Glade City [Open CVnU Living Locale]

@sweetsnowbell:

Lonely?! Oh, really?! Did she expect a party to all the veterans alive every time I am around? "Yeah, kid, alone. That's what I am nowadays, at least in flesh, cause in mind..." My grin widens, lengthening from cheek to cheek as my hands seize another cigarette, head tilting forth, beckoning toward the monument. "I am accompanied by many. Gotta rejoin them some time, ya know? My life has just gotten ridiculously boring. For a person that usually smelled Napalm and got shot scars daily, sitting down and waiting is a painful task." I sigh, that's all the weight on my chest I had to remove, fine now. Just a few sips and I will be fine. One. Two. Three. Four. Five... Hmm, that's just what I needed.

"Sorry about the cigar, I have no idea how awful it must smell. Lost my scenting senses back at Nam."A warmhearted chuckle follows my summary of a tale. Can't be that rude to the girl, she wanted to help. Maybe I can bore her after some chat, that way she is happy and so am I.

@zeke_:

Lindsay's eyes gradually lowered, her expression insecure and embarrassed -- far more than it should be for someone with her looks. She wasn't so good at this "cheer up" thing, apparently.

She considered asking the man if he had any family, but only briefly. It was obvious that he didn't, and asking would be fresh salt on an old wound, she surmised. "It's okay," she mumbled about the cigar, trying to buy time while she thought of something -- anything -- better to say. Boring. He said his life was boring. "If you're bored, what do you like to do? I've been in town a couple months now -- I work at Mammy's Car Wash -- and there's so much to do in Glade City. If you have a car, maybe I can take you sightseeing or... something?" Her speech was peppered by nervous halts and pauses, her mind catching up with her chapsticked lips as she tried to say something that didn't sound completely moronic, figuring she probably wasn't succeeding.

@sweetsnowbell:

Damn, don't appeal to my soft side, kiddo. Don't ya f*cking dare! Agh! I am a goddamn war veteran that is nice to kids, what the hell am I turning into?! Hand meets face, I frown a jiffy, gawk around with my one good eye. Today ain't my day, getting softer and softer. Why does everyone here has to be so cheerful and all? "Look, kiddo, I lived in Gothic for a long time. Since I came back, to be honest. The atmosphere of that city just matched my style, brooding, quiet, grey. But since my family decided to force me to live here, I can't do much but... Well, infect the city with my bad temper and anger issues." I beam a side-grin, hopefully that will get her to smile a bit.

I broaden my arm a tad, enough room for her to slide her arm beneath. Muscles swimmingly respond, I guess taking care of my health all those years prepared me for a long lifespan. Now ain't that ironic?! Anyways, I throw the cigar at some bin, start chewing a gum to get the bad smell to... partially vanish. "If sightseeing will make ya feel better, sure. Don't be so harsh on yerself because of an ol' fart like me, sweetie. If there's something I learnt in my life, it's to never stop smiling." And to trust no one. "The name is Ezekiel, by the way. Call me Zeke, though."

@zeke_:

Lindsay tilts her head slightly when the veteran -- Zeke, apparently -- mentioned Gothic City. They had common ground there, apparently, and though her eyes flooded with barely-suppressed fear and trauma, she forced herself to talk about it. "My name's Lindsay. I grew up in Gothic City... just moved here a couple months ago. Someone..." the Dark Woman flashed before her simmering green eyes, refreshing her old terror. "...Hurt me, there. That's why I moved to Glade City, so that I could be safe." She bit her bottom lip for a long moment, lifting her eyes back up to examine the older man and gently laying one inhumanly strong hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay to let it go, y'know. Nobody will blame you or be mad at you. This is a great place to..." Recover. "...Start over."

@sweetsnowbell:

Ouch! Huh, this girl's stronger than any teenage I know. Surely more interesting than my grandchildren. Hmm, she said someone hurt her too... Probably a mutant kid running away from authorities. Government would make me kill them nowadays. Like they did to many other nationalities that weren't even to blame. God bless America! "Someone hurt ya, kid? Well, guess that's some evil f*cker, cause ya're some unique hero. I mean, as a teen. Always putting yerself after the others. Pretty heroic." I suppose that fits dumb too, survival is never about you. But I am dumber, fought to save comrades and a whole country. Well, at least I believed so back then. We're two stupid people, one almost four times older than the other.

"I don't wanna forget Gothic, though. I liked the place, plenty of space for someone like me, reminded me of the hell I passed through when I was younger. Gotta give it points for that, cause serving was my early and my late life." And so was killing. Gosh, I need to kill someone again, trigger-finger issues ain't a good sign. It's either a criminal some time or I'll wake up having killed innocent people one day. Hope I don't get to shoot someone, though. Even feeling all this desire.

@zeke_:

Lindsay opened her mouth in an awkward "O," visibly searching for a cover-up when the man said the word "hero." Fortunately, she managed to keep her mouth shut for long enough that Zeke continued to talk, and she tried to convince herself that he didn't mean what she'd originally thought he meant. That would have been bad. Nobody could know she was Snowbell.

