Beyond Laws, Above Rules. Res for Autumn Queen. MxM 18+

[Greiver Dhark]

Duck. Duck. Dive. Block. Slam your fist into his face and run like crazy.

Not an unusual sequence of events for him really; he did immerse himself in trouble on a daily basis and every now and again it would sneak up on him when he wasn’t expecting it. Avoiding lackeys was something he spent the better part of his days doing sometimes, and to him it was just a game. Running down the street, weaving between pedestrians before skidding around a corner and almost diving into the nearest pub. Pubs were great for ducking into, as long as you knew who owned it and who they were loyal to, of course. He perched himself at the bar and let out a sigh, stretching while he surreptitiously glanced out the window, just in time to see five people running down the street after him, running straight past his current hiding place.

Midnight black tresses, freshly washed and still a bit damp hung in front of his face slightly. He looked almost delicate it seemed, he looked attractive, like a popular college student, certainly the sort to have flocks of people after him. Unfortunately, it appeared that flocks of the wrong kind of people were after him. Coming to an average height, if a little smaller if it weren’t for his boots, at around five foot nine inches, but he was a good build for his height and size. There were strong muscles behind his deceptively thin frame, toned so that he looked more like an average guy, not the killer that he was.

His situation was rather complicated. His mother had been in Internal Affairs, his father in the CIA, he was a direct violation of protocol, but that hardly mattered now. His mother died when he was a mere four years old, shot in the head while they were boarding a helicopter to flee. They had known someone was after them until that point but never had a direct kill been made, always subtle accidents as each of his extensive family were killed. His father died when he was 14, murdered just like his mother. Supposedly some old enemies had gotten to him, but he didn’t trust information he didn’t get himself or from his own trusted sources, not any more. He was the only one left in his family now and at twenty one years old, he already had more field experience than some veterans.

Because of the danger his family was in, he had been forced to skip childhood entirely and move straight on to adulthood, not that such a thing was unexpected in his family; they were all trained from a young age, prepared for the family legacy. He’d never expected to be the last though, but even he couldn’t escape it. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He enjoyed his life, despite its deficiencies, but he still wanted to know the truth.

After his mother died, his father had trained him vigorously. He could fight, he could slip in unnoticed like he wasn’t even there; he’d been trained to be a ghost. Everything he could be prepared for, he knew. How to drive, not just cars, but boats, helicopters, jets, anything he might ever need. That had been normal for him as a child. Get up in the morning and instead of going to school he was being taught how to speak Arabic and how to disarm a bomb. Or make one, some days. That had just been his life, learning and self improving until his father started sending him out on survival missions, dropping him out in the middle of nowhere and giving him a mission and a return date. One day he finished his mission, looked to the news bulletin as he was passing an old second hand electronics store and saw that his father was dead.

He’d gone undercover, for years, just hiding, ‘cleaning up the streets’ his father called it when he first sent him out. ‘Get rid of the scum, because nobody else will do it right’. His first kill mission was to hang around outside a well known pub owned by a very unpleasant man, who dealt with drug trafficking and prostitution. Wait till he had a target; someone really unpleasant, someone who would only do more harm while alive. Make sure you get the right guy; you don’t want to find out you screwed up later, and kill them. He found a dealer who was abusing a prostitute and killed him. He’d been 13.

But this was his life, and it was all about to change. It was a risk for him, a huge risk. Years of living in the streets, of stealing and killing, avoiding cops and criminals alike, and now he was finally putting himself in their reach. Not many people even knew he was alive, supposedly he’d died when his mother was shot and didn’t exist, but a few knew he did. But just because he didn’t trust the government didn’t mean he wouldn’t help out from time to time, and sometimes they would drop him missions, retrieval or kill missions and he’d pass the body, or living person if that was what they wanted, over to them.

