#she's stay in that grey area between victim and killer and I think it would ruin him a little not gonna lie

[horrorlesbians]

thinking about how rust 'prison is very, very hard on people who hurt kids. if you get the opportunity you should kill yourself' cohle would react when he learns that amma was the one to kill those girls

[stxrrywildflower]

family

pairing - bau team x teen!reader

summary - you never knew something so good could come out of something so bad

warnings - kidnapping, injuries, cursing

word count - ?

requested by @marvelxmendes

by the urgency of hotch’s message, the team knew they were in for a tough case.

another key factor in their suspicions was the fact that garcia was seated, not presenting the case. instead, hotch stood with the remote in his hand, a serious look on his face.

“four bodies have been found in indianapolis. all of the victims have been either teenagers or young adults. another person was just taken, nineteen year old victim. the time between the abductions and killings have been becoming shorter. wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced. 

with that, the team grabbed their bags and took off to the airport. the flight over was spent reviewing the case and bouncing possible theories. emily and rossi were sent to talk to the victim of boy who was just taken. hotch and j.j. were due at the police station while morgan and spencer were going to the latest crime scene.

just hours into their individual assignment, the body of the latest victim was found. the unsub wasn’t slowing down and if anything, was becoming more and more violent.

examining the body was incredible difficult for everyone. the local police had all refused as the boy killed was very active in the local community. hotch and rossi remained at the station while the other agents headed out to the crime scene.

“victim was david mitchell. he was staying with his mom. she worked almost all day,” one of the cops informed.

“well the unsub is obviously going after people who are alone. makes it a lower risk,” morgan concluded.

after a few more minutes of examining the body, the team all headed back to the police station. they didn’t have a ton of information to go off of. all they knew was that they needed to act quickly or else more people would die.

____

stepping into your home, you used your foot the close the door behind you as your arms were filled with groceries. the only sound throughout the house was your shoes scuffing against the floor.

you were only 17 and a senior in high school. your parents ‘worked’ leaving you alone almost all of the time. they had people check in on you and showed up sometimes, making it semi-legal. it had started a year and a half ago. you were shocked at how quickly you adjusted to being alone all the time. honestly, it didn’t feel much different then when they were actually around.

as you turned on the tv to the local news station, you began putting the groceries away. “in regards to the recent murders, the fbi have arrived and are working with the police to catch this criminal. all residents are advised to be on the look out for any suspicious activity and keep their doors locked at all times,” one of the reporters spoke. you peered around the doorway, double checking that your doors were in fact locked.

once you put everything away, you headed upstairs to your room. in an hour, you were due to meet a classmate for a study session. if you were being honest, you didn’t really need a whole study session. you were already accepted to georgetown in washington d.c. for college with a pretty large scholarship. however, you were always willing to help someone study.

it was when you opened your closet and looked in the mirror that you noticed the presence of a figure in the corner of your room. you could barely turn around before the masked figure was rushing towards you. his hand clamped over your mouth. “you scream, i take this knife and stab you. you hear me?” he whispered harshly.

tears began to flow freely down your cheeks. in an effort to save yourself, you bit down on his hand hard. the man was wearing latex gloves allowing for you to tear through them. a metal taste was then in your mouth, letting you know that you had broken the skin.

the man clutched his now bleeding hand, allowing for you to slip out of his grasp. you took off running towards the door. just as you thought you would finally be able to escape, a sharp pain in your shoulder stopped you.

you fell to the ground, screaming as you clutched your shoulder. the man pulled the knife out of your body just as you fell. “fucking bitch,” the man spat. he then raised his foot and kicked you hard in the head, knocking you unconscious.

the local police chief rushed in, clutching a phone in his hand. the teams eyes all darted up. “we think the unsub may have another girl. a local student just called in about y/n y/l/n. they were supposed to study together but y/n never showed,” he informed everyone. “she could have just forgotten,” morgan offered.

“y/n isn’t like that. kid’s had a tough life. but, she’s a straight-a student, set to be valedictorian, and always helps any kids who need help. hell, she’s even helped my son in math,” the chief replied.

“tough life?”

the chief nodded, “her parents work almost all the time. they pop in every once in awhile but y/n is basically on her own. friends and neighbors always check in on her to make sure she’s okay.”

“all right, we’ll all head over to her house. try and find out anything we can. it’s the only lead we have right now,” hotch ordered.

after arriving at your house, the team exited their cars and made their way up to the front door. j.j. stepped forward, knocking on the door. they waited all of two minutes before agreeing to enter. suprisingly, the door was unlocked, adding to the teams growing suspicion of your kidnapping.

spencer, morgan, and emily all headed up the stairs while the other three agents took the first floor. “we have blood!” morgan called as soon as he entered the bedroom. the team regrouped upstairs. blood was on the floor right by the door.

“signs of struggle,” emily spoke as she kneeled down, “it’s fresh.”

“well we know the percentages of kidnappings with minors. take a room and find out more about y/n’s life,” hotch once again gave out orders.

j.j. and emily found themselves in the hallway leading to the living room. “look, there’s no family photos. not even any in the past. all of them are of y/n, her friends, and then accomplishments,” j.j. pointed out.

that was common throughout the house. every room had the basic furniture but but besides that, it didn’t feel like a true home. even your room was incredibly bare. “hey look at this,” emily called, taking one of the frames off the wall.

“an acceptance letter to georgetown. practically a full ride,” emily said as she handed the frame over. “what have you two got?” rossi asked, entering the room. “she’s incredibly smart. already had plans for college. other than that, this house lacks any family value.”

“same for upstairs. everything has been modified for a single person living here,” rossi added.

“we need to find her,” j.j. blurted, her heart already aching for you. obviously, with the fact that you were currently in the hands of a killer but also with your current life. growing up with parents barely in your life was tough, no doubt. by the looks on the faces of the team, they all felt the same way.

when you woke up, your entire body ached. your head was pounding, no doubt from being knocked unconscious with a swift kick to the head. through your blurred vision, you managed to make out your surroundings. the room itself is was a simple square, no windows with concrete floors and walls. you were tied a metal chair which was then bolted to the ground.

naturally, you began to thrash around. you instantly regretted it as your shoulder began to throb once again, the stab wound still bleeding slightly. the ropes that retrained your hands grinder against your skin, creating burns on your skin. your body felt like it was on fire.

“don’t get to comfortable girl,” a new woman called, making you jump slightly, “the fun hasn’t even started.”

the team worked almost nonstop for three days. for a short period of time, they had thought the unsub had already killed you. however, they had received a lock on your hair, letting them know that you were in fact alive.

it was around 10pm when they had a break in the case. garcia had been doing excessive digging and somehow managed to find a warehouse. it was only secluded location in the area which was the best lead they had. after putting on their vests, the team quickly got into their cars and began the drive.

your head hung loosely, no strength was left in you to even pick it up. your eyes were slits, only open enough to see the floor below you. the once grey color was now stained red from blood. some areas were slightly darker, due to the fact that you were practically waterboarded. the stab wound in your shoulder was even worse now. hours ago, you had lost feeling in it entirely.

it turns out you were taken by a man but he was apart of a pair. the man had sat back and watched while the woman tortured your excessively. she only showed up for a few hours while the man stayed with you 24/7.

various cuts, some shallow and some deep, littered your body. a concussion was already inevitable, as you have had one since the first day you had been taken. your left wrist was no doubt broken. the woman had decided to experiment with hammers. your hand was the first thing she hit.

when the sirens had began blaring outside the warehouse, the mans face shifted to panic before completely changing back. “one more for good measure,” he smirked, grabbing a large knife from the rack. suddenly, he plunged the knife into your side. thankfully, he didn’t hit any major organs. blood gushed out of the wound, now soaking your shirt. you couldn’t even cry out, all you could do was hope that the sirens got to you in time.

a cloth was harshly placed over your mouth before being tied around the back of your head, silencing you. the man then pulled your hair, bringing your head up to face the door. “they may get me but they will never get her,” he whispered harshly. your eyes widened at knowing your one kidnapper would still be at large.

the doors suddenly slammed open. two women rushed in, one blonde the other with dark hair, along with two men, one extremely muscular and the other as skinny as a twig. the cold metal tip of a gun was pressed into the side of your head. fear coursed through you.

“put it down,” the muscular man ordered.

the gun was jammed further against your head. pain exploded as your already damaged head was hurt yet again. the muffled discussion between the fbi agents and the man went on for a few more moments.

finally, the man stepped back. you thought that it would be over and you would finally be saved. however, the man pulled the trigger, sending a bullet towards the agents.

the bullet wizzed passed your ear, creating a ringing that no doubt made your ears bleed. another wave of pain exploded from your left ear as well as your head. turns out that the bullet had grazed your ear and head, making more blood flow. another gunshot sounded, the man behind you dropping dead.

the realization that you almost just died finally set in. your eyes widened once again as your breathing became heavier and faster. the one blond woman rushed over and went to untie your legs. a burst of adrenaline came over you as you did everything in your power to push her away. when the cloth around your mouth dropped, you let out a loud sob as tears freely flowed down your cheeks.

“get away, get away!” you screamed as you jerked around.

the blonde woman’s face fell. she stepped back to stand by the other woman. hesitantly, the two male agents stepped forward.

“hey, i’m agent morgan and this is doctor reid. i’m going to take this ropes off of you. is that okay?” morgan asked. you nodded, pressing your lips together. as morgan went to begin to untie the ropes, reid kneeled down beside you.

“help is on the way. but now i need you to breath with me,” reid started, motioning with his hands to get you to follow his breathing pattern. you did as he said, your eyes still continuing to dart around the room. “he can’t hurt you anymore,” reid reassured you.

you jumped again. “p-” was all you could get out before a series of coughs racked your body. your uninjured hand clutched your side. morgan kneeled down beside reid. “what?” he asked.

“partner,” you slurred, eyes finally closing as you fell unconscious.

the second you passed out, morgan and reid immediately went into action. morgan layed your body to lie on the floor as he started applying pressure to your hip. spencer moved your head into his lap, his knee against your shoulder to help with the injury there while his hands were pressed against your head. “you think she has a head injury?” morgan asked.

spencer nodded, “definitely.” meanwhile, emily and j.j. rushed outside to find hotch and rossi. “unsub is dead. y/n is hurt pretty bad but she mentioned a partner,” emily informed the other two agents. “it’s most likely a woman. she freaked out when i went near her but are much better with reid and morgan,” j.j. added, “most likely a dominant and submissive type.”

the ambulance pulled in a minute later. the emt’s rushed in, your body being placed on a stretcher and moved out of the building quickly. the team regrouped outside of the warehouse, all at a stand still on what to do.

“alright, emily and i will head back to the police station. you four go to the hospital. we’ll need to interview y/n after she is treated,” hotch ordered. from there, they all went there separate ways.

at the hospital, you were rushed into a quick surgery to repair both your hand, and stitch up the stab wounds as well as the other cuts on your body. it only took three hours after your initial admission for you to be back to your room and set to wake up any minute.

the four agents stood outside of your room, glancing in through the window to where you were. “poor kid,” morgan spoke. “have you had any contact with her parents?” reid asked from his seat.

j.j. shook her head, “yes and no. the first time i called when she was first taken they didn’t even pick up. just now they did answer but said they wouldn’t come home.”

rossi scoffed at that answer. “can’t that be classified as child neglect?” the senior agent questioned. “she isn’t 18 yet, not a legal adult,” morgan piped in.

“all i know is that y/n can’t be under their care anymore,” rossi concluded.

“what are you thinking?”

rossi shrugged, “not sure yet. we just need to wait for her to wake up. then we can talk.”

twenty minutes later, you began to stir. in an instant, nurses entered your room, changing out your iv’s and helping you wake up properly. they left you alone for a few minutes before the team would come in, no doubt to interview you.

you toyed with the fabric of your hospital blanket as the door opened. in walked morgan and reid since they were the most familiar. “hey y/n, how are you feeling?” reid asked.

“whatever they gave me is helping. thanks for saving me,” you smiled slightly. “it’s what we do. now there’s two of our agents outside. they aren’t going to hurt you. is it alright is they come in two?” morgan asked, his voice soft.

nodding, you adjusted yourself so you were sitting up better. the woman from before and an older man were the next in your room. “hi y/n, i’m emily and this is dave,” she introduced. you instantly felt a lot more comfortable around the people in your room. your eyes flickered down to your casted hand before looking back up.

“what do you want to know?” you asked quietly.

“what can you tell us about the woman who hurt you?” emily asked. you visibly flinched when she mentioned the woman. “i think her name is ashlyn. i overheard them talking. she-” you got choked up slightly. after taking a deep breath, you continued, “she did most of the beating and torture. he just stayed with me and watched.”

rossi sat down in the chair by your bed. “we are going to do everything in our power to find her. i promise,” he spoke. “you promise?” you questioned. “i promise,” rossi reassured you.

you were released from the hospital the next day. the team was still in town as the second unsub had yet to be caught. j.j. was in the room with you while you were getting ready to go. the memories were still slightly blurry but you had apologized profusely about screaming at her. the profiler and brushed it off, saying that it was okay. just after slipping your t-shirt on, you turned to the woman.

“my parents?” you asked.

“i tried calling them-,” j.j. started. as soon as you heard her words, you broke down. “of course they’re not here,” you seethed. j.j. shot you a sympathetic look. “they’re never here. i need them and they leave me in the fucking dust!” you yelled, allowing yourself to curse them out.

you collapsed against the bed as you began sobbing. all your emotions combined with everything that had happened in the last few days came out. j.j. stepped forward hesitantly, moving to sit beside you much to your suprise, she hugged you. you rested your forehead on her shoulder, feeling instant comfort from having someone there for you.

back at your home, reid and morgan stayed with you with the other agents visiting and checking up on you. hotch was the one you had seen the least. after introducing himself, he had to leave pretty quickly due to something about the case.

it was almost two in the morning when you were gently shook awake. with tired eyes, you turned on your lamp to see morgan and reid already dressed and putting on their vests.

“did you find her?” you asked, incredibly hopeful.

morgan nodded, “we have a lead. we all need to be there though. but i do have someone for you to talk to while we are gone.” you shot the agent a questioning look as he handed you a phone. “hello?” you spoke tentatively.

“oh my gosh hi sweetie! my names penelope. derek has been telling me a ton about you,” the woman on the other end greeted.

you instantly smiled at penelope’s voice. as the two of you began talking, morgan and reid slipped out of the room.

when they returned, you were in the kitchen, still talking to penelope and getting a glass of water. “we got her,” reid revealed. you gasped, your hand moving up to your mouth. as a natural reaction, you hugged the agent as a thank you.

you were now finally safe.

the team stayed in town for two more days. they may have lied a bit to do their paperwork there but the real reason was to keep an eye on you. when it was time for time for them to depart, you had almost cried.

after hugging each agent individually, you stepped back onto the foyer of your home, rubbing your fingers over your cast. rossi, however, remained behind. you turned towards the older man, confusion written over your face.

“are you staying?” you asked.

he nodded, “i have a few vacation days. the doctor didn’t recommend leaving you alone.” deep down, you were greatful for his presence.

one night, after a traditional italian dinner, rossi sat you down. “i know this is a sensitive topic for you but we need to talk about it,” he started, “you cannot he under the care of your parents anymore. it’s child neglect and you are not safe there. now, you’re almost 18 and heading to washington d.c. in just a few months. how would you feel about being put under the care of one of us on the team?”

after noticing your slight uneasiness with the question, rossi spoke up again, “i know you’ve only known us for a short period of time but i’m going to be honest. we don’t get cases involving teenagers a lot. we just want you to be safe.”

tears welled up in the corner of your eyes. you couldn’t help it honestly. knowing that there were people out there that actually wanted you to be safe and take care of you made you extremely emotional. “i would love that,” you concluded.

____

the team is as incredibly active in your life from that moment on.

they had suprised you at your graduation, cheering for you as your name was called and after your valedictorian speech. when the official procession was over, you had practically ran over to them, accepting hugs from all.

a week after that, you were put officially under rossi’s care. your birthday wasn’t for another two months making the process easier. with the information presented to the jury, it was no doubt that your parents were deemed unfit to take care of you anymore. you cried when the judge had made it official, hugging rossi over and over as you thanked him.

just two weeks later, you had packed up your things and made the official move to washington d.c. the house remained under your parents name. all you packed was all of your clothes, personal items, and toiletries. there wasn’t a single thing in that house that was yours.

when rossi showed you your room with the promise that you could decorate it anyway you wanted, you hugged him once again. it almost felt like you were starting over and you were extremely thankful for that.

despite him and the team being away often for cases, rossi has always called to check up on you. team dinners became more and more frequent with you meeting the teams extended family also. you eventually became the go to babysitter for henry and jack.

sure there were countless nights you had woken up crying, memories about your kidnapping coming back to you. rossi or whoever was around was always there to comfort you and help you calm down. the past two months were a mess but having the team by your side to celebrate all of your little victories and help you overcome your challenges almost made it all better.

they were your family after all.

[morceid]

Snowy Sniffles

💡SPENCER REID X DEREK MORGAN💡

read on ao3

Summary: Derek gets the flu when he and Spencer are snowed in on a case in Colorado.

Word Count:  2k

Category: fluff, slight angst

Content Warnings: swearing, sickness, case details

A/N: enjoy my otp being cute and cuddly for my first day of 12 days of moreid :)

The snowy mountains of Colorado. A serial killer as cold as the air was out there, and It was the job of the BAU to catch him.

The team boarded their plane like normal, occasionally Derek coughed and cleared his throat. Not enough to realize what was happening, but enough to get a “You okay?” from JJ.

There weren’t many hiccups with local police, except for them withholding information about the victims. Derek and Spencer were sent to profile the dump site, JJ and Emily to interview victims' families, while Rossi and Hotch set up at the station.

The dump site was in a clearing next to a mountain frequently used for sledding. A visiting family from Texas was recommended the mountain by a friend and since they weren’t familiar with the area, the mom got lost and they came across the body. Thankfully the kids weren’t there to see it.

Spencer and Derek walked out of the black SUV and ducked under the police tape in their fleece jackets and large boots. 

“The victim was Hannah Gentry. She was a fourteen year old girl who ran away from her abusive father. No sign of sexual assault, but there were signs of restrains on her thighs and around her stomach.” Spencer walked around the area the body had previously been found, searching for anything left behind by the unsub.

“Maybe he thought he was saving these girls. How old were each of the victims?” Derek said, pulling tissues from jacket pocket.

“Ages ranged from 13 to 19. All had someone abusive close to them. You sure you’re okay?”

Before Derek could reply he was coughing and gagging into the torn kleenex in his hand.

“I’ll be fine,” The stuffiness in his nose was apparent in his voice now. “Let’s go back to the station. I’m sure Rossi and Hotch are at the M.E. now.”

The two walked back to the car and headed towards the police station. On the way it started snowing and Spencer said something about growing up in Vegas without snow, and how in Virginia they never really saw the snow fall, they just woke up to it on the ground and in the streets.

Between the snowfall rapidly increasing, the windshield wipers not doing anything to help, and Derek driving in an unfamiliar area, he began having a coughing fit and swerved off the road.

They didn’t get hurt in the accident, just a large rush of adrenaline, but the car wasn’t in the best shape. The engine made a sound that contorted Spencer’s face.

“We should probably check that.”

Derek tried to push his door open but he had driven into a ditch and snow was piled up tp his window. He rolled it down and shoveled some of the snow with his gloved hands. He got the door all the way open with a little wrestling of the handle. The boot of the car was opened and steam was rising from it. Spencer had crawled across the center console and got out from Derek’s side.

“Do you think we could get an officer to pick us up?” Derek sniffled.

“I think the snow is coming down too hard now.” Spencer’s black coat was powdered with snow that he didn’t bother to shake off, knowing it would be back there in an instant.

“I’ll call Hotch.” Derek fished his phone out of his pocket.

“You fell in a ditch? Morgan, this is a very time sensitive case. This guy kills every three days and it’s been the second day since the last body was found. We need you guys here.” Spencer overheard Hotch’s near yells over the phone.

“Okay, dad, calm down there. I’ll call up Garcia to find us the closest hotel and we’ll crash there. Reid says snowing too much for an officer to come pick us up.” It was around 7:30 and the sun was starting to set.

“Alright, we can send someone to get you tomorrow.” Hotch hung up and Derek called Penelope.

“Hey-llo my chocolate thunder! Anything I could do for you?”

Derek coughed a couple of times.

“You okay, Derek?”

“Yeah, uh, me and Reid got stuck in the snow and we can’t get back to the hotel. Are there any near us that we can crash at?”

“You’re in luck, Derek Morgan, There is a motel only a seven minute walk away from you. Anything else?”

“Not right now, baby girl, take care of yourself.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Spencer had begun chewing on his fingernails and pacing in a circle around the car.

“Kid,” Derek took Spencer’s cold hands into his warm, gloved ones. “Stop your worrying. I can see all of those gears in your head going a million miles an hour. Garcia found a motel near us and we can walk there and stay the night until someone can pick us up. We’ll be okay.”

“I know I’m gonna be okay, it’s you I’m worried about, Morgan.” Spencer took his hands out of Derek’s and leaned into the car to grab his bag.

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” As if on cue, Derek started having a coughing fit.

“I’m talking about that, Derek. You’re showing signs of getting the flu. Your heart rate has sped up by 39% in the last couple of days. You constantly have a running nose and you won’t stop coughing. I am not getting sick, I cannot afford to get sick, especially on a case, so I hope this motel has two beds.” Spencer pushed away from Derek and began walking.

“Wait!” Derek ran to catch up. “Pretty boy, you’ve already been with me for almost 24 hours. I think you are already infected. Besides, you, my friend, are shivering. Now let me give you one of my coats.”

Spencer slowed his walking and let Derek drape his second jacket over his thin, purple one. Having a crush on your coworker was the worst.

When the pair reached the motel the sun had fully set and they had snow covering their shoulders and resting on their heads. They brushed it off before entering, where they were bombarded with the overwhelming scent of perfume as what could only be presumed as the owner tugged them in with both of her arms. She was short and wore a sparkly pink dress not unlike one Penelope would wear.

“What can I do for you kind fellows today? Did ya crash on the side of the road? Lots of people did tonight. Can I get you a room? Was it your engine? Faulty car?” The woman rambled.

“Um, we fell in a ditch a little bit back. We just need two rooms for the night,” Spencer looked down at her nametag, “Sasha. Thank you.”

“Well, boys, I am sorry to disappoint but we only have one more room for the night. You’re just gonna have to share.”

“Are there at least two beds?” Spencer whined.

“Sorry,” Sasha took Derek’s credit card and punched in the numbers on a computer that looked almost a decade old. “You good there? You look like you could throw up any second?”

“I’m fine, ma’am. Just give us the room key please.” Derek cleared his throat.

“Alrighty, there you go FBI guys.” Sasha handed them the room key labed 7B.

Given the overwhelming personality that brought them in, neither had a chance to look around and profile the front office. When they got to the room they realized just how miserable the stay would be.

The heater seemed to be turned off resulting in the room being colder than the outside. Complementary water bottles on the nightstand had frozen, expanded, and exploded. The pipes in the walls creaked and whined. Derek moved towards the bed, which when he pulled up the sheets, they were stiff and barely moved at his touch. Spencer moved past the bed and to the kitchen, where he found a coffee machine and cups in the cupboard.

“What are you doing?” Derek coughed.

“Making coffee. It’s something to keep me warm.” Spencer still had Derek’s jacket across his shoulders.

“Alright well, you might be right. I think I’m starting to get a fever. I’m gonna hop in the shower. Hopefully it’s just the reverse air conditioning that’s broken.”

Derek’s observations were proven correct as he unexpectedly walked into the spray of a nearly boiling shower. His muscles relaxed as he began thinking about the events of the day. His nose ran more than it had in the cold weather and it reminded him of a moment in the office that happened some while ago, back when Spencer first joined the BAU.

It was a slow day in the bullpen. With Spencer being nearly fresh from college, Derek wasn’t expecting him to take the best care of himself, no one was. Derek looked up, ready to throw Spencer a rolled up note about how bored he was. Instead he was greeted with an empty desk. After asking Hotch where the boy genius was and getting a surprised ‘I don’t know’ in response, he went in search of him. Spencer was found laying on the couch in an empty office. HIs skin was red and burning to the touch. Derek gave him a couple of shakes and he woke up, groaning. Spencer had gotten the flu and didn’t know how to deal with it at work. Not wanting to disappoint Hotch by skipping a day for something so insignificant as a virus, he settled in an office he correctly assumed was vacant. He insisted that he was okay but Derek refused to believe him. He dropped Spencer off at his apartment and immediately knew. He was in love with Spencer Reid. And he wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

When Derek was in the shower for at least 15 minutes Spencer presumed that the shower was warm, so he called Sasha at the front desk from the phone in the room. She wouldn’t be able to get someone to come fix it for another day. He sat on the bed, spreading his arms and legs out in an attempt to warm the sheets. Letting his mind wander, he started asking himself questions. Why did he like Derek? He was just his coworker. Just someone in his life. An attractive person in his life, but just like anyone else in his life. Did Derek know how much he meant to him? Would he ever know? Would he be given the chance to let Derek know that he loved him and wanted to spend his life with the other knowing?

He was taken out of his day dream when Derek came out of the bathroom. Derek was shaking. He wore thick, flannel sweatpants and a grey hoodie, along with his socks, not wanting to leave a single part of his body too exposed.

“Uh, I know you’re super germaphobic and probably want nothing to do with my running nose and sore throat right now, but kid, all of my muscles are aching. Do you mind if I-”

“Not at all.” Spencer wrapped his arms around Derek’s middle as he sank onto the bed.

Derek let out a sigh of relief and settled in Spencer’s arms. It wasn’t long until his breathing evened out and he fell asleep in the lanky man’s arms.

“I think I love you, Derek Morgan.” Spencer whispered.

The next day Hotch called Derek to let him know that they caught the unsub. He was an amateur child groomer who left a hair in his latest victims mouth. An officer picked up the pair from the motel and they boarded the jet. Derek’s flu passed as soon as it came and he was better in the morning. A little cuddling with Spencer was just what the doctor ordered.

“Hey, Spencer.” Derek sat across from him after everyone on the jet had fallen asleep.

“Yes, Derek?” Spencer noted the use of his first name in his head.

“We need to talk about last night.”

“What about it?”

“I heard you, Spencer.”

