[sup][h1][center][img]Banner[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] M A R T I A N M A N H U N T E R[/color] [color=green]M A R T I A N M A N H U N T E R[/color][/center] [/b][/h1][/sup] [color=darkorange]SOMEWHERE IN THE AMERICAN COUNTRYSIDE[/color] [color=green]Somewhere, USA[/color] Sunset dimmed the sky of a lone dusty road, winding serpentine within hills and valleys. The road itself was vacant, save for one lone tour bus, staffed with one solitary driver. With a tired groan, Dave rubbed his eyes. "All their millions yet they still want a tour bus. 'We gotta see the sights, man.' 'What's the point of a cross-country tour if we don't literally go across country?' 'Just meet us in Kansas City then we can take the real tour the rest of the way!' But does it matter. I'm only their chauffeur and pilot, not someone who's [i]opinion[/i] matters. Maybe it really wasn't that bad back in the airforce- Whoa!" He swiftly pressed his brakes, registering the black mass of, was that really people? Walking down the road? "What the heck's going on here?!" He then checked to make sure his gun was holstered then rolled down his window. "Hey! You shouldn't be walking here!" The mass paused, then turned towards him. "Beg your pardon?" One of their number answered, he couldn't quite tell who. He sighed. "You're walking in the middle of the road! Cars are sudden and fast on roads like these. You're liable to get killed!" "Our apologies, good sir. But there does not seem to be much, non-road that is walkable." What in tarnation was that English?! He was just tired, brain was probably scrambling up perfectly good English. "Well where are you trying to walk to? I doubt there's a town for miles." "We're attempting to get to..." "New York City!" One of them too cheerily announced. Then he came forward in, some sort of LARP fighter costume... Dave couldn't help but laugh. "You're a long way from New York City here. You're better off finding a train or bus line. Or getting on a plane." "Are you not a bus?" The voice from before then stepped to be by the larper. "You could take us there." He sighed. "Sorry. I'm not that kind of bus. I'm commissioned to meet up with some guys in Kansas City in the next three days. And they don't really like strangers poking around in their private tour bus." Not that he could really blame them. He can still recall with horror the time that one obsessed fangirl decided to try to break in to 'rescue' the drummer from his 'life of drudgery' so that the two of them 'could live happily ever after together'. And then there was also the brief thief, the really annoying paparazzi, that attempted arsonist that thought they were attacking a different bus...Sure, it was still a huge waste to be lugging an empty tour bus halfway across the country just because of a whim, but he now could understand them preferring their own private transport. "Could you at least take us to Kansas City then, if you pleased?" Another figure came out, a woman this time. "Your employers would never know that we were onboard." Dave suddenly found himself sitting up straighter. Something about her was, compelling to put it simply. Her voice was a beautiful lilt with an accent he couldn't place yet also felt as comforting as a mother's lullaby. Her eyes were sharp and otherworldly in their darkness, yet also kindly. Her long draping black hair, the way she held herself, the way her skin glowed in the darkening twilight, all spoke of something wondrously ancient and powerful yet serene and comforting. He couldn't say no even if he wanted to. "Oh, sure, ma'am." He then opened the bus doors. "Come on in. Just please, try not to touch anything tucked away. They'd kill me if they found out I let me tamper with any of it." She then smiled and all his worries dissolved. "Do not worry. We will not disturb anything that should not be disturbed." "Thank you, uh..." "Miriam...Miriam White." "Dave Sutton at your service." He tipped his cap then turned to the rest of his passengers. "Everybody ready?" "Yes." Came out in chorus. "Then hang on tight." He then closed the doors and started up again. "Next stop: Kansas City" [hr] [color=green]Back by the Temporary Military Base[/color] "I'm telling you, Colonel." The poor private followed through the darkening cave, his flashlight glinting wildly about as he looked in disbelief. "The cave did not go down this far before! I went past it at least 20 times. I know other guys could back me up here." "Then how exactly do you explain why this tunnel is here now, private?" The colonel glared back. "Are you suggesting that it somehow popped into existence within the past 4 hours?" "Uh, no sir...I can't explain this at all." "Then shut up and start investigating up ahead. Maybe you might salvage your reputation enough to remain a private." He gulped. "Yes sir." Then ran out ahead, taking the flashlight more firmly in hand. "You two, join him and make sure he doesn't see any more false dead ends. The rest of you, fan out and make sure we're not missing any side entrances!" "Yes sir!" Then the