Fic: A Joining of Bone and Sinew 1/?

[syncytio]

Let's kick this off! This is the first chapter in what I call my Hungry Ghost Silkpunk.

Nilar is a maanat; a patchwork soul in a patchwork body, made to hunt praetas, rabid ghouls, that plague the city of Arimaddana. An encounter with an unusual praeta forces Nilar to question everything she thought she knew about herself, her city and her past.

CW: pseudo-cannibalism, gory descriptions, violence

1.

Here's the thing about dead bodies; when you're hungry enough, they smell delicious. And I've been hungry enough for as long as I can remember.

This body, the one dumped between a mildew stained four-storey building and a wall surrounding a private residence, smells like salvation. Like I could fill my stomach with its two week old rotting flesh and finally feel satisfied.

Not that there's much flesh left. The head and legs are torn off and the chest cracked open, its ribs splayed wide and jutting up towards the sky. Also missing are the heart and viscera; possibly the lungs too. It had lain here, mistaken for trash, until someone had stumbled into it. The sun and long humid nights had done their part to cook the flesh, creating a perfect environment for maggots and insects.

"Anything?" May demands from the alley entrance. She isn't fond of dead things or trash. If I was wearing a top of the range cotton suit with soft leather shoes that cost about as much as a small child, I wouldn't be fond of the trash either.

Opening my mouth, I take a deep breath: heat, rot and dust, the typical Arimaddana bouquet of smells, and, right at the end, barely touching the tip of my tongue, old smoke and something bittersweet. I can recognise that stench in my sleep. A praeta.

Like a well-trained animal, my mouth floods with saliva.

I push aside the familiar ache in my stomach and make sure to swallow all that saliva before I speak. It unnerves May when I start drooling around dead and uncooked things.

"Yeah, I got something," I say, grinning with more than a hint of teeth.

How long since I had been on a proper hunt? Months at least.

My body aches for the chase and the blooding. Every maanat dreams of being able to sate our hunger, if only for a little while.

May, on the other hand, looks as if she has bitten into a fresh quince. For plain old squishy mortals, praetas are bad news. praetas are the monsters hiding in the shadow, ready to rip your heart out and consume your soul. I used to understand the fear and the terror, I think. Back when I was human.

"It could have picked a better time," May says to no one in particular.

There is nothing more I can get from kneeling over the body, so I stand up, brushing my hands on my pants. Though I hadn't touched anything, I still leave a thin layer of dust behind. It is the height of the hot season and there is as much dust in the air as there is on the ground.

"Is there ever a good time for praetas?" I wonder as I walk over to May.

"Any time other than the weeks leading up to Thadingyut would be preferable."

I groan. "I forgot it was that soon."

"You wanted to forget," May accuses.

True enough. I don't like citywide festivals; too noisy, too crowded, too...everything. Thadingyut is the worst of the lot, and can only be made worse by a praeta wandering around. It wouldn't need to hunt; food would practically fall into its gaping maw.

I leave May standing at the mouth of the alley, staring at the crime scene technicians and weikzas going over the area. They don't need me for this part. I had gone in only because I was curious.
It's cooler out on the wide street where there's space for a breeze to blow through. I pull my hair up and away from my neck, breathing out long and slow. It's almost evening but the heat is still on the edge of unbearable. The aggiya workings, affectionately known as clime-con, covers the entire city and alleviates some of the discomfort; but what I wouldn't give for a bag of ice to shove over my head.

The street is blocked off on either side by barriers and crime scene tape, rubberneckers crowding up against it, despite all efforts to drive them away. Beyond them, there are a couple of monks in saffron, hands clapped together and heads bowed as they pray for the dead.

I turn away, stretching my arms above my head and twisting my neck side to side to get rid of the kinks. Then I see the teashop. It's diagonally across the street from the alley, just outside the barriers, and remains open for business despite everything. A bag of ice is out of the question, but some sugar cane juice wouldn't go amiss.
I turn and jog back to May who is still brooding at the alley. It's amazing how she can make that look attractive. When I brood I just look constipated.

May glances over as I approach, one eyebrow arched in a silent question.

"There's a teashop. Thought I might ask some questions, see if they saw anything."

"And stuff your face," May finishes.

There is no point denying the truth so I shrug. "Think you can lend me some money?"

She sighs, looking over at the teashop. Eventually, she pulls out a wad of cash and shoves them in my hands. "Get me some tea, too. And don't scare the civilians."

I give her a wide smile.

"I mean it!" she calls after me.