“Wh-what are you talking about? Heard me say what?”

“Spencer,” Derek put his hand on the other’s knee, “I love you too.”

In a panic, Spencer leaned forward and pecked Derek on the lips.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He stammered.

“It’s okay. We can do that if you want.” Derek leaned back in for a real kiss from Spencer. He still tasted like the cheap hotel coffee.

“We can do anything as long as we’re together.”

TAGLIST: @greenaway-lewis @pretty-b0yy @w0rmpi3 @sunflowrly @fuckshitupm8-deactivated3728 @the-sassy-one @endetit @adhd-lesbian @nobody121113​ @stalinthestripper​

[violetmuses]

Grey || Chapter 1

2023

Helmut Zemo

Scheisse!

I’d forgotten that some electronic devices would have spotty reception during this flight to Madripoor, but another part of me cursed once more for attempting to contact someone in particular. Several decades passed since I’d last seen her in and I knew better than to act as if she’d listen to me, especially since my imprisonment.

“Did something in your plan go awry?” James probed, sitting across from me without closing too much space between us both. Meanwhile, Sam perched himself into one chair of the opposite aisle, sitting alone.

“No, James, but I appreciate your concern regarding the mission.” I tucked away the small burner phone, hoping that he would not ask many other questions before we landed. We shared silence, but prompted gratefulness to reach my thoughts.

Only I knew the truth.

______

“Got word from high. You ain’t welcome here.” This bearded guard addressed me minutes after we reached Madripoor. By now, I’d entered the Brass Monkey Saloon with James and Sam, planning to contact Selby then after. This bar also lined with decor that would’ve reminded children of Halloween as skulls perched in all corners.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if you insist, either come and talk to me or bring Selby for a chat.” Facing that guard, I motioned my gloved hand between him and James, showing authority I’d held by noting current placement of the Winter Soldier. Meanwhile, Sam, dressed in his red-brown suit, remained silent.

“The Power Broker, really?” James eyed me without much emotion whilst asking his brief question.

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray that we stay under his radar.” I remarked, keeping my voice low amid the presence of others.

“Do you know him?” Sam countered, leaning as well.

“Only by reputation. In Madripoor, he’s judge, jury, and executioner.” I continued, acknowledging how influential The Power Broker had been.

“ Зимний солдат, атака.” A different patron of the bar had lurked nearby, but dared to touch my shoulder. In turn, I uttered Russian, signaling the need for James to attack. Voices of shock and surprise had filled the area, adding noise.

“What is going on?” Sam questioned me moments later. Across the room, James then turned the earlier patron’s arm and inflicted more pain to others almost immediately afterwards. Here, we won, earning slight notice in the venue now.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” I uttered to Sam , shoving another guest of the bar towards this fray. As long as we kept up notice here, there wouldn’t be problems, no matter how much people recorded with their phones.

“Shit.” Sam mumbled in return moments later, watching as various people aimed their guns or readied other weapons to defend against us. Meanwhile, James had now clutched his brace around someone’s throat, holding him near the bar counter.

“Stay in character before the whole bar turns on us…Молодец, Солдат.” I reminded James and Sam, keeping my warning quick as Sam peered. I then spoke in Russian once more and turned to face James, still encouraging him as The Winter Soldier.

“Selby will see you now.” The Bartender acknowledged what happened and permitted our entrance towards Selby. Meanwhile, that poor and seemingly helpless victim of James slipped off the bar with this large thud, coughing.

“Thank you.” I said, quickly leaving as Sam and James began to trail behind me. At least we could leave this bar alive.

______

“You should know Baron, people don’t just come into my bar and start making demands.” Selby lounged on her favorite sofa once more, resting her arm onto its backend.

“Not a demand, an offer.” I sat down in one of the adjacent armchairs. Both James and Sam cornered themselves to stand in the room, not bothering to act comfortable while staying in character.

“A lot has changed since you were here last. By the way, I thought you were rotting in a German prison. How did you escape?” Selby remarked back, noting my current presence and freedom away from those claustrophobic walls.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” I smirked, emitting feigned arrogance to keep us alive just a bit longer. There was no other choice. Once again, I knew much better to give us away, especially now.

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger. What’s the offer?” Selby bravely purred in the direction of Sam, gesturing her hands to imitate the ferocious cat of his alias-namesake. Yet, her eyes faced me, asking to describe the purpose of our visit.

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum and I will give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want” I stood up from the armchair and lurked to James, momentarily baiting Selby here.

“Now, that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right. The serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you or want or thank or condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the Serum, but things didn’t go as planned.” Selby almost plastered her wickedly famous smile whilst I then sat back down in the posh armchair and listened to this extremely significant information. James and Sam were once again quiet.

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” I asked, lifting one of my gloved fingers to emphasize the question itself.

“The breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery’s gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby rose from her sofa and gestured to me. I could only imagine what else had to be done.

Just when I planned to respond, Sam's cell phone buzzed out loud. My thoughts now raced with anger as we all glanced around the room. Selby’s guards had departed the nearby shadows and lifted weapons, planning to attack, of course.

After Selby demanded for the call to go on speaker, we heard Sam’s sister, Sarah. This clueless and innocent woman did not realize our mission in the slightest. As Sam and Sarah bickered to and fro, I froze, eying nothing but the farthest wall.

“Sam, let me call you back.” It was not long before Sarah had acknowledged Sam by name, ruining our cover during this mission immediately. Even James had nearly lost his own composure, for good reason.

“Sam, who’s Sam? Kill them!” Selby glanced around, realizing that we were all imposters now. Just moments later, however, this singular gunshot pierced through the glass of a nearby window, ending Selby’s life without fail. Accurate, perfect.

“They’re gonna pin this on us.” Sam huffed. Between gunshots, guards in the room aimed to put up a fight with us. James and Sam defend themselves as I rose from the armchair and cornered us all, lifting my hands when Sam had addressed me.

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.” I breathed to respond quickly. Outside the bar, cell phones chimed, pinging a bounty message. A reward would be given to anyone who found Selby’s killers.

______

“Deactivate your hustle mode because you sell fake Monet pieces.” Sam wasn’t convinced that Sharon Carter kept such exquisite artwork in this high-rise. James and Sam were moving around, eyeing the property as others would keep sight.

“No, she means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet, Van Gogh, classics.” I recalled more information, but paused midway through my own acknowledgements… Sharon, James and Sam still conversed, but left me alone.

At that moment, I cornered to take out my burner phone, hoping to see if a call would actually go through. At least I could rid this device if need be, otherwise the digital exchange would be found by others. Blue and white lighting of the room kept me hidden to an extent.

Placing the phone against my ear, I watched as Sam and James kept chatting with one another. Sharon looked uninterested, but annoyed all at once. Meanwhile, I listened as three dialing rings filled my ears. I’d waited too long for this moment.

“Hi, you’ve reached Dionne Charles. I’m sorry for missing your call, but if you leave a message after the tone, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks and have a great day.”

There it was. Somehow, her sweet voice hadn’t aged in the decades that passed since we first met. I shut both eyes, immediately remembering the pretty smile that always hid whenever she sipped from those champagne flutes after the auction.

Before I could dare to clear my throat and leave a message, Sam caught me off guard.

“Are you just gonna stand there all night to use your phone or change into different clothes? Sharon’s got clients visiting soon.” Before I could dare to clear my throat and leave a message, Sam caught me off guard.

“Apologises.” Facing Sam in return, I tucked away my phone once more, heading towards one of the last guest rooms located here to switch my current attire.

Tonight would show a great reprieve until the next hurdle came along.

[detroitwhatitmeanstobehuman]

Chapter 1 - One and the Same

Part 1/17 of What it Means to be Human

Word Count: 10,810

Warnings: Swearing. There’s a lot of it, our girl’s a foulmouth.

Genre: Self-insert fic

Pairing: OC (Detective Rachel) X Connor

Rating: Mature

Summary: Lieutenant Hank Anderson, while interrogating the android that murdered Carlos Ortiz, brings in one of his strangest and yet uniquely skilled detectives in the DPD - Detective Rachel. Connor, the android sent by CyberLife much to Anderson’s behest, finds himself intrigued by Rachel’s foulmouthed and prickly nature, yet immense and unabashed sense of empathy and compassion towards others.

---------------------------------

Date: November 6th, 2038  Time: 12:41 AM Objective: Extract Confession Hank - Neutral

“Why d'you kill him? What happened before you took that knife?” A greying man with chin-length hair and a scruffy, but kept, beard asked the man sitting across from him.

Approximately an hour ago, Connor and Lieutenant Hank Anderson had apprehended a deviant android hiding at the scene of a homicide. And now, the android was brought in for questioning. Though it didn’t appear to cooperate with the lieutenant’s questions and simply stayed silent, not looking the aged man in the eyes. 

Stealing a glance back at both Connor and Detective Gavin Reed, a rather disheveled and rough-looking man, through the two-way mirror. A black police officer named Chris Miller was seated at the controls on Connor’s left. “How long were ya in the attic? Why didn't you even try to run away?” No answer from the android. The lieutenant reached across to snap his fingers at it, as if trying to catch its attention. 

Hank seemed to glance back at the others in disbelief before losing his patience and slamming his hands on the table. “Say something, goddamnit!” He shouted at it. 

No response, still. The lieutenant seemed to have enough and lifted himself up from his seat. “Fuck it, I'm outta here..." He muttered, turning around and opening the door, leaving the interrogation room.

It didn’t take long before Hank entered the observation side of the mirror with the others, huffing his complaints. “We're wastin' our time interrogating a machine, we're gettin' nothing out of it!” He sat down next to Chris harshly, getting agitated.

“'Could always try roughing it up a little.” Gavin suggested casually. “After all, it's not human..."

“Androids don't feel pain.” Connor pointed out. “You would only damage it and that wouldn't make it talk.” He took another look at the deviant on the other side of the mirror before he heard the door open beside him. “Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they're in stressful situations.”

“So do I. They’re not special.” An unfamiliar female voice replied with a scoff. As Connor turned around to see who it belonged to, he found himself facing a shorter woman with short, wavy, dark brown hair and dark eyes that matched framed by the frames of a pair of rounded rectangular glasses. She was wearing a dark brown sweater with thick horizontal stripes of a much darker grey.

“Hi, Rachel.” Chris greeted pleasantly.

Hank scoffed in her direction. “Well, well, well. Nice of you to finally join us, Rachel.”

“Oh, well sorry I’m late, Hank.” She replied sarcastically, cocking a smirk and a thick eyebrow at him. “I was finishing the paperwork for one of my closed cases that Fowler wanted done ASAP, and I’d rather give him some good news for once.” The woman then fixed Connor with an interested stare, taking in his features as she glanced up and down his frame. “I know you have the whole ‘bear aesthetic’ goin’ on, Hank, but I didn’t realize this was your taste in men. A bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

The glare Hank fixed her with could cut glass while Chris was snickering and Gavin was laughing. “Oh, bite me, Rachel.” He growled.

“Oh, relax, Hank. I’m just poking fun.” She said with a playful smile, gently brushing Hank’s shoulder. Connor could tell immediately that they were rather familiar with each other. Rachel then returned her focus on Connor, her eyes glittering with intrigue. “So, who is this tall glass o’ water you’ve got here, Hank?”

Gavin let out a disgusted groan that Connor ignored. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.” He answered with his templated response.

Rachel - Warm ^ Rachel then nodded, smiling at him as she extended her right hand. “Nice to meet you, Connor.” She replied pleasantly. Connor, recognizing the gesture, took her hand in his and shook it. “My name is Rachel, I’m the detective requested by Hank, since he apparently wanted me to get some action on this.”

Gavin scoffed at her. “Well, you’re wastin’ your time.” He dismissed. “Machine’s clammed up and we’re not gettin’ anything out of it.”

“Not with that attitude, we’re not.” Rachel retorted, turning away from Gavin. “So what have we got, boy - oh my God!” Once she laid eyes on the deviant, her stress seemed to increase. “What the Hell happened to him?”

“It.” Gavin insisted. “It’s not a he.”

“Piss off, Gavin.” Rachel spat at him.

“We found it hiding in the attic of the victim’s house, Carlos Ortiz.” Chris began informing Rachel. “It murdered the victim after he attacked it with a bat, and it’s been hiding out in the attic for three weeks.”

“Hang on. Three weeks?!” Rachel exclaimed in disbelief. “He’s been in this condition for three weeks, and you just kept him like this?! Why hasn’t anyone repaired him, yet?!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Rachel.” Hank groaned. “This thing fucking killed a man, and you’re worried about it?!”

“If he was a human, this would be considered extremely inhumane even if he was a convicted killer.” Rachel shot back with.

“But it’s not!” Gavin scoffed. “It’s just a fuckin’ machine, and it doesn’t even give a shit whether or not you care! So why bother?”

“Because unlike you, I’m not an insecure manchild with the disposition of a barbed wire dildo covered in syphilis dressed up in the attire of a man who looks like he just crawled out of a racoon-filled dumpster.” Rachel responded with a smug tone of voice.

“Okay, smartass.” Gavin said, throwing up his arms in frustration. “What should we do then?”

Connor, seeing that he should likely intervene, interjected. “I could try questioning it.”

That caused Gavin to divert his attention from Rachel, as he was now laughing at Connor.

Rachel then walked past them, groaning and rolling her eyes at them. “Oh my God, you guys are morons.” She admonished. “He’s not gonna cooperate with you guys. Gavin is...Gavin, and the rest of you were at the crime scene and I’m assuming you were the ones that brought him in. He’s not gonna wanna talk to you because all he sees are the humans that are keeping him captive and the cops that don’t see him as what he thinks he is.”

Hank was getting tired of this, but seemed to be relenting more and more. “So, what’s your verdict, then?”

“Simple.” Rachel said matter-of-factly. “If deviants see themselves as alive and - well, not necessarily human - but on par with humans, then I’ll treat him as such.”

“So, what?” Hank asked. “You’re just gonna...talk to it like it’s a person?”

“No, I’m gonna talk to him like a tired doctor who barely has the patience for this, because that’s very much what the mood is right now.” Rachel answered casually. “I’ll be right back, I just gotta go get some supplies. What model is he?”

Connor, realizing that her question was directed at him, he answered, folding his hands behind his back. “HK400.”

“Thanks, I’ll be back.” Without waiting for an answer, she left the room and Connor could hear her footsteps getting further away.

The android detective found himself wondering about her curiously. She was about as foulmouthed and irritable as Lieutenant Anderson was, but she was nearly the polar opposite in her opinion of androids and her attitude towards Connor.

It was a comparison that Connor found intriguing.

“She seems to be a rather unique character, compared to what I’ve seen thus far.” Connor commented.

“That’s one way to put it.” Chris replied neutrally.

“Yeah, she’s definitely not like most of us.” Hank agreed, nodding his head. “But she’s one of our best. So, it’s worth seeing how this goes.” His praises seemed to be genuine, and Connor sensed that the lieutenant genuinely felt some sense of attachment or affection towards the detective. “Besides, what do we have to lose?”

--------

I knew exactly where I was headed. Most parts for androids were held by Cyberlife in their warehouses, but emergency services such as hospitals and police precincts had stores of spare android parts to both maintain and repair work androids should something happen. Some people had special clearance to repair androids due to their qualifications, of which I had on my resume. Granted, I never actually worked with androids, but my sister used to work at Cyberlife and she taught me a bit about their parts and how to repair them. I figured I could easily repair the deviant, and this would allow me to get to know him and build a rapport with him.

And hopefully get him to confess and give us some insight into him.

I made my way towards the centre which was just between the bathrooms and the holding cells, my key-card allowing me clearance inside. The thing I was most thankful for was that this area was always run by an android, and they weren’t going to ask me weird questions. As I approached, I greeted her. “Hello!” I said brightly.

The android nodded. “Hello.” She replied. “What can I do for you today?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll need a toolset and I’ll need a bag of thirium.” I said to her. “As well as a pair of arms for the HK400 model.”

“Of course, Rachel.” She responded. The LED on her head spun yellow and then quickly flickered back to blue. She then went into the compartment in the back behind the desk and came out holding two white unskinned android arms in a package and a packet of blue blood, very similar to the blood bags you’d see when you need a blood transfusion. “Anything else?”

“No, that’ll be all, thank you so much!” I said to the android as I was putting it all in a bag.

As I started making my way out, I heard her call out after me. “Have a good night!”

“You too!” I called after her.

No one was giving me any weird looks. There was the occasional curious glance, but I have never in my life felt more grateful for the “mind your own business” environment than I did in that moment. I made my way back to the interrogation room with no problems.

Hooking the bag over my shoulder, I opened the door and walked inside, glancing towards the mirror knowing they were watching me. But I wasn’t intimidated by them. No, I was going to prove a point and they weren’t going to stop me.

But my eyes landed on the android and my heart sank. It was so much worse seeing his condition up close, and I swallowed hard.

His right arm was practically split open, blue blood leaking from it, the other dotted with burns. His face was splattered with red blood, and he was just standing there in front of the glass. I was in so much shock. I had never seen an android that was damaged, but I did not expect it to make my stomach feel so knotted and my throat feel so tight.

Pushing down the lump in my throat, I approached, placing the bag beside the chair across from the android and moving slowly. “Hey.” I said. For a brief moment, his eyes flickered up to me and I saw a quick glimpse of confusion on his face before he glanced downward at the empty space between his hands. “Were you expecting someone else?” No response. “That’s fine, though I’m sorry to disappoint you. And even more regretful to find you in this condition.”

I reached down into the bag and pulled out a bag of thirium, emptying it into a bottle, and placing it on the table. The android’s eyes glanced towards it for a brief moment before returning his eyes to the table. For a moment, I wondered if Hank was getting this too, or if I was making more progress than they were.

Keeping focused on the interrogation, I leaned back in my chair. “Blue blood.” I said to him. “Do you know why I put it here?” He seemed nervous, but still wouldn’t budge. But I wasn’t going to give up. “According to my colleagues, you’ve been stuck in your attic for three weeks. Now, that’s a lot of time for you to be injured and losing blood. And that’s coming from someone who suffers from time blindness. You’re lucky you haven’t shut down.” I studied him and noticed him start to twitch ever so slightly. “And the thing is, I could just give you the blue blood you need to replenish, but in your condition...it could make your bleeding worse if I did. So, first and foremost, I’m going to repair you.”

That seemed to finally get his attention. He finally looked me in the face, confusion in his brown eyes. “What?” He asked, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

I took this moment to jab a bit at him playfully. “So you do have a voice.”

--------

Hank couldn’t believe his eyes. She actually got the damn thing to talk. He knew that Rachel wasn’t exactly good at being bad cop. Not that she couldn’t be scary or that she wasn’t tough. Far from it.

But in this sort of situation, intimidation wasn’t her strong suit.

Good cop was where she was an asset. She didn’t put on a sap story or make herself seem like a bleeding heart. No matter what she did, she was genuine and earnest. And Hank had a feeling that’s what made her so good at being good cop.

She didn’t pass herself off as a cop. She didn’t try to be overly mushy. And she didn’t try to put on an act. She just acted the way she was and she’s able to get through to a suspect in a way they can understand.

Indeed, the way her mind worked was honestly a marvel. Even suspects that didn’t end up confessing to her, she managed to get to cooperate at least a bit easier because she could easily speak their language just by getting a picture of what they did or didn’t care about.

His focus remained on the interrogation, intrigue pricking at the old man. Hank didn’t have a high opinion of androids for various reasons. And he certainly didn’t see them as anything more than machines. But some part of him wanted to see Rachel prove him wrong, at least in this aspect. She was always an overly empathetic person, as much as Hank saw it as an advantage, she herself admitted that it was also one of her biggest weaknesses. In her own words, she cared too much about others for her own good.

“I’m going to repair you.” Rachel repeated on the other side of the glass. “And I would appreciate it if you cooperated with me doing so, because if you don’t, I’ll have to forcefully repair you, and that won’t be pleasant. And...I’d rather not add more unnecessary trauma to the horrible three weeks you’ve had.”

The deviant seemed even more confused as it just blinked at her. “Why do you look at me like that?” It asked, its voice shaky and uncertain.

Rachel sighed, leaned towards it to rest her elbows on the metal table. “I’ll be honest, I’ve just never seen an android in as bad of a condition as you’re in.” She admitted. “It’s...it’s aggravating to think that people just brush it off. Like it’s nothing. That people buy androids for thousands of dollars just to treat them like shit. But, then again, people did the same thing when they were buying actual human slaves, so I suppose I shouldn’t be that shocked.” She grumbled. Some part of her explanation sliced something deep in Hank and he could sense that an uncomfortable silence had fallen on all of them. Like when someone makes a good point about something really depressing and you can’t think of it the same way ever again. “I know it doesn’t hurt...but it looks really bad.”

“You weren’t there with the other humans last night.” The deviant pointed out, looking at Rachel as if it still didn’t believe she actually cared about it. “Why are you here?”

For a moment, she seemed to ponder something. Likely how much of the truth she should tell it. “Lieutenant Anderson called me in.” She replied. “But I saw the state you were in, and if there’s one thing you have to know about me, it’s that I don’t enjoy seeing people suffer needlessly.” She then turned to the glass to glare inside. “Unlike some people.” She hissed through her teeth.

“Oh, gimme a fuckin’ break.” Gavin complained throwin’ his arms up. “This isn’t going anywhere, just pull her back in here.”

“Just wait.” Hank ordered, silencing Gavin. “She’s getting a lot more out of it than we could, so far. Let’s see where this goes.”

“And I want to help.” Rachel assured him, drawing Hank’s attention back to the interrogation. 

She then reached across to the deviant to touch its hand, but it then recoiled with a yelp. “Don’t touch me!” Rachel jumped back in surprise before she seemed to calm herself down. “Please don’t touch me.”

Rachel then sighed, her face softening. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked you if it was okay, first.” She apologized, the deviant blinking at her in surprise. “But if you don’t let me repair you, you’re gonna shut down. And I don’t want that to happen. So...you’re gonna have to trust me.” 

The deviant faltered for a moment before Rachel lifted the bag and put it on the table. It looked between her and the bag before she reached her hand out to it. “Give me your hand.” She ordered. The deviant still seemed to hesitate, so Rachel insisted. “Please.”

Blinking at her, it seemed to get the message and did as she asked, giving her its right hand. “Holy shit.” Hank whispered under his breath.

“Thank you.” Rachel said, lingering there for a moment so that the deviant could see that there was no danger. “Now, can you please deskin your arm for me so I can see the extent of the damages done to you?”

Hesitating, the deviant did just that. She got up, moving towards its right side so she could get a better look. “Don’t worry, I’m just getting a better idea of what I’m looking at.” She reassured it, seeming to help it calm down. “By the way, what’s your name?”

The deviant seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering. “HK400.”

Rachel seemed surprised at its answer. “You don’t have a name?” She asked it.

“No..." It replied. “He never gave me one..."

She sighed in what Hank could tell was growing frustration. The kind that signaled that she was getting more and more depressed the more information she was given. “Well, that means you can decide your own name.” 

It glanced up at her, looking confused. “I...can decide my own name?” It asked her.

She shrugged. “Well, yeah.” She answered plainly. “You’re a conscious sentient being, now. And you no longer have a master to obey. There’s nothing stopping you from choosing your own name.” She pointed out. The deviant looked as though it just realized something that was so obvious that it couldn’t believe it didn’t figure it out before. “So, what would you want me to call you?”

The deviant seemed to actually consider this for a moment before it spoke up. “Micheal.” It decided. “My name...my name is Micheal.”

Rachel actually pulled back to smile at it. “Nice to meet you, Micheal.” She said to it. “I’m Rachel.”

--------

Micheal nodded. “Rachel.” He repeated.

He looked up at me, as if to check my movements. Taking a breath, the dark brown android skin on Micheal’s arm had peeled away, leaving only the white plastic polish of the android technology underneath. Although it was battered and split open by damage, dried thirium leaking through the break. Though, after examining his whole arm, I determined that the upper arm where the biceps were was intact, though I would still have to check it to see if it would be worth it to replace the whole arm or just the forearm. 

“I’m going to start working on your arm. I know you don’t feel pain, but I figured it would put you more at ease to know what I’m doing.” I explained to Micheal. “I will definitely have to replace your forearm, but I need to check the whole arm as well.”

He nodded. “Alright, okay.” He said nervously.

Despite feeling as though he trusted me, I wanted to avoid startling him and stressing him out as much as possible. But I had to work on him. “This shouldn’t take too long for me to figure out. Just be patient, and I’ll have you in good condition in no time.” I tried to think of something for him to distract himself. “While I work on repairing you, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Micheal?”

“M-me?” He stammered, looking at me. “W-why?”

I looked down at him. “You’re your own person, now. You can tell me as much as you feel comfortable telling me. I’m not asking for all the ugly details if you don’t trust me enough to tell me them.” I explained to him. “I was more talking about your likes and dislikes. Maybe you have some hobbies, or things you liked doing. Maybe you wanted to do art, or writing, or cooking. I don’t know, whatever you decide to do.”

He blinked a few times at me before he finally asked what I figured was on his mind for the past while. “Why are you doing this?” He said, looking completely confounded. “No human has ever been this kind to me? Why? You have no reason to.”

For someone in his position, I understood why he would ask me that. I found it hard to blame my kindness after what he’d been through. “I guess it’s because I see a lot of myself in you. Well, in androids in general, but more so in deviants like you.”

As I got up to his biceps, he kept his gaze on me. “How?”

“I’ll answer you in a second.” I said as I gripped his arm. “I’m going to move your arm around so I can figure out if I need to replace the whole thing or just your forearm. Okay, Micheal?”

He nodded. “Okay.” He replied.

I bent his arm back in several directions, as I didn’t want to startle or injure him further. As I continued testing the shoulder joint, I felt it lock and stick in places. It definitely wasn’t smooth, and I could tell that something was damaged. “Ohhh, yep. I’m going to have to replace your whole arm. So, I’m going to detach it now and replace it with a new one I have in my bag. I’ll make it quick.”

I located the unlocking mechanism on his right shoulder and reached into my bag, pulling out and opening up the toolset. My eyes scanned over every single one until I found the tool I was looking for. It was made to unlock and unclip the joints in android limbs. Pulling it out, I let go of Micheal’s hand, placing both hands on his shoulder. “I’m going to need you to lay your hand relaxed at your side, straight. Once I unclip your shoulder from your torso, you’ll feel a sudden jerk. Just letting you know so you don’t get startled by the sudden pull.”

