[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/0pLJ5Hp.png[/img][/center][indent][color=fff200][sub][b]THE BOOK OF FATE[/b][/sub][/color][sup][right][color=fff200][b]Issue #3: ARBITRATION CLAUSE[/b][/color][/right][/sup][/indent][hr][indent][color=fff200][sub][b]Viceroy City Police Department [color=1E90FF]♦[/color] Viceroy City, South Carolina[/b][/sub][/color][sup][right][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1joo58AcAPc][color=fff200]Music: Endless Grid[/color][/url][/right][/sup][/indent]
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Mitch's mouth had been dry for a good two hours, yet none of these kind officers had bothered to get him a drink.

It wasn't as if he hadn't bothered to ask, either. Quite the opposite, in fact, as the detectives that had been interviewing him could attest to: Mitchell Shelly had been asking for a cup for water since they had his ass dragged into the station. Wasn't the only thing he was telling them, either. He kept going on and on about how he was a 'superhero' and this entire thing was just a big misunderstanding. Cape Imposter Syndrome was a tale as old as time the world over, but Viceroy had seen a significant uptick in crazies since the town started to swirl down the shitter.

"I could really use that drink." He muttered again, his lips hidden behind the thick curtain of blond locks that Mitch called 'hair.' His head was angled down, giving him a view of his torn-up work boots and equally worn blue jeans.

It'd been a long day for Shelly, better known in Viceroy City- and beyond- as the Resurrection Man. He'd lost count of how many times he'd died this time 'round. Too many to remember, 'specially when his brain was splattered on the concrete half of those times. Difficult to recall things when the thing holding one's memories is busy looking like somebody dropped ground beef all over the street.

"Shut your fucking gob about it already. Tt ain't happening." The detective across from him snarled. 

Mitch had to admit, for how obnoxious this guy was, he at least kept to character. He hadn't once dropped the 'grizzled old cop' act in all the time they'd known each other- it wasn't much more than a hundred and twenty minutes, but still! It was a thing to be lauded, if nothing else.

"You've been playin' coy with us for two god damn hours. Two. But we need answers, n' we need 'em now. And you're gonna give 'em if you ever wanna see the light of day again. Why'd you kill those people?"

"You're sneaking in the conclusion, detective," Mitch waggled a finger in his direction, "'cause I didn't kill anyone."

"Bullshit!" He snapped, slamming his palm against the table. "We found you with over thirty bodies!"

"And I was among the victims!"

"There wasn't a scratch on you, but you should be fuckin dead."

"Because I'm-"

"-[b]Resurrection Man[/b]," he screamed over Mitch's tired point. "You told us the first two hundred and eleven fucking times!"

"I told you, I can prove it!" Shelly protested.

"We aren't going to [i]shoot[/i] you, you crazy bastard!"

Both parties let out an exhausted sigh, the cop practically leaping out of his chair. They weren't getting anywhere with this, yet it was the only lead they had. There wasn't an ounce of evidence that anyone else had been at the scene, and this 'Resurrection Man' literally had the murder sitting a few feet from him when they arrived. The VCPD officer wasn't sure what the perp had been trying to pull by putting himself in a bloody shirt and laying among the dead, but they hadn't found even an iota of damage to his body; he had to be their guy. Wasn't any other option. 

"I need to take a leak. Take this opportunity to decide how you'll be decoratin' the concrete cell you'll be spending the rest of your life in." The frustrated officer waddled out of the room like a child that got the wrong happy meal, slamming the door shut behind him.

Or he tried to, at least, until a hand shot between the door and it's frame at the last second.

Two men who didn't look at all like police officers slipped their way into the room, completely ignored by the detective they walked past. Mitchell made eye contact with each of them, more than a little confused by their presence. "You lawyers?"

"Strictly speakin', no." Jim Corrigan took the lead, sauntering forward and plopping down in the detective's former seat like a man without a trouble in the world. He whipped a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, struggling to pick one out with his shaking fingers. "But we did get your call."

Mitchell shifted in his chair, his eyes dashing between the two strange strangers. "Uhh...I didn't get a phone call."

