An Odd Kind of Justice

[Flo]

Roavenalev, Karjelinn

It was late at night as the figure walked down the dimly lit street. They approached a building before pausing, to check for any onlookers. Seeing none, they continued their approach. Arriving, they set down a backpack and pulled out several cans of fresh spray paint before getting to work tagging the building.

Occasionally, the figure would check for approaching vehicles but oddly, none came. 

Before too long, they were finished. Stowing the cans in the backpack, the figure picked it up and walked away, as quietly as they arrived. 

Nearby, a dog barked as the figure fled.

As dawn broke, and the sun rose over the horizon, the handiwork of the figure could be seen. In bold colours, a single word: FRIDDJAVOUHTA, or freedom in the Saamo language. The building upon which the words were now presented was nothing less than a Saamo re-education building, and all of those who would visit it today would see this message. 

The question was, would the message sent be the same as the message received?

[Sal]

Saamo District
Roavelanev

"Well, Jokko, as you can see behind me, an unknown deviant has defaced this historical building by spray painting the word friddjavouhta on its side," the woman said into the her microphone emblazoned with the YRX-12 news station logo. The tails of her crisp lavender suit jacket fluttered in the morning breeze, but her hair, meticulously sprayed with more aerosolized product than had been used on the wall behind her, stood its ground. She lifted a hand and gestured to the building in frame beyond her. "The grafitti seems to have occurred at some point early this morning, likely The word, of course, is freedom in the Saamo language. What we don't know at this time is the vandal's motive, although it seems relevant that the building behind me happens to be the National Museum of Saamojedic Culture, formerly the premiere boarding school in the nation for Saamo children."

The reporter paused for a moment as a news anchor in a studio somewhere across town asked her a question.

"Well, police are still looking for leads on who the person is, but the security camera of a nearby petrol station did catch this image of the culprit."

Through TV magic, the reporter's image was now being replaced with an enlarged, grainy photo of a vaguely humanoid blob. If a viewer were to look close enough, they might see that the blob was indeed a person, although their face seemed to be hidden behind a mask or under a hood - or maybe both; it was hard to tell.

"If you have any tips on who this person is, please report them to the Roavenalev police at the number on your screen." Another short pause, this time to allow viewers to copy down the telephone number and to study the blurry photo in futility. "For YRX-12, I'm Anikka Opalessi."


***

Roavenalev Police Department
Roavenalev

"Lieutenant Tamminan, I have that report on this morning's vandalism up at the museum."

The Lieutenant, a big, soft bear of a man with a trace of salt-and-pepper hair left at the back of his skull and a much thicker patch on his upper lip, looked up from the phone in his hand. "Ah, Officer Vismuttilla," he greeted, waving the young woman into his office. Almost the Lieutenant's complete visual opposite, Officer Vismuttilla was an athletically-built woman with a mass of chestnut hair pulled back tightly into an efficient ponytail. She stepped across the expanse of his office and handed off the packet of papers in her hand.

"Do you expect anything to come of this, Lieutenant?" she asked, a faint concern crumpling her features.

"Oh, this? No," the Lieutenant nearly scoffed. "Just one of those separatist nutters from the ghettos. They like to spraypaint their little slogans in the middle of the night when no one can see them and trash talk online, but that's the extent of it. You've got bigger fish to fry, officer."

"Sure thing," Vismuttilla conceded, looking not entirely convinced. "Anyway, I'm on patrol in the north side today."

"Very good. Get to it, then."

"Yes, sir."

[Flo]

Roavenalev
The North Side
Later that day

"Pig." Killu muttered as he watched the officer drive by. He was a young adult, only 19 years old, and had spent most of his life as a transient in Karjelinn. Like many Saamo, he had grown up moving constantly, following growing seasons and other seasonal work options. 

For the last year or so, he had been in Roavenalev, working in a nearby factory, or rather, he had been working. It was a fine enough job  meaning it was terrible and the leadership sucked, but they didnt ask for papers or anything. He had made one too many rude comments to his manager though and was fired a few weeks ago and so it was back onto the streets. 

He saw the officer drive by again. What are they looking for, anyway? he thought. While it wasn't strange to see swuad cars in this neighborhood, as crime was common, it was strange to see one circling the block. 

His thoughts drifted to his parents, who had been gone for some time. His father had died in a mining accident three years ago, and his mother, driven mad by grief, followed soon after. Killu had a sister, but she was far younger than him and was somewhere else in Karjelinn, in the foster system. Killu was intended to have been in the same system, but he ran before they could place him and, as was typically the case, no one went looking for someone like him. 

He frowned as he saw the squad car circle again. Frustrated, he kicked a rock just as the car pulled in front of him and it pinged off the side with a loud clang. The car stopped quickly, and Killu attempted to run before whoever was inside could catch him...

[Sal]

Roavenalev
The North Side

Vismuttilla's car lurched harshly as she brought the brake pedal to the floorboard. Her split-second reaction to the loud ping off the door of her car was met by a counterpoint of the clipped squeal of tires on asphalt.

"What the...?"