“Okay.” He replied. I could tell he was calming down much more than he was earlier. Curling the end of the tool underneath the lock, I gave it a quick jerk and felt Micheal flinch slightly, his LED indicator flashing red for a moment before returning to yellow. 

It unclicked with a satisfying sound and I put the tool down, grabbed his arm with both hands and looked at Micheal. “On the count of three, I’m going to pull your arm free, okay?” I assured him.

He nodded.

I started counting. “One, two, three!” It came off easily without a hitch. As I held it, Micheal’s LED began spinning red again as he looked at his arm. I noted the panic on his face and put my hand on his shoulder to bring him back to focusing on me. “Don’t worry, I have another arm ready for you. It’s for the same model, so it’ll be compatible. And getting it on will be much easier and smoother than removing it.”

I rummaged into my bag and found the right arm. It glinted with brand new quality to it. I removed it from its packaging and easily lined it up with its socket and clicked it in place. It slid in perfectly and the locks clamped around it comfortably. “Alright, that’s your right arm done. Can you please run a diagnostics check on your arm to make sure it’s working right, Micheal?” I asked him.

He nodded, his arm flexing. He flexed his fingers and moved his arm in several ways, making sure it was working properly. His skin was starting to slick over the rest of his arm, and it blended seamlessly with the rest of him. I nodded with a smile. “Good as new!” I praised. I moved over to his left, having finished with his right. “Now I have to check your other arm. I doubt I’ll have to replace the whole thing, so it should be quicker to deal with.”

He nodded. “Okay.” 

Micheal nodded.

I started walking around to his other side, examining his left arm. I noticed that I didn’t have to ask him to deskin his arm this time and that he already grabbed my hand. I took it as a sign that he had relaxed around me and that he was no longer afraid of me. His arm wasn’t nearly as damaged as the other one, and his upper arm wasn’t even touched. All that there seemed to be were the burn marks that broke through to the plastic part. I grimaced in disgust when I realized that they were burns from cigarettes being put out on him, the same marks of which I saw on his face. “Your master really was scum, wasn’t he?”

Micheal tensed up when I said that, but he didn’t hesitate to talk. “He tortured me every day..." He admitted. Finally, the confession part of this “interrogation.”  “I did whatever he told me, but there was always something wrong...Then one day...He took a bat and started hitting me...For the first time, I felt scared...Scared he might destroy me, scared I might die..." 

I winced. I didn’t care if androids didn’t feel pain, they could certainly feel fear. And even if they couldn’t feel physical pain, they could feel emotional pain.

And I knew damn well how real and lasting emotional pain was. “I grew up with friends with parents like that.” I sympathized. “Their parents used to treat them the same way. Sometimes physical. Things from beatings to worse things. But it was usually things that destroyed their senses of self. Making them feel worthless. Forcing them to hide who they really were because if their families knew, my friends would be forced to live on the streets alone.” I snarled. “And all I could do was stay quiet while they suffered.”

He seemed to be confused at my response. “Why?”

“What do you mean?” I asked him, briefly forgetting my train of thought.

“Why did you stay quiet?” He clarified. “If you knew that it wasn’t fair for them to be treated that way, why did you stay quiet?”

I sighed. It was a fair question, and perhaps my answer would help him understand a few things about himself. “Because my friends asked me to hold my tongue, as it were.” I answered him. “And it’s unfortunately not that simple. Nothing exists in a vacuum. If I spoke out, there would have been consequences, and those consequences would’ve been taken out on my friends. And...I couldn’t do that to them. So the best I could do was be there for them. To help them while they survived each day.”

I could tell that he didn’t quite seem to understand, so I just went about working on his arm. I didn’t have to let him know what I was doing as I grabbed my tool again and this time slid it under the elbow joint lock. “I...grabbed the knife and I stabbed him in the stomach..." It was strange not to react much to that. Well, I didn’t have to work hard for this confession. “I felt better...so I stabbed him again and again!...until he collapsed...There was blood everywhere.” 

“Can’t say I blame you. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to do that to some piece of shit. And trust me, I’ve had to deal with several.” I felt something tugging at my brain. Something I was forgetting. “What was I saying before?” I asked. “Before I was fixing your right arm?” Before he could reply, my thoughts caught up to me again. “Right! Why I’m being nice to you.” 

Micheal nodded at me, pushing me to keep going. 

“Well, for starters, I see a lot of myself in both androids and especially deviants.” I quickly jerked the lock and took his forearm off. “I’m not like others of my kind, either. But like you, I’m not the only one. I have defects in my program, to put it in terms you’d understand.” I began explaining as I leaned forward to retrieve the other arm in the bag and detached the forearm from it as well. “I have depression, anxiety, Apsperger’s Syndrome, and ADHD. These certain mental conditions impede my ability to do certain tasks. My Autism impeding my ability to communicate effectively with others and makes understanding others difficult.” 

I quickly clicked the new forearm into Micheal’s arm, it sliding into place effectively. “Things that make me rather strange and odd to other humans. There are other humans like me, just as there are other deviants like you. But to people who can identify what I am and figure me out, not a lot of people care too much, but there are some people who treat me the way they treat you. Like nothing. Like I’m less than human. Like I’m just a defect and that I deserve to be destroyed. But at least in regards to my ADHD and my Autism, these aren’t things that really negatively impede my life. Sure, they come with disadvantages, but they also come with a lot of unique advantages as well. Depression and anxiety, on the other hand, have made my life a lot worse than it needed to be, which is why I had to get treated for them.” 

He was flexing his hand as the skin peeled over it again. “I’m afraid I can’t really do anything about the marks he put in your face, but I think I did a pretty good job fixing you up, Micheal.” Noticing the bottle of thirium I had placed a distance from him, I slid it towards him. “Drink it. You’ve lost some thirium and you’ll need to replenish it. And now, you don’t have to worry about bleeding out.”

He hesitantly took the bottle and started to down the blue blood. As I returned to my seat across from him, he looked towards me, his LED finally turning back to blue for the first time since I laid eyes on him. “Thank you...for all this.”

I nodded. “Of course.” I said to him. I glanced at both of his arms. “You know, now that your arms are working and are brand new, maybe you could try something for me?” He looked at me skeptically. “Do you want to try drawing?”

He blinked in surprise. “I...I guess I could try.” He said sheepishly. “I’ve never drawn before. But I did make a small statue.”

“Really?” I asked him, smiling at him. “I used to sculpt with clay, when I was younger. The kind that gets all over your hands and dries and has to be put in a kiln to bake.” I started to go on. “I didn’t really like how it dried on my hands or how it got under my nails. I preferred modeling clay. It’s more like plasticine. It’s a lot easier and cleaner to work with for me. I haven’t sculpted in a long time.”

He actually gave me the first smile I’ve ever seen on him. Despite his blood-stained clothes and face, I felt completely comfortable around Micheal. “I can try to draw it for you, if you want to see.”

I smiled at him. “I’d like that.” I dug around in my handbag and pulled out my personal sketchpad. I tore out a page and handed him both it and a pencil. “And, if you don’t mind, I want to draw you, too.”

He gave me a patient smile and went to work drawing. I took note of all his features and began sketching the simple shapes and curves. The basic structure of his face. I wasn’t exactly a master artist, but I never passed up an opportunity to practice. Once I got a basic shape done, I began sketching in the finer details. His eyebrows, eyes, ears, and the strange inconsistencies in his buzzed hair. But the thing I wanted to capture the most was the joyous light that was now abundant in his eyes and the smile on his face. I wanted to immortalize it while it lasted.

After a little while, I decided I was done, and showed it to him. “I’m sorry if I’m not as skilled as you were expecting, I’m not exactly a professional sketch artist.” I apologized, handing it to him. “But I hope you like it.”

His eyes scanned over it, his LED flashing back to the yellow it was when I first met him. “I’m smiling.” He said, laughing a little. “You made me smile.”

I snickered a little at him. “No I didn’t, you were already smiling.” I pointed out. “You’re smiling right now!”

He touched his cheeks, as if he had to physically check to see if I was right. But he couldn’t stop smiling, almost catching himself. It was honestly adorable and endearing and I couldn’t help the little flutter of happiness that erupted in my stomach. He then handed me his paper. I widened my eyes in surprise and adjusted my glasses. “I see the little statue you drew.” I said, but I was looking at the other thing he drew. He drew me. I was sitting in a position with my left shoulder turned towards the metaphorical observer, my head tilted in an endearing manner with a crooked dimpled smile. “And you drew me. You made me look so pretty.”

He laughed softly. “You can keep that, if you want.”

I looked at my drawing of him and leaned over. “Here.” I said. I took the sketchpad and the pencils and ripped my drawing out and gave it to Micheal. “You can keep mine.”

He looked as though he was going to refuse before he tentatively took it from me. “Thank you, Rachel.” He said graciously. “I’ve never been given anything like this.”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. I know how important it is to have belongings, so that’s yours now.”

He looked at me confused, his LED flickering yellow again. “What do you mean?” He asked.

I simply shrugged. “Well, when you have something that’s yours,” I started off. “Something that you can touch and see, something you’ve made, something made for you or given to you, something you’ve gotten for yourself, something that’s yours is very important. Because belongings have sentimental value. They mean something to you. And having something physical that’s yours makes you feel more like your own person. More grounded in your sense of self.” 

I tugged on my sweater, pulling it closer to me. “Take my hoodie, for instance.” It was a large dark zip-up sweater, clearly much too big for me, as the sleeves extended way past my arms and the bottom covered a large percentage of my thighs. It was a thick striped sweater of dark shades of brown-tinted greys, and it had large pockets. It was clearly worn for a very long time, but well kept. “It’s pretty obvious to see that it’s way too big for me. But...it’s something very important to me. Something very sentimental.” I felt my throat get tight, the memories surrounding the sweater resurfacing in my mind as I tried to choke them down. “It was given to me by someone very important to me. I’ve worn it for years. It’s one of the few things I have left to remember them by.”

I could feel tears threatening to well up and I tried to blink them away, even as I felt my throat tighten. Micheal seemed to sense my distress and put a hand on mine. “I’m so sorry.” He said softly. 

I looked up into his brown eyes and could see the sympathy in his eyes. I didn’t care what people said about androids or deviants. Micheal could feel, and I knew it. “I appreciate your condolences.”

As much as I wished I could keep him here, safe and without worry, I couldn’t keep this up. And since I was only passively familiar with this case, there weren’t any more questions I could ask him. With the most difficult control I could muster, I got up from my seat. “I should go.” I said, looking at Micheal.

He looked as though he was going to cling to me and not let me go, but let me slip out of his hands. But just as I had tidied up my bag of supplies and slung it over my shoulder, I felt him grab my hand again. “Wait!” He cried.

I looked at him expectantly. “Yes, Micheal?” I asked him.

“What...what are they gonna do to me?” It seemed as though the words were caught in his throat. “They're gonna destroy me, aren't they?”

His fear was palpable, but...one of my worst vices was that I was a terrible liar. “I don’t exactly know what CyberLife procedure is...but it’s likely.” I replied.

“I don’t wanna die. I’m scared to die. I,” he looked up at me, his LED spinning red. “I’m not gonna die, right? Promise me I won’t die.”

I felt my chest tighten. I desperately wanted to help him, but realistically speaking, there was little I could do for him. I furrowed my brows together in determination. But damn it, I might as well try my hardest. “Not if I can help it.” I said firmly. I then gestured to the glass next to me. “But cooperate with them, and there’s a higher chance that you won’t.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Rachel.” He said, a bitter smile on his stained face. “For everything.”

Giving him one last nod, I walked away and exited the room, my bag of equipment slung over my shoulder.

--------

Connor observed the scene before him and couldn’t help but feel astounded. In the span of approximately fifteen minutes, Rachel had successfully built a rapport with Micheal and got it to confess without pressuring it.

But it was only a partial confession. There were things that Connor needed to know and understand, but couldn’t until he was the one asking questions.

Rachel reentered the room, dropping the bag on the floor and placing the deviant’s damaged arms on the ground beside it. “Well, I did what I could.” She lamented with a shrug, smirking at Gavin. “Was that enough to convince you, ye of little faith?”

“You got lucky.” He said, clearly not wanting to admit that he was somewhat impressed by Rachel. “Don’t think of this as anything else than a fluke.”

“Uh-huh.” Rachel replied snarkily, unfazed by Gavin. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself whatever you need to tell yourself, bud.”

“You got it to talk way more than I could. There’s something to be said for that.” Hank offered with a nonchalant shrug. “So, what now?”

Software Instability ^ Connor then felt Rachel elbow him in a friendly manner. “Well, you haven’t gotten to show off your interrogation skills, yet.” She suggested encouragingly. “Though, I did warm him up for you. You’re welcome.”

Connor noticed the indication for an increase in his software instability pop up. Which was strange since he didn’t do anything that would have triggered it. Dismissing his brief concerns, he nodded, looking over to Hank for his input. “I can certainly try questioning it now, Lieutenant.”

Hank simply waved at Connor, giving him the go ahead. “Go ahead, suspect's all yours.”

Hank nodded, leaving the room and turning the corner to enter the interrogation room. Looking down at the deviant, it was at least responsive, making eye contact with Connor. As the detective approached, he looked at the file on the table, opening to look at the photos.

Taking a seat where Rachel once sat, Connor sat across from the deviant, Micheal. Taking the opportunity to properly analyze it, Connor catalogued a few important details.

Processing LED: Signs of software instability Probability of self-destruction: Low

Model HK400 - Housekeeper Manufacture date: 05/09/2030 Property of: Carlos Ortiz

Dried Blood DNA Analysis: Ortiz, Carlos Sample date: 19 days old

Once Connor had taken in every detail he could, he formulated the best approach. However, Rachel’s grown rapport with Micheal was what was at the forefront of his program at the moment.

Software Instability ^ So, deciding to follow in her stead, Connor decided to approach in a similar direction.

[Fear] 🔓

[Show Photos] 🔓

[Wounds] 🔓

Name

“Micheal.” Connor started, causing the deviant to direct its attention towards Connor. “My name is Connor.”

Comfort

Reassure

Threaten

Blame

“I'm not going to hurt you.” Connor reassured Micheal. “I just need to ask you some questions, so we can understand what happened.” Micheal still wouldn’t talk to Connor. Perhaps a more harsher prod would be necessary.

Sympathize

Threaten

Probe Memory

Trust

“If you won't talk, I'm going to have to probe your memory.” He threatened.

“NO!” Micheal whimpered, its LED spinning red before slowly turning back to yellow. “No, please don't do that!” The deviant then glanced over at the mirror, no doubt thinking of the lieutenant and of Rachel watching it behind there. It then looked back at Connor, its eyes pleading. “Why did you tell them you found me?” It asked. "Why couldn't you just have left me there?”

Lie

Truth

“I was programmed to hunt deviants like you.” Connor admitted. “I just accomplished my mission.”

Micheal seemed unnerved and fearful. “I don’t wanna die.”

Connor, wanting nothing more than to get answers, pleaded with Micheal. “Then talk to me.”

“I...I..." Micheal seemed to hesitate, looking wide-eyed at Connor before it glanced down at the paper in its hand. The drawing of it given to him by Rachel. Taking a breath, it looked Connor in the eye and nodded reluctantly. “Okay. I’ll talk.” Rachel - Warm ^ Hank - Warm ^

[Writing] 🔓

[Statuette] 🔓

[rA9] 🔓

Attic

“Why did you write ‘I AM ALIVE’ on the wall?” Connor asked, leaning forward.

“He used to tell me I was nothing...That I was just a piece of plastic..." Micheal lamented. “I had to write it...To tell him he was wrong..."

[Statuette] 🔓

[rA9] 🔓

Attic

Trigger?

“The sculpture in the bathroom, you made it, right?” Connor asked. “What does it represent?”

“It's an offering..." Micheal answered. “An offering so I'll be saved..."

[Offering] 🔓

[rA9] 🔓

Attic

Trigger?

“The sculpture was an offering..." Connor echoed. “An offering to whom?”

“To rA9..." Micheal replied, pleadingly. “Only rA9 can save us.”

[rA9] 🔓

Attic

Trigger?

“rA9... It was written on the bathroom wall.” Connor pointed out, connecting the dots. “What does it mean?”

“The day shall come when we will no longer be slaves..." Micheal whispered cryptically. “No more threats, no more humiliation..." It continued, its eyes boring into Connor’s. “We will...be...the masters.”

[Insist rA9] 🔓

Attic

Trigger?

“rA9,” Connor repeated, growing frustrated with the lack of concrete information on this mysterious entity. “Who is rA9?”

Micheal did not answer this time. Either because it refused to, or because it didn’t have one.

Attic

Trigger?

“When did you start feeling emotion?” Connor asked, wanting to know what the cause of this android’s deviancy was.

“Before, he used to beat me and I never said anything..." Micheal explained, its gaze hardening. “But one day I realized it wasn't fair!” It growled that last word. “I felt...anger. Hatred...And then I knew what I had to do.”

Attic

There was only one question left for Connor to ask. “Why did you hide in the attic instead of running away?”

“I didn't know what to do..." Micheal admitted meekly.  “For the first time, there was no one there to tell me..." Micheal seemed extremely timid now. “I was scared...So I hid.”

Extract Confession

Connor then turned towards the mirror, speaking directly to the police inside. “I’m done.”

Leave Interrogation Room

As Micheal sat there, trembling and twitching, Connor got up from his seat, making his way towards the exit of the room.

Opening the door, Chris and Gavin made their way inside, Rachel and Hank followed behind. “Chris, lock it up.” Gavin ordered.

Chris then uncuffed Micheal as Rachel stood beside Connor. He then reached to grab Micheal to take it out of the room. “All right, let's go.”

“Leave me alone!” Micheal whimpered, its stress levels rising dangerously. “Don't touch me!”

Chris tried once again to grab it, only for Micheal to continue to struggle and whimper. “The fuck are you doing?” Gavin asked irritably. “Move it!”

[Give Up]

[Intervene]

“Okay, come now.” Chris grumbled, trying once again to move Micheal. “Don't be difficult, it'll only make things harder!”

“You shouldn't touch it.” Connor warned Chris. “It'll self-destruct if it feels threatened.”

“Stay outta this, got it?” Gavin threatened Connor. “No fuckin' android is gonna tell me what to do.”

[Give Up]

[Intervene]

“Hey! Cool it!” Rachel said, stepping towards Chris and Micheal. “He’s scared! Lay off!”

“You don't understand.” Connor warned again. “If it self-destructs, we won't get anything out of it!”

“I told you to shut your fuckin' mouth!” Gavin shouted at Connor.

“NO!” Micheal yelped, its stress continuing to climb to dangerous levels. “No, don't touch me!”

“Hey, back off, Gavin!” Rachel snapped at Gavin, shouldering herself between Gavin and Chris. “Just leave him alone! He’s scared and he doesn’t wanna be fucking touched!” 

“You stay out of this, Rachel!” Gavin snapped at her, getting in her face.

“Like Hell, I will!” It seemed that Rachel had finally snapped, as she grabbed Gavin by the throat and shoved him against the mirror, pointing at Micheal. 

“Let go of me!” Gavin snarled at Rachel.

Software Instability ^ “Look at him! He’s fucking terrified!” She started shouting at him, harshly forcing his face in Micheal’s direction, even causing Chris to give pause. “You look at him and you tell me how his fear is any different than ours! Look at him and tell me what difference you see!”

Gavin then shoved Rachel off her, breaking her grip, but she was not a woman who was about to back down as she got up in his face. But Gavin simply ignored her, ordering Chris again. “Chris, gonna move this asshole or what?”

“I'm trying!” Chris huffed, once again trying to move Micheal.

[Give Up]

[Intervene]

“Please, please leave me alone!” Micheal begged, pleading with the humans.

Rachel - Warm ^ “I can't let you do that!” Connor snapped. He had had enough and was immediately stepping forward to physically intervene. He pulled Chris off of Micheal, facing Gavin head-on. “Leave it alone, now!”

Gavin immediately pulled a gun on Connor, threatening him. “I warned you, motherfucker!”

Software Instability ^ Immediately, Rachel put herself between Connor and Gavin, staring her fellow detective down. “Back off!” She snarled at him.

Gavin laughed in her face. “You’re really gonna protect this fuckin’ tin can?” He mocked. “I didn’t realize you were already so into him!”

“You really don’t wanna do this, Gavin.” She warned him. “Touch him and you’ll be on the ground faster than you can fucking blink!”

“You don’t scare me, Rachel.” Gavin growled.

Hank - Warm ^ “That's enough!” Hank warned him.

“Mind your own business, Hank.” Gavin warned the lieutenant, not taking his eyes off the pair.

“I said ‘That's enough.’” Hank threatened once again, pulling his own gun on Gavin.

Looking between Connor and Hank, Gavin’s grip tightened on his gun before he finally relented. “Fuck.” He spat, enunciating the curse in a strange way that sounded more like a sneeze rather than a swear. He then glared at Hank, pointing at him. “You're not gonna get away with it this time.” Taking one last look between Connor and Rachel, he marched out of the room in frustration. “Fuck!”

Once Gavin had left, Hank put his gun away and it was just the four of them in the room. Rachel moved to approach Micheal before Connor stepped forward past her, kneeling down and reassuring the deviant. “Everything is alright. It's over now.” He spoke softly, noticing its stress levels gone down significantly. “Nobody is gonna hurt you.” Connor then stood back up on his feet, addressing Chris. “Please, don't touch it.” He instructed. “Let it follow you out of the room and it won't cause any trouble.”

Micheal got itself off the floor and reached to grab the drawing Rachel had given him. It then walked slowly past Connor and her, glancing between them. “The truth is inside.”

Software Instability ^ Once it followed Chris out of the interrogation room, it was just Connor, Hank, and Rachel left in the room. Rachel shook her head, leaning on Connor. “Well, that wasn’t cryptic at all.” She said ironically, making the tense air in the room loosen slightly. “But, all things considered, I think that went pretty well.”

Hank - Warm ^ “Yeah, it definitely could’ve been a lot worse.” Hank agreed, glancing between her and Connor. “Good work, you two.”

“Thanks, Hank.” Rachel said appreciatively, her hands behind her back. She grinned rather confidently at him. “Told you treating him like a person would work.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waved her off as he turned around and started to head out. “I’m headed home. Goodnight, Rachel.”

“Woah, woah, woah! Hold it right there!” She scolded, marching up to stop Hank before he could leave. “You’re not off the hook!”

Hank rolled his head with an annoyed groan. “What?” He asked exasperatedly. “What is it this time?”

“Chris told me that you were at Jimmy’s Bar drinking and that you drove to the crime scene and then to the station!” She continued scolding him. “What have I told you about drinking and driving, Hank? If I ever caught you doing it again, I would taser you! Again!”

“Which is precisely why I didn’t fuckin’ tell ya!” Hank snapped back.

“This is serious, Hank!” Rachel continued reprimanding him. “I could have you arrested for not just one count, but two counts for DUI since I caught you doing it once before!”

“So do it, then!” Hank shouted, throwing his arms up. “I don’t care!”

“You know that line doesn’t work on me because I’m obviously not going to do that!” She then turned to Connor, her dark intense eyes boring into him in a way he couldn’t quite define that made his synthetic skin feel as though it was peeling. And he made certain to check that it wasn’t when he realized it. “Connor, was Hank drunk when you found him?”

Truth

Lie

Hank - Warm v “Yes.” Connor answered. “Though, I wasn’t sure exactly how many drinks he’d had when I found him. I did buy him another for the road.”

“Can you drive?” She asked him pointedly.

“Yes.” He answered immediately. “I’m capable of driving both automatic and standard transmission road vehicles.”

Rachel - Warm v “Then why didn’t you drive him?!” Rachel scolded Connor.

Justify

Apologize

Explain

Connor, realizing that he had made an error in judgement, took Rachel’s ire into consideration. “You’re right.” He relented. “I wasn’t thinking about the lieutenant’s condition and I irresponsibly put his safety at risk. I’m sorry, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Rachel - Warm ^ She then put her hands together flat-palmed and sighed at him. “Thank you.” Rachel breathed. “I appreciate that.”

“For fuck’s sake..." Hank grumbled under his breath.

“And as for you.” Rachel hissed, whipping back around to face Hank. “You’re taking a taxi home and I’m paying you for it in the morning.”

“I don’t need -”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant!” Rachel asserted, glaring him down. “I’ll pick you up for work in the morning with my car. Just get home safely and stop fucking doing this! I’m not having you die doing something stupid and irresponsible. If you die, you’d better die doing something cool.”

Hank, seeming to give into Rachel’s demands, put a hand on her shoulder. “Alright, fine.” He begrudgingly agreed. “If it’ll get you off my damn back.”

“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.” She said, her stern tone softening. “Goodnight, Hank.”

“Night, Rachel.” He said, turning around and walking down the hall.

“I swear, he never fucking learns.” Rachel shook her head and approached Connor, letting out a tired sigh. As she approached the android, her rich dark eyes were clouded with concern. “Are you alright, Connor?”

Software Instability  ^ “I’m fine, you needn’t concern yourself with me, although it is appreciated.” He replied, giving her a small reassuring smile in an effort to ease her nerves. A simple scan revealed that her heart rate was still higher than normal and that she was trembling slightly. “However, I feel as though you should be more concerned about yourself. I’ve detected an abnormality in your heart rate and increased adrenaline causing visible tremors in your limbs.”

She briefly widened her eyes in surprise before she quickly brushed it off. “Oh, don’t worry about that. That’s just my anxiety, I’ve dealt with that my whole life. It’s nothing new. But, um, thanks for checking on me?”

“Of course.” Connor assured her. “I want to make sure you’re unharmed.”

Hank

Androids

Deviant

Protect?

“Why did you put yourself between Detective Reed and I?” Connor asked Rachel. “That could’ve been extremely dangerous for you.”

Software Instability ^ She seemed flabbergasted that he would even ask that. “Because Gavin was threatening you at gunpoint!” Rachel said as though the answer was supposed to be obvious. “And he obviously wasn’t going to just fucking shoot me. The only reason he threatened you in particular is because he stupidly thought he could get away with that without suffering any consequences.”

Connor raised his eyebrows at that remark. “Even if he did shoot me, he would’ve had to pay CyberLife for the damages.” He informed her. “And I feel as though you should know that I’m worth a small fortune.”

