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[Shawshank]

On the third floor of a brick building, the private investigator Shawshank hunched through his office window and onto the fire escape. He rolled his neck, feeling a comforting series of cracks and pops, then shifted in his trench coat into a more comfortable position. He looked up at the sky and smiled underneath his blank mask.

New Atlantis, he thought to himself. I'd never go so far as to call it my city, but I don't mind borrowing it for a little while.

The investigator stretched his muscles and felt the weight of the guns. His Colt semi-automatic was held comfortably in his shoulder harness, while the Pulse hand rifle remained firmly attached to his hip. He made a silent prayer that he wouldn't have to use either tonight.

Comfortable that he was prepared for most of what the world could throw at him, Shawshank locked his window and made sure the hair placed across the latch was in its proper place. He quickly descended the fire escape, jumping from the last floor with practiced grace. His adrenaline already pumping with the excitement of beginning a patrol, Shawshank stepped into the streets and began walking his beat.

[Sawyer Morgan]

There were good hospitals in New Atlantis City. There were a few good hospitals, actually. You could find them in the Uptown, in the Downtown, even in the suburbs. Lucien Memorial Hospital was not one of these hospitals. It was grungy, dirty and filled with death.

Death.

Death for the people that came to die at Lucien Memorial Hospital, those that had thrown themselves into a gang war, those that got involved with the mafia, those that found themselves robbing others, and those, those sad souls that found themselves merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. No matter what their story was, they call came the Lucien Memorial Hospital to die...weather they thought they were going to or not.

Even the staff just waited in the hospital, helping though that were suffering by offering various sorts of pain killers, as they themselves just waited to died. Waiting just to die.

A sort of depressing outlook on life, wasn't it? But this was the life that these people led. Some of them had always lived such a life, just waiting to die. Sawyer Morgan was one of those people, and she always had been.

"Ugh," she muttered, dangerously digging through her purse as she made her way out of the doors of the emergency room of Lucien Memorial. She was looking for her cell phone (though, she had no idea why she carried one. She paid all this money for a device she never used) along with her pepper spray. It didn't matter, Sawyer reeked of blood and death. A young man, who couldn't have been more than 20, died in her arms and she pulled him up off the floor of the emergency room. She didn't know at the time, but he was bleeding to death from a gunshot wound to the stomach (which was great, because then Sawyer had to go into care for any and all blood and fluid related diseases that the man might have had. He didn't have any, thank god). It didn't matter how many hours ago it happened, Sawyer smelled like death.

At least she was going home now....and instead of taking the bus to her dingy apartment, ten blocks away, Sawyer kept walking, fumbling for her pepper spray, just in case.

[Shawshank]

Shawshank made a beeline for the Lucien Memorial Hospital for the beginning of his patrol. He kept his collar up and his hat low, hiding his white face from all but the most intrusive looks.

And no one ever looks that hard, he thought. Maybe that's what's wrong with this city. People are never willing to look to far beneath the surface. They accept it as none of their business and move on. The thought struck a regretful tone in the investigator's heart and he increased his pace.

When he reached the Hospital, Shawshank confidently stepped into the doors. He stopped and took in the smell of cleaning supplies, bad food, medicine, and bodily fluids. It smelled like modern healing.

He stepped to the receptionist and flashed his Special Clearance badge. She smiled in return.

"All the faces I see, Shawshank, yours is the one I don't need reminding for."

Shawshank smiled under his mask.

"What can I say? I love formalities."

The young woman leaned under her desk and pulled up a stack of manilla folders. The day's sign-in records. Shawshank took the pile and began to leaf through them. "Anything interesting?"

"There was a bank robbery last night. Things got a little crazy with a few supers."

"So I heard."

"Did you hear one of the crooks died?"

Shawshank faltered and a folder dropped. He bent down and pulled the records together.

"Who did it?"

"Can't say. Didn't go down at this hospital. Some up town joint."

The investigator pulled himself upright and set the folders straight.

"I might have to look into that a bit. Thanks."

The stack of paper was mostly uninteresting. Stab wounds, gunshots, traffic accidents... all documented with clear police red tape. One caught his eye near the end of the stack.

"Radiation poisoning?"

The receptionist leaned forward and glanced at the folder. "Must have missed that one. Doesn't look too serious."

Shawshank put down the folder and drew a small notebook.

"Not serious, but the guy just came from a liquor hold-up. A foiled liquor hold-up." He jotted the address into the book, then turned to the door. The receptionist called after him.

"You think someone's out there giving bystanders radiation poisoning?"

"I hope not," Shawshank said over his shoulder, not breaking stride.

The investigator went into the city night for the second time in the evening. His police intuition was itching, and he no longer felt the optimistic warmth he had earlier in the evening. He double-checked the address, then began the short journey to the liquor store. In his rush, he brushed past a woman, fumbling in her purse.

"Sorry, miss," the investigator said, not bothering to look back. He continued on his way with a worried determination.

[Niall Donovan]

Niall was impatient, by nature. He munched impatiently on a Girl Scout cookie (if you must know, they were Thin Mints and Liam had begged him to buy some...). It seemed a bit unfitting to be munching on Thin Mints in a disgusting alleyway while some mysterious liquid was dripping with a sickening sound from a second story window.

Things like that were just nasty. However, Niall had to remind himself that he was in the slums. And that leaking liquid could be brain fluid...or rotting blood. He took a sharp whiff. Yeah, it definitely smelled like death in this area. He shuddered, decided he no longer wanted that Thin Mint, tossing it into the dripping puddle of what he assumed was brain fluid.

