she even knew one, perhaps even two of the Six Powers, a distinct advantage when compared to the expert martial artists-

Something made a 'whiff' sound.

Emma dropped to the ground, her training taking over. Some part of her brain had already registered that she'd been hit, but she had to move. With a grunt she rolled until she was near the wall, outside of any easy sniping position.

Gritting her teeth, she jerked a dart out of the back of her neck, already feeling a creeping coldness grab at her limbs.

"Agent Sanguine," she said calmly, giving herself an hour at the outset before the poison killed or paralyzed her. "I am afraid that your mission parameters have now changed."