Character(s) 13unny's Character Memorial Park

[13ubbly13unny]

Recently, I came across some old files where I had character intros saved. I don't have a lot of examples of my writing on here and thought it would be fun to create a place to commemorate some of my old characters and writing styles. These will not be character sheets and will not have faceclaims. Instead, this will be a collection of story openers where my characters are being described.

Each of these creations were made at different times of my life, at varying stages of my literary progress. While this thread won't be setup like a timeline, it will display how much my work has changed over my many years of writing creatively. Aside from some spelling checks and tense corrections, I will be posting the intros without revision. I am always open to constructive criticism, critiques and suggestions. My writing adventure is never over and I strive to read more and learn how to be a better story teller.

Important Things To Note:

• This is not a request thread
• The posts are in no particular order of time or importance
• These characters have been retired - though I do pull inspiration from them on occasion
• Please do not post comments on this thread - PM me for any questions or comments

（*⌒ヮ⌒*） Thank you （*⌒ヮ⌒*）​

 

[13ubbly13unny]

Elise​

Elise paced a depression in the plush carpet of her penthouse suite above the Las Vegas strip. Every so often, she paused to stare nervously out her floor to ceiling, tinted windows. The glaring flash of lights from below seemed to stretch on for miles. The City of Sin was always alive at night. From her vantage point, her heightened sense of sight could pick out the miniature-sized people milling about the streets. Her reflection was muted, a shadowy mirror of her. Only her eyes stood out noticeably, often pulling her attention to them as they glowed softly, reflecting the minimal light that reached her top floor apartments. Her animal was close to the surface, something physically signally her anxiety.

Elise Colette was part of a prominent Leopard Pard that had taken up residence in this debauched city. Far from the only supernaturals that have come to call Vegas home, this particular Pard was comprised of multiple leopard families. Their connections and financial status acquired them some big-name casinos along the main drag. The MGM was the head family's business and home. This was where Elise stood, waiting for her late-night visitor.

The Luxor and The New Orleans were also under feline ownership, all members of the Las Vegas Leopard Pard. There were other Weres that had settled here. An Ursa Clan had taken over most of the old strip. The buildings there were run down and took on a more sleazy vibe, but still heavily populated. However, this was Vegas, and much more than Weres have found it easy to make their way in this city. The supernatural flocked here almost daily. It was a breeding ground for every deadly sin that called demons like a siren's song. The Fae took pleasure in playing with the mortals here. Their not-always-so-harmless tricks caused a bit of tension in the Underground.

One race that was a bane of all supernatural existence, at least for the moment, were the vampires. These bloodthirsty, greedy creatures were turning the once peaceful living into a constant battle to keep the humans ignorant of the supernatural. An increasing number of strange disappearances and questionable murders were bringing undo attention to businesses run by creatures who preferred to remain off the police radar. It was difficult enough to play human without having detectives breathing down their throats and watching every move.

Thus, we come to the crux of Elise's current inner turmoil. She was about to make a desperate attempt to rid this city of the pestilence. A knock sounded at her door, causing her to jump from her spectating. Heeled feet, muted by the carpeted floor, moved swiftly to the portal. She didn't need to use the peephole. The guest was expected and the smell radiating from the other side was enough to give the visitor away. The essence of sulfur only magnified once the barrier was removed. Deep red eyes met her emerald gaze and a smirk that could only be classified as devilish spread across smooth, wide lips. The being looked human in every way other than those blood-tinged orbs. The creamy alabaster skin was without flaw, almost too perfect in appearance. "Hello, Elise. You called?"

The deep timber was enough to send most women into blissful fits, but Elise couldn't fight her revulsion to his scent. It was bad enough to invite a demon into one's dwelling, but the leopard shifter was about to take a very dangerous step to the dark side. "Please, come in." Shiny leather dress shoes flashed in the soft lights as the creature crossed the threshold into her private domain. The crisp lines of the black suit were overshadowed by the bright pop of pink in the being's tie and pocket linen. Elise closed the door softly, never taking her eyes from the demon that was now filling her room with his awful stench. It will take weeks to rid the space of his presence.

Ruby eyes moved over the sitting room with a bored expression before they settled back on his host. "How can I be of service, Elise?" Swallowing hard, the shifter moved to pace before the loveseat situated in the center of the room. "I have a request." She began, but couldn't seem to work out the rest of her thoughts quick enough to continue. "That much I worked out, dear. What is it you need?" The demon seemed patient, though Elise was reticent to test the length of his polite calm. "I..that is, we..need him." The emphasis she placed on the pronoun did little to move the demon who simply sighed in a patronizing fashion before prompting, "While I may be capable of many things, Elise, mind reading isn't one of them. Him who?" The shifter took a deep breath, "We need the hunter. The vampires are threatening everything we've managed to build here. Their careless behavior is drawing too much attention to all of us. We need... The Immortal One."

Stories of a human hunter who died feeling unfulfilled in his quest to rid the world of evil were passed from generation to generation in almost all supernatural families. This man, now immortal spirit, may have passed from the physical world but continued to live on in the ghostly plane. His escapades were told as fables and bedtime stories, warning young creatures away from true evil. Most wrote him off as a legend, those who truly have never had any contact with his manifestations. However, there were true believers. Elise's grandmother had claimed to know of his existence, told stories of his deeds, having lived through some of them. Now, the shifter was gambling that her grandmother had been completely truthful.

The demon scratched his chin, contemplating the female leopard before him and her request. "I don't think you fully understand what you are asking, dear." Elise looked at the creature with wide, surprised eyes, "Can you not summon him?" A dark laugh bubbled from deep within the demon's chest, "I never said that. What's in it for me? I'm the one who will need to perform this ritual, after all." Fidgeting from one foot to the other, Elise tried to play the ignorant. "What would appease you?" Another deep chuckle escaped, making the shifter's skin crawl. "That's not how this works, Elise. What do you wish to offer? I will tell you if it's sufficient payment for my services."

Realizing she had to play the game his way, Elise smiled softly at the demon. "I will collect whatever it is you need for the ritual and I'll sweeten the deal with a pint of blood. Virgin blood." The demon looked intrigued but skeptical. "Just where in this city did you get your hands on virgin blood?" A wry smile spread across her lips as she responded, "My sources are my own. Do we have a deal?" An expression of deep contemplation played over his face as he seemed to be digesting the information. His eyes roamed over her face, making her fidget uncomfortably under his scrutiny. "All requires essentials for the ritual and two pints." When Elise scoffed and moved to argue, the demon smirked in his wicked way, "For the ritual, of course. You didn't think I'd be able to summon his spirit without blood, did you? Virgin blood just might make him more friendly to the whole situation, too." Without the knowledge of how the ritual was actually done, Elise had nothing to base his information off of. It put her in a bit of a crunch, but she was willing to risk much more to protect her family and friends. "It will take a few days to get everything you need, but I agree to the terms." Holding out her hand, the shifter was more than ready to be rid of the demon. His classic half-smile graced his features, twisting Elise's gut. "What? No kiss to seal the deal?" She fought a shudder as she held her hand steady. "I think we can shake on it and call it good. Do we have a deal?" The creature took her hand and she felt goosebumps rise on her flesh as her animal growled at the touch. Luckily, she was able to remain outwardly silent, but the flash of bright green in her eyes warned the demon to keep his distance. He laughed, agreeing to the terms and making his exit.

Three days later, the demon had all he needed to get the hunter to Vegas. He just hoped he wouldn't lose this new, snazzy body in the process. There was no telling what kind of mood The Immortal would be in when he arrived.

