Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
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Califresco PD: Magical Crimes Unit
- Thread starter Grey
- Start date
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
3rd of Greentide, Mornday, 245AU
Califresco City
"Good morning, Citizens," the synthesized female voice of the Municipal Information Spirit says, echoing across rain-slick plazas and in the heads of wakeful Redlines. "The time is eight AM exactly. The rain is scheduled to continue for one more hour, and will resume at 2PM."
Civic Centre calls her Sally. All in the push for a 'friendlier Califresco'.
"Citizens are reminded that Grand and Fifth will be closed today for installation of new road safety devices. Drive safely, Califresco."
Civic news feed makes no mention of the riot in Layfields last night, but Galathine's stock went up five percent. Not hard to guess the new riot suppression drones worked.
If Blacklines got obituaries the list would be a lot longer this morning.
Rise and shine, detectives - you've got work in an hour.
Califresco City
"Good morning, Citizens," the synthesized female voice of the Municipal Information Spirit says, echoing across rain-slick plazas and in the heads of wakeful Redlines. "The time is eight AM exactly. The rain is scheduled to continue for one more hour, and will resume at 2PM."
Civic Centre calls her Sally. All in the push for a 'friendlier Califresco'.
"Citizens are reminded that Grand and Fifth will be closed today for installation of new road safety devices. Drive safely, Califresco."
Civic news feed makes no mention of the riot in Layfields last night, but Galathine's stock went up five percent. Not hard to guess the new riot suppression drones worked.
If Blacklines got obituaries the list would be a lot longer this morning.
Rise and shine, detectives - you've got work in an hour.
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Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
Willem
"Ugh." The detective performed his morning ritual of coughing up last night's booze and munching cereal and aspirin. He got ready. He listened to the news chatter. Stared in the mirror trying to toggle his eye into better focus. "Two thousand pixel resolution, my ass." Damned thing had always been clouded a little. Shoddy implant. Laundry day. Oddly enough, that meant suit and tie. He left his place warring with a half-Windsor.
"Ugh." The detective performed his morning ritual of coughing up last night's booze and munching cereal and aspirin. He got ready. He listened to the news chatter. Stared in the mirror trying to toggle his eye into better focus. "Two thousand pixel resolution, my ass." Damned thing had always been clouded a little. Shoddy implant. Laundry day. Oddly enough, that meant suit and tie. He left his place warring with a half-Windsor.
Vanman
Two Thousand Club
Colin Dufresne
Consciousness comes fitfully to Dufresne, and when it does, he wishes he could slip back down into Morpheus' realm. Because waking means they will be there. Dogging his steps. Interrupting his thoughts. Whispering in his ear. Blurring the lines between this life and the next. Ever present. Ever vigilant. Paving his path to....
With a dogged shake of his head, Colin bolts upright in his bed. I...I will NOT...I will NOT go...I will NOT go down that path. I will not. That path is NOT...That path is NOT meant for me! Throwing the covers off, the young man bolts into the shower, forgetting to shed his clothing before engaging the water. It's not until he is ready to soap himself that he realizes his pajamas have not been removed. He stops then, closes his eyes, breathes deeply once, twice, three times. He focuses on the water falling - the sound, the feel, the temperature. All real things. They center him. They allow him to focus on the here and now. With that focus, he is able to finish his preparations for work.
As he eats breakfast, he catches up with the news. No mention of the riots. He doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad. If there's magic involved, then his day will be a busy one. That, at least, he can handle. That, at least, he can do. It's the one thing where he's sure he's capable. So it is that Colin Dufresne makes his way to the office, ignoring those voices, real and imagined, that call out to him....
Consciousness comes fitfully to Dufresne, and when it does, he wishes he could slip back down into Morpheus' realm. Because waking means they will be there. Dogging his steps. Interrupting his thoughts. Whispering in his ear. Blurring the lines between this life and the next. Ever present. Ever vigilant. Paving his path to....
With a dogged shake of his head, Colin bolts upright in his bed. I...I will NOT...I will NOT go...I will NOT go down that path. I will not. That path is NOT...That path is NOT meant for me! Throwing the covers off, the young man bolts into the shower, forgetting to shed his clothing before engaging the water. It's not until he is ready to soap himself that he realizes his pajamas have not been removed. He stops then, closes his eyes, breathes deeply once, twice, three times. He focuses on the water falling - the sound, the feel, the temperature. All real things. They center him. They allow him to focus on the here and now. With that focus, he is able to finish his preparations for work.
