Paragon Vanguard Posted September 27 Share Posted September 27 (edited) Yvette Flemming grew up in Atlas Park, her parents wealthy enough keep her in the better schools. She was biracial, her mother African American, her father "European white", as she always told people. Therefor, she was "All American mutt". She was also a reporter, though not many would know her name offhand. She specialized in super powered stories, and would sell her work to the highest bidder. Mostly newspapers and online media, but sometimes her articles were picked up by television. Which news channel picked up her article usually depended on which one thought her reporting fit their ideology. She was okay with that, though that was why she would never be associated with any major company. "I am an independent, rare, almost extinct, but independent none the less," she would tell people, flashing her pretty smile. Her smile was her best feature, and she could light up a room when she decided to exhibit it. She wasn't fat, but she wasn't skinny enough to shine in front of a camera. It was okay with her, she never wanted that style of reporting. She wanted the nitty gritty, the old ways, when a reporter didn't care where the story took them, they simply wrote the truth. She met him on the South East side of Atlas, at a hole in the wall restaurant called Major Flanders Fried Chicken. Ironically it was located right next to a health store. She wasn't that use to this side of town, not that there was anything wrong with it. It was a quieter side, with less happening here than most of this part of the city, or the city as a whole for that matter. Yvette no longer lived in Atlas Park dsitrict, her parents having moved out of Rhode Island and settling in Florida years ago. Instead she lived in an apartment on Peregrine Island. It was quiet as well, until the festivities of Halloween came about. She saw him walk into the establishment, and saw the smiles of the workers as he did so. They liked him, and there was no telling how he helped them out in the past. He was wearing a mask and a costume, but even with no part of his body showing, especially not his face, one could tell he was smiling. His body language was gentle, and kind, as he gave a hello and small wave to the kitchen staff. "Crime Fighter," the cook called out. "You been good Stan," the hero asked, and Stan just waved it off as if to say as good as can be. He had a young voice, but not childish. She would have put him in his early 20's, maybe mid. He slid into the booth across from Yvette, his fingers nervously drumming the table. "Did you find the place okay," he asked, as if this was just a normal meeting. Yvette supposed, in a City of Heroes, this probably was fairly normal. "I did," she said, smiling at the tilt of his head. It was funny, when you could not read someone's face, you could tell their intent from other movements. He seemed kind enough, and genuine. "I am very glad you decided to meet with me," Yvette said, pulling out a small recorder. Sure she could have recorded the conversation on her phone, but there was something about the small recorder with it's small cassette tape that made her feel more like an old time reporter. Crime Fighter put his hand over the recorder, not allowing her to turn it on. "We have to order first," he said. "The food here is the best in Atlas Park." She nodded, and put her recorder up. She would remember this part well enough to be accurate. "Everyone says 'the best', so now your reputation for picking the restaurant is on the line," she grinned, and he nodded back with a slight chuckle. "I accept that challenge," he said, as the waitress approached them. Edited September 27 by Paragon Vanguard Paragon Vanguard Jerrin Bloodlette Hughe Luke Minhere many others Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Paragon Vanguard Posted September 29 Author Share Posted September 29 (edited) The food was wonderful. Her afternoon was wonderful. Yvette had enjoyed the time she spent with the masked hero. The reporter sipped some wine, as she listened to the cassette play back the interview. This was not going to be a first page story, and no network was going to pick it up. Crime Fighter was just a hero in a city of heroes, though he said many times he was no more a hero than anyone else that cared, and less than the first responders that put their lives on the line without a fancy costume and super powers. Still, nothing juicy, nothing not said by others. Even though she felt he was more sincere about it than most, it still was not a top story. It would find it's way on Life in the City or some such mid page social column. The Paragon City newspapers were huge, rivaling those of New York even. No, it was not so much the interview that kept her thinking of him. She found she liked him. Which was weird, since she had no idea who he even was. Truth be told, she could only assume he was being honest. No, not really assume. It was apparent he was genuine. He was honest. The hero had lifted his mask so he