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Super-Earth
- Joined
- Jan 9, 2009
The city cries out for me, She needs me, Her son, Her protector. These were the thoughts of the man as he stood, studying the photo of the crime scene and trying to figure out what made the killer tick. "Whoever it is, they kill inventively, but if that was all i had I could be looking at some writer who can't publish books." The man walked out of the tavern, his top hat down over his face. The driving rain matched his mood perfectly and as he walked down the street he thought only of his daughter, safe at home, probably doing her school work. The girl was 15, and knew nothing of her father's secret life. Her mother had walked out when she was five, and that just left her and Daddy.
The man kept walking, his black trench coat pulled tight over his form. He was slim, wiry one might say, with obvious mucles, but nothing too overdramatic. He walked towards his house, calmly flipping the laminated photo back and forth in his gloved hands.
The man kept walking, his black trench coat pulled tight over his form. He was slim, wiry one might say, with obvious mucles, but nothing too overdramatic. He walked towards his house, calmly flipping the laminated photo back and forth in his gloved hands.