Except Alice, obviously, but Alice was a different matter altogether.

"Thanks," she finally murmured, a heated pink blush staining her smooth cheeks. When the man spoke of Gothic, though, she couldn't help but wonder what history she was giving up by pretending the city didn't exist. Like, for instance, a childhood as an acne-ridden albino geek so unloved that the other kids would draw straws to see whose Lunchables they'd throw at her each day.

On second thought, forgetting about Gothic may have been for the best.

"But you have passed through it, haven't you? Is that something you need to keep reminding yourself of? This place is... gosh, it's paradise almost. I've never been somewhere like this."

@sweetsnowbell:

Her reactions are somewhat exaggerated, this only aggravates my suspicions. But she's a nice kid, no need to torture her like that. Not that it ain't funny, it just ain't right. I mean, she offered to go sightseeing with a half-bum half-angered soldier. That is all the proof I need to know she is a hero outside the mask. Well, at least she acts like one and that's, unfortunately, what we need nowadays. I mean, masked crusaders. Never liked 'em, but they are something we have to embrace. Villains are getting tougher and tougher and I am simply not enough to take more than a few thugs on my own.

Still, Gothic showed me how I can still fight the good fight. Stopped a few rapes there, some robberies. These boyos that call themselves thieves are just little rats, and I can end lowly vermin like 'em.

"Yeah, I passed through it. I lived it for years. The fear, the anger, the sadness. All that violence, that living Hell, burning everything in front of me." I admit it, war ain't beautiful like some Hollywood retard wanna make ya believe, it's filled with disaster and blood. Dead friends. Ya gotta cope with the uncertainty of life every day, and then ya realize how pointless living is after ya lose everything. "But ya summed it up nicely. This place is paradise and that's far away from home for a devil."

@zeke_:

The teen swallowed slightly, chewing the inside of her cheek. She didn't know much about war or shell shock, and she knew even less about meaningfully interacting with other people. What she could see was that Zeke wasn't as vile as he seemed to think -- just a lonely, sad person that needed help.

"This place might change your mind," she finally said, the best she had in such a socially tight situation, hoping that she could instill, if not comfort, a little bit of hope.

@zeke_: [ Gonna have to bail for a bit, catch ya later! ]

@sweetsnowbell: (Respond to ya tomorrow after tests. =D)

The low growl of his Harley was sweet music to any motorcycle fanatics ears. Mathias, The Betrayer, glided through the pristine streets of downtown Glade for the first time with nothing more than a duffel bag and the clothes on his back. Having been exiled to Earth eighty years prior, The Asgardian longed for a place he could call home. Earth however, proved to be anything but.

Despite what his appellation implied, Mathias became known as The Betrayer due to a dire consequence of his actions, not his character. With the blood of the past still fresh on his hands, Mathias held onto the one thing he believed to be his redemption; an artifact which granted the Dark Elves unfathomable power, a power that The Betrayer has had to defend with his life, time and time again.

The low growl of the Harley ceased, as Glade City's newest arrival, pulled up for the evening.

@macmx288: (nice character)

@vivide: Thanks - I haven't had a chance to cook up a more detailed bio yet but yours for Niht is fantastic! is Niht currently in Glade? There's a storm coming and Mathias will need help

@macmx288: She's in Gothic at the moment .

@vivide: Well maybe some time in the future, Niht and The Betrayer may find themselves side by side in battle. It is never long before he has to move on, but Mathias still has a part to play in this city.

"Now descending into Glade City. All passengers please return to your seats and move your seat trays to the upright position. Glade City's forecast for today is a cool 68 degrees, with partly cloudy skies. Local time is 3:21 PM...." The pilot's voice came in overhead on the large plane, as the beautiful city was seen through Victor Meers' mirror. Sniffing to himself, he tightened the grip on his carry-on bag- a small backpack that carried his chemical supplies and a few magazines. His stormy grey eyes surveyed the beauty blankly, the man finding no actual interest in how pretty the place was. There was work to do here. Important work. Pulling out a small notebook from his purple trench coat's pocket, he flipped it open to read his scrawly handwriting to himself.

"Few followers in Glade. Few criminals in general. Disgusting=Order..."

What seemed like general ranting to most people was like an encyclopedia for him, an entire survey on the game to be played here. Running a hand through his short, choppy green hair, he thought about what this new place would have in store. Glade City had peace more than almost anything else. So the police force should be slow, sloppy. Easy to manipulate. Of course it could also mean the police were top notch, no nonsense boys. That... well, he could also manipulate them, but it wouldn't be as easy.

As the grin on his face spread, he felt the plane land on the ground, stomach flying up into his throat as connection was made. The prospect of changing this beautiful city was so exciting. It could be a fresh hub of anarchy, a symbol to the government that their power was nothing in his eyes. His chance at the big leagues. Ever since he'd made his bribes to get on the flight, he'd been greatly anticipating this moment.

___

As dusk approached, Curve had finally settled in. Now the maniac was equipping himself, a table of chemicals set out before him in his hotel room as he put different elements together, making explosives and other gases in general.

