Member
Sep
Eddie Brock
Mao Mao
Cyberlad
Captain Uni
Melissa
Stein
Antlers
SupermaxxA pair of half-drunk wine bottles sat atop a table littered with snack platters. Music played softly in the background, blending with the din of the small crowd, as Dolores O'Riordan's vocals set the tone for the night. The group of five sat in a semicircle, an easel propped up in front of the large television set boasting an impressive twenty-seven-inch screen.
Gesturing towards the cork bulletin board propped up on the easel, Scott Winters was the first of the partygoers to speak.
"So this one," He gestured towards the first image tacked to the upper left corner of the board, "This one was originally thought just to be an animal attack." The gruesome picture in question was of a man's body, one of his arms missing. At the same time, his other limbs were covered in bite marks along with his torso.
"There was so little left of his face, they had to identify him by dental records."
"Sure,"The woman to his left interjected. Scott paused, turning his head to listen to Sheila’s rebuttal. "But that could just be a rabid dog; it doesn't mean murder."
"I'd agree, if it had been an isolated incident," Interjected another man, Adam, who replied to Sheila from across the recessed sitting area. "That attack was in Seattle, but then you have that," He argued while pointing to another image on the board, a very similar image to the first, but this time of a woman equally mauled to death. "Occurring just down the road in Tacoma."
"And what about that one, here in Portland," Scott asked, pointing to a third image.
“No evidence to suggest the vultures killed them,” Argued the group’s host as Nick helped himself to another glass of wine. “The other two victims were mauled by dogs, whereas Victim Three’s cause of death is still to be determined. They were found too late, well after the carrion had already gotten to him.”
“No, I think there is a connection,” Scott retorted. “Look at the victims and what’s come out since their deaths. Victim One was Thomas Payne, a man who had been charged with numerous counts of voyeurism. The police were able to identify the bite marks on his body as ultimately belonging to his very own hunting dogs. So a peeping Tom, mauled to death by his own dogs? Does that sound familiar to anyone?”
“Should it?” Adam asked. Scott smiled, taking a sip of his drink before continuing.
“Victim Two was Mary Gough, who was killed presumably by a wolf while out biking. The body was found dressed in a red hooded windbreaker. Mary was recently suspended from her job after being accused of mercy-killing clients. She had been working as a nurse in an old age home, accused of being an ‘angel of death’ through poisoned desserts.” Scott helped himself to some of the snacks left in front of him.
“So a woman out riding in a red hood, mauled by a wolf who had been going to see elderly women?”
“And what of Victim Three?”
“Victim Three doesn’t have a liver,” Scott smiled, “And he was being investigated for embezzling from the firefighters’ charity fundraiser. He was found with carrion on his body, but he was found chained to a rock in a park that regularly has eagle sightings.”
“So?”
“Don’t you see, Acateon, Red Riding Hood, Prometheus, the killer has a vigilante complex and a flair for fables.”
“C’mon, Nicky,” Sheila rolled her eyes, replying dryly, “That’s far fetched for even you. How would the killer even control the animals?”
“Obviously he’s a Hype,” Scott smiled, “I think Nick’s onto something.”
“Adam, back me up here,” Sheila pleaded, “Or Cheryl, you’ve been quiet all night.”
“I just don’t like this case,” Cheryl replied, downing the remainder of her third glass of wine, “It’s so gruesome.”
“We’re a true crime club, what did you expect?”
“More white collar fraud, less animal attacks,” Cheryl giggled bashfully.
“Y’know, the one thing bothering me,” Scott stated, turning towards Nick, “One of Payne’s dogs is still missing.”
“Killer must have taken a liking to him, plus that’s his version of both a weapon and a trophy.”
“I guess,” Scott mused, sitting back in his chair, “But I can’t help but think there’s more of a connection.”
“Case will be the F.B.I.'s jurisdiction now that it crossed state lines.” Sheila smiled, “So it should be wrapped up quickly.”
“Ten bucks says the F.B.I. immediately recognizes the Hype angle and washes their hands of it. Those freaks from H.E.L.P. will be on the case before morning.”
“Nobody here is stupid enough to take that action.”
“Pretty sure action is the only reason Cheryl even comes, she’s been eye-banging Nick all night.” Sheila laughed coldly.
“Hey!”
“Sheila, Cheryl and I aren’t-” Nick protested before Adam cut him off.
“Screwing?”
“No!” Cheryl screamed.
“Good,” Sheila replied smugly, “Alice was my friend too, and the ink on your divorce papers is still wet.”
“The man has needs, let him wet his whistle.” Scott cheered while raising a new glass of wine towards Nick.