could eat, only really showing his mouth, chin and part of his jawline. So why did she find him attractive. It was like during that pandemic, when people with pretty eyes were assumed attractive, even though you could not see the rest of their face that was hiding behind a medical mask. Well, it was actually opposite of that, but still the same concept. She was attracted to him. Maybe that was it? She wasn't attracted to his looks, she was attracted to him. His suit fit snug, so she could tell he was built like a runner or a swimmer. Still, that wasn't it. It was the conversation. It was the stuff before the interview, and the two hours of just talking to him after the interview. "I put my personal number on the back of my card," she said aloud, to no one. She was alone in her apartment, in her living room. She was alone with her glass of wine and ER reruns that she wasn't really watching, but it was playing and lighting up the dark room. Putting her personal cellphone number on her business felt right at the time, even if it were bolder than she usually was. Now, it just felt embarrassing. The man protected his identity. He did say he was single, but would not elaborate further about family. Of course he may have just said that, to protect his wife and 12 kids. Still, he would not be willing to break confidentiality just for her. A small time reporter who may or may not have a pretty smile, but not much else going for her. "Yvette, you are an idiot," she said, again, to no one. At about the same time Yvette was feeling embarrassed, excited, hopeful and crazy all at once, across town Father Wilder was in the small chapel that he looked after. He said "looked after", because not many came to it. People liked bigger and flashier churches. Huge cathedrals. He was offered to see over a bigger flock time to time, but this was where he wanted to be. Where he felt he was called to be. This was the rougher side of Paragon City, with the Port only a few blocks away. Family members and small time gangs littered the streets at night. Family members and small time gang members needed a place to go, a confession box outside of the eyes of the upstanding citizen, to tell their sins. The homeless needed someone willing to help, if he could, or send them where they could be helped. No, Father Wilder was not looking for a bigger church. He was exactly where he felt he was called to be. "So you see, Father, I am a sinner," the man said, in a gruff voice. "We all have sinned and fallen short," the priest said. He tried to not sound like this was something he said a dozen times a night, but in truth it was. Still, it was true. "Yes, but I don't regret a thing I did. How can I be saved, if I don't regret it," the man asked, and the priest could here him moving around nervously on the other side. Father Wilder could have seen who the man was, as the lattice blocked the petitioner's view, but not his. Still, he gave them their privacy. Sometimes he knew them by their voices, sometimes by their sins, but he tried to give them their dignity, and leave the confession between them and God. "Well, it is hard to find absolution if you are saying you are not willing to give up the sin. Sin is something that eats at us, all of us, and it demands we release it and hand it over to God. To release it, of course, you have to let it go." "Father, I am not really here for me. I will have my reward, I know that. It won't be pleasant either. However, is there anything you wish to get off of your chest," the man asked, and the priest could here him moving about. "If there is, now is the time to do it." "I don't understand," Father Wilder said, now looking into the booth. The man had on some kind of mask, but it was too dark to make out what was imprinted on it. The man sighed, and pointed something at him through the lattice. "I forgive you, Father," he heard the man say, in a nervous voice. Then he heard a loud noise. He smelled smoke, as he lay on the floor, though he was not sure how he ended up on the floor. He couldn't breath, but it didn't hurt. Not really. He couldn't move. Had he been shot? Then there was a new smell, it was something chemical. Then fire. The fire hurt. Hurt his face, hurt his arms, his body, his legs. It hurt. He tried to scream, but blood simply filled his mouth. And he hurt in silence. In choking, painful, silence. Then nothing. Edited September 29 by Paragon Vanguard Paragon Vanguard Jerrin Bloodlette Hughe Luke Minhere many others Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Paragon Vanguard Posted September 29 Author Share Posted September 29 "And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers." He knew, better than most, that killing the priest was going to bring the city into a furious frenzy. The man was loved by people, people who did not know the whole truth of the man. No, he was not a criminal in the eyes of the law, but he was a criminal when it came to justice. How many times did the priest testify and ask for mercy, for those that deserved no