troops tackled the caverns in their search, their footsteps echoing as they went. The colonel then sighed. "How am I going to explain this?" Before making sure to join the search as well. In the confusion though, none noticed the one soldier slipping out ahead of everyone else, following a trail only they could see till they reached the other side and out to a starlit sky within a valley. There, the soldier's form shifted, revealing a green-skinned woman with red gleaming eyes. She breathed the night air then kept on the trail, keeping half her mind on keeping alert for any nearby human minds while the rest focused on following the trail. Oh sure, the rebels had sought to shield their mental traces as much as possible. But with such a large group, there was no way and time to hide the trample of feet still adjusting to gravity, nor could the psychic traces of their path completely be erased. Things progressed until she came to a place on the road where the trail suddenly stopped. For some time, she frowned. Then she huffed. [color=MediumSeaGreen]"Seems they found a ride. I suppose it's not the worst thing. The chase wouldn't be fun without [i]some[/i] challenge. [/color] Things weren't hopeless though. She'd just have to go down this road, pick some minds, and follow any clues to where they headed next. But would she have to walk or could she risk hovering? A car drawing near gave her an answer. Swiftly, she changed until she was a rather attractive human female, if she did say so herself, decked out in a very eye-catching red shimmering sheath of a dress. By the time it arrived, there was no signs that she was anything but a poor harmless female, all alone in the middle of nowhere. The car speedily stopped and the driver rolled down the window. "Hey lady. Had some car trouble?" [color=MediumSeaGreen]"Some awful trouble."[/color] She leaned against the car near him. [color=MediumSeaGreen] "The poor thing started sputtering and smoking so I had to abandon it further down that way. But of course, there's no re-garage man for miles. Think you could give me a lift?"[/color] "Sure! It's pretty late though. Why don't I get you to a hotel then you can get in contact with the mechanic in the morning." [color=MediumSeaGreen]"That would be lovely. Thank you!"[/color] He just grinned. "Hop on in." Then unlocked his car. She then swiftly headed into his passenger seat and managed to look elegantly drunk as she fumbled with the unfamiliar seat belt, pretending that she didn't notice the way he swiftly locked the car behind her. Then as he drove, she started examining his mind, seeking out the weak spots, purposely ignoring the way his hand crept towards her knee. Let him think her easy prey. He would be her puppet by the end of the night. [hr] [color=darkorange]POLICE PRECIENT STATION[/color] [color=green]Manhattan/Bronx, New York City[/color] "Hey boys!" Baxter's voice echoed through the detective cubicles. "There's been a bulletin from Staten Island!" "What? Really?" Various detectives came out from their desks to crowd around Baxter, including John Jones who had desperately wanted a break from the report anyway. "Yeah, it's been spread to all the precincts." He then cleared his voice and read out. "Gunfight on St. George Street on Staten Island at the Winning Deli - Market & Variety. Seems the Costa family were having a meeting there and someone decided to crash the joint. Suspect though is still at large, suspected to be part of an ongoing armed car chase. Prepare all units in case it comes into your area...Seems we're getting some more excitement around here." "Sure does." One of the other detectives leaned in for a closer look while Baxter started contacting patrol units and giving out orders. "This might even top the walking shark story." "But should we even bother with this?" Another leaned on the wall. "Seems like the guy did us a favor. Maybe we should give him a medal instead of handcuffs." A third one sighed, pinching between his eyebrows. "Darrel, you know why we can't do that. For a lot of the same reasons we have to re-take that stupid 'danger assessment' course each year. No one guy can or should be judge, jury, and executioner. Even when the guys deserve what they get, it isn't true justice." "Well it's not like most of the crooks get 'true justice'." Darrel shot back. "How many cases do we investigate? How many hours do we take to make sure we've got the right guy? Yet somehow, the guy has a very good lawyer, someone with connections wants the trial to be quietly dropped, the judge is too scared of seeming 'harsh' or 'bigoted', or the jury won't believe that an 'innocent like that' could really decide to kill his mom just because she refused to fund his dope addiction and that 'we're oppressing them' for arresting the guys in the first place. And yet they then call us lazy when the crime rate keeps spiking because no one allows us to keep the crooks in jail! Can you really blame me then, Ernie, for not minding too much if some vigilante takes care of the trash for good?! Especially when you know