"ALLLLLLLLRIGHTY then! Take two of these every morning, Glade City, and I promise you, your peace problem will be cured in no time!" He cackled to himself, as he slipped the objects into various trenchcoat pockets, grinning as Curve walked out of the hotel room, skipping to himself lightly as he flipped through a tourist guide to the city.

"A Super Mall? How fun! I can go hang out with the cool kids. Sip some pop, and all that!" He smiled, running down the stairs two steps at a time. Finally he reached the bottom, and after exiting the hotel started to skip toward the mall. Many stopped to stare at the clown, but most ignored him, tending to their own personal business.

(I hope this is ok. It says violent crime is a no-go, but violent crime... well, it helps Curve sleep at night. Either way, he can be intervened by authorities or whatever.

And sorry if my post sucks, haha, I'm just getting back to all this.)

@curve:

[ This is a special case for violent crime, I think. ;) Also I made the thread so what I say goes, mwahahha. ]

"Yes! Hah!" Belle yelped quietly, pausing her brisk gait through the mall to vocally celebrate her recent victory over the Fuchsia City Gym Leader. Fist-pumping contently, she saved her game and slipped her Gameboy pack into her purse pocket, allowing herself to focus back on the task at hand. Belle didn't go to the mall particularly frequently, as she bought most of her clothes online; but from time to time a trip to the Sharper Image was outright necessary.

She didn't even notice the conspicuous green-haired man until she exited the store with a new mini-amp she'd had her eye on, though once she did her attention was quickly caught. She'd never been one for caution, spurring many of her co-workers to muse upon the question as to how she had lived this long in her line of work. A reporter by habit rather than necessity, Miss Alternative Glade City knew trouble when she saw it. Unlike the police force, who weren't allowed to discriminate based on appearance or gut feelings, Belle Nightingale prided herself on her tendency to do so... not to mention her skill in exactly that.

Unsurprisingly, the brisk, almost merry clip of the trenchcoated pale-man set off a great deal of the young woman's red flags. He smelled like trouble, to the point where she was stunned that he'd make such a public appearance, even in Glade City. A tingling in the back of her mind did warn her that his seeming boldness could have meant something immensely dangerous was soon to occur, but as usual, she ignored it. Caution was for the crusty old mooks that settled for weather reports 'cause they couldn't get the good stories. Belle refused to be one of them.

Moving gradually closer, Belle slipped on her black-framed glasses. She didn't need them, per se, but they did aid her vision... and they also had a micro-camera built into the side, which she quickly flicked on. Shouldering her purse and tightening her grip on the bags she'd just brought from the store, she kept her eye on the green-haired man and began to carefully shadow him, waiting for him to do something suspicious. Well, more suspicious than existing, anyway.

The lunatic hardly seemed to notice the girl as he joyously skipped through the mall. In fact he completely ignored her. All that mattered was that she didn't get in the way. As he drew two of his chemical nightmares, he leaped up on a platform meant for singers and other performers to please the crowds. Eyes suddenly bright with hysteria, he pulled the pins out of the canisters, green gas pouring out of them as he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"People of Glade City! I tip my hat to you, as I bring you my Gothic specials, a little gift all the way from home!" With that being said Curve began to juggle the canisters, throwing a can out into the crowd every once in a while. Upon impact/explosion, the can would break open, gas inside spreading and causing mass hallucinations of whatever people were afraid of. As screams started to spread people ran rampant, chaotically going every which way as Curve danced in the gas, seemingly unaffected. If this didn't make the news, he didn't know what would. Drawing a can of spray paint, he ran to a nearby wall (close to where Belle was standing) and started illustrating a giant smile. Hysterically he laughed to himself, leaning against the wall as he watched people panic.

Chaos was a beautiful thing in his eyes. It meant everyone could do anything. What could hold more freedom than that prospect right there? The American dream. He laughed again, walking into a now abandoned store and grabbing whatever looked useful. Police would soon arrive, obviously, but he didn't care. What would police do against gas and a madman with a gun? Whistling, he walked through the stores, as if it was just a normal afternoon.

@curve:

Uh oh. Oh no. Ohhhh hell naw.

Well, she paid the price for throwing caution to the wind. Fortunately that price was non-lethal, not that she'd likely learn her lesson from it. As the cannisters burst to flood the mall with toxic green gas, the first thing Belle did was inhale from shock -- sending a hefty dose of the stuff on a one-way journey through her nostrils and into her brain.

"Ugh... I... wha...." She blinked hard, and though her glasses were recording just as they should be, Belle's eyes started to see things in an entirely different light. Every step she took brought a surge of anxiety not entirely unlike what she felt when she hit a random wilderness encounter in an RPG, and the way she saw people began to distort... shifting and changing like some kind of crappy creepypasta romhack. The green-haired maniac himself now manifested in her eyes with blood streaming from his hyper-realistic cartoon eyes, and the young reporter trembled.

Gather her nerve... she had to gather her nerve....

