<strong>Name:</strong>Elias Scragg<br/><strong>Position:</strong>Arbite Trooper<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Precinct 0-23, Middle Hive<br/><strong>Case File:</strong>All<br/><strong>Investigators:</strong>All<br/><br/><br/><br/>This was all the detective needed right now. Staring down a member of the Adepta Sororita with a now limp girl in his grip, sweat beaded at Scragg’s forehead while breath was heavy and heaving not from the strenuous activity but from the assault that his mind had just experienced. This was why he hated touching people. It was never just: Wake up in the morning-cycle refreshed, having some jam on toast, go to the office, book a few criminals, get assigned a case, save a kitten. No. No it was get shaken out of bed by some moron Spyrer crashing his new skycar into a room two floors above his hab-block domicile, getting the word of where to pick up his next case and bumping into a shell of a child too abused on a daily basis to even care about the strange blonde man freaking out on the street and talking to himself along the way, failing to garnish the attention of a cute enforcer who soon disappeared once the investigation was done, and then having to choose between saving a mad woman’s life or getting brain raped by thirty or forty of the ugliest assholes in the sector and then pretend it didn’t happen lest he be fingered as a witch.<br/><br/>Scragg wanted to be strong. He<em>wanted</em>to look this terrifying woman right in the eyes and mouth the words ‘FEEEETH YOOOOU’ with such vocal velvet that to transcribe it could only involve writing in the finest chiseled calligraphy with gold inlay on his grave marker, since seconds after the words left him surely he would be<strong>set on fire</strong>. While the image of him wandering the halls of Justice on fire entirely apathetic with a quickly crisping doughnut hanging out of his mouth was the slightest bit amusing to him as he pictured it, it honestly wasn’t what he’d set out to accomplish this morning.<br/><br/>The Detective knew about as much as Drake did about the sisterhood save what he heard in rumors ranging from celibate nuns of virtue and the Emperor’s grace to leather wearing lesbians with bolt guns written about doing horrible little things in the penny dreadfuls they sold on the street corners. Passing a glance to the sniper he slowly let the girl go and stood up straight with his arms in the air in surrender. It almost had him fall over when his knees gave out from the severe emotional shock he was trying desperately to pretend wasn’t there. He stumbled into the side of the table next to Accalia. Both palms rest flat there, his head dipped down toward the floor like he was about to be sick again. He’d keep it in this time though. Once back at Progen Fifteen was enough. Avoiding Cat Thebes direct eye contact if he could, he didn’t so much mind if the sister noticed or not the glossiness and bloodshot of his eyes.<br/><br/>“Elias Scragg. So that’s how it is…Sister Margaret? With all the pea-shooters around, I take it you really don’t want to hear any protests about giving up this girl right here. So…what’ve ya got then that’s going to be so…consoling, hm? Oh, Oh and thanks by the by. I love commendations. You going to make the quiet one dance with some pom poms once she takes the book off? I mean… no disrespect or anything but I just have this funny feeling despite all this formality that I should get on the floor and let the one in powered boots realign my spine for a little while. Call me crazy.” He had to pause every couple of lines to swallow the saliva in his mouth, going pale in the face but fighting the good fight to be cheeky and submissive all at once. “Also your kinda scary.”<br/>