mercy? He knew that the man was only doing what he felt was right. What he felt was wanted by his God. He knew the man would continue to speak for the most wicked, the ones that deserved to die in prison, or die by court order. And, the courts would continue to listen to him. Take his views into account, after all, the priest was a good man. The priest saw to the homeless. He saw about the down trodden. He understood how the young, abused child of poverty, could turn into a criminal. He would never testify for their benefit again. He read it written on a wall in a toilet stall. "If I cannot have justice, I will have vengeance." He didn't know who wrote it, or why they wrote it. It was in another state, across the country, that he saw it. It could not have been a coincidence that he saw that on the anniversary of the death of his wife and 3 kids. Across the country, in another state, as if it was written just for him. Written in cursive, over the toilet in a dirty stall. That was when the seed was planted, though he didn't know it then. He dreamed of it, over and over. He dreamed of seeing his family killed, though he was not actually there when it happened, and a flier falling from the sky with that written on it. "If I cannot have justice, I will have vengeance," he said, a sigh escaping his lips. "Hey, tape that off," Carl called, pointing to a side door. "I don't want anyone getting in here." "Hey Carl," Yvette said, a smile on her face as she approached him. "How did you get in the church, and why are you bothering me?" the detective asked, but he knew the how and he knew the why, and he knew he would not fuss at her for long. He liked her. She was 20 years younger than him, and while not Hollywood pretty, she was pretty in her own right. The kind of pretty that real men liked. The kind of personality that old men wished their daughters had. "Can I get a scoop," she asked, brushing back her dark hair. She didn't have to, it was more her flirty way of talking to men. It was a harmless thing, but she knew it was flirty none the less. "No one says scoop anymore, Yvette," the detective said. Carl was in his 40's, but in excellent shape. Excellent shape considering he was a detective. The long hours at a desk going over reports and typing reports and correcting reports did not insure a healthy life style. However, he ran 3 times a week, and went to the gym when he could. Usually once or twice a week, but it was enough to keep him in fairly good shape. His time in the military built his muscles up, and it didn't take near as much to keep them up now. Yvette's eyes focused on Carl's mustache, before she grinned at him. She always picked on him, telling him no one wears a mustache like his anymore. It was what people called a "pornstache", as it seemed all of the men who worked adult movies in the 70's wore that style. "Don't say it," Carl said, knowing what she was thinking. "Yes, I will give you a scoop, but only because you are an actual reporter. Not like those talking heads that don't even care that a good man was gunned down, and burned." Yvette looked around, and saw that the fire was contained to the confessional box. "We haven't done an autopsy yet, so I have no official cause of death, but preliminaries show he was shot, then burned. I am not sure what kind of propellant was used, but it looks chemical, and definitely not natural. In other words, we have a murder." Yvette nodded, and walked closer to the confessional. She held her hand over his nose and mouth, as the burnt smell was terrible. "The body is gone, so you can take some pictures if you wish," Carl said. "Are you the lead investigator on this?" Yvette asked. "Yeah, lucky me. People are already calling the precinct and insisting someone be arrested pronto. He was well loved," Carl said, shaking his head. "I may be able to help with that," Yvette said, taking some pictures with her cellphone. "I can report that you are doing a thorough job and want people to be patient, so that the people responsible will see justice." Yvette smiled, and was already thinking of how to word the report, before realizing he said nothing. She looked to him, wondering why the silence. "I hope we can find out who did it. It was done late last night, no witnesses. Nothing. You write what you want, and I will do everything I can. This isn't exactly the part of town where people put up cameras. Or if they do, the cameras don't last more than a night. This is Mook and Family territory, and the least witnesses the better." Yvette nodded to that. 