The man in green started patting down his other pockets in search of his lighter, talking over the stick jammed between his teeth. "Not that kinda call. Y'know-" Jim placed his palms together and bowed his head slightly, glancing up at Shelly to see the recognition dawn on his face.

"You guys are angels?" He asked, somewhere between awe and disbelief.

"Just call me Michael. My friend here is Gabriel." Corrigan motioned to the old man still standing near the door. "You, uh, you got a lighter? Must'a left mine back at the pearly gates-"

"-Leave the poor man be, Corrigan." The other man finally spoke up, seeming to break out of whatever trance had kept him hovering passively near the entrance. 

His appearance surprised Mitch. His shoulders were hunched and his body thin, almost frail; the brown suit he wore was cheaply made and ill-fitted his tiny frame. His  hairline had retreated a little too far up his head for comfort and the grayed locks that remained were slick with sweat. It wasn't what Shelly expected the famed biblical messenger to look like in the slightest- he so was...underwhelming.

Kent didn't acknowledge Mitchell's gaze as he leaned over the table to light Jim Corrigan's cigarette with just a snap of his fingers. Once that was finished and the vessel for the Wrath of God had given his nod of thanks, Nelson began to settle down into a chair that hadn't been there a second before. It's appearance was so sudden that Shelly thought he'd just missed seeing it before, despite the fact that he'd been sitting in that God forsaken room for two hours and he was [i]sure[/i] there'd only been two chairs in there.

"So, uh, if ya'll aren't angels then...what are ya?" Shelly asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Nelson furrowed his brow and looked to Corrigan, confused. "I thought you said you two had met previously?"

"Naw," Jim shook his head. "Not me. He's been brained, splattered and chewed up by other Spectres, jus' not me. Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Mitchy ol' boy!"   

Mitch let out a panicked scream. He attempted to retreat away from the table only to find himself jerked back to it by the binds on his hands and feet. "Why the [b]hell[/b] is a Spectre here?!"

"Well he's in a mood, in't he?" Corrigan puffed air out of his nostrils.

"We had a deal, man! I haven't done jack shit!"

"You called us, asshat."

"Enough, both of you." Kent snapped. Mitch's screaming had given him one hell of a headache, and Corrigan's incessant need to antagonize and provoke for his own jollies was rapidly getting on Nelson's nerves. "Sit back down. He won't hurt you." He promised, tapping his fingers against the table. "[b]Right[/b], Corrigan?"

The Spectre just shrugged. "Couldn't if I wanted to. Contract's bindin', pal. Big Guy doesn't break covenants, it's sorta his shtick."

Hesitant at first, Mitch eventually rejoined them, though he was considerably jumpier than when they'd first arrived. The three sat in relative silence for a few moments. Corrigan was staring at Shelly with ravenous eyes and Mitch looked ready to make another break for it if Jim so much as coughed wrong. And Kent had the pleasure of sitting between them.

"Shelly." Nelson spoke quietly, drawing Mitch's eyes away from Corrigan and toward him. "Why did you need help? Why did you call for us?"

"I..." His voice caught in his throat. "I don't know what it was, but something...attacked a crowd, here, in the city. I tried to stop it, but it- it was like nothin' I've ever fought before. And I've fought some gnarly shit in my day. Don't know how many times I went at it, my..uh...my memory isn't so good after a couple of deaths. But I remember it hitting like a truck. And everything was- well, everything was on fire."

"Is that what the detective was interviewing you about?" Nelson quietly asked.

Mitch nodded. "I didn't know who else to call. If I could handle it myself, I would, but I just- can't."

Kent gave a side ways glance toward his partner. The Spectre alone was powerful enough to tango with whatever monstrosity from beyond the veil that Mitch had ran into. Nelson likely wouldn't even have to don the Helmet if everything went according to plan. "You did your best, Shelly, that's all those people could've asked for. We'll help you, but we need to know where we're going."

The immortal vigilante's eyes lit up like Christmas trees. "A, uh, Walmart not too far from here. Just a few blocks."

Jim let out a snort. "Guess we're goin' 'ta go fight a demon in Walmart now. Sounds like my average Tuesday night."
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