[center][h2][color=#20B2AA]Zach Kozel:[/color]
[color=0054a6]The PRT Building[/color][/h2][/center]

The loud sound of metal breaking near Zach's neck startled him, but, as he couldn't move any other part of his body, only his eyes showed his surprise. They sprayed some liquid on some of the foam encasing Zach and moved him, along with his prison, into some sort of PRT transport vehicle. As they moved Zach from the alleyway to the PRT headquarters, he had a little bit of time to reflect on what had happened so far. 

He didn't lose his job-Wait, no, if this took more than a single night he had definitely lost his job. Okay, well he had gotten jumped by some assholes, beat the shit out of a couple of them. He was then approached by a man - Necro - with two men, and a nice fellow by the name of Arsenal. A short fight ensued, in which Kozel discovered that the goons Necro had arrived with were not normal humans, some sort of master power that he used twice more to summon two reinforcements with before fleeing the scene. In the process of fleeing he trapped Zach in a cage of some sort which Arsenal helped him escape from, before giving him an email address and the recommendation to contact him. They both fled, which led to Zach being ambushed.

Zach went through all of this in his head on his way to the PRT building, purposefully leaving out details just so he could get the information in his head. Okay that was a start, but now a different angle. A lense serial killers, professional thief, and the like had to always don. What did the police know?

One young black male, with fingerprints on a pistol nearby, and residue on the barrel and muzzle. One black male youth fled the scene, and another had his head splattered against concrete. However the body of that youth suffered heavy postmortem wounds, along with the man who had his fingerprints on a gun. Not to mention a police officer, or someone who dressed like one, suffered a similar fate. Two men who Zach didn't notice the race of, who were older with major bullet wounds. There had to be clear evidence of someone with an extensive arsenal on scene, obvious not only from plenty of bullets in the bricks and shells; But also the bullets that almost hit Zach.

Zach had that strange realization shortly after arriving in his cell. The world had become white noise around him as he became lost in thought. He looked around a bit, went to the bathroom, and then sat down on his bed staring at the ceiling. [color=#00b200][i]The most damning part of this is the crowbar wounds inflicted on that p.o.s. The fact that it has his fingerprints, my fingerprints, and his blood will needlessly complicate things for the forensics team, even if they do know stuff about my profile.[/i][/color]

A gruff older man finally brightening the gloomy cell with light, but darkening it with his demeanor. The man said his full name, as well as a shitty PR term that Zach assumed was to be his hero name.  The investigator asked for information, after reading him his rights, and Zach shook his head.

[color=#00b200][b]"I want an attorney, and I will not answer any questions, or make small talk, until I get one."[/b][/color] He said, his voice strained. If there is one thing he knew, it was to never, ever talk to police. No matter guilty, innocent, or perceived as either; It was not a good idea. Unless he had an attorney present they probably wouldn't get much out of him besides rewording of that sentence.