Sometimes they would try and catch him too, bring him in whenever they thought they had a shot so he always kept his distance, worked from out of their reach. They didn’t realise the risk they were to him; if they caught him, he would die, just like the rest of his family. Few knew the conspiracy against his family, but even fewer knew about the conspiracy his family had committed. Name changes, off the records, his family had infiltrated every law enforcement agency in the last 3 generations. They started with the military, branched out to the FBI, the CIA, anywhere they didn’t have anyone, they would marry someone in a different agency and the web of information and power would continue to grow.

But clearly someone had found out, and one by one there were accidents. His grandfather, a military general, died in the line of duty. His second aunt, car crash, his uncle, died in hospital. All innocuous things but their family numbers whittled down and down in supposedly natural ways until there were but a handful left.

And it left him here, on the streets, killing and slumming it, trying to make the best of a shitty situation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a real bed; he was too paranoid to stay at hotels. He had to make the best of it though, to try and enjoy this life somehow.

Once, the police had tried to do something for him, tried to help him. They'd assigned a newbie, someone who didn't know the rumors surrounding him, to befriend him, help him out. Claiming Greiver was an informant who needed protective custody, he'd stayed with the officer for nearly two weeks in his apartment. Two weeks of warmth, comfort, and an unlimited supply of hot chocolate, it was the only holiday he'd ever had and the best time of his life, despite the lies. The secret could only be kept for so long though and eventually he'd left one night, disappeared before the other man found out the truth of who he was and what he'd done.

His pager bleeped at him and he left the bar smoothly, fitting in to the crowds with ease. He didn't use cellphones; too easy to trace, though he had disposables stashed around town he only had his pager that he tended to keep on him, since they were outdated and far less targeted for tracking or monitoring. It was enough to let him know the cops had him on call though; another gruesome murder by the local serial killer. He'd had three victims so far, and while they were understanding of the motives actually catching the guy was proving difficult.

It didn't take him long to get to the scene; the warehouse district on the outside of the city, and he was inside the crime scene tape for five minutes before anyone noticed him. It was the same as the last ones; perfectly posed, the body a work of art if that was what you were into; naked and covered in cuts, it must have taken hours of work. Keeping an eye on the police that were pointedly ignoring him so far, Greiver took a look around. Being surrounded by cops made him nervous but he was more than good enough to hide that, more than used to putting himself in stupid situations like this; hiding his fear and coming off as cocky was one of his many skills.

 

[Autumn Queen]

RE: Res for Autumn Queen. MxM 18+

Another fucking serial killer, getting off on causing pain and suffering to the world in some sort of mischanneled artistic mental masturbation act of rebellion....

Detective Andrew Brock surveyed the scene from behind the crowds, taking in the lighting, the display arrangement of this little 'display', and the way the killer wanted to have his 'art' revealed in the wee hours of the day to the people frequenting the Warehouse District. The area had been refinished about five years ago but there were still dead buildings in the district that didn't have offices or storefronts in them yet. The entire area had gone through a re-urbanization funded by the city to bring in money and people. The homeless had been removed, some by force, in an act that many thought was heartless and without humanity. Andrew hated being involved in that; he thought that some of the people would have been better served either given a chance to live in simple housing and have local jobs offered to them, or for some of the worse cases, put into an asylum environment where they could get the mental help they needed, but mental institutions were something that the government had decided were less important than the leaders' paid vacations in tropical locals...

Stop daydreaming, Drew!

His grey green eyes scanned the crowd once more. He had the clean-cut look of a military man, which was appropriate considering he was still in the reserves, but he had been a detective now for over a year. He still felt odd not being in a proper policeman's uniform, though it was nice to be able to blend in more with the population when he was out working. As he moved through the crowd, looking for the perpetrator (because so many of them liked to return to the scene of the crowd and watch everyone's reaction), his tall form allowed him to see past most of the bystanders. Many were talking to others and staring in horror as the realization that the woman suspended on the frame was once a living person. Her body had been wrapped in red and white ribbons... a Christmas commentary?... and small, precise cuts covered her body in a pattern worthy of Gucci. Her dolled face had a surprised expression on it, almost like she had been a Marionette's Puppet left hanging from his hands. On her feet were bound shiny red ballet slippers with ribbons that ran up her legs and disappeared somewhere...

