[hr][i][h1][color=gray]Quentin Taylor[/color][/h1][/i][hr][hider=Hello My Name Is MR.9/06][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LYVAE_-NLU[/youtube][/hider][hr]
[i][u]Somewhere in Brookacres, White Coast.[/u][/i]


The Ferryman's Tavern was nothing special to behold, yet another watering hole in Brookacres, typically frequented its disgruntled and impoverished denizens. Dotted around the counter were a cluster of stools in various states of repair whilst a TV crudely mounted to the wall gave people a hazy picture of whatever sports rerun was going on at the time. Tables and chairs were planted across the walls, surrounding a pool table with the classic emerald lampshades overhead. Right now, it was occupied by a small group of patrons - regulars by the looks of it, spectated by a stranger in the corner of the room.

"Shit, so you didn't hear 'bout Jim Campbell?" One of the scrawnier patrons had remarked as they took their shot. "What? Haven't seen that guy since Christmas." His opponent, a squat man in a lumberjack shirt, gave him a quizical gaze. "Yeah... 'bout that, he's dead."

"What?!" The squat man exclaimed, eyes widening in shock. "Shit, what the fuck happened?"

"Murdered by a freak." Scrawny leaned towards his companion, his voice taking on a low tone, but the stranger in the corner could still just about pick it up. "And you'll never believe who - that [i]boy[/i] of his. Yeah, that's what I said - Jim Campbell's boy turned out to be a freak who murdered him. His own blood."

"Jesus, fuckin' freaks everywhere. Dunno who to trust these days."

"Gotta watch out wherever you go." 

"Say, weren't he married?"

"Hell with that bitch, Jim said it best himself - she's always been a fuckin' skank."

"And what happened to that little shit?"

"Beats me, fuckin' whitey birds came in and walked him off. Probably let him off with a warnin'... god-damned animals. It's bad enough those freaks are out there, nevermind being left in charge."

"Whatever," another patron butted in, "I see that little fuck, I'm gonna cave his little head in. Jim weren't no saint but he was one of ours and I'll spit on my old man's grave before I let pricks like him walk free."

The stranger decided that he'd heard enough, driving a palm into his knee to stand up, leaving behind a half-emptied beer bottle on the table. He'd no doubt that the Pure wouldn't have taken kindly to having him drinking in their midst.

Stepping out, he quickly took a left turn and then a left turn again, where a chainlink fence covered the relatively compact space that had been set aside for parking. As he'd expected, the pickup was still there - and intact, windows, wheels and all. It was a funny thing, really - Max had only intended to loan it to him for a few months, but he'd had gained a certain fondness for the former service pickup and when NEST's assets were finally sold off or transferred to the new DOVE/RAVEN initiative, he'd managed to strong-arm the new director into letting him keep it as an unmarked service vehicle. Instead of the official markings it held before, the pickup had been given a new coat a couple of years before, leaving it with a naval blue tone.

So it happened, Quentin was back in town for the first time in a while. It'd been a long time since he'd had a full assignment here, probably not since the first few months after the shitshow in Verthaven. After losing Cass. But that wasn't exactly his concern right now - RAVEN could wait a couple of hours longer. No, that honour went to a certain someone whom he'd not seen in a good while.

Climbing into the pickup, Quentin whipped out his phone and brought up a familiar name on the contact list. 

[hr][i][h1][color=DarkSlateBlue]Reed Taylor[/color][/h1][/i][hr][hider=Guided Meditation][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UanV1ifs6tk[/youtube][/hider][hr]
[i][u]DOVE Central Office[/u][/i]

"Walter Price, aged twenty-seven," Reed spoke aloud from the file once more, before sighing as he uttered the next two words. "Registered Metahuman." As far as he was concerned, it had effectively confirmed any suspicions that the initial report had raised.

 It was no coincidence, Reed had mused. Two other deaths within the same number of months, each with a similar MO. Both the victims had been found in the Starrybank district, each having last been seen enjoying the nightlife before their respective disappearances and autopsies had confirmed that both of them had been spiked, incidentally with the same drug that displayed a level of toxicity towards a very specific group within Baybridge's population. [i]Metahumans[/i]

"Can I see the autopsy report, please?" He shot a look at one of the other agents searching through the folder, before they retrieved a freshly photocopied sheet of paper. Setting it on the table before him, Reed's inquisitive gaze quickly scanned across the report, before his eyes locked on the toxicity note.

[i]Traces of 551 toxin found in system in addition to moderate alcohol levels.[/i]

That confirmed that Walter Price had been spiked, which probably explained why he hadn't put up much of a fight. Being able to manipulate air could've worked in his favour, yet somehow his killer had managed to garrote him to death and hide the body in an unlocked drainage opening, to be discovered two days later by a maintenance crew. The MO was too much of a coincidence to be anything else. 

[i]Serial killer.[/i]

Reed's lip curled at the thought. Time had taught him not to jump straight to the finish on matters like this, but his gut told him that something was off. And whoever the killer was, they were still out there - CCTV footage had only captured the late Mr. Price stumbling out of the Northern Star whilst any witnesses who had been near the scene of the crime were equally useless.

Running a palm down his face, Reed sighed and decided to get down to typing up his own report - along with his consensus on the matter. Three people had died in as many months because of this twisted bastard and with Anti and Pro-Metahuman sentiments stirring up left and right in the wake of the Beast's emergence in Prague, the timing couldn't have been worse.  Reed wondered just how easy it could've been for his brother over in RAVEN - no worrying about the social or legal aspects of things, just getting things done. But then, that's where they'd differed - that's why he'd joined DOVE.

He worried about his older brother sometimes. Ever since Verthaven, well... sometimes it felt like only one of them had buried their uncle. He missed Cass, even now, and wished he could see just how his nephews had turned out - one going on to join a successful agency whilst the other had practically turned his life around. But Cass was gone, and all the retribution in the world wouldn't bring him back. Cindy had spoken a few times how she felt on that matter, how Meifeng had embraced and even gone beyond Quentin's zero-tolerance approach towards what was left of people like the Hands, but there was only so much that Reed could do beyond speaking up about it occasionally.

Soon enough the report was finished and Reed was just about ready to finish his day at the office when he felt his phone buzz. Bringing it up to eye-level, a smile quickly formed across his face as he saw the Caller ID.