Description: In the wake of an unusual string of murders, two of Interpol's finest officers (okay, just the ones that happened to be nearby) are called in to assist local police forces. However, things quickly heat up when the culprit reveals himself in an unexpected way!
Both Southtown's police and Interpol have been called in, the day after the attack in question took place; the building in question is a five story affair within one of the neighborhoods that's of dubious morality, brick buildings tagged and nobody daring to walk around at night without exceptionally good reason. Forensics has been working around the clock to get enough information to base any investigations on, and at the moment Detective Wellington is in charge of everything. He's been waiting in front of the stoop, smoking on a cigarette. There's a large amount of yellow police tape, and a crimson stain of blood along the steps adjacent with a few markers that were used for measurements. Civilians have been kept off the block, including press, given some of the attack reached the main area.
Primarily, the two police cars. One of them has had the passenger door literally ripped off. The other, the engine block, hood, and windshield are broken. There are small flags placed around a number of shells, meaning fire was returned. Four officers unloading on a guy with 9mm pistols...? That should have done something, but it doesn't appear to have.
Wellington is more bored than anything, a man in his late thirties with a perpetual five o'clock shadow. He wears a tan trenchcoat, and is presently playing Smash Brothers on a 3DS, cursing around his cigarette whenever things don't go his way. Some people are rather more jaded than others in the police... to him, this is just another case, and the best defense against the atrocities being somewhat concealed are to treat it as casually as a stolen case of cigars.
In Agent Little's case, jaded was something reserved for art, not for business.
Interpol's presence was not unusual. Murder, as gruesome as it was, tended to be a local case. But the details were why the International Police had to be involved. The Butcher was an international legend, and whether it was one guy (unlikely, by all accounts) or a group of murderers, the fact it crossed borders meant that Interpol would be involved. Fortunately, two agents were already operating in Southtown. While they would have to put the school case on hold...
This obviously could be much bigger.
Daniel Jack pushes his way under the yellow tape. In his hand, the Interpol agent was holding his badge and ID, passing through the crime scene. The agent was dressed in Interpol greys, a grey trenchcoat against the head detective's tan. Agent Little glances at the cars warily, before approaching the man hunched over his Game Boy. "Detective Wellington?" Daniel asks firmly.
"I'm Agent Little, from Interpol."
The second agent follows hot on the heels of the first. Unlike Daniel, a gruff looking man dressed for the part in his dim colored jacket and suit, his partner is a young woman who would look more at home directing traffic.
Daisy is dressed in her preferrential bright blue uniform consisting of a sharp-looking suit jacket over a plain white dress shirt. A short skirt extends down around her hips clinging tightly to the surface of her shapely legs which are covered in a thin hose that gives them a darker tint than the rest of her skin. A patch of golden thread is embroidered into the right sleeve in the shape of the Interpol logo - the Earth bisected by a sword and a pair of scales, the traditional symbols for justice.
Also, unlike Daniel, the pretty blonde agent isn't paying the slightest bit of attention to where she's going. Instead of the path ahead of her, she has her head tilted down towards a small rectangular gaming device, a 3DS, infact, and is mashing away wildly at the buttons.
"Oh yeah?! Well...!"
Daisy sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth in an adorable fashion as her eyes narrow on the screen. Her fingers begin to wail away at the controls in a frenzy as she tilts it back and forth, slowly becoming more and more frustrated. Her expression quickly shifts from annoyance to sudden panic when she hits the security perimeter. The yellow tape sweeps into her legs just above the knee and with a squeak of surprise the tall American goes tumbling flat onto her face.
The game device clatters to the ground infront of her, still gripped tightly in her hand, and as she falls her thumb brushes over the controls a final time. An explosive *whomp* fills the air as twin pairs of tiny speakers announce the close of yet another round of Smash Brothers both from the Interpol Agent's device and that of Wellington.
Daisy groans, letting loose with a delayed, "Ooooow...", but her attention quickly shifts to the screen once again as the display shifts to reveal the final outcome.
"Oh hey, I won! Yay, hahaha!"