'Any suspects?" "You, me, everyone," he said. Yvette frowned at that. It was a shame to think that this priest, who people believed a good man, would be murdered and no one charged. "I do have a scoop for you, but you have to sit on it for a bit," Carl finally said, giving her his stern look of I am serious. Yvette nodded. "We have seen this before. Gang members have been killed in this way, with no one taking credit for it. If it was gang on gang crime, they like to insure everyone knows who did it. Street cred and all. It just wasn't that concerning, as the people getting killed weren't exactly the best of folks. Not like Father Wilder. It may be one of the gangs, maybe he saw something. Maybe they confessed something to him and then got scared. It's always dangerous dealing with them, even if you have great intentions. With that said, I don't think so. He spoke for them. He went to court for them, and helped get them shorter sentences. He thought he was doing good, but they just used him. He was an asset to them. So if they didn't kill him, then who? Maybe the family of someone who's murderer he helped walk. We will be looking into that aspect, but that's just an angle, of many. It could still be a gang member that did this. As I said, at this time, if could be you. It could be me. Who knows?" "I have an alibi, I was in my apartment alone watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy and Friends," Yvette said, causing Carl to chuckle. Paragon Vanguard Jerrin Bloodlette Hughe Luke Minhere many others Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Paragon Vanguard Posted Wednesday at 07:58 PM Author Share Posted Wednesday at 07:58 PM Protest, as he suspected would happen, was happening. Some were religious, and demanding answers as to why a priest was murdered and why no one was in custody, after only one day. Others were peace seekers, wanting to know why this was happening in a city of heroes, where people in their onesies were allowed to run amuck but can't solve such a heinous crimes. Then you had the gun ban activists, who were a staple to any crime that was committed by a gun. That would eventually call out of the pro 2nd amendment activists. Carl was watching this from the 2nd floor of the small precinct. Others were talking in the background, but Carl was lost in thought. Many of these cared so much, but did so little when it came down to it. They were literally protesting outside of the office of the ones that were trying to solve the very problem that they were protesting. "Carl, do you want to add anything to this," his lieutenant asked. Carl didn't say anything at first, prompting his supervisor to clear his throat. The big wigs were there, the decision makers that made decisions that effected all of them, but insured they made them in a way that they could not be held responsible for the decisions they made. Carl cleared his own throat, before looking to the Captains and the majors and the chiefs. "We are in the middle of an active investigation, each of you, having the experience you have, knows what that means," he said, and they nodded. The "experience" that they have. He almost choked on that. Some had very little experience in anything remotely looking like a police investigation, but what they did have was daddies with deep pockets and their hands in the unions and the politics. "What we think, and we are about as sure as we can be at this point in the investigation, is that this either ties in with the Independence Port killings, the mobsters, or we have someone copying those murders. The media was kind enough to explain and describe those murders so well that it is just as likely a copy cat killing as the same person, at this point." This brought murmurs from some of the higher ups that were involved in letting the media know exactly what was happening. Of course they would not officially say that they were the leaks. No, while leaking the information helped get them in with the media, it would not make them look good to their fellow officers. Officially, their stance was that it was an open investigation and needed to be treated as such, which meant need to know information only. "Do you suspect this priest had ties to The Family?" Captain Morris asked. He was from the Founder's Falls precinct, and Carl actually liked him. "No, I do not. However, I can't rule it out yet. I am getting with the investigating detectives from your precinct and will be working closely with them, but at this point it's hard to say," Carl offered. "I want you to lead this, even in Founder's Falls Carl. I will be letting my guys know that they will be expected to work closely with you," the captain offered, with a nod. Crime Fighter watched the activists from atop the "Crey Biotech" sign, where he easily balanced himself. No one noticed him, they were too focused on the front door of the precinct. They would yell and shout at any officer that was foolish enough to exit through the front. Barricades were put up, but they were merely there to give the protestors a line not to cross, less they would be dispersed. Crime Fighter knew the priest that was murdered, and considered going to the meeting happening inside with the Paragon Police white shirts. He saw when Detective David and Detective Hutchinson entered together, waving and smiling at the crowd as if the protestors were there for them. Most of the crowd actually waved back at them. They were good detectives, the hero supposed, but they loved the spotlight as well. Crime Fighter