The officer replayed the instant in her mind, looking around for information, checking her mirrors. Had a bird just flown into her car? She certainly hadn't seen anything--

There! From her left, a flurry of motion. A body - running, slipping just out of view through the opportunity presented by a mostly dry box culvert, languid scrawls and bold bubbly block letters of graffiti in all colors marking the length of it. It was gone just as she saw it, but she made out the distinctive blur of a body.

"H-Hey!" She shouted, still in her car, her brain struggling to make one hand open her car door and the other unlatch her seatbelt and her nonexistant but totally essential third arm radio in to alert her pursuit of a suspicious person. She was out of the car and taking off at full tilt toward the culvert and the person racing ahead of her.

"Ten-Forty three!" She shouted into her radio. "This is Officer Petra Vismuttilla, I'm in pursuit on foot near Kuninkukkula Drive and Rinne Street. Suspect may be the museum tagger!"

To the back of the person head of her, she yelled, "Stop!"

For just a moment, the target looked back, and Vismuttilla was struck by just how young he was. Just a kid, really. Still, his youth was not an adequate match on its own for her academy training and rigorous self-imposed fitness regimen, and she was soon upon him. She thought that if she leapt once, hard, and reached out, she could grab him... if she just reached...!

[Flo]

*thud*

Killu hit the pavement hard as the officer tackled him to the ground. He wrestled for a bit, trying to get free, but to no avail. The officer had him pinned. Frustrated, he craned his neck to try to look around the dingy alley, when he noticed his bag of speed on the ground. It had been in his pocket, but must have fell out. He did a bit of dealing on the side to make ends meet, but this was for use later.

He wasn't sure the officer had seen it yet. He stopped wriggling to try to keep things under control.

[Sal]

“Still!” Vismuttilla ordered from her position straddling the youngster’s back. “Stop struggling!” She felt the shallow trickle of the sludge of snowmelt, cigarette butts, antifreeze and other such delightful runoff pooled in the culvert soaking into the knees of her pants and splashed up to her wrists from her struggling with the suspect. She almost felt bad that he’d gone down in it; he certainly wouldn’t drown, but he would never get his shirt clean. Nothing that could be done about it, now, though.

“Give me your arms!” she barked again, trying to keep the one she’d managed to get behind his back pinned in place while working the other one back to join it.

As the boy suddenly went limp under her — and Vismuttilla panicked for a fleeting moment that she’d really hurt him — the echoing sound of two pairs of shoes on pavement neared.

“Police!” a man’s booming voice announced from just behind Vismuttilla. Her backup.

“Help me get him cuffed,” she panted, although now that the young man had suddenly given up, she was managing on her own.

One of the two officers that had joined her was radioing in to dispatch to announce their success in apprehending the delinquent as the other helped her out. With the young man in handcuffs, Vismuttilla climbed off him and paced a few steps back and forth, back and forth to disperse the leftover adrenaline still flooding her veins. She’d been on the force for nearly six years, but actual action like this was rare. Most of her employment consisted of filing form after form in a jungle of olive drab filing cabinets, and some days she felt more like a clerical worker than a peace officer.

Breathing easier, she rejoined the others. “What’s your full name?” she addressed Killu. “Do you have any weapons? Knives? Firearms?” Even as she asked, she frisked him for confirmation.

“Look at this,” one of the backing officers half-snorted, picking up something small and plasticky from the culvert brew. “What do you think?”

“Meth,” the other confirmed.

Vismuttilla sighed. “Congratulations. You just made it worse for yourself.” With that, she and one of her comrades helped pick Killu off the ground and began pushing him toward her cruiser.

Exiting the culvert, a small crowd had formed. Mostly Saamo, Vismuttilla thought, and for some reason, it bugged her. Maybe it was because she, herself, was a quarter Saamo, but the crowd clearly couldn’t tell with the way they shook their heads and whispered to one another and filmed her with their camera phones. To them, she was an unwanted outsider taking away one of their children. She wasn’t sure if she felt angry or disappointed or embarrassed or all of the above.

“Alright, alright,” one of the other officers announced. “Disperse! Fun’s over!”

***

Anoniima, A Saamojedic Language Forum

13:48 - User Arvemuoddá shared the file FallenBrother_DiePigs.mp4

13:48 - User Arvemuoddá - Pigs loose in the north side today.

13:53 - User xX_skábma_Xx - OMG I WAS THERE WHEN THIS HAPPENED. UGHHHH. THIS MAKES ME SICK!!!1!  

13:55 - User lihkkuuuuuu - disgraceful. cant those devils stay out of our home for one day?

14:01 - User Arvemuoddá - @lihkkuuuuuu Not when there’s so much money in it for them to rape and plunder.  

14:06 - User Helvet-Dreamin - shiiiiit I went to school with that kid lmao RIP HE DEAD@$$  x_x

14:08 - User ajdu23hd7x - Get enhanced male performance today with this NATURAL REMEDY!

14:10 - User ajdu23hd7x has been banned. Báze dearvan!

14:21 - User čáhppe - I think pigs are about to be in season. Run run little pigs.