"Tch. Figures. Nobody plays King Dedede. I'm not used to him." Wellington offers once it becomes clear who his local challenger was. He quickly snaps the 3DS shut and stuffs it into a pocket, moving towards Daniel and looking him over with far more respect. A hand reaches out to give a hearty shake, before motioning to the surroundings. "Thirty seven people live here. About thirteen were killed. The death toll might have been higher; it seems the perpetrators broke into each apartment individually, breaking the locks. Someone coming home saw him and ran for it. They got through to 911, died here." He points to the stoop, where there's some blood. "It seems after that, the perpetrators opted not to commit any more murders... until two patrol cars came by, investigating the dropped call. From what we know, a large dark-skinned man in blonde dreadlocks descended from the fifth story, landing upon the first officer and killing him instantly. The second retreated into his car to radio backup, whereupon the door was ripped off and he was yanked out. The third and fourth opened fire, but the large individual leapt upon the vehicle, struck one in the head fatally, and grasped and bit the fourth, before hurling him away. Whereupon he left."
"What we don't know is where the bodies went. Even if this was a case of cannibalism, it's not possible. There was blood from the thirteen missing people we matched, but not enough for them to have been eaten. People watching from the windows also clearly saw him leave after attacking the officers. The main hypothesis at the moment is between the escaped person dying and the police arriving, perhaps one minute and twelve seconds, he somehow moved thirteen bodies... but forensics shows no signs of them being dragged, or any blood trails from being carried. So."
"That's where the 'perpetrators' come in. My belief is the 'Butcher' is a single strong individual, and a cadre of assistants help him. They must have used plastic bags and other items to prepare and carry off the fallen victims. The Butcher, or the man who is the face of it, took out the police to buy them time. We do have reports that people heard movement and saw people walking past from the rooms of the deceased. That seems to corroborate the hypothesis pretty well."
"Really, I'm just here for Interpol to sign off on things. It's nothing supernatural. A guy with prosthetic teeth and clawed gloves isn't even the weirdest thing out there. You heard of that Hakan fellow? What sort of Turk is bright red and uses oil? The issue is what the officer is saying. That the Butcher's going to come for him. He claims to have been spared, and wants moved from the hospital. But that's not feasible. We have two dozen officers there, four of them commendable fighters, so it should be fine..."
It takes all of Daniel's strength and resolve to stop himself from facepalming as Daisy comes in.
It was bad enough that Detective Wellington was playing games when something this serious was going down. But for Daisy to do it.... was obviously a stroke of genius. Yes, absolute genius. By beating the detective at his own game, she had already established the pecking order of this arrangement. Daisy's unorthodox genius once again manages to slip past Daniel's guard, and even his diligent perceptions. Shaking Wellington's hand, he breaks free to help Daisy back up.
"And this is my partner, Detective Mallone."
Helping Daisy to ease on her feet, Agent Little tucks away his badge, and breaks out a notepad and pen. And as Detective Wellington tells the story so far... Daniel just writes it down. But not standing still, no. He walks through the scene of the crime, as Wellington tells his story. Walking through the story, the general directions of action that went down. Daniel walks through the blood stains, writing down the story, the details he could see past the words. The big one was as he stops at the cars. The smashed in front was not the big thing. It was the ripped off door that he was focused on. Daniel stops writing, as Detective Wellington says how fine it is.
"I remember when a good friend of mine was in the same situation."
Daniel Jack places a hand on the jagged edge of the car's torn metal. "Roland. Ran into a psychopath that used to prowl around here. Probably still does; was known by the name of Freeman. Roland got his arm torn off by that maniac, but fortunately, made it to the hospital. And wouldn't you know it, Freeman followed him there. That's what psychos do. They don't like unfinished business sometimes. Sometimes it is a game to them. Sometimes... sometimes it is a set up for something bigger. "That's the problem I'm having here, Detective." Daniel turns his back on the car, facing Detective Wellington with a grim expression. "You act like you aren't dealing with a monster, because it is made of the same flesh and bones as us. But you don't need to have anything supernatural here to be facing a monster." He turns his head at Daisy.
"What's your take on the crime scene, Detective Mallone?"
Daisy is still busy grinning like a child when the hand comes down to hoist her up. She accepts the aid with a modicum of grace and tucks the game system into her jacket... where it promptly falls through the bottom and clatters onto the ground. She blinks in surprise and bends down to gather it up again. This repeats three times before she finally manages to hit an internal pocket or atleast snag the device on something that keeps it in place.
Turning to give the local detective a bright smile, she snaps her hands up to grab Wellington's in a firm and energetic handshake upon being introduced. "Hey there, officer!" She releases him after a few moments allowing the man to begin his explanation and follows along behind Daniel while he takes notes. Her gaze wanders over the crime scene but despite the horrific amounts of blood she looks no more concerned than if she were at a local hardware store checking out paint samples.