As he eats breakfast, he catches up with the news. No mention of the riots. He doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad. If there's magic involved, then his day will be a busy one. That, at least, he can handle. That, at least, he can do. It's the one thing where he's sure he's capable. So it is that Colin Dufresne makes his way to the office, ignoring those voices, real and imagined, that call out to him....
Random Word
Three Thousand Club
Kincaid ineffectually slaps at his bedside table several times before successfully hitting the large brass mechanical stop of the clockwork alarm. The old wooden floorboards creak as he ponderously makes his way passed the mahogany grandfather clock in the hall on his way to the kitchen as it chimes six times. Dust motes swirl in the slats of light cast by the streetlamp through the old broken venetian blinds on the front window. He lights the old fashioned gas stove and starts pulling food out of the old fridge packed with ice - it, like the two before it, failed a few months after he got it.
The place has character. So much character that it was scheduled for demolition before he managed to bribe his way into getting a stay on the order and purchased it himself. He tells himself he's just old fashioned at heart. A traditionalist. He likes old shit. It's homey. Really he's just sick of magitech breaking down inexplicably. None of it lasts more than six months in his place, and he's come to resent it. No newfangled aetherlink alarm clocks for him. He winds his every night, and it continues to work as well as it did two hundred years ago. They don't make 'em like they used to.
He finishes frying up sausage, bacon, and eggs. He's pretty sure there's even some real meat in there, somewhere. Sometimes he saves up to buy the real deal from the uptown market on weekends. After he's wolfed everything down he brushes his teeth, grabs his things, and hits the gym for a few rounds with the bag before his shift starts and he gets to find out which asshole magus has fucked up and crossed his desk today.
The place has character. So much character that it was scheduled for demolition before he managed to bribe his way into getting a stay on the order and purchased it himself. He tells himself he's just old fashioned at heart. A traditionalist. He likes old shit. It's homey. Really he's just sick of magitech breaking down inexplicably. None of it lasts more than six months in his place, and he's come to resent it. No newfangled aetherlink alarm clocks for him. He winds his every night, and it continues to work as well as it did two hundred years ago. They don't make 'em like they used to.
He finishes frying up sausage, bacon, and eggs. He's pretty sure there's even some real meat in there, somewhere. Sometimes he saves up to buy the real deal from the uptown market on weekends. After he's wolfed everything down he brushes his teeth, grabs his things, and hits the gym for a few rounds with the bag before his shift starts and he gets to find out which asshole magus has fucked up and crossed his desk today.
JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
Ryan
Rising out of bed at the alarm, Ryan rubbed the sleepers out of his eyes. "First Siri, now Sally." He muttered, moving over to the restroom to begin his morning routine. "What's next, Sandra? Susan? They're going to put us all out of job one of these days."
Teeth brushed, hair combed and stubble shaved, Ryan dressed himself and went to the kitchen in his deliberately tiny apartment (saves money on rent for retirement) and poured himself a bowl of cereal laced with fresh blue berries and diced bananas, before throwing some bread in the toaster.
Waiting for the toast to pop, he sat down at the table and began reading the news on the the events that had happened last night. Granted, civic news was only so useful, but when you were 'in the know', it was easy to read between the lines and get a better picture of the real truth.
You often got more information by what wasn't said, than what was.
Rising out of bed at the alarm, Ryan rubbed the sleepers out of his eyes. "First Siri, now Sally." He muttered, moving over to the restroom to begin his morning routine. "What's next, Sandra? Susan? They're going to put us all out of job one of these days."
Teeth brushed, hair combed and stubble shaved, Ryan dressed himself and went to the kitchen in his deliberately tiny apartment (saves money on rent for retirement) and poured himself a bowl of cereal laced with fresh blue berries and diced bananas, before throwing some bread in the toaster.
Waiting for the toast to pop, he sat down at the table and began reading the news on the the events that had happened last night. Granted, civic news was only so useful, but when you were 'in the know', it was easy to read between the lines and get a better picture of the real truth.
You often got more information by what wasn't said, than what was.
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Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
The precinct house is one of the few standalone buildings near the Old City, a stone's throw from City Hall. Preserved out of 'respect for history' at the baying of a lobbyist group. It's a grandiose thing, with high windows and gargoyles for some fucking reason - Gardiner the younger had it built by hand, not Magic, and probably wanted to show off.
Kincaid is lucky Civic Centre won the pubtrans bid; it was cheaper to run the trams on mundane engines linked to the city grid. A few people tap their terminals or blink repeatedly as their feeds fuzz up.
