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Mercury Milk

The docs had abandoned places. Warehouse 009 through 043 were a wasteland of stray garbage and foam from waves on occasional stormy mornings. Not even the fingergloved, barrel fire clientèle of the board side liquor stores would go beyond number seventeen. Some people took comfort from that the way you can find comfort in simple things remaining as they are; the house on the hill, the ash rain from summer forest fires - the emptiness of the docs. If a can rolls from the asphalt of warehouse 027 into the water, does it make a splash?

But the dieing megacity harbored some vivid chaos in its belly today.

Her hair had been gray, an expensive color when you're a young girl. She'd taken care of her roots, never letting them show. Brown eyes on matte, murky whites staring forward, comfortably half lidded. On her back, left arm out straight, reaching for the border with the ten feet drop to the ocean. Hand turned down, fingers spread, wrist rounded and closest to that end of asphalt. The other arm had been more sympathetic with her, going out by the shoulder but retuning in again by the joint of her elbow, resulting in her slightly closed hand touching her hip with its knuckles. Her ribs were higher than her stomach, crating a valley that her breath would never inflate again. Her breasts, tipped by dark tops were painfully stiff, small but not for her frame. Flatter when laying down, but pleasantly round. Freckles above and between them but not on her knife-nose or gaunt cheeks. The pale powder was still there to tell about her vanity.

Maybe that made the net of dried up, crusted white pattern that her features were visited by all the more noticeable. And fitting. Impressive amount that had been applied after her last motion. The gray hair - contradicted by the exotic red, thin line continuing upward where the slit of her sex ended - had stuck to some streaks of her pretty, net-like mask. She was narrow in build and it made the bulge of her cunt rise slightly after the dip of her belly. The folds of her young hole still had flakes of her dry lust on them, but perhaps most daunting - to males and females alike - would be the slightly bent formation of them, as if she'd taken something so big she couldn't straighten before the onset of stiffness in her flesh. And then of course the dried out fall of sperm from the low of her sex. The substance had gathered and hardened on her anus and clogged it. Maybe the open state of her legs and the slight wind had somehow worked together to turn seed into a cast on her face and genitals.

She had been found when the John Doe had come to see why all the birds had gone to 040. The gossips knew almost as soon as the authorities did.

She wasn't beautiful anymore when the police came, nips on her skin and raw indentations in her softer areas telling of a sin the beaks would never confess to. Morgan Allyard drank his coffee as the bluster played with the notes of his colleagues and the hats of the foot patrols trying to keep media away. A particularly large raven flew in quick, squawking and all, to start tugging at her her already distressed armpit. It actually made her body jerk. A brown jacket first timer ran to her aid to scare the omen away, but not without that precious nibble of Sapien spaghetti that it ascended quickly with. Again they tried to cover her up with a plastic sheet.

Morgan licked his lips. He still wore a squint over the light, fuzzy shadow on his lower face, as if everything was a bother to his carved features, but this case had his blood quicken faster than the caffeine. His jacket fluttered, black like the bird. Nina Ivory, daughter of someone high up. A damn pretty lass. He drank some more. She had bruises, but not ones that she earned by struggling. Something that not only controlled her, but had her complete cooperation had done this. A monster, if only in his pants, judging by her dilation. Fuck, he bet he could find the murderer by just taking cock size of the entire capable male population. When they ran out of ruler, that'd be their guy.

"Who do we want on this?" asked a scrawny but layered up officer. He didn't seem very bothered. Maybe he was right. This was just another murder in this murderous city, after all. Morgan Allyard coughed once into the arm of his jacket.

"I've already sent for her."
 
She walked down the docks, nearing the lines of tape, flashing lights, and clusters of cops and technicians. The flashes of the camera sparking in the gray morning. It all felt too familiar, even the corpse. She eyed it as she walked around the outline. Pretty dead girl with a gaping cunt. How many times had she seen that one? As sad as it might be, it was still a cliché. Another demented rapist, another shitty morning.

