[center][h2][color=009966]Joseph 'Tank' Cooper[/color][/h2][/center]
[hr] 

Tank watched Cecily screech and scramble, before heading off to the evidence room so fast they could feel a draft from the door she ran through. Tank nonchalantly looked over to Greg. "[color=009966]You know, I can't tell if she's really cute for an odd girl or really odd for a cute girl.[/color]" he deadpanned. The young detective shrugged, and waited for her to get back and share with them what she had found. It seemed the universe gave them another 'fuck you' however when Greg answered his phone. 

While his fellow detective spoke, the subtle way he conveyed his words cued Tank off in an instant. Instead of being taken aback however, there was merely recognition in his earth colored eyes. He'd heard that tone plenty of times before, and simply reached into his pocket to place a toothpick in his mouth. He knew without having to hear it echoed out of Cecily's mouth that Wallace was gone. "[color=009966]This case keeps getting more and more fucked up.[/color]" he said aloud. It probably sounded like he was lamenting such a thing, but in all honesty he was just stating fact. 

Deep within himself, he was getting fairly excited if he had to be honest. At the end of the day, past all the social and political bullshit this world made up, it began and would always end as kill or be killed. He'd rather be around when the real world showed its ugly head. It made him feel more alive, as if he was apart of something authentic now. He'd been bullshit talking his way through his entire life. He was glad his actions and circumstances weren't as fake and unoriginal. 

"[color=009966]Well, let's go see the poor bastard.[/color]" he said. His thumbs were in his pockets and his shoulders were a bit more prominent and squared now. He glanced at Greg, and then his gaze flickered to Cecily for a moment. Not because of her however, but the information on the gun was still a query for him.