Vudukudu
Farseer to the Warsong Clan
Andrew's eyes slowly surveyed the scene. No signs of forced entry, scans had detected no fingerprints, gunpowder residue, nothing distinctly unnatural, no irregular energy signatures. Nothing.
Nothing except the body of John Mandellus, a White Lister. Andrew had added him to the White List two years ago, having come across him in a warehouse, manipulating electrical current. He'd been the first superhuman Andrew had interacted with up close; they had been good friends. When he was in town, they'd get coffee together. John ordered a mocha, he a regular, black coffee. Chilean blend.
Now, he was dead. On-site autopsy revealed nothing of interest; no bullet wounds, no signs of cardiac arrest, not a stroke, not an aneurysm, no fractures, blunt force trauma, burns, lacerations, nothing but an odd, vibrant redness to the capillaries in his eyes. It clashed brightly with his fading, electric blue eyes. There used to be so much light in them. He thumbed the transmit button on his earpiece.
"Eagle, this is Mother Robin. An egg has fallen from the nest. Third one in two weeks. How respond?"
There were a brief few seconds of silence on the line before a tired sounding woman answered. "Mother Robin, secure eggs and abandon the nest. Relocate to the Villa. How copy?"
Andrew groaned audibly, earning a few curious glances from the GSD crime scene staff around him. Command had just sent out the most worrying order he could receive in a time like this. His entire roster would have to be rounded up and moved to the Villa, a secure base on the Lake front. With three of his assigned roster dead, that meant a few were still unaccounted for: Alex Thomason, Roger Cannon, and Fletcher Deaton. A few thumb taps on his PDA sent out a pre-typed email to each of them, as well as a text message and automated voice message. Each presented the same message -
GSD Operative Andrew Oliver has put out a level 18 alert. Pack a bag with anything you'll need to go underground for three months. Messages have already been distributed to your employers, family, and friends. Do not attempt to contact any of them. Within 30 minutes, a blue taxi will reach your home address. Board it with your belongings. This is not a drill; this alert has been sent out as a response to multiple murders in your locale. Do not reply.
It was the exact sort of message he'd hoped would never be sent out, because it meant two things; someone out there was killing his people, and there was nothing else he could do to keep them safe.
@Darth Bambi @Crow Cadaver
Nothing except the body of John Mandellus, a White Lister. Andrew had added him to the White List two years ago, having come across him in a warehouse, manipulating electrical current. He'd been the first superhuman Andrew had interacted with up close; they had been good friends. When he was in town, they'd get coffee together. John ordered a mocha, he a regular, black coffee. Chilean blend.
Now, he was dead. On-site autopsy revealed nothing of interest; no bullet wounds, no signs of cardiac arrest, not a stroke, not an aneurysm, no fractures, blunt force trauma, burns, lacerations, nothing but an odd, vibrant redness to the capillaries in his eyes. It clashed brightly with his fading, electric blue eyes. There used to be so much light in them. He thumbed the transmit button on his earpiece.
"Eagle, this is Mother Robin. An egg has fallen from the nest. Third one in two weeks. How respond?"
There were a brief few seconds of silence on the line before a tired sounding woman answered. "Mother Robin, secure eggs and abandon the nest. Relocate to the Villa. How copy?"
Andrew groaned audibly, earning a few curious glances from the GSD crime scene staff around him. Command had just sent out the most worrying order he could receive in a time like this. His entire roster would have to be rounded up and moved to the Villa, a secure base on the Lake front. With three of his assigned roster dead, that meant a few were still unaccounted for: Alex Thomason, Roger Cannon, and Fletcher Deaton. A few thumb taps on his PDA sent out a pre-typed email to each of them, as well as a text message and automated voice message. Each presented the same message -
GSD Operative Andrew Oliver has put out a level 18 alert. Pack a bag with anything you'll need to go underground for three months. Messages have already been distributed to your employers, family, and friends. Do not attempt to contact any of them. Within 30 minutes, a blue taxi will reach your home address. Board it with your belongings. This is not a drill; this alert has been sent out as a response to multiple murders in your locale. Do not reply.
It was the exact sort of message he'd hoped would never be sent out, because it meant two things; someone out there was killing his people, and there was nothing else he could do to keep them safe.
@Darth Bambi @Crow Cadaver
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