“I am right here,” Cheryl snapped, “And I am not so drunk, nor that naïve that you can talk about me like a five dollar whore.”
“That’s the night for me,” Sheila said, standing up, “Lovely as usual, good to see all of you.” She paused, looking towards Nick and Cheryl, “And please, at least use the guest room later.”
“Sheila!”
Nick’s jaw dropped as Adam curled into the coach, laughing. Cheryl, on the other hand, had buried herself as deep into her seat as the cushions were willing to allow her. Her face steeled while both arms were crossed in front of her chest, her knuckles turning whiter with each passing second that Sheila remained in the room.
“Bad night to wear a water bra, ain’t it, Cheryl?” Adam teased as Sheila made her way out the door.
“Oh, bite me,”
Closing the door firmly behind her, Sheila stepped out onto the street before walking around to the driver’s side of her car and sticking the key in the door. Climbing inside, she rolled the window about halfway down before lighting a cigarette and turning the car on. A satisfied smile crossed her face. Nick and Alice’s divorce had been messy, and while most of their friends turned their backs on Alice, Sheila was determined to give Alice the respect she was due. She didn’t appreciate how quickly Adam and Scott had welcomed Cheryl into the group. The doe-eyed redhead was at least ten years younger than Nick.
A bright-eyed and bouncy bimbo.
She angrily took a drag on the cigarette, rounding the corner. Alice hadn’t been perfect, but she was perfect for Nick. Sheila had always suspected there was something shady in Nick’s reasons for divorcing her, and the appearance of Cheryl a mere two weeks after the judge signed the divorce order didn’t help settle those thoughts.
Bright eyes suddenly reflected in the headlights as Sheila slammed on her brakes, coming to a screeching stop. A small thud echoed from the front of her car before she scrambled out of the driver’s side and around to the front. Lying beneath the headlights was a dog on the pavement, some kind of shepherd based on the pointed ears and snout. Sheila suddenly felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, before a low rumble echoed from the dog’s throat.
The growl caused Sheila’s knees to buckle, her hand reaching for the hood of the car as she fell backwards. Suddenly, the dog barked twice before running off, escaping into a nearby alley as Sheila was left to catch her breath. Her hands shook as she climbed back inside the car.
She had only made it a block from Nick’s house. She needed to turn around and head back; there was no way she could drive all the way home in her frazzled state. Carefully turning the car around, Sheila cautiously drove back the way she had just come from, her panicked eyes now scanning every dark nook for those bright eyes.
Pulling up outside of Nick’s house, she once again rolled her eyes as the only car remaining was the brightly coloured Fiero she knew belonged to Cheryl. The only lights left on in the house were the ones she knew belonged to Nick’s bedroom and the ensuite. Rubbing her temple in exasperation, she opened the car door and walked up the front steps. Pulling her fist back, she exhaled, preparing herself for whatever excuses the pair was about to throw her way.
But as she knocked, the door swung open on the first hit. A thick cloud of steam billowed out into the cold night air, and the entire house filled with the heavy, scalding fog. At first, Sheila recoiled from the sickly sweet smell of perfumed soaps and lathers before suddenly gagging as a much more horrendous smell hit her nostrils. The steam continued rapidly dispersing, accelerated by the cold outside air, before Sheila took a hesitant step inside, pausing only as the living room finally came into view.
Her eyes widened before a scream echoed across the dimly lit street.
Gesturing towards the cork bulletin board propped up on the easel, Scott Winters was the first of the partygoers to speak.
"So this one," He gestured towards the first image tacked to the upper left corner of the board, "This one was originally thought just to be an animal attack." The gruesome picture in question was of a man's body, one of his arms missing. At the same time, his other limbs were covered in bite marks along with his torso.
"There was so little left of his face, they had to identify him by dental records."
"Sure,"The woman to his left interjected. Scott paused, turning his head to listen to Sheila’s rebuttal. "But that could just be a rabid dog; it doesn't mean murder."
"I'd agree, if it had been an isolated incident," Interjected another man, Adam, who replied to Sheila from across the recessed sitting area. "That attack was in Seattle, but then you have that," He argued while pointing to another image on the board, a very similar image to the first, but this time of a woman equally mauled to death. "Occurring just down the road in Tacoma."
"And what about that one, here in Portland," Scott asked, pointing to a third image.
“No evidence to suggest the vultures killed them,” Argued the group’s host as Nick helped himself to another glass of wine. “The other two victims were mauled by dogs, whereas Victim Three’s cause of death is still to be determined. They were found too late, well after the carrion had already gotten to him.”