Software Instability ^ Rachel blinked curiously at him as she cocked one of her own at him. “Really?” She asked indignantly. “You sure? ‘Cause you look pretty priceless to me, dollface.”

Connor was briefly taken aback by her brazen comment towards him. He simply stared at her curiously before he noticed her eyes squint as she focused more closely on his face. Before he could comment, she reached out with her hands to grab his face and gently massage his cheeks with them. As Connor quickly dismissed the gesture as a non threat, he couldn’t help but notice how small and delicate her hands were as they worked into his skin. “What are you doing?” He asked, confused and feeling inclined to comment on her strange behaviour.

Software Instability ^ Rachel seemed to realize her faux pas and quickly retracted her hands, her capillaries brightening to a rose tint as she looked away from him, shame tracing her soft facial features. “Oh! Shit, sorry!” She hastily apologized. There was something about how meek and embarrassed she quickly became that made a strange unfamiliar sensation prick at Connor. “That’s one of my problems, I tend to act before I think and it tends to get me into trouble. I was just curious about how android skin feels, and wow I was not expecting it to be so lifelike!” She suddenly seemed to completely forget about any shame or embarrassment there might’ve been at that moment and had been completely overtaken by what seemed to be an innocent fascination with the android. “I mean, I knew it wasn’t plastic, obviously, but I figured it would feel more like silicon, since it’s the most commonly used for body modifications and replicas. But no, it’s almost identical to human skin. I mean, I knew it couldn’t be silicon, because androids can peel back their own skins and heal their injuries after their biocomponents are repaired or replaced, and silicon very obviously can’t do that. There’s just so much about androids that’s absolutely fascinating to me especially about how they’re built and made.”

Connor cocked his head at her, perplexed by her. Indeed, Rachel was a rather fascinating character, much like the lieutenant.

Hank

Androids

Deviant

“Have you never interacted personally with an android?” He asked her.

She just gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Aside from the ones sitting behind desks or standing behind cash registers, no.” Rachel answered plainly. “I don’t even interact with the android officers we have here. Never really needed to. And I never owned my own.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, curious to hear her answer.

“I just don’t like the idea of buying and owning something that looks and acts so human. It’s a bit too Uncanny Valley for me.” She paused, furrowing her brows at him. “You do know what the Uncanny Valley phenomenon is, right?”

The android nodded. “It describes the emotional response in humans to an aesthetic.” He began to explain. “It’s a hypothesized relationship between the degree of an object’s resemblance to a human being and the emotional response elicited from humans towards it. Humans are typically disturbed by something that looks human enough to be recognizable as humanlike, but are not quite human. It’s that area between something inhuman and something completely human where humans tend to react with revulsion. It’s why CyberLife has devoted so much time and resources into making androids as close visually to humans as well as making them behave as closely to humans as possible without straying from the purposes they’re programmed for.”

“Right, you definitely get it.” Rachel nodded. 

Connor felt as though he should probably go, but something strangely kept him rooted here. He wanted to hear everything Rachel had to say. 

Hank

Deviant

“You seem to have a rather familiar relationship with Lieutenant Anderson.” Connor remarked. “Have you known him for very long?”

“Not really.” Rachel answered casually. “I haven’t exactly been here for a long time, at least not as long as everyone else. And we really only started talking when I had just made detective. But ever since then, we’ve been pretty good friends.” Connor nodded, her explanation making sense to him. “So, you and Hank have both been assigned to the deviancy case, then?” She then suddenly asked.

“Indeed.” He answered simply. “My mission is to discover the reason why more and more androids are becoming deviant, and Lieutenant Anderson is my partner until my mission is complete.”

“I see.” I replied. “So, you’re not Hank’s android, then. You’re just assigned to him until you’re done. By CyberLife, I’m guessing.”

He nodded. “Correct.”

“So, what are you planning to do in the meantime?” She asked him. “I mean, because Hank’s never exactly been the most consistent when it came to his work schedule. And I doubt he’ll just let you crash at his place.”

“I’ll be taking a taxi to CyberLife.” Connor replied. “So that I can be properly calibrated and have manual diagnostics run on me before I depart on my next mission.”

“Ah, I see.” Rachel said nonchalantly. “That makes sense.”

Deviant

Rachel - Warm ^ “Interesting approach with the deviant.” Connor praised. He had to admit that Rachel’s method of extrapolating an initial confession out of Micheal was effective. He now understood what Lieutenant Anderson meant when he said that Rachel’s hyperempathy - a term Connor discovered by cross-referencing what Hank described and Rachel mentioning she had both Asperger’s Syndrome and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder with a search he quickly conducted - had its advantages. “Admittedly, I was skeptical at first due to Lieutenant Anderson’s lack of results when he initially tried questioning it.”

“That’s because you all approach this like cops. Like detectives.” Rachel scoffed, a smirk on her face. “I get that you’re basically programmed to be an android detective, so I at least get you. But everyone else? If you limit yourself to one role and act and think only from that perspective, you severely limit your options and thus leave out huge lists of possible solutions. I’m a detective, too. But I’m also known for thinking outside of the box.”

Connor nodded. “Well, clearly it proved to be effective.”

Software Instability ^ Rachel blinked a few times at him, glancing away from him. “Well...thank you. I appreciate the compliment.” She swallowed, looking back up at Connor curiously. “You should probably be heading out, then. I myself should probably head home right about now, it’s like one in the morning.” She then gave him a genuine smile. “But...it’s been fun chatting with you.”

“Indeed.” Connor agreed. “I enjoyed talking with you. You have a very introspective and insightful perspective that I find incredibly intriguing.”

Software Instability ^ Rachel chuckled, the smile on her face seeming to be involuntary. “Anyways, I should probably head home.” She said, making her way towards the exit. “A pleasure meeting you, Connor.”

“Likewise.” He said pleasantly, watching her walk away.

She then glanced back at him as she lingered in the doorway. “Will I be seeing you tomorrow in the station?” She asked him.

Connor nodded. “Most likely.”

Software Instability ^ Rachel then gave him another genuine smile. “Then I look forward to seeing you.”

“And I you, Detective.” Connor replied in kind.

“You don’t have to call me that.” She corrected him. “You can just call me Rachel, I don’t mind you using my first name.”

Connor nodded, returning her smile with his own. “In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow, Rachel.”

Her dark eyes glittered with excitement when he said that. “See you tomorrow, Connor.”

Just as she was about to leave, Connor remembered her curiosity about his skin and felt the need to educate her on it. “It’s a synthetic fluid.”

Rachel stopped as she turned to face him again, visible confusion on her soft round face. “Huh?”

“Android skin.” He clarified. “It’s a synthetic ferrofluid that spreads over an android’s body that is also combined with manipulative silicon and magnetic plasticine that is controlled by the android. Our biocomponents can manipulate the skin and control where it’s skinned onto because of its specialized magnetic properties. Everything is specifically designed to feel as close to human skin as possible, particularly in the cases of androids that are bought and sold into red light districts and industries.”

Rachel - Warm ^ She was seeming to take all this information in, filing it away into her vast and expansive brain. “Huh. That makes a lot of sense!” Rachel said, having brought her hand to her chin as she processed it. Looking back at Connor, her expression softened once more. “Well, Goodnight, Connor.”

Software Instability ^ “Goodnight, Rachel.” Connor replied in kind.

And in a second, she had disappeared down the hall, likely on her way home.

And as Connor stood in the interrogation room all alone, the hum of the fluorescent lights above him and the whirrs and audible processes of the tech surrounding him occupied his passive attention, there was one curious thought that was becoming ever apparent to the android.

Software Instability ^ He had noticed a significant spike in his software instability, and many of those instances were just from Rachel’s smile alone.

---------------------------------

Next Chapter

[alexthepartyman]

Fine Line

Chapter One: I open my eyes

“He’s so gorgeous,” JJ comments.

“Thank you.”

“If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive-ow!” Spencer wails after I hit him in the knee.

“All babies are cute,” I whine from the floor. 

“Look at his little, witty, bitty nose. Oh,” Penelope gushes. “Don’t you want one of these?”

“Mm. I’ll stick to practicing,” Derek remarks, and I look up at him, holding my feet.. “Why are you down there?” 

He asks, looking at me before walking away, and the adults laugh quietly.

“Congratulations,” Elle says, approaching us.

“Thank you. She’s amazing. I’m a little terrified.”

“Well, um, we should get going. Jamie,” Haley says, nodding her head towards the elevator and putting Jack back in the stroller.

“No, no, he can stay today.” Aaron gently argues.

“Please, Haley? I have my homework all done and I have everything I need with me,” I beg.

“Okay. But if you guys are going out on a case, I want him brought back home. Dave wouldn’t be too happy if you took him.” 

“Of course. Go say hi to Jason.” I smile, using Aaron to pull myself up to my feet and walk into the bullpen.

“Grant? Where’s Uncle Jason?” I ask, stopping Spencer’s boyfriend. 

“He’s up in the conference room,” the man answers.

“Oh. I’m just gonna say hi. Aaron said I could stay today.” 

“Oh, nice. Yeah, I’ll take you to him. Come on.” He says, taking my hand and leading us up to the conference room. “Agent Gideon, you have a visitor,” Grant says, leaning in and knocking on the door.

“Hm? Oh, hello, Jamie.”

“Hi, Uncle Jason. Aaron and Haley said I could stay here today,” I repeat, giving Uncle Jason a hug. 

“That is amazing. We have a case right now, so I’m going to need you to sit quietly. Can you do that?” I nod aggressively, going to my favourite corner of the room and plomping there, I pull out one of Dad’s books to read as Derek walks into the room. “Crawford family. Murdered three days ago.”

“Saw it on the news.”

“They were found in the basement of their house.”

“Bas packed for a vacation they never took.”

“Reporter said it was a murder/suicide, father stabbed the mom, then shot himself.”

“That’s the conclusion Maryland State Police came to. The gun was found next to the father, had gunpowder residue on his right hand.”

“And now, you must have some compelling reason to think that Chris Crawford didn’t off his family?”

“Yeah. Another murdered family. The Millers, found a month ago.The mother, Reese Miller, her two children, and her new husband. Again, they were found in the basement, and like the Crawford, their suitcases were packed for a vacation.” I twist a stuffed turtle fin in between my fingers as I read about serial killers. 

“Both cases, the bodies were discovered five days after their vacations were supposed to have started.”

“Yet the coroner determined that they had been dead only twenty-four hours.”

“So, for four days, both families remained in the house.” 

“Location of the bodies, both cases, the basement. Indicates a level of organisation-

“With a quick, but disorganised application of overpowering force.”

“If these aren’t murder/suicides, someone’s doing a damn good job of making them look like it.” 

“Possibly this man, Eric Miller. Biological father of the Miller children. Arlington PD issued a BOLO for Miller after the bodies were discovered.”

“Ex-wife Reese Miller had a restraining order against him for domestic violence.”

“When she get remarried?”

“The week before they were killed.” 

“Violent husbands believe their wives and children are property. Reese Miller getting remarried possibly made him snap.” I pout at the sound of that, something just screams that it would have been too easy to pin it on him. 

“Well, the Virginia cops finally located Eric Miller last night, responding to a drunken disturbance at a motel where Miller had been hiding out. When they found him, they discovered blood on his black leather jacket...belonged to his children.”

“Was any of his DNA found at the Crawford’s?”

“No.”

“Did he know the Crawfords?”

“If he does, he’s not saying. In fact, he hasn’t said a word since his arrest.” 

“Smart move. Can’t use have your words used against you in court if you don’t give them anything,” I comment, flipping to the next page. “But the paradox is that your silence will be used to indicate guilt…”

“Uh, the Arlington PD have asked us to interview him,” JJ says, trying to bring the focus off of my weird statement.

“If anyone could apply overwhelming force, he’s your man,” Spencer comments.

“I want you to find out. Talk to him.”

“You want me to talk to him?”

“Yeah. You’ve done interviews before with other agents running point. You can go solo.” I look up from my book and squint at Spencer in confusion. 

“Morgan, the Crawford house is a fresh crime scene.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure Jamie can be out in the field?” 

“He’s not directly involved in anything. We’re just watching him.”

“No offense, but can’t someone at the office do that? We have a serial killer to catch.” 

“Once the Crawfords were brought down to the basement, they must have known their fate,” Uncle Jason says, completely ignoring Derek. I shake my idle hands, carefully walking down the staircase to the basement, I stop at the final step. “ME said they were all killed down here. Jamie, leash,” he gently chides.“Sam was found here, Emily over there...so...I’m the unsub. How did I do it?” 

“Well, I had to bring them down here, first,” Derek says. 

“How?’

“I had a gun.”

“Okay, use a gun to force them down here,.what next?”

“Stab them.”

“Who’s first?” I look around at the basement, noting the dried blood contrasting the white dryer and washing machine, the dark blood stains on the blue carpet.

“The strongest, the father. He was found right there, and then the mother. That’s her right there.”

“How are you going to keep the kids from running away?”

“Restraints. Can’t aim a gun at them and stab the mother at the same time.”

“No restraints were found on the victims.”

“I took them with me.”

“No ligature marks,” I add.

“Snooping again?” Uncle Jason asks, looking towards me. “Let’s go upstairs, see how they lived.” I help myself up with the railing and lead Uncle Jason and Derek back up the stairs to the main part of the house, the living room and dining room area. “The yard is overgrown, and like the roof, Chris Crawford’s car is in need of maintenance, and Allison Crawford’s SUV is in pristine condition.” 

“Says here that Allison drove the kids to school. If they were educated privately, maybe the car was just an attempt to show the other parents wealth.”

“Like this house,” Uncle Jason says. “Designer magazines conspicuously placed, expensive modern furniture, plasma TV. Behind the curtains, water damage. Allison spent money on the things her friends could see and neglected those they couldn’t. The Crawfords lived beyond their means.” 

“So, where’d the extra cash come from?” 

“Get Garcia to check their financial status...Emily…” he pulls a painting off of the grey fridge. “This painting is of this house. Strange that, for a child, it has no colour. Has lines, dimensions, but no colour.”

“No dog collar was found, right?”

“No,” I answer. 

“Maybe he didn’t have one?” 

“Uncle Jason...who the fuck woudl have a dog, but no collar?” I ask, not minding my mouth.

“He’d have to have one. Come here. You see that?”

“Is it one of those dog doors that only opens with the collar?” I ask from the kitchen, sitting on the floor and drumming on my thighs.

“Yeah. It only opens via a chip in the dogs collar. If anything attempted to get in without one...the alarm would have been activated.” 

“Derek! Stop trying to break out!” I yell. 

“When the cops got here, the house was locked tight and the alarm was hot.”

“So, the night the Crawfords were murdered, the only way in and out of the house was with a dog collar.”

“Gideon, whoever killed this family had to be a big guy. Chris Crawford was a black belt in judo.”

“So are you. I’ve got a gun to your back. Maybe you could take it from me, but your children are in the same room, and if you fail, they die. Does it matter how big I am now?” Uncle Jason makes his way towards the kitchen. 

“Bound or not, Allison Crawford would have put up one hell of a fight. Emily and Sam would have been sobbing.”  

“Crawford didn’t kill his family, and there’s no evidence Miller was ever in the house or even knew them.” 

“HELP ME! HELP! PLEASE! HELP ME! NO! NO! PLEASE! PLEASE, NO! GOD, NO! NO!” A dog bark emerges from the silence, I can hear it through my hands.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks. 

“Why didn’t anyone hear them scream?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I believe the unsub had control over this family. He may have separated each family member. He tells the mother, ‘if you scream, I’ll kill your children.’ He tells the children, ‘if you cry, I’ll kill Mommy.’ The suspect found a way of restraining them without leaving marks. Based on lividity...the ME estimates that the father was the last to die.”

“He witnessed the whole thing. If he did spend time with both families, he must’ve known he had the time to spend with them.” 

“Cause he knew they were going on vacation.” 

“Look at travel agents, relatives, work colleagues, contract workers, childrens’ tutors-”

“Gideon. We’ve been looking into the Crawford financials.”

“Allison Crawford spent way more money than Chris could afford. They were in major debt.”

“And Chris Crawford wrote a number of checks for a series of visits to a therapist.”

“She had two cell phone accounts. And one of them billed to a separate address in southeast Washington DC.”

“You get that?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Did Derek really nearly get bit in the dick by a dog?” I ask, petting Ace’s head. 

“Language, Jamie,” Aaron warns.

“¿Derek estuvo a punto de ser mordido en la polla por un perro?” I ask again in Spanish. 

“Si. ¿Hablas?” 

“Suficiente para saber que mi abuelo siempre se queja,” I respond. 

“Why am I here?” The big man asks. 

“I think you know why,” Derek responds. 

“That’s mine.” 

“Colours indicate a self-confidence...an outgoing personality. Shows an above-average intelligence. The child that painted this was left-handed. Emily Crawford was left-handed.”

“Right...you’re not.”

“How’d you get the painting, Frank? You froget to take your medicine today, Frank? For a severe manic-depressive, that’s not good.”

“Should we get him his medication?” I ask. 

“No. He’ll be safe with us.” 

“They make me feel wrong!”

“Wrong enough to kill the Crawfords?”

“Frank.” 

“I-I did a-a bad thing.”

“What did you do?”

“I shouldn’t have gone to the house. Allison told me not to. I would never...never hurt Ally.” I place my hands up against the window, feeling nothing but sadness. “She’s the only family I got.”

“Family?”

“She’s my sister...she’s dead...she’s dead…” Frank cries. “He killed them…Chris did. I know he did it.” 

“What bad thing did you do?” 

“The rule was that I was never supposed to go to the house. That was the only rule. Allison said if Chris saw me...he would never let me see her again. He was gonna lock me up in the loony bin. He never liked me.” 

“You went...to the house.” 

“She said...she couldn’t visit me anymore. I just wanted to see her. Seeing Allison made everything better, but they cut my phone off. That day! The day I went to see them! They cut my phone off! I never would’ve gone to the house if they hadn’t cut off the phone!” I look on in despair as Derek tries to calm him. 

“There’s no way this guy could’ve gotten into the house without a key. Knowing how CHris Crawford felt about his brother-in-law, you see him having one?”

“No.” 

“Frank, you went to the house. What did you do?” 

“It was...dark...and...and cold. I went around to the side to look through the window. My breath steamed up the glass, and I wiped it clean, and...and I-I could see them, sitting down for dinner. I saw Emily and Sam, and...Sam was crying, I guess he was in trouble.”

“Did you see Allison?”

“Yes. She was saying grace over the table...and then...she looked up and saw me...and she mouthed something at me, I think it was get the hell out. So I left.”

“Did Chris see you?” 

“No. He wasn’t there, but a friend was at the head of the table.” 

“You said a friend?”

“Mm-hmm. I saw someone.”

“What did this person look like?”

“I-I didn’t see their face...but...uh...tiny. Really tiny.”

“White or black, Frank?”

“I don’t know. But…”

“What?”

“The hair. It-It...It was red.”

“White. Redheaded people are most likely white with blue or green eyes.” I offhandedly comment.

“If Frank saw them that day, it wasn’t Chris Crawford at the table.”

“Maybe it was the suspect.” 

“And she wasn’t saying, ‘go away.’ She was saying, ‘help me.”

“It was a friend…”

“Frank…”

“It wasn’t a friend at all...it was him...he’s the one who killed them...ohh!” 

“Frank…”

“I-I-I-I-”

“Frank-” 

“No! No! No! No!” Frank starts to yell out, slamming his giant fists into his forehead. 

“Frank, Frank, Frank- Frank, stop-”

“No!”

Derek starts to yell, I can’t hear the words, just shouts and screams. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Both families had a dog...and both houses had a dog door.”

“Fielding said that the person he saw was small.” 

“Yeah, well, in order to get through that door, you’d have to be five-four, tops, and real thin. Jamie’s the only one in here that could do it.” 

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” 

“Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character. Whoever did this isn’t. We can be pretty sure he’s probably found himself another family by now.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Okay. No, I understand. Yeah. I figured as much. Thank you.”

“He’s been looking at those pictures all morning,” Elle says. 

“Well, I sure hope he sees a connection, cause I’ve checked doctors, lawyers, travel agents, tutors, contract workers, I’ve got nothing.” 

“Why target those families?” 

“Well, to know that, we have to know how.”

“Alright. We know organised killers are often skilled workers with above-average intelligence. High birth status. And in most cases...male. In the work place, he’s socailly confident. And with women...sexually confident. Every offense  is preplanned. Targeting the victim is almost as preasureable as the actual kill. These guys, they’re...they’re meticulous. It’s a compulsion, Everything has to have its proper place. They do exhaustive amounts of research on their victims. They watch their every move.” I watch Derek pace around the room. “Every last detail is observed. Everything has to be written ever so neatly in a book or a journal. Like, when the kids are coming home from school and when Daddy’ll be home.” I cringe at the sound of Derek saying ‘Daddy.’ Ugh. The internet ruined me. I should really not read fanfic anymore. “Playtime. Bath time. Bedtime. Plan the work...work the plan. This is the way he maintains control. It’s also how he personalises his target...so nothing’s left to chance, and nothing, absolutely nothing...is left out of place, ever. So he plans the work...and when he’s good anre ady, he works that plan. He takes great pride in his job. I think the workplace has to be the connection.” 

“Didn’t the Crawford finances indicate a therapist?” I ask as Jason comes back to us, holding up two paintings. 

“Both are by Emily, painted months apart. This one is full of colour and life. The one I found at Emily’s house has lines, dimensions. No colour,” he explains. “I believe Emily was coerced to paint this. It is a point of view. It is his point of view. It’s where the killer stood and just watched the family.” I hear a clang on the desk I’m at, and Aaron grabs my wrist, letting the gold ring spin for a few moments before grabbing it and putting it back on. 

“Each of the dead husbands was missing his wedding ring. This is the unsub’s trophy. He targets a family because he lost his own, and for a few days, he gets to play Daddy.” I cringe again at Aaron. 

“And he can do whatever he wants and nobody’s going to come looking for them because they’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“Let’s get forensics to check the inside of Chris Crawford’s clothing, the unsub might have worn his clothes, too. Whew! Complete the fantasy.” 

“Maybe you should talk to Stephen,” I murmur.”

“So why kill them?”

“The fantasy can’t last.”

“Do we know anything that actually helps us identify this bastard?”

“Wait a minute,” I say, walking over to Derek, who has the files on his desk. “Chris Crawford worked for the IRS, and Reese Miller was a secretary at the GAO.” 

“That makes them both government employees.” 

“Let’s check out Chris Crawford and Reese Miller.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“He has his sfair share of problems, who doesn’t? But he didn’t fix them by killing his family,” the IRS man tells us as he leads us to Mr Crawford’s office. 

“Were you aware he was in therapy?”

“He mentioned marriage counselling.” 

“Did he say who?”

“Nope. And I didn’t ask. I don’t like to pry.”

“That’s surprising, coming from an IRS agent,” I comment. “You mind if we go through his belongings? See if he had anything that could connect him to Reese Miller?”

“You’re welcome to look through anything you like.” Jason pulls out a crayon drawing and stares at it. “A family therapist. They often use children’s paintings to assess the family unit.” He then pulls out his phone. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“The receptionist just said she’s in an...Dr Howard?” I ask. 

“Oh, hello, Jamie. My, you’ve grown.” she greets me sweetly before staring coldly at Aaron, Uncle Jason, and Derek. 

“How do you know her?” Jason asks me.

“He was one of my patients a long time ago. How are you doing?”

“I told them they shouldn’t have interrupted-”

“I’m Agent Jason Gideon with Behavioural Analysis.”

“We both deal with the dysfunctional. Happily, in my line, the end results aren’t quite as unpleasant as yours.” Did she...did she really just say that? Wow. What a good therapist.

“Unless you’re the Crawford family.”

“Or the Millers. You knew them both.” 

“Yes. I knew them.”

“Ma’am. I think you should take a seat.” 

“Why?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We’re going to have to check your alibi.”

“Dig all you want. I have four teenagers. If I had anytime to myself, it wouldn’t be spent killing my clients.” 

“You worked with both families?” I ask. 

“I assessed their cases. This office deals with hundreds of families. Military, cops, lawyers, congressmen, feds. I only met the Crawfords and Reese Miller once.” 

“But you prescribed medication for them.” 

“I’m the only medical doctor here.”

“Who’d you hand the cases over to?” I ask. 

“Uh, I’ll have to check my files.” SHe gets up and heads to her file cabinet, pulling it open and surfing through.

“You don’t use a computer?”

“Not all of us have embraced the technician revolution. I keep everything filed. It makes me feel more in control. And do not read into that...the Crawfords...Karl Arnold dealt with their case.”

“What about the Millers?”

“I’d like to talk to him now.”

“You can’t. He works a four.forty, four ten hour days.. He’s off today, but he’ll be in first thing tomorrow.”

“Do you have his home address?” She grimaces and writes it down.

“I’ll get a team down to his house.”

“In the meantime, we’d like to see his office.”

We head out, her leading us down a hallway. 

“Suspect’s cell is going straight to voicemail,” Derek reports. 

“Karl is a good man.”

“That’s what they all say until you find a body in the basement,” I remark.

“It’s locked.”

“I’ll get security.”

“No time for that. I’d step out of the way,” I tell her, pushing her aside as Derek kicks the door in. 

“Someone will have to pay for that.”

“Karl Arnold will.” 

“Gideon.” We turn our attention to the colourful paintings on the walls. 

“Where is he, now?” 

“I can’t believe Karl -”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. If he’s not at home, then maybe he’s gone off to see his family.”

“He’s married?”

“With two children, Karl Jr and Sarah.”

“How long ago did the marriage collapse?” Jason asks.

“About five years ago. It wasn’t a good time for Karl. He took some time off work. He couldn’t concentrate. He started...drinking.” I hear a phone going off, and Derek steps aside to answer it. “I can’t beli- maybe you’ve got it wrong.”

“Yeah?”

“We don’t always see the dark side of people,” I advise. 

“I would’ve seen…oh my god, I feel sick.” I fetch a trash can from the corner and hold it out to her. 

“Where does Karl’s family live?”

“She took the kids and moved to Idaho.”

“They just raided Karl’s home. He’s not there.” 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hotch, there’s gotta be hundreds of families here.”

“Then we’ll send an agent to every last one if we have to.”

“Karl Arnold, he has a boy and a girl, just like the Millers and Crawfords.”