A soft giggle of pure anxiety escaped her lips, her eyes going bloodshot like she hadn't slept for days as everything around her distorted. The spraypainted smiles on the walls began to take a life of their own, their eyes becoming red and malicious, blood drooling from their psychotic smirks as they descended from the walls and onto her. She couldn't feel their bites, but she could anticipate them, like a distilled fear that chilled her to the bone. What was she seeing... where was she....

Her eyes snapped back open as the worst fear of all manifested in her intoxicated brain -- losing the scoop. A sort of sudden alertness dawned on her and she looked around, narrowly dodging being trampled by a man who was, quote, "covered in motherf***ing bees." She was on her knees, though didn't recall falling to them. Barely lucid, she struggled to her feet and cast her misted-over eyes around the mall, searching once again for any sign of the white-skinned psycho.

As people started passing out, Curve walked out of the stores, hands full of shopping bags as he eyed the fallen customers. "Gee, I guess I really was a show stopper." He chuckled loudly, his voice almost masked by screams. Dropping his bags he skipped over to the nearest victim, lifting him up and looking him in the eyes- causing him to scream in agony at whatever the lunatic appeared to be. Laughing all the louder, Curve spotted flashing lights in the outside window. The police had arrived. Faster than he'd expected. Looking around he noticed a young woman still standing.

"Yoohoo! Pretty one, yes you..." He called out to Belle, walking toward her as he drew a large pistol. He had no personal quarrel with the girl. Hell he didn't know her at all. Random selection just allowed her to be chosen first. With a menacing look in his eye he grabbed the girl's shoulder, pulling her close in an attempt to hold her hostage in case it came down to a gunfight. The first few cops stormed the building as Curve drew his small gun. "Shoot at me and I shoot the little lady here!" He yelled out, pointing the gun to the girls head, walking back toward the emergency exit behind them.

The cops didn't respond. The gas hit them before they could respond. As they drew their weapons it struck them, horrified by what they saw, stumbling to their knees and screaming before finally ending themselves to stop the horror, leaving the policemen outside to ponder how to proceed.

Surprised, Curve shrugged lightly to himself before dragging the girl outside, away from the toxic fumes as he dropped her roughly. "Thanks for the dance, princess, but I've gotta run." He spat, turning to spot a now abandoned car. Breaking the window he leaped inside, working at the wires under the dash till he hotwired it. Laughing he fired a few rounds of his gun into the air, speeding away and leaving Belle.

@curve:

Belle blinked hard when she was finally dropped in a heap onto the pavement, left behind. It seemed to have passed in a blur of terror, confusion, and helplessness and the maniac had used her to escape and promptly left her there.

But left her there... alive.

She let her eyes drift shut, the darkness behind them spinning in a mockery of the worst hangover the 23-year-old had yet ever endured. She was alive. The man had escaped, but she had lived. Not only had she lived... she had it on camera. Had him on camera.

It was a long while there on the concrete, listening to the crazed screams of those still under the influence of the fear gas. She began to shiver gradually, opening her eyes to make the spinning stop and promptly re-awakening herself to the nightmares within her blood. She retched and curled up, shaking violently until she finally passed out in a pool of her own vomit and what may have been urine.

-----

Belle Nightingale awoke in the hospital a few hours later, cleaned up for the most part and stuffed into a pale hospital gown. Her glasses were on the table beside her, and she pawed idly at them (missing the first few times) in a desperate attempt to make sure they were okay. It would all be worth it if they were intact.

Finally, she smiled. Not a scratch.

After time had passed Curve had gone back into hiding. Using the same hotel twice might've been a bad idea, but he didn't care. It was safety until he was known to be residing there, and there weren't many in Glade City that could challenge him. However, he was indeed much more vulnerable, without his entourage of lackeys. Licking his lips he turned on the news, watching the police's vague report of how a man dressed as a clown managed to send over 40 people to the hospital. Those were low numbers, in his current opinion.

"ONLY 40?" He whined to himself, kicking off his shoes as he fell onto the bed. "What a tragedy!" Rolling over, he grabbed the TV remote, and turned up the volume, a sloppy, homemade grenade close by in case police came a knocking. However, he silently hoped it wouldn't come to that...

In his mind he planned his next attack. The tourist pamphlet was sprawled on the bed, and he eagerly scanned the pages for answers.

___
Quickly a sharp knock came at Belle's door, before it opened quietly. A nurse poked out her head to glance at the patient, before speaking calmly. "Ms. Nightingale? There's people from the local news here to speak with you, they want to ask about what happened at the mall."

@curve:

The rest of the day was spent with the Glade City Tribune and, towards the end, the GCPD. It was to be expected, though having never been hospitalized on the job she had little experience with how... antipathic the people "caring" for her could be when they wanted information. Nonetheless, as long as she was given proper credit for it Belle was glad to hand over her cam-glasses and the information on them.

Most of the information on the glasses was dismissed as "not of use." They had plenty of eyewitness reports of the man, and a few of them even actually lined up... enough to get an idea of what Curve actually looked like. But the cops and the news weren't quite as obsessive as Belle was.

