Noon is the busiest time of day in Lungmen. Hardworking "corporate slaves" (office workers) clutch their phones, scrolling through delivery apps and carefully deliberating over their lunch choices. Outside, delivery riders of all stripes weave through the skyscraper canyons of Lungmen, risking life and limb just for a few meager Lungmen credits to make a living.
At this very moment, however, Jeanne was sitting in her room with three black lines metaphorically drawn across her forehead. she stared fixedly at the items before her, a cold sweat practically sliding down her face.
Arranged in front of her was a bouquet of lilies and sunflowers, flanked by gifts of milk and various other nutritional supplements... the kind specifically meant for hospital visits.
"Lemuen, can you tell me... do I actually have a terminal illness? Was yesterday's report just something the doctor cooked up to keep my spirits high while I'm on my deathbed?"
Jeanne glanced expressionlessly at Ms. Lemuen sitting beside her, then shifted her gaze to the slightly awkward Officer Ch'en sitting across from them.
Ever since the incident, every time Ch'en had called, Lemuen had been the one to pick up. The Sankta had consistently brushed her off with excuses about Jeanne "still sleeping," which naturally led Ch'en to believe Jeanne's physical condition was dire.
Unfortunately, Ch'en had been physically unable to get away over the past few days. They had been so busy that none of them had slept for more than three hours a night; they were all so sleep-deprived they were practically turning into a subspecies of panda.
Today, having finally managed to carve out a sliver of free time, Ch'en had rushed over on behalf of the LGD to visit the "critically injured" Jeanne. She hadn't expected to walk in and find a lively, hopping-mad Jeanne. She could only awkwardy carry in the flowers, fruit baskets, milk, and protein powder she had brought—all of which shouted "visiting a dying patient."
"How is that possible? Didn't you see the report yourself? Terminal illness? Right now, you're so healthy you could probably kill a Tuskbeast with a single punch!"
Faced with Jeanne's suspicion, Lemuen could only respond with a roll of her eyes. She wasn't sure if it was her own poor communication or if these two just had a natural flair for the dramatic, but they both seemed convinced Jeanne was on her last legs. At this moment, Lemuen seemed to have conveniently forgotten who it was that had been pacing around like an ant on a hot pan, frantically looking for a doctor while Jeanne was asleep.
"Uh... we didn't expect it to be such a coincidence," Ch'en admitted. "After all, you didn't wake up for two days straight. Who would have thought you'd be fine today as if nothing happened? But... it's good that you're okay."
To be honest, Ch'en felt a massive weight lift off her chest. Ever since she heard Jeanne had slipped into a deep sleep, she had been terrified the Saint wouldn't wake up. According to common logic in Terra, the more powerful the Originium Art, the more terrifying the side effects—some users even drop dead on the spot.
Such occurrences aren't exactly rare in Terran history. In the reports Ch'en had read over the years, there were always a few cases annually of people dying because they unleashed Arts far beyond their control.
"You can relax now. Believe me, I knew what I was doing," Jeanne said. "Though, I'll admit, this sleep lasted a bit longer than I anticipated."
Hearing this, Lemuen seemed to recall her days of frantic anxiety, but seeing Jeanne now, she felt it had been a false alarm.
"By the way," Jeanne asked, shifting gears, "how is the interrogation of those people going? Any breakthroughs? Has that company caused any more trouble?"
Jeanne was curious about the progress of the case, especially regarding the facility she had personally torched. It was the first time she had used a Noble Phantasm on such a massive scale, and she wasn't entirely sure what the ecological or supernatural fallout would be.
In movie tropes, ruins like that usually birthed some kind of new monster with flame abilities. Even though she was certain she had cremated every body, side effects were always a possibility.
"That company?" Ch'en sighed. "We hired ten excavation teams to clear the ruins. Right now? Aside from melted metal, we haven't even found a handful of bone ash."
Ch'en recalled telling the foremen of those teams that there might be Originium crystals inside and to wear protective gear. Instead of being afraid, the workers had asked with sparkling eyes if they could keep whatever crystals they found. When she told them the LGD would buy them back, the construction teams started digging like they were hunting for a gold mine.
They had heard rumors on the black market that the company performed experiments on Infecteds, so they assumed the place would be carpeted in Originium. High-purity Originium ingots are a harder currency than gold; you can make a trade with them even in the deepest wilderness.
But after three days of digging—piling up dirt like small mountains—the workers began cursing. There wasn't a single crystal to be found. The value of what they recovered wouldn't even cover the fuel for their excavators. Forget Originium; they couldn't even find a trace of an Infected.
"As for the people we caught from that company..."
Ch'en's expression darkened instantly, looking as though she had just swallowed a dead fly. It was clear that even within the walls of the LGD, the behavior of those prisoners was disgusting enough to make her skin crawl just thinking about it.
"The small fry talked fast, but their testimony is mostly useless. As for that Ursine... Ivanov? He's been in a state of flat-out denial."
Ch'en remembered the interrogation room. Despite a mountain of evidence and the fact that he had practically admitted everything to Ch'en's face earlier, the "dead bear" refused to cooperate. No matter what they asked, his only answers were "I don't know," "I never said that," or "You must have misheard." He had an attitude of "I dare you to kill me."
"That's normal," Jeanne noted. "He's waiting for his backers to bail him out. He probably still holds a lot of sensitive intel."
Jeanne thought of the Ursine weaponry found as evidence. Ivanov was likely the highest-ranking operative for the Ursus nobility in Lungmen. If he so much as whispered a name, the LGD would be digging through files for weeks. The nobility wouldn't give up on someone like that easily.
His end would likely be one of two things: either he'd be successfully bailed out (and Lungmen would have to watch the relationship sour), or he'd turn up dead in his cell—likely ruled a "suicide," regardless of whether he talked or not.
"Yeah," Ch'en said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "So we've had to resort to some... 'extraordinary' measures."
"You... used torture?" Jeanne asked, a bit taken aback. She had seen some brutal medieval punishments, but the internet lists for Yan were legendary—things like slicing off a prisoner's flesh while a medical operator heals them, then cooking the flesh and feeding it back to them.
"That's just nonsense from 'Buzzfowl' (online tabloids)," Ch'en snapped. "How could we use something so anti-human? Actually, Wei Yenwu sent someone over. Supposedly, their Originium Art can read a portion of a person's memory when they are in a state of extreme euphoria or agitation."
Ch'en clearly loathed the method. Jeanne could imagine the interrogation room littered with empty vials of hallucinogens... or perhaps even more illegal substances. For instance, Originium-based stimulants—drugs that trigger unprecedented levels of excitement but are usually a "shoot on sight" offense for possession.
"If it weren't for the safety of Lungmen, I would never let a guy like that step foot inside the Guard Department!"
Even though she knew it was a necessary evil, Ch'en made no effort to hide her disgust. In her eyes, allowing this was already the ultimate concession.