 

[13ubbly13unny]

Replica​

The Birth...

The city is never quiet. That's a fact one learns quickly when assimilating to life in a large metropolis. The passing of cars, even in the most pristine of neighborhoods is the first thing to become normal. Alarms and horns follow, fading into the background as white noise. Eventually, one becomes used to even the passing of people, chatting loudly on their cell or to another person. It's attributed to a way of life here; the norm. Being able to distinguish the sounds of everyday life from those that connotes trouble is a skill few take time to master. So set in their daily routines, most civilians turn a blind eye to a wayward scream or the signs of a scuffle. Furthermore, the average Joe Shmoe would hardly go out of his way to step in to help so, in a way, ignorance becomes bliss. It's not my problem, they tell themselves, so why bother sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. It's on one of these "quiet" nights, in a dark alley between apartment buildings, one such scuffle is taking place. One person has decided not to feign ignorance.

The crash of a body hitting the side of a dumpster reverberates off the brick, muffling the cursed groan of a lowly thug. He raises his head slowly, scanning the dimly lit alley for his compatriot, but finds him to be of no good use. Instead, his attention is swiftly brought back to the problem at hand. A gorgeous blond stands not two feet from his crumpled form. In the few precious moments he has before the fight continues, his eyes take in her presence. Curled, golden locks riot around her face and shoulders in haphazard disarray. A slim, face forming eye mask hides little of her features, but blocks a clear view of her eyes. Emerald fire sparked in her gaze, piercing him to the core. Her sweet pink-colored lips curl in a wicked grin as she placed one black, stiletto-heeled boot against his chest, the leather running straight up her legs and hugging her firm thighs like a second skin. In a voice dripping with sarcasm, she taunts the punk,

"Hey, guess I CAN run in these heels. Who knew? Ready for your ass whooping? I grow tired of the chase."

There's a small expanse of sun-kissed skin above the leather before the tight, spandex shorts lead up into a black, form-fitting bodysuit with a bright green stripe across her hips and again across her chest. And what a chest, held in tightly by the suit and, somewhat unimaginably, by two thin, spaghetti straps over each shoulder. The back of the suit was practically nonexistent. The shorts cover her rump and one thick strap secures her abundant endowments beneath her shoulder blades, but that's it. Just smooth, honeyed skin to greet the eyes. The ensemble would almost seem comical if it wasn't housing a chick of badass proportions.

Where his friend might have been willing to come to the aid of his fellow gang member, he was currently unable to evade the three women slowly advancing him deeper into the alley, cutting off his escape. His eyes shifted from one skimpy clad form to another. The most disconcerting fact being they were all identical. With all his male bravado, he tries to talk his way out,

"Is it Halloween already? 'Bitches better get lost!"

His words were interrupted by his backside roughly scraping the wall of the alley, firmly halting any further retreat. Clamping down on his remaining courage, they were only women, after all, he attempted to scare them off with violence,

"Don't think I won't sock a bitch in da mouf. Get outta here and mind yer damn business!"

The girls surrounded the thug who lashed out offensively. He cocked back and let loose a fist intent for the triplet on the left. With lightning reflexes, the girl harshly smacked the fist away, making the movement look like nothing more than shooing a fly. The one in the middle stood tall with hands fisted at her hips, drawing attention to the bright green stripe over her pelvis, and blond curls swaying slightly in a gentle breeze. She tsked at the thug like a mother would a child. Her eyes flashed in irritation behind the thin, black mask as her smooth voice rebuked,

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's not okay to hit?"

The thug was thrown off by the reprimand, but didn't get a chance to reply when the girl on the left, the one he had swung at, laid a blow to his jaw that had his head cracking against the brick. Seeing stars, his vision dancing, he slid slowly to the grimy floor. The girl dusted her hands together as she spat at him,

"Ours sure as hell didn't."

The sound of fists meeting flesh and the grunts of a struggle had the three identical women turning in unison to find their fourth doppelganger in an intense battle with the remaining thug. Apparently, he wasn't taking his ass-kicking lying down. The two were exchanging blows one after another. The blond landed a solid fist in his gut, using her momentum to drive her body forward and bring her other fist into his chin. The thug responded in kind, swinging out blindly with the stun of the blow, but his unpredictable fighting style caught the vigilante off guard and she took his fist straight to her face. The crunch was bad enough, knowing her nose was broken, but the blood that gushed like a faucet was the icing on the cake. Cursing and stumbling back a pace, the thug advanced, thinking to strike again. However, a boot dropped him where he stood and his dazed eyes moved to his newest attacker. One of the look-alikes had just sent a high flying kick and was settling into a fighting stance, fists at the ready. Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by not two or three, but six identical women. Scrambling to get away, the six followed his movement as he struggled to his feet mid-run,

"What is this? Some Kate Plus 8 shit? Who the fuck are you?"

Even as he side pedaled backward to start his escape, he stayed for the grand finale. As one, the girls spoke, as if of one mind,

"We are Replica. Bad Ass Bitch of Justice. Tell your friends..."

One by one, before his eyes, the girls started to disappear,

"Commit your crimes in fear punk..."

Now there was only one, and she came in close to the thug who was frozen to the spot in fear. She whispered almost seductively, but with a harsh edge to her voice,

"For when you do, I'll come for you."

In a smooth sweep, she dropped into a crouch, scooping his legs out from under him. His body hit the pavement with a sickening crack. He wasn't dead, but that was going to be one hell of a headache in the morning. As the "silence" settled around the area, the woman in black faded away. High above, safely atop one of the apartment buildings, a lone figure watched the action below. As she turned away, her golden hair was highlighted by the moon to an almost white blond and a satisfied smirk rested on sweet pink lips.

Replica was born and serving Justice on a kick-ass platter.

◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇​

Dani hated Mondays. It was bad enough to have to roll out of bed for work after two days off. However, Dani had a second job that took up most of her time off. Maybe it was time for a vacation.

-Yea right- She thought to herself.

Hushing the annoying buzz buzzing of her alarm after three trips around snooze-ville, the curly blond finally pulled herself from her oversized queen bed. The only reason it seemed oversized was that she was alone. The extended queen felt much too large for just one person at times. Sure, she piled it high with pillows and an overstuffed, down comforter to not feel so small in her place of rest, but that could never fully fill the void.

Brushed, washed, and dressed, Dani crammed down a quick breakfast of oatmeal topped with bananas before gathering her things to leave. She gave her appearance a once over, as girls are known to fuss, making sure everything was in place. Her wild mane of gilded curls was tamed slightly by her expert use of a large barreled curling iron. Instead of a frizzy lions mane, her curls looped playfully in a controlled fashion while still looking effortless around a cherubic face. Her make up was subtle and natural-looking, drawing slight attention to her viridian gaze while keeping her shapely lips a natural pink. A dainty nose complemented the rest of her features.

Today's ensemble consisted of tweed slacks in a slate gray that hugged narrow hips and followed the line of her body straight to her feet. A soft, floral button up in a cream color stretched snugly across her ample bosom. The outfit was complemented by a teal cardigan and matching pumps with girlish bows on the toes. Though she was only slightly taller than the average woman, her 5'7 frame sported a lot of leg and she loved showing them off. Too bad working in an office forced a stricter dress code.

A quick swipe of gloss across her kissable lips and she was out the door, taking the stairs down from her third-story apartment and hitting the busy city streets for her walk to work. Dani popped her earbuds in and switched on her jams to drown out the hustle of the world around her.