“No, I think there is a connection,” Scott retorted. “Look at the victims and what’s come out since their deaths. Victim One was Thomas Payne, a man who had been charged with numerous counts of voyeurism. The police were able to identify the bite marks on his body as ultimately belonging to his very own hunting dogs. So a peeping Tom, mauled to death by his own dogs? Does that sound familiar to anyone?”
“Should it?” Adam asked. Scott smiled, taking a sip of his drink before continuing.
“Victim Two was Mary Gough, who was killed presumably by a wolf while out biking. The body was found dressed in a red hooded windbreaker. Mary was recently suspended from her job after being accused of mercy-killing clients. She had been working as a nurse in an old age home, accused of being an ‘angel of death’ through poisoned desserts.” Scott helped himself to some of the snacks left in front of him.
“So a woman out riding in a red hood, mauled by a wolf who had been going to see elderly women?”
“And what of Victim Three?”
“Victim Three doesn’t have a liver,” Scott smiled, “And he was being investigated for embezzling from the firefighters’ charity fundraiser. He was found with carrion on his body, but he was found chained to a rock in a park that regularly has eagle sightings.”
“So?”
“Don’t you see, Acateon, Red Riding Hood, Prometheus, the killer has a vigilante complex and a flair for fables.”
“C’mon, Nicky,” Sheila rolled her eyes, replying dryly, “That’s far fetched for even you. How would the killer even control the animals?”
“Obviously he’s a Hype,” Scott smiled, “I think Nick’s onto something.”
“Adam, back me up here,” Sheila pleaded, “Or Cheryl, you’ve been quiet all night.”
“I just don’t like this case,” Cheryl replied, downing the remainder of her third glass of wine, “It’s so gruesome.”
“We’re a true crime club, what did you expect?”
“More white collar fraud, less animal attacks,” Cheryl giggled bashfully.
“Y’know, the one thing bothering me,” Scott stated, turning towards Nick, “One of Payne’s dogs is still missing.”
“Killer must have taken a liking to him, plus that’s his version of both a weapon and a trophy.”
“I guess,” Scott mused, sitting back in his chair, “But I can’t help but think there’s more of a connection.”
“Case will be the F.B.I.'s jurisdiction now that it crossed state lines.” Sheila smiled, “So it should be wrapped up quickly.”
“Ten bucks says the F.B.I. immediately recognizes the Hype angle and washes their hands of it. Those freaks from H.E.L.P. will be on the case before morning.”
“Nobody here is stupid enough to take that action.”
“Pretty sure action is the only reason Cheryl even comes, she’s been eye-banging Nick all night.” Sheila laughed coldly.
“Hey!”
“Sheila, Cheryl and I aren’t-” Nick protested before Adam cut him off.
“Screwing?”
“No!” Cheryl screamed.
“Good,” Sheila replied smugly, “Alice was my friend too, and the ink on your divorce papers is still wet.”
“The man has needs, let him wet his whistle.” Scott cheered while raising a new glass of wine towards Nick.
“I am right here,” Cheryl snapped, “And I am not so drunk, nor that naïve that you can talk about me like a five dollar whore.”
“That’s the night for me,” Sheila said, standing up, “Lovely as usual, good to see all of you.” She paused, looking towards Nick and Cheryl, “And please, at least use the guest room later.”
“Sheila!”
Nick’s jaw dropped as Adam curled into the coach, laughing. Cheryl, on the other hand, had buried herself as deep into her seat as the cushions were willing to allow her. Her face steeled while both arms were crossed in front of her chest, her knuckles turning whiter with each passing second that Sheila remained in the room.
“Bad night to wear a water bra, ain’t it, Cheryl?” Adam teased as Sheila made her way out the door.
“Oh, bite me,”
Closing the door firmly behind her, Sheila stepped out onto the street before walking around to the driver’s side of her car and sticking the key in the door. Climbing inside, she rolled the window about halfway down before lighting a cigarette and turning the car on. A satisfied smile crossed her face. Nick and Alice’s divorce had been messy, and while most of their friends turned their backs on Alice, Sheila was determined to give Alice the respect she was due. She didn’t appreciate how quickly Adam and Scott had welcomed Cheryl into the group. The doe-eyed redhead was at least ten years younger than Nick.
A bright-eyed and bouncy bimbo.
She angrily took a drag on the cigarette, rounding the corner. Alice hadn’t been perfect, but she was perfect for Nick. Sheila had always suspected there was something shady in Nick’s reasons for divorcing her, and the appearance of Cheryl a mere two weeks after the judge signed the divorce order didn’t help settle those thoughts.