It takes a while for the crowd to notice me. I'm wearing the same uniform as everyone else, bar May: black short-sleeved button-down shirt and trousers, with red piping on the sleeves and collar. You have to be much closer to see the red peacock feather etched into my neck in ink and aggiya. This is the Junta's subtle way of marking their property.

Soon as the crowd sees the ink, two things happen simultaneously. The majority draw back, a few making the sign to ward off bad karma, and a small subset at the front of the crowd get louder.

The bane of any civilisation. Journalists. They all want their turn at fame on the waves.

"Hello, wow, I wish I could run you all over," I mutter under my breath as I approach the barrier. I eye the rabble, figuring my chances of wading through that mess is somewhere in the high negatives.

I did not think this through.

I gesture one of the crowd control guards over--a skinny little thing with a scraggly moustache struggling to look dignified--and made them go buy the drinks.

I didn't get any closer to the swarm of journalists, but they continue to shout at me anyway. I guess they think if they're really loud, I'll lose my head and answer.

"Is it a praeta?" The shout comes from somewhere to my left and soon other journalists are taking up that line of questioning.

That didn't take long.

Every time they see a maanat at a crime scene, they'll assume it's a praeta, no matter what I say. Okay, this time they're right, but they didn't need to know that. The number one rule of good public relations is 'don't panic the horde.'

So I stay silent and look bored, casting my eyes over the lot of them, looking for eye candy to make the wait more bearable. I strike gold on my second pass--on the very edge of the crowd is a woman with cheekbones sharp enough to cut and silky long hair I want to wrap around my hands. She smiles she notices my focus.

I recognise the type straight away; a maanat chaser.

Most people look at us and see patchwork souls bound to patchwork bodies, something almost as unnatural as a praeta, and they get nervous. Scared. But because humans are weird creatures that like to ocassionally stick their heads in a tiger's mouth, you have a small group of people who look at us, see the same thing, and think, yeah, I'd like to fuck that.

I return her smile, lifting my hand to wave--

"Seriously?"

My hand comes down and I lose the smile quick sharp.

"I didn't do anything," I say automatically as I turn to find May waiting right behind me, arms folded.

May is too classy to roll her eyes, but I can hear it in her voice as she says, "If you aren't too busy, Agent Nilar, the examiner is ready to give us the preliminary report."
I avoid her eyes as I slink past her.

The examiner is an elderly weikza whose name I have forgotten despite introductions less than an hour ago. He waits by the alley mouth, adjusting his thick glasses and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. When he sees us, he nods, a jerking movement of his head that makes his glasses slide down his nose.

"Weikza Maung Tin," May greets. The little side glance is May's way of letting me know she only used the name for my benefit.

"Agents," the weikza says in a husky voice that indicates decades of smoking. "Here's what I have for you so far. Body's probably been here at least two weeks. Hard to tell if this is where they were killed. Any blood that's been spilled has either been washed away by last week's rain or mixed with the trash so well you can hardly pick it out. No ID chip in them either."

That means someone from the lower circles. Chips are for fifth circle or higher. Beyond fifth, the population is too big and nomadic to track.

"No chip means no fingerprints either," I say, giving voice to what both May and I are thinking.

"And without a head, not much left to help ID the body," May continues.

Maung Tin holds up a finger. "Not entirely." He shoves his hands into his pocket and digs around for a moment. I suppress the urge to make a crack about a surprise in his pants.

May and I both watch him pull something out, shake his head as it turns out to be the wrong thing, shove it back, and rummage some more. This happens about five times he finally finds what he's looking for. It's a piece of paper, scrunched up.

Maung Tin smooths it out between his fingers and hands it over to me. "This was tattooed on the wrist in green. Made a copy."

It's a simple drawing; two different sized ovals drawn with their shorter sides touching. The larger oval has four teardrop shapes attached, the small points facing out, and some sort of pattern drawn within its confines.

I turn the paper all the way around and give up when I get back to the starting point with no clue as to what it is meant to represent. I hand it over to May with a shrug.

"It's a turtle," May says after a short moment.

I snatch it back out of her hand and take another long look.

While I'm trying to magic-eye the picture, May is going full speed ahead, asking Maung Tin to describe the exact colour and placement of the tattoo.

"The Jade Market," May declares once she's through with Maung Tin and he's been discharged back to deal with the body.

I look up from the picture. I've heard of the jade market, never been there though. Jade and maanats don't mix. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Jade runners have tattoos of the company they work for, in green, right where our body dump has theirs." May taps the inside of her wrist meaningfully. She knows the most random facts.