By the time they've finished hearing Wellington's overview of the situation, a dismissive and practical take based in the reality of common knowledge, Daisy has made her own circuit around the area and is kneeling beside one of the larger pools of blood. Daniel's question is met with a disgusted noise from the woman. Lifting two fingers from the red-slicked pavement, she squishes a gelatinous substance between them and wrinkles her nose.
"...Detective Mallone?" This seems to cause a note of surprise from Wellington, who looks closer at Daisy. There's something in his eyes, between admiration and pity. He knows the story of the Interpol girl, and what caused her to become what she is now. It's an awkward situation, and he decides it best not to comment on it, merely dropping his eyes for some long moments. When Daniel goes inside the building, he has to ascend the stairs to the fifth floor to find the crime scene. All but two of the doors were burst inwards, apparently with enough stealth that those inside did not wake up. But it was done with strength, clearly. If there were followers around, then why not pick locks? To add to the impression that a beast did all this?
There's no signs of a struggle in all seven rooms. Just an area of blood, all within their beds or adjacent to it, one before a computer. That means he was approached from behind and struck, perhaps as he was getting up. As stated, there seems to be no evidence that the bodies were dragged. The area has been gone over with lights and chemicals. "We found the occasional drop or spatter, but we believe that to come from the killer." offers Wellington, pointing them out here and there. "This one has a footprint in it, but the droplet was too small to come to any conclusions. One of his assistants, probably. It happened after he passed."
Once Daniel is satisfied and they return back to the street, Wellington crosses his arms. "Freeman's in the top 3 list of serial killers, too. But this is the first time the Butcher legend happened in a city. Seems strange to me. What's changed? Why bother? There's still countless communities to prey on if needed, far from modern forensics and police until days or weeks after..."
"Hrrm. I guess a fighter strong enough to leap off a building, rip a car apart, and be shot without bleeding is a monster, alright. Just some monsters are familiar. I could see the Red Cyclone doing the same feat, haha."
After some long moments, Wellington offers, "Please don't tamper with the crime scene, Mallone." Why is she here? It makes him uncomfortable. In her heyday, he'd have taken Mallone over two and a quarter Daniel's. Suddenly the radios all around go nuts, and Wellington brings up his own. After a brief report, his eyes light up.
"We think we found him, wandering around the red light district...! Don't engage. Tail him!!" The radio clicks off. "Looks like we're going to be able to settle this easier than I thought. My only question was how to find him before he killed again!" He moves towards a nearby black sedan, doubtlessly his car. "<Suspect does not appear to realize he is being followed.>" comes from the radio. "<Dark skin, blonde, cornrows, expensive clothes. All matches fit Officer Lane's description of him.>"
"Can't be too familiar, if we haven't found him."
Agent Little watches as Daisy checks the blood. Sticky. Detective Wellington might be wary about Detective Mallone. But Daniel Jack himself was wondering what sticky meant. The detective didn't see a meltdown. He saw genius misunderstood. Nobody could crack that hard, and not shine through. Everything in Daniel's instincts told him that the next place that would be hit was the surviving officer. That is where Daniel wanted to be. The killer was a monster, and whether or not he was alone was a mystery to Daniel. Just like about him being a Darkstalker. He didn't want to be chasing shadows. But as he begins to respond to Daisy's comment, the radio starts blaring out. It seemed that they found their guy. Or at least, some guy. Daniel Jack moves after Wellington, holding his notepad tight.
Agent Little's expression was stern, but not confrontational, as he follows. "Minus the blonde hair, that's a great description of me 10 years ago. Might be a civilian. But if it is our guy... I'm going to need to be there. Bullets won't slow down our guy, but if it isn't our guy, I don't want innocent civilians shot up. You are going to need Mallone and I to make sure he is our Butcher; we got more restraint than a gun."
Well, Daniel had more restraint at least.
"We are gonna need a ride Detective Wellington." Daniel Jack begins to open the front door of the sedan, taking the front seat. He looks to his partner, thrusting a thumb along towards the back seat. "Move it, Detective Mallone, we got a lead." The agent orders, looking pretty grim.
Something felt wrong about all this.
The blonde detective peers at the substance between her fingers for several seconds, continuing to fiddle with it despite her apparent disdain for its texture. She squishes it between her digits then rolls it into a little ball before flicking the tiny bit of goo back into the smear on the floor, apparently satisfied. Or bored. It's hard to tell and not everyone shares Daniel's optimism regarding her antics.
Daisy starts to wander off towards another part of the crime scene, turning her attention towards the slash marks on the car, but the radio sputters to life before she has the chance and her head bobs up like a curious cat. A white-gloved hand flies to her mouth at the report as she gasps.