Bright eyes suddenly reflected in the headlights as Sheila slammed on her brakes, coming to a screeching stop. A small thud echoed from the front of her car before she scrambled out of the driver’s side and around to the front. Lying beneath the headlights was a dog on the pavement, some kind of shepherd based on the pointed ears and snout. Sheila suddenly felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, before a low rumble echoed from the dog’s throat.
The growl caused Sheila’s knees to buckle, her hand reaching for the hood of the car as she fell backwards. Suddenly, the dog barked twice before running off, escaping into a nearby alley as Sheila was left to catch her breath. Her hands shook as she climbed back inside the car.
She had only made it a block from Nick’s house. She needed to turn around and head back; there was no way she could drive all the way home in her frazzled state. Carefully turning the car around, Sheila cautiously drove back the way she had just come from, her panicked eyes now scanning every dark nook for those bright eyes.
Pulling up outside of Nick’s house, she once again rolled her eyes as the only car remaining was the brightly coloured Fiero she knew belonged to Cheryl. The only lights left on in the house were the ones she knew belonged to Nick’s bedroom and the ensuite. Rubbing her temple in exasperation, she opened the car door and walked up the front steps. Pulling her fist back, she exhaled, preparing herself for whatever excuses the pair was about to throw her way.
But as she knocked, the door swung open on the first hit. A thick cloud of steam billowed out into the cold night air, and the entire house filled with the heavy, scalding fog. At first, Sheila recoiled from the sickly sweet smell of perfumed soaps and lathers before suddenly gagging as a much more horrendous smell hit her nostrils. The steam continued rapidly dispersing, accelerated by the cold outside air, before Sheila took a hesitant step inside, pausing only as the living room finally came into view.
Her eyes widened before a scream echoed across the dimly lit street.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: Elba Island, Tuscany - Italy
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Times of Trouble #1.001: Linger
Interaction(s): None
Previously: None
The white sands of Spiaggia Di Sansone were dotted with numerous bodies enjoying the rolling waves of the Atlantic and the warm Tuscan sun. Cabanas littered the sands closest to the mountains of Elba Island while towels and umbrellas dotted the remainder of the beach as singles, couples, and families enjoyed the ocean. From a higher perch, a lone figure sat enjoying the misty air while ignoring the crowds below. Adorned in lightweight linen trousers and a matching linen shirt, an older gentleman lay atop a lounge chair. Atop his lap was a manuscript, a red pen in his right hand, while a glass of red wine sat near his left.
Footsteps slowly approached from behind him, causing the older man to adjust his sunglasses and the Panama hat atop his head before the approaching figure cast a long shadow over the man in the lounge chair.
"You're blocking my sun and spoiling my Brunello di Montalcino."
"I hate to cut your vacation short,"
“Then don’t, Director,” responded Church, “Fly back across the world and find another agent to solve the case. I’m sure Rivers or O’Neil would jump at the opportunity to cut their teeth.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Church.” The Director replied coolly, the older agent’s dismissiveness was wearing his patience quickly.
“Not even for your old mentor? You’ve only been the Bureau’s Director for what? Five minutes?” Retorted Church, but Duquesne knew it was bait.
“Nine years this September.” He replied matter-of-factly.
“Apparently, I trained you well, Henry,” Church replied, flipping a page in his manuscript before continuing to mark it with the red pen.
" I need you to come in.” Duquesne reiterated before dropping a file beside the glass of red wine. “I have you on the next flight out.”
“And give up all this?” Church replied, gesturing out towards the ocean. “Good food, gorgeous women,” He took a sip from the glass before adjusting his hat over his eyes, “And damn fine wine.”
Duquesne had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes out of respect for the elder agent. He opened his mouth to respond before Church cut him off.
"Tsk, tsk, the Director of H.E.L.P. hand-delivering files after flying halfway across the world," Church mused, "The expense department must love you."
“Speaking of expenses, it’s your granddaughter’s birthday today, and I can’t help but notice you’re in Italy alone,” Duquesne stated, changing the subject.
“I sent a gift,”
“You can’t always send cheques,” replied the Director knowingly.
“Last I checked in this broken world, cash is still king, and staying away keeps them out of harm’s way.” Church snapped back.
“He’s never going to see daylight again; they put him so deep in the Black Site, you’d need an excavator just to visit him,” Henry offered, softening his tone. He knew even after all these years, the loss of Annabeth was still an open wound for Church.
“I’d rather keep doing things my way.”
“You have three children, don't you? How many grandchildren do you have now?”