One of her hands left the pocket of her dark grey coat, jeans almost touched the damp ground, stretching around sensible shoes. She ran every morning, rain or shine, before the sun came up and her phone rang, though recently she’d started to wonder why she bothered. It wasn’t often they chased anyone. No, with this gig it was mostly documenting crimes, filling out paperwork and cornering sickos who more often than not were sitting pantless with a gun in their mouths.

Ange Taylor hadn’t bothered to look at the corpse for long, finding Allyard instead and scowling at his coffee. She should have picked one up, it would have given her hand something to do other than hang at her side. “You’re kidding right?” She asked, turning her sharp blue eyes on the horizon, away from the scene and toward the origin of the persistent ocean wind. Her dark brown hair, more or less carelessly pulled up just to get it away from her face, was finding its way back in lashing strands. She should cut it, but if she did she wouldn’t be able to pull it up and then where would she be?

“Shouldn’t you drop this on one of the newbs so they can enjoy IDing the jiz?” She’d looked long enough to see there wasn’t much to this. Another perverted psycho, this one with a big dick, but still not smart enough to wear a condom. Or maybe condoms didn’t come in his size.
 
And there, enter the wildcard. She'd been in the game long enough that they didn't have to pretend to have sympathy. That was a good point to their relationship. Ange was irritated. Morgan hadn't expected anything else. Maybe she thought he was going to let this discretely finds its way onto her desk. He'd done that in the past. That'd be nice, for this to be open and shut. He sipped his coffee again and looked her over and nodded in annoyance. The wind tugged at Nina's plastic film again. Stupid lab people.

"Would've like that, Taylor. But she's high profile." He moved the cup in the direction of the corpse. "This wasn't rape." He declared. They had seen enough to know when it was and when it wasn't. She'd know too, if she'd bother to check. "She wanted all of it. Not the death part, maybe." He shrugged and emptied his cup, let the wind blow him in the face for a second. "BAU says it's a display, the way she was originally set down." He came over to her, mocking a smirk - a douche pretending to be a guy who pretended to be a douche - and touched her shoulder, looked into her blues with his greens. "But I think they might be putting on a show because of her last name. Nina Ivory, daughter of Ivan who leads the Ivory group."

The raven returned, riding the wind easily as it dove toward the mass of people tending to the dead. Unintentional domestication and its own perch as a top aerial predator on these docks had made it brave. The shadow coming from the ocean grew larger. The plastic around Nina opened up around her leg.

The boy who had been struggling to fasten the film around her was still fumbling with his pad, trying to access the right program. Suddenly he straightened, his twitching fingers ignoring the screen as the bird cut close, some of the officers who could see what was about to happen grunted, rolled their eyes at another failure on the first day. But the boy switched persona to a man, eyes hidden underneath his cap as he extended his hand to catch the feathered projectile by the neck. He allowed the animal some sounds of anger and panic before he twisted, using the spread wings to keep the bird still in the air while he turned its head. Calmly he tossed the raven aside. Impact to the ground drew a last squawk from its lungs before it too was at the mercy of the wind.

The boy continued to fumble with his pad, even a dozens of eyes were wide on him.

"So I guess what I'm saying is that you got this one. The rats will call you about the results on the jiz." Allyard said, frowning as if he wanted to offer his apology for sticking her with this. "I already booked the coroner for you later today."
 
She groaned, using that hand free of her jacket to push back escaped hair, turning to look at the mess under the plastic only to have that hair whipping back into her face. She laughed, it was a cold hollow sound. She wanted all of it, he said. It was a bold enough line to make him a suspect if she didn’t know him better. But she knew him well enough that it didn’t even chip away any of her respect for him.

Men were so narrow sometimes. Just because a woman took it didn’t mean she wanted it. Honestly, Ange didn’t care how this came around or if the dead girl had been a complete masochist, maybe she’d loved it right up until the end. It didn’t matter, because it had ended with her being dead and that left some bastard out there proud of his dick and the mess he’d made with it. And now that bastard was her problem.

