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Walking the Line (Razgriz and Beautiful_Disgrace)

Razgriz

Razgriz

Shall we write beautiful stories together?
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Joined
Jan 27, 2011
America.

Such a wonderful place. Full of opportunity for just about everything. Success, failure, prosperity, poverty, happiness and even misery. The numbers of paths that one could choose from were practically endless, and even more so were the ways one could walk said path. Some walked an honest path, leading their lives in a way that their choices didn't affect others and didn't place themselves in unnecessary danger. Others chose a less secure path, but with the elevated risk came great, great rewards.

The path of a criminal, those who delve into the 'unsavory' side of the human condition, is often laced with risk everyone one might look. Capture by law enforcement was always something that loomed over even the most hardened criminal's shoulders, on top of the threat of the ultimate penalty for a mistake: Death. Something that all mortals had to come to terms with, but often arriving far sooner than anticipated in the underworld.

However, good and evil are very subjective and often are not as black and white as many would like to believe. And tonight, this statement would be put to the test....

*Joliet, Illinois. 2004, 2355 (11:55 PM UTC). Unknown Warehouse Complex.*

Tonight was a big night for the Vice Lords and La Raza Nation; the plan was to meet up and pool their resources together. Why bother fighting? If they both joined up, they'd have more bodies to patrol the turf and still make boatloads of money. And with the Lords' grip on the drug ring and La Raza's gunrunning connections, that profit would be sweet. And with Willie Lloyd out of the picture, the Lords could rise again and make their mark on this new turf.

All the big names were there, and things were looking up...Until Illinois' newest 'resident' came to crash the party.

Almost as if on cue, right as the clock hit 12:02am, shit hit the fan and hard: A phantom shadow struck from what seemed like every direction at once, and bodies started dropping. Gunshots rang out like a demented symphony, the former gangbangers falling to the floor with a dime-sized hole in their foreheads, a ring around the wound from the pressure of the barrel being forced against their skull. Exit wounds sprayed blood, brain matter and bone fragments across the floor, and the sounds of empty brass hitting the concrete just made everything more absolute: Death had come, and it was taking no prisoners.

It felt like an eternity...It really did. But then, fear did amazing things to the psyche. And right now, the sole living member of the Vice Lords chapter in Joliet, sat with his back pressed hard against a support column, his own gun empty and the slide shifted back to show as much. The dark brown hues of the young Latino man were dilated to an impossible degree, the thick jacket he wore doing little to warm him from the frost that coated his spine. His cap - a classic White Sox hat - glistened on its black surface in patches with the blood of his former Lords, red streaking down the front of his navy jeans and dotting the surface of his once-pristine white Nikes. Truly it was the picture of a man facing the Reaper, with no hope of escape. Even more so when he looked around and all he could see was red streaks. And the bodies, their eyes dim from lack of life and gazing towards the ceiling as if stupefied by what had happened.

"You think this changes anything? Once the rest of them hear of this, you're dead. The Lords will find you, and you'll get yours." he tried to say in as much of a macho tone as possible. The fear, however, laced every single syllable of his statement, his pitch varying greatly with each uttered word. Without much reason, and perhaps out of desperation, he then charged the assailant, hoping to at least stun before making a mad dash for the exit.
 
Adrian Gray was the name of the reaper at their door step. She was new, yes...but only to the area. When it came to the killing game, she was a veteran at the age of twenty. Seven years. Seven years Adrian had been doing this. Since she was a very young teen. At first it was for self defense. After all, in her home town she had been hunted down like a dog. Her entire family had been killed and she was the last piece to the puzzle. She was young, but not young enough to where the gang that destroyed her life felt like she could be left alone. No, she was a loose end that needed to be tied up. However...Adrian had managed to slip away from them. She lived on the streets for a long time, which meant she was constantly in danger. She had to learn how to defend herself.

She took her first life about a week after her family had been murdered. She was tired of being chased around, and so she managed to find her fathers Glock 20 and actually use it on her assailants. She had never touched a gun in her life before, but it came so naturally for the girl that she had immediately adopted the weapon into her life. It was almost like it was an extension of her, and she enjoyed the sound of the gun cocking and the loud blast that made her ears ring when she fired it. Right after that blast, the sound of the 10mm bullet casing hitting the asphalt, and then usually a body dropping almost at the same time or a little after accompanied it. It made her feel extremely powerful...She really enjoyed seeing her enemies dead and bleeding out in front of her. Unable to hurt her again, or chase her down. Though eventually Adrian ran out of ammo..which meant that her thirteen year old self had to find more.

Instead, she just started stealing more guns, eventually collecting a hoard of them. She often mugged drug dealers and gang members when they were alone, taking their guns and whatever ammo they had. She did this for two years, stock piling and hoarding them in her hideout. She was going to get revenge on the gang that had killed her parents and brother and sister. She just needed to fire power and experience for it. Unfortunately, when Adrian did find herself ready, the gang had moved hideouts, and it took her forever to learn who they were. They had no name, and it turned out they were all over the state of Illinois and Wisconsin. So Adrian made it her business to slowly wipe out every base one by one. It was a lot of work for one person however...not to mention she had other targets. Targets that deserved to die just as much as every member of the organization that killed her family.

It took her five years to move to Chicago, Illinois. It wasn't easy, either. She hadn't wiped out the crime in her home state, but she definitely decreased it. Still, the people she needed to get revenge on were in Chicago, and she was skilled enough to take on the gangs there now. Wisconsin was small time. She was now playing with the big boys. Why she had started with this particular, slummy place? She didn't know. She had heard about this little power move between the Vice Lords and La Raza Nation, and she figured she'd stop it before it even began as a message to all the gangs out there. There was a new enemy they had to watch out for.

