sliceitwithwind | Warehouse AU because of course it is.

Warehouse AU because of course it is.

"We've got a ping." the quiet voice of the man at the computer nevertheless managed to cut through the back-and-forth of the people taking care of routine business in the rare downtime they had to do such things as reports, maintenance of their gear, and general unwinding.

"Who's going, and where?" the largest of the people in the room asked, already folding the papers he'd been working with into a neat file which he handed to the one-eyed man who'd been woken by the magic words. Anything else and it took him hours to come to awareness, but a ping? Seconds.

"You two, and New York City. We've got reports about a museum's statues coming to life. Go."

The file dropped onto the desk with a grunted, "Sign it when I get back." and the two men headed to NYC to see if they could figure out what needed to be snagged and bagged.
~~~

At the museum they looked around for the cops in charge. There were always cops, and how they could talk to the boys in blue made all the difference. Stopping outside of the line defined by uniforms the bigger (and more diplomatic) man murmured, "Could you please point out the person in charge? Thank you." with his badge in hand so that they could avoid misunderstandings. The smaller man's badge was likewise out, but he was more angling to see what he could without interrupting the locals.

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Great, she'd been redirected to a a claimed historical storage yard. She watched where the woman was headed, honestly debating if she was simply going to go back out to her car and drive home instead of following deeper into the cryptic warren.

The reason to follow? She'd been a chaperone for her partner's kid; Danny had twisted his knee on a bust, and then teh world had gone insane and statues had attacked her charges. Ben had been the first out those doors, the minute she'd figured out he wasn't a target she'd sent him out with orders to get the damn National guard if he had to. She'd had access to the desk phone soon after that, but Ben had gotten out.

And there had been statues attacking kids.

So, yes, she followed. It was a close thing though.

"Here we are, the sketches of Pyanet's gargoyles and grotesques for Notre Dame." she tapped the case firmly, "When activated, they bring statues to life in a manner that attempts to protect whatever building they're in. From, unfortunately, whoever activated them." then she mumbled something in Katzu to the effect of or my son with a sigh.

"Everything in here does something that it shouldn't. From a mirror that releases an insane Alice Liddell, to dodge balls that multiply and attack everyone around. Our job is to stop that from happening. When we hear about something, we investigate, and once we've found it we snag it, bag it, and tag it."

The cards. The cards that had sparked and spat when dropped in a foil bag of all things. She looked, in fact she stared, like one would when memorizing a map, but she did not touch the glass. No. Some things were just too dangerous.

Or too weird.

"And who, exactly, got final say on my transfer again? I don't recall an Ansem anywhere near my chain of command." She wasn't Federal, or anywhere close to Federal. "This may all be strange and odd, and so many things besides, ma'am, but I'm a homicide detective. I was caught in the museum incident accidentally."

"No, you wouldn't. We take the secret part of our job very, very seriously. At the top are the regents, they are the people who make the decisions about what will and will not happen with the Warehouse. I know that they've been watching you, but only because Ansem told me; I have no idea who the regents are. You won't either, they don't advertise. I know that they're made up of ordinary people, for the most part, and not the rich and powerful."

The rich and powerful were always the ones most likely to go for more power without thinking of the consequences.

"There have been...quite a lot of artefact related deaths lately. Braig is very good at chasing down people who run drugs or weapons, and you will never meet an analyst better than Dilan, but neither of them is trained in how to deal with a murderer. It's most likely that you were tapped now because you're a homicide detective."

She started walking again halfway through the speech and into one of the many, many rows with weapons in until she got to a simple looking knife; "The knife of Andrei Romanovich Chikatilo. The man who ended up with it killed ten people before we managed to get our hands on it. Dilan was stabbed in the gut and really only being Katzu saved him."

Because even with a stab wound in the gut his instinct was to kill the thing hurting him that badly. It was not an unconditional win.

A shadowy highest power and unknown chain of command was NOT reassuring. At all. This sounded more like some kind of cult than a legitimate job that could demand transfers. Fun. They'd been keeping track of her; she would be flattered but really that was the last thing on her mind. "And Ansem answers to them?" Convenient.

Lately? That implied some sort of...mystic escalation? She sighed when that thought ran through her mind, wincing away from the fact she'd thought it. Mystic escalation. Riiiight. "I hunt people," Aya pointed out softly. "Not items. You can't crawl into the head of a knife..."

Not even an antique like the Rostov Ripper's knife.

What was she suppose to think? That his tool had been so immersed in the slaughter that now it was some kind of evil demon knife? "What about the rest of his knives?" she asked blandly. "And teh man who did the stabbing...did he behave like himself or like Andrei Romanovich Chikatilo"