I fold the drawing up and tuck it away inside my chest pocket. "So let's go then."

May looks up at the sky, then at her watch and shakes her head. "Market's about to close. We'll have to go tomorrow. Besides, Captain Yin Moe just messaged me. Wants an update."

That stops me short. "The body was found two hours ago," I point out.

"Yes."

"How much of an update could we possibly have? I know our captain's new, but he's not that new. Right?"

"My guess? He's also keenly aware of the upcoming festivities. And this is the first new praeta to pop up on the radar since he got the job." May pulls out the car keys and throws them at me.


* * *


The sun has well and truly set by the time we arrive at the Thirty-Ninth, and the air is hazy with colours blazing from LED billboards and aggiya imbued store signs. The Public Defence Service headquarters looms in middle of all that glamour; a tall construct of steel and glass, jutting out from the ground like an obsidian blade. Despite all the reflective surfaces, the building absorbs the surrounding light and sound, casting a long shadow over the district.

It's dramatic; built to remind everyone of the Junta smothering, overwhelming presence.

I park the car underground, and we take the elevator up to the seventeenth floor, where our benevolent leader of a mere handful of months resides.

Captain Yin Moe's assistant, a junior officer who had probably gotten the job via nepotism, intercoms him immediately upon our arrival and we are gestured through a few moments later. On the one hand, it's wonderful not having to wait on Yin Moe. On the other hand, it means seeing Yin Moe sooner.

The first thing anyone sees on entering is a panoramic view of the river and the upper circles beyond. To the left, the wall is lined by books with pristine covers and uncracked spines. At the other end of the room is a heavy teak desk and chairs of the same material. The stretch of floor between shelf and desk is taken up by a plush, colourful carpet over marble. Every inch of this room screams luxury. Luxury and a hefty dose of bribery.

Newly minted Captain Yin Moe, head of the PDS, seated behind the desk, keeps scribbling away even as we come to a stop.

At this angle, I can see the beautiful bald patch that Yin Moe is developing. He's somewhere in his thirties, putting him at the younger end of the department. Everything about Yin Moe is average, from his looks to his height to his career. Yet, somehow, he managed to rocket through the ranks and landed him a cushy job here.

I say somehow but, really, I know it's because he's an epically talented ass kisser with the right family.
Eventually, his eyes flick up to us, then he caps his pen, placing it precisely parallel to the desk edge, and shuffles the papers into a neat stack that he then puts into a folder and closes it up.
We wait in silence until he deigns to look at us--at May. "So, the body in the Forty-Seventh. praeta?"
As if he doesn't know. I find it hard to believe that no one has told him in the time it's taken us to drive back.

I don't trust myself to answer without a heaping of sarcasm, so I look at May, who shifts in place and answers: "Yes, sir. We're reasonably sure. None of the formal tests are back but the methodology fits and Nilar caught a whiff."

Yin Moe's eyes flick to me and flick back to May just as fast. He's never been comfortable with us maanats, not with what we are and what we do. In that, he's like most other people I've met. Even May will give me the side eyes once in a while, and she's been my partner for almost as long as I've--existed, if that's the right word.

May continues, "Our preliminary assessment of the area and the body tells us the person was killed two weeks ago. That alley is likely the site of the killing, though that has yet to be confirmed. The victim is likely from the lower circle, given a lack of ID chip. Unfortunately it was also lacking a head."

"And legs," I add because I feel that's an important point. "Arms were there though."

Yin Moe frowns at me for a second then his eyes slide back to May. "Anything else?"

"No, sir. We are still in the very early stages of our investigation."

"Have you identified the body?"

There is a telling pause, then May says, "As I said before, sir, the body had no ID chip or head with which to help provide identity."

Yin Moe's brows wrinkle and his lips purse as if he had bitten into a whole quince. "What then?" he demands. It's never been more apparent that Yin Moe has no place here. He gets flustered too quickly at any sign of a roadblock.

"We believe the victim has a connection to the jade market so we will be visiting when it opens tomorrow. See if anything turns up."

"Good," Yin Moe says after a moment. Maybe I'm paranoid but I think that pause was him trying to find a way to criticise us. "If we have a praeta stalking the city in the middle of a festival of that magnitude, it would be...disastrous."

Again with the damn festival.

"We understand, sir." May does something with her voice that makes her sound sincere. I could never replicate it without sounding, and looking, constipated.

Yin Moe gives us the dead-eye and grunts. "See that this is resolved quickly."

