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“Give me one,” Gepard says, in his familiar commando tone, with a gloved hand out.
Sampo can only stare in shock, blatantly wide-eyed. There is a pack of cigarettes in his left hand and a lighter that slips from his right; it’s the sound of the lighter clacking to the ground that stirs the man from his stupor.
“I didn’t take you for a smoker, Captain Landau, ” Sampo quips. He does not offer a cigarette.
“I’m not. This is my first time.”
While Sampo is all the more bewildered, Gepard takes this opportunity to snatch the pack and pick up the lighter. He takes a stick out, and lights it up—bringing it up to his lips. A pause, and then it becomes obvious he’s suppressing his coughs.
All the while, Sampo watches fondly—it reminds him of the first time he started smoking. Takes him back to the first few crimes he committed.
He was around, what, 17? Just a wee little man when the Overworld and Underground severed ties with one another. Things were already grim because of increased demand in supplies, but then his people had to fend for themselves completely with the little resources they had. Sure, they were the source of the city’s geothermal power, but even the good-for-nothing officials who drank all day still got paid far more than a diligent miner did. Such wonderful luck… all that Geomarrow and for what?
“Shoplifting,” Sampo says after a huff of smoke, “that was my first crime.”
Gepard flits his gaze to the other with an eyebrow raised, quietly egging him to continue. When he doesn’t, the captain goes for a smoke.
“I’m not—“ Gepard clears his throat. “—I’m not going to arrest you for a crime you did ten years ago.”
“That’s not the Captain Landau I know. Are you high off the nicotine already?” Sampo replies, hardly hiding his puzzlement.
Gepard leans his head to the side, as if weighing his options. On one hand, this is a first-hand account of how notorious criminal Sampo Koski committed his crimes and for how long—this conversation, along with all the evidence stacked against Sampo, is enough to incriminate the twenty-seven year old for as long as he lived.
On the other… he’s out of duty right now… not that that’s ever stopped the blond, but…
“I’m here as Geppie . Brother of Serval. An old friend.”
Something in Sampo shatters, and it’s visible in the way he gasps softly, with genuine surprise across his features.
“You remembered?”
“Of course I remember; only two people in all of Belobog have ever called me that.”
There is a moment of silence to smoke. And then a huff. Gepard swallows to wash away the itchy feeling in his throat. It only makes his mouth feel drier than it already is, but that hardly matters at the moment.
“Well?”
Sampo looks away.
“It’s not a big story—I stole a packet of bandaids. I found a kid crying ‘bout a scraped knee, and at that time, I wasn’t friendly with Natasha. So I stole… bandaids.” He recounts a small, lithe version of himself with oversized clothes that had certainly seen better days, clumsily stuffing a box of bandaids in his pocket. Sampo clicks his tongue at the memory of hesitating on committing a crime.
His fingers itch.
“From bandaids, it went to medical supplies and snacks. And, well, since you can’t stuff relics in your pocket, I upgraded from shoplifting to downright theft of ancient relics.”
Sampo does not miss the way Gepard frowns at the wording, and only smiles wryly. “It’s not like I lost my humanity along the way… if I never had it, actually.
“I mean, now that I think about it, I rarely ever felt guilty for what I did—mostly because the people I stole from were wealthy enough to get by, while the people who received my stolen goods had to resort to someone like me just to make it through another day.”
Gepard furrows his eyebrows, concern written all over his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sampo interrupts him.
“I learned that for people to take you seriously, you gotta act the part. So I learned the art of persuasion, and spiced up my wardrobe! You’d be surprised at how easily human will bends to a pretty face; a little self-humiliation in the twisted form of praising them, and voilà! ” Sampo opens his palms for emphasis. “Another relic falls into my lovely hands.”
Gepard goes quiet. He lifts a hand to his chin, and his lips purse slightly. Sampo lets him process his thoughts in silence as he takes in his own cigarette.
“Have you…” the blond begins after a short while, caution evident in his tone, “…have you ever killed someone in your line of work?”
“Of course not!” Sampo answers, almost defensively. But in a split second, he relaxes. “No, no, that’s a valid question—what with shoplifting turning to relic theft, fraud, and maybe more than a few resisted arrests against a Silvermane Guard—but never have I committed murder. I swore to myself that I would never go that far.”
“But why? How is murder different from any crime you’ve committed?”
Sampo raises an eyebrow at Gepard. “Have you never committed a crime before? Not even shoplifting or tax evasion?”
The latter man looks at him with an eyebrow cocked up too as he glares.
“Jeez, could’ve just said no, you goody two-shoes,” Sampo rolls his eyes, “makes sense that all crimes weigh the same to you. Murder is like… the worst of the worst. You forcefully take away someone’s life. I, Sampo Koski, am a man of many burdens, but someone’s death is not something I can bear to carry.
“I mean. Imagine. That person’s friends and family never get to see them again. If I kill someone, maybe a child out there will become orphaned. Or a spouse becomes widowed. Someone will lose their support system.”
Sampo looks at Gepard pointedly. “You of all people should know what this feels like. Surely you’ve lost a few soldiers during battle?”
Gepard flinches at the former’s unfiltered words. The cigarette slightly crumples under his hardened grip, and in his mind, names and faces of fallen soldiers drift by.
Sampo, ever the perceptive one, hums. “Yeah, exactly. Now imagine being the reason for that.”
Gepard looks at his gloved hands; despite them being gloved, he knows that underneath, there’s an array of scars and callouses not unexpected of the vanguard of Belobog. And yet still, Gepard realizes, that despite these rough hands, worn from years of war, cherished comrades still died . It briefly makes him wonder—what on Qlipoth’s barren land is he fighting for?
His hands itch, and so he curls his fingers inwards to scratch at them.
“I couldn’t… protect them well enough. Does that count as murder?”
Sampo’s gaze softens when he hears the way the captain’s voice trembles ever so slightly. He pats his back.
“Far from it, buddy. You couldn’t control the dire circumstances—murder is a choice. ”
At this, Gepard exhales deeply. He throws the cigarette away in a nearby bin; this conversation is not something the captain is willing to unravel on a weeknight moments after a wild goose chase between him and the thief.
Sampo follows after one last huff of smoke.
“I’m sure you don’t need a warning, but don’t tell anyone what happened here,” the blond says sternly, his left hand rubbing at his the wrist of his prosthetic arm.
Sampo raises his hands defensively. “Of course not. As long as you don’t arrest me for shoplifting ten years ago.”
“I won’t, but maybe I will for falsifying government documents last Tuesday.”
“Hey! It’s not my fault Qlipoth Fort’s bureaucratic processes take at least a month! I don’t have a month for a single piece of paper.”
“It was three, don’t be so dramatic. If you just followed the normal procedure, you could’ve gotten it signed and stapled within four working days.”
“Is that an Overworlder privilege? Because I’ve never heard of such a thing. I think I’ll just have you sign these perfectly legit, totally not fabricated documents right here, right now.”
“No thanks. I don’t feel like going on a wild goose chase tonight.”
Sampo stops in his tracks. He’s not sure whether to be grateful or annoyed.
“What happened to Captain Laundau working overtime for me? Have you gotten bored?”
It is Gepard’s turn to halt. He turns around and looks at Sampo with what appears to be a genuine smile, however faint it may be—
“‘If we’re not on patrol, we should get a good night’s rest.’ That’s what I always tell the Guards. You should try it too sometime, Sampo Koski. Goodnight.”