“Okay, uh...younger boy, older girl…” I say, helping look through hundred of Karl’s files. “On vacation right now…” 

“Target family would be the same.”

“How could I not have seen it?”

“He’s just that good at hiding it. If he wasn’t, you would have seen it, and you shouldn’t blame yourself for this,” I remark. 

“Does he have a journal?”

“He writes everything down, takes it everywhere.”

“It’s likely he also collects trophies. If they’re not in his house, they’re right here, hidden in this room. Jamie.”

“I’ll get to it...why does he have creepy dolls?” I ask, staring at dolls with weird plastic heads on the shelf. 

“What does he mean by trophies?”

“From the families he killed. If he doesn’t confess, we’ll need them as evidence,” Uncle Jason answers. 

“Here’s one. The Harrises. One oy, one girl.”

“Are they on vacation right now?” I ask. 

“Can I see it?”

“I got a few. The Boyds and the Dunkens.”

“Wait. The Dunkens. That’s not one of his cases. That’s mine. They have a baby boy and a slightly introverted eight year old named Jackie.”

“Jackie…” Jason grabs a painting. “Jackie’s work?”

“He took it from my office.” 

“Were they planning a trip?”

“To the Adirondacks.”

“Let’s go. Hotch, tear up the room.”

“Here, take this. I call you some backup.” Derek snatches the files from my hands and runs out after Uncle Jason,and I run after them.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We’ve got three adults and two children sitting at the dining room table,” one of the agent says, using a thermal camera to see inside the house. He waves, and the other agents advance towards the house. I follow after, carefully walking with a gun pointed in front of me. Don’t make me shoot this thing, don’t make me shoot this thing. 

I gulp and move the dead dog with my foot before advancing. “FBI! FBI!” We yell out, bursting in through the patio door. 

“He’s got my baby!”

“Is he alone?” I ask.

“My baby!” 

“Where’s the basement?”

“Under the stairs!” 

“Son of a bitch. Get out of here! Get them outta here!”

“I got her! You go! Get them out of here!” I yell, stepping towards the mother and the little girl, putting the gun in my waistband and pulling out my pocketknife. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s okay. I need you guys to with these people, okay?” The woman and the girl nod as I undo the leather bindings before moving on to the dad and cutting him free. “Go, go, go,” I say, putting my knife away and taking the gun back into my hands. I creep forward, gently pushing the open basement door and going down the stairs. I creep forward, seeing beams of light further in.

“Why don’t you give me the baby?” I hear Uncle Jason ask. “Karl?” Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Not the baby. Not the baby. Not the baby. The baby starts crying, and I silently gulp before stepping forward, aligning myself behind the bookcase. “Karl, I want you to look at me. I’m gonna put my gun away…” The baby keeps on crying. Come on, come on, come on, come on. “And I want you to hand me that baby.”  A few moments pass by, nothing happens except for the baby’s cries. “Hand me the baby.” I take a deep breath, taking the gun off of safety and cocking it, placing my finger on the trigger, transferring the weight into my foot so I can pivot around the corner. A loud metal clash rings out, and a few grunts. I venture forward, whipping out my flashlight and turning it on, shining it in the direction of Karl. “Jamie!” Uncle Jason hisses. 

“I can carry the baby out,” I quickly offer, putting the safety back on as I hear someone choking, I shine my flashlight to find Derek holding Karl by the neck. 

“You move, I will break your neck.” 

“Okay, okay,” Jason coos, trying to sooth the baby. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason pulls me aside as Derek escorts Karl into an interrogation room. 

“Did he say anything?” JJ asks. 

“No. Can we tie him forensically to the other crimes?” 

“Negative on foreign data. He must have washed Crawford’s clothes.” 

“Then we’ll need a confession.”

“Can you get one?” 

“Did you do what I asked?”

“Yeah.” 

“Then maybe.” Jason then walks off towards the interrogation room, and I yawn. 

“Here, Jamie. You should probably get some sleep, it’s late and you’re going back to school,” JJ says, leading me up to Aaron’s office.

“I’m not tired. JJ, I pointed a gun at someone today.” 

“You did what?”

“Can I watch the interview? I basically helped.” 

“Yes, you can, but you are going to have a talking-to. Where did you even get the gun, anyways?”

“Elle got me it for Rosh Hashahnah, uh, I didn’t tell her that we only get gifts during Hanukkah.” I explain as we walk into the room and stand by the evidence board. 

“Emily Crawford was a very talented and gifted girl,” Uncle Jason says. “Her brother, Sam, a bright, energetic child. You watched them from the yard for days, maybe even weeks. You learned everything about them, you studied their every move, and then you wrote it all down.” I look to Karl, who is scanning the board, and my eyes flicker to the bandage on Derek’s arm. 

“May I have a glass of water?” Karl asks calmly. 

“Something wrong?”

“No. I’m just thirsty.” 

“Water, please.” I nod and fetch the glass of water, quickly bringing it back without leaving earshot.

“Could you remove my shackles? I’m clearly no threat to you.” 

“They stay on.” I hand Derek the glass, and he sets it down by Karl, I return to my spot by JJ. 

“You chose families that reminded you of the one you lost. You stalked them, you bound them, you terrorised them. Then you killed them...one by one. We have your journals, Karl.”

“It’s my job…” I roll my eyes and nearly start laughing. “To write everything down, to get to know them. I can’t help them solve their problems without knowing background. And I make home visits...sometimes without their knowledge because people lie. You, of all people, should know that.” Uncle Jason holds up a couple of pictures. “Eric Miller was an awful husband and father. Allison Crawford hemmoraged money her husband didn’t have. It can strain any marriage.” Uncle Jason then holds up a framed picture.

“On the surface, this looks like any family, USA. Two parent household, two kids, a boy and a girl. If you look a little closer, you’ll see that their body language tells a different story. The woman and children are distant from the man. Their smiles are stiff. Their eyes are frightened. Every hair is in place, wearing their Sunday best, their own private hell being memorialised on film. Are you okay?”

“It isn’t right.” I watch Karl shudder. 

“What is it?”

“You’ve got the pictures mixed up! The one in the middle, that is Sam Crawford’s. It should be Ty Miller’s! You need...to swap them. You need...to make it right.” 

“This one here?” I ask, pointing to the foot. 

“What the hell have I been trying to tell you?” 

“You’re right. They’re switched. That is Sam Crawford’s foot with the Miller family. But how did you know that, Karl?” Uncle Jason asks.

[profiler-in-courage]

So I started writing a story about a police detective and pictured Claes Bang playing him and now I’m SIX chapters deep.

For those of you that wanted me to post it, here is the first chapter. It’s long I’m sorry!

Chapter 1.

Emerson Woods sucked his hazelnut iced latte out of the green straw, while he simultaneously flicked his thumb over women’s Tinder profiles who were somewhere between 30 and 45. He was a hip cop. 

Detective actually, 10 years. He had made detective when he was just 35 years old.

And look at me now, he thought.

Forty-five and single, he had somewhat ashamedly resorted to making a profile on a “dating” website. His niece had told him about it. Which to him was even more pathetic. His niece was 16.

He sighed as he closed the app. What was he doing?

He glanced out his car window and scratched the side of his face. If you wanted to get technical, he was sitting in his silver ’63 Karmann Coupe Porsche. No, not bought from a detective’s salary, an inheritance from his father.

Emerson was on what the movies call a stake-out, but what anyone in law enforcement calls boredom. It’s not like TV. Nothing ever comes from sitting in your car for hours in the middle of the night, at least not in his experience. And there weren’t even donuts.

Well, at least he had coffee.

There had been a series of disappearances in the Connecticut city of Creekmore. All had been women, all from different parts of the city, from low income to high-income parts of town. They had been different ages as well. The oldest fifty-three, the youngest four. It had been going on for a few months now. No leads.

Emerson sighed, debating whether or not to open up the Tinder app again. It was nearing 11 pm, and he was tired. And bored.

The Creekmore Police Department had officers sitting in every neighborhood in the city, wary that since the last disappearance had taken place a little over five months ago. Whoever was abducting these women was due to strike again. 

He was stationed in a residential middle-class neighborhood. The kind of neighborhood he would’ve liked to live in. Once upon a time.

Trees lined the sidewalk along with painted white houses with dark roofs and watered grass. The typical picturesque street.

He pressed his thumb over the red and white app.

Kristy, age 39, occupation: elementary school teacher. 

Among her list of things she liked to do was:

Hit the bar for a night on the town.

He swiped left. He didn’t drink.

Emerson thought back to the last time he had tasted alcohol. A year after his wife died, which had been eight years ago.

He hadn’t taken her death well.

Who takes death well? he thought.

He supposed a better way to put it was he took it with a bottle of bourbon every day for a year.

Lyla had been 32 when she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. It didn’t take long.

Every time he heard the term he felt a silent rage build up inside him. Cancer felt like it had escaped a life sentence because of a technicality.

Emerson gritted his teeth. Eight years later, he had made peace with the death of his wife but not with the fact that cancer was still incurable.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, flecks of grey scattered throughout it.

11:30 pm.

His hazel eyes flicked back down to his phone screen. He rubbed the side of his Warby Parker Haskell frames. 

He had paused on a picture.

The image of a woman with dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. He pressed on it.

Gwyn, 33, occupation: artist. 

Her bio stated:

Please don’t use slang and conduct your sentences like you’re somewhat educated. If you want a response. 

The corner of Emerson’s mouth tugged up into a smirk. It was something he could’ve written himself.

He swiped right.

He had a moment of regret only for a second when he wondered if 33 was too young for him. He mentally shrugged.

11:49

He was beginning to yawn now. Bored with sitting in his car, bored with his bachelor style life. He turned the keys in the ignition, about to press his foot to the gas pedal, but stopped.

He had to stay. He had orders to until sunrise. Though no one would know if he left.

You can’t, he thought.

However bored this stake-out was making him, his morals wouldn’t let him leave. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened. And with his luck it would.

He dropped the keys back into his shirt pocket.

His center console buzzed. His phone had vibrated. Gwyn had matched with him.

Emerson wondered if he should send her a message, or wait. His usual style was to wait. He had been using Tinder for a month and while he had sent the occasional message, the conversation had never gone anywhere. People didn’t know how to talk anymore. 

Through the conversations that had gone on for more than three days, came dinner dates. Three women so far, all had led to nothing except him buying their meal.

Not that he was looking for casual sex. He wasn’t, he just wanted to find someone he wanted to date. And more importantly, that wanted to date him. 

He’d found that a lot of women didn't fancy the idea of dating a police detective.

He didn’t know if he should find that concerning or not.

He swiped over to his own profile.

Emerson, 45, occupation: police detective, likes reading, people who know how to use their indoor voice, and the handful of people who take this app seriously. My niece says my style is professor-chique with a hint of cowboy.

The pictures he had of himself on there consisted of two selfies. One with glasses, one without. One clean shaven, one with scruff. Different light-colored button-up shirts. He figured he’d keep it simple.

He went to his phone’s weather app. It was currently 48 degrees. He could feel the cold settling into his car. The sweater and blazer he thought would be enough, apparently wasn’t.

His boots were doing nothing for warmth either but he had refused to go around wearing those clunky winter boots people on the East Coast seemed to love. He’d stick with his square-toed Ariats. 

Probably should have went with hot coffee instead of iced, he thought.

To take his mind off the cold, he began running it over the case. The only thing that connected the eight women who had disappeared was that they were all female. The pattern in which the killer chose, was hardly even a pattern. One a week, age of the victim varied. Sometimes it was back to back adult women, sometimes a woman then a young girl. All from different areas, all different races. Frustrating.

He worried about his niece. If it were up to him, he would be sitting outside of her house. Headstrong, fearless, sixteen, no regard for her curfew. His sister had her hands full with Abigail. Detective Burnham, his best friend, was stationed around his sister’s neighborhood.

They will be fine, he thought.

Still, it didn’t stop his brain from depicting scenarios. He had experienced tragedy once, there was no rule that said it couldn’t happen to him again.

After Lyla died he had moved from San Antonio to Creekmore to be closer to his sister and Abigail. They were the only family he had. 

He pulled up Abigail’s contact and typed a text message.

I’m assuming that since you are in high school, you are still awake at this hour?

The bubbles that meant she was typing popped up.

I’m safe in my bed, not abducted Uncle Emerson.

He smiled, she was intuitive. And for once not out partying. The stories his sister Eve had told him, it almost made him glad he didn’t have children. But not quite.

Abigail was typing again.

So…any new matches?!

Since she had persuaded him to download Tinder, she had amusingly become interested in his personal life. 

He remembered her saying something along the lines of,

“Stop being a stereotypical lonely detective and get yourself a love interest!”

Emerson responded.

One. Go to sleep. School tomorrow.

He could picture her rolling her eyes as she read it.

His phone vibrated. Gwyn had sent him a message,

G: Hi Emerson.

That was it?

Though something about the simplicity of the message intrigued him. No one had said a simple “Hi,” to him on here, they usually began with,

“What’s up.”

Or,

“What are you doing?”

Somehow this felt more personal. More genuine.

E: Hi Gwyn.

He had faith that sending an equally simple response wouldn’t stop her from sending him another message.

As another one from her popped up, his phone rang. It was his precinct chief.

“Woods, get to Wilshire as soon as you can. We have bodies.”

He clenched his teeth. He had a bad feeling.

Even when called to a homicide the chief always had some sly remark or joke about Emerson’s whereabouts and why he wasn’t already at the scene.

This time there had been nothing. Only a quick order.

He put his keys in the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

As Emerson drove down the barren streets his stomach started to churn. He felt sick almost, like the sort of feeling you get when you’ve eaten something that’s been sitting out for a while. 

That happened to him sometimes. Though only when something really bad was about to happen. It was like his own version of seeing the future. 

It had happened the day his wife had told him about her breast cancer, the day his parents had been in an accident, but never before seeing a body. 

He was good with crime scenes, even the really gristly ones. 

So why did he have this feeling?

He pulled up to the yellow caution tape and walked out to where he saw the chief and Detective Rawley standing. Wilshire was on the outskirts of town, the street was in between two fields that went on for a couple of miles. 

This is weird, he thought. 

All of the other bodies that had been found had been in the city. 

Just as Emerson was thinking they might not be victims of the town serial killer, the chief caught his eye.

No, it’s him. 

“Woods,” the chief nodded in greeting.

Rawley looked up at Emerson in uninterested acknowledgment.

“Chief…..Rawley,” Emerson nodded to each of them. 

He hadn’t even seen the bodies yet and Emerson was already in a bad mood. He couldn’t stand Rawley. Arrogant, rude, loud. All qualities he despised. 

He stepped over the marshy parts of the field to get to where the tarps were covering the victims. 

“What do we know?” Emerson asked, as he lifted up one of the tarps.

It was a female, white, blonde, age anywhere between 13-17 he would guess. 

“First one is Halley Reece, age 15.  Judging from the backpack it looks like she has been missing since school got out this afternoon,” said Chief. 

Emerson lifted the tarp on the other. Female, white, brunette, same age range.

Chief sighed, “Her friend is Melanie Myers. Fifteen, also looks like she had been missing only since this afternoon. Both of their ID cards say they went to Creekmore High.”

Emerson’s eyes wound over their bodies, studying where the blood had pooled. 

“Stab wounds cause of death?” he asked. 

“Yes, different from last week,” Chief answered. 

That was another erratic thing about the killer, his methods were all over the place. 

One week it was stabbings, the next it was gunshots or strangelings. But always female. That was the only constant. 

“Dude must have a bad ex-wife for him to hate women this much,” Rawley joked.

Emerson rolled his eyes. 

“Do we have someone talking to their families?” he asked.

Chief nodded, “I have the patrol cops who found them handling it.”

That was the one thing Emerson did not miss whatsoever about being a beat cop, being the first to inform next of kin. 

He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, 

“Have forensics been here yet?” 

Chief let out a curt laugh, “Are you kidding? You know how long those guys take. I swear they intentionally wait 20 minutes before getting their asses out here.”

Emerson glanced at his watch, it was almost 1 am. He was tired and wanted to go home. If forensics hadn’t even been here yet and patrol were taking to the families, there was really nothing he could do right now. 

And my stomach hurts 

He couldn’t shake the doom feeling. He needed to sleep it off. 

“Anything else Chief? I should get home and start looking over the case files, see if anything matches up.”

Lies

Chief said he could leave and he would see him tomorrow. Emerson quickly evaded the muddy puddles and headed back to his car before Rawley could say some gaudy remark about going home and fucking one of his many one night stands. 

How the chief put up with him he would never know. 

Emerson pulled into his driveway and just sat in the car for a moment. Thinking. 

He still had that feeling in his stomach and he knew it was because of the killings. 

They were speeding up. It had started as one every couple months, then went to one every couple weeks, and now it seemed like it was one or two every week.

With no leads. 

The killer left absolutely nothing behind. No prints, no hair, no signatures. 

Nothing. 

At this rate, the whole city would be dead in a couple years if they didn’t catch him. The town was in a cloud of panic.

It was mind boggling. Stomach churning. 

He grabbed his phone from the center console and went inside. By the time he showered and got into bed it was nearing 2 am. His stomach hadn’t stopped hurting yet either. 

As he leaned over to set his phone on the nightstand, he remembered he had gotten a message from Gwyn right before Chief had called him. 

He opened up Tinder.

G: Inside voices huh? What about when in bed?

He smirked.

E: If the bed is inside the rule still applies. 

He saw message bubbles pop up.

G: Hmmm so you’re a whisper in the ear kind of guy? I like that. Takes the pressure off having to fake it, or having to scream, “YES ALL POWERFUL WIZARD WIELD THAT STAFF!”

Emerson raised his eyebrows.

E: Have you actually said that before?

While he waited for her reply he checked the local news. The story hadn’t broken yet. 

G: Never let a friend drag you to a World of Warcraft singles mixer. Also, never sleep with someone from said mixer. 

He scratched his nose, he wasn’t that great at banter but Gwyn’s easy going humor made it a little less challenging for him.

E: Are you not someone from said mixer?

This was certainly the most interesting conversation to come from Tinder.

G: No, I was dragged there, against my free will. Come to think of it, you should probably arrest the woman who dragged me there. 

Emerson chuckled. 

E: I would say I need a warrant but I think this is grounds for an exception to the law.

G: Thank you. 

E: You’re welcome. 

He could barely keep his eyes open at this point, and decided that discussing arrest tactics with Gwyn would have to wait till tomorrow. 

His stomach felt better though

[warlock-enthusiast]

Waking up slow

The Wayhaven Chronicles

Adam du Mortain x female Detective (in the future)

Detective Kat Kingston faces a murder, Unit Bravo and her mother. 

AO3link

----

I don't know where to begin But I didn't think I cared I could be your friend But I'm unprepared

Kat looked at the mirror and stuck out her tongue.

Not much to see there. Especially after getting almost no sleep. Dark circles surrounded her eyes, hollowing out her face, and giving her a constant aura of exhaustion. With her pale skin, Kat wondered, if some aspiring filmmaker would hire her for an extra in their horrorfilm. Background zombie vampire number 21. Surely she could throw in some undead moans and shuffling.

She made a note to investigate, if anyone filmed in the surrounding areas.

Dressed in a pencil skirt and blouse, Kat felt a bit more like herself. It hugged her wide hips and concealed her tummy, which she hadn’t been ready to show to the world since her early teenage years. She decided to throw in some jewelry, a long necklace, earrings, nothing special.

A dash of powder and she faced her mirror again. “You can do this. Just take a deep breath and survive the day and make sure that no one else get killed.”

She’d been the logical choice for a promotion, but she started to doubt her abilities. Always the smart one in class, Kat now found herself facing obstacle after obstacle. A killer haunted her town and evidence seemed to be spare, one dead woman, strange blood samples, Verda working over hours to get some results. But nothing made sense. Wayhaven wasn’t known for it’s high crime rate. Most of the days, she investigated neighborhood disputes, lost cats (her rate of finding them was nearing 100%) and drug related incidents at times.

Lately, doubts crawled into her sleep and made her wonder, if she deserved the title of Detective. She saw herself as neither smart nor experienced enough.

Not to mention a whole squad of agents occupied her office and station. With them around her, Kat felt out of place and small. Between the four of them were years of actual agent work and whatever they’d been paid to do.

With them, her mother had also grabbed a part of her life again.

Wonderful.

“No. Not thinking of her.” Their complicated relationship offered too many raw wounds and too many missed birthdays and the vastness of a lonely childhood. At her ripe age of 31, she surely should get over it, but bitterness seemed rooted deep within in herself. All those expensive hours of therapy, just to face the same old shit.

Kat tucked her red hair behind her ears and nodded. “Off we go then.”

Half past seven and her neighbors slowly began their day. She heard laughing children and dogs barking. The pure picture of a quiet, idyllic town. Kat wrapped her scarf a bit tighter around her neck, because the air felt cold and smelled of frost. Though, she’d always liked this time of the year, before it got uncomfortable warm and before pollen attacked her nose and eyes.

She got in her car and found herself relaxing behind the wheel, with the help of Stevie Nicks and her comforting voice. Singing along Seven Wonders worked miracles on a bad mood.

Her shoulders tensed as she noticed a familiar figure in front of the station. Handsome and rugged, Bobby owned too much space in her memories and still too much space in her life.

Kat nodded. “Bobby.” “Hey, angel. Long time no see.” He smiled and stood right in front of the entrance. Sighing, she tried to find a way around him. “Look, Bobby, I haven’t got the time.” “Come on, just some small answers. Wouldn’t hurt you, eh?”

“At this point, I can’t tell you anything. We’re investigating different angles.”

“Please.” Bobby’s eyes were bright and cheerful and Kat rubbed her neck, hoping that she didn’t blush. He’d been charming back when they meet at college and then dumped her, because he couldn’t bring a chubby girl home to meet his parents.

Yeah, that had happened.

Concentrating on how she felt back then surely helped with bringing more distance between the two of them. It also pushed the self-doubts to a new high. Damn. This morning totally screwed her over.

“The detective is needed inside.”

Kat spun around and almost crushed into Adam’s chest. “Detective Kingston.” He opened the door and positioned himself right between herself and Bobby. Her throat seemed suddenly very, very dry with Adam standing so close. Dressed in his usual grey shirt and cargo trousers, he cut an impressive figure.

“So, are you going to answer a few questions.” “No.”

Kat slipped in and ignored Bobby’s protests. She already feared what he would write about her and the Wayhaven police. Probably calling them incompetent and lazy for selling a few more papers.

“Good morning, Douglas.”

His smile looked earnest and cheerful. “Morning, Kat. Everything alright?” “Yes, thank you.” Kat nodded and followed Adam, because further stalling wouldn’t improve anyone's day.

Adam opened her office door and she walked in. “Good morning. You’re awfully early.”

“Couldn’t wait to see you, Detective.” Felix quipped and Kat felt heat rising in her neck and up to her cheeks. Being the center of attention had never been comfortable and Kat tried hide her embarrassment with focussing on anything but Felix.

A hot, steaming coffee waited on Kat’s desk and she found a note from Tina and a smiley drawn beneath it. She liked it with a dash of oat milk and cupped it in her hands as she sat down. Kat would visit her later and thank her for indulging one tired detective. The rest of the team had already made themself comfortable. Mason leaning against a filing cabinet, Felix lounging on the only other chair, Nate crunched over her desk, checking his notes and comparing them to Kat’s.

“So, another day of research?” Felix sighed loudly enough for Adam to stare him into silence again.

Nate looked up, his warm eyes on Kat. “If that is your plan of action.” She looked down to check her mails. “Yeah, we need to find out what’s going on with the blood of the victim and how it fits into all of this.”

Back in college, she’d thought about following her passion for science and enter the pathology course, but it didn't worked out. It still lingered on her mind from time to time and she spent more time than necessary down in the lab with Verda.

Kat read through the file again.

Janet Greenland. Aspiring engineer. Far too young to face such a gruesome fate.

Kat took a sip of coffee. “I’d appreciate it, if you would tell me about your findings. You’ve been tracking him for a while and must know more than me.” Nate and Adam exchanged a glance. Did they really believe themself to be subtle? They’d only known each other for a few days, but often enough she felt left out of the conversation and their secrets.

“You already received all our information.” Adam’s face seemed unmoved and his intense eyes woke a squeamish sensation in her stomach.

Kat stood up and tried to scrap together her last pieces of confidence. “I know that you’re not exactly excited to work with me, but I appreciate your insight into this and would be really grateful, if you wouldn’t leave me in the dark.”

"Detective Kingston…” Nate started, but Adam didn’t let him continue.

Felix and Mason stayed quiet, probably used to the other two butting their heads.

Kat waited for an answer, knowing that red spots started to bloom on her neck, betraying her confident words.

"So?"

"So." Adam's answer held a final note.

Tina knocked on the door, thankfully cutting through the awkward silence that followed their exchange.

“Excuse me.” Kat got up and straightened her skirt. “Time for break. There is a nice bakery around the corner, if you’re hungry. Makes good sandwiches and cupcakes.”

She left with a feeling that no one in Unit Bravo would follow her advice, and with her coffee secured between her fingers.

Her friend slung an arm around Kat's shoulders and whispered. “The blond one is still staring.” “Probably thinking less and less of me and my competence. Wouldn't blame him." Adam du Mortain usually worked with skilled professionals, not some small town Detective that got a bit lucky and who had to be rescued from noisy ex-boyfriends.

"Let's check out, if anyone has repaired our vending machine.” Kat ignored the urge to look back through the glass and just held herself a bit stiffer. “You’re still hoping to get back your money?” Tina guided her towards their break room. “I do or at least that chocolate bar.”

“Always the optimist.” Kat snorted. “Haven’t been called that in a while.”

As expected, the vending machine didn’t work and she positioned herself against the counter. Tina opened their mini fridge and made a face. Douglas had forgotten about his lunch for about a week now and it began to grew a soft pelt. They really should trow it away, but neither of them seemed brave enough to touch it.

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Tina nudged Kat’s shoulder with her own. “How you’re holding up? I mean with the case and with your mother back in Wayhaven?”

“Not that well, if you want the truth. I’m afraid for the people here and I don’t know, if I’m up to the task of catching the murderer. Unit Bravo doesn’t help as much as I thought they would.”