It wasn't hard to get in. A few rounds from her High Standard HDM pistol easily killed off whatever security they had around the building without alerting the celebrating scuzzbags. They didn't know what hit them until they were...dead on the floor. And well, Adrian just left one of them alive just long enough to see the fear in their face, taking the opportunity to reload one of two Glock 18's that she had used to kill most of his allies. Not that she needed to, both were capable of holding 30 rounds, but she liked to keep them nice and full. The other gun found itself back in it's holster, since she really didn't need two to finish of this asshole. Though it was funny, hearing him try to talk big when he knew he was about to die. And in the moment he charged at her, she just stood there with a very bored look on her face. So, he didn't have any more ammo left to fire at her? That was boring then. She simply lifted up her gun, aiming right for his head. He was not worth torturing, none of these people were. "Let them find me." She simply said, her voice soft and much more gentle than one would expect from a cold killer. She waited until he was almost in range to hit her before she chose to fire. She wanted to feel his blood splash onto her skin, despite already being covered by it.

Adrian loved being up close and personal when she pulled the trigger. She only chose to be far away whenever she had to be stealthy.
 
The young man had no idea. No idea that she was the largest thorn in the criminal underworld's side. All of them like her were...These so-called 'vigilantes'. Praised highly by the public and the Internet for their stepping up to fight crime, and labeled villains by the police and government agencies. Hunted even; turned out the 'authorities' weren't too keen on having people fight their battles for them. And while it was true there should exist a form of unified security, the truth was any force like that was a reactionary force. A group meant to contain the situation and stop it from getting worse. Not the proactive approach the vigilantes took.

Regardless, whoever came here to respond to the hail of gunshots would find themselves quite the mess; though any sort of containment would be replaced by mostly identifying corpses and writing a report. And as the young man strode towards his doom, the last thing he saw was the barrel of the gun almost mashed against his skull. The last thing he felt was the sharp kick of the muzzle blast, the hot lead slug cutting through his forehead like butter, the blood and matter spray adding a fresh layer to the already red-splattered woman before him. There was no struggle, no hesitation; his momentum simply carried him forward, bumping off the girl's shoulder and falling to the ground. Dead on impact.

Just shy of a dozen gangsters. Slaughtered in less than three hundred and sixty seconds. Blood streaked the cold cement like a masterpiece, the bodies on the ground a macabre human portrait of mortality. And after that last piece of brass collided, its distinctive sound resonating through the emptiness, all that lingered in the air was a deafening silence. On the table before the assailant lay 8 guns guns: 3 Beretta M92s, 2 Glock 17s, an FN57 and a P226. Unable to be drawn before they could even be used. The other three guns lay in the hands of their former masters: a CZ-75, an H&K MP5, and the best prize of the bunch - ironically in the hands of the man she killed last - a Colt M1911. Also the only one out of ammunition...Still though, it would be a good haul, especially given that most of the other ammunition was well-unused and ripe for the picking.

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A few hours later, the police had the scene surrounded. Damn criminals, always made the job difficult; someone must have gotten paid off to leave early or something, because they were no guards on duty. At all. Which meant no witnesses. And the dead gangbangers wouldn't be telling any stories. Except that the one who killed was also responsible for three similar incidents in the past month. And god only knew how many went unreported.

Just as the crime scene investigators were finishing up gathering the spent brass and dusting for fingerprints wherever they might find them, a well-dressed man soon approached the scene, his sport coat fluttering in the slight breeze. This was Detective Michael Stanson, lead investigator and member of the Illinois Gang Task Force. Having served quite a few years, it was difficult to get him riled when it came to dead sleazebags. But this person taking a personal contract on these gangsters was starting to give him a headache.

"Christ...How many this time?" Michael asked, stepping under the police tape after showing his badge to the officer in charge of securing the scene. "Eleven, detective. Same MO: GSWs at close range in varying locations. One poor bastard took one in the junk. Made a hell of a mess." The detective just pinched the bridge of his nose and added, "Anything useful? At all?"

"Nothing we can see so far. CSI's wrapping up things here, but you can poke around now. See if they missed anything." said the policeman; Stanson gave him a nod and walked to one of the columns in the warehouse where one of the bodies laid against, his head and neck having been repositioned by the investigators to show the Vice Lords ink on his jugular: A five-pointed crown. One of their many insignias they adopted from other gangs they assimilated. The only evidence he saw was the single gunshot to the center of the head, and nothing else stood out for him.
 
Once the last man was dead, Adrian worked quickly. As much as she'd love to pull out a cigarette right now, she had to gather her spoils and leave. Her gunshots weren't exactly quiet, at least not from her Glocks. The police would be all over the place soon. So she holstered her third gun and then began to collect her spoils. The Colt M1911 really sent chills down her spine when she picked it up, but she wouldn't have a chance to run it over her skin until later. Safety first, Adrian made sure all of the safeties were on as she didn't need anything to discharge in her bag, not that it was very possible they would. She'd rather be safe than sorry though, and it only took a second for her to flip the safety on each. Her bag was now half filled with guns and any ammunition she could find. Though she did make an effort to rob these men, pulling out their wallets, taking the cast and placing them all back where she found them meticulously.

Of course she was wearing gloves to cover up any evidence. A quick scan of the area told her there was nothing else she'd fine of value, so she slipped out of the building and then took the ally ways back to her new hideout. If anyone spotted her while she was covered in blood, she'd really be putting herself in a tough spot. She didn't kill innocents, only people with gang or criminal affiliations. So if a civilian spotted her she'd just have to hide herself extremely well and hope for the best. She had only been at risk of getting caught once, after that she learned from her mistake and it never happened again. It also helped that she had pretty much been pronounced dead after all these years of hiding. Adrian was a ghost, a missing girl on a seven year old milk carton. No one knew she was alive and she'd prefer it that way.

She got to her "hideout", a studio apartment in the not so bad side of town. She didn't really want to deal with coming back and having her collection of guns stolen from her. She hid them very well, kept them locked up and everything, but still. Adrian always had this paranoia, especially when it came to her fathers Glock 20. She hadn't used it in ages, it was fire power she really didn't need most of the time. Still, it was the only thing she had left from her family and she would never part with it. Adrian set her bag of spoils on the floor and stripped off her clothes. For this particular operation she had chosen a white button down blouse and a skirt. An odd choice, but that's what she felt like wearing. She didn't need anything fancy other than the utility belts and holsters for her guns. Other than that, she could wear anything to a murder spree and not give a shit. It was just going to go in the wash anyway once she was done.