the newspapers are going to report this as a good thing while we'd be racked over the coals if we were even accidently caught in a shoot out like that!" "We can't even be sure if it is a vigilante, sir." Turnbull joined in after handing Jones the latest report from forensics. "It could be some other gang's hire thug. Or someone going on a revenge spree that's going to get a lot of bystanders killed, innocent or not. Even if he is some 'vigilante' though, we don't need more guys deciding that he can take the law into his own hands. That just leads to 'might makes right' and us all being ruled by inhuman despots who's 'rules' can change on a whim. That's why it's important to jail the masks that cross the line past 'citizen arrest'. Darrel rolled his eyes. "You're a rookie, Turnbull. Just joined the force today. Give it a couple years and you'll see that even violent vigilantes aren't as bad as you make them out to be." [color=green]"Or perhaps..."[/color] Jones finally spoke up. [color=green]"The rookie has a clearer view of the situation than any of us who've been jaded by the fight." [/color] "What do you even know, John." Darrel put a cigarette into his mouth then went to light it up. "You're basically a rookie yourself." Jones's eyes fixated on the match. [color=green]"You may find, Darrel, that not everyone is how they seem on the outside. Excuse me."[/color] Then he carefully barreled it for the balcony, clutching close Turnbull's report so that he had some excuse for what he was doing out here. Once he slammed the door closed and got out of view, he collapsed on a chair and forced himself to focus on the lowering sun as it started to reflect into the river, taking deep, long breathes in and out as the residue of old smoke breaks out here and the smells of the city entered in. There were times he wished he could get whatever relief they all got from smoking, but one single flame and he... In and out. In and out. He then looked through the forensics report in his hand, reading through the new evidence: improperly burned pieces of paper found in the trash that revealed that some man (one part of the note that did successfully burn) was offering to cover the family's debts if they just sold him little Clara. A thing that would have not even been examined if he hadn't realized that Mrs. Davis would be the most likely person that Mr. Davis would turn his back to in a lit kitchen and no one else but him could have been known about how Mr. Davis found himself stabbed. And with a city that never slept, the constant scramble to keep on top of the day's crime rate, and the likelihood that whoever made this offer would find a way to quietly have made the case disappear, in all likelihood, Mrs. Davis would have gotten away with framing the job as a burglary and Clara would have been just another missing child. Yet despite all this, there was still the chance that Mrs. Davis could manage to get away with it all, batting her eyes at the judge and making the jury see her as some abused wife that finally snapped (which would have been very untrue. While they had fights and Mr. Davis had his faults, there was nothing that showed him as abusive). She could even get Clara back if she got enough sway, or the man behind this lent his own sway to it...It was only through firm discipline that he didn't crumple the paper in front of him and instead stood up, allowing himself to pace. He could definitely understand Darrel's point of view. What was the point of keeping the peace and trying to bring about justice if people can lie and corruption can fester? He had seen it often enough as a patrol officer and now here he was dreading how much it could affect his own case. Times like this, he missed being Manhunter, being told to hunt down the guilty and knowing that they would brought to justice. No question of having to figure out the true culprit. No conundrums over potentially getting the wrong man. No frustration over judges and juries letting rapists and murderers go into broad daylight. The feeling always flittered away quickly as he recalled all the times the only times he was allowed to bring a gang leader in was because they refused to pay their bribes, when the 'criminal's' only crime was a [i]critical thought[/i] about how things were run that someone noticed and reported, or in the case of the White Martians... No, he didn't really want that for America. It had it's troubles and it's pitfalls, but it wasn't like that and hopefully would never become like Mars. He turned towards the harbor and the Statue of Liberty, catching the trees in their autumn glory. Really, he was still himself only two years in the country. He couldn't offer a fix until he could actually get to know and diagnose whether the system was the problem or if it just needed the corruption cleaned out and it would be as good as new. In the meantime, he could do his job well and try to do what he could so that justice did come in this little neighborhood of the land. And with that, he headed back inside to file his last reports and wrap up his day.