"I'd really love to say you were right, but, well. Ansem answers to the warehouse. You get enough artefacts together, for enough thousands of years, and there develops a sort of proto-personality."

"No, you can't crawl into the head of an artefact. You can, however, crawl into the head of the people who created the artefact. Even though artefacts aren't made deliberately each and every one of them holds the imprint of their creator. Nikola Tesla was a good man who wanted to do good things, and we're able to use many of his inventions in our work. Chikatilo's knife drives people the same kind of mad as Chikatilo himself.

"You're probably going to say something about an FBI profiler here. I'm just going to cut you off and tell you that Quantico was chomping at the bit to get you in order to make you one."

Aya tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes slightly as the woman seemingly skipped right over answering her actual questions. Some interesting things were said though, despite. The relevant ones at the moment being the fact that artifacts were not deliberately made and that 'same kind of mad'. It didn't preclude there being more knives, or fancy new personalities with an artificial taste for killing.

Or the questions in her head. Had the killer been as brazenly half-assed as that Ripper had been? Meticulous in one thing, uncaring in another? Did they...

...ah, yes, the next comment did make her brain skip away from the questions. It wasn't like they'd get answered at this rate anyway. "Quantico," she noted with a hint of wry amusement, "as if you have trouble getting FBI agents out of there." Not judging by the two warehouse agents she'd met.

And it was actually slightly frightening to think this 'Ansem' preferred someone who had not been as trained as she could be in that field. And she knew herself, if FBI had come asking she'd have said yes. "So what decisions about my own future, exactly, have been left for me to actually decide for myself at this point?"

"Well, no, but to be fair Dilan's a warehouse baby. Literally, he's only around because his mother got whammied by an artefact that made her fertile with a Katzu. He's half-Olia." Elcy said with a soft sigh that had equal parts missing her friend, loving her 'other son', and mourning for her Katzu-teethed-upon furniture.

"If you fight it hard enough, long enough, you might be able to leave." Elcy said after a moment, with a shrug, "I can't promise you that, though. I can't promise you'll live to retirement, although eventually it does become an option if you live that long."

You wouldn't know it to look at the agent, really. She wasn't certain she bought it, but then again, moving statues. She wasn't sure what to think any more. "I'm glad he was around to help with the children." That much she was certain of?

The next part though, oh, it would have been kinder to shoot her. "Ah," that was the sound of doors closing really. Of being locked in a cage and never having seen it coming. What were her options when a higher power, someone that could pick and choose and play with lives, decreed her life elsewhere was over?

Well, she'd be thinking about that. A lot. Leaving the county and perhaps opening lines to Interpol came to mind. How quickly could she liquidate her assets and leave? That was a better question.

"Me too. Dilan is very good with children, endless patience on top of the Katzu half." Elcy agreed with a small laugh, "I have to admit that often I wish he'd become a teacher instead of FBI. He'd have had a chance at normal, then. Braig's always been a lost cause, though. Weird shit actively seeks him out."

She opened her mouth to reply and the words froze in her throat. She couldn't do pleasantries right now, she couldn't pretend this was jut a normal day. No. She did not want to work in a place where a person's civil rights could be overridden and she was seriously reconsidering living in any country that allowed it, and that left no room for the level of interaction Elcy was going for.

So, really, there was nothing left was there? She closed her mouth, grit her teeth, and managed a "I'll be going now," before giving the woman a polite, chilly nod and turning on her heel to retrace her steps. There'd been a gas station back in town, that was as good a place as any to fill up, grab a drink, and get her partner on the phone to discuss options.

As she exited the warehouse there were male voices speaking to each other in a companionable tone. They weren't going in, having grown up where they did they knew that people were generally extraordinarily pissed off the first time they were inside, but they weren't trying to mask their presence either.

Elcy's son, and having seen her he couldn't be anything but her son, raised one hand in a casual 'hello' that required no answer. The other man turned and did the same thing. If she was going to leave, they weren't going to try to stop her.

They'd been godsends, honestly, when first she saw them. For that fact alone she'd have stopped, but today? Today they were very bleak pair to see. Elcy's son who couldn't get away, her adopted son by the way she spoke of him who didn't. This left her near vibrating in place as she eyed them, etching detail into her memory to make up for the lack of such evaluation earlier, then she just had to ask "were you this angry when your future was decided?"

"Yes," said Braig and "Not really," said Dilan. They looked at each other, then Braig gestured to Dilan to go first.