She threw the bloody clothes in the machine and then carelessly poured some detergent in, turning on it on immediately. If she let the blood just sit in her clothes it would stain, but the detergent she liked was excellent at getting blood out. Once that was done, she stepped into her shower and then watched as the blood of her enemies trailed down her body and circled the shower drain. A small smile came across her lips as she remembered the look of terror on their faces. Grown men. Grown, gangster men all pissing and shitting themselves upon seeing 5'8 Adrian place a gun up to their head and pull the trigger. She couldn't blame them. Adrian was sure she looked like the devil himself when she got into those moods.

Once she was completely clean, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped her towel around her body. Walking out to the living room, she turned on her TV and flipped to the news channels. Ah, so they were already covering the story? They really had nothing better to report...
 
On the television showed the WGN TV logo; being a few hours to midnight, it was just about time for the late night news report. The reports had been fairly quiet, save for some updates on police progress to catching those believed responsible in a string of robberies, the usual line-up of people protesting about this and that, and a few automobile accidents.

Soon the handsome face of Julian Crews made its debut, "Good evening. I'm Julian Crews with the evening news. Our top story tonight: Massacre at the Joliet Warehouse Complex. Men who have yet to be identified were found dead inside one of the large-scale storage units, but comments from some of the authorities lead us to believe that these were members of the infamous Vice Lords crime syndicate and La Raza Nation."

Giving a moment's pause, he gave his crease cut a slight adjustment before adding, "We now go live to our agent in the field, where she is currently interviewing one of the CSIs present at the scene. For those who might be lacking in constitution, I feel it only fair to advise you all that some of the following material will be incredibly graphic."

The screen then switched to showing some preliminary shots of the men laying dead in their own blood, visible fragments of bone readily apparent in the still picture of the slaughter before panning over to the on-scene reporter for further details...


(Do you mind playing the field correspondent for this part?)
 
Adrian marveled at her handy work, practically getting aroused at the shots that they placed on air. They definitely weren't as graphic as they could have been, but they were still pretty good shots. She licked her lips and chuckled softly as she crossed her legs. She hoped that the people she went after saw this, so it would warn them that she was coming for them.

After the graphic shots, reporter Lisa Williams was now standing just outside of the scene as the detectives seemed to be finishing up and starting to call in the Crime Scene Cleanup team. "Thank you Julian. Right now I'm just a few feet away from the Joliet Warehouse, and I'm about to talk to Detective Micheal Stanson, the lead investigator of this case an also a part of the Illinois Gang Task force." Lisa turned her back to the camera and started hustling over to Micheal. She was definitively not shy, as she strolled right up to him and his partner.

Detective Stanson, huh? Adrian remembered seeing him a few times before. Though she wasn't worried. She wouldn't leave a single trace of evidence behind, not to mention no one would ever suspect her. Just as long as she was careful and was never seen by anyone who wasn't going to be a victim, he'd never be on her trail. She leaned back against her couch as the reporter started to ask him her questions.

"Detective Stanson, any idea who might have done this? Is this someone who may potentially go after civilians, not just gang members? What are your thoughts?" Lisa asked before jamming her microphone in his face. Yes, typical obnoxious reporter thing to do...but that was her job, and this was a very juicy story for WGN. Since they had been the first to respond, they would get some good ratings out of this. Though it was a bit...bothersome to know that there was someone or people out there capable of such brutality. Lisa was new to all this, so sometimes her stories did shock her.
 
Detective Stanson was busy checking over the crime scene, trying to piece together as much as he could; it would take the forensic analysis to confirm it, but it seemed it was only one shooter. From what he could see, there weren't more than a dozen unique set of footprints. Eleven of which accounted for the gangsters, but there was one that was distinctly slimmer. Either the shooter wore a set of small shoes to fool the police, or they were woman's shoes. But he let that go, as he could only speculate with the minimal detail. Still, though...The prospect that it was one person. They were either incredibly skilled or unbelievably insane, but either scenario dictated the necessity of being well-armed.

At least the MO was consistent: Wallets stripped of cash, but no fingerprints. Guns too, as there were slight impressions from heavy objects resting there for some time. Based on their body positions, the shooter took more than a few of them by complete surprise; the two dead thugs out front were proof enough of that. But something else caught his eye: One of thugs laid on his side, his hips twisted at a most unusual angle. It was almost like he bounced off something. He then turned the young man over and saw that he had a pressure mark in his forehead. Several others had the same mark; that was a detail he never saw in the other crime scenes. All the weapons had been fired point-blank...But this was different. Almost....personal, maybe.

His mind instantly pictured the gangster running at the assailant; maybe he was the last one to go. "Detective...Sorry to intrude, but this needs to go to the morgue for analysis." he then heard someone state behind him; giving a nod, he moved and let the coroner carry off the body.

He then heard an officer say, "Detective, the media vultures are here. Want me to tell them back off?" As nice as that would have been, the fact was there were too many similar incidents for them to keep trying to sweep it under the rug. No doubt every thug that didn't already turn themselves in out of fear was looking for this person, so it wouldn't really hurt to answer some newscasters stupid questions. "No, officer, that's alright. I'll be out in a few." he replied, standing up after finding nothing else to help solidify the case. As he walked out, he was met with a bright light in his face; raising a hand to shield his eyes, he shouted, "Hey, asshole! Turn that down, we have squad cars, you know!" The cameraman then lowered the intensity of the light before Stanson continued, trying to rub the spots from his eyes. At the reporter's question, he responded:

"No, I don't believe the persons responsible are a threat to the public...Yet. I cannot speak for the department, but I can safely say their targets are only those with gang affiliations. I'm not authorized to disclose any personal details of the case, but I will say this: We have found evidence to suggest that this was a personal vendetta. And it leads credence to the theory that whoevery is behind these slayings of gang members is a vigilante." He then felt moved to add, "And as much as the atrocities these gangs commit hurt the community, the fact is vigilantes can eventually turn rogue and go after the very people they feel the need to protect. And as long as we still breathe, the persons involved will be brought to justice."
 