"Did you hear that?"
Naturally, everyone did. People are moving long before the 'genius' lets loose with her rhetorical question. Daniel's sudden stern expression causes the Interpol agent to snap a quick salute and give a hurried, "Y-yes, sir!", before she dives into the vehicle's rear seat and pulls the door shut behind her.
Despite the tension in the air and the possibility of bringing a close to such a high profile case almost out of the blue, Daisy appears distracted. Her head turns to peer out the window, her gaze fixated on the crime scene with a thoughtful expression.
"Shut the hell up, Little. I don't see you cuffing any of the most wanted. Bring me Rolento Schugerg in cuffs, and you can have some damn room to criticize. I hear he's in Metro City these days. Go nuts." Another heavy puff of his cigarette follows before the butt is extinguished and flicked outside the boundary of the police cordon. "This isn't your MO, damnit. We've still got jurisdiction here. You are here for information until you hand me paperwork saying otherwise. You wanna play ball, you better be REAL nice to me."
Slipping into the front seat, there's a weary sigh from the man, looking over the pair. Supposedly, Daniel's an up and coming world famous fighter... and at one point in time, Daisy was more than competent. "Fine. Whatever. Get in." Of course Daisy already had, which makes his prepared assent even more annoying. And then the car roars to life, and before long they are rumbling along at a fair clip. "So. Lady Killer, they call you?" he states conversationally. "Mallone, never spar this man. He makes a habit of crushing younger women. Hah." Yes, that sort of incident has bled even to the SCPD detectives. Interpol probably heard just as much from the natives as they got from reports.
Several minutes later of the radio simply commenting on him walking around, the street is reached. Speeding up slightly, they get confirmation that the 'target' is about fifty meters ahead. "You're a smart man. Tell me if he's normal."
Suddenly, Daniel would feel a great darkness in his soul as they approach. It feels... like Freeman, only not pure. Wild, crazed, violent. This is the same sort of monster, of that he can be sure. The broadly muscled back of a man easily at six foot four is approaching, and many civilians seem to shudder and glance at him in passing; walking along with his shoulders forward and hands in his pockets, wearing a fine deep golden suit and pants.
Closer and closer. 'Duck. Hide.' That's what Daniel's instincts are telling him to do. Daisy, if she can feel chi, would feel much the same... a twisted, malevolent ocean of darkness swirling with violence, rage, hatred, and something else. She might not have felt anything similar since her investigations into Shadaloo...
In moments, the car will pass by. Wellington doesn't react, a complete mundane. How blind must you be to not sense something like this?!
"Eh, sorry Detective."
Agent Little knew that it wasn't his job to care about Rolento. If the man pulled up next beside him, he'd care then. But otherwise, Detective Wellington was just a local asshole, against Daniel's Interpol asshole. But Wellington was right; it was his jurisdiction, his rules, his game. Daniel was going to play by his rules.
But that didn't mean he would play nice.
"Hey, don't you start scaring her." Daniel interjects, as he teases about the whole 'Lady Killer' deal. "I just had a few lucky wins in the Neo-League. I'm sure Detective Mallone here would tear me apart If it came down to sparring." Daniel Jack turns around, to look back at Daisy, and gives her a smile. As Detective Wellington mentions that the potential suspect is 50 meters away, he looks forward. "Yeah, let me get a good loo-"
And he feels that wave of pure evil.
Daniel was not a fearless man. Oh, he did do brave things. But every brave action he pulled was with a pulse of terror through his heart. The expression on Daniel's face was wide-eyed fear. Sweat pools on his brow, as they all steadily passes the towering figure in gold. It doesn't matter if Wellington doesn't react. After 10 years of training, Daniel wasn't on the same level as him in sensing this stuff, after all. But Daniel's words come hushed, silent.
"That's our psycho."
Agent Little keeps calm, but quick. "You call the shots, Detective Wellington. Whatever you need from us, we'll give you. Whatever your plan is, we'll follow it. That man's our number one suspect right now. We just need to be careful, and stick to a plan. You got that, Mallone?" Daniel Jack might have been a private detective in the past.
But he wasn't gonna be a loose cannon on shit this serious.
As they make the trip, Daisy continues to stare out the window lost in her own little world of whatever thoughts raced through her head these days. She doesn't seem terribly interested by the incessant radio chatter that fills the cabin as the local units tail the suspected murderous savage down the streets of the local red light district. For most of the trip, she remains silent, distracted.