considered Davids a friend. For this reason, he decided to wait, and speak with the detective later. If Davids could pass on information, he would. The way Davids operated, even if he could not pass on information to heroes, he still would, if he felt they could help. It was a mess, and it would become even messier as this went on, if the murders were not stopped. With so many other things going on, on a much larger scale, heroes were kept busy. The Rikti, the portal problems, the supposed "god" waking up in Astoria, heroes of all kind had their hands full. That didn't even count the villains from the Rogue Islands. Mathew Hart, as Crime Fighter, had been dedicating himself to the threat of the alien race called The Rikti. While these serial murders seemed small scale, they got the attention of the public, and with the murder of the priest, it seemed everyone was in danger, not just the gangs. It needed to be solved, and quickly, or this could potentially become a big problem. With the police and city agencies spread thin already, it was a big problem Paragon City did not need. Others would have to tend to the Rikti and their ship for now, Crime Fighter would have to go back to his local neighborhood roots. Friendly neighborhood Crime Fighter, Mathew thought, then shook his head. No, that was Spider Man. Mathew saw one of the protestors pointing up at him. He had been spotted, and he did not wish to become a point of focus for their chants. He quickly leaped away, putting distance between himself and the police station at a fairly quick pace. He already saw what he wanted to see. He would be talking to Detective Davids soon enough. ------------------------------------------------------- Mathew Hart: Crime Fighter Age: 24 Marital Status: single Legal Status: Upstanding Citizen Affiliation: Vanguard Powers: Increased Str, Increased Reflexes, faster than normal healing* Abilities: Trained in Mixed Martial Arts, trained in the art of Ninjitsu *while Mathew Hart (Crime Fighter) does possess higher than human str and reflexes, it is not by a great amount. He can heal faster than normal, but not at the rate of those with extremely heightened healing factors. It takes days to heal wounds that would take weeks for normal people. Paragon Vanguard Jerrin Bloodlette Hughe Luke Minhere many others Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Paragon Vanguard Posted Thursday at 09:34 AM Author Share Posted Thursday at 09:34 AM Yvette had entered her apartment, feeling a little woozy. Tipsy, if you will. Her friends talked her into going to the club, or clubs, as it turned out. Dancing was not her thing, but they insisted and her she really did not have the energy to tell them no. That wasn't true, she didn't want to say no. They had fun. No, she did not dance, not even when that cute college boy wanted her to. He was very insistent, but her friends got rid of him for her. She heard the sound, it was a strange, loud sound. Well, it was Paragon City, and loud sounds weren't that abnormal. Her home was nice, and quiet, but it was too quiet sometimes. She felt she was ready to settle down. There was one problem, she hadn't met anyone to settle down with. She was a reporter, and she was, as the cliche goes, married to the job. That Crime Fighter guy was nice, and well built. He had nice lips and a nice chin, the only parts of his face that she could see. The people in Major Flander's Fried Chicken really thought highly of him. He was not in the news all the time, like some of the other supes in the city. It was one of the reasons why she did an article on him. That loud noise bugged her though. She was just lying down, and was pretty sure she dosed off. That sound though, woke her up. Or at least she thought she was awake, but she could not open her eyes. She read about that, it was a sleep disorder, where you were awake, but your body was not. She never experienced it before, but that was what it had to be. Yvette thought of her mother, and her childhood. She had a good childhood, and a strong momma. Even at 62 her mother was still the strongest woman she knew. No, the strongest person she knew. There was pain now, though maybe she hurt all along and just didn't realize it. Maybe it had to do with the sleep paralysis, yeah, sleep paralysis, that was what it was called. She moaned, but the moan was far off, dreamy, like the pain. She heard herself moan. She vowed not to drink again, no matter how much her friends insisted she needed time to just let go. Letting go was always seemed to come with a headache. Yvette thought of her father. She didn't really remember him that much. She knew he died in a car accident. A drunk driver hit him in Skyway, they said he never knew what hit him. She still had memories of him though, broken up and sometimes hard to know if it was actual memories or memories her mind just created to fill gaps. That did happen. She knew that. Strange that she was thinking of these things now. Now, she no longer hurt. She no longer felt paralyzed either. She