Gang affiliations...? What a load of crap. This Detective sure must have been full of himself to think he knew anything about her. As much as she hated gangs, she hated all criminals. Anyone who hurt innocent people was a target, and she had a couple of ideas on where to strike next. Adrian didn't mind the coverage though. Would keep all those bastards on the very tips of their toes. Would make them paranoid and eventually sloppy. The sloppier they were, the easier it was for her to clean them up. But no, she had her focus on some other trash that was polluting this town. A serial rapist...that they hadn't caught yet. He struck the first night she came here. It was his third victim, and now he was on his fifth. But Adrian followed the patters and knew where he would strike and what type of woman he liked.

That was enough media garbage. Their only use was getting her the information that she needed in order to pick her targets and find out the patterns of a criminal. They all thought very similarly, though sometimes the serial killers could throw her off for a bit. Technically, she was one of them...but yet she could never directly relate to them because they killed innocents for pleasure. She preferred to kill those types before gang members just because they were smart about their hobby and they didn't have a reason for killing other than because they wanted to. Adrian had a reason and she wouldn't be thrown in jail while these other types of criminals ran around. Detective Stanson could fuck himself.

Adrian looked over to the pile of money she had in the corner along with a couple guns she needed to put away in her closet. Yeah, she should probably do something about that. Deposit it...little by little. She was trying to keep the place looking like a normal apartment, just in case her landlord ever tried to come up here. But she hadn't quite adjusted to life here yet. Going into the kitchen, she opened the fridge and found it mostly empty. ...She definitely hadn't adjusted to her life yet. It was nearly midnight, but she didn't want to go back out. She closed the fridge and then went to her bedroom and crawled into her large, comfortable queen size bed before going to sleep. She'd do all those things tomorrow..

So of course, when tomorrow came she was up out of bed. She grabbed her purse backpack and shoved a bunch of crisp bundled hundred dollar bills in her purse and then went off. Four thousand dollars wasn't an odd amount for a girl to deposit...and she still had about forty more grand in her room. But if she just deposited slowly and steadily, there might not be a problem. She put on her normal skirt and shirt deal and then then trudged off. Bank wasn't far, grocery store was on the way. Sucks she didn't have a car but she could easily get one soon enough.
 
It was a quiet day in Joliet, for the most part. A few street vendors with hot dog carts called out to passerby, advertising their truth of making the most perfect 'Chicago dog'. A few homeless individuals, their homes made in whatever they could scrounge from the alleyways, sat in their dwellings, asking passerby for money and food. Men and women in long thick coats walked the busy streets, eyes focused on their own destination and blind to the world around them, it seemed. Or uncaring, whatever the case may be. The temperature was a bit lower than usual, evidenced by others pulling up the necks of their coats whenever the wind picked up.

And even as the young woman, unknown to the masses as the one responisble for last night's massacre, followed the herd as she went about her business, no one gave her so much as a second look save for the cursory glances of men who might have found her attractive. Other than that, she was just another face in the crowd, the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing.

Little did she realize that she would run into someone from her past. Someone that had been an ally in the shadows, hovering between turning her in and continuing to support her.

Ex-Detective Samuel Graves, formerly a member of the Chicago Homicide Task Force, once served with distinction in the Windy City's police department. But he grew tired of all the red tape, all the rules and all the knuckling-under when it came to fellow officer's children and those of 'special significance' to the department. "Professional courtesy", what a joke. Nothing more than an excuse to let those little shits break the law and get a slap on the wrist for it.

And on top of the politics...There was that one day. That one decision he should have made but didn't...And it cost him. Sent him over the edge and forced his resignation. He later came back on as a consultant, using his previous expertise to assist units wherever he was needed. And that was when he met her: A spitting image of himself in female form, the personification of the thoughts he held true but could never act on as an officer, and still couldn't as a civilian. There were plenty of evil people in this world...And sometimes the only cure was a bullet to the head. Even still, there needed to be a check; everyone deserved a trial, no matter how despicable they might be.

And it was this latest slaying in Joliet that brought him here; he needed to find her. Make absolutely sure it was her that did this. He'd been watching the news reports of the various slayings that happened throughout Illinois, and he knew that several of the dead left their blood on his hands. It was hard, trying to keep oneself neutral in a world that tries to color everything in.

He knew her routine though, or as close to one as he could surmise: She would probably try to go to a nearby bank, deposit some of her spoils of war so as to not carry everything she had on her. But Joliet was no small town...Thankfully, she seemed to strike out from a common point. Like a spider to a fly trapped in its web, she destroyed her target and took everything of value to her. And mapping out some of her attacks in this town gave a general area to where she was located. And that left but a few banks where she could easily go to without a car.

Driving around in something fitting the environment - slacks, polished black shoes, and a thick coat overlaying a white button-down shirt and red necktie - he drove cautiously, pretending to not know where he was. But then he saw her, her eyes focused in dogged determination, heading towards the Sam's Club on McDonough. Pulling over, he stepped out of his car and after feeding the meter, he followed in behind her. Seemed like a slow day; but then, it was relatively early and the branch just opened.

He then followed close behind her, trailing her as she went about her shopping. As she paused to look over some items, he stepped up behind her and said in a rather flat tone, "Funny I would find you here...Adrian. Putting the blood money to good use, I see." Thankfully, no one was around to hear him say, but that's why he chose this moment. No one was near enough to hear them, and he could try to talk her out of this life. Not that he'd had any success in the past.
 