 

[13ubbly13unny]

Sunny​

At nineteen, Kim Sun-Hi is the youngest child and only daughter of Kim-Hwa Industries' President and CEO, Kim Bon-Hwa. His wife, Min Jee, blessed him with three healthy, vibrant children in their 28 years of marriage. One should note that despite outward appearances, there is no love shared between these two. Min Jee is fifteen years her husband's junior. Their marriage was arranged when she was but two years old. The contract brought financial security and protection to a family without heirs. Needless to say, upon her eighteenth birthday, Min Jee was less than enthusiastic to be hitched to a man she barely knew. When her daughter asked about her wedding, Min Jee described a perfect, romantic setting with little to no emotion.

Sun-Hi's eldest brother, Chin-Hwa, just recently turned 25. He's being groomed as his father's replacement when the Board deems Bon-Hwa has served his purpose. His current position in the company is Executive Chief of Marketing, which means he travels a lot. Her older brother and middle son, Jae-Hwa, has been away at University, studying law. He hopes to eventually lead the company's legal department, one of the few facets of Kim-Hwa Industries tapped into regularly, aside from treasury. While Sun-Hi, who actually likes to be called Sunny, enjoys the luxuries of having a wealthy family of great importance, she has no interest in the company.

It's worth mentioning that Kim-Hwa Industries is owned and operated by one of the largest crime syndicates in Korea. Far from the kkangpae (thugs) the members used to be, the Kim-Hwa group is a well organized and fully functional business. They deal mainly in trade, but own quite a few smaller companies to run all their illegal activities. A European construction company is a front for money laundering, a small endeavor that never lasts long. With money laundering, you don't want to keep one business too long and you definitely didn't want the business in your home town. There is a small ring of poker houses that are funded and operated by Kim-Hwa members. Loan sharks, prostitution, you name it, they probably do/did it. However, unlike the '60s, when shit really hit the fan regarding organized crime, Bon-Hwa did these deeds under the guise of "business." There are quite a few cops who lined their pockets by becoming allies of the Kim-Hwa group; politicians, as well. Yes, Bon-Hwa built an empire from the ruins left to him by his father. The elder Kim died in prison, arrested after the people revolted against the Rhee government and their ties to the organized crime groups. The early years were messy.

Sunny, however, finds business boring. In fact, these days, most things bore her. Coming from money, the world is at her fingertips. She lacks nothing she needs and has everything she wants. Well, mostly everything she wants. One of the downsides to having an important family in Korea is the pride of bloodline. Bon-Hwa is very traditional. He is the patriarch of the family, so what he says goes. Min Jee never worked a day in her life. Her place is in the home. Chin-Hwa would eventually take his father's place, marry a beautiful woman of Bon-Hwa's choosing, and take over caring for this family. Jae-Hwa has a bit of a break, being born after Chin, but he is still expected to finish college and take up a well respected position within the company. Jae's marriage may or may not be arranged, it is yet undecided.

Meanwhile, poor Sunny. Being not only the youngest but the only daughter has turned her into a commodity. Her marriage wasn't arranged at birth. No, in fact, it was only five years ago that a fourteen-year-old Kim Sun-Hi met her future husband for the first time. Om Jung Soo is the eldest son of the Atlantis Corporation's CEO. He is, currently, the same age as Chin and really quite handsome. That being said, he's a complete tool; a pushover; and an idiot to boot. Sunny had refused, even at fourteen, declaring never to marry a man she didn't choose herself. That didn't stop her father from signing the contract. It didn't scare off the would-be suitor, either. Jung Soo tried to get Sunny to open up, get to know him, but she wanted none of it. Soon she learned that when she screamed at him, he shriveled up within himself, shying away from her scathing words; when she lowered her voice, hardened her eyes and told him to "remove himself from her sight" the man ran away like a scolded puppy with his tail between his legs. Pathetic!

As time passed, Sunny matured, a bit. She found herself interested in boys, lots of boys, just not her betrothed. Heaven knows he tried, but not even a hug or a hand to hold was ever given to him. At sixteen, Sunny was told that it was either Om Jung Soo or no one. That was the first and last time her betrothed ever felt her soft, innocent lips against his. She was desperate for a first kiss. All of her friends had already experienced it and she was tired of being teased. When he had dropped her off after another failed attempt at wooing his intended, Jung Soo was pleasantly surprised by her request. Maybe he was making some headway, he thought if she was asking him to kiss her. The exchange was brief, for the man was apprehensively aware of their significant age gap, but he quite enjoyed it. Sunny, on the other hand, did not. His lips were hard, thinned tightly for propriety. A mere peck would be a better description. She would have given more to a distant cousin than that. His smile was sweet, but it irritated his promised bride. She glared at him, catching him off guard.

"Did you not enjoy my kiss, agassi," he questioned, using the familiar term for young lady that Sunny hated. Crossing her arms she turned to stare out the car window, refusing to respond. Jung Soo sighed and Sunny could hear him shifting in his fancy leather seat, "Won't you let me try again? I can make it up to you if you let me." Fed up with his wishy-washy attitude and doormat of a personality, Sunny screamed, nothing in particular, just screamed, which startled her beau. Of course, this brought the guards standing nearby closer, as well. Without more than a harshly muttered, "Forget it!" she removed herself from the vehicle, thus ending the moment and the only intimacy he would ever see from Sunny. From there, Sunny attempted to date. I say attempted because everyone who knew who Sunny was, knew who her father was. She had few friends outside the syndicate, but those who weren't part of the organization didn't typically stick around for long. Since she couldn't go anywhere without a bodyguard, her rendezvouses were never secret. No boy wanted to be caught in her company unchaperoned, let alone risk getting in her pants.


-Two Weeks Prior-

Sunny watched as her father dismissed yet another of his staff because of her. She used to care. Somewhere in the valley between her breasts used to beat a heart that held compassion for the bodyguards that got canned at her expense. Now that she was on, what was it... Her eleventh guard? She lost count awhile ago. Her feelings were bottled up in a body and mind that saw her ginormous house as the worst sort of prison, her father the malevolently altruistic warden. Keeping her under such a strong hand was "for [her] own good." No longer did she fret over the people whose jobs she viciously ripped away. Part of it was a need for some sort of life away from this luxurious incarceration, but more than that, it was the only way to get her father's attention; let him know she was unhappy in her situation.

Over the years, Sunny had perfected the art of dodging her guards. She snuck out whenever she could and partied the night away until she was found and dragged home. Most of her guards grew fed up with her childish antics and reported to her father who calmly dismissed them for failing the organization. Bon-Hwa learned early on that punishing Sunny didn't do much more than make his life difficult by making her house arrest that much more of a headache. She was just over the age of adulthood, but still acted like a spoiled teenager and he was quickly losing patience. After this last escape, he had had enough. The organization was very private and didn't invite strangers from other countries into their fold, but what was a father to do.

Sunny looked up from her contemplation of the elegantly tilted floor of the ante room attached to her father's office, where she was asked to wait while her soon to be ex-guard was fired. The door had opened and the downtrodden man was leaving. He wouldn't look at her, not that she cared, but her reverie was broken again by the sharp call of her father. Steeling herself, she donned a look of indifference as she entered the plush interior of Bon-Hwa's office. A large imperial desk dominated the room, drawing eyes directly to the President of Kim-Hwa Industries. There was a sideboard under the one large window to the right as of the entrance. A sofa and two chairs formed a small casual seating area to the left where a flat-screen tv hung from the wall sharing the door. Bookshelves lined the entire back wall, filled with old tombs, family heirlooms, and other knick-knacks. Sunny walked bravely to stand before her father's desk, while still keeping her eyes lowered politely. Bon-Hwa was silent for a moment, waving his staff from the room to speak more privately. "I don't know what to do with you, Sun-Hi." Her father spoke in an exasperated voice. Sunny frowned but remained quiet. Bon-Hwa took that as a means to continue, "You have left me no choice in this matter, daughter. Starting from now, you are bound to this house until arrangements can be made for a proper bodyguard..."