Picking the pocket of a detective on his way out, she retrieved her glasses and quickly scavenged her purse from the pile of stuff labeled as not being evidence. Fishing out a cord and a 9" mp4 player, Nightingale plugged the cams into it and reopened the file. Reexperiencing the event, in real-time, without the hallucinations she had previously endured was more than a little trippy, but she was determined to get some new information out of it. She didn't have to go off of hard facts. She just had to be observant, and use her gut.

It wasn't long before she started getting an idea of what the madman was like. He was a showman. He had wanted people to see what he was doing, it was an act. A grand happening.

Her mind equated two factors quite quickly -- one, that a psycho with such a public image would stay moving before he'd lay low, and two, that his next mark would be just as public and populated as the last one. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Straightening the bandages that had been wrapped around her shoulder (the fall she'd taken had been nasty), Belle found her clothes and slipped them back on, pausing to close a screen when she saw the elderly patient in the cubicle next door peeping on her. The hospital security hadn't checked her purse for hidden pockets, and therefore had never found her 9mm. It wasn't much, but it'd have to do. She may have been under the weather, but this was important. If she could find the man she might be able to evacuate the place before it was too late... or, more realistically, get a better lead on what this lunatic was up to.

@belle_nightingale:

The next day, Curve woke up with a start. As he was eating a two dollar bowl of oatmeal, he was also reading the Glade City Tribune- and he did not like what he heard. "A madman? A lunatic? Why, I'm an art aficionado! A real McCoy, if I do say so myself. Not some carnie!" Reading the names on the paper, he chuckled a bit. "At least it made front page..." Cackling, he tore the paper to shreds. "Time for surgery..."
As a knock came to the door, Curve used his most innocent of voices. "Come innnnn..." He said sweetly, hiding in the bathroom and dipping a cloth in chloroform carefully. As the man came in, he looked around for his client, sliding the room service cart to the center of the room.

"Hello?" He called out. Curve came out of the bathroom, creeping up behind the poor old man, before snapping- putting the cloth over his face to restrict breathing. Within seconds the poor man was out cold, a heap on the floor. Grinning even wider now, Curve drew a long knife meant for hunting- but, he'd use it for surgery.

"Now, you're going to go into the University. I've got other errands to run, my boy..." Curve said, as he shoved the old man out of the car they were riding in. Tears streaming from the old man's face he walked ahead, stumbling now and then.

Finally he screamed out, "I've got a bomb!" Pulling open his huge jacket he revealed a painted smile on his chest along with a line of explosives in random order.

Driving away quickly, Curve looked at the first name on his list- the people who were interviewed. Time to make an example of this town... Starting with a Ms. Belle Nightingale.

(Sorry, haven't accessed a computer for the past couple days.)

@curve:

"Subject last sighted at Glade City Metro Mall..." Belle grumbled into her recorder from the safety of her apartment. She had a pile of charts laying around the living room -- a small, better organized one in her computer, a larger, more palpable assortment of images and connecting strings on her wall, and countless other small momentos and notes. She'd spent the last few hours doing her best to whittle down "unlikely" areas for a next attack, while doing her best to predict which was closest (or far enough away) from the site of the original attack. While Belle wasn't a cop or a real detective by anyone's standards, she'd spent the majority of her adult life stalking down psychos like this. Her hair was freshly dyed, as it always was when Miss Alternative Glade City took on a new case, and the still-wet locks hung in her eyes as she pored over location after location.

"Not enough people..." she murmured, furrowing her brow and popping a tootsie-pop between her silky pink lips. "Not cosmopolitan enough...." Another pause, this one longer, as she glanced at a dot on a map that marked a large carnival.

"...Too obvious."

Finally she flopped back down into her gaming chair, crunching down impulsively on the sucker. Where the hell would he strike next? How was she even expected to guess? She'd narrowed down multiple options but so many still remained, and Belle didn't even a trail to follow. Besides a Glade City Tribune exclusive on the man, the authorities barely even seemed to be looking for him. Certainly not as hard as Nightingale was. She had no way of knowing, or even suspecting, that the maniac was already much closer than she thought....

@belle_nightingale: I had forgotten how fast you were.

@schlampe: I am as Ara, the Lightning.

@belle_nightingale

After pulling up at her house, Curve got out, walking up to the door. Knocking quickly, he drew his knife- which had his signature engraved onto it- and stabbed it into the door. Then he bolted off, back into the rental car and off down the street, chuckling. For most people he was close to, a memento like that- a symbol that Curve knew something, anything- would be horrifying. But he could never be sure. If Ms. Nightingale decided to pursue the story about the man about to blow up Bright Minds, he'd know it'd take a... stronger, touch.

Next on his list, he went after the people that interviewed Ms. Nightingale. Grinning widely, he decided spontaneously that the young reporter would be the only reporter to cover him. If, she dared. Most would not, out of fear. Pulling up, he went up to the door, another knife in hand and ready, until the reporter answered the door. Swiftly, Curve drove his blade into her, grinning at the look of shock on the lady's face. Pulling back her face into a smile, he left the knife and walked away from the scene, off to the next person's list.