He remembered his first year with the police. He had been green to life outside of the comfortable confines of college, and later, of the military machine. A short summer in boot camp and a weekend duty once a week were small potatoes compared to the wild underbelly of the city's criminal element. Andrew had been assigned an easy job; keep track of an informant until the case went to court. For two weeks the assignment went well. Andrew even began to think that he was getting to the kid, like they were becoming 'friends', when the informant disappeared. Just like that. No one had any idea what had happened to him, and the general consensus was that he had either run off willingly or been killed off and tucked under a few tonnes of concrete somewhere. It still haunted Andrew. Twice, when he was in Afghanistan, he thought he saw the kid. Finally after he had been imprisoned for five months by the enemy, Andrew made piece with the fact that the informant was gone. Dead or alive, he was gone.

Detective Brock moved past the 'caution' tape and showed the responding unit commander his badge. Soon he was being briefed by the chief forensic investigator on the scene and they were soon comparing notes between this case and the two proceeding it. Two cases were a coincidence; three was a series. Soon the papers would get hold of the story and the city would be in panic mode. Just what they needed a few days before New Year's. The wind picked up and the sky darkened; if they didn't gather all their clues quickly they'd be washed away... possibly the killer's plan all along.

 

[Greiver Dhark]

He could never really tell how people would react to his presence until it happened, but it was always interesting to see. Some people didn't know him, some did. He'd spotted one forensic technician eying him as he walked past, but said nothing to him. Greiver might be a wanted criminal, and many people would be after him for that but just as many people wouldn't lift a hand to stop him, might actively help him avoid the cops. He didn't like hurting good people, but he was quite happy to end anyone who he deemed not worthy of living. He wasn't exactly hiding either; though he was wearing dark clothing it didn't hide the fact that he was armed - a gun on his thigh and opposing hip being the two main visible ones but most certainly not his only weapons.

This serial killer was a prime example of that. Judging from the cuts he must immobilise the victim - no way anyone is going to stay still while they're being sliced up but all the cuts were neat, precise. Stepping back from the scene made it look like something you'd see on a magazine cover - if the magazine was for serial killers and other psychos anyway, but the point still stood. Though the rest of the warehouse was bare, this particular corner had objects in the background, to make it look more interesting. He shook his head and took a step back, eying Brock across the room as he did so. He avoided confrontation with people he knew - what few liked him in any way and weren't dead, but he never left them entirely. He still kept tabs on Brock, what little he could without getting too close, being seen.

But it was a risk being here, a big one. He'd come partially because of the killer - he could often be found orbiting such people, before their bodies turned up somewhere. Sometimes it was before the cops even knew there was a problem; they'd find the killer dead in a room with the evidence condemning him. On the rare occasion that the perp had an innocent family or others who were completely unaware but would be destroyed by the truth, if the circumstances were right, he might, just might, make it look like a burglary gone wrong instead. That was what he was known for, by many of the cops. The cop who arranged his 'holiday' all those years ago had known what he'd done and she'd covered for him, but Brock would never find him through that avenue- the whole thing had been a cover, there was no truth to be found and few knew the truth.

Shivering and grumbling quietly about the cold, Greiver could see his breath in front of him and that was always a good indicator that he was in the wrong fucking part of the world right now, but this was where he was needed, and this was where he needed to be. There were always other killers - though this one was right up his alley, but he was here for Brock too - for himself more like, but because of Brock. As much of a risk it was to come here, to see him, he needed some kind of reminder for the good times, even if Brock could easily destroy them.