"..bound? Bound!" Sunny wanted to scream, felt the urge rise against her throat, her chest expanding of its own accord. She was to be even more a prisoner, not even allowed on the grounds. Secluded to her room, maids order to watch her and report her activity, it was like she was some kind of mental patient. Yes, Sunny snuck out; a lot. She rarely got away with it and it sucked that she had to reenact scenes from Mission Impossible just to get away from her spacious cage. Now, she had guards stationed all around her rooms twenty-four hours a day, maids checking in on her every few minutes. She wasn't allowed to take meals with the family, talk to her friends, go shopping and there was definitely no way she was getting out of her room unseen. Sunny swore silently to herself, the first chance she got, she was running for good.


-Present Day-

Sunny sat on her balcony which faced the front of the house. The sweeping lawn had been recently mowed and she could still see the sharp, precise lines from the riding mower. Three guards patrolled the walkway beneath her rooms while two stood guard in the hall. A maid had just left after delivering her breakfast. Approaching the house from the main road leads to a large, imposing, iron gate with the Kim-Hwa crest in the middle. Entering, the drive curves to the right, swinging around again to the left before taking a winding path up to the house. Trees line the drive, blocking the view of the golf course on the left and tennis courts and pool on the right. Suddenly, after minutes of driving, the trees thin, then break away to give a wide view of the house. The drive splits off to go into a round-about up to the doorway. It would be obvious someone truly wealthy lived here.

Today, her new bodyguard was scheduled to arrive. Sunny didn't see how he was going to be any better than the others. Still, it took a lot of searching on her father's part to find this guy so something must be on the up and up. A sense of nervous anticipation enveloped her at the secrecy of it all. So there she sat, waiting to hear a car pulling up, signaling her return to a small form of freedom.

 

[13ubbly13unny]

Brooke​

Brooke Lawson stood before the mirror in her dimly lit bathroom, giving her appearance the final once over. A typical female routine, she checked over the results of her preparation for today. Her mousy brown hair was cut stylishly in a short bob with thick baby doll bangs. Hazel eyes were highlighted gently with a touch of brown liner and mascara, but the redness of irritation hadn't yet diminished. In her desire to impress today, she had attempted contacts for the first time. A horrible, torturous idea that ended up failing miserably and leaving her to wear her thick-framed, black glasses instead. Aware of her habit of gnawing at her bottom lip whenever nerves harassed her, she opted to avoid lipsticks of any kind.

Truly unaware of her own natural beauty, Brooke's personal list of flaws was excessive. At 5'4, she held a curvaceous, hourglass frame. Her chest expanded in her junior year of high school, drawing lots of attention at the speed of their development. Some ladies are pleased with larger breasts, but Brooke saw them only as annoyances. Along with her flaring hips, shopping for clothes was a painstaking ordeal. Nothing seemed to fit her right. She wasn't the Skinny Minnie designers made clothes for and shopping for plus sizes made her feel frumpy. Instead of viewing the slight pooch in her belly as womanly, she felt oversized in the black pencil skirt that hugged her smooth derrière and tapered down thick thighs to stop at her knees. A cream-colored blouse strained against her chest, the sleeves stopping at her elbows. Brooke adjusted the red scarf she had tied around her neck, unsure if it was too bold of a statement, but decided to leave it since it matched the red Toms she was wearing.

It's safe to say that Brooke was a rather indecisive person. At 27, she was finally almost done with school. Finals were over and grades were being calculated. She was graduating in only a few short weeks. It had been a long road to this point. As a creative soul, she had pursued an art degree straight out of high school. While getting her transfer credits at a local junior college, she was introduced to the world of gaming and became addicted. The graphic designs, story development, and programming were more interesting than learning the history of Vincent Van Gogh. As much as art was a part of her, those first two years out of highschool released her inner nerd. For someone who was never popular and had few friends all through grade school, gaming allowed her to interact with people in a way that didn't cause anxiety attacks. Brooke cared overly much about how the world viewed her and those worries melted away in the virtual world. A change in major added two more years of schooling before she was able to transfer to the Art Institute of San Francisco. There she engrossed herself in her studies with the hopes for job placement at the time of graduation.

Today was the job fair for current students and graduates. Brooke desperately wanted to make a good impression. This was the starting point of her career and she hoped to be noticed by at least one well-known production company. Her degree was in product development. Brooke was determined to be part of the team to create the next big thing. If only she could get past her nerves. Chewing her lower lip, she left her apartment to catch the bus to the AI campus. What if no one wanted her? What if she wasn't what they were looking for? Her nerves were really starting to get to her. Was she underdressed? Should she have put on more make-up? As the bus came to a stop, Brooke gathered her messenger bag and headed for the quad where booths were set up for company representatives. She adjusted her glasses as she steeled herself. She could do this.

 

[13ubbly13unny]

Emery​

"Director Anson, the last of the OC Guard Bots have been delivered. The docking stations are almost complete." Emery looked up from her computer station to see who just delivered the report, "Very good, Henderson. Get patrol prepared to take their pads. We'll need to have those bots up and running before we can bring the engineers in to complete the dome expansion." Her dual colored eyes, one green, and one a synthetic silvery color, quickly moved back to her screens in front of her. The thin scar that ran from her hairline down over her left eye and onto her cheekbone would be a dead giveaway as to why she needed an artificial eye. The silvery iris worked like a type of recognition software for her brain, making her able to work efficiently with multiple monitors and programs running at the same time.

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OmniCity, referred to by its citizens as OC, is a corporate-controlled metropolis on Alpha-OC-9. The planet came under the domination of OmniCare, a biotech and cybernetics corporation that specializes in military enhancements and medical bioengineering. Their rise to power, coupled with that of other mega-corps, came after a galactic alliance shift, better known as the End of Worlds War. Once humans expanded into space, the hunt for habitable planets fell under the greed of big business as more resources were tapped, better materials sourced, and demand for longer lives, stronger militaries, and power grew. This planet was one of the dozens that OmniCare controlled, all specifically populated for the resources that could be found.

AOC9 was currently being harvested for an amorphous metal compound that was used to create military-grade cybernetic enhancements. Most wars or disputes were fought with augmented soldiers, or full-on cyborg units, in this day and age. This metal was stronger and more durable than many of the other options on the market and made OmniCare a go-to for upgrades. However, the scientist employed to learn more about this resource discovered that the metal could be chemically thinned which would give it a glass-like appearance. OmniCare's medical bioengineering department jumped on this find and have been using it to make artificial organ replacements, like eyes.

The planet, on its own, is not conducive to human survival. The air is not breathable and the level of radiation present is lethal, even for those born on space stations who have a higher tolerance for radiation levels than do those born planetside. If exposed to the elements without proper protection, a human will die within 24 hours, if not sooner, from agonizing burns and intense radiation sickness. As such, OmniCare devised a way to bring workers and their families to the planet to mine the metal resource: The OC Dome. Essentially enclosing the city in a giant snow globe, engineers created shields that use an electronic relay system from the four compass points. Giant bunkers are dug underground that house the equipment for maintaining the link so the shields stay intact. These four relay stations link to a central hub in the center of the city, the giant spire of OmniCare's main corporate building. Inside the dome, the air is breathable, the radiation is controlled and the shields offer UV protection.

