Just A Guy
can't sit on chairs good
kuro | causter | winters
"Another one?" Detective Winters asks. She keeps her distance, hands in coat pockets, standing in the entrance to the alleyway whilst the uniforms assess the corpse.
"Same markings as the others, ma'am. Same—" the officer cuts off, gesturing uncertainly to the neon acid green fluid surrounding him and soaking into his boats. "Whatever the hell this is."
"A close derivative of human stomach acid, densely populated by a bio-luminescent bacterium we have yet to identify," Winters informs him. She sounds like she's been a snob, but it's as much to reassure herself as it is to inform him. Reality is, they have no fucking clue what is going on. Well. Aside from them.
'Them' consists of four individuals who show up to the crime scene within the hour. 'Them' is more officially known as the SID, or Supernatural Investigations Department. It was formed six months prior, right around the time of the seventh killing.
This makes the twenty-second. And still, neither Detective Winters nor anyone else not on the spook squad has a fucking clue what is going on. The detective watches the spooks unpack themselves from the SUV they arrived in, tinted windows, bulletproof plating, the lot. She's preceded them at every killing, and knows them by sight now. Likewise, she knows their department head. She knows far more intimately than she would like that he is a total fucking asshole.
Kuro, no known surname, slinks out of the SUV with the lazy arrogance of a hunting cat, and smirks the second he catches sight of Winters. He isn't fucking japanese, he's white as a fucking ghost and Winters is 99% certain that the name is an affectation, and a probably racist one at that. As per usual, he looks like a complete mess. A well-dressed, beautiful-in-a-damaged-way mess, but a mess that is entirely inappropriate for their line of work. Sporting one black eye, a broken, bruised nose, and a split lip, he looks marginally less like he's guest starring in a shitty Fight Club remake than he did last week. Bruises indicating fingermarks purple the pale shock of his neck, disappearing below the line of his collar.
And all of this would be fine, something Winters could chalk up to being part of the job, if he wasn't such a total—
"Still playing at solving this one, Winters?" He interrupts her internal venom with a drawl. He stops before her, hands shoved in the pockets of his bomber jacket. "Cute. You might get a clue what is going on by the fiftieth one, I reckon. Figured out what the green shit is yet?"
Winters lists of the forensic report, same as for the uniform. This time, it's anything but reassuring.
"And you know why it's there?"
Biting her tongue, resisting the urge to tell him to go fuck himself, Winters goes with one of her more adventurous theories. "Someone's doing experiments on these people, and dumping the corpses when they're dead. Whatever they're doing to people, it's interferring with their digestive enzymes and—"
She's cut off by the asshole laughing.
"Oh Winters, Sweetie, no. No, they're eating people." He just smiles at her look of incredulity. "On which note; Causter, bring out the pet."
Causter, the tall, narrow one in glasses, goes into the boot of the SUV. Winters can hear a noise that is neither like a growl nor a slither, and yet somehow manages to ghost past both into a horrific, wet sound that has her neck and palms sweating. Causter tugs at something that sounds like a leash, and a moment later, approaches with someone on a leash.
This someone is stooped over, covered in scratches and bruising, and looks like they haven't eaten in months. The only thing that stops Winters calling Amnesty or shooting Kuro right then and there is the one, tiny, awful fact that this someone's mouth and jaw is smeared with bile. Bright, acidic green, luminescent bile.