Turning away from the sight in front of him, he turned his attention to the rest of the room, trying to imagine what the killer had done, where he'd been to 'set the scene'. He walked back outside of the warehouse, skirting the edges of groups and sticking to the shadows, keeping out of sight. He heaved a sigh at the sight of the dark clouds above them, darkening and starting to drip rain on his head, but ignored it to step outside and examine the exterior of the warehouse.

 

[Autumn Queen]

Andrew took notes as he went over the details with the forensic team. This whole thing made him sick; he wondered why he even took this reassignment. It had been nothing but horror story and sad deaths since his feet hit the ground in this dreary, rain-swept city. He felt the first few drops on his skin as he wrapped up his questioning and began to make his way out of the crime scene. There would be enough work here for the local team without him underfoot, and besides... his eyes raked across the few remaining bystanders outside the yellow tape... he had thought that he saw him.

He began to quicken his pace. There... he thought he saw a familiar way of moving, of skating across the ground like he was floating... Drew wanted to call out to the shadow but he didn't want to be the fool. Instead he ran out to the outside of the warehouse and tried to see where the shadowy from might have gone, but the clouds darkened and the few drops turned into an outpouring of water that would have made Niagra proud. He stood there in the rain, his long coat growing damp as the water covered him, and looked across the sheeted distances to the dock, half a block away, and then back towards the warehouse again.

No... there must have been no one. He must have imagined it again. But as Andrew Brock stood there, the cool water washing away both the evidence and his hope, he wished for nothing more than to know what had happened to the kid who had disappeared on him so long ago. It was going to be one of those things that haunted him long past his retirement, he believed. He'd never figure out where the kid went or what his last moments of life was like.

Stop it. He might not be dead, you idiot! He might have gone into hiding!

But Drew knew that it was just a pipe dream. Informants didn't disappear unless someone made them disappear... and those someones were usually not friendly to keeping the informant alive. He had to face it ~ the kid was dead. He had died, and Andrew had been to blame for letting him out of his sight. He was as responsible as if he had killed him himself.

 

[Greiver Dhark]

This was hard for him, seeing Drew. The other man thought he was dead or gone - and it was probably better for him if he continued to believe that. Greiver wasn't well-known, especially because of the lack of communication cross-country and the fact that opinions on him varied wildly - people couldn't decide if they wanted to catch him, kill him or let him roam free. Some were more determined than others in one or another of those options, but opinions were mixed. What would Drew do if he knew Greiver was still alive, if he found out the sort of person he was. They had been close, during those few weeks, and Drew was someone special to him because of that time, even though the cop hadn't seen him again since.

He'd honestly expected the other man to find out about him eventually though. He'd stayed as long as he dared - far longer than he knew was safe, but the risk of being found, and of Drew finding out who he was and what he'd done was too great. He'd fled, out of cowardice for sure, to avoid the blow out that'd occur when Drew found out. To protect his memory of that time, he'd never let himself be seen by the officer after that. Still, he always wondered - as far as he was aware Drew never had found out about him; he couldn't be sure of course, but he'd expected the other man's boss to spill the beans once Greiver was safely gone.

Those thoughts distracted him as he examined the warehouse - he'd scaled the side of the building to get to the roof, since the fire escape was too close to the crowd. From up there he could see across the warehouse district and towards the rest of the city - a sprawling mass of places that the killer could be hiding. Something about this scene was bothering him, though he couldn't put his finger on what. Standing on the rooftop during the rainstorm was also distinctly unpleasant, and he was soaked in moments. He needed to go back to the previous crime scenes, hopefully there would be enough left for him to work with.

Whoever did this though, they had to be pretty delusional, but also very determined. There didn't seem to be any tire treads in the nearby area - whoever had put the body here had either carried or dragged the corpse - not an easy feat to lift that amount of dead weight. The victims varied in sex and age, though they were all attractive and between the ages of 18-35 for sure. They were all in perfect condition, all of the cuts were exact and the victim was lacking blood - but there was no mess. Wherever he did this, it was definitely at a place he could clean the bodies of blood. For a victim to be completely dry like that - that was a lot of blood missing and it had to be somewhere.