Nina Ivory. Great.

She saw the bird, saw the newb. She frowned curiously. “Thanks.” She muttered to Allyard before walking away and absorbing the short distance to the guy with the pad. She took it from him, turning it to look through the cataloged information and photos. “You kill birds often?” She asked casually, not bothering to look at him. “Squirrels? Cats?”

The coroner pick up had finally arrived, men working a gurney out of a van with a body bag ready. It was probably best they get her out of sight before the first news camera showed up, and if this girl was really important then they would be slipping past the security lines soon.
 
Allyard did enjoy taunting her, but he would never doubt her work ethics. She even kept herself fast if there would be any running in her line of work. How many of these guys took that precaution. The kid and the bird caught his eye, even widened it a little. The oddness of it made him more aware of his own situation somehow, a wakeup call, and he nodded at Taylor when she took what he wanted to sell as a suggestion rather than a well boxed-in lack of choice. He could feel the eyes of the officer beside him and he turned that way with a scowl.

"I was told to take your lead on this, Allyard." the officer pointed out, mentally adding 'douchebag' to the statement.

"Yeah well," he said, some of his spite disappearing to leave space for guilt. "She's obviously in the lead now." He muttered, starting to walk toward the car he'd arrived in. Maybe they had more coffee he thought, tossing the paper cup to the wind that eagerly sprayed the last of the dark liquid against the pavement.

"Oh," a pitch said out of the boy, scratching the back of his hair under the hem of the cap. He laughed nervously, apologetically. "Nah, I just had to protect the body." He managed to keep the visor of the cap over his brow. His complexion was rather gray around the grimacing mouth, at least in this morning. He shrugged and shifted uncomfortably on his legs, the confidence and control from the moment when he'd stopped the bird gone without a trace. "I think I'll get a coffee for you while you look through that." And he was off, all but stepping over the body as he jogged away.

The pad would give her all the information Morgan had provided, with all the details the team before her arrival had been able to gather. No guesses on what had been the cause of death yet, even if they stressed that the doctor should look at the possibility of Nina having died due to lack of oxygen. The forensic examiner had already left a message which blinked on the screen. They had a slot now, and the body would be moved soon.

"The transport's here." Allyard said behind her as he handed her a cup, tipping his second one into himself. "They're going to take the body to be checked. Bet you'll get a bunch of leads." he said when he had swallowed. The sky was still. Birds seemed to stay away now. Hah. "What's your guess so far, if not a rape-and-run?"

The media force met with the wall of officers trying to keep them on the right side of the tape. The collective pressure of the reporters multiplied when they saw a car make its way in to the privileged area around the Ivory body. The driver quickly came out to meet with the detectives.

"I was ordered to do this quickly. You can ride back with me to the doc if you want." At which Allyard could only shrug and look to Taylor.
 
At Allyards shrug she moved their conversation to the van. "You said yourself it can't be a rape and he didn't exactly run did he?" She sighed, looking out the window at the bleak grey docs. "The question is why this shit hole? He wouldn't have left her out if he didn't want her found, but a place like this takes time before someone stumbled across a body and calls it in and longer still until we show up. He might have picked the place because it was safer, less likely anyone would see him or think twice if they did." She rubbed her cheek and the cold that had crept into that curve of skin. "Unless he picked it on purpose. Maybe he wanted her found but he wanted her found ugly, ruined even more than his own hand."

The car stopped near the parking lot and Ange hopped out, straightening her coat and fishing her keys from her pocket. "Hopefully it's the first and he's just a cowardly perv, like usual." She offered a bleak smile. When had she started hating her job? Was it when the shock wore off? When the sight of corpses became mundane or was it when finding the murderer became predictable? It wasn't always easy, it wasn't always quick, and on darker days it didn't always happen, but when it did they were the same disappointing faces, the same glassy addled look in their eyes and the same perverted twist to their lips.

She remembered a time when she had been scared and excited, desperate to find the killer and claim justice while at the same time secretly terrified every night she came home to her own apartment. It seemed somewhere around the time that justice lost its golden sheen, she lost her fear and with it, her drive.