Desk Sergeant Mahoney is on today. Rail thin with hunched shoulders and a quietly mean streak. There's an ADA hustling paperwork to the Captain's office, and a few uniforms chatting with coffee cups steaming in their hands.
The MCU is in the basement.
Empty offices lie dark and dusty. Ryan's lab is the most up to date and well-cared for part of the department, and even that's a couple years behind. The terminals on your desks are older, but they work fine. Kincaid has a mechanical model, streaming the actual data from a box in the next room to a cheap CRT.
Lieutenant Daniels looks like she slept in her office. She's got a face like a mahogany bust, clean lines and cheekbones that could cut glass. Hard, but not cold. She doesn't look up from her terminal.
Kincaid is lucky Civic Centre won the pubtrans bid; it was cheaper to run the trams on mundane engines linked to the city grid. A few people tap their terminals or blink repeatedly as their feeds fuzz up.
Desk Sergeant Mahoney is on today. Rail thin with hunched shoulders and a quietly mean streak. There's an ADA hustling paperwork to the Captain's office, and a few uniforms chatting with coffee cups steaming in their hands.
The MCU is in the basement.
Empty offices lie dark and dusty. Ryan's lab is the most up to date and well-cared for part of the department, and even that's a couple years behind. The terminals on your desks are older, but they work fine. Kincaid has a mechanical model, streaming the actual data from a box in the next room to a cheap CRT.
Lieutenant Daniels looks like she slept in her office. She's got a face like a mahogany bust, clean lines and cheekbones that could cut glass. Hard, but not cold. She doesn't look up from her terminal.
...Oh god it's not tear gas please no
Run, baby, get to daddy's stall.
You can't do this! It's inhu-
Help us. Save us.
Run, baby, get to daddy's stall.
You can't do this! It's inhu-
Help us. Save us.
Vanman
Two Thousand Club
Colin Dufresne
Dufresne walks to his desk with a distracted air. His hands flutter randomly - to his forehead, to his pockets, to his hair, through his hair - so that the source of his rumpled demeanor and frazzled expression are not totally baseless. As he walks, those near him can hear him. Talking. "I under...I understand. Tear g-g-gas can be...can be...can be MOST uncom....Stall? Why...why a...why a stall? Why...why run? Nonono!!! You c-c-can't run. It's not sa...I'm not! I'm not! I'm not doing anything! M-m-maybe it is, but what can I...How? How? How do I help? How do I sa....." An intense look takes hold of Colin's face, mouth clenched, lips pursed, eyes burning. Then he squeezes his eyes shut, lips moving, at first saying nothing. The sound builds gradually, though anyone more than a couple of feet away can't hear the actual words. "Always asking. Who? Never happy. Why? You know why. You know why. You know why. You have to hel...No! But if you...No! They come to y...NOOO!!!!"
The frazzled man rushes to his desk, fist pounding his forehead. He sits, breathing hard, eyes darting back and forth. He puts his shoulder bag on his desk and once again closes his eyes, taking deep breaths in an apparent attempt to calm himself. After several such breaths he seems calmer. With his eyes still closed, his soft, murmuring voice speaks once more. "Help you how? Save you from what?"
Dufresne walks to his desk with a distracted air. His hands flutter randomly - to his forehead, to his pockets, to his hair, through his hair - so that the source of his rumpled demeanor and frazzled expression are not totally baseless. As he walks, those near him can hear him. Talking. "I under...I understand. Tear g-g-gas can be...can be...can be MOST uncom....Stall? Why...why a...why a stall? Why...why run? Nonono!!! You c-c-can't run. It's not sa...I'm not! I'm not! I'm not doing anything! M-m-maybe it is, but what can I...How? How? How do I help? How do I sa....." An intense look takes hold of Colin's face, mouth clenched, lips pursed, eyes burning. Then he squeezes his eyes shut, lips moving, at first saying nothing. The sound builds gradually, though anyone more than a couple of feet away can't hear the actual words. "Always asking. Who? Never happy. Why? You know why. You know why. You know why. You have to hel...No! But if you...No! They come to y...NOOO!!!!"
The frazzled man rushes to his desk, fist pounding his forehead. He sits, breathing hard, eyes darting back and forth. He puts his shoulder bag on his desk and once again closes his eyes, taking deep breaths in an apparent attempt to calm himself. After several such breaths he seems calmer. With his eyes still closed, his soft, murmuring voice speaks once more. "Help you how? Save you from what?"