He wants guarantee? I'll give him one. He can have all the empty promises he wants. I grin and say, "Don't worry, sir. We'll have the praeta head on your desk before you know it. Won't we, May?"
Giving me a side-eye laced with annoyance, May says, "We will certainly do our best."

Yin Moe lips purse, then suddenly stretches into a grin so wide I swear I can see his molars. He may as well have shouted his intentions to fuck over our day.

"I've just remembered there are a few spots in the niraya patrols that still need to be filled. I'll put your names down." Yin Moe's smile takes a turn for the smug. "I'm sure you won't mind volunteering your free time."

"But we just finished a week of patro--"

May speak right over me. "Not at all, sir. We're always happy to help out where needed."

Her glare could have stripped paint. I shut my mouth. I nod.

May turns back to Yin Moe. "If that's everything, sir?"

"That is all. Dismissed."

May is conspicuously silent as we make our way back to the elevator and wait for its arrival. As soon as the door closes behind us, she turns a glare on me as dirty as the rubbish dump I was knees deep just hours before.

I shrug, my movement exaggerated and slow. "This is your fault."

"Me?" May jabs the button for our floor hard enough I'd swear it creaked.

"Yes. You know what I'm like. You should've stopped me."

"When has anyone been able to stop you?"

"An attempt was not even made."

May is too classy to roll her eyes but her eyebrows twitch suspiciously. "Might as well catch frogs with a torn bag."

"I don't know what that means," I tell her, shrugging again.

"It means," May says, stretching out the second word, "corralling you is a hopeless endeavour. What have I told you about speaking to our captain?"

My memory isn't great on account of how I cannot be arsed to retain any unnecessary information but I definitely remembered that. "Your advice was not to. At all."

May lets out a forlorn sigh, "If you'd listen maybe we wouldn't be doing niraya patrol."

"You know he would have found any excuse to make us suffer." The elevator chimes as we arrive on our floor. "This is, what, the third freaking niraya patrol we've had this month? He hates us."

May gets out and tosses over her shoulders, "No. He just doesn't like you and you don't help matters." She stops when she notices that I've remained in place. "What're you doing? We still have an hour on the clock."

I shrug, kicking out a leg to stop the closing door. "What'm I gonna do for the next hour?"

"Start your report for this case. Finish your report from the last case. Clean your desk before the cockroaches and ants take over."

"Nah. I'll just come in an early tomorrow. Or stay late. One of those."

"Suit yourself. But if we get more niraya time because of you, I will make you regret it." May's smile is perfect, crimson, beautiful and exactly the same one she would probably wear as she flayed me from head to toe.

I clear my throat. "Message received." I pull my legs back and the door closes. May's smile is replaced by my own blurry reflection.

Any spare time I have is dedicated to one thing, food. Today I add another thing to the list, sex. And there is a bar nearby, The Peacock, where I can get one after the other. The bar serves big portions of food and drinks specifically for maanats, and since that's where we all like to go that's where all the maanat chasers congregate, too.

Walking out from the building into the street was like going from a cave to a cloudless day. The sun might be down and the skies dark but the city made up for it with artificial light of every colour glaring down at the people below. I craned my neck up and could barely make out the moon, cold and lonesome, never mind the stars.

I look back down and my eyes land on someone standing a few feet away from me. Impeccable cheekbones and long hair and inviting grin but easily the most noticeable thing about them is her eyes. They are devouring and covetous, skittering over my face and body, lingering on my mouth.

My pulse kicks up a notch, excited by the thought of achieving one of my goals so quickly.

As soon as I meet her eyes, her grin widens and she walk towards me, hips swaying in time with the batting of her long eyelashes. She is gorgeous, she knows it, and she wants everyone else to know it as well.
She stops when she is close, closer than manners and etiquette would dictate, and I catch the faintest scent of jasmine and bergamot. She is wearing good quality clothes--a blouse with ivory buttons, and a dark green--or maybe blue--knee length htamein, seashells pattern picked out in silver.

"Hello," she says, peering up at me through long eyelashes. There is something practiced about her smile but her interest is sincere. "I was wondering if I could buy you dinner."

She looks familiar--then, all of a sudden, it hits me where I'd seen those cheekbones before. "You were at the crime scene." This was the maanat chaser May caught me eyeing.

Her grin widens. "Yes! Chaw Han Htun. That's me. So what do you say?"

Had she been waiting for me? It's flattering, in a creepy, wrong kind of way. If May were here she'd be telling me that I can do much better than a stalker. But...who am I to reject a gift the universe drops in my lap?

"I'm Nilar," I say, grinning back. "What did you have in mind?"