was able to open her eyes. No, one eye. She saw a skull, of some sort, but she was not scared. She was past scared. She didn't feel fear now. She just felt nothing. She was falling back to sleep, though it was more than sleep. She felt it was more than sleep. That strange skull stayed in her mind, as she fell into the blackness. He looked at her, as she gasped her last breath. She would not burn. It could cause a fire, and this was an apartment building with other, innocent, lives here. She was not innocent. She wrote the article, calling for leniency. Forgiveness. She could have written that article any other time and he would not have cared. No, it came out only days after his family was buried. She had to have been writing it while he was at the funeral. While he was burying his wife, his kids. His twins, his girl. His wife. She wrote it as the city was outraged at the killings, but she was not outraged. She was not angry. She wanted leniency. The sirens sounded in the distance, as Grey's Anatomy played on the television. She did not want justice. She got what she wanted. No justice, so then there was only vengeance. There was Final Vengeance. Paragon Vanguard Jerrin Bloodlette Hughe Luke Minhere many others Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Paragon Vanguard Posted Thursday at 01:14 PM Author Share Posted Thursday at 01:14 PM They all had ideas. They all knew how to handle it. They all wanted to be kept informed. They all wanted their hands out of it, so no blame can come there way. This was why they did not want to be a part of the investigation. Well, not until it was over and the bad guy was caught and they would expect Carl to tell the media that they were kept informed and well involved. They wanted nothing to do with this. "She was shot here, detective," the officer said. Carl wasn't sure what his name was. He had spoken to him before, a nice enough man. "She crawled over here, it seems," the officer continued. Carl let him say it, but Carl knew exactly how it played out. She crawled there, and bled out. She didn't die from the initial shot, he let her bleed out, right there. "Thank you officer," Carl said. The officer nodded, and went into the other room. They knew to let the detectives alone, especially legends like Detective Carl Castil. He had been a detective, probably longer than the officer was an officer. He solved so many crimes in his time, but this one was different. "Hello detective," the man said, looking into the open window of the apartment. Of course, this was a 6th floor apartment. "Crime Fighter," the detective said, a sigh escaping his lips. "Yeah, I knew her," he said, and Carl could hear the sadness in the man's voice. "Not that well, but well enough to know she was a good person." Carl agreed. She was a good person. "Who is doing this, detective," the masked man asked, and Carl could hear the anger now in the man's voice. It didn't ring as something the man felt often. "That is the question," Carl said. "THAT is the question." "I am offering my help," the masked man said, but Carl was already shaking his head. "This is police business, and if you are wanting to help officially, you would have to come by way of Vanguard, however, this is not something they seem to care about." "It's not something they can, as they are keeping aliens from taking over the world," Crime Fighter said, a bit defensively. Carl was impressed that the man did not enter the apartment, knowing to keep the integrity of the crime scene. "We all have our duty, and this is mine, not yours." "What can you tell me," the hero asked, this time his voice was not quite as friendly. Carl looked over to him, and was about to say nothing, then changed his mind. "You really want to know what I think?" Crime Fighter said nothing. "I think he has a list, of people. I can't say why he has a list, just that he has a list. Not of people that did him wrong, not directly, but people who did wrong. May be that it's personal, but not necessarily. It seems so many are out to help the criminals, and so few out to help the victim. Everyone wants to see someone redeemed, but not punished. That's the hard part, seeing someone punished. Seeing justice." "You sound like you agree," Crime Fighter said, and Carl could hear the frown on the man's lips. "It isn't about agreeing or disagreeing, it's about trying to understand. If you want to help, you have to understand why someone does this. Why they would commit the crimes they commit. Why do they think the way they think. I liked Yvette, Crime Fighter, I thought highly of her. But there was a reason why someone wanted her dead. You want to fight crime, understand the criminal." "Thank you Detective Castil, I will be in touch," the hero said, and was gone. Carl looked at the window a moment, then back at the crime scene. He had work to do, and began doing it. Paragon Vanguard Jerrin Bloodlette Hughe Luke Minhere many others Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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