As the sedan takes the final turn towards the street in question, the agent finally breaks her pensive quiet and begins to speak, almost as if the idea came to her completely at random to do so.
"You know," she starts, rubbing the tips of her fingers together idly, those still faintly stained with the red splotches of blood from before. The fabric of her gloves makes a soft swishing sound as she does so. "This Butcher guy supposedly only attacks rural communities, right? So why'd he come into town this time? And why bother to clean up the bodies?"
She leans back in her seat and shifts her gaze forward finally, resting a finger on her chin as her thoughts continue to spill free in a small tide of consciousness. She looks completely serious now, an obvious shift from her former state.
"For one thing, it takes a lot of time for blood to coagulate to the level that we saw at the crime scene. That means if the bodies were moved, they'd still have been bleeding, but there weren't any traces of blood spatter or dragging on the scene. That means he had to have wrapped them in something prepared ahead of time. Even if he had several helpers, to move that many bodies in that short a time without being seen would have been impossible."
Daisy frowns as the figure comes into view ahead of them. Her eyes sweep over the tall imposing man as he wanders down the street, practially parting the crowd ahead of him like a rabid shark on land. For her part, the agent doesn't seem terribly fazed by the sudden overwhelming presence of the evil aura. Maybe she doesn't feel it either.
"What really bothers me though is that up until now this person or group of person has gone out of their way to avoid drawing attention to themselves until after the fact. Yet, he allowed an officer to live who could identify his appearance and now he's walking openly down the street of a highly public section of downtown."
A look of intense concentration overtakes Daisy for several seconds as she mulls this over, all while the supposed Butcher draws closer. Tap, tap, tap, goes her finger against her chin and she lets out a low soft hum. "It means something..."
Suddenly, the storm brewing on her face clears up and she turns to look at Daniel just as he asks her to play along. A brilliant smile replaces her thoughtful look and she just shrugs her shoulders a little in a gesture that might seem apologetic should he recall it later.
"I have no idea what though! Let's ask him!"
Before either of the men can say a word, Daisy turns and opens the door to the car and steps onto the sidewalk right in the path of the Butcher.
"A little fear goes a long way, Daniel. Especially in this line of work. Fear makes you prudent. Being prudent keeps you alive. Not every situation should be leapt into headfirst. We're just casing this guy for now... seeing where he lives, if possible. Unless you two think you can take him down with some backup?" Wellington glances over to him. "He looks big, I guess..." Indeed, he's no fighter beyond a mundane. "Although he's... ...creepy."
As the car begins to drive past, suddenly the Butcher lifts his head. Slowly his head turns, looking upon the car with distant curiosity. The windows are not tinted; for a moment his eyes meet Daniel's, and his heart would likely feel the incredible weight of something unreal. Transient. If ever the word 'demonic' had a place, it would be now.
And the Butcher grins. His teeth are a normal human's, perfect and pearly white.
Wellington hits the breaks, the car screeching to a stop. The Butcher is standing in front of it, having moved so quickly that he seemed a blur. The concrete where he was standing is cracked beneath, gray dust wafting into the air. Palms slam down, and the car stops dead the moment they touch the large man, hard enough to jostle everyone within. Dents are upon the hood, as Wellington begins to curse. "Damnit! Why--How did he--"
"DANIEL 'THE LADY KILLER' LITTLE!" the Butcher growls, suddenly walking around to the passenger side. Hand prints remain where he stopped a car still going about fifteen miles per hour without budging an inch. His fingers are thick but human. It's obvious he sensed the man's chi, but to recognize a famous Southtown fighter...
That just makes things more complicated.
"I'm a ~BIG~ fan..." His face looms before the window, Wellington scrambling to unholster his gun, but keeping it out of sight. At this proximity, he can feel the darkness himself, and a sense of hopelessness fills his face. "C'mon... Roll down the window..."
The radio is silent. Spotters are aware that they have been compromised, and the vehicle is unmarked. Blabbing of any sort will just give them away....
Daisy was making some great points.
Daniel Jack listens to his partner carefully, diligently. Her comments about the blood were... apt. "Important insights, Detective Mallone. That's the kind of stuff we will dig up with this guy. I think your instincts are good, Wellington. We trail this guy, figure out where he lives, and then-" And then Daisy jumps out of the car. That would get more of a reaction, but at the same time, the car just STOPS. Slowly, he turns his head to the front. Right in front of them, the suspect was there. This was a change of plans. Well, Daniel just realized. People might recognize him from TV. The detective's arms tremble.