Random Word
Three Thousand Club
Detective Inspector Vincent Kincaid
Kincaid sips the lukewarm substance formerly known as coffee produced by the basement coffee machine and thinks about bringing a kettle to work for the thousandth time. He waves to Lt. Daniels as he passes her office, "Mornin', Lieutenant."
He spares a brief glance at the Colin the nutter as he grabs the sheaf of paperwork sitting in the IN box on his door and grumbles unintelligibly to himself. He begins leafing through the documents, some of which were clearly printed off by officers frustrated at his insistence on 'forgetting' to read his magi-mail. "You can help me by gettin' me some real coffee. That'll save me from havin' to listen to you yakkin' to yourself all morning," he suggests, patronisingly.
Kincaid sips the lukewarm substance formerly known as coffee produced by the basement coffee machine and thinks about bringing a kettle to work for the thousandth time. He waves to Lt. Daniels as he passes her office, "Mornin', Lieutenant."
He spares a brief glance at the Colin the nutter as he grabs the sheaf of paperwork sitting in the IN box on his door and grumbles unintelligibly to himself. He begins leafing through the documents, some of which were clearly printed off by officers frustrated at his insistence on 'forgetting' to read his magi-mail. "You can help me by gettin' me some real coffee. That'll save me from havin' to listen to you yakkin' to yourself all morning," he suggests, patronisingly.
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JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
Ryan
Sitting down at his desk and booting up the computer, Ryan drank a cup of coffee he had gotten from the break room. It was incredibly, infamously bitter, to the point where many staff would compare it to poison. Ryan aways made sure his cup had at least four spoon fulls of sugar and was around 20% milk, which took most of the bite off.
Once his machine was up and running, he began to go through any emails he might have missed the previous day, as well as whatever reports he was expected to go through.
Sitting down at his desk and booting up the computer, Ryan drank a cup of coffee he had gotten from the break room. It was incredibly, infamously bitter, to the point where many staff would compare it to poison. Ryan aways made sure his cup had at least four spoon fulls of sugar and was around 20% milk, which took most of the bite off.
Once his machine was up and running, he began to go through any emails he might have missed the previous day, as well as whatever reports he was expected to go through.
Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
Willem
He rubs his eye for the thousandth time when he takes that last shaky step into the office. Absent-mindedly grabs the day-old coffee left on his desk, sips it, face bunching up like silk in a fist. "Ah, there's the stuff." His eye calms down and sharpens to normal. "It's good for something," he mutters to himself, clicking on his work terminal. "Lieutenant, who do we have to fuck to get some real equipment in this hell hole? Not this turn of the century, shit."
He rubs his eye for the thousandth time when he takes that last shaky step into the office. Absent-mindedly grabs the day-old coffee left on his desk, sips it, face bunching up like silk in a fist. "Ah, there's the stuff." His eye calms down and sharpens to normal. "It's good for something," he mutters to himself, clicking on his work terminal. "Lieutenant, who do we have to fuck to get some real equipment in this hell hole? Not this turn of the century, shit."
Random Word
Three Thousand Club
Kincaid
"Oo 'ake 'hat 'ack, Otz," demands Kincaid from around a pen perched between his teeth to free both hands for flipping through a sheaf of reports. Having identified something requiring immediate attention he pulls it out, sets the rest on the desk, and sets about filling it out. "If we had a real coffee maker, a proper Bodun coffee press, instead of this newfangled hunk of junk, we wouldn't be drinking sludge. One of these days I'll get around to bringing one. Get a wood stove and kettle, vent the smoke into that asshole Ferrensberg's office. No one will notice the difference; he smokes like a chimney already."
"Oo 'ake 'hat 'ack, Otz," demands Kincaid from around a pen perched between his teeth to free both hands for flipping through a sheaf of reports. Having identified something requiring immediate attention he pulls it out, sets the rest on the desk, and sets about filling it out. "If we had a real coffee maker, a proper Bodun coffee press, instead of this newfangled hunk of junk, we wouldn't be drinking sludge. One of these days I'll get around to bringing one. Get a wood stove and kettle, vent the smoke into that asshole Ferrensberg's office. No one will notice the difference; he smokes like a chimney already."
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
The L.T. looks up, pinches the bridge of her nose, and sighs.
"Worry about it later, detectives. You've caught a body, out near Little Coral. I'm sending the details to your spikes now."