He certainly wasn't going to find it here though, and while the most information would be beneath him in the newest crime scene, the site was getting too busy for him and the rain was washing evidence away anyway. With that in mind he slid back down the side of the warehouse. He'd have to find a place to sleep tonight, but for now he'd keep an eye on Drew. He was already out in the cold and rain, he may as well stay out until he was happy the other man was home safe.

 

[Autumn Queen]

What was it about this place? It was either too hot, too cold, too wet... or all of the above. Today it was cold and wet. The rain smelled like metal and the clouds seemed to suck the color out of everything. Shades of grey blanketed the city, blending smoke and fog and smog into one disgusting mess and making everything depressed. Andrew glanced at the blank, thick sky, perhaps hoping to see some glimmer of sunlight or silver lining. Instead he saw a momentary silhouette against the grey. A darker shape; a man standing on the warehouse roof.

Was that the killer? Who else would survey the site like that?

In another blink of an eye the shape was gone, leading the detective to wonder if he had imagined it all. But then... there was only a few ways a person could leave the roof. Either through the inside, which was covered in cops, or on the walls. Drew jogged towards the huge warehouse and kept his eyes trained on the building looking for places a man could scale the sides and return to the ground. The water ran over his face and down his neck, pooling near his nape before finding ways to penetrate the dense layers of coat and clothes that shielded him. Drew's gloved hands lightly cupped in anxiety as he rounded the far end of the warehouse and he looked for the man who he had seen on the roof.

If there was a man... whoever it was... he needed to explain what he was doing on the roof. Drew mentally prepared himself to find someone willing to fight his way free. The killer wasn't a man who Andrew profiled as being a gun-user. He was more stealthy; he probably drugged his victims and then used other, more quiet ways to subdue them while he etched his artwork across their skin. No... not a man to use a gun, but not a safe man to be around either. Whoever the silhouette had been, Andrew was determined to find him before either of them left the crime scene.

 

[Greiver Dhark]

He knew the instant he'd been spotted and saw Andrew start to move, heard the sound of his footsteps slapping through puddles, the slight distortion of the rain made by a man moving through it. He could try and evade him - likely succeed too; he was very good at evasion, or he could go for confrontation... If he got caught trying to flee that would only make it worse for them, but the chance of escaping freely was tempting. A confrontation with someone who had power over him without even being aware of it... he had so little to hold on to without losing the memory of their time together.

Greiver was spiraling though, something that happened every few years, when he started to wane, when things got too hard and he wondered why he was still doing this, why he was still out here, still fighting, trying to do the right thing when so much was against him. The only real good memories he had to hold on to was his time with Drew which was why he eventually ended up here, spiraling around him. He'd done this before, a few years back before Andrew was a detective. Greiver had hung around for a week or two, watching him and covering him from afar if he got into any trouble, taking risks he usually wouldn't because he was losing control of himself, losing his reason to keep going. He'd never revealed himself though and eventually gotten through it, headed back out to continue his life.

It'd been close a few times though; when Drew had walked past him while he was disguised, or when he was hiding just barely out of sight, he'd taken those risks, more he'd taken them needlessly. Just like he was doing now, he supposed. It wasn't even in big things, it was little things too, like being out in this weather with just dark trousers and a long sleeved shirt over a t-shirt, not even a coat on against the cold despite how much he hated it. The attire was normal for him, but normally he was hanging out in warm, sunny climes, not this freezing rainstorm. He'd not been here long though, catching up on the crime scenes and keeping an eye out for his old companion, for all that he'd kept his distance. Greiver had missed him though, and what was one more risk when his life was full of them already?

When Andrew came hurrying around the corner after him, Greiver wasn't running, nor was he hiding, though there were plenty of places to do so. He was stood in the middle of the path between the two warehouses, waiting for him.