Adrian froze in her tracks...there wasn't many people who knew her name and most of them who did wanted to kill her. Immediately she changed from a normal, innocent woman who was shopping for food to a cold blooded killer as she moved her hand up her skirt to fish for the hidden weapon she always kept on her person. But when she saw who it was, she relaxed a bit. That death gaze though never went away. She had transitioned into her normal...primal self...the hairs on her neck were standing on end and she was ready to pounce at a moments notice. Truthfully she had been on edge since coming inside of the store because she felt like someone had been following her, but because she had just moved here she couldn't believe it really.

So why was he here, and how did he find her? News reports? Did he come here to shed the truth? Because if that was the case, then she'd have to kill him. And she hated killing good people.

No...no. She had to stay calm. She had to stay one step ahead. She relaxed herself just a little bit. "Graves," She said stiffly, narrowing her eyes just a bit. Yes, she remembered his name. Was hard not to when they had danced toe to toe. He knew about what she did, but the problem was he never actually could catch her in the act. Though it was quite obvious sometimes, even if she didn't have the weapons or blood on her hands. The satisfaction that Adrian got from putting a bullet in a man that disturbed to die was orgasmic to her. "Why did you follow me out here?"
 
Samuel didn't even flinch as she tried to reach for her weapon; she wasn't stupid, he knew that much. And as much as she got annoyed by him being the one thing that could find her, that had the expertise to track her down, he knew how much her killing of 'good people' would not sit well with her. Even still, there was always the possibility she would go dark side. Put her talents to the wrong use, and he didn't want that to happen.

"You of all people should know why, Adrian. I'm concerned for you." he stated plainly. Really, he should bring her in; even the best interrogator would have a hard time getting a confession, but everyone had their breaking point. And to top it off, he had critical details about her that would have every agency swinging a dragnet in her direction. But then she would end up in prison, find a child molester or something and bash their head in. And that would send her straight to Death Row. And as atrocious as her crimes have been, despite the public support she'd received, he just didn't have it in him to do that to her. Not unless she started going after innocent people.

"Let's take a walk. You can grab what you need." Samuel added, letting her lead the way and go about her business. Business was starting to pick up by this point, as a few more patrons were here in the store now, making conversation between them difficult and intermittent. But once they were alone again, he continued. "Adrian...I know I've said this before, but you really should consider stopping. You already found the ones that hurt you, right? All you're doing at this point is hurting yourself." the former detective said, genuine worry lacing every syllable.
 
Adrian's eyes narrowed when he gave his explanation. Concern? She didn't need his concern. She had lived a long time without the need for anyone's concern, especially a cop like Samuel Graves. Or was it ex now? He dropped everything to leave and chase her down here? Did he not have any friends or family? Why did he go so far? "That answers everything and nothing," Adrian told him as she resumed her shopping. She wasn't going to get much, after all it was a long trip back home. Though she wasn't much for conversation, so even when they were finally alone...well she was still pretty quiet. She listened to what he had to say, but she didn't look at him. Her dead gaze was straight ahead as she walked towards her apartment. She didn't really care if he knew where she lived or not.

For a moment, she didn't respond. Because she was a little annoyed. He had said that before, and back then she had told him no. The answer was still the same. "I'm not going to stop. There are still some loose ends, and not to mention...if I stop then good people are going to get hurt. I will stop when a bullet gets put into my head." Adrian answered simply as they continued to move forward, her eyelids half shut from pure annoyance, or perhaps even fatigue. Adrian never got much sleep, and she didn't thinks he ever would until she finished what she had to do, which was kill the man who had employed her father in the first place and then sent the hit men to kill him and her entire family.

"You really ought to go home...and leave this place. If you came all the way down here to tell me to stop, you wasted your time. You can't tell me that you care about the scum that I snuff from the face of the planet, Graves. You know the world is better off with me continuing to do what I need to do." Her tone was hushed, even if they did seem like they were alone. Honestly she knew that he saw eye to eye with her...getting him to admit that might be hard, but...she knew.
 
Graves gave a heavy sigh; he should have figured she would be resistant to his advice. But what could be done? Deep down, a part of him was glad she was getting rid of the scum that plagued society. But even still....She was just a child. Relatively speaking of course. And to hear her talk like that, like she was some kind of puppet for the world to use and throw aside when she was of no more use, really got to him. As a former officer of the law, it had been his duty to have people never worry about some thug or n'er-do-well wrecking their sense of peace.

"You do know that there's more to life than this, don't you?" he then asked her, looking her dead in the eye. "You might think this is all noble and good, but it's killing you. You're more than just a clean-up crew, Adrian. You should be able to live your own life. Not like this." He then crossed his arms and added, "And you would really tell me there's not a day that goes by where you wish you wouldn't have to pick up a weapon again? Never have to hunt someone down?"

The traffic was starting to pick up though; soon they wouldn't have any privacy at all. Plus, there was too much opportunity for anyone who might be tailing him to blend in right now. Patting her on the shoulder, he stated in a sense of finality "I'll be in touch, Adrian...Just think about what I said. There's more out there, and you're walking a dangerous line." He then left her to her shopping, disappearing around the corner of the aisle.
 
"Feh," Adrian spat with annoyance as she watched him disappear. Maybe there was a part of her that wished for a more normal life...but that part of her had gone quiet a long time ago. It truly disgusted her how evil the human race could be...and the only punishment the deserved was death. Besides..it wasn't over yet even if she got her revenge on the people who killed her family. Adrian still needed to find and destroy him. The man who was responsible for it all. In the mean time though...she had a smaller fish to fry.

****
After a day of running errands and finally putting food into her apartment, Adrian sat on the couch and watched the clock as the minutes ticked by. She didn't move from that spot until the room started to go darker and darker...and it was at that point where she got up and turned on the light. After dark was the only time she killed, but more importantly she had a serial rapist to stop tonight. And she'd be using a special rifle to do it with...one of her favorites, actually. It took a pretty penny for her to buy it, but it was money well spent.