She gave Allyard a curt goodbye before hopping into her car. She went to the office to bury herself in paperwork for a few hours. Lunch at the office, mild words and sharp jokes with the other detectives, back to her papers, and then finally into her coat again and on to the morgue. The sun was dimming. Less then a full day and already the news had been colored with speculations of the murder of Nina Ivory.

Ange walked into the morgue, familiar with the staff and halls. Mr. Ivory had been in to ID the body, as though there was much dispute over her identity, as though they could stop him no matter how much they had told him it was her. Ange had done her homework on the victim. Nina was a promising young law student, not that she needed the career with daddy's trust funds. The boys in the office were having trouble coming up with enemies or even a boyfriend. It looked like Ms. Ivory had been a model student, kept her nose clean, and had friends in the hundreds. Somehow that didn't keep her from being killed.

She entered the sterile white room of cold metal slabs and sheet covered corpses. Hers was still on the main stage, naked and cleaned with a coroner hovering nearby. "So, how did she die?" Ange asked as she approached, cutting right to the question everyone seemed to be frantic to have answered.
 
George Andrews had been working in this room for five years. He'd transfered from a smaller city and thought he'd put his decent amount of years, despite his young age, to use against the crime of this haven for criminals. They'd given him what he wanted, which was gruesome and twisted ways of murder. Despite his proximity to death and a rather cold working environment with sometimes shitty attitudes toward his performance - which was actually top notch, if he could say so himself - George was probably one of the few five plus years members of the investigation team that liked his job. Today especially.

Her open chest was considerably fresh. Because of her location her body had been spared a whole army of bugs. The birds had damaged her but only skin deep, nothing that should interfere with his own work. George, nicknamed G since before he could remember anything else in this precinct, had his mouth open behind his paper mask as he poked the gray lung once more. He liked the intact one. He'd never been accused of being a bubbly personality, but he'd been known to be chipper as far as coroners went, and today he was almost giddy.

Ange took her work seriously. Her demeanor usually made sure this was clear at first glance. That's not to say he hadn't earned strides in their relationship as coworkers. Sometimes that meant tossing a few jokes over the corpses. Today it meant cutting to the chase. He nodded to greet her before he poked the whole lung. He pulled his mask down to give her the answer.

"See this? It looks inflated because it somethings in there." he said before turning his attention to the other, dissected bag of tissue. She should already be thinking Death by drowning. It didn't worry him, that wasn't the going to be his main number. "And this goop here. Yeah." He held the scalpel up, blunt end dripping down onto the opened Ivory girl. "It's man juice, detective Taylor." The cutter was put down on a metal tray among so many other utensils like it. "Despite the damage contracted from a thick blunt object in her esophagus, there's not much to indicate a struggle. But that seem ludicrous, because who wouldn't fight and thrash when they're being drowned? It's physiological."

"Hey, check this out, man." Ian said as he swirled around on his chair, the laptop at his crowded desk a bright blue which directly contradicted the muted tones of paper heaps and gutted towers strewn around his space. Jake did turn from a station that mirrored the chaos and seemed agitated, busy as he was with the two hard drives they'd been given to look through on the Ivory case.

"What? And this better not be about how many times she wrote lol." Jake said, late Nina's screen shining bright in his glasses. Ian shook his head and jabbed his thumb at the word document he'd found.

"She hid it behind three maps, so I had to check it. Three maps is newb for 'secret'. And it turns out this Ivory chick wrote stories. A quick search landed me the site she frequents where she put these up. Turns out she actually fantasized about drowning in jizz."

This caused Jake to frown and lean back in his chair, the implications sinking in and raising the slight hairs on his forearm.

"Imma send this to Ange's cellphone. Give me the name of the site too, I'll bet you they'll trace back the owner to someone local."

"So, Taylor, whats your take?" George asked, though most of his attention was turned back to Nina.
 