The expansion outpost Emery was currently working at was part of a project for enlarging the OC Dome. As more mines were cleared, the workers had to travel farther and farther from the city. With conditions as harsh as they were, officials feared supplies would be harder to bring back in a timely manner. Of course, the corporation tried to paint a glowing picture of caring for the people of OC, of looking to protect them from the possibilities of harm from the deadly outer world, but the elites knew, and Emery knew, all they cared about was getting more mines open, getting more resources. It was never about the people and always about money.

Her role as Security Director made her part in this project one of the most important. As with any controlling power, there are those that would oppose it. On AOC9, an underground group of rebel forces had been on the rise, growing their numbers and recruiting heavily to sabotage the corporate dealings. Smaller groups of miscreants had been thwarted easily, but the major players had escaped capture too many times. Emery knew something big was brewing and the constant pressure from the board to "take care of the problem" had her on edge. She had grown skilled at compartmentalizing the horrors of her past, locking them away so they didn't cloud her professional judgment, but she wasn't a killer…anymore.

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With her respirator helmet on the desk next to her, Emery worked to set up comm links with the main security admin building inside the OC Dome. Her red hair had a center part, the sides combed down smooth and the length pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The style was military precise and professional, hiding the side shave on the left side of her head. Her eyebrows were tattooed on to match her red hair since she no longer had a real one on the damaged side of her face. She was covered completely in a navy blue protective suit that shielded her skin from the UV rays and, along with her helmet, removed any radiation risk. The pant legs were tucked tightly into mid-calf combat style boots with locking snaps all the way up. The long sleeves were tucked into tan gloves that cinched tightly at her wrists. The front zip went all the way up to sit right beneath her chin and she wore an O2 collar that her helmet would lock into.

In her suit, she seemed mostly human (aside from the eye). Emery liked keeping her horrors hidden. While some of the security staff would partially undress in the underground bunker, the director chose to remain fully covered. She gave it dual reasonings: She kept people from staring or asking questions, and she was prepared in case of a breach. The monitor directly in front of her beeped, a window popping up to signal a call from headquarters. "Anson, go ahead." Emery kept working around the interruption. "Hey Em, it looks like everything is set up on our end. Firewalls are in place and we are ready to test the bot units." The director didn't react to being called 'Em' though she hated that Sylvia always refused to remain professional when on a corporate line. "Thank you, Jimenez. Docking stations are going online now. I'll report back once the test is complete." Without waiting for a response, Emery cut the communication before reaching to her right ear and opening the line on her comms device, "Henderson, are patrols in place? Have them link in. I'm sending them the IP coordinates."

Just outside the bunker door, a long line of OC Guard Bot stations had been installed, each bay holding one police robotics unit. The police in OC were actual people remotely operating a security robot from a central location. Standing on a pad, the personnel would plug into a virtual mainframe that would transport their consciousness to a Guard Bot. They would use these to patrol the city and keep the citizens safe. In the outer world, these bots were essential in keeping the engineers safe while the expansion project underwent. With the threat of the rebel faction, Emery had made sure to be present as each outpost was constructed, providing oversight of the security department's role in this endeavor.

Inside the bunker, Emery was just stepping away from the mobile security station and securing her respirator when a voice came over the earpiece, "We're having an issue with the power lines to the docking stations out here. We're getting an obstruction warning." Instantly, the director was on alert, "Everyone in their suits and be on alert. Henderson – take a small team to scout the power lines." Her eyes scanned over the few members of her team that had stayed in the bunker while she worked. She pointed to two officers, a man, and a woman, before giving her orders, "You two, get a group topside to take point at the back of the outpost. Stay sharp! We only need a few minutes to get the stations live and then we'll have mobile units."

Locking her helmet into place with a soft snick, Emery moved toward the small armory they had stored inside the bunker for the manned patrols while the robot units were being installed. She tried to work quickly, wanting to get the bunker locked down until they were able to safely rely on the mech forces. Wrapping a holster about her right thigh, she snapped in a Towa Type-12 police issue pistol that was pulled from a drawer inside the weapons cabinet. An extra clip was shoved into a pocket built into the suit at her left hip. Then, she pulled a Federated Arms assault rifle from the gun rack that took up the top half of the cabinet. This rifle was equipped with smart chip technology that offered different crowd control options in one weapon. They were the number one weapon of the OC Guard which made them quite large and heavy for humans to handle, but Emery wasn't like most humans.

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While she purposefully kept her past shrouded in mystery, there were a few things that couldn't be hidden as they were public knowledge. Emery Anson served in the Universal Coalition Battalion. This military group was created by the Universal Alliance Council, headed by major business moguls and corrupt politicians. Their goal was to expand the mining of resources to further propel humans into space and off of the dying home planet, Earth. Her role within the military group wasn't completely understood and she hid her horrors well, but for those who were perceptive enough or who caught a glimpse, there was glaring evidence that she had seen many battles.

Scars were incredibly taboo for those who had the money to pay for the skin grafting. Advancements in the medical sciences, bioengineering, and bionics made it so those who could afford it never needed to fear a pimple, a wrinkle, or even a scar. Emery chose to live with hers, a reminder of where she'd come from and where she'd never return. Each marred section of her skin wasn't worn with pride, they weren't badges of honor, but memories that haunted her and kept her rooted in her moral convictions. The side shave she kept covered with her middle part wasn't done because she liked the aesthetic, at least, not initially. The style did eventually grow on her. No, it was more out of necessity since hair didn't grow out of scar tissue. It was faded now, but still visibly lighter than her natural skin tone, the line jagged from the way it was roughly stitched in the field. Then there was her left eye, of course, another jagged line of demarcation crossing where an eye that matched her right once was.

That was typically all Emery allowed to be visible. The only person she knew professionally who had seen more of her damaged body was Sylvia. The pair worked closely together, her the security director, Sylvia the tech geek that kept the portal pads in tip-top shape. That, partnered with Sylvia's uncanny ability to weasel an after-work hang out session out of Emery, had led to the two eventually hooking up a few times. Beneath the uniform and the protective suit, the director hid some enhancements to her body, consolation prizes for her efforts in the UCB. A few small, darkened dips zigzagged up her right side, the skin slightly sunken and looking more like birthmarks. One, in particular, sat right over her liver; well, the artificial one anyway that had replaced her damaged one after taking fire during a mission. However, that enhancement wasn't visible and usually, her scars were overlooked once someone caught sight of the metallic covering of her left arm from her shoulder to the tips of her fingers. The cybernetic limb was garish and in harsh contrast to her soft feminine ivory skin. She could have elected to have a synthetic skin adhered over it to hide it from view, but in some twisted form of logic, the sight of it reminded her of her humanity.