“Nine,” Church answered, “Sam and Clara have four, Ashley and Olivia have three and Rose and Bryan have two. Most of them don’t know me, outside of a cheque on their birthdays or holidays.” His tone softened, “I was there for Sam’s first and Ashley’s first, both of the boys were so nervous to become fathers. Sam had a daughter, they named her after-” He paused, looking up at Duquesne.
“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?” He growled before reluctantly cracking a small, sad grin.
“It’s okay to miss-”
“What’s so special about this case that you had to fly halfway around the world?” Church asked, ensuring it was clear the previous topic was dead.
“F.B.I. asked for you specifically and H.E.L.P.’s been told to have their best on it. We’ve put together a team. You should recognize them, you recruited half of them.”
“That doesn’t narrow it done,” Church replied while flipping through the pages, scanning the case files and images. It was graphic, and it was aggressive. Though there was some cowardice in using the control of animals to carry out such brutal killings.
“He’s a vigilante.”
“I thought so too,” replied Duquesne as Church stood and plucked the plane ticket from the Director’s coat pocket.
“Assemble the team, I have one stop to make on the way.”
“You should probably bring cake-”
“Not there,” chided Church as Duquesne nodded knowingly.
“I’ll arrange for the flowers upon your arrival.”
Footsteps slowly approached from behind him, causing the older man to adjust his sunglasses and the Panama hat atop his head before the approaching figure cast a long shadow over the man in the lounge chair.
"You're blocking my sun and spoiling my Brunello di Montalcino."
"I hate to cut your vacation short,"
“Then don’t, Director,” responded Church, “Fly back across the world and find another agent to solve the case. I’m sure Rivers or O’Neil would jump at the opportunity to cut their teeth.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Church.” The Director replied coolly, the older agent’s dismissiveness was wearing his patience quickly.
“Not even for your old mentor? You’ve only been the Bureau’s Director for what? Five minutes?” Retorted Church, but Duquesne knew it was bait.
“Nine years this September.” He replied matter-of-factly.
“Apparently, I trained you well, Henry,” Church replied, flipping a page in his manuscript before continuing to mark it with the red pen.
" I need you to come in.” Duquesne reiterated before dropping a file beside the glass of red wine. “I have you on the next flight out.”
“And give up all this?” Church replied, gesturing out towards the ocean. “Good food, gorgeous women,” He took a sip from the glass before adjusting his hat over his eyes, “And damn fine wine.”
Duquesne had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes out of respect for the elder agent. He opened his mouth to respond before Church cut him off.
"Tsk, tsk, the Director of H.E.L.P. hand-delivering files after flying halfway across the world," Church mused, "The expense department must love you."
“Speaking of expenses, it’s your granddaughter’s birthday today, and I can’t help but notice you’re in Italy alone,” Duquesne stated, changing the subject.
“I sent a gift,”
“You can’t always send cheques,” replied the Director knowingly.
“Last I checked in this broken world, cash is still king, and staying away keeps them out of harm’s way.” Church snapped back.
“He’s never going to see daylight again; they put him so deep in the Black Site, you’d need an excavator just to visit him,” Henry offered, softening his tone. He knew even after all these years, the loss of Annabeth was still an open wound for Church.
“I’d rather keep doing things my way.”
“You have three children, don't you? How many grandchildren do you have now?”
“Nine,” Church answered, “Sam and Clara have four, Ashley and Olivia have three and Rose and Bryan have two. Most of them don’t know me, outside of a cheque on their birthdays or holidays.” His tone softened, “I was there for Sam’s first and Ashley’s first, both of the boys were so nervous to become fathers. Sam had a daughter, they named her after-” He paused, looking up at Duquesne.
“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?” He growled before reluctantly cracking a small, sad grin.
“It’s okay to miss-”
“What’s so special about this case that you had to fly halfway around the world?” Church asked, ensuring it was clear the previous topic was dead.
“F.B.I. asked for you specifically and H.E.L.P.’s been told to have their best on it. We’ve put together a team. You should recognize them, you recruited half of them.”
“That doesn’t narrow it done,” Church replied while flipping through the pages, scanning the case files and images. It was graphic, and it was aggressive. Though there was some cowardice in using the control of animals to carry out such brutal killings.
“He’s a vigilante.”
“I thought so too,” replied Duquesne as Church stood and plucked the plane ticket from the Director’s coat pocket.
“Assemble the team, I have one stop to make on the way.”
“You should probably bring cake-”
“Not there,” chided Church as Duquesne nodded knowingly.
“I’ll arrange for the flowers upon your arrival.”