She moved to her closet and pulled out a large black case. Her delicate fingers flipped the hinges before she opened it up and then neatly began cleaning her AR-50 in a meticulous fashion, like she was a mother preparing her child for a big day at the baseball field. She felt nothing but happiness every time her hand glossed over the barrel. She knew where that sick rapist was going to strike next and she'd put a bullet through his head before he could even unzip his pants. The thought of seeing his head explode through the scope made Adrian's body flush with pleasure, and she paused for a moment as she pushed her legs together when that tingling began deep inside her core...pressure was the only thing that made it slightly bearable. It took her a moment to calm down, but eventually she finished her cleaning and put the rifle back in the case and closed and locked it with the combination.

She then hauled it behind her and then put on her shoes and left to head to her destination. She needed to have it set up and ready at least an hour before the rapist showed up.
 
The day had gone on, and there was no one in sight that seemed to want to start trouble. Not with what happened last night, or the nights before. Police seemed to have little to do except go on their normal routes; with this unknown vigilante striking at night and a criminal's overall lack of desire to commit in broad daylight, it meant relatively easy shifts for the officers. Aside from when they had to cordon off scenes from whenever this mysterious person struck.

And tonight would be no exception. Being a Friday night, it meant Fritz's Pour House was having their special on beer and wings. An especially big hit now that they finally were able to get a kitchen put in. And with the Blackhawks game on tonight, one would see that it got crazy. Great news for the patrons...Bad news for any women that happened to get too drunk and tried to stumble home.

The Nightstalker, as the news called him, seemed to prowl the general area around the bar, but often went as far west as Shorewood and as far north as Crest Hill. Lately, rape reports had been coming from there, and with such a hotspot rife with activity, it made the area prime hunting grounds for this man.

And a potential victim came out of the crowded establishment, nearly tripping over herself from the crowd of people: A young twenty-three year old, her hair slightly mussed, dressed in jean shorts, red sneakers and wearing a Blackhawk jersey to show support. She had gone to watch the game, but then some creepy-ass guys kept harassing her so she left. She felt disgusted; why did guys have to be such pigs? Was it so wrong for guys to have fun without being perverts? She huddled her arms around herself beneath the jersey.

A relatively skinny male was walking behind her, his jeans hugging his legs tight and his face hidden by the black hoodie he wore. He had been in the bar itself, looking for someone to separate themselves from the herd. And as luck would have it...She did.

Within moments, he was on her, pulling a small knife out of his pocket and pressing the metal against her throat. "Fight or scream and I'll kill you." he whispered, his free hand grabbing her hair and pulling her into a dark alley. Yeah, he might have heard about this 'stranger' killing gangsters, but she couldn't get him. He was too damn good. "You know, five is my favorite number, sweet-thing. But let's see...what's under the hood." he chuckled, slipping a hand under her shirt to grasp her breast. "Hmmm...A little small for my tastes, but I can feel this perfect ass of yours. Guess that's all that counts." He was already hard as a rock, ready to get his rocks off and get the hell out.

"Please...Don't kill me." the woman whispered, small tears beginning to leak out from the corners of her eyes. "Oh, I won't if you follow my simple instructions...Don't worry. I'll be gentle...At first." A hand then went for the button on his jeans, eager to get started.
 
It was so predictable it was almost cute. He even went into the alley that Adrian had a perfect line of site of as she lay on the top of the roof of some convenience store that had no working surveillance cameras. He wasn't entirely what she expected, but it didn't matter. She knew the minute he walked out of the bar that he was preying on that girl. It would be a shame, not everyone liked the brilliant display of heads exploding like she did...and she hoped the girl had her eyes closed while the fucker reached for the zipper on his pants.

A simple pull on the trigger, and Mr. Nightstalker was no more. The blast sent shivers down her body and her ears rung pleasantly. Adrian saw a cloud of red mist a half of a second after the bullet left the barrel..and when it settled half of his head was gone. A smile played across her lips, but she did feel sorry for the girl who was covered in blood and brain matter. Once the body hit the pavement Adrian could tell she was confused and horrified...and disgusted at the gruesome sight. She didn't have time to worry about that though...she needed to leave because she knew the police would be called after that gunshot.

She was packed and running down the fire escape within sixty seconds. There was a maze of back alleys she could take to avoid being spotted by anyone. Still, her heart was racing from the adrenaline rush and all she could think about was the previous scene playing over and over in her head. It was beautiful...such a just punishment for someone so disgustingly evil. She was high...high off the power she felt. She had saved an innocent and had sent another criminal straight to hell. Whoever he was, his funeral would be closed casket.
 
The girl heard the shot, stiffening in fright as she felt something warm hit her back and heard a loud 'ding' of metal being dented. It wasn't until she heard the body fall over that she turned around...And screamed like a banshee. Her back, covered in speckles of blood, bone and grey matter, soon pressed against the wall she was about to be raped on, fingernails clawing at the surface behind her as her gaze fixed on the now headless corpse. It was disgusting, horrifying and...somewhat oddly relieving. She had been saved, but the shock of such a brutal kill overrode any sensation of gratitude at the moment.

Twenty minutes later, the police had cordoned off the area, allowing the crime scene unit to process the evidence as officers began taking witness statements. Whatever few there were. The girl was taken to the back of an ambulance so that the EMTs could check on her. Detective Stanson was there once more, looking over over the dead rapist. OK...maybe his initial presumption was off. Seemed he could add rapist-killer to this vigilante's repertoire. DNA would tell if this was really him or not; they wouldn't be getting anything off of facial recognition with this. Maybe they would get lucky with dental work.

"Hey, Detective, got something over here!" he heard one of the CSIs shout; running over, he found himself in front of a large dumpster. On its face sat a round, large hole. "Don't tell me...." Stanson muttered, to which the CSI replied, "Think so. That divot right there was where the round impacted, probably went right into here." Giving a sigh, uneasy at the prospect of dumpster diving, he asked, "Any chance it went through." The CSI grinned, "Only one way to find out. Help me move this."