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There wasn't even enough time for her to secure the rifle's strap around her left shoulder before the explosions started. The ground around the bunker vibrated with the force of the blast, making everything inside shift. Furniture upended, clutter crashed to the floor and the pendant lights swayed eerily. People rushed to button up their suits and put on their helmets as panic increased. Racing to the airlock, Emery forced people to get in with firm commands, sealing the inner portal so they could open the outer door and escape. Her earpiece was alive with sounds of shouting, orders being given, and the overall sounds of their attack. "Secure the perimeter! Henderson, report!" She made sure the others were clear before readying herself to step into the airlock once the outer door shut. Henderson wasn't responding to her calls and suddenly, the outer door swung closed with a reverberating slam as three more explosions from the north side of the outpost tilted her balance and sent her sprawling on the floor. Growling in frustration, trying to get her feet beneath her as even more explosion rocked the foundation, she had just made it into the airlock when a huge blast sent her flying into the glass wall. The heavy material took the full weight of her collision, but the force knocked her head roughly inside her helmet.

Dazed, Emery pushed herself unsteadily to her feet and released the outer door. The airlock let out an angry hiss as the oxygen inside was sucked out of the door with her exit. Her eyes took in the damage of the ramp leading out of the bunker. The docking stations were still intact, but all of the robotic units had either fallen out of their holders or had been moved out from their controller back at headquarters before the comms were cut and the units collapsed. Not wanting to waste any more time, hearing the firefight that was competing with the noise of bombs still exploding, Emery raced up the ramp but didn't make it out into the open. A well-placed charge on one of the electrical units above her detonated, collapsing part of the tunnel. She dropped the rifle to roll out of the way, but falling rocks struck her unprotected body. In her haste to be free of the dangerous avalanche of dirt and rocks, she rolled right into a docking station, her head colliding with her face shield hard enough to create a small crack, cutting her head open and knocking her unconscious, the outer layer of glass on her helmet the only thing protecting her from losing oxygen.

 

[13ubbly13unny]

Lyseña​

Lyseña worked tirelessly alongside her four remaining crew members. It had been three sun cycles since they landed on Galenteth, a majestic moon with its tropical jungles and sparkling oceans. Days moved slower on the moon so three slow rotations around this system's brightly glowing gas planet equated to about four months. The radiation levels coming off the prime planet were much higher than the Qhinnora could safely handle and with one minor error in calculation, the group had landed during the last few days of the light phase of the moon's seasons. This mistake resulted in the loss of two crew members within days of landing. Radiation sickness was only the beginning of their troubles. The moon was home to some vicious creatures that threatened the Qhinnora gatherers at every turn. What had been a sufficient group for this mission had been reduced to five remaining members, Lyseña only taking up the mantel of commander within the last month of the dark season.

A crew of twenty-five had landed in the monolithic Heshik Titan Cargo Freighter, complete with two gas harvesters and drilling equipment. Their mission was to harvest the plentiful rare gases and minerals that the bioluminescent moon offered. The gases, alone, would pull a fair price at any trade port as they were useful for high-end booster systems. They had a cleaner burn off that was sought after by individuals that spent a lot of time moving in and out of spaceports as the harsher gases gave off choking fumes and some port officials would complain. The minerals were an added bonus since this moon had been relatively untouched from other harvesters. Additionally, the bioluminescent flora that came to life as the moon turned away from the glaring gas giant produced a sap that could be used in medicinal forms. The Qhinnora harvested this resource mostly for their home planet storage.

Zeliv Prime, home of the Qhinnora people, had a very small sun that kept the surface just warm enough to melt off the frost that develops every night. The technologically advanced race was a peaceful species with quite the metropolis on their planet, revenues coming from harvesting missions and space equipment manufacturing, but not before evolution took its toll on them. With minimal light, the species slowly lost the use of their eyes, finding their other senses heightening to compensate. Sound became the road map for their surroundings. Developing a type of echolocating sense, the Qhinnora "saw" clearly, in their mind's eye, the world around them as if a diagram was being drawn. They couldn't see color, and small definition would require constant sound to get a clear shape, but they survived and thrived with their new abilities. They even found that they could emit a high pitch noise, well out of the range of human hearing and even some alien species, when they needed some "visual" guides. With near blindness came the added benefit of sensitivity to noises and vibrations. Through touch, with either their feet or hands, the Qhinnora could detect movement and its direction from many kilometers away.

"Tira'veth, assist Bolthèx with the mining equipment. We need to have camp broken down and the freight loaded by nightfall. We cannot delay another day."

Already, the crew was showing signs of minor radiation sickness. Plenty of rest inside the ship helped, but every moment spent outside in the sun and the light of the prime planet, even in the cover of the jungle, slowed the progress with nausea, lightheadedness, and a decrease in their ability to 'see'. Just as a gaseous cloud was dampening some of the glaring light from the prime planet, Lyseña felt the moon vibrate violently. All five crew members stopped working to search their surroundings for the cause of the disruption. Then, a sound, like the universe was tearing the moon in half in one hard rip slammed into the moon's surface and knocked the Qhinnoran's to the ground in agony.

They held hands tightly against their large pointed ears, elf-like in appearance, but smooth like a bat's wing with feathered edges. Bolthèx emptied the meager contents of his stomach, a common reaction to extreme pain from him. As quickly as the sound came, it ended in a descending scream of something falling from the sky. Tira'veth opened his mouth to screech out a high pitch noise, painting the landscape brightly for all of them to see. Whatever it was, wasn't close to their location. It wouldn't be until the vessel bounced on the surface of the water that their ears could better focus on its location.

"The ocean… Arm up! We'll check for survivors, but be on alert. The beach is prime territory for some of the denizens of this jungle and in the light of day we are too vulnerable."

Lyseña's command was met with a rush to comply, though Tira'veth came to her side to question, "What if it's an enemy vessel?" The leader wrapped her long gray hair around her hand before stuffing it inside the cowl of her black, long-sleeved top. The extra fabric around the neck acted as a hood that she pulled up over her head and covered her ears. Strapping a mask over the lower half of her face, the straps on the outside of her hood help to hold the item firmly in place. "If it is our enemy, we shall have to defend ourselves."

As a peaceful race, the Qhinnora were not trained in combat. They knew how to fire weapons to protect themselves from creatures or those that were trying to do them harm, but they were not warriors or seasoned in battle. The firm statement from Lyseña took Tira'veth by surprise as it was out of character for any of them to so quickly and easily condone acts of violence. The commander ignored his troubled face as she clipped her utility belt over black pants that were form-fitting, but made of such a soft and pliable fabric that it was like wearing nothing. Her feet were strapped in black boots that had shin guards on the front that covered from her ankle to her knee.

Pulling on black gloves before picking up her PKD Pulse Rifle with a laser sight. This was a personal purchase on the last port they hit before making their moon landing. While she hadn't had much exposure to them, Lyseña's fascination with firepower grew with every new gun that came on the market. Her compatriots had basic stun blasters with electroshock burst rounds that had to be loaded manually. The commander liked her odds better with her toy.

"Cover as much skin as you can. There's no telling how long that gas cloud will last."

With that, the five remaining members of Moon Harvest Crew C64-02 fell into a tight formation as they made the trek to the beach.

Meanwhile, any survivors of the crash might quickly realize the 'sunset' was not getting any dimmer and was actually cloud cover. The beach was mostly void of life. Every so often a small bird-like creature would flutter somewhere in the jungle trees. There was a hum of insects that made a cacophony of white noise after being startled by the crash landing. For an alien moon, it might seem almost peaceful listening to the lap of the water; feeling the warmth of the sun; watching the inky, black tentacle-looking objects move through the shallows…Wait…What!?