Meanwhile, at Bright Minds University, there was utter panic. The man with explosives around him was warily looking at the timer on his stomach- which constantly counted down from 10 to 0, before making a fake explosion noise and restarting. Several police were already on the scene, getting everybody a safe distance away.

@curve:

The loud, deep "thud" on the door to her apartment jarred Belle from her musings, and brought the young woman to her feet quickly. Not taking any chances, she reached into her purse to draw her pistol, flicking the safety off and opening the door to find nothing. Against her better judgment, the slim reporter finally took a step outside, looking around, but it was only when she failed to shut the door against the opposite wall that she noticed the knife. She eyed it closely for a long moment, inhaling rapidly through her nose, before reaching out to snatch it in one tattooed hand. Screw getting gloves for this. She hadn't included the cops in any of her cases yet; they wouldn't be necessary for this one.

Retreating into her apartment, she flicked the television on and changed the channel to the 7, waiting for any signs of trouble while she examined the blade, seeing the signature quickly and toying with the pommel to see if it had any hidden catches, finding none so far. "Curve," then. She had a name. It was a beginning, however minor.

"This is the Glade City Tribune with an exclusive emergency report. A pale-faced criminal thought to be behind the recent mall bombing has been sighted near Bright Minds University, where one man has been strapped with explosives and left...."

Belle gritted her teeth, cursing herself. One step behind, always. Bright Minds had actually been one of the marks she'd left open as a possibility, but she'd been far, far too late to do anything about it. Now Curve had struck again... not to mention targeted her. He wanted to scare her, terrorize her. But Nightingale's stubborn pig-headedness was more than enough to keep her in the game for now. This was her case. She'd expose the identity of Curve, triangulate his next mark, and stop him before anyone else could get hurt.

Her laptop "blooped" with a Skype message, spurring Belle to quickly check as she laced up her converse boots.

Maya's dead, was the message, sent by a close friend of hers at the Tribune, Troy.

The reporter who'd been at Belle's bedside after the first attack, the one who'd taken her statement. A picture blooped onto the screen next, taken by Troy's camera at the scene of the crime.

Nightingale clasped a hand over her mouth, stifling a soft "holy shit." Curve was moving fast, and if he'd struck at Maya's house then his trajectory made no sense. How was he getting around so fast?

Grabbing her purse, her camera, her gun, and a set of spare cam-glasses, Belle Nightingale rushed out of her apartment. So Curve had let Belle know he had her in his sights, and he'd proven that he was a step ahead of her. The question was, could the hints he'd given lead her to her next mark? She checked her smartphone as she hopped into her car, checking a not-strictly-legal app to suss out the address of someone on the police force -- Sgt. Cameron Baker, the cop who'd handled the evidence Belle had handed over. If Curve was targeting people she'd interacted with after the attack, he had to be next.

@belle_nightingale:

As Curve went back to his hotel he soon realized there were three cop cars outside of it. All of which looked suspicious. Driving past, he grinned as a sudden thought came to him. Mr. Baker's residence... he'd hopefully be out and about after his bomb fake in Bright Minds. Making a U turn, he drove back toward the nearest police station, pulling up and getting out swiftly. Almost all the cops were out at the station, but he was already ready for action- chrome pistol in hand.

The beauty of Curve's actions was the spontaneous-ness. The death of Maya and the knife would lead the nosy reporter to start suspecting things early on- but the police would be preoccupied with trying to trace the bomb to peek into the targeting of Belle. Of course, Belle would spend the day expecting those around her to be hurt. But no- now, instead of meeting her head on, he'd hurt as many people involved as he could till it drove her mad or worse.

Finally, Curve entered the station, gun in hand as he immediately pointed it at the receptionist. "Evening, ma'am. I'd like to report a crime, a hostage situation." Smiling, he walked up to the frozen receptionist, drawing a knife and ending her quickly. Pushing her aside, he crouched by the computer and quickly looked up Cameron Baker's address. Smiling, he memorized the street, and turned off the computer, blowing a kiss to the now dead receptionist next to him.

Now let's see Mr. Baker, and then Ms. Nightingale... Realizing the bomb was still active, he pulled out a small remote control trigger. Pressing a button, the bombs around the man's chest stopped counting down- simply spraying out a few ounces of his psycho gas, sending the nearby police into a frenzy. Smirking, Curve drove faster, to Mr. Baker's lovely home.

Right? That whole thing in fifteen minutes. That's insane!

@curve:

Belle was halfway to Baker's residence before another of her not-entirely-supposed-to-be-had-by-civilians toys -- this one a police radio hack that she'd rigged up herself -- gave her another quick tip. A murder at the police station. A receptionist. Someone nowhere even near Belle's radar of plausible victims.

A random goddamn killing.

