Levy University Death. It was his expertise, be it in the dogfights of the alleys or in the name of the law. His life revolved around death. Death was what gave him an income. Death was what had let him come this far. And death would be, as it had everyone else, his end. That was not to say Benjamin Canter took a perverse joy in the absence of life, but rather viewed it as unfortunate side effect, more something that made life all that more meaningful. To him, the beauty in life was that it ended - nothing more, nothing less. But then there were those who enjoyed the opposite. Those who found a creativity and pleasure in the destruction of life. Those who dealt on the opposite end of death. In his brief thirty two years of life, Canter had seen a great many of murders grizzly in nature and disturbing in intent. Crime scenes that would keep a hardened veteran lose sleep for days on end. He had seen the remains of a child left in a mircowave until there was nothing but red goo. He had seen occult fantasies lived out on human canvases in the name of insanity. This was why the murder of Malcolm Holbach was not enough for him to lose his stomach over. That call had come late, towards the end of his graveyard shift, the result of which had been a lost bet a week earlier. It had been said time and time again in his line of work that there were two things you could not choose: your parents and your partner. Benjamin, after some pensive thought on the matter, had decided that if this were not the case then a backwit like Lenard Severt would never have a job in the field. He was squeamish, cowardly, and enjoyed his authority far too much. Whereas Benjamin felt he was corrupt for the greater good, Lenard was nothing more than a crooked two-face. Of course it had been Lenard who received the call, having been sent back to the auto to fetch payment for the pair's late-night coffee at Jack's Diner. For a Tuesday evening - more of a Wednesday morning - it was surprisingly crowded with the city's night life. All within an hour, a couple had taken themselves out back into the alleyway, a group of clubbers had returned for much-needed sobering, and a corporate executive had ordered two coffees (which he promptly drank himself). After ten minutes - much to Canter's agitation - Lenard returned with the news, leaving the cred-stick as payment at the edge of the retro-style booth the two had occupied. "What do we got?" Benjamin asked when the door of the auto shut automatically behind him as he settled himself into the practical, if not comfortable, vehicle. "Four-one-nine." Lenard responded in his flat voice, punching the address into the auto's GPS and letting the machine do the rest. As the machine rose off the ground, Canter flicked the switch that lit the sirens - better a speedy approach, even if it was at the expense of others. Better to be out of close confinement with Lenard as quickly as possible, as their auto rides were often silent and tense. To say the two did not get along was an understatement of the worst degree, but they were not the worst and, at the very least, they did their jobs well enough despite this distaste. The only time anyone had seen the two function as human beings had been their last job, which had led to one of the grittiest firefights the N.A.P.D. had ever witnessed. At last, ten minutes later, the auto lowered to the ground in the series of parking lots the university had to offer, leaving precious little space to exit properly. Grunting at yet another delay, Canter crawled out of the 'driver's' side and stretched as he glanced across the courtyard, hand on the flechette launcher tucked safe in its holster. Seeing no immediate threat, he relaxed his grip and turned back to Lenard. "Where at?" His voice was unreasonably harsh, something he berated himself for a second after it left his lips. "Student union building, not too far from here." Lenard replied; he'd attended this school for criminology and profiling before he'd dropped out of the program, something Benjamin assumed was the cause of his shrewd bitterness and corrupt tendencies. "Lead the way." Canter responded, with a bit more of his usual fake charm applied over the quip. Without a delay, Lenard began his way down a flight of stairs that led from the lot to the courtyard. Canter, who had never quite been around Levy as much as most of the city had, could see why it was a popular spot for non-students. Old-style architecture, trees, and lush grass all added a distance from the rest of New Angeles that he couldn't help but admire. In the center of the courtyard stood the clock tower, a relic of the early 2000's that was kept in superb condition. Even through the din of the city, the loud tick-tock of its gears could still be heard. Benjamin's sight was taken from the tower when he noticed the flashing red and blue lights along with the reflective glare of tape at the edge of his vision. With a rueful smile, he turned to Lenard, believing that anyone could have found the Union when it was crowding with law enforcement. Taking no further pretense of being led on, Canter hurried to the tape and flashed his identification when the bioroids demanded it at the entrance. Once inside, he paused, scanning the room for any signs of the victim. Then he saw it, and even it managed to rattle him if only momentarily. The man, Malcolm Holbach, was stretched in all directions with a red anarchist symbol splattered across his bare chest. Canter glanced over this symbol momentarily, realizing it had been carved into him with blood used to emphasize the lines. Purple bruising lined his wrists and ankles where the ropes dug into them and blood dripped to the ground where he had attempted to break himself free. Agitated, Benjamin called for the nearest officer. "Camera footage. Witnesses. Bioroids. DNA. Why the hell isn't this a dry-cut case?" He demanded as Lenard sauntered off to examine the corpse. "There was nothing on file, sir. This zone's a blackout." The wide-eyed officer returned, clutching at his PAD in a mixture of fear and trepidation. "Then I want connections. Now." Canter grunted through gritted teeth, turning back to watch Lenard begin what he was sure had already been done. Can't pick your parents, can't pick your partner.