 

[13ubbly13unny]

Sera​

A gaze as dark as the midnight sky passed over the packed tavern. The nervous energy that encased her had her stomach twisted into knots and made it hard to breathe. The crudely made tables were filled with patrons, some enjoying a meal and drink, others drunkenly imbibing well past their limits. The bar at the back of the establishment had a roaring fire next to it that made the place feel stifling to the skittish new barmaid. "Git movin', gi'l! Ye ain't gittin' paid tah stand 'round 'n gawk." A swish of brown locks followed the quick swivel of her head as she jumped into action from the grumpy bark of the barkeep, collecting the mugs of ale for her worst customers.

Outlying villages were dealing with sieges and random attacks. It caused the survivors to travel into larger cities looking for a new start and safety in numbers. As housing became scarce, landlords saw fit to capitalize on the misfortunes of others. Those who could pay the inflated prices kept lodgings solely to their own family. Those who could not were forced to share their dwellings with other tenants. Work had slowed for Da, with more blacksmiths moving into town. Mum was a talented seamstress, sought after by a small handful of elites, but still kept in her lowly position of poverty.

As their adopted daughter, her measly coin was added to the family coffers to help keep the roof over their heads. This is what brought her to work for the tavern. However, never before had she been forced to tolerate such lewd and crass behavior against her person. In the course of a few hours, she'd been pinched, pulled, groped, propositioned and her long, chestnut waves have been tugged more than when her mother used to rip through her tangles. Now she was returning to the worst of the offenders, her hands trembling, sloshing the frothy ale in the tankards.

Having never known her true parents, she realized in her early teens that she was not like her parents or siblings. They were all blonde, green eyes, and skilled in different crafts. Her brunette hair stood out, as did her pale skin and dainty bone structure. She looked nothing like them. It didn't surprise her to know her suspicions were correct, but this was the only life she'd known and, everything said and done, Mum and Da still loved her and were there for her when she needed them.

With a deep breath, she approached the table and delivered the next round of booze. She didn't say anything, not wanting to draw attention to herself, simply smiled with a nod, and turned to leave. That plan was foiled when a big, beefy fist closed over her wrist, squeezing painfully. "Hold, wench. There be a few extra coin innit fer ye pleasant company. Come, sit on ol' Burleigh's lap." With a firm tug, the barmaid was hauled toward the drunken sailor, her panic making her throat tighten, squeaking off the sound as she cried, "No! Please…"

Yanking her bruised wrist free, she accidentally smacked the tall mug of ale, tipping the contents onto the table where she watched it run into Burleigh's lap. She cradled her injured arm to her covered bosom as wide, terrified eyes watched the burly man shoot up from his seat in anger, "Ye blitherin' fool, look whatcha done!" Backing away, she tried to apologize, "I-I'm…Oh, I'm so s-s-sorry. Let m-me-" But her words were cut off when the sailor descended upon her with a wicked leer. The barmaid backed right into a wooden post, trapping her, and that same cruel fist closed around her throat.

The squeeze was cutting off her airways and she clawed at his grip. She could feel fear coiling in her gut, the overwhelming sensation seemed to spread heat all across her body. As she gasped for air, she wasn't focusing on the sailor's words, but on her will to survive. He's going to kill me! The very real thought had barely had time to register before everything shifted.

It felt like the fear within her exploded outward, causing her hands and feet to tingle in the aftermath of it. She flinched at the overwhelming physical sensations she was experiencing, squeezing her dark blue eyes closed tightly. The sailor shook her, slamming her back and head into the post, and suddenly she was drawing energy into her. There was no other way to explain it. Her eyes flew open, making her assailant stumble back in shocked terror. The once midnight colored irises were gone, lost in the deep, dark black abyss that coated her eyes entirely. Her gums ached, making her open her mouth to try and alleviate it. The sailor visibly paled as he watched her canine teeth extend into lethal-looking fangs, her lips pulling back to instinctively avoid their sharp points.

Around her, food withered away to blackened, rotted piles, and all the fresh flowers in a woman's basket nearby shriveled. Unsure how she was even doing it, the energy coalesced into a force that hit Burleigh directly, causing him to double over in pain as a migraine to trump all migraines invaded his skull. As his hands raised to grasp both sides of his head, blood began to trickle from one nostril. Her ebony gaze stayed locked onto him, her body trembling with the force of coming into her true self so violently.

 

[13ubbly13unny]

Rissa​

"Lemar, please! I want to be an investigative journalist!"

Marissa Pescadore trailed the editor-in-chief down the aisle of the bullpen as he tried and failed to ignore her incessant pestering. Shaking his bald head that gleamed in the harsh fluorescent light with the sheen of the moisturizer he used, the man turned to address his ambitious writer head-on. The woman standing before him had a determined set to her warm amber eyes. If he hadn't known of her strength and passion, he easily could have described her as doll-like. Yet, she was anything but fragile and helpless.

"Rissa, I know you've been asking for different stories. I hear you-"

"Then give me a chance, Lemar. Let me have this story," Marissa jumped in, knowing that if she didn't push for this, she'll forever be stuck on the social pages of The Sentinel, an online news source for the city and surrounding counties. A gossip columnist was not her dream. If her prissy sister Cecilia had followed Rissa in her journalism career, it would be right up her alley, but Rissa dreamed of adventure and justice through the written word.

Lemar's dark brows bunched, a sign he was fighting for patience. Rissa clasped her hands together, mimicking a praying motion to dramatically plead her case. It was over-the-top but had the desired effect. With a heavy sigh, her boss pinched the bridge of his nose and spoke without opening his eyes, "Fine…"

The squeal she let out had him holding up a hand to quell her excitement, if only long enough to finish speaking. "Fine," he repeated, "You can work on this new string of homicides, but you work with Branson."

Rissa's face fell a bit and she opened her mouth to argue, but Lemar didn't give an inch, he just continued, "I know, I know. Not what you wanted to hear. But look, this is most likely a serial killer on the loose and Branson has already been working that angle. Work with him and show me you can put in the man-hours for the investigation."

He spoke with his hands, or more precisely his fingers. He pointed a lot and wagged his finger at her, but Rissa never felt like Lemar Newell talked down to his writers. He was just an animated man when he wanted something or expected a specific behavior. Still, the fact that he wasn't completely trusting her to take over reporting on a possible serial killer didn't feel great. He was essentially pulling her from her column in events and entertainment and turning her into an errand girl.

"So, I do all the footwork and look for leads, while Branson gets to put his name on the article and take the credit?" Rissa scoffed softly, her gaze cutting to Branson across the bullpen.

"That's not what I said, Rissa, and you know I wouldn't let that happen. I have to have something to send to the editors to get up on the site and Branson," Lemar followed her gaze to look at the man, causing Branson to stop his conversation once he noticed, "he's already got something ready about the previous murders. I won't take that away from him and miss our chance to run the story altogether."

The pair brought their attention back to each other, leaving poor Branson to wonder what the hell was being discussed about him. Rissa couldn't hide the defeated slump to her shoulders even though she knew this was a golden opportunity to really show Lemar what she was capable of.

"I understand," she said with a firmness she didn't quite feel yet, but Lemar just shook his head as his gaze gentled.

"I don't think you do," he corrected. "I want your notes on my desk by the end of the week. Show me the connection and get me something Branson hasn't been able to get, and the story is all yours."

With that, he turned to continue his original path to his office, leaving Rissa stunned and a little hopeful. Was this really her chance? She couldn't fight back the smile as the excitement of winning over her boss came crashing in. She wanted to scream and jump for joy, anything to let out the overwhelming emotions, but instead, she just allowed herself a little celebratory foot shuffle. However, something quickly nagged at her, halting her joy.