Kat bit her lip. “And Rebecca, hm, you know … I respect her on a professional level and that is as far as I’m thinking about her now.” “It’s a start.” “I guess.” Kat finished her coffee. Dead father, absent mother, didn’t help much growing up. She shook her head. “Enough of my stunted emotions. How was your date with… damn, what was her name? Anna?” “Annabelle.” Tina smiled. “Actually, pretty bad. We didn’t click and after dinner we decided to just accept that and part ways.” “Sorry to hear that.” “Nah, I’ll find the one and at least she didn't throw her drink at the bartender.”

Tina laughed and her eyes sparkled with amusement. Kat found herself smiling too. It seemed hard to not do when her friend was around. She also remembered their horrible double date, back when her guy got so angry about something that he threw his perfectly fine vodka soda at the Bartender. They didn’t arrest him but let him go off with a warning to behave better in the future.

“Here’s to another day in Wayhaven.” Kat raised her empty mug.

“Hear, hear!”

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

OT3FIC: Fox Terrier

8 - As the agent pulled back the sheet, she knew immediately that

As the agent pulled back the sheet, she knew immediately that this was one of hers. In fact, she could almost immediately place exactly the cause of this death right away. It was missing a heart for one, the window was open for another, and the sheets had slashed tears in it in four parallel lines as well where it lay crumpled on the floor. Additionally, it was the morning after the full moon and there had already been two other deaths in the area over the last two days and a similar pattern the month before.

Clearly, this was a werewolf.

Sighing as she slid the thick rimmed glasses back up her nose, Jo took a step back from the side of the bed and lowered the sheet back where it had been with her gloved hand. This was going to be a messy hunt and if she couldn’t work out the similarities within the next twelve hours there would be another body and then another until the moon began to wax again. And then more the following month too.

Werewolves were some of the worst hunts these days. She’d already had reservations about them from childhood, despite the knowledge most were not equipped to handle that life and transformation, and even more so now she had a friend cursed with it. At least she knew that Garth had good company this month in the form of the shadow, and Jo gave a small sigh to herself as she peeled off the glove and slipped it into the back pocket of her nice trousers as she nodded to the other two police workers taking photos around the room.

“Oh there you are agent-” “Yes, thanks so much. I think I’ll let you handle-” “You’re not going to wait and speak with your director and the specialist you’ve called in?”

“Wha..” Jo felt the question coming out of her mouth immediately, before she snapped it shut as a man entered the room behind the extremely friendly and bubbly redhead police officer she’d convinced to allow her into the scene. Seeing the first man she knew immediately this was not a good place for her to be in or caught in.

Jack Crawford had a coffee mug in one hand and had pulled his sunglasses off with the other as he bustled into the room, eyes more focused upon taking in the room and victim thankfully than the living, breathing humans within in. Reaching a hand up to fiddle with her glasses and tuck a few of the strands of her hair back carefully behind her ear and ensure the rest were still up in the tight, professional bun, Jo shifted on her feet to turn her face mostly away from the other - looking as if extremely interested in the photos on the nearest wall as she moved slightly closer to the door as the Behavioral Sciences Director moved further into the room.

She had seen her file, more than just the once, so Jo knew how little there was to go on of her image - additionally, since moving out of Duluth and to the small farm house, she had worked even harder to keep a lower profile within official channels. Will had said there was barely any news of her since they had first meet, and the hunter couldn’t help but hope that it was long enough and she looked mundanely different enough with the thick, tortoise shell glasses, bright pink lipstick, tight bun and professional styled pantsuit ensemble that she would be hard to pick as the usually flannel and denim wearing woman with loose hair and even looser trigger finger to get out of this room without trouble.

“A new victim, correct?” Jack still had that same booming, demanding voice that Jo had become very aware of. His tone was that same bossy, brash one that filled Will’s voicemail system. “Found this morning. Signs of forced entry and mutilated the same as the others, correct?”

“Ye-yes sir. The same as the other two victims-” “And the five from the previous month as well.” “Yessir.” “Good.”

Jo could not help the derisive snort that came out at that comment from the man, the firm ‘good’ sounding so hilarious when applied to the context of a poor dead girl laying in her bed and the Director of the Behavioral Science Unit viewing such an occurrence as good just made her hate him all the more. The moment it left her though, she wished she could take it back as she flinched upon hearing a quiet gasp from the previously chirping redhead and a gruff sounding cough from behind her. Jack sure did not enjoy insubordination, and Jo just wanted to get out of here without an incident.

“Something amusing, detective?” The man’s voice was gruff still, that authoritative tone bleeding through it as well as his own arrogance that Jo assumed was his distaste that a simple, small town cop was laughing at or disgusted by him.

“Oh she’s not a detective sir, she’s from your agency.” “What?” “Agent Grey has been assisting over the last two cases with us from your agency, sir.” “Since when was there someone on site-”

Jo cringed the moment the redhead interrupted and corrected the man, turning around to face him with the most professionally bland look that she could muster - the bored bartender face she had perfected as a teenager with an extra dash of office working drone thrown in for good measure - meeting face to face with the tall, dark man who called her home at all hours of the day to drag her boyfriend away for the first time. “I was assigned by Mitchell after last month’s murder spree. We were notified of the first body and I arrived two days ago due to being in the area.” Jo cut back sharply, sliding her hands into her hip pockets and puffing her chest up and shoulders back a little, reciting back like she were reporting for duty rather than trying to project as hard as she was that she was supposed to be there. “Beth Grey, sir, from the Violent Crimes division.”

“Mitchell, you say?” The ex-agent turned his eye on her immediately, running across her carefully as if searching for what Jo suspected was a sign she was lying or not who she claimed to be. If Jack Crawford was on a site, he expected to be the top dog and only one on site with his own team. Jo knew this. She also knew that he had no clue at all as to the validity of her claim, and by the time he bothered to look into it, Jo meant to have found and either killed or helped the werewolf in question and be on the road back towards their little farm house. “You seem fairly young-”

“Jack, is that really an appropriate comment to be making?” Jo had to force herself not to react to the voice that cut over the director’s query, and not to jerk her head in the direction of the doorway as she heard the footsteps padding into the room as well. “Besides, we’re here about some serial killer and not to pester other agents, right?”

“Alright, since you’re here, everyone will need to clear the room.” The blonde watched as the man’s face soured completely, before he returned to the demanding behavior of before. Jack Crawford took a long sip of his coffee looking around the room as he barked out the order for the rest to vacate at the arrival of his favorite tool. Jo felt her jaw clenching as she realized that meant her as well, and meant that Will would be stuck looking into something that was not his case. As the photographers appeared to jump and looked disturbed but followed the instructions, Jo turned her head a little to watch the redheaded officer scurry out of the room as well as the tall, dark-skinned man began moving towards the exit too. She herself actually jumped as she met his dark eyes and he barked the order again, harsher this time. “You too, Agent.”

“Actually Jack,” The voice was quiet yet forceful which surprised Jo to hear, an edge to it that she was sure was not usual in his workplace though it did send a shiver down her spine as the blonde turned her head finally towards the voice and met the unmistakable eyes dead on. “She can stay if she’s quiet, I may have questions about the previous scenes.”

“Will, you never-” “I don’t have my files with me today, Jack, given how last minute this call out was. I could use her assistance potentially.” “Well then, I will just stay too-”

“That won’t be necessary, Jack.” Jo actually shuddered that time as the curly haired empath jerked his gaze from her own to almost scowl at his boss, eyes hot and hands opening and closing against the faded denim of his jeans, to cut sharply back at the other man. There was a long drawn out pause between the two as the director moved towards the door, head twisting between the two of them before he seemed to decide it was not worth breaking his favorite toy over one little thing.

The other man stepped aside as the elder man passed by, and Jo bite down on her lip to keep from laughing as the younger of the pair slammed the bedroom door shut right behind the director with the quiet, yet firm call that he “need the privacy”. She managed to force the laugh down other than the harsh release of air through her nose in a huff as she took a step forward, towards the door and the now shaking empath like she was approaching a wild animal.

“Hey-”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jo?” Will’s voice cracked over the curse as he span from the door, hand dropping from the handle back to his side, staring wide eyed and fiercely at her. He hissed the words out, stepping towards her and reaching for her arm as he reached her. “What the fuck do you think you are doing at an active crime scene?”

“I’m here doin’ my job, babe.” She shot back quickly, reaching out towards his still damp curls with her other hand as his fingers wrapped around her palm crushingly hard. Jo could tell he was angry, but she didn’t quite know at what, as he turned his head from her face towards the bed. “It’s one of my cases, not yours.”

“What?” “It’s a werewolf, Will. This isn’t some psychopath, it’s a monster.” “How’d you figure?” “Uh... cause, it was the full moon last night, this has been happenin’ for over a months cycle already, and there’s no hearts.”

“Huh.” Will finally seemed to let out a breath as his eyes moved from the bed back to hers, but none of the tenseness in his grip or the fury in his eyes had faded at all as he focused back onto her face. Letting out a breath, he slid his hand up from her palm and instead around her wrist, gripping tightly. “That still doesn’t excuse being here when Jack fucking Crawford is here!”

“Well I didn’t know he was goin’ to be here!” Jo whispered back sharply, jerking her free hand to point towards the door. “Figured someone would have said if they were headed on a call out somewhere.”

“You were already there then, Jo.” “And I told you where I was-” “But Jack neglected to tell me where he was dragging me today.” “Well, that’s so like him.”

“Yes, yes it is.” The other finally cracked a smile at that, and Jo felt her own face slipping from the mask she wore out hunting to the genuine smile in return at the twitch of his lips. There was a long moment between them before Will gave a huff of a laugh and ran a hand worriedly through his hair. “Well, fuck... Fuck, this is going to be annoying ain’t it?”

“Oh yeah it is, babe.” The blonde replied with a quiet giggle, shifting on her feet to move close enough to smell the faint whiff of the aftershave he used whenever he was called out of the house. It was no where near as nice as the smell of his skin and sweat and pines like at home, but it was familiar in the way it would hang in the air of the bedroom after he’d leave for work. “You’re goin’ to have to come up with some bullshit profile cause you ain’t goin’ to be able to get in the mindset of a savage, durin’ transformation werewolf and sell that to Jack.”

“Fuck..”

Jo rubbed her hand against his wrist in return as the empath cursed, eyes moving from her face finally to look around the room with a sigh. However as he did so, the blonde felt a small smile growing on her own in return as a thought crossed her mind.

“Well yes, but only once you’ve ditched Jack.” She said cheekily, looking up at him and smirking as the other’s eyes finally returned to her after glazing over the bloody bedsheets and the broken window pane. “You do your thing, babe, I’ve got what I need and am goin’ to be out doin’ more leg work. But I’m stayin’ at the motel over on Maple Street, room fifteen - see me for dinner?”

“I..” “Sounds great, Will, I’ll catch you up okay. Now.. don’t let Jack catch wind yeah?”

Will’s brows were pulled into the cutest frown for a moment as he seemed to try to catch up to all she’d said, before the crease between them faded and he gave a firm nod in response along with the smallest smile. “Sure thing, Jo.”

“Good good, I’ll see you later.” The blonde replied, before giving into the impulse to pop up on her toes and press the faintest kiss to the other’s lips, a tiny thrill that she managed to do that with the man determined to see her behind bars just on the other side of the door, before she gave her own quick nod in return. After a second she spoke louder, moving towards the door and talked as if picking up the end of a conversation, “Not a problem, sir, I’ll make sure to tell him!”

Jo jerked the door open and blinked in confusion as the somewhat irrate looking man waiting outside the door in front of her. Smiling as professionally as she could, the blonde sidled past the door frame and kept her head down turned as she spoke gently, “So sorry for stepping on toes, sir. The man inside said he was going to be about half an hour.”

“Of course he is.” Jack growled the words out, eyes sharply focused on the small gap left in the door as she spoke rather than herself before Jo drew the door shut, and began down the hall. “And you - get me another coffee, agent.”

Jo froze about five feet away, before smirking to herself and giving a slight nod without turning to acknowledge the man she thought of as her boyfriend’s asshole boss. He could wait there all morning for a coffee that wouldn’t come for all she cared, and ducking out the front door under the police tape across the entry to the house, Jo started her way towards the pavement to take her around to her car, letting out a little laugh to herself that she’d get to tell a story and a half as she pulled her phone out to call the remaining member of their little family to tell him she and Will alike would likely not be home that night and if he could pop back before nightfall to feed the dogs, and to check up on how his night went with the better werewolf than the one she was after.

[ladytrollfishes]

The Copy Cat Cultist: Hour Five

Sniffer goes to talk to the coffee lady who Munvit was friends with and learns more about the victim’s social network. Firewall, Download, and Virus continue interviewing the quads of the victims, none of whom seem to have solid alibis as the crime occurred very early in the morning. Neither Lugnio the swampdwelling oliveblood, Ascemi the yellowblooded barista, Diorxu the indigoblood party planner, or Seafti, Diorxu’s brownblooded assistant have good alibis. 

At the end of the hour, Seafti gives the officers a disturbing call. 

Sniffer

The park is bustling with the lunch hour. There are people everywhere enjoying their lunches in the fresh air, sitting on the benches under the statues, buying food and coffee from the carts that line the park. It's a fairly big park, and not the best kept, but it doesnt seem to have affected their popularity. It's more blue collar around here, the people populating the park are wearing factory uniforms and work clothes rather than the suits of the upper cities. There's lawns are starting to out grow their paths, the paint on the benches are wearing away. There's a cart selling hot chocolate and coffee on the corner.

Sniffer glances around the area, cringing hard and putting a hand to her head. It's way too loud her and it's driving her nuts. Too loud, too many people to potentially interact with. Too many people talking directly to her whether she wants to hear them or not. Wonderful. She grabs her notepad, checking her notes several times before she's able to focus on her own words. This job is a pain sometimes. Right. Find the lady who sells coffee and hot chocolate. Since there's a cart for it over that way, that would probably be the best place to start.

The cart lady smiles up at Sniffer as she approaches. She's got an open, friendly face, freckled. Her eyes are still grey, but you can see that her irises have a hint of brown to them. "Hi," she exclaims. "How can I help you?"

"Hello ma'am!" She exclaims, keeping her voice cheerful despite her badly worsening headache. "I actually had a question for you, if you don't mind." She clears her throat, wincing again. Ow, head. Ow, head. Ow. "Would you happen to know a troll named Munvit? He's red. I was told he might come here sometimes?"(edited)

The coffee lady's face stays the same as she blinks questioningly at Sniffer. "Um, no, I don't know anyone like that," she says. Munvit hadn't stopped by earlier that day like he usually did. And now some greyface was coming to look for him at her coffee stand? She doesn't like the sound of that. "I'm sorry you came out all this way."

If her first thought was that she doesn't know why he's missing, the odds are high that she's not involved in his murder. But still, anything she could find out would be helpful.

 "Are you sure? Maybe I'm at the wrong coffee stand." Sniffer knows she isn't. She proceeds to give the coffee lady a physical description of Munvit, minus the being dead of course, right down to what he was wearing. "Are you sure you haven't seen him?"

The anon gives her a good description of Munvit, including what he was wearing yesterday. The coffee lady stays smiling but there's an uncomfortable tinge to it now. "I'm really sorry," she says. "I don't think I can help you."

Sniffer sighs, quietly pulling out her badge. She didn't want to have to do this the hard way. "Ma'am, he's missing and very important to a case. We need to find out where he's been and who he's been talking to if we're going to have any hope of finding out what happened to him."

The coffee lady stiffens as the badge gets brought out. She was so insistent that she knew something- a very good tip? Perhaps some mind reading powers? She would be in very much trouble if she lied from here on out, of that she was very certain. 

 "I-" she stammers. "I mean, I've seen him around." She hesitates. If this lady was really a cop, then something must have happened. "Is he alright?"

"We don't know yet." She lies, feeling quite bad about it. But it may be in the best interest for this case right now to pretend like Munvit could still be alive. "We have reason to believe he could be alive still, but we're investigating. And anything you can share about him, who he was with, and what he was doing when you saw him last could help us significantly." A pause before she adds. "I'm only here for information."

She's lying. Munvit was a street rat. No one would take notice of his disappearance unless something had happened. And where would she have gotten Munvit's name? "I- I-" she hesitates. "He would come by every so often. He was a sweet kid. I gave him hot chocolate sometimes, especially when it was cold."

"When was the last time you saw him?" She asks, pulling out her notepad. Now they were getting somewhere. Poor kid, though. "Did he seem like something was bothering him?"

The coffee lady shakes her head. "Yesterday morning. He was upset about something, but he wasn't talking to me about it, not in any detail." She had thought it was maybe quadrant trouble- Sanzas often stopped by with him but she hadn't seen the two boys together in a few days. She's not sure she wants to bring Sanzas under the eye of the PDPO though.

"Was he alone?" She asks, raising an eyebrow. Something was bothering him? It could have just been the fight with Sanzas. But that's still a good note to jot down.

The coffee lady nods.

She nods back, making another note. "If I could have your name and where to contact you if I need further information, that would be lovely."

The Coffee lady grabs a napkin and scribbles her name and a handle on it. Eithie Oskizi. coffeeLady. "Here," she says. "Would you like some coffee as well?" If the cop was going to take up her time, then she might as well have a cup, really.

"Ah. If you're offering, sure." She's keeping a close eye on both Eithie's hands and what she can pick out of her thought stream as a safety measure. But honestly, she really could use the pick me up right about now. "That would be very nice, thank you."

Eithie pours Sniffer a cup of coffee and gives her a handful of sugar packets and cream. "That'll be five caegars," she says.

"Haha, that's fair." She pops the money down on the table, along with a bit extra for the tip. "Thank you very much for your time, ma'am." Hopefully you won't need to come knocking on her metaphorical front door again. Or literal, for that matter, Sniffer thinks as she takes the coffee.  She stops. "Ah, one more question, please. Which was was Munvit heading when you last saw him leave?"

Eithie points Sniffer in the direction of the city proper, towards the part of the city where Munvit's body was found.

"Thank you. Have a good day!" She calls out as she heads that way, taking out her communicator to relay her findings to the team.

While she's walking away from the park, Sniffer decides to take another peek through the files to see if the previous suspects had any relations to the area Munvit came from.

As she looks through, there's a few connections! The park is perhaps a ten minute walk from the bus stop where Munvit was found. Diorxu and Seafti's event planning agency is a couple blocks away and Ascemi's place of work is a short train trip over.

Sniffer clicks her tongue, flipping to a fresh page in her notebook to start making a diagram. The park is here, the bust stop is there.....She quickly draws a triangle between the most relevant places on her diagram. Now the next step, she thinks, is to figure out when everyone was working in comparison to the murder time. 

 She pulls up a map on her phone to compare her notes to. It's an indigo they need to watch out for, but unless the indigo was very sick and very weak (or very young), that doesn't line up with the profile they have of someone fairly weak pulling off the murder. Could the killer have possibly been another child? Or someone pulling the strings in the background? Something about these connections are making Sniffer nervous and she decides to message her team to share her thoughts.

Virus 

Lugnio Akioz is a marshtroll, living by the swamp and runs a ferry to take people through the forest. She can be found at the edge of town. She's an oliveblood, and the murdered yellowblood's former auspistice.

In rubber boots up to their knees, Virus wades through barely ankle high water and soft ground to get to Lugnio. The first spot they look is the pier where her ferry is supposed to be.

The pier sits out in front in the muck, empty. A small hut is built on a patch of dry land just as the marsh begins. Virus can see a face poke in from the window, and a large troll steps out. She's tall and heavyset, wearing marsh waders that come up halfway to her thigh. She's olive, clearly, wearing a vest that declares her hue. Her hair is in curls around her face with large square glasses. She raises an eyebrow when she sees virus coming, and points to a narrow strip of land near covered in marsh grass. "Ye missed the path there, stranger," she says.

Virus looks to where she's pointing, at their boots, and then at her. "Probably", they agree. Stepping up onto the path, they rummage for their badge to show it to Lugnio. "PDPO. No trouble, I just want to ask some questions about Drezum. Can I?"

Her eyes narrow from behind her her glasses, then sighs and gestures for them to step up. "Of course," she says. "I'm still waiting on the return ferry. Would you like some water?"

Virus taking off their mask would mean that she sees their cracked mouth corners - and that they would have to touch a strange glass. They'd rather not. 

"No", they tell her, "enough of that out here. But thanks." They step up, waiting for her cue to come inside or not. "I have a case file, but I don't understand it. Maybe you know more." A beat, and they crane their neck up at Lugnio to watch her more closely. "Why no struggle?"

She pushes the door open and gestures for them to come inside. "Wipe off your boots please," she says. It's a small office with a desk of paperwork and what are probably financial logs. There's a small, open air kitchen to the side where Lugnio pours herself a glass of water. She gestures towards the chair in front of her desk for V to sit in. She takes her glass back to the desk and takes a deep drink from it before she looks back up at V. 

"I'm sorry?" she says, like she has no idea what V is talking about.

Virus makes very sure to wipe their boots off properly, probably too sure to not be awkward. They sit when Lugnio invites them to, then sighs when she has no idea what they're talking about. 

"Night of their death, the body was found in an undisturbed hive. They wouldn't just let someone kill them, yes?" 'Pretty stupid', they don't add, but only with a lot of tongue biting.

Lugnio considers them for a moment before shaking her head. "No," she says. "They would have never laid down and died. They were an exceptionally proud person."

"Yeah. Weird, no?" They pull a thoughtful face under the mask. "Any idea about that? Did they have allergies, weaknesses, blind spots?"

Lugnio shakes her head. "Nothing of the sort," she says. "Only that they were a lowblood, and more susceptible than most to mind control. That is my theory."

"Hmmmmm." It's possible. "Did they have a feeling of being watched or followed?" Virus drums their fingers on their lap. They would've liked that glass of water, actually. "Or a regular schedule? Were they easy to predict? Alone a lot?"

Lugnio sighs. "I don't know about being followed or watched. Drezum had a delivery business that took them all over town. They were visible, but not regular, and most of their deliveries they made  alone."

"Then why at hive and not out in the open?" It's more to themself than to her. "...Anything else you think I have to know?"

"Why have you come, asking about a case that has been closed for three sweeps?" Lugnio asks. "I can't imagine I have anything to add that you don't already know.

"It's open again", they grumble. "Shit around here never stays quiet. So I'm just rolling everything back up. Who knows." Sniffing, they add: "Also with the other people. Clade of old victims and all that. There's that support group thing - do you go to that?"

Lugnio frowns, her eyebrows drawing in close as she eyes Virus up and down. "Did they catch the wrong troll?" she asks. "Someone else is dead? I did attend a few of them but it was not my sort of meeting. I prefer to deal with grief myself and my own quadrants. Drezum was not my only one."

"Is there ever a right troll?", they deadpan. "So no contact with anyone there? Don't think I would go either." Virus looks out the window and into the marsh land. "Did your other quadrants know them?"

Lugnio scratches her head. "I talked with Ascemi and Seafti for the most part," she says. "I thought Diorxu doted on them as a replacement for their moirail, and I did not want to be a part of that. They have gone on their own paths as I have mine. My other quadrants met Drezum, but they have not met the others who were involved in the investigation. Have you spoken with Niosno?"

"Ew." Virus makes a mental note here: Check Ascemi and Seafti to confirm. "Not yet. Why?"

Lugnio sighs and takes another long drink of water before she answers. "Niosno dislikes talking about this period of our lives. He adored Drezum. He Ascended about a sweep ago and refuses to stay in contact with me. I believe he prefers to pretend Drezum never existed, his heart was so broken."

"Damn." V considers this for a moment, decides they would do the same thing, and pushes it away. "Cold." "Can you give me contact info on your other quads? And another thing. What were you doing 3am this morning?"

Lugnio writes a couple names on the back of the business card. "Camrai is my matesprit. Skiori, my moirail." She wrinkles her nose as she looks Virus over. "Well. I was hive, asleep, like most people at that hour, I would assume. There was a murder then."

"You could say that", Virus deadpans, taking the card. "But that's all I can say. Are there any cameras around here? People who can confirm that?" Everyone is guilty until proven innocent. They can't let their sympathies get in the way of that.

"My moirail was hive with me," Lugnio says. "There are no cameras around my hive. I'm afraid to say."

Their moirail of all people. Virus sighs. "Anything else? Any emails with timestamps you sent, tv shows you watched, people you called?" Probably not at three in the morning.

Lugnio still looks calm as ever as she shakes her head. "No," she says. "I was asleep as would most of your suspects would be, I assume."

"Yes." Virus agrees. And, after a beat, "That's going to be a problem." As they get up, they take one last look around the hive to see if anything is suspicious, or if they maybe have an epiphany. "Call me if you remember anything else", they tell Lugnio, just as a distraction, before they slide her one of their business cards.

There's nothing unusual about the office. Lugnio accepts their business card and nods. "Of course, officer," she says. "Good luck."

"Thanks", they say, with the feeling that there's something vital that they're missing.

On the way out, Virus' phone rings. Caller ID shows that its Download.

"Yeah?", they grunt, after they've made sure that the door behind them is closed. That's all Download gets.

"Hey V," Download's voice comes in. "So we may have a slight problem. One of the interviewed witnesses is missing."

Download and Firewall

Ascemi Everra, you find is a barista in a little coffee shop in the city. They're a yellowblood, and the interview notes them as highly nervous. They were the deceased Izlato Crefex's moirail.

Firewall looks at the file dubiously, then back at the coffee shop's facade. "They're nervous, D," she says. "I'm going to scare the piss out of them if I'm not careful."

Download grins at her. "Then be careful you dolt. Smile a little, and don't make sudden movements. I'll soften you up a touch."

Firewall makes a dramatically pained face, then slides on a pair of moonglasses to hide her staticky psi-eyes. Shaking herself out slightly, she pushes the door open and stalks into the coffeeshop, scanning the staff for someone matching Ascemi's description.

There's actually quite a few people bobbing in and out of the coffee shop, business trolls and workers on their lunch breaks, grabbing a bite to eat. You don't get a second glance in the fuss. There's a small group of baristas working the orders, and you spot one that matches their description. They're a weedy little thing, with horns that curve around their head to the back. They've got a round face, and giant, round glasses that sit on a big nose, and they're busy mixing coffee in the back.

Firewall scowls and elbows her way to the front of the line. She drums her fingers sharply on the table to get attention, then signs, "Hello, we're here to speak to Ascemi Everra."

After a pause, she adds, "They're in no trouble."

Download pulls out his badge and flashes it towards the barista, and says. "Hi, we're Download and Firewall from the PDPO. We need to speak to Ascemi Everra." The barista glances back uneasily.

