Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)The shower door slid open allowing a tall, pale frame egress to find a towel. After quickly drying himself off, Trent wrapped the towel around his short black hair, and slid into a pair of black slacks and a grey sweater. Not bothering to shave his stubble, he carried himself to the kitchen for some coffee.
Several maps hung on the north wall of the large, dimly lit study. Moonlight pierced the skylight and shimmered off of countless white papers, pinned next to the charts on the wall. The glow of a computer screen on a simple desk against the western wall helped to illuminate the room. A thick winter coat was lying on a comfortable leather sofa against the eastern wall, next to which stood a metal filing cabinet, topped with a large, golden trophy weighing down some loose papers.
The door creaked slightly as Trent pushed it open and closed it behind him. Sliding open the glass door, he stepped out onto the balcony and sat down on one of three matching, red bar-stools. Biting his lip, he fumbled through his pockets for his cigarettes. After finding and lighting one he took a few long drags and let the smoke linger between him and the concrete jungle below. Trent gingerly sipped a steaming cup of espresso he had retrieved from the kitchen as he sat, rocking slightly back and forth in the stool.
Leaving his cup out on the bar, Trent finally walked back inside, picking up a few papers he had knocked down upon entering. After briefly skimming through the files, he took them to his cabinet and put them away, taking out several pins, and a few more documents before he moved to examine the maps. "One more blue pin here. Two more over there. A black one here; so there's another body now." he thought as he drove them into the wall. "There is definitely more than one attacker. How odd."
Pulling out the chair to sit down at his desk, Trent opened up a file and began typing some notes. "The victims are usually anemic and disoriented when they are found. Hardly anything is stolen from them, and they are rarely physically harmed." he said to himself as he read through his notes, "All abductions take place at night, and the lucky ones are found after a day or two. Well, it's probably not gang-violence." After quickly skimming for errors, Trent saved his changes and stood up.
Taking a moment to stretch, he took his coat from the couch and put it on. Reluctantly, his hand traveled to the second drawer of his desk, which he slowly opened. After a long moment of hesitation, Trent reached into the drawer and let his hand take the grip of the P8 handgun. Again he hesitated, before lifting the weapon, and feeling it's weight. Finally sliding it into the pocket of his jacket, he walked out of the room and then his apartment.
"Reporting always was more fun." a sarcastic voice in his head muttered as he called the elevator and prepared to go out for the night.
Several maps hung on the north wall of the large, dimly lit study. Moonlight pierced the skylight and shimmered off of countless white papers, pinned next to the charts on the wall. The glow of a computer screen on a simple desk against the western wall helped to illuminate the room. A thick winter coat was lying on a comfortable leather sofa against the eastern wall, next to which stood a metal filing cabinet, topped with a large, golden trophy weighing down some loose papers.
The door creaked slightly as Trent pushed it open and closed it behind him. Sliding open the glass door, he stepped out onto the balcony and sat down on one of three matching, red bar-stools. Biting his lip, he fumbled through his pockets for his cigarettes. After finding and lighting one he took a few long drags and let the smoke linger between him and the concrete jungle below. Trent gingerly sipped a steaming cup of espresso he had retrieved from the kitchen as he sat, rocking slightly back and forth in the stool.
Leaving his cup out on the bar, Trent finally walked back inside, picking up a few papers he had knocked down upon entering. After briefly skimming through the files, he took them to his cabinet and put them away, taking out several pins, and a few more documents before he moved to examine the maps. "One more blue pin here. Two more over there. A black one here; so there's another body now." he thought as he drove them into the wall. "There is definitely more than one attacker. How odd."
Pulling out the chair to sit down at his desk, Trent opened up a file and began typing some notes. "The victims are usually anemic and disoriented when they are found. Hardly anything is stolen from them, and they are rarely physically harmed." he said to himself as he read through his notes, "All abductions take place at night, and the lucky ones are found after a day or two. Well, it's probably not gang-violence." After quickly skimming for errors, Trent saved his changes and stood up.
Taking a moment to stretch, he took his coat from the couch and put it on. Reluctantly, his hand traveled to the second drawer of his desk, which he slowly opened. After a long moment of hesitation, Trent reached into the drawer and let his hand take the grip of the P8 handgun. Again he hesitated, before lifting the weapon, and feeling it's weight. Finally sliding it into the pocket of his jacket, he walked out of the room and then his apartment.
"Reporting always was more fun." a sarcastic voice in his head muttered as he called the elevator and prepared to go out for the night.