Working together, they managed to pull the dumpster forward enough to get behind it; sure enough, there was an exit hole, and the cement having its own impressive dent in it. "Jeezus...Did someone use an elephant gun?" asked the investigator rhetorically, getting his forceps and evidence bag ready. After some digging around, he re-emerged with a massive and largely intact slug. "I...Is this what I think it is? Talk about overkill." the young man stated as he began collecting what few shards he could find, prompting the detective to state, "Seems like it. Fifty-caliber bullet." He then leaned down, trying to picture the trajectory; he ran his fingers across an imaginary line from the dumpster back to the divot on the ground. He then imagined it reflected perfectly, and the path led him across the street. To the top of the convenience store, no less.

On top of the roof they found evidence of blowback from a massive firearm, portrayed by the disturbance pattern in the layer of particle dust; they would need to process the image further to be sure, but it seemed like whoever did this used an anti-material rifle. Ballistics from the bullet would say what kind it was. He went back down to check on the woman. EMTs had cleared her to go home by way of an officer driving her there.

Which meant his work here was done, but not back yet at the office. He needed to get more reports written about the crime scene and look over witness statements.

Stanson was back at his desk, case reports stacked higher than the Eiffel Tower after having just reported to his Captain; it wasn't active case files, but rather closed cases. Ones where known criminals had been killed in a violent manner. He really didn't expect there to be so many.

There was no pattern, no selection aside from their status as a violent offender. Each victim was a different race, different height, different weight, different religious belief. The only time there were similarities was when they were a part of a gang, but other than that...Nothing. Whoever was doing this did not care who these people were. Only that they had evaded justice from officials.

But he could really use some help; there were so many. And he didn't even know if ALL of them were the same person. Hell, if there was one, it was more than likely there was at least one more. That thought made him shiver; so far, having the one was bad enough. If there were two? This would get ugly in a heartbeat.
 
A whistle came from behind him just before Stanson's partner, Detective Alison Sinclair strolled up beside him. Her brown eyes were focused on the stack of folders on his desk. They still didn't know who the hell they were dealing with. The patterns were similar, but different at the same time. It was extremely possible that they might be dealing with multiple people, perhaps a group of extremist. But then again...whoever was doing this purposely made sure they didn't leave any evidence of themselves behind. It was hard for a group to be so meticulous and consistent. "It was nasty tonight...by the time I got to the scene they were zipping up our vic in a body bag. Or what was left of him." She began as she picked up one of the folders.

It was just as she thought...these were all cases that were from the last couple of months. Whoever they were dealing with didn't seem like they were going to stop any time soon. The incidents had been so close together...sometimes there were multiple incidents in one night. Those were the ones that threw them off the most...how was their suspect getting around the way he was? Didn't they ever get tired? "I hope we get some prints or something this time...but I doubt it with how careful they're being. Going through old cases for more clues? Or at least a direction to go?" She asked as she glanced over to him.

Micheal had been her partner for a long time before he was ever lead of the Gang Task Force. They worked well together, dealt with some nasty criminals and had been through some sticky situations. But throughout their years together, these had been some of the most bizarre and violent cases she had ever seen. Still, she had done some research...she had something interesting to tell him about a similar string of unsolved killings in Wisconsin.
 
Michael looked behind him at the whistle, signs of relief coming across his face as he watched his partner approach him. God, he was so thankful she was back. "Yeah...Went overkill with the killshot, too. Freaking .50 caliber bullet. Whoever this is has a vendetta." he groaned, wiping his hands over his face as he looked over a case from Fairworth, Illinois. Mass killing. 10 dead in the basement of a condemned house operating a meth ring. Their product left three dead from overdosing, but the cases never went to trial. Three days later, police responded to gunshots being fired, only to find the massacre inside.

"Don't count on the prints though; this one's very careful. Leaves no trace evidence behind whatsoever." he muttered, putting the case file down. This was really starting to get aggravating. But what could they do? It wasn't like the killer was going to turn himself in.

"Please tell me you have something while you were gone...I feel like I've looked over these case files a hundred times. I can't make a single drop of sense from these." he then playfully pleaded to her; of course, anything she could provide would be excellent. He really was stuck and they needed a lead badly.
 
"It's not much, but it's worth looking into...I did some research and it looks like Wisconsin had a similar problem. Lots of gang members gunned down on their own turfs...along with some big shot business men with their fingers in some bad pies. Rapists and murderers, too. But the string of murders stopped a few months ago...around time time our problem started." Alison told him as she pulled up a chair and sat beside. "Talked to the PD over there...same thing. No traces of evidence left behind. They only ever had one witness who..is of questionable character. Now, they don't know if it's directly related...but the sighting was of a young female around the age of sixteen. She was covered in blood according to the witness. That was four years ago, however..."

She couldn't believe that was the only lead they ever had...and then again it wasn't even a lead. It was just a sighting from a prostitute that was hopped up on drugs who was close to one of the crime scenes. She didn't see a weapon or anything...just a lot of blood all over the girl, she claimed. It was possible that the girl had been a victim herself, but they never found her based on the description they had. "Get this, their problem lasted for about six years before it stopped. Six years, this vigilante has gone without being caught. Possibly only slipping up one time assuming that girl was actually her. They said the crime rate dropped exponentially over those years, too. They don't seem too torn up over never catching the killer."

It was a smaller town...different people. It was possible they didn't try as hard as they should have considering the only victims were scum bags...people who wouldn't be missed. Alison wasn't a hundred percent sure they were dealing with the same killer...but the similarities were uncanny..
 
Michael could only listen as Alison rattled off everything she had found out; true, it wasn't much to go on. The similarities were striking, that much was to be sure. It was something...Still, how dependable would a junkie's testimony be after four years? Many times he encountered these types, they were too strung out to even remember to eat.

When she finished, he let out a sigh and leaned back in hi chair. Letting everything soak in. "Off the record? Can't say I blame them. I imagine many people are better off with them gone. Even still, this type of vigilantism is not acceptable. People can change...Doesn't mean their crimes should be forgiven, but hanging onto the past like that isn't healthy." He should know; he had an opportunity to end someone that put his son in the hospital because he witnessed a drug deal going down. But no, he arrested the bastard and now he was doing hard time over at Pontiac Correctional.