Damn you Chief.
The man was now at the passenger side. Daniel Jack kept it calm. In fact ,as Wellington goes for the gun, he just gives a look back. 'Keep it cool.' Was the look. This wasn't gone yet. This was just a surprise. He might know Daniel. But he didn't know Wellington. And he sure didn't know Daisy. He had to play this cool. He had to play this calm. Daniel Jack puts on a sheepish smile on his face, turning back towards the window.
And Daniel Jack unrolls the window.
"Damn, scuzzy, you gave me a hell of a start." Was the comment, as Daniel Jack flashes a charismatic grin. "I didn't think any fans were going to notice me down the street. Hell, I didn't even know I had fans like you! You got to be careful though; you could have gotten really badly hurt jumping out in front of cars like that." Or out of cars, as Daniel Jack casts a glance down at the collapsed Daisy. He shifts those brown eyes back into the Butcher's own, keeping relaxed.
"How can I help you?"
At almost the precise instant that Daisy swings the car door open and lowers her feet towards the street just outside she realizes something. A detail that, until now, with her mind preoccupied going over the crime scene, had escaped her notice. That being that their vehicle was still very much in motion.
The blonde agent hits the ground at a sudden run, hanging onto the still open door while her feet shuffle wildly to ramp up to the necessary velocity to prevent her from tumbling square onto her face in the middle of traffic; no easy feet in two inch heels. By some bizarre coincidence, the Butcher chooses that moment to make his rather forceful introduction to the trio of officers. The car slams to a sudden halt, which in turn causes Daisy to smash into the car door, effectively halting her forward momentum. Ofcourse, physics being what they are, all that energy has to go somewhere and the pretty detective ends up rebounding with a squawk right onto her rear end.
Daisy's hand shoots up above the level of the rear doorway a few moments later and the rest of her follows after looking none the worse for wear despite her crazy stunt. Heaving herself back onto her feet with a little wobble, the American casually dusts her skirt off, completley ignoring the maniac looming only a couple of feet away. Once she's got her uniform sorted out, she turns and opens her mouth, only to stop short at the Butcher's grinning face.
"Oh! There you are! How fortunate, I had some questions for you, Mr. Butcher!"
Her expression shifts from a cheery smile to an annoyed frown almost before she can take a breath, both fists resting on her hips in that 'you're in trouble, mister' stance while her cheeks puff up indignantly. The intense aura of dark dread that has washed over the three of them still doesn't appear to perturb the woman at all, nor does the fact that their suspect just stopped their car with his bare hands.
"But first, we need to talk about your behavior! Didn't anyone ever teach you only to cross the street at designated crosswalks? What you just did is jaywalking and that's a crime! Someone could get hurt if you aren't careful!"
That a random person nearly hurtled themselves out of the car and ran alongside it was not really something that drew the attention of the Butcher. As far as things are concerned it was pretty subtle, and his attention was instead drawn to the energies emanating from the fighter in the car. Wellington makes no move to draw it. He saw the crime scene. He knows good men died, unloading on this figure. Died, and didn't draw a single drop of blood. That is what makes it more terrifying, in retrospect... all that DNA, and none of it came from this grinning cheshire.
"I've been eagerly watching the television since I arrived here..." the Butcher rasps. His voice is unnatural, like knives grinding together. There's nothing that seems to be physically responsible looking at him, but it sounds better suited to some CGI monster than an attractive man of his build. "So many strong fighters. So many strong men. So easy to find. Paraded as idols... it must be nice~"
The moment Daisy says his name... there's really no response. The grin doesn't falter, his eyes don't shift. Nothing. It's far more surreal than if he did the reasonable thing, of realizing his cover was...
Wait. That means all along, he had no intention of remaining hidden.
His eyes turn over to stare at Daisy. She, and she alone, would see his eyes turn black. The world appears to dim around her, countless whispers in a voice almost recognized, so silent that a keen tilt of the head might make them out. For just an instant it seemed his teeth were pointed...
Then it is gone. "You don't interest me. Go away."
And then he's looking back to Daniel. A huge hand extends, fingers splayed invitingly. "Shake." he states, almost cooing it. "I'm a celebrity, too. We should part as friends." A sinister aura seems to be seeping off his hand... Wellington doesn't appear to see it, and looks like he really wants to put the gun in his own mouth right now. Daisy is... not winning a lot of points at the moment.