Nightingale stopped the car, pulling into a random driveway and catching her breath, collecting her thoughts. A police receptionist had nothing to do with her -- it broke the rhyme scheme, making her wonder if Baker was even a target at all. Had there be something she'd missed? What else did she and Maya have in common? They'd worked a case together in 2013 and gotten the scoop on the Scissorman killings. But besides Maya occasionally flirting with her at the office, that was the only time the two had interacted. If Curve was related to that old case it could make sense, but that still didn't wrangle in a receptionist in any way. Could it have been really random? Something to throw off the pattern?

More reports came in over the police radio, talking about people "going crazy" at the bomb scene before even the radios cut out. He'd been active for less than a week and Curve already had Glade City by the low-n'-rounds. The question was whether or not Belle did have something to do with what this killer was planning. He'd left a knife in her door. Tagged her, not killed her.

She wracked her mind for possibilities, applying her not-considerable intellect in an increasingly frantic attempt to get any kind of theories that made sense. If Curve wasn't killing people close to Belle in order to terrorize her, then it meant he wanted her to follow him. Wanted her to be the mouse, thinking she was the cat. It meant he had either a deathwish, or a trap.

Shotgunning an entire bag of tropical Skittles into her mouth, Belle turned the car around and started heading towards the police station. She had only one lead, and that was Baker's house. If Curve was targeting her, he'd know that. If she could get a posse of officers to investigate Baker's place she might at least end up out of harm's immediate way.

And one nearly as long in thirteen. :3

@belle_nightingale: That really is amazing.

@belle_nightingale:

As Curve arrived at the new address, he grinned slightly, walking up to the house and knocking politely. Proper etiquette was SO important these days. Making sure he was clear of the peephole, Curve waited till the door was open till he made his strike, on who he assumed to be Mr. Baker.

"Judo CHOP!" Curve shouted, striking a nerve on the man with surprising speed. Reeling back, Baker started gasping for breath, as Curve let himself in. "Wonderful pad, if I do say so myself." Smirking, he admired a picture on the wall before returning to his current prey. "You're going to help me, sir. Help me attract a lovely local damsel." As Baker reached behind him, Curve hissed through his teeth and backhanded him, sending him crashing into the wall with a thud.

"Persistent, are we? I know you have a gun on your belt, I'm not stupid. Any minute now Ms. Nightingale could walk through that door, and we need to show our best etiquette!" Curve drew a knife, grinning.

In under a minute the police sergeant was duct taped to a chair in his living room, Curve sitting next to him comfortably, watching the door. "Now put on your best smile... I hear a car in the driveway." His grin widened.

@curve: [[ Sorry for the wait, got swamped. ]]

@curve:

Belle hesitated, swerving at the last second on her way back towards the police station. They'd obviously been part of Curve's plan, so she couldn't expect much use from them. Like it or not, she was in this herself. Sliding her pistol out of her purse, the reporter/model/musician slid her compact car into the driveway of Sgt. Baker's house, slipping out of it and slamming the door shut with a smooth click. For all she knew, that maniac was already inside.

She tightened her grip on the gun. Could feel a sheen of sweat on her back. She'd never been a hero, never tried to play hero. She wanted the exclusive on Curve and she planned to get it. If saving a police officer ended up being among her accomplishments, it'd be icing on the cake.

The reporter didn't bother knocking; instead going to the back door and, after waiting for an uncomfortably long time, starting to pick the lock with a set she'd bought out of the Bud K catalog.

@belle_nightingale:

"Oh bother, dear, it seems like she's running a bit late." Curve clicked his tongue, going to the window to peek outside- where he saw, her car. "Now, that can't be the Mrs., can it, Cammy old boy? Your good friend Nightingale must be... well, not a step ahead, but not as far behind. Guess I gotta quicken my pace, cover my tracks, sharpen my skills. This peaceful city's just got me so chillaxed, Cammy old boy." He grinned widely, pulling a bottled liquid out of his jacket- arsenic. Eyes widening, Sergeant Baker squirmed violently in his chair.

"Oh Cammy ol' boy, please do keep still. It's going to happen anyway." Grin spreading, Curve pulled off the lid and splashed the entire bottle onto the cop's face- catching him in the eyes and, at least temporarily, blinding him. Scream muffled by duct tape, the Sergeant jerked so hard is chair fell over, making a loud thud. Laughing, Curve drew his gun, about to finish his work- when all of a sudden he heard the back door open.

"Ah, is that our lovely Ms. Nightingale? I don't think we've been properly introduced." He called out, gun pointed down on Mr. Baker. Curve's grin spread- ready for a fight, or maybe just a good scare.

@curve:

Belle paused, dead in her tracks, when she finally stepped into the living room to see Sgt. Baker spluttering helplessly, thrashing against his bindings and screaming against the duct tape that wound around his face. Even more important, of course, was the tall, thin man standing over him. Curve.

Her hands shook slightly, both of them tightly on the grip of her pistol and aimed right ahead. She had it lined up for a body shot (not wanting to take the chance of a miss by going for a headshot), but Curve already had his gun on Baker. There was no way she'd get a shot off before he did.