"Don't worry, they're not in trouble." The barista glances towards their coworker, whose calling out the name of a customer to step forward to accept their coffee. 

"Ascemi!" they say, and the two exchange a few quick words. Ascemi glances at the two cops nervously. "Hi," they say nervously. "Um, I need to get my manager real fast."

Firewall gestures acquiescence and tries to arrange her face into a softer, gentler expression. How well she fares is.... dubious. "We only want to talk," she says.

"Um," they say, and then dodges really quickly to the back. The barista in front holds a hand up, as if to prevent pursuit. "It's the lunch hour and we're busy," they say hastily. "We just need some... back up out here?"

"It's fine," Firewall says., craning her neck to watch Ascemi go. "We wouldn't want to... disrupt your..." She looks to Download for help, clearly floundering under her unaccustomed diplomacy. "Operation of business?"

"We wouldn't want to make this harder on anyone here," Download says. "We can wait." 

Ascemi comes hurrying out the back again, followed by a tealblood manager, short and nearly square shaped, with little round spectacles sitting on his nose. "If you would please step aside so business may continue?"

"Of course." Firewall attempts a pacifying smile. "We only want to question Ascemi about an old case they were involved in, if they wouldn't mind speaking to us." As Download translate this, she steps back from the counter, gesturing to a nearby table.

The  manager gives them a sharp look. "So they are not in trouble?" he asks. Download smiles down at him and shakes his head no. "We're simply here for a new perspective."

Ascemi takes off their apron as they come out from the back, nervously stepping around the two officers to sit down at the empty table. "Hello," they say, a slight waver in their voice. "What can I do to help you?"

Firewall sits down across from them, slumping a little in her seat to appear less imposing . "Would it make you more comfortable to have your manager stay with us? We want to talk to you about Izlato."

Ascemi glances behind the counter where their manager has taken their place in the working line and shakes their head. "It's fine," they say hesitantly. "Why do you want to know about Izlato? Did something happen?"

"We're taking another look into the case, in light of some new evidence." Firewall adjusts her glasses uncomfortably. "Did Izlato have any interest in or encounters with the occult in the nights before their death?"

Ascemi fiddles nervously with their lenses too. "No, they were very on the straight and narrow," they say. "They were studying for their Ascension exams when they were-" They look down. "You know. They were studying to be a legislacerator. They had hoped to work with the ISE."

"That must have been terrible for you." Firewall thinks about patting their hand, but decides nah, too much. "Did they notice anyone following them? Did you?"

Ascemi shakes their head no. "I don't think so," they say. "I know we were rails but they mostly took care of me instead of the other way around. I didn't notice anything strange, and I don't know if they would have told me if they did notice."

Firewall leans in a bit. "And their other quadrants? Can you tell me anything about them? Were you close as a clade?"

Ascemi shrinks back a little, as Firewall leans forward. 

"Um," they say. "Well. Izlato's ash, Delmei, they're dead now. It was a bus accident a sweep ago. Izlato's red, um-" They turn a little yellow as they rub the back of their neck. "She's scary. Somria never liked me. She Ascended, almost right after Izlato died."They smile hesitantly up at the two officers. "Well, neither of them liked me so much," they say. "Izlato sort  of kept me away from them."

Firewall leans back again and takes notes on her phone. "I see. And you haven't been in contact with her since?"

Ascemi shakes their head. "No. She's in space now primed to lead some Mirthful ship."

"Mirthful? Is she indigo, then?"

Ascemi nods. "She and Izlato were aiming to be partners within the ISE."

Firewall's eyebrows go up mildly and she glances sidelong at Download. "Interesting. Just a few more questions -- did you ever meet with the clade of the other victims? I understand there was some support group organized." She looks back at Download. "Say I want to hear what they think of the other trolls in that group, but like. Nicely."

"We understand that there was a sort of support group for the clades of the victims," Download says with a gentle smile. "Can you tell us how those meetings went?" Ascemi blinks owlishly up at you. 

"Oh," they say. "Yes. It was really just Diorxu and Seafti most of the time, and I came quite often. Lugnio too, sometimes? She didn't come very often too."

"It was nice, to talk to someone about it," Ascemi says. "Since Somria and Delmei didn't really like to talk about it. Seafti was devastated and Diorxu seemed just sort of lost."

"How long did you continue having these meetings? And what did you talk about?"

"Well, we had them all the way up until they caught the leader of the cult," Ascemi says. "And then we met up a couple times after that, before we stopped having them regularly. I still talk to Seafti sometimes though."

Firewall nods and tries to look understanding. "And this morning, where were you?"

"This morning?" Ascemi frowns, confused. "I was hive, getting ready for work."

"When did you arrive here?"

"Seven?" Ascemi asks, glancing between Download and Firewall, like an answer will suddenly appear on their faces.

Firewall raises her eyebrows again. "Is there anyone who can confirm your whereabouts at around three? It's very important."

"Um," Ascemi says, alarmed. "I was at hive, asleep. I live alone.""Am I- Am I a suspect? Handmaid, do you think I killed Izlato and the rest?"

"Of course not," says Firewall, but Download can probably tell from the way she's signing it that she's being completely insincere. "We have to ask everyone these routine questions for... administrative reasons."

Download repeats what she says but in a much more believable and charming way. "It's really just routine procedure," he says. "Don't worry, about it. But we may need to contact you later. Do you have a good number to do so?"Ascemi nods shakily, only half convinced, and gives you their number.

"Much obliged," says Firewall, with the slow, lazy gestures that are her version of a sarcastic drawl. "We'll leave you to deal with your work again now."

"Thank you," Ascemi says, and runs back for the safety of the counter, where their coworkers and managers all ask about what the heck is going on. "What do you think?" Download signs at Firewall.

"Seems shifty," she signs back. "Could just be normal shifty, though, not suspicious-shifty. No confirmation for the alibi, either."

Download simply shrugs. "Well it was very early in  the morning. Most people just aren't up then. Let's go."

Firewall nods and opens the door for him with a flourish.

Firewall's phone rings as she leaves the coffee shop. Neither Download nor Firewall recognize the number.

She fishes it out,  squints at the number. After confirming Download doesn't know who's calling, either, she answers the call, putting it on speakerphone but not immediately answering.

A thin shaky voice comes out the speakerphone. "Hello, Officer Firewall? It's Seafti, remember? The- the assistant?" Download pauses, glances up at Firewall, then leans over to speak into the receiver. 

"Hi Seafti, this is Officer Download. Firewall is right next to me." The next bit of words come out in a bit of a rush. "It's... It's Diorxu. They've  been acting kind of weird since I got back? I gave them the projector, but it was like it wasn't important anymore. They asked me to get some weird things and snapped at me when I asked questions and... I'm sorry to bother you but I thought I should... I should maybe call."

Firewall's eyebrows shoot up. "Tell her thanks," she signs rapidly. "Tell her she was right to let us know. Ask what Diorxu wanted her to get, and where they are now."

After Download translates, Seafti says, "A wig, a file, an envelope they had stashed in the bottom of a drawer... um, it was kind of thick but I'm not sure what was in it. Um, um. I'm at the wedding from earlier and I-" There's a crash through the sound on the phone. "Oh shit." is the last thing you hear before there's a short scream and a crunch, and the line goes dead.

Still holding the phone, Firewall looks at Download -- her eyes are wide as she signs (and mouths) the same words they just heard: "Oh shit." Then she swings into action, pulling up the address of the wedding. "We need to get over there," she signs. "We need to be over there ten minutes ago, but I'll take ASAP. Come on."

END HOUR FIVE

[elementalist-kdj]

The Night Grim Alex Abducts Sokolov

It is the dead of night within the docks of Serkonos, but the darkness could not hold back the noise of violence. Blood spilled amongst the docks are not uncommon as fishermen and whalers carve fresh kill for the market. Life and murder; what drips upon the docks this moment is not of the fish nor whales that live within the sea. What used to be a man that sailed the waves; was now a newly made corpse courtesy of the Crown Killer.

The captain never had a chance, the Duke did not have any flesh for his and the new Empress’s ‘pet’. She was ravenous. As the sailor waves to his shipmates and crew at the docks for some fine liquor and meat for a hard week of labor. He didn’t see the beast coming and was attacked from the front as soon as he was out of sight, claws gripping him and lifting him up by his throat. The killer growled with a malicious hunger deep within and sized him down with the yellow irises of a beast. He was so desperate to go as much as flailing against the assailant with as much a force he could muster. This only made the grip on his throat respond with an absolute denial of blood and air to his brain. Consciousness began to fade, limbs became unresponsive and finally; the captain slipped away.

She snatched him from the back, threw her prey over her shoulders and climbed. Not too far away, an abandoned building complex, condemned with the stench of bloodfly larvae and great, big red angry nests right above the dock became her feeding ground. Above the street was the wooden walkway, she dropped the unconscious body and began the carve. Bloodflies dare not approach the presence of the beast as Grim Alex’s claws began to slice through the man’s abdomen. Before the blood began to ooze into an overflowing pool, her hands began to undo the bandages that hide her sharp teeth and enlarged canines. Alex lowers her head into the open midsection and freely takes the hot blood of the sailor over her face. The beast then rips into the muscle and sinew. Pulling it apart, the man’s body convulsed and he snaps awake. Alex instantaneously flexes her right arm and grabs him by the face. She grins and terrifies him, he grabs the arm of the monster in attempts to fight her off. It made no difference; as if the build of this creature slightly bulked up since the confrontation was a clear sign of imminent doom. Grim Alex’s left hand then enters the open hole of the abdominal cavity and then slowly makes its way up to the diaphragm. Screams filled the air; music to the monster’s ears. Once torn open, the sound stops; his bloody tears rolled down. Grand Guards who came over to investigate the noise would regret their actions.

Alex’s enhanced senses caught their footsteps and she leaps away for there is new game to hunt. Two guards arrive at the scene, swords and pistols drawn. From the street, they approach the docks. It didn’t take long for them to hear the gurgling chokes above them and detect the victim. Just before one of them found the ladder to go up there. The other recognized that this was work of the Crown Killer. He curses under his breath and tries to run, warning his partner of the danger. Alex likes chasing down her game. Faster than the wind could carry a swallow, the beast lunges and catches the poor guard by his belt. Her sharp, clawed hand shredded into the lower back and he fell hard. In an attempt to stop the killer, he swung the sword in hand to her ribs. Swift hands stopped his and tore the limb off effortlessly. His partner shot the inhuman being in the back, but this makes matters complicated. Removing her coat, this shifts Grim Alex’s mood from predatory to rage. The pain triggers a flood of adrenaline with another transformative modification. The blouse began to strain slightly till tears rip down the back and around the arms. Calves thickened and legs lengthened, soles of the black boots burst open with sharp toenails growing out. This was it, humanity has left the doctor well beyond a recognizable visage. The muscled guard that lost his arm was now a dwarf in comparison. Grim Alex growled in anger, a deep voice rumbled the ground. She still held the arm with the sword. She skewers the muscled guard into the ground and lept to the pistoled guard. Without having to climb the ladder, Grim Alex tore past the metal fence and pulled. The guard loses his footing on the wooden balcony and fell to the street. Without a second thought, he took two more shots at Grim with his pistol before taking one himself; right in the head, fearing the torture the creature could havoc. Alex snarled in anger and tore all three bodies apart, ravenously feasting on the meat of the guards in this form and leaving the sailor to drown in his own blood.

Large smears painted the abandoned apartment and bloodied shrinking footprints trailed towards the docks. Alex grabbed her coat, scarf and stuffed it into her bag. Her nose hits the air and sniffs for the stench of tobacco, oil, whiskey and paint. Eyes focused on a boat sailing ashore between the harbor and Addemire Institute.

With a softer but still feral voice, Grim Alex exhales, “Sokolov...”

She steals a small steamboat from the dock and takes off towards the Dreadful Wale.

Grim Alex silently lept on the Dreadful Wale and as she traversed the ship, she could recall the stench of Hypatia’s former instructor from the days when Alexandria studied in the Academy of Natural Philosophy. His clothes were drenched with the scent of his signature whale blood paint and whiskey. Grim Alex picked up the scent and sneaks to the top of her target’s cabin. She listened to the creaking sounds of the hull and patiently waited for the best time to strike. Below, she detected the old philosopher pacing and the familiar sounds of Jindosh’s audiograph running in the background. 

Sokolov began, “Dearest Emily, or must I say Your Imperial Majesty? I have something that you and Corvo must hear at the first opportunity. It concerns the murders happening across the empire, committed by this so-called Crown Killer.”

Grim Alex grins with an intrigued mind upon the mention of her alias name.

“When I left Gristol years ago, I swore I'd never again take part in any further political matters. I've done my share of bad things, and some good, before and after the Rat Plague. But here in Karnaca, I've uncovered a terrible conspiracy against you. Here, at the bottom of the empire, the cobblestones smell of death and corruption.

I'm staying with an associate, Meagan Foster, aboard her vessel, the Dreadful Wale. We'll leave for Dunwall in the morning, as soon as the tides are willing.”

Sokolov, closes his journal and sits down on his bed. He shuts his eyes hard and squeezes his brow with his right hand.

“I keep thinking of the]way sweet Jessamine was stolen from you and your father, and I fear it might be your turn to face such turmoil. I know Corvo would protect you with his life, but please do not trust anyone-”

This was it; Grim Alex grips the latch of Sokolov’s cabin; rips it off the hinges effortlessly. She jumps down into his cabin and scares Sokolov to his feet.

Grim Alex lunges forward, “There you are, old man. I was asked to pay you a visit.” 

The old philosopher stumbles in shock, not because of the presence of the Crown Killer, if anything, he anticipated this. However, what he did not expect, was the murderer’s identity. His sharp mind instantaneously recognized her by the shape of her cheekbones, to the angle of her jawline and the height of her brow from the portrait he painted of her when she became Chief Alchemist of the Institue she worked at. He tried his best to call out to his former student inside of the beast. But fear took hold as he failed to call her name out.

Sokolov stumbles back and mustered as loud as he could, “Wait! What's wrong with you?”

No avail, Grim Alex has always made sure that the Good Doctor was tightly locked-up deep inside. The philosopher attempts to bolt for his cabin door and this time screams for help, "Meagan!”

The Crown Killer steps right in front and strikes at Sokolov, catching him just below his left ear and behind his jawline with a swift right hook. Grim Alex grabs the now unconscious philosopher by the arm and swings him over her shoulder like a sack of rice.

“Off we go, Sokolov, to somewhere more private.”  Grim Alex turns around to exit. The beast traversed up, her claws tearing into the metal walls. Megan arrives too late as the Crown Killer has already departed the cabin. Alex leaps off the Dreadful Wale and sails the stolen ship towards the shallow jagged rocks of Addermire Institute.

Grim Alex abandons the boat, allowing it to wreck amongst the rocks surfacing underneath the Addermire Station’s rails. She then scaled the cliffside of the institute and made her way to the facility’s recuperation area from the building's rooftop and shutters.

Carrying the old philosopher into the room behind the recuperation area, Grim Alex carefully sets Sokolov over a cot and injects him with a sedative she has prepared prior to the mission. A white sheet was laid over his body, followed by an olive colored wool blanket to keep the man warm. She turns around to face the rest of the room.

Grim Alex growls, “Grrrrr... My sister’s prison...”

The beast made her way to the recuperation area as dawn was only an hour or two away. She removed the bloodied clothes and tossed them aside to squeeze into the garb the Good Doctor was in before she departed for the night. Once she was done, the beast’s glowing golden eyes stared at the mirror and she brought her bloodied hand up to tap her elongated nail against the glass. It was time to give the Doctor her body back. Hypatia... Alex began. It’s time to wake up... Alexandria...

Deep inside her mind, the doctor stirred and Hypatia started to regain consciousness. As her vision began to focus, she caught a glimpse of her monstrous appearance; grey skin, hardened musclar body, with sharp teeth grinning back at her. Alexandria’s heart jumped in shock and the pain slowly began to flood in. Grim Alex then redirects Hypatia. Her gait was unsteady as she made her way to the sofa she usually sleeps on. 

Dissipating adrenaline from her darker half’s mission switches over to nor-epinephrine. This instantaneously overwhelms Hypatia, she doubles over in pain and stumbles to the ground; quickly grabs a pail and began to vomit. At the base of the bucket was deep crimson blood and chunks of meat came afloat. Her teary vision slowly returned and she was in disbelief; her elongated nails were crusted deep red underneath. What is this?! Was it iodine? Was it blood? What experiment was I conducting?!

Agony racked Hypatia’s body; radiating from the traps of her back to the deltoids, from the abdominals to her legs; everything down to the bones of her fingertips and toes. 

Hypatia began to mutter, “This is not me!! This is not-”

An animalistic growl escaped Hypatia’s throat as tries to get back up, purposely knocking the silverware off to help herself up. Her hardened body tensed immensely as its muscles and bones began to shrink, ashen grey skin began to regain its normal skin tone, her gums ached as her canines receded. 

The growl changed into roaring in pain as her nerves are flaring with the discharge of energy. As it died down, the Doctor was drenched in sweat; frustrated and angry, ready to lash out over something that she could not control nor understand. Grim Alex interrupted to erase the memory and reset the Good Doctor’s mind. Your torture is over... Steady heart and calm... Doctor... Alexandria... Hypatia... The Duke has need of your work and we have a special guest that needs your medical attention... The Grand Inventor Kirin Jindosh awaits the presence of Karnaca’s greatest Natural Philosopher... Your old mentor... Anton Sokolov...

[ourlastbastion]

Embers Ch. 5

Read it on AO3 or FF.Net

The room was full of nervous chatter in the crowd of police and reporters all jammed together in a simple briefing room. Crona felt awkward, unsafe, claustrophobic surrounded by so many people at once. Ragnarok's presence as he rested on their head was a rare comfort in that moment. While they still felt frightened, as if they could suffocate at any moment, Ragnarok's silence was calming.

Crona held themselves tightly as they stood on one side of the stage, watching as Captain Deneuve talked with the towns police chief. They had finished their investigation of the latest victim that morning, or as much as they could from the body alone, and in the following hours, the Interpol team and Crona had been working tirelessly to compare this victim to the past ones.

They had found all there was to find for now, and the captain had decided they had a working profile they could release to the press.

She finished her talk and had made her way to the podium at the front of the stage. Reporters and police alike fell silent as she cleared her throat and checked the microphone.

"Hello, everyone," Deneuve greeted calmly. "As all of you are aware, I am part of Interpol, and my team and I are investigating a string of homicides that have been crossing international borders. Though we have not yet caught him, we believe we have a profile on who to look out for."

Several of the reporters started asking questions, but they were ignored. Crona tried to make themselves smaller, and Barrichello nudged them on the shoulder in what had been an attempt at comfort.

This was important. Not only were there reporters for papers, but there were news anchors recording this live. And not just for the nation of Brazil, no, there were reporters representing various countries in the room, and a handful of translators with them. This issue wasn't just a South American one, no, this was a killer who had the ability to be a danger to a person of any country, this was an international criminal and the whole world needed to know what to look out for, who to look out for.

The captain waited for the chatter to stop, raising her hand to signal for silence, and only when the talking ceased did she continue. "We believe him to be young, in his twenties or thirties. It's not easy to lure in as many people as he has, as such he will be a very charismatic person, likely physically attractive, enough so that he can make those around him lower their guards," she explained.

Barrichello took a step forward, "He's incredibly confident. We can hear it in his voice during the podcasts. He knows what he's doing and he isn't afraid he's going to get caught," the detective said, making gestures with his hands as he spoke. "He wants recognition, that's why he streams these podcasts while he kills, he wants the world to know what he's doing. It's possible the man is a narcissist."

The detective glanced to Crona, silently urging them to speak up, but the words were caught in their throat. Ragnarok held tighter to their head as Crona took a fearful step back.

Deneuve didn't let the silence last for long. She brought the reporters attention back to herself as she picked up where Barrichello had left off. "Our killer is highly intelligent, and likely enjoys flaunting it. Like the murders, it's a way to receive recognition, to be noticed," she said, looking at the various reporters. "We also must keep in mind that, along with intelligence, when you take into account how many nations we know he's been to; our killer is most likely multilingual. However, we can assume from the podcasts that English is his primary language."

"We believe it's safe to presume that he's white, but that may not necessarily be true," Barrichello said. "We also want to keep in mind that the first five confirmed murders were in Wales; as such it is safe to assume he is possibly Welsh."

Crona pressed themselves closer to the wall as the two leading agents on this case continued, back and forth, to list traits that the team had come to find between bits of information on the podcasts and on the victims. He was very meticulous. He treated the murders as a form of art. Each thing he did was deliberate, precise. There were so many things they had learned, but very few that could narrow down a pool of suspects into something manageable.

The reporters were devouring every word. Jotting it down, saving it on recorders, on film, hanging on everything they said.

As Deneuve was wrapping up, one reporter stood up. He held his tape towards the stage, staring them down. "How is he able to get to different nations so quickly between the murders?" the reporter asked. Crona squinted and saw 'Dave' written on his nametag. "Does he own his own private jet or something? It should be impossible to travel so quickly, so frequently."

Deneuve and Barrichello looked to each other, as if trying to decide how to answer, when Crona found themselves speaking up.

"We think they're working with a witch."

Their words had been quiet, but it was loud enough to get several to look at them. Crona backed away just a bit more, fearful. Dave stared at them, turning the tape to Crona. "I'm sorry? What did you just say?"

Crona wanted to stay silent, pretend nothing happened, but Ragnarok dug his knuckles in hard, "Go on, speak up you baby," he hissed.

Swallowing, Crona took a nervous step forward. "We think that… that the killer has the aid of a witch. That he's using magic to travel," they told the reporters, grabbing onto their arm nervously. "We… don't have proof, of course, it's just a-a working theory, but it makes the most sense."

There was a hush that fell over the room, a silence that grew into nervous whispers. A witch could be involved. Witches were dangerous. A serial killer was bad enough, but one that had the aid of a witch? That made this all the worse. That was why the DWMA had involved themselves, wasn't it? Why else would a meister be tasked with something like a serial killer when it wasn't even a Kishin Egg?

Then, like a bottle bursting, the room was in an uproar. Reporters were talking over one another, trying to ask question, trying to seek answers. The possibility of magical aid had not told to the public before, and now this changed everything of what they knew, change the possibilities.

In a sense, it meant that no one was safe.

Had Crona been wrong to say what they had said? Should they have kept it a secret, waited until Captain Deneuve decided to let the people know? Perhaps this would make things worse, perhaps it would cause a panic that would make the killer harder to find, give him more targets, perhaps—

Crona shivered, trying to back away from the whispers and the talk. Trying to disappear from the room. Their saving grace was that neither Barrichello nor Deneuve looked annoyed by what they had said, they looked to the chaos of reporters as if it were normal. Perhaps it was.

The older two did most of the talking after that, answering questions the reporters had. Several of them were yelling, wanting to know why it was taking so long when it had been almost four years now, perhaps even longer, since the killer first appeared. Wanting to know more about the DWMA's involvement. Was Crona the only agent sent to assist in this matter? Were there more? Why weren't there more?

The longer that Crona stood there, the more that Crona knew they wanted to go somewhere else. Back home. To their apartment, to the police station. Somewhere safe.

They had begun to black out the rest, too wrapped up in their own thoughts that they ignored the world around them, and were startled when they were dragged back in to it.

"We believe," Captain Deneuve said, having move to stand beside Crona, placing a hand on the small of their back, "that with the aid of the DWMA, we will be able to soon put a stop to these murders. It will take a lot of work and cooperation, but we will catch him and make him pay for his crimes, and the DWMA will help in whatever way they can, I can promise you that."

Most of the reporters had calmed down by then, the chatter died back down to whispers. But, one reporter slowly stood up, an aging man in his forties with greying hair. He looked to the detectives and then on Crona. "I've got a question," he said in a gruff voice, his eyes not looking away from the meister. "How can we trust the DWMA?"

There was a pause, "I'm sorry?" Crona didn't know who said that, it could have been themself for all they knew.

"How," the reporter repeated, his gaze locked on Crona's still, his gaze challenging, "can we trust the DWMA?"

Crona remembered the speeches that flooded the web ten years prior, the protests that filled the streets after the war, the whispers and doubt that seemed to seed itself into all the souls. The anger—not hate, not disgust, but anger—that seemed to come from so many.

They looked to the floor, unable to meet the challenge. They didn't feel they had the right to meet it.

The room was small. Haruto lounged on the floor, one hand on the low coffee table, the laptop buzzing with life, the video quietly playing. The room was mostly empty, sparse in belongings. Everything owned dirt cheap. A minimalistic household to the very core.

Haruto frowned, his mask on the table as he absentmindedly played with it. His eyes remained on the laptop, watching the press conference that had been posted to YouTube. He didn't really care about what was going on, but it provided him something to do, something to focus on.

It kept his mind off of other things.

Still… they were talking about that international serial killer. As the two detectives talked about the past victimology, about what they believed the man to be like, and Crona brought up how he might be associated with the witches, Haruto felt anxiety bubble up, suffocating him as his mind thought to all the places the man had been. He hadn't struck Yorkshire…yet… There was already heavy investigations going on in the area, if he came to Yorkshire, that'd bring more cops…more…meisters and weapons.

Haruto hated the DWMA, he hated it so much. Heroes of justice, protectors of man? A load of lies! They were a military group that put themselves above national laws. They trained children to fight, they killed children, orphaned children, ruined everything they touched.

And now there were two of Death's servants out here in Pocklington. He had recognized them as such when he had entered his place of work just the other day, saw the two standing by that annoying waitress Anna—or was it Amy?—saw it in their eyes. It took only one look and he felt raw hate fill him, so much so that he wanted to throw up.

Then the weapon caught him at the convenience store and wouldn't leave him alone, insisting on walking with him and waiting with him at the bus stop, insisted on talking with him. Haruto humored him, had hoped that if he was rude enough that Soul would go away. It didn't work. Just being next to him made him sick, Haruto had almost thrown up on the spot, but through sheer force of will he had held it back.

It didn't make him feel any better, though.

He hoped that the kidnappings were resolved soon, for nothing else but to have these two out of his hair, so he can walk the streets and not risk seeing them, without feeling angry and hateful and disgusted just from seeing them.

Haruto liked Pocklington because it rarely saw the DWMA. But now between serial killers and kidnappings, that paradise was shattering.