Daniel begins to feel clammy, as Daisy continues to talk
She was definitely being direct. Aggressive. And above all, unnerving. With her outside the car, at least, Daniel felt like he had some presence. If he tried to run, then Daisy could at least follow him. Or... something. Daniel was having trouble thinking, staring down the barrel of pure terror. And yet, his composure doesn't yield. He keeps up that charming smile, that calm presence. He sees that flash, that near teeth. At this point, Daniel can't tell if it is his mind playing tricks, or it is the sheer presence or... or... He wanted to now shake his hands.
Daniel Jack has a mental image flash through his head.
The detective sits by the chair, dressed in the bright orange Zoot Suit he was signature for. In his lap, he was clutching a large gift basket with booze in it. It was when he visited Roland, in the wake of his attack. When Ayame told him about the killer. When... when Roland was attacked by a psychopath. When his armed was ripped away by the murderer.
Daniel did not want to end up like Roland.
As he reaches out to shake those hands, he considers very carefully about the strength in play here. The speed. The power. Deftly, with his other hand, he unbuckles his selt belt. Daisy was on the wings. He was ready to fly if he needed to. He glances over at Daisy, trying to give her a signal, a sign. "Strength is a lot of things, scuzzy." Daniel says lightly, as he grabs that hand to shake.
And Daniel Jack lowers his voice, whispering to the man.
"What's your name, man?" He states softly, keeping eye contact with the stranger. This was inviting danger. Eye contact was either a sign of kindness and empathy amongst men... but a sign of aggression for the rest of the animal world. "You know mine, but what about yours?"
And Daniel readies himself for a one-way trip to Psycho Land.
Unfortunately for Daniel, Daisy has checked out.
Upon having the full force of the Butcher's gut-clenching focus placed upon her directly, the pretty blonde immediately clams up, her eyes going wide as if only just now taking notice of the sense of horrible wrongness surrounding their quarry. Those soul-less pits of darkness turn upon her autumn-colored gaze and the world becomes a terrible place for a moment with her tiny mortal existence perched upon the precipe of a knife's edge.
The phantasmal whispers float around her in an invisible haunting melody that scratches at the sides of her mind like a rustle of leaves at the faintest edge of hearing, present for only long enough for one to question its existence, never enough to make out anything concrete. It is the kind of thing that could drive someone mad all on its own if they were caught alone in a dark alley.
The flash of wickedly pointed teeth is the last straw for Daisy. Stammering like a frightened child, she takes a step back and fumbles for the gun at her side, having a great deal more success in retreiving her own weapon due to not being smooshed into a car seat nor attempting to hide the fact that she's reaching for it. The small standard issue 9mm Beretta finds its way into her grasp within a few seconds and she hurriedly snaps it up at the hulking thing by the car.
"H-Hold it r-r-right t-there! P-Put your h-hands w-where I ca-ca-can see them! P-Please!"
It's almost impossible to make out the words that she forces out through the quaivering voice. Her aim isn't much better. Both arms shake so hard she might as well be a palm tree in a hurricane and even at the short distance of about five feet hitting a target the size of the Butcher seems like a questionable bet.
Things are quickly spiralling out of control but it isn't until the blare of an angry car horn explodes into life behind the agent that it hits the fan. Shrieking in surprise, Daisy instinctively jerks on the trigger, adding the distinctive report of gunfire to the whole mess; and once she starts she doesn't let up.
Closing her eyes, the Interpol detective begins to fire in a literal blind panic, filling the air with tiny pieces of deadly lead. Unsurprisingly, none of them come anywhere close to the Butcher but they also manage not to hit any of the nearby vehicles either. Through some miracle, Daisy's sudden loss of control does little more than alert everyone in the area that perhaps it might be a good idea to not be in the area any more.
The hand is taken, and immediately Daniel's body would begin to tingle. It feels dirty, tainted, as if the Butcher's entire aura was violating him from the inside out. Every hair on end, stomach rolling, a chilling instinct to pull away. Daniel is composed enough to resist... but not many would be able to.
"My name...? Which?" he asks, tilting his head to the side.
And then the world becomes agony. Daniel would feel his entire body seize up and paralyze, as something /rips./ And that something is not within his body... but elsewhere. In a way, Daisy might have helped out more than she thought in disposing of the diplomatic route.
Both the assault and the mystery goes no further than that, as Daisy pulls out her gun and aims it directly towards the figure settled against the side of the car. A moment later, Wellington snaps up his own weapon and aims down it, causing another sidelong glance. "FREEZE!!"
The moment that Daisy pulls the trigger, Daniel's hand is no longer being held. A billow of wind seems to be flowing in all directions, dark and misty. When it passes over Daisy, she would feel chilled to the very soul, and then...