So, the reporter used what she had, even if it wasn't much. "You wanted me here, Curve. Here I am." She did her best to keep her hands steady, though her entire body was beginning to tremble with fear. Even though the impetuous young woman didn't think she stood a chance in a shootout with this crazed killer, she kept her automatic aimed. Hopefully, at the least, it could... slow things down, a little.

@belle_nightingale:

"Yes, darling, you are here now. Thought you'd seen the last of me, after the whole Mall catastrophe, but nope! I've taken a particular liking to you. Especially after that nasty report you gave to the Tribune... A madman? Honestly dear, I'm an artist!" Chuckling a bit, the criminal circled around the body of Sgt. Baker- who, was still flailing on the ground in agony. Face to face with Belle's gun, he smiled all the wider.

"So in case you don't know, I'm Curve. Criminal mastermind out of Gothic, here in Glade to cause a lil' mania. You're Belle Nightingale- Ms. Glade City, if I recall correctly. Very impressive." Without missing a beat Curve glanced the reporter up and down, incredibly amused by this.

"But we can't spend all day on pleasantries, can we? I brought you here so that I could kill Cammy Baker right before your eyes. He dies, because of you." Curve's smile left his face almost instantly. Raising the gun, he fired it on Cameron Baker, the bang resonating through the house. Without caring how Belle would react, he turned and started to walk away- not even saying goodbye. Of course he expected to be shot at, but he also believed the shock of what he just did would unsettle Belle to the point where he'd be able to get away.

@curve:

"Miss Alternative Glade City," Belle corrected quickly. That was important, after all. She'd been rejected from the main Miss Glade City competition because of her tattoos. "And you're wrong. I knew I hadn't seen the last of you. Psychos like you never know when to quit."

She opened her mouth again, soft lips half-open when Curve revealed the intentions behind leading her here. A soft gasp prefaced an abortion of a syllable as the white-faced freak pulled the trigger, shooting Sgt. Baker's brains across the floor. She pulled the trigger of her own pistol -- out of sheer impulse as much as anything else -- but her eyes were on the corpse on the floor, not on Curve himself. She stared, stunned, as the bullet whirred harmlessly past Curve's head, giving the clown ample time to escape. Belle didn't even try to aim again...

...But when the GPD finally showed up, kicking down the door with guns drawn, all they found was Belle Nightingale, intrepid reporter, standing alone over a dead police official, with a smoking automatic in her hand.

"I... I didn't..." she tried to say, as cuffs were quickly clasped around her wrists.

@sweetsnowbell: "It's nice, tad to tropical from my blood" Indeed it was, the mountains and snow ran deep in Claudia's double helix.The low wurr of the jet's engine accompanied her last sip of red wine, only one glass it was going to be a job night. Claudia uncrossed her legs and made her way to her armor case.

"Subtle and Elegant as night itself" she thought to herself, noting her arm, pressing a few keys on the computer pad, the bulletproof case slid open, the swiss knight took her hemlet in her hands, the cool, jet black material felt comforting in her hand. moments later, she was from toes to head clad in her battle suit, she took Noble Ruby in her hands, It weighed nothing in a psychical sense but it carried the burden of a centuries old job. She slowly lowered the blade into her back mounted sheath and was slowly lowed onto a near by building from the Jet.

It rushed off and Claudia hunched over a ledge, she flicked on her visor and scrolled through some data

Hmm... I was thinking this city could have its first serial killer in years... And I wanna bring him down >_>

@17th_knight:

"I am silence. I am justice. I am grace." Lindsay inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a long moment as she stood at the precipice of one of Glade City's brightly-lit skyscrapers, the cool breeze sifting through the fluffy white lining on her catsuit, kissing at the sweat between her breasts. "I am Snowbell."

Exhaling and opening her eyes, the teen heroine positioned herself into a dive and leapt from the rooftop, soaring story after story through the night air and towards the street below. It was her first time attempting this, and it was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. Still, she had chosen her spot carefully, and as she built speed she reached for her belt -- unfurling the long, strong whip that she had recently purchased for this exact purpose. Lashing it outwards as she fell, it wrapped around a street sign and sent Snowbell's momentum curling around in a tight arc, sending the white-haired girl shooting back out into the night sky.

She had a mark, tonight. The news had stayed quiet about it, hadn't wanted to cause alarm. Not with the Curve killings already all over the television. A family had been killed, at night, in their homes, and Lindsay had been tracking the killer down for the last two nights in a row. With little evidence and only her scent to trust, the heroine couldn't help but feel that, despite the challenge, she was getting closer by the hour.

The question was -- would she be able to deal with whatever it was when she found it?

@sweetsnowbell: [ Great art and really slick kinetic description! ]

@strigidae_23: [ Danke! ]

@sweetsnowbell: (Joyz, I might be wanting to team up with Belle to solve something serial killer ish around this. The fact it's uncommon draws even more attention lol)

@_drake: [ I'm open to it, but you'd have to ask Curve too. ^_^ ]

@sweetsnowbell: (Does it need to be Curve? Was thinking we had to solve mystery.)

@_drake: [ I thought he was who you were talking about, since he's the serial killer in Glade. >.> ]