"Wait, Lemar," she called. Her boss paused at the threshold of his office, half turning to look at Rissa. He raised a dark brow questioningly but didn't respond out loud. She asked, uncaring that anyone within earshot could overhear, "What is it that Branson hasn't been able to get?"

At the sound of his name, again the man was pulled away from his conversation to focus on what exactly was happening between his co-worker and his editor-in-chief. He looked back and forth between the two, not quite understanding why he was being called out for not doing something. Lemar's eyes slid over to meet his, a small smirk pulling at his mustached lip before he addressed Rissa.

"A suspect," was his only answer then Lemar disappeared inside his office and shut his door. Both Marissa and Branson stared wide-eyed at the barrier before it felt like time caught up from a short lag.

"What!?" The two shouted in unison before both went marching toward Lemar's door.

---

Dusk was now being consumed by the darkness of night as Rissa raced to get on the scene of the newest homicide, this one a twofer. She had been working on this case for weeks now, butting heads constantly with Branson as the two competed to put the newest information on Lemar's desk. True to his word, Lemar never let either of them take credit where the other was due. The one who could produce a headline first got to write the article. Unfortunately, Branson had already built contacts during his time with the cases, and more often than not, Rissa was back to pulling double duty to get her social segments done while trying to investigate.

I just need to find someone who can give me something new, she thought as her low-heeled boots clipped dully on the sidewalk. The humid winter air had a bite to it now that the sun was gone and Rissa pulled her trench coat closed and tied the sash. The hem swished around her calves, parting slightly with every jogged step as her jean-clad legs propelled closer to the mass of people being held behind a line of caution tape. Her eyes caught sight of the friend who had called her with this tip, a reporter for the local Channel 6 news.

As she raised her hand to wave, not paying attention to her surroundings, she inadvertently threw her arm in the path of someone who had come up behind her. The man was walking around her and she caught him in her peripheral quick enough to pull her arm back before she actually hit him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you," she apologized, stepping away from the stranger to let him walk by unaccosted. The man was rather nondescript and had his collar pulled up on his jacket which obscured his face some. However, his reaction to her almost touching him was rather unusual. He recoiled, but almost like an afterthought. The motion reminded Rissa how someone would yank their hand away from a hot surface before they actually touched it.

"Are you-" her words trailed off as the man jogged away from her, skirting the crowd and getting lost from her sightline. Weird…

"Hey, Rissa. You okay? What was that about?"

The sound of her name pulled her attention back to her original target and she huffed out a nervous laugh, "I…have no idea…that was really strange. I'm fine, though, really…I'm good." Rissa glanced one more time in the direction the man had escaped but he was gone. Turning back, she smiled and shook off the whole thing, "Whatever, not important. What's the story, Sara? Are we able to talk to anyone yet?"

Sara was a reporter for the local news station. Over the course of this serial of murders, though no one had officially made it a serial case yet, Rissa and Sara allied themselves to share information and work with each other when they could. There was an unspoken understanding that the juicy stuff had to get them paid first but the pair developed a healthy working friendship where they could get together and talk shop or simply just have a girl's night.

"They aren't letting anyone inside, especially not media. Derek is getting as much footage as he can from whatever angles. I think he's over on the north side right now."

Sara glanced over her shoulder, indicating the north side was the complete opposite of their current position. Derek was Sara's cameraman and this was a rare occasion for them to be separated. As if she read Rissa's thoughts, Sara added, "I thought I could sweet talk some info from that street cop but he's playing hard to get."

A chuckle escaped as Rissa shook her head before she sighed heavily. This was going to be a long night of pulling teeth just to get a hint of what happened here. Shoving her fingers into the roots of her curls, Rissa squeezed for a second or two, pulling the hair tight at her scalp while also bunching some of her curls together, keeping them from falling too much into her face. Her tight curls were the color of freshly ground coffee and grown out to a length that gave her the volume but softened the unruly swirls.

"Maybe if you tried, Rissa…He might be into Columbian girls," Sara joked as she linked arms with her friend and the pair walked toward the caution tape.

"You must have me confused with my sister Cecilia. She's the model-" Rissa deflected, but Sara jumped in with, "Aspiring model," which made them both laugh softly but the subject died just as quickly as it came.

Death wasn't something to laugh about, but when one worked in an environment where they saw it regularly, there was a level of numbness that replaced the shock. Granted, the police were not letting people see the gruesome scene. Hell, they weren't even letting people get inside the cemetery.

"All I've been able to gather at this point is there are two bodies, presumably female based on the answers I've received, and it's bad enough that some of the officers here are looking a little green around the gills if you know what I mean."

Indeed, Rissa was getting an idea of just how heinous the homicide was. Even though it was mostly bystanders crowding the entrance, the two women spoke quietly together, not wanting to draw attention. "Two women…that's new. Do you think it's related to the others or are we dealing with something else entirely?"

Rissa's question was met with a single shoulder shrug, "Hard to say, really. Until we are given access to more information, your guess is as good as mine. Could be an escalation-"

"An escalation to what end, though, Sara? Why break the pattern now?" Rissa's eyes scanned the cemetery. The crime scene was lit up with spotlights and officers were combing the surrounding area with flashlights and police dogs. Barriers had been erected to keep the public from viewing the corpses but they weren't a perfect shield. Every so often, the breeze would shift a tarp enough and Rissa could see that one body was draped over a tombstone.

"Do you think Derek is getting a better view from the other side?" Rissa didn't let her eyes break from the scene when she asked her question so when the answer came from behind them, it caused both women to spin in surprise.

"Derek got bupkis because the cops drove everyone out of the woods." The cameraman was sporting some souvenirs of his late-night hike, complete with leaves in his hair and a cobweb clinging to his shirt. His camera was still propped upon his shoulder, ever ready to hit record and do his job.

"That's alright, D. We haven't been any luckier over here." Sara looked back at Rissa, "Guess it's time for me to go be bothersome. Want to meet for drinks later?"

Rissa gave her friend a small smile, "Yeah, just shoot me a text. Good luck."

Sara and Derek walked off to find some officers to harass for information and Rissa was left staring, contemplating the new information this case had already provided. Two bodies, most likely mutilated like the others…

The sound of someone talking close to her had her turning her head just in time to see a man duck beneath the caution tape and shake hands with Officer Hard-To-Get. He had come up the walk silently, kind of like that weirdo from earlier. Though, this stranger was dressed in a brown suit. Probably a detective. He definitely had the look of law enforcement.

As he made his way toward the scene, Rissa moved to speak with the cop that let him through, "Excuse me, officer?"

The man leveled his stare directly at her but said nothing. Sheesh, tough crowd, she thought as she cleared her throat, "Uh, yeah, hi? Just a question."

"No comment," came his bland reply to which Rissa laughed dryly.

"Uh, noted. Just curious who that new detective is." The cop turned to look when Rissa nodded toward the stranger's retreating back.

"He's not on the force. He's a PI."

"Cops are relying on outside help for this one, then, huh?" Officer No-Comment crossed his arms at this question, letting Rissa know she was getting shut out.

"How about just a name, officer?" Rissa smiled as sweetly as she could, using her doe eyes in a way she hadn't since she was in college.

"Grant, and I am happily married," came the officer's clipped reply.

"Cute, but I meant the PI." Rissa's quick comeback made Grant stumble in embarrassment a bit before he stuttered out, "Oh…uh…Paul. Paul Morgan."

"Thank you…Grant," she said his name as she turned to walk away, giving him another sweet smile over her shoulder just so she could watch him blush softly.