Detective Morris was stumped. He had been assigned this case, and he swore it was going to be the end of him. Dozens of murders across the city, and no leads. The victims were either career criminals, or were killed in commission of a crime-- no saints, to be sure; killers in their own right, thieves, and so on, but nothing to deserve what they got. Vigilantism wasn't a new thing in Port Astor, hell, it used to be something it was (in)famous for in the early 1900's, with the likes of the Ghost of Astor, but those were days long gone. The city, and the detective himself, had enough problems right now, and it didn't need some psycho-hero wannabe taking matters into their own hands.
Half the department, let alone his precinct, was on the take to god-knows-who, crime rates only ever seem to go up, capture rates haven't risen since Reagan, and he's continuously expected to do more with less despite the fact that the police budget has ballooned, with the funds going to what he presumed was a furnace going full burn, green feeding the flames by the shovel load. Detective Morris wanted out, and sooner the better. He wanted to deal with small town problems, like old lady's cat in trees, not what ever the hell was going on now. He hoped that if he caught this perp, that it would be the last thing he'd need to do before jumping ship. He hoped.
It was then that a uniformed officer came into this office in a hurry. "Lieutenant, you have to see this" they said. Wordlessly, Morris pushed away from his mess of a desk, and rose to follow. They walked through the office, which was in its usual frenetic state. Suits and uniforms, walking every which way. The two entered into a space downstairs where they had their computer lab. The uniform signed into the terminal, and Morris's eyes widened; there was a print match for the murders, and the person was already in custody.
Harris Johnson, an unemployed office worker, who was brought in after an altercation at a convenience store a few hours ago. Morris spoke in a low tone, "Room him, and tell no one anything-- I'll right there, just gotta grab the files from my desk". The uniform nodded silently, and the two split off, nearly bowling over another detective who was just entering the room.
The detective walked quickly, just shy of jogging, back to his office. When he grabbed the files was when he heard the gunshots. As reaction, he dropped the papers back down, and joined a mob of officers and other detectives toward the sound, which came from the holding areas. When they collectively arrived, they were greeted by the sight of two downed police, and Morris recognized them instantly; the uniformed officer he was just with, and then the detective who they bumped into. Both killed by point-blank shots. The police quickly searched the two, finding that the detective's gun was missing.
"Lock down the building, I repeat, lock down the building" Morris radioed, "Active shooter is in the building". The police near him attempted to formulate a plan of action and attack; centrally gathering and fortifying, vacating and surrounding, but they ultimately decided to break off in groups of 2 or 3, and manually combing the building until Harris was found.
Morris was put in a group of two uniforms, patrolling the next level up. Several Code 4 checks go without incident, and no one finding any sign. That was the part that put the detective most on edge. "Where the hell does a desk jockey get off, being able to kill two guys, and just ninja around without a damned trace?" he thought angrily thought to himself. The next Code 4 check went out, and the team above him didn't call in. His heart sank, and he hurried his team to go check on the non-responders.
They flew up the stairs, and were met by the sight out of a horror film-- one head turned nearly to the point of coming off, a throat gone, and the other a stomped neck. A look of profound shock upon all the dead faces, frozen. Morris called the scene over the radio, and asked for all teams to call in. Another failed to update their status. The detectives face turned from confusion, to anger, to solemn resolve. He had wanted to find the killer, and now he had.
It was going to be a long night.
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