- Posting Speed
- Speed of Light
- Writing Levels
- Douche
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
"They were close to one another. The bullets travelled less than six feet. Victim's sidearm is holstered. A routine Registration Check."
Natalie moved over the crime scene, stepping between the little numbered cards that signified evidence. The park was awash with the red and blue chatter of police lights that alternately defined then shrouded her scarred face. Her coat was long, black, pooling around her as she crouched beside the murdered soldier.
She reached out and dug her finger deep into the shattered eye-socket of the corpse, feeling the shredded brain matter. The faceplate of the man's gas mask was shattered, and together with the second bullet that had obliterated his jaw, there was almost nothing left of the victim's face. Not that he had ever retained much identity in life. Lieutenant Demitrio Antonucci, his dogtags said.
"Shots indicate a certain degree of training. A professional would have used one bullet. An amateur would not have drawn this quickly and would not have aimed for the head. Possible Guardian schooling."
She stood again, coal-black eyes scanning the park and the high rises beyond. Her left hand flexed. The back of it was strapped with a device containing four filament-like whips that could extend on synaptic command. They were treated with a cocktail of hallucinations that would plunge a victim into a nightmare of fits and delusions. The other officers called it the Fear Garden, Natalie's chosen form of custody for those who stepped out of line.
The ISAF teams assigned to the Inquisitor stood around her, statues with breaths wheezing softly in their respirators. They awaited orders... target assignments... kill missions... and until such things were granted they simply froze, half-gazing at the night sky or staring at the grass.
Natalie stepped between them as her brain, alive and scheming unlike theirs, processed the facts as she saw them. "Time of death, 1824... post clockout, pre-curfew. The killer might have been returning from work. But why the middle of a park? Stupid... Desperate..."
She looked again at the apartment buildings looming over the park, like the digits of a great claw threatening to crush this lone patch of tangled green. Then her eyes came back to her attending soldiers. "Question the landlords. Someone must have seen something."
The snap into action was almost violent, the soldiers forming a dozen groups and sprinting out towards the apartments to the north and west. It wasn't exactly a kill-mission that Natalie had given them, but there was always the chance that someone would be found uncooperative enough to warrant execution. Each apartment complex was run by a landlord reigstered as either Mentor or, more likely, Shadow. They were under legal obligation to report suspicious activity to the ISAF.
And as far as Natalie could see, the details of this murder pointed either to an Unregistered on the loose or a Guardian going off the rails.
Either way, someone could be squeezed. That was the law of nature in Iwaku City.
She flexed her hand again, the tendrils of the Fear Garden lashing outwards then retracting, like snakes in dance. Then she returned to her police car, leaving a final group of ISAF feasting on the corpse, their patience in waiting for the detective now most handsomely rewarded.
Natalie moved over the crime scene, stepping between the little numbered cards that signified evidence. The park was awash with the red and blue chatter of police lights that alternately defined then shrouded her scarred face. Her coat was long, black, pooling around her as she crouched beside the murdered soldier.
She reached out and dug her finger deep into the shattered eye-socket of the corpse, feeling the shredded brain matter. The faceplate of the man's gas mask was shattered, and together with the second bullet that had obliterated his jaw, there was almost nothing left of the victim's face. Not that he had ever retained much identity in life. Lieutenant Demitrio Antonucci, his dogtags said.
"Shots indicate a certain degree of training. A professional would have used one bullet. An amateur would not have drawn this quickly and would not have aimed for the head. Possible Guardian schooling."
She stood again, coal-black eyes scanning the park and the high rises beyond. Her left hand flexed. The back of it was strapped with a device containing four filament-like whips that could extend on synaptic command. They were treated with a cocktail of hallucinations that would plunge a victim into a nightmare of fits and delusions. The other officers called it the Fear Garden, Natalie's chosen form of custody for those who stepped out of line.
The ISAF teams assigned to the Inquisitor stood around her, statues with breaths wheezing softly in their respirators. They awaited orders... target assignments... kill missions... and until such things were granted they simply froze, half-gazing at the night sky or staring at the grass.
Natalie stepped between them as her brain, alive and scheming unlike theirs, processed the facts as she saw them. "Time of death, 1824... post clockout, pre-curfew. The killer might have been returning from work. But why the middle of a park? Stupid... Desperate..."
She looked again at the apartment buildings looming over the park, like the digits of a great claw threatening to crush this lone patch of tangled green. Then her eyes came back to her attending soldiers. "Question the landlords. Someone must have seen something."
The snap into action was almost violent, the soldiers forming a dozen groups and sprinting out towards the apartments to the north and west. It wasn't exactly a kill-mission that Natalie had given them, but there was always the chance that someone would be found uncooperative enough to warrant execution. Each apartment complex was run by a landlord reigstered as either Mentor or, more likely, Shadow. They were under legal obligation to report suspicious activity to the ISAF.
And as far as Natalie could see, the details of this murder pointed either to an Unregistered on the loose or a Guardian going off the rails.
Either way, someone could be squeezed. That was the law of nature in Iwaku City.
She flexed her hand again, the tendrils of the Fear Garden lashing outwards then retracting, like snakes in dance. Then she returned to her police car, leaving a final group of ISAF feasting on the corpse, their patience in waiting for the detective now most handsomely rewarded.