She paused, glanced at Kincaid, shook her head. "And to your terminal for printing, Kincaid."
"Worry about it later, detectives. You've caught a body, out near Little Coral. I'm sending the details to your spikes now."
She paused, glanced at Kincaid, shook her head. "And to your terminal for printing, Kincaid."
- Case File
-
Timothy Walters
Age: 45
Birthplace: Califresco
Sex: Male
Marital Status: Divorced
Children: Samantha Walters, 20, currently attending Littern University in Ymon.
Employment: Unemployed - terminated from Sagan Group. Accounting Dept.
Criminal Record: Currently under investigation for embezzlement - CORPORATE JURISDICTION
Medical Record: Asthma; Magically corrected at age 9. Last Checkup: Six months ago
Education: Brightsel Primary, Azta Corporate Academy, Sagan Accountancy School.
Address: Room 305, Telleman Apartments, Little Coral
Current Location: Room 305, Telleman Apartments, Little Coral
Estimated Time of Death: 8:00AM
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Random Word
Three Thousand Club
Kincaid
Kincaid winks at the Lieutenant. "I knew they assigned me to you for a reason." He grabs the printout and scans it quickly.
"Daft sod had the poor taste to get himself 'sentenced' by the suits. I'd say they finished their 'investigation' alright," he mutters darkly. "Right, who's the responding, and is the body on the slab or still cooling where it landed?"
Kincaid winks at the Lieutenant. "I knew they assigned me to you for a reason." He grabs the printout and scans it quickly.
"Daft sod had the poor taste to get himself 'sentenced' by the suits. I'd say they finished their 'investigation' alright," he mutters darkly. "Right, who's the responding, and is the body on the slab or still cooling where it landed?"
Vanman
Two Thousand Club
Dufresne
Dufresne's normally awkward demeanor amongst his colleagues hasn't changed, but the particulars of the case provides him the distraction to allow him some sort of interaction. "W-w-will w-we have access t-t-to the c-corporate investigation files, L-l-lieutenant? Or are we going to b-b-be handcuffed as usual? M-m-might want to check on the wife, too. Should probably g-get to the scene. Might be able t-t-to learn more there."
Dufresne's normally awkward demeanor amongst his colleagues hasn't changed, but the particulars of the case provides him the distraction to allow him some sort of interaction. "W-w-will w-we have access t-t-to the c-corporate investigation files, L-l-lieutenant? Or are we going to b-b-be handcuffed as usual? M-m-might want to check on the wife, too. Should probably g-get to the scene. Might be able t-t-to learn more there."
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Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
She gives Dufresne a side-eye, but it's tempered by an uncharacteristically gentle smile.
"Apartment locked down when the terrorism countermeasures kicked in. Needs a CPD detectives clearance to open."
She glanced at her terminal and grimaced.
"Corp's gonna lock down the files, no doubt. Stock protection," she rolled her eyes. "and Dr. Tibalt is waiting outside the building, bitching about uniforms. Better head out there, detectives."
Tibalt's an ornery fucker but a good coroner.
"Apartment locked down when the terrorism countermeasures kicked in. Needs a CPD detectives clearance to open."
She glanced at her terminal and grimaced.
"Corp's gonna lock down the files, no doubt. Stock protection," she rolled her eyes. "and Dr. Tibalt is waiting outside the building, bitching about uniforms. Better head out there, detectives."
Tibalt's an ornery fucker but a good coroner.
JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
Ryan
Ryan looked over the sheet when he got his chance and handed it to whoever wanted it next before speaking. "What makes this so special that it requires an official investigation?" He asked.
Ryan looked over the sheet when he got his chance and handed it to whoever wanted it next before speaking. "What makes this so special that it requires an official investigation?" He asked.
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
"Because the counter-terrorism blast doors on that block are only triggered by Magic. Someone killed the guy with a spell and that makes it our problem," she replies.
JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
Ryan
"Aw piss and shit." Cured Ryan. "I'll need to get my gear." He said.
"Aw piss and shit." Cured Ryan. "I'll need to get my gear." He said.
Vanman
Two Thousand Club
Dufresne
Dufresne's eye twitches just a bit, causing the light to wink slightly on his eye. "I'll g-get my kit. Don't know if y-you have any pull with the c-corps, Lieutenant, b-but seeing those files could really help." The frazzled young man looks to his right and shakes his head slowly, pauses, shakes his head more vigorously, then, in a sibilant whisper, says "Nooooooooooooo!" before realizing others may be watching.
