Chapter 5
Reginald Fletcher woke to the sound of bells in the distance. Morning bells. He blinked up at the cracked ceiling, the light outside still gray. The coals in the hearth had gone out. The cold bit his skin before he even pulled off the blanket. The rustling noise of the wind didn't make it feel better.
He sat up on the edge of his cot, rubbing the sleep from his face. The wounds on his shoulder still stung. He ignored them. He always did.
He stood, stiff and slow, and made his way to the washbasin. The water was stale and icy. He splashed it on his face, wiped down with a threadbare cloth, and took a moment to look into the cracked mirror. His eyes were tired, his room beyond messy at this point.
'Today is an important day, I need my energy,' he thought in a bid to encourage himself.
In the wardrobe, his uniform hung neatly. Blue, wool, trimmed in gold piping, the buttons were polished, shiny, and cold to the touch. He put it on piece by piece: shirt, trousers, belt, boots. He clipped his badge to his chest. The pistol went into its holster, heavy and well-worn. And of course, the Anti-Miasma Elixir.
He touched the breast pocket of his uniform and to his surprise felt something, cash? He reached out, but it was a picture of him and his daughter outside her school, on her first day. The picture was low quality and could barely make out both his and his daughter's face. Still, he touched the photo, letting the emotions flow through him. His fingers lingered, then he tucked it away and moved on.
Today's task was very important to his safety in this dark world, crucial for his agency. He needed to report for duty as he remembered taking a leave of absence after his daughter died. Making sure everything was in place and he hadn't forgotten anything, he moved out.
This was the third day of his transmigration, but this was the first time he had been outside during the day.
Reginald stepped into the roaring street of Earnest's Fog. Scaled horses stamped and snorted out visible breath beside their carriages, their shiny scales glinting vibrantly in the sun, even more beautiful than they were at night.
Inside the carriages, veiled women watched the street with cold detachment, their gloved fingers clutching lace fans while men in tall hats whispered behind cigar smoke. The mixture of thick perfume and cigar smoke was beyond revolting.
Children in soot-smeared rags darted between boots and wheels, chasing marbles and scraps with wild laughter, only pausing to eye Reginald's uniform with wary curiosity.
Street vendors called out from behind battered carts—some selling roasted chestnuts, others hawking tiny bottles of glittering liquid or hand-stitched charms said to ward off the Scorched. Steam hissed from underground grates, mixing with the shouts, the hoofbeats, and the never-ending rumble of a city alive.
As Reginald moved forward, his polished boots clicking against the wet stones, he passed two old men hunched on a bench beneath a crooked lamp post. Their coats were patched, hats pulled low, voices low and fast as they spoke of disappearances near the dockyards. They fell silent as he passed.
Further along, officers in long navy coats patrolled in pairs, tipping their hats or offering quiet salutes. Reginald gave a small nod in return. A meat vendor shouted a joke to a passing patrol, then turned and cursed at a dog stealing a sausage.
The precinct of Earnest's Fog loomed ahead, brick and iron, its high gates open wide. The noise of the city didn't stop at its threshold—it pressed against it, humming like a warning. He was not a Scorched, and he was sensitive to Miasma; but from the pressure and vibrations, he knew the gate was heavily enchanted.
Reginald didn't let the energy and vibes of the city distract him from his goal; he adjusted his coat and stepped through the looming gate.
Dark, thick walls defined the station. Walking past the gates towards the complex, he passed through the garden, filled with flowers and ornaments, but if you looked close enough, you would see shards of bullets and weirdly shaped bones from demons.
The station, Reginald knew, had existed long before Earnest's Fog was ever built, a fort against some ancient enemy.
He could see other police passing through the garden, each saluting him as he passed by.
Reginald saw a lone figure of an officer walking towards him. Instead of the usual blue uniforms, the officer wore a black uniform. Soon, the officer was before him and passed by him without saluting. She was a Constable affiliated with the Attack Department. A quick surge of blood flowed to his head. But there was nothing he could do. While he was an Inspector in the Clean-up Department, that officer was in the Attack Department just like Mann. These people were proud and tightly knitted. If he dared punish her, her commanding officer would be on his neck by sundown.
Reginald stepped through the door and saw the familiar lobby. The lobby was huge, about half the size of a football pitch. The entire lobby was filled with cubicles that lower officers called offices. Both the Attack department and other departments share this lobby, at least at the lower ranks, one of the few things they actually share.
Something was unusual though, this place was supposed to be bustling but the atmosphere here while still bustling doesn't compare to what it should be. At least half the officers were gone. All that remains her blue uniforms men.
To the sides, the walls were replaced with gated caves for criminals. The caves were as despotic as expected. It was said no one had ever escaped from their confines.
Reginald tried to make his way through the lobby as fast as he could, as if trying to avoid someone, but when had anything ever gone his way?
"Inspector!" he could hear an overly enthusiastic voice calling out to him.
'Damned Scorched and their eyesight,' he thought inwardly.
Soon Nancy was before him, her pretty little eyes wandering over him with concern.
"Hello, Nancy. How are you?" Shame couldn't bring him to thank her for trying to help him the other day. Of course, she came late. Had the mysterious woman not been there, he would surely have died.
"Are you here to see my Mom?" Reginald could see that she was very happy to help.
"She is not in her office; she is in the garden. I could lead you there."
Reginald groaned inwardly; he had just walked about 50 meters through that garden to get to the station only to walk back towards it once more.
Not letting his frustration show, he replied, "Yes, lead the way." Still avoiding eye contact, poor Nancy could not do anything but follow her cowardly superior's orders.
Reginald walked in the front, Nancy directing from the back. He just wanted nothing more than to report for duty then make his way to Acquisitions and get The Heart of Vampire.