She stared at the silver scalpels and pliers, all sullied and laid out before looking at the wreck of a corpse again. Drowned in her own cum. Great. She almost laughed at the mess this girl's death had made just because her father was someone important. Drowned by cum wasn't exactly going to look good on the news. "Let me know what you get the tox screen back." She said rather than answered. Maybe she was drugged and not just demented with a death wish. "And get the DNA samples over to forensics so they can see if this guy is in the system yet." That would be fortunate.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she tugged it free, thumb tapping the screen to light it up and open a message. She could almost feel her own features sinking into a scowl. Turns out this was the girl's twisted fantasy. She replied quickly, telling Ian to get back to her if he finds any leads. Suddenly she found herself remembering that messed up incident in Russia with the cannibal and the man that wanted to be eaten. The chances of two people with such compatible perversions living in proximity to each other had been mind blowing. Sadly, it wasn't so hard to imagine that there were plenty of guys in the city who wouldn't mind drowning a girl in their cum if she said she wanted it.

With a vague sort of wave and a muttered later she was heading back out of the morgue. It was already late and tomorrow the press would want answers. Luckily she wasn't the one that would have to give them. Allyard wasn't going to like this. She smirked a little at that thought and quickly sent along the information.

The streets were dark. Someone who knew just how awful this city was should be afraid. Her car was where she left it, waiting to take her home after a long and shitty day. Tomorrow would be worse, she knew. Her apartment was lit up with she flicked the swtich, door swinging to a heavy shut behind her. She shed her jacket on the way to the livingroom, sinking onto her couch with a sigh. Her head dropped back against the cushions. Every time she closed her eyes she seemed to see that girl's body, cunt gaping even in death after the damage done to it. Drowned in her own cum. How much cum would that take?

Her hand was at her breast, touching the skin just above her collar thoughtfully. How had she not choked or gagged? Maybe they had been lovers for a while and this wasn't just a clash of strangers. Maybe she had been used to having a cock that big stuffed down her throat. Ange's other hand slid over her hip and waist, tugging open the front of her jeans. Had her cunt been used to that size? Could a cunt ever be used to it? Just how much cum was it? Should she have asked? Could she have asked without giving her own little perversion away? Her hand slid into the space between her panties and flesh, fingers sliding easily between the lips of her own sex. She moaned softly, eyes still closed and head turned slightly to the side on the cushions of the couch. She had known she was wet, a little turned on ever since she saw the size of the hole in that body and the white fluid leaking out, but she hadn't realized just how horny she was until her fingers slid along the nub of her clit. She rubbed at it in a slow teasing rhythm. Her cunt ached, actually throbbed, for want of something to fill it, stretch it. She mewled softly at the thought of being filling with so much cum that it spurted out of her, or having that sticky white heat pumped into her mouth, so much that she couldn't swallow it, so much that she'd have to cough it up and let it drip down her chin.

Her other hand had pulled down her shirt enough to have fingers pinching and rubbing her raspberry pink nipple. Her hips rocked against her hand now, the rhythm growing faster, more needy until her body craned upward with a groan, ass lifting from the couch as she twitched and shuddered in her orgasm.
 
Morgan rubbed his hair. It was late and there was no need to look presentable in his own office, especially not when he was alone. Besides, he needed the comfort of a good ruffle. As the dirty blond fell into his green vision he looked through the facts again, spread over his desk. There wasn't much, but what they'd found was bat crap macabre. This had all the tells of sensationalism that could have people hounding him for details. Some of those people would have enough strings to pull that their anger would matter when the investigation didn't take the direction they wanted. He'd seen a few of these over his career. He straightened in his chair and sighed for clarity. She had been out, that wasn't unusual for a girl her age. Even when the hour got late her parents didn't call the authorities. Allyard was willing to bet the Ivory Group had people of their own to solve these kind of problems.