"Katzu pretty much belong to the Clans from the beginning. We can go anywhere and do anything, but in the end our genetics belong to the Clans and that's just the way things are if we want our species to continue. The fact that I'm half Olia means that my genetics are the most diverse of any adult Katzu in the world - Lenna Clan is actually the newest Clan and it's core is made up of my biological children. Being tapped for the warehouse was just the rest of the world making a similar kind of claim on me." then he raised an eyebrow at the smaller man.

"I figured being ATF meant that I could get away from the craziness. Things actively hunt me. Put me in a building with an artefact and it will end up going for my throat. I got myself assigned to a nice little border town near Mexico and was content helping manage smuggling. Then Ansem showed up and informed me that I was going to be coming back as an agent. I shot in his general direction, which didn't faze him at all," stupid old man knowing Braig never missed, "and spent the first couple of months back here screaming, cussing, and getting my mouth washed out with soap about twice a week."

Dilan couldn't help but snort his amusement at the memory of it.

There were, naturally, fundamental differences. They'd known about the Warehouse, first off, and the potential weird out there. They didn't get the double whammy of enlightenment about artifacts AND a future truncated with the 'until you die or retire'. On the other, well, at least she wasn't alone in being angry.

The 'it will go for my throat' comment just got an arched eyebrow though. She didn't have many facts yet, true, but it had the ring of exaggeration AND the Ripper's knife hadn't ended up in Braig. The important part being 'you've met Ansem then. Do you know how I can contact him?" Because railing at the people below the man wasn't fair to anyone. "And responsibility aside," that was directed at Dilan as well, "why put up with it?"

"Okay, okay. Things that can move and are dangerous go for me. Anything requiring a person's hand it's a 50/50 chance. Dilan got knifed, thankfully." Braig's grin, though, was unrepentant.

"He means thankfully because it would have killed him." Dilan offered, "We don't actually have a way of contacting Ansem, but he's usually over for dinner on Saturdays." then he shrugged, "The world needs what we do. If I'm the best one to do it, I don't feel that I have the right to turn away."

"Good to know you can dodge some of it," she noted blandly. She wasn't able to grin back right now. Maybe later.

And hell, Saturday, which was nearly a whole week away at this point in the game. If Answem showed this week. Danny and the boys back in New York could rack up a hell of a backlog in that time frame. Hell, it was New York, they were wading through new cases daily during the bad weeks, and now Danny didn't have a partner. Granted, if she left the country the same would be true. Ridgway be damned but she didn't like this position at all. "You're a better person than I am. I can't see it that way right now."

The grin faded naturally, he was less than subdued by her dryness, but he didn't even try to keep from being moderately amused at the universe. He was just that kind of guy.

Dilan shrugged again, "Well, you've had your whole world turned upside down. I've always known about the warehouse, and I owe my life to it. Paying back just makes sense."

"I've had my whole world decided," she noted softly. There was a vast amount of difference between upside down and the universe decided you were chattel. "I'm glad I could see you both again, thank you for your help with the children last week, but I can't stay here.."

Both men nodded and Braig said, "There's a motel back in town, if you don't want to even stay at the B&B until you've figured things out."

"If you do, however, it's..." Dilan said, giving directions, "I hope you figure things out."

A motel sounded wonderful, actually. It had been a long drive from the nearest place a plane could get her and she'd probably be feeling it more if she wasn't so angry. "Thank you." Figured out. Right. Sure. What was there to figure out at this point?

She didn't even know.

Right, gas station, drink, Danny's...voicemail. And the motel was half closed for remodeling and the rooms not closed were filled up. Because THAT WAS HER LUCK. Luckily no one was in the car to hear the string of serial killers pouring from her lips as she found the Bed and Breakfast. Even she knew driving to the next town over wasn't an option at this point.

When she drove up the porch light was off, even though the lights inside were on. However by the time she'd finished parking the light had been turned on and the door was being held open by the owner of the building. He was another Olia, although just this side of elderly, and had to be Braig's father.

"Detective Brea." he said with a small nod, "Supper has started, you may feel free to join us or to take a plate up to one of the rooms. My name is Yinsi, and I own this place."

She didn't manage to get all the way around her car to grab her bag; nope, leaning against the hood was a GREAT idea as she tried to get her bearings. Or drag together a public face, or something. "Hello Yinsi, the motel was full," that was about as much as she managed?

"I'm sorry to hear that." he said with grave courtesy, "Would you like help with your bag?" he was sufficiently old that he truly had to ask, "You may use any bedroom which does not have a closed door, keys are on the dresser in each one."

"No, thank you, I'll get in in a moment." Honest? And she'd feel incredibly uncomfortable letting an older gentleman carry a bag she could handle herself. "I just...don't feel like moving yet. I'm sorry. I don't want to go in there." It felt final.

Granted, it could just be the day.

"I have no idea why I'm telling you that. Sorry. I think I'm babbling."

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