He is behind her.
"Don't play with toys." the Butcher states, before stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You've a nice soul..." Within his hand is a wisp of energy, before he lifts it up and tilts back his head. And then drops it into his waiting mouth, chomping down. At that moment, another burst of cold would go through Daniel. Something is /missing./ And something important. Not his entire soul... he would be dead.
But part of it.
"I'm satisfied now... I'll come visit you later. You... might be finally able to satiate my 'appetite'."
There's another burst of mist, the Butcher vanishing in the same moment. About two meters high and heavily obscuring, it washes over the surroundings all the way past the car. Only this time, as it dissipates...
The Butcher is gone. Wellington is cursing and shivering in the aftermath, having left his vehicle. "LOCKDOWN! LOCK THE AREA DOWN! I WANT THAT MAN FOUND!!" is screamed into his radio.
Daniel has his answer. This threat -- is definitely supernatural.
It was the only way he would have gotten his answer.
Detective Wellington was right. This was an information gathering mission. And when a psycho likes you... you are just about to learn about their true self. Someone had to. Daisy's meltdown was becoming hot on his mind, as he walked into the end of days. The presence that consumed his partner was only held at bay, barely. He kept going because he had to. He had to know what was being dealt with. Daniel expected the man to rip him free of the car, to bite off a chunk, to tear something from him.
And that was right.
The sensation was familiar. The effect was pure, absolute agony. He remembered something similar when fighting the psionics; the likes of the Shadaloo dolls, or even Zach. That was the only analogy; this was magnitudes worse. A high-pitched, shrilling wheeze escapes Daniel's lungs, as he locks up. Everything was fading, his mind was fading. Everything was numb, except for the pain, as Daniel feels himself sinking into a dream. A dream of black and white, a dream of breathless singing without tune, a thousand empty faces staring straight into him.
The gunshot is the only break from it.
Daniel goes limp in his seat, eyes rolling blindly. His jaw was slack, his body relaxed. He was aware what happening around him. He just... didn't care. It was sickening apathy, sickening emptiness. The hollow bleakness was all he could sense. But he could see. He could see the man, he could hear the voice. He forces himself to lean against the open window, to stare. He tries to speak, but there is no reason to try. There is no reason to act. There is no reason for anything. There was no reason. The fragments of soul that clung to Daniel were the only thing keep him from even staying awake at this point. It was the strangest thing. He had no idea what the creature had done, and it was clearly a creature now.
But it didn't matter anymore.
The gunfire abruptly ceases when the Butcher does his disappearing act again. Cold malevolent evil wafts through the air around Daisy the utter cold that permeates down into the core of her being seizes up her mind and with her muscles leaving her unable to do anything but stare in slack-jawed shock at the slumped form of her partner as his soul is turned into a brisk snack.
The voice from behind causes Daisy's eyes to widen further and she suddenly snaps out of the panicked trance, whirling to bring her firearm to bear on the deadly thing. By the time she's made the turn to her rear, however, the Butcher is gone. The dark mist crashes down on her like a tsunami and she lifts an arm to shield her face, weathering the storm until it vanishes.
Years of training takes over in the wake of logical thought. The Interpol agent grips her gun firmly with both hands, sweeping it back and forth as she scans the immediate area for threats, but the only trace remaining of the Butcher is the lingering chill in her mind. Trying her best to regain her composure, Daisy holsters her gun and takes a deep breath.
"W-well that was... a n-neat trick!"
Almost immediately, the broadcast is made, vain though it might be. Of course they won't find the man, when he doesn't wish it. Whatever ploy he had, if it had been to try to locate an interesting fighter, it had worked. Something unnatural and otherworldly has taken place, some monster of ancient times unleashed on Southtown, and there's still only questions with few answers. None of the mist remains, although Wellington reaches through his open door to shake Daniel. "Medic... medic!! We--What the hell is wrong with him?! He is using some kind of cloud to conceal himself...!" Delusional to the very end. Did he not see the thing seem to just... step out of existance for some moments? In time, the crushing ennui will fade. But that time is measured in hours, not minutes, as the throbbing pain within the very center of Daniel's chi longs for the part that's missing, a wound that will not close on his own. Is it gone forever? Does the creature still have it? Will it come back for the rest? Doubtless, Interpol's heavy artillery is going to be needed. And this case has only just begun.
Log created on 14:29:21 01/24/2015 by Daisy, and last modified on 01:44:59 01/28/2015.