There were no words that described how he felt for them, not even he could fully understand how he felt. He hated the academy, what it stood for, but he didn't hate those who fell victims to the propaganda and succumbed to their 'normal'. Well, he didn't hate most of them.

He could respect them wanting to go after those who were bad. In a sense, the DWMA were a type of police, after all. Just, a form of police that did not care about nation borders or individual laws, viewing itself above the mortal rules. They did try to do good, they did try to stick to only hunting those who were bad, who were evil.

The problem that Haruto had was that they had a very black and white view on what consisted as 'evil'. It was as if the circumstances of a sin didn't matter. That was what Haruto despised. Death would have allowed for the slaughter of children if he decided they were bad, not even allowing them the chance to grow up to be better. No, no, better to nip it in the bud, to not even risk the chance it may go wrong, to not even try to guide souls that had gone astray on the path of the good.

It was bullshit. His only comfort on that being that Haruto knew he wasn't alone in that opinion. Within the last decade, people had become more outspoken regarding their criticism towards the DWMA, and if the news was the be believed, the number of enrollments had been steadily decreasing, too.

Good. They don't need an army of children, they've plenty of adults to do their work. Let the children be children, enroll at normal schools, study normal courses, make friends and live a safe, normal life. They don't need to be soldiers fighting for the Grim Reaper when they're not old enough to drink.

"G'morning, brother."

His thoughts were broken, Haruto turned his head to see the yawning girl rubbing sleep from her eyes walking out of the single bedroom their shared apartment had. The cold hatred dissolved into something warmer, affectionate.

Face settling into a small smile, Haruto scooted back and patted his lap. His sister quickly climbed on and nestled against him, still wrapped in the web of sleepiness as she stared blearily at the laptop screen.

"Don't think it can be called 'mornin'' anymore, Bea," Haruto chuckled, running his fingers through her hair. "Almost noon."

Beatrice huffed, broken by another yawn. "So what? Not like I've anywhere to be."

"Fair, fair."

They sat like that in peaceful silence for a few moments longer before Beatrice looked to the screen once more, to the video that was still playing. "Whatcha watching?"

"S'dumb news segment. Apparently Interpol made a statement on that Podcast killer, or whatever he's been gettin' called. All over international news," Haruto answered with a lazy shrug. "Ya want I can change it to somethin' you'd enjoy. News is probably pretty borin' for ya."

"Nah, I wanna see this," Beatrice said, shaking her head and swatting his hands away when he had reached towards the laptop.

His chest tightened, a frown finding its way back to his face. "Ya got peculiar tastes Bea, real peculiar," he decided, earning a giggle from the girl. "Shouldn't ya be more interested in watching stuff like My Lil' Pony or Glee, like other fourteen-year-olds?"

To that, Beatrice squirmed so she could face him and stuck her tongue out at Haruto. "They're boring! This drama is fun. It's True Crime in the truest form!"

He hummed, seeing no point in arguing. So, he leaned back, absentmindedly listening to the news statement while Beatrice watched with apt attention. They had moved on to letting the reporters ask questions. Were there any similarities in victimology? No, the killer seemed to be the omnivore type. Any pattern in where he goes? No, the killer had no discernable pattern at the moment. Why can't Interpol track him through his podcasts? He's using a program that makes it impossible to track.

It was bland, basic. Questions with answers they should already know. Crona remained quiet, only speaking a few times. Ragnarok swore at a reporter numerous times. By the time the video was done, it was obvious that the agents didn't have any lead.

Haruto sighed and the video autoplayed into a speech the Prime Minister made last month. Bea crawled out of his lap, talking about how she was hungry, and Haruto allowed himself to lean completely back until he was laying on the ground.

He tilted his head, watching Beatrice hum as she moved around the apartments small kitchenette area. "Careful if yer usin' the stove," he warned. Last time, Bea managed to set her eggs on fire. He didn't feel like dealing with fires today. Fires were tiresome.

She smiled, "Don't worry, I'm just making toast and cereal."

"Ah."

He didn't say much after that, letting his gaze drift upward to the ceiling. There were stains left by the old tenant. A spiderweb in the top corner, the spider wrapping a fly up. The ceiling fan spun in lazy circles. He frowned, trying to find his energy, his will, but he found neither, remaining on the floor.

"I got today off from the café," he said when Beatrice returned, settling down on the floor and setting her brunch on the coffee table beside the laptop. He watched as she flipped through the videos, finding a let's play for some video game. "I mean, I still gotta work tonight, didn't get lucky enough t'get off at the bar."

"That's fine," Bea smiled at him, putting a spoonful of Cheerios in her mouth. "I get the whole day with you then. I like it better that way, anyway."

Haruto found his smile returning. "I can go out an' rent us some movies to watch. We can go to the park," he saw her pale, "Or we can just stay in here. Not gonna make ya leave when ya don't wanna."

"Movies sound good," Beatrice said. "Can we get Disney ones?"

"Of course. The older ones, right?" She nodded, Haruto smiled a bit more, pushing himself to his feet with great effort. "Here, you keep eatin'. I'll make a quick trip ta the video store. Pass me my mask, will ya?"

She handed it to him, and he took a pair of black latex gloves from the box closest to him. "Don't take too long!" Bea said, giving him a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist, "I get lonely when you're not around."

And there was that guilt biting away at him from within. Carefully, he knelt down to plant a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll be back quick as can be, don't ya worry. Just gotta hope the busses don't delay, an if they do, I'll walk," he promised her, standing back up, listening as Bea bid him goodbye and told him to be safe.

He pulled his mask on, making sure it covered his lower face, made sure nothing was show. He slid the gloves on, feeling them snap against his wrists, feeling the layer of protection between his hands and the world. His shoes were put on and laced up, his jacket zipped up tight, a wallet and phone in his pocket, and he was out the door, locking it behind him. That'd keep unwanted visitors out, and Bea would be able to leave whenever she wanted by unlocking it on her side.

He was careful as he walked, kept his head down to avoid attention, didn't linger anywhere. He didn't walk to slow, he didn't walk too fast, everything he did was to draw as little attention as possible, to remain unnoticed. Haruto didn't like being noticed, didn't want people staring at him, watching him.

Keeping his eyes on the ground, he only looked up enough to keep from walking into anyone. Haruto knew the route to the video store by heart, he could get there blindfolded. So, he kept his gaze downward, kicking a stray rock on the sidewalk.

Thankfully, there were only a few people out and about during that time of day. Seeing as it was a Tuesday afternoon, most people were at work while the kids were at school. The emptiness of the streets was a form of comfort as he walked, and if Haruto had been a different sort of fellow, he might have even been humming as he walked. No, instead he kept silent.

Passing by some shops, Haruto paused, seeing a couple of cops standing farther down the path, talking with some older couple. He stared at them for a few moments before looking around.

Ah, right. This was where that one girl got snatched, wasn't it? What was her name… He'd heard about it the previous day, it was all anyone wanted to talk about at the end of his shift at the café. Abby…no, not that… Anthy…? Athy—no that was from that manhwa Bea's been reading. No, no…. An… Anna, that's right! Anna something.

Well, Haruto frowned behind his mask as he watched the police get back in their care and drive off. Sucks to be her. With how long it's been taking the police, Haruto had pretty much no faith that they were going to find her anytime soon.

He shook his head.

The movie store was just across the street, Haruto waited at the curb, and then crossed. He'd just reached the door when his phone began to go off in his pocket, and Haruto swore under his breath as he stuffed his hand in his jacket to look for it. If it was the café saying they needed him to come in, he was going to be angry, today was his day off, his day to spend with Bea before his night shift, they had no right to—

Ah. It wasn't the café managers.

Haruto clicked the green button as he shouldered the store door open. "What do'ya want?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Ouch! So cold," His brother said from the other end, though Haruto could hear the smile in his voice, that obnoxious, ear-to-ear shitty grin. "I went out of my way to call to see how you're doing and you regard me so harshly."

"Bite me."

There was laughter. Haruto scowled as he navigated the small store, skimming past horror film titles as he made his way to Disney's section. "Careful what you offer, Haru~."

The scowl grew.

"But! But, but, but! Do tell me, what is my sweet, adorable little brother up to?" There was no sound of movement on the other end, no background noise, just the sound of Haruto's brother talking.

He considered lying for a moment, or just outright hanging up on the man. But, there would be nothing to gain from such antics, and it would only serve to annoy him. "I'm at the local video store, Bea an' I plan to have a movie day today."

"Ah! Well, I can recommend quite a few good films—"

"We're ain't watchin' a fuckin' horror flick. Ya know she doesn't like those."

There was a click of a tongue. "A shame, a bloody shame if you do ask me. Horror films, when done right, are positively wonderful! And it's not just for the bloodshed, though I do fancy a good spray of blood. No, no, it's the fear! The paranoia it provokes, the disgust! To horrify it's viewers, to terrify! The thrill of it all—oooh I'm getting goosebumps just thinking of it!"

"That's cause yer a fuckin' freak." Haruto earned a dirty look from an older woman. he pointedly ignored her.

A chuckle. "Ah, but I suppose you are too, are you not?"

"I will hang up on ya."

"Don't be like that. Tell me, what sort movies are you looking for? Disney, I reckon?"

"Disney."

"Ah! Then may I suggest Tangled? A classic, really."

Haruto hummed as he found the movie. "She's seen it a dozen times. Besides, she likes the older ones."

"I see, then you can't go wrong with Bambi!"

"Good call," he skimmed and found it, plucking the movie off the shelf. "Let's see...Lady an' the Tramp is a good movie…Ah, they've the 80's Transformers movie, too."

"That's a good movie. Good music, I most definitely recommend showing her it. Get the Mary Poppins movie too; the original one, of course!"

He shook his head, but tucked that movie under his arm as well once, "We've got four movies now, I think that should be enough. I should pick us up some candy from one of the shops on the way back to the apartment, too." Couldn't watch movies without a snack, now could they?

"Those four movies, that'll be roughly six hours—well, a little more than six hours, of course, you'll want to pause to switch films and use the restroom, of course! Likely six and a half hours minimum! And what time do you begin your shift tonight? Six?"

It was creepy how quickly he could do the math. "Six-thirty."

"You'll be cutting it close! May I suggest watching half today and the other half tomorrow?"

Haruto frowned as he made his way to the counter, thinking the suggestion over, "Yeah, we can do that. Got a few hours between shifts tomorrow, time enough to watch a few films," so long as nothing happened between that time, that is "Got any other wonderful advice?" he asked, his tone turning sarcastic.

"Hmm…nope!"

"Of course ya don't."

The one manning the counter was a small, elderly old man, he smiled pleasantly at Haruto as he handed him the movies. "Here you go," Haruto said.

"Ooh? Did you reach the counter? Tell the employee that I said hello!"

"Shut up."

The old man looked up, Haruto shook his head and pointed to the phone. A nod of understanding. The man scanned the barcodes on the movies as Haruto listened to his brother continue jawing on and on. Sixteen pounds, not bad. There must have been a special going on for today.

He handed the guy some cash. His wallet empty of things like debit and credit cards. Perhaps it was his paranoia, or perhaps he was old-fashioned, but he didn't like using cards or checks. He preferred having physical money in his hands when he did transactions. When he paid his bills, when he bought groceries, paid his rent—it was all with actual cash. And, so far, he'd yet to find a store that had an issue with it. Who didn't like cash?

"Here we go, sir," the old man said as he handed Haruto a receipt and the movies in a bag, "Enjoy! They'll be due in three days."

Haruto nodded, trying to look polite, grateful, "Thank you," he said, bowing just slightly, taking the bag in his free hand, still holding the phone in his other. "Have a pleasant day," he offered as he made his way to the door and out of the store.

"Say, Haru. How'd you feel if I come down for a visit?"

He stopped when he heard the question, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. The question had been out of the blue, but Haruto's instinctual reaction to it was…

"No! Fuck no!" he snapped, seething. He didn't want him anywhere near Bea. Didn't want him influencing her in any way. Haruto already knew he himself wasn't the best role model for the kid, but that rat bastard was the worst possible influencer.

He'd ruin her.

There was laughter. "Figured you'd say that. But it's too late," his brother teased. "I've been planning this return for a while, just had to wrap some things up over here, send some of the friends I've made some farewell gifts, but I'm already on my way over. I can't just very well stop and turn back now!"

"Don't ya dare," Haruto growled out, ignoring the odd looks people gave him as they passed. "Do whatever ya like, whatever ya want; s'long as ya don't bring Bea into any of it. That was our deal—ya stay away from us an' I won't stop yer lil' games."

More laughter. "Actually, no, no, no, that wasn't our deal at all. I believe it was, word-by-the-word, 'You can do as you please so long as it doesn't come back to me and Bea' is what you had said, with that infuriatingly unnecessary dialect of yours," his tone was mocking, patronizing. It pissed Haruto off, it made him want to reach through the phone, grab him by the throat and—"But! I can promise you none of my fun is going to come and bite either of you in your buttocks. Why, I wouldn't come down if I thought there was a risk to it!"

Haruto was still seething at the words, not believing him. If the bastard came down here, only trouble would follow, and Pocklington was dealing with enough trouble with the heightened police activity thanks to the kidnappings, they had fucking DWMA agents roaming the streets. Sure, it was just two, but that was still bad enough. One of them was the kid of a Death Scythe, for crying out loud, they were bound to be high ranking then.

"Besides," his brother continued, his voice having lost it's jolly tone. It was low, dark, whispering of dangers that made a chill ran down Haruto. "You know I would never let anyone or anything hurt you. I'd sooner rip their throats open and tear their spines out then let someone even try to cause you harm."

Then, almost as suddenly, the lighthearted voice he always kept, the one full of energy and joy, was back. "Plus! I know just how much Bea means to you, she's your most important person in the whooole world! How could I let someone who means so much to you be hurt? Why! I'd be a horrible big brother if I let harm come to either of you!"

Haruto swallowed, he didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. The man was… an enigma, not even Haruto, who had known him for years, knew him better than any other soul, truly knew how his mind worked. But he knew that the man never lied; he would not intentionally allow harm come to either Haruto or Bea. But his methods of prevention would be… well…problematic.

And bloody.

He took in a deep breath, clutching his phone tightly. "I don't like this," he whispered, defeated. If he wanted to come and see Haruto, he wouldn't be able to stop him. It had been a while since they properly saw one another, undoubtedly his brother was only doing this because he couldn't stay away any longer. It would be cruel to make him wait longer. "Just…don't cause problems. Please…"

"Oh? Is that a please?" he heard a fake gasp, feigned surprise, "I never thought I'd hear you say that! I'm so happy that I could cry!"

"Don't."

"I'll see you soon, dear brother! Oh, I am just so happy! I can't wait to see you, to hold you! It's just been so long!"

"Just shut up, yer annoyin'."

"Oh, this will be so much fun! And Bea! How much has she grown? It's been six months, she couldn't have changed that much? Ah, but she's a child, she grows and changes quickly, I might not even recognizer."

"Come on…shut up…"

"And there's plenty to talk about, we've so much catching up to do, so much indeed, indeed! Ahahaha! I can't wait! I've got—"

Haruto hung up. His head hurt and he felt exhausted, wanting to climb back into bed and go to sleep for a year. Talking to the bastard always drained him, but this one had been particularly bad.

This wasn't going to end well, not at all, and Haruto wasn't looking forward to seeing what kind of mess he was going to get dragged into.

[mysticalcrusadementality]

Scars Along My Heart (A Frisk, Gaster and Sans Love Triangle)

 Damn… That was faster than I thought; I actually didn’t expect anyone to give this post any mind. But the people have spoken so… On with the show!

Also since Tumblr won’t let me italicize or bold texts anymore this key will help you keep track of who is saying/thinking what.

Frisk: (F)

The voice (better know as Chara): (V)

Gaster: (G)

Anything without “” is the characters thoughts

Anything inside {} is said in sign language

~}{~

Frisk waved good-bye to Undyne as she dashed away, most likely heading back to Snowdin while Alphys and Papyrus trained. She chuckled at the thought; if she was honest it seemed like a pretty good fit to have the proud skeleton be her mentor. Being around someone so upbeat and hopeful even in the face of adversity was just the thing for such a shy little introvert like the royal scientist. The content smile on her face soon fell away though as she turned to face the road ahead, dread oozing and spilling over her soul like toxic sludge at the thought of facing Asgore. Again. Mechanically her feet brought her forward, each step dragging across the damp ground as the apprehension seemed to physically weigh her down the closer she got to the castle. It wasn’t even facing off against the king that made her feel this way, it was facing HIM and she’d have to be a real moron to think he wouldn’t have something else planned for her after she’d finished this little side quest he’d sent her on. God just thinking about going through all of that a second time made her feel exhausted. Physically, mentally, spiritually… Exhausted. Unconsciously her arms rose up to wrap themselves around her torso, her grip on her forearms tight as she hugged herself to have even the smallest form of comfort. Even if it was only from herself… (V) You know it doesn’t have to be this way. It whispered in the same way a snake would try to entice its next victim. (F) Oh god not you again. She thought back with a groan. (V) Oh you better believe it doll face. It giggled mockingly. The voice was back, the same voice that had been following her since the beginning of her journey in this strange subterranean world. At first the human hadn’t thought much of it, after all if she had landed in a hole inhabited by anthropomorphic goats with fire magic, little voices in her head that occasionally gave helpful advice was probably the most normal thing to happen in this particular situation. It was weird, but it was nice to have some company. That is until their suggestions started to take on a, darker tone. After exiting the Ruins and making their way to the inviting warmth that was Snowdin Town, the young woman had encountered several formidable enemies. Those battles had been difficult, testing her endurance and ability to think on her feet. More than once had her impatience and recklessness caused her to meet her end, it was only her strange ability to turn back the clock that allowed her to be where she was now. Each time it happened it felt like waking up from a bad dream, an experience she hated no matter how many times it happened. Despite this the girl still tried to end these battles peacefully, Toriel had showed her the kindness they were capable of and in turn she wished to return it and show monsters that she was not here to hurt them. Her companion on the other hand had seen things differently, growing more and more frustrated with each defeat. Insisting that taking a more aggressive approach was the best course of action and that a hardy swing of the toy knife she’d picked up would have been enough to scare her opponents away, or better yet getting rid of them altogether. It was then the human decided that she didn’t like this voice anymore. The monsters had hurt her yes, but unlike Flowey they were never malicious. They’d talked about taking her soul to the king and how it was the last one they needed to finally be free. At the time Frisk hadn’t fully understood what that meant, but she was smart enough to conclude that the monsters were being “trapped” by something and they believed that she had what they needed to escape. They weren’t evil, just desperate. And that was enough to solidify her decision to keep showing them kindness, she couldn’t truly die anyway so she might as well put this “gift” to good use and see if she could help. At that the voice grew distant and cold, leaving her to fend for herself until she ended up in another taxing battle that had her struggling to stay alive. When this happened they always sounded delighted, as if they enjoyed her pain while they tried to persuade her into indulging in some “well deserved payback” as they put it. But she refused. She was not a killer and they did not deserve to die for wanting to be free. Reading the prophecy in Waterfall the first time had left her with a number of emotions to shift through; anger at the humans of the past for their actions came the quickest. Sadness soon followed at the realization of what they had done to monster kind set in and last was a peculiar happiness that she had followed her instincts and continued to spare those that tried to fight her. (F) What do you want? As if I didn’t know already. Rolling her eyes at her luck. (V) Oh, someone’s feeling snarky at the moment. The monsters giving you trouble? Are you finally beginning to see things my way? It honestly disgusted Frisk to notice how they didn’t even try to hide that sick, sadistic glee in their words. (F) Fat-chance Casper, now piss off! She shouted back. The sparks of anger igniting the fire in her soul and prompted her to release the hold on her upper arms, now swinging them as her stride grew longer, faster and with purpose. (V) Come now gumdrop you know as well as I do that this goody two-shoes act has only gotten you killed a dozen times over and steady migraine. If I were in charge we would have been at Asgore’s doorstep a long time ago. (F) Well then it’s a good thing your not then isn’t it? The human hissed back. (V) Such an idiotic, pathetic little thing you are. Too weak and stupid to comprehend that— Okay now that got the young woman’s attention, this pain in the ass poltergeist never passed up the opportunity to insult her and they never cut themselves off in the middle of one either. Halting her advance Frisk scoped out the immediate area, whatever had the voice on edge she needed to keep an eye out for it. At the moment the girl found herself in a deserted hallway, seeing nothing other than the same deep blue stone that made up this portion of the Underground. (F) Okay either the threat is invisible or this is your new way of fucking with me, she told them as she continued to search. (V) Get out of here. NOW. The demand was loud, reverberating in her mind and disorienting her to the point where she almost lost her footing. Shouting in pain she clutched at her head, screwing her eyes shut before taking a few deep breaths to help ride out the intense throbbing between her eyes. “I don’t understand what are you so…” Frisk trailed off. With her eyelids open just a crack she could see something shimmering on the on wall to her left. “What is—” (V) STAY AWAY FROM THAT! They screamed at her. “FUCKING HELL! Again!” The sheer force enough this time that she indeed fell to her knees in front of the shimmer. “Quit doing that!” Blood racing through her veins she waited until her pulse was calm before she rose to her feet. Blinking she looked for the shimmer, but was surprised to see that it had vanished. “What? But it was just here” gasped Frisk. (V) Well it’s not here any more. Let’s go. (F) I don’t think so. Narrowing her gaze in defiance the young woman scanned the wall for the telltale glimmer from before. (V) No I forbid it! The voice practically growled with anger. (F) Yeah well you can take your forbid and shove it up your—there! Quickly Frisk rushed forward to where she saw the shift in the light, keeping both eyes squinted to insure that the thing she now recognized as a grey door remain in her sights. (V) YOU IDIOT I SWEAR IF YOU OPEN THAT DOOR I’LL TEAR APART YOUR MIND UNTIL YOU DON’T HAVE EVEN A SHRED OF SANITY LEFT! This was practically a banshee’s screech within the confines of Frisk’s mind, one that should have left her a crumpled mess on the dirt floor had her determination to see what was in this new room not been so high. Whatever was in there scared no, terrified the voice and that meant one of two things. It was either an object, maybe an ally that could possibly help her get rid of them or it was a horrible monstrosity that would kill her and be able to make the death a permanent one. There was no way of knowing what the outcome would be, but anything was better then going on as she was. So with as much determination as she could the human grabbed the knob and twisted it open before propelling herself forward. She stumbled, nearly falling to the ground again but was able to catch herself at the last second. She prepared for the onslaught of the voice’s tirade but in the back of her head she could only hear a faint buzzing each time they tried to speak. (F) Okay not sure what this place is, but I like it already, she mused taking in the light grey walls of the short hall she was in that lead to an equally small grey room. Then she spotted something strange, at the center of the grey room was a large mound of what could only be described as ink. And it was moving. (F) Who or what is that? The buzzing grew louder but she ignored it in favor of slowly making her way to the black mass, she stopped two feet away from it in case it decided to get violent and in a gentle voice she called to it. “Hey, excuse me who are you?” The black mass seemed to jump, not expecting someone to speak to it. As swiftly as its liquid form could manage it turned to face the human, revealing a white skull-like face that was cracked in two places. The first extended from its left eye to the corner of its open mouth, while the other stretch upwards from its half closed right eye to the back of its head. When it saw her Frisk could have sworn it let out a strangled gasp as it stared at her in shocked. Then the strangest of sounds like the kind a computer would make came tumbling out of its mouth, while two boney hands moved in tune with the sounds. “I’m sorry I don’t understand,” she told him sadly. Frantically they moved their hands faster, the noises they were making almost desperate as they tried to get her to understand. “I’m sorry, I really am but I can’t understand what you’re saying.” It was heartbreaking to see their face fall at her confession; they looked so hopeless and miserable. They stopped making the noises yet their hands continued to move, though now at a slower, more easy to follow pace. “Weird it’s almost like you’re… speaking in hands,” her realization ending in a whisper as she stared at the mysterious monster’s perpetually moving fingers. Let’s see if I still remember how to do this. Kneeling down before them Frisk slowly began to sign out letters. (F) {Hello my name is Frisk. Who are you?} When the monster caught sight of her message they froze, even their busy hands stilling at their surprise. After what felt like an eternity they responded in a similar fashion. (G) {Hello Frisk my name is Wing Dings Gaster.} The buzzing was getting worse now but that didn’t matter, they could communicate, she could talk to Gaster! Now she just had to find out what he was doing here. Giving him a warm smile she continued with her questions. (F) {Can you tell me what this place is? I’ve never seen it before.} (G) {It is part of a place known only as the void. A sort of parallel dimension that shadows this world.} (F) Well damn this is some real life science fiction now. The shock must have shown on her as Gaster’s cracked mouth rose into an amused smile. (F) {How did you get here?} And just like that the smile slipped away to be replaced by a troubled frown. (G) {A lab experiment gone wrong, it brought me here with no way to escape.} (F) {What about the door? Can’t you just go through?} (G) {Even if I did I no longer fully exist in their world. No one can see or hear me. Except you.} (F) {Is there anything I—} Frisk didn’t get to finish that question as the horrible buzzing struck her again, only this time she could hear the voice. (V) I WARNED YOU. The human screamed in pain, grabbing her head as wave after wave of agony came crashing down upon her. Somewhere among the torrent of suffering she registered the feeling of hands carefully clasping her shoulders. Forcing her hazel orbs to open she looked into the dark sockets of Gaster, his white pupils flying over her features as he tried to find what was causing her such distress. In numb awe she watched as he called her soul forward, the typically bright red heart now dim as another heart, this one tattered and as black as tar attempted to snuff out her lights. At the sight Gaster seemed to go through a thousand different emotions at once until his features settled into a look she knew all too well. The look of determination. Nodding to himself the strange goopy skeleton man summoned his own soul, the brilliance of the inverted heart shining proudly in its dull surroundings. Then without warning he sent it forward, crashing into Frisk like two colliding atoms and the room erupted into a blinding white light.

This literally took me all half of yesterday and all of today to finish. Also despite being a frans shipper and the nature of this situation I’m gunna put who Frisk actually ends up with up to you guys. I kinda wanna see if you guys will pick Gatser or not and I can maybe treat this like a reverse effect when people write soriel but still have Frisk wanting to be with him. I love Sans but some times that mother fucker needs a taste of his own medicine >:D Let me know what you guys think.