The First Age

He was uneasy.

Alex's resolved cases, such as they were, had been in his possession for a few days. Yet two, three times a day, and more often during the watches of the night, he would review them, as if somehow he expected their contents to change.

Lih wasn’t sure what all this meant. He wasn’t sure if he was excited by the disclosed information, or disquieted.

That troubled him enormously, for he prided himself on knowing his whims and moods like no other. For years he trained to be a cop, by besting all his base instincts; but now he was none the wiser than the rest.

The people these cases concerned … Ivan, Nox, Jay.

They were jumpy, all of them. Dangerous and jumpy. Yes, strung out. Lih noticed.

He wouldn't lie. He didn’t like what happened either.

He doubt he’d find a man, woman or... child on this world who wouldn’t be scarred by the same encounters these guys faced.

This was monster ops, nothing like anything he or Costa ever faced.

So this was going to be his future with the domovoi.

The point was, sooner or later, he was going to have to trust some of them. If not trust them, then work with them at least. But it troubled him.

And that’s the up and down of it.

He sighed. He’d like to reconsider his promotion to the domovoi.

Setting down his case files, Lih took off his cap and smoothed his colorless hair back with one gloved palm.

For members of the domovoi, at least, it was Alex’s primary job to monitor their health, treat any mental maladies, keep them fit enough to see out the missions. Treating actual wounds and injuries they might sustain was entirely secondary to this vital work.

Alex gave him the medication to help him sleep.

And now he hoped Detective Vega could give him what he needed... some answers

Lih finished checking his auto-pistol. The reload had brought the ammo count back up. He put the first strip of spares in, then flicked on the safety and holstered it, buttoned down.

So sure, so practiced, so expert. How did his hands know to do all this? They knew what they were doing with his gun, handling its mechanical settings with skill and minimal fuss.  

The same, it seemed to Lih--during his fight with the cannibals, his body’s training had come to the fore and taken over, like habit, like muscle memory, unbidden. In that time of stress and adrenaline, his mind switched over to pure instinct.

Then he took his railgun off the rack and studied it a while, turning the long-range weaponry over in his hands. His unsubtle, trembling hands… yes, they were capable with all the equipment only when his mind and attention switched elsewhere. 

He was trained to the same basic level of combat proficiency back at the academy, and his coworkers did not look down on him for his different looks, or lack of specialization. Indeed, Lih had an unflappable reputation for not thinking twice when it came to breaking up a fight or supervising an emergency extraction of sensitive personnel under public criticism. He was the guy that other guys on the beat counted on, CCDPD through and through.

But killing. That was the real trauma…

He put the railgun back into his locker and lingered for a moment, favored it with a last glance, then thumped down the short flight of steps from the locker room onto the main walkway. His walking speed increased.

There was an appointment to keep.

Ooc: Cont. below

https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1019.html