Shaking his head, he then added as he smiled at his partner, "Good work though, Alison. Let's talk to the Captain, see if we can't arrange a meeting with this witness. Might be a long shot...But it's better than what we've got now." He then stood up and went to the Captain's office, who seemed to be in the middle of a conversation...Rather heated, too.

"Maybe we should..." Michael started to say, before the Captain waved them in. While not the most patient man in the world, he had incredible knowledge of how to get things done by (nearly) any means necessary. And sometimes that meant taking very extreme liberties and twisting the rules to meet the criteria for a successful closure. Right as they stepped in, the Captain hung up the phone; his blue hues were half-lidded by the years of stress and his head shone like a bowling ball.

"Let me guess...You want to chase down a lead." Captain Stuard stated as he addressed his two top agents. Giving a cursory glance to his partner, Michael just said, "Yes sir." Stuard then stood up and asked, "Where?"
 
Captain Stuard was a good boss....a busy, slightly impatient one. But a good one. He had been busy these days..and not in a good way. Dealing with the media was tiresome and Alison could understand the frustration he was going through. This killer was starting to become known...infamous. Some people were scared but others were strangely supportive. Still, some psycho who used .50 caliber bullets to take down criminals needed to be found and put away for life. This murderer wasn't the first who decided that they had a right to decide who lived and who died...and they wouldn't be the last. Sooner or later, the definition of 'justice' became skewed...and they're God complex would swell into something out of control.

"Janesville, Wisconsin. Sir." Alison didn't even hesitate to explain her justifications of traveling 150 miles north on such a small lead. Not to mention there was no harm in visiting the Janesville PD to see if they had any evidence or files archived that could be helpful in any way. Once she was finished she looked straight into Captain Stuard's eyes as if pleading him. "We don't have much else to go on, sir. Whoever we're dealing with, they refuse to leave any evidence behind. We have to take a more proactive approach...That is why I started looking up cases outside of Joliet that were similar."
 
"Janesville?" Both Stuard and Stanson asked at the same time; both men looked at each other, as if one was asking 'You didn't know?' and the other affirmed. "You want to go over a hundred miles out on a hunch?" the Captain then asked, sitting on the edge of his desk to mull this over.

When she even asked please and gave her reasoning why, Stuard gave no response; it was obviously a hard choice. These two were his best, and who knew how long it would be before this psychopath struck again. Michael started to speak up in her defense, but Stuard raised a finger to quiet him. "You sure you'll find something there?" was all he asked. "In all honesty, sir...No." replied Michael, not even bothering to hide the truth.

Giving a bit of a defeated nod, Stuard just added, "I'll have a request put in for your tickets. You'll be leaving in at most two days." He then shooed them out, "Go on, get packed. You've got stuff to do."

Once they were both out of the office, they would find the Captain answering yet another call; that thing seemed to be ringing non stop since this criminal killer came to town. "Remind me to never accept a promotion." Michael half-heartedly joked; in all honesty, he wasn't even sure this long shot was any shot at all. But it was better than not trying.
 
"Don't think you'd need much of a reminder from me, Stanson. That phone is all the reminder anyone needs." Alison told him with smirk before she left the Captain to his work. Ugh...even she got annoyed by that thing and she didn't even have to answer it.

****
As promised, her and Stanson got their tickets to Janesville within two days. The killer seemed to be taking a little break...that or they just didn't get any reports. There had been cases where they had found bodies days after the murder was committed. This killer did not hide bodies, but sometimes they would kill in places where not many people went through. And most of these gang members and drug dealers met in places they didn't want to be found. If there was no one around to report gunshots...they just weren't found until much later by someone who wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.

Janesville was definitely a quiet town compared to Joliet, even before their crime rate dropped. Whoever was responsible for the murders more than likely had been raised here. She couldn't see a vigilante murderer picking Janesville for any other reason than they were already there. Still, the gang activity beforehand was nothing to sneeze at. Looks like Janeville used to be one of the hot spots for criminal activity when it came to manufacturing drugs and smuggling them into larger areas.

Thankfully, their one and only witness was still alive and in town. Junkie who had gone straight, even better. It was no trouble getting her to meet up with them over lunch...having her come to the police station was a little too intimidating and Alison wanted her to be able to relax and focus on the memory. They waited for her at a small diner, where they would be able to hear themselves think. Sure enough, come four pm their witness walked in. She was a small woman of Latino descent. Short dark hair and brown eyes. She was dressed in black slacks and a green polo shirt. Must have come here after work.

"Alicia!" Alison called to get her attention. The woman looked over to their booth and smiled a little before moving to join them.

"You must be Detective Sinclair and Stanson...it's nice to meet you." Alicia told them with a smile before shaking their hands and having a seat.

"It's nice to meet you too, Ms. Sanchez." Alison told her with a smile. "Thanks for coming here to meet with us. We really appreciate it."
 
It was a relatively peaceful flight from Joliet; of course, like most others, there was always the issue of a screaming child. Or several, in this case. He just wished the parents would give them some codeine or something to shut them up. Luckily, the flight itself was not long at all. Less than twenty minutes total from boarding to offloading. They even managed to secure a flight at a reasonable time so that they wouldn't wake up so bloody early. Though Stanson had a suspicion it was because some of the earlier flights were full that this was the case.

In any case, it wasn't likely they would be finding much here. As the woman sat down, Stanson could still see some of the effects of the woman's former addiction. Still, he would give her credit for sobering up; drug addiction wasn't an easy thing to overcome for a lot of people.

"Yeah...We're kind of hoping you could help us out here." he then added to his partner's last statement. Leaning down a little, he then "There was a string of murders starting back in '98. Happened around this area. Then in 2000, you told detectives that some local gangbangers were yelling at the top of their lungs from inside of an abandoned house. Gunshots going off like fireworks. Then you say you saw a girl covered in blood running away from the scene."

Pausing for a bit to let it soak in, "Now, I realize it was a long time ago...But is there anything else you can remember? Anything at all?"
 
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