Marta paused outside the Justice Arena, listening to the cries of pain. There were a few cheers now and then but they were thin and muted; clearly the jury-dience had few members today. Shaking her head at the folly of those who entrusted their rights to the judicial process she walked off, the mud sucking at her shoes, towards the market.
The market was busy; people shuffled between stalls clutching their purchases tightly, keeping their heads down and not making eye contact. The ammoniac smell of not-quite-fresh fish competed with the harsh aroma of raw spice, and earthy vegetal undertones mingled with a miasma of burned bread.
Marta looked around, looking for people pushed out of clusters, people most likely to be on their own, and found one: a thin girl with a round of wet cheese nestled in the crook of her arm and a paper bag balanced on top.
Marta strode in front of her and pulled a heavy baton from her belt. The girl’s eyes widened as Marta struck her legs, knocking her down. Shopping had started.