Nina had also had an online life that deviated slightly from posting her newest shoes and best fashion related purchases. A prominent member of several communities where dark sexuality was centered, she posted often and intricately about her obsession with the product of male orgasm. After having read some of her writing, he found the events of her death described with her own words. While she used screen names and the forums she liked had adequate security, the murderer had been able to obtain crucial details about who she was, probably over other mediums. His hope was over the phone, since none of the tech team had been able to find anything incriminating in writing; phone or computer. Maybe he should work closer with Taylor on this one. He leaned back so far he could look up in the ceiling. The list of suspects was long, but there were few that could have pulled this off. Motive to hurt the rich wasn't hard to find, but the gull and skill to do it out in the open was rare. None of the known enemies of the Ivory Group would have stooped to this. He needed to close his eyes for a while. Just a few minutes.

"And what do you know about the murderer so far? How did he do it?" a reporter asked louder than the others in the puddle of flashing lights. A cleaner cut Morgan Allyard, well trained not to blink at all the cameras, regarded the question as it quieted the mass. He would have to answer it. Political face on.

"We would stress for the public to be vigilant at this point. We're not only going to catch this criminal, we are also here to protect all of you." he had to bring it back, or they would pick up on his avoiding the issue. "So far we can only speculate on this person or group. For now we will shut down the unused warehouses and areas around them. Thank you."

And then, a few weeks later, another clue, another murder.

Isabelle Cruise was found face down in her aquarium, hands bound to the opposite side to keep her in place. It almost looked as if she had reached for something and fallen in. Or it would have, if it hadn't been for the rest of the ropes of her bare body, pressing her breasts together, squeezing her flesh. She had been bent around the fish tank, wrists connected to ankles by the special thread bindings. It could have been another perpetrator entirely if it hadn't been for her gaping anus, greeting the crime scene team as they entered through her apartment door. Lines of dried blood reaching out from that dark muscle, wounds inflicted by murderer and his signature giant. The carpet three-or-so inches from the soles of her captured feet was stained be a large area of wet darkness, around globs of thick seed. Trails down her thighs, dark hair swimming with the fish that nibbled on her widely open, blue eyes. Her body was still lush. More flesh on this woman than there had ever been on Nina. Breasts impossibly caught and pressed up against the glass because of the way they had been bound, ass welling out around the almost pried open asshole. Most of the fishes were dead, probably from the shock of the play - what a tragedy.

Morgan didn't have the luxury of ruffling his hair this time. With the investigation going nowhere, and the DNA leading them to no one, he'd had to rely solely on Ange's work, which seemed to have been lead partially by the Ivory family and their indept underground contacts, or her intuition, which he suspected came from a source that didn't want to explain himself. Striding down the corridor of central hall, he was showered with questions already, PR of both his own instance and that of the Ivory group suggesting how he should go about this conference. And oh, the fucking mayor.

Nevertheless he made it up to the podium, looking more svelte now than before - maybe the only good thing that had come from his ulcer. It had been a while since he'd gotten an update from Taylor. Some intel would have been nice, so he wouldn't have to go up there with the same nothing he'd had last time.

"Hello, Detective Taylor." He'd called her, and she'd answered promptly. He was never accused of being a technological genius, but he did know enough secrets to make a phoneline safe, especially for someone who wasn't allowed to look for him. "Did you enjoy stalking the Lillyfeldt familly this week?" Ever since he was informed that Ange Taylor was on the case, he couldn't help but string her along. He never meant for this to be a game for the detectives, but when this one had caught his eye.

At first it had been a demonstration how too many fetishes dealt with terminal extensions. After all, if you want to submerge yourself in something, you have to let it engulf you. And that was how he justified having her look up snuff on her computer, visit bondage clubs, and lately, investigate a incestuous family. All under the promise of him going to meet her if she did what he said. Mostly it was to educate her, get her inside the mind of the deviants, as if she hadn't gone there many times herself. That's why he liked her. She was tethering.

"Don't you love how the teen twins try to make time for each other while pleasing mom and dad too? You've been doing such good work, I think I'll wanna see you soon. How does thursday sound, in the parking lot under the old Ivory apartment building."
 
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