Running a hand through his hair, his eyes blink rapidly several times. "M-might also want to check on the wife. She'll n-need to be cleared if she has nothing to d-do with this." He then bolts for his office, his right hand jerking to the side, palm facing away from his body. His lips move but no sound can be heard.
Dufresne's eye twitches just a bit, causing the light to wink slightly on his eye. "I'll g-get my kit. Don't know if y-you have any pull with the c-corps, Lieutenant, b-but seeing those files could really help." The frazzled young man looks to his right and shakes his head slowly, pauses, shakes his head more vigorously, then, in a sibilant whisper, says "Nooooooooooooo!" before realizing others may be watching.
Running a hand through his hair, his eyes blink rapidly several times. "M-might also want to check on the wife. She'll n-need to be cleared if she has nothing to d-do with this." He then bolts for his office, his right hand jerking to the side, palm facing away from his body. His lips move but no sound can be heard.
Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
Willem
"Magic in the Tellemans? Someone was right pissed at our boy, he says, watching Dufresne bolt. Poor guy. Back to the file. "Nice lineage to his education here. Hmm. Wonder who he pissed off enough to through that kind of shade his way." He shrugs and grabs his gear. "Let's go make a doctor happy."
"Magic in the Tellemans? Someone was right pissed at our boy, he says, watching Dufresne bolt. Poor guy. Back to the file. "Nice lineage to his education here. Hmm. Wonder who he pissed off enough to through that kind of shade his way." He shrugs and grabs his gear. "Let's go make a doctor happy."
Random Word
Three Thousand Club
Kincaid
"Right, since Dufresne has the hots for the stiff's ex, he can interview her. I'll go with him so he doesn't start rearrangin' her furniture or lovin'ly caressin' her hat rack. First on his busy social schedule is a hot double date with a corpse an' the dead body of Timothy Walters, and we'd best not keep either waitin'" Kincaid grabs his coat, straps on his sidearm, and heads out to meet the Coroner.
"Right, since Dufresne has the hots for the stiff's ex, he can interview her. I'll go with him so he doesn't start rearrangin' her furniture or lovin'ly caressin' her hat rack. First on his busy social schedule is a hot double date with a corpse an' the dead body of Timothy Walters, and we'd best not keep either waitin'" Kincaid grabs his coat, straps on his sidearm, and heads out to meet the Coroner.
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
The drive is quiet. Traffic controls are in place this far under the executive suites and only your police clearance gets you by a little easier. Sagan Corp have been making a big push for to sell better mass transit to the city since the automotive industry collapsed. Seems to be paying off, and the roads are in some disrepair.
Telleman Heights is a nondescript block of poured stone studded with windows. Tibalt and a pair of uniforms are standing outside the front door, peering at something on the sidewalk.
One of the windows on the third floor is broken, completely; the wall is scorched around it. Broken glass lies on the sidewalk where the waiting trio are looking.
"About time," Tibalt mutters. The blast-doors rise as you approach, the ephemeral keys in your neural spikes triggering the release.
Telleman Heights is a nondescript block of poured stone studded with windows. Tibalt and a pair of uniforms are standing outside the front door, peering at something on the sidewalk.
One of the windows on the third floor is broken, completely; the wall is scorched around it. Broken glass lies on the sidewalk where the waiting trio are looking.
"About time," Tibalt mutters. The blast-doors rise as you approach, the ephemeral keys in your neural spikes triggering the release.
JayTee
Eight Thousand Club
Ryan
"Sorry for the delay, the roads were murder." Ryan said, moving in past the blast doors. "What can you tell us about the victim?" He asked.
"Sorry for the delay, the roads were murder." Ryan said, moving in past the blast doors. "What can you tell us about the victim?" He asked.
Random Word
Three Thousand Club
Kincaid
Kincaid clasps Ryan's the shoulder, looks him square in the eye, and gives his best Tibalt impression with as much gravitas as he can muster, "He's dead, Jim. From the position of the body I infer the victim has terrible taste in architecture, and, when push came to shove, he discovered his career was in freefall and came upon hard times. I could tell you more, but the chicken entrails haven't finished cooling yet."
Kincaid clasps Ryan's the shoulder, looks him square in the eye, and gives his best Tibalt impression with as much gravitas as he can muster, "He's dead, Jim. From the position of the body I infer the victim has terrible taste in architecture, and, when push came to shove, he discovered his career was in freefall and came upon hard times. I could tell you more, but the chicken entrails haven't finished cooling yet."