"Ugh." Niall sat on his Night Rod (and yes, it was fixed up...) and frowned. Good lord, tick-tock, tick-tock Bryce. Dead Star. He coughed nervously, face flushing. How awkward was this now? It always got awkward when you learned names. Everything got awkward for Niall anyways. He caught himself thinking about Bryce, daydreaming about Bryce....dreaming about Bryce. He blamed the shadows, it was their fault. He grumbled, quite displeased. There he went again, thinking about the stupid kid that saved his life. See, if Bryce would have just...stayed away then none of this would have happened.

Of course, if Bryce hadn't done anything Niall might be dead. Or worse. Liam might be dead.

Niall snapped back to reality, watching an awfully familiar looking man bump into a blonde woman that dropped her phone. He watched it shatter. That was tragic, he supposed, but it wasn't like he could do much about that except watch her pick it up and but it back together. Frowning, he straddled the bike. She'll be fine, Niall told himself. And if she wasn't Bryce could handle her. He was late after all.

Slowly, Shadow Wing pulled out the alleyway, pulling right up next to the man on foot. Thank GOD the streets weren't full or else he wouldn't be able to.

"Evenin' sir." By the tone of his voice, it was obvious that if Shadow Wing had a hat, he would have tipped it. "Now, you're going somewhere awfully fast. Is there anything...you might need help with? I mean, that's what I'm here for. After all, I am Shadow Wing."

This post has been edited by Niall Donovan on Sep 17 2008, 07:07 AM

[Shawshank]

Shawshank heard the approach of a motorcycle in a slow gear. He folded his collar in a clear motion of avoiding contact and hoped that the driver wouldn't pay him too close mind. Still, his neck hair pressed against the back of him mask as the engine came closer.

"Evenin' sir." Shawshank stiffened at the voice. "Now, you're going somewhere awfully fast. Is there anything...you might need help with? I mean, that's what I'm here for. After all, I am Shadow Wing."

Shadow Wing... it had to be Shadow Wing... The investigator let out a sigh of frustration underneath his mask and collar. His mind began filtering through the noise of the city and focusing on the details of the individual. Super human. Registered powers? Work with shadows, impressive immunity to bullets. MO includes a motorcycle and gunplay. Mental state? Increasingly suspicious. And also present at the recent bank robbery.

This left Shawshank with a difficult decision. Continue the radiation investigation, or gather information on the vigilante murder? If he gave up on the first, the trail of physical evidence would grow stale. But on the other hand, Shadow Wing was part of the accursed Savior organization, and right in the thick of it, too. He might never get another chance to speak with the suspect if he had to go through the usual red tape.

A phrase from Shawshank's father came to mind, drifting into thought after years and miles of travel. If there's a man setting your house on fire, deal with him before the neighbor with the gasoline. Shawshank reluctantly turned to face Shadow Wing, pulling out is Special Investigations badge and presenting his blank face to the city light.

"Shadow Wing, I am Investigator Shawshank, and as a specialist employed by the New Atlantis City Police, I am going to ask you a few questions."

He made sure both his guns were accessible (even if he did doubt how affective they would be against this vigilante) and flipped his badge over, revealing a small pad of paper.

"Where were you last night, and what do you know of the highly-publicized bank robbery?"

[Niall Donovan]

Fuck.

Really, that was all Niall could think when he looked at the badge. He frowned, stopping the bike in it's tracks. He should have known too. Crazy man gallivanting around the slums with some strange white mask on. He just had this sinking feeling about this man, though it was more than likely he had a sinking feeling about that badge he was staring at. Perhaps he shouldn't have approached. Certainly the young woman with the purse needed help. The strange thing was...the police and Savior didn't get along. It was always something that had baffled Niall. They were both trying to do the same thing, Savior just did it in masks. Well, except for Investigator Shawshank, it seemed. He wore a mask too.

"The pleasure is mine, Investigator Shawshank." It wasn't a pleasure at all. Nothing about this little exercise was going to be pleasurable. Niall grinned, despite wanting to sink away into the shadows. That, however, would look very suspicious. "Shawshank, like the movie. You know it's not often that members of Savior gets to speak to the police." And there was a damn good reason for that too. Jude kept everything tight, and he ran a damn tight ship. No talking, no nothing. Don't ever talk, don't put yourself in a place to get arrested for any reason at all. Don't try to get away, don't get yourself questioned. Don't even PUT yourself in the vicinity of an officer. Don't. DON'T. The voice of his older brother was hammering violently in his head. It was because of Kirk and the shrill voice of his older brother that Niall just didn't trust the law. At least he was cordial though.

"Where were you last night, and what do you know of the highly-publicized bank robbery?"

"I suggest you pick up a paper, Investigator, it may help." Shadow Wing grinned, pulling out a cigarette. He lit up. "Cigarette, Investigator?" He offered one to Shawshank. "Before I went to the bank, I was at my home. You know, this isn't what I do every single moment of my life. After I took care of a few things, I headed towards the bank. Now, I would show you my fantastic wounds from when part of the glass fell on me. I got a few nasty cuts, but I'm afraid I can't do that. All I know is that it was highly orchestrated and they had a great deal of firearms. Two ended up dying, but it was no one's fault but their own. Part of their bomb went off and it fell on them. My bullets wouldn't have mattered, Investigator. I don't shoot to kill. I tend to stay away from deadly force."

[Shawshank]

(This conversation was transcribed from an AIM conversation between Elphie. Except for a few descriptive embellishments from my part, which are Shawshank's natural interpretations, all of Shadow Wing's lines and actions are Elphie's verbatim. Yay!)

Shawshank looked Shadow Wing up and down. He hated working with Savior heroes. Self-righteous. Disrespectful. And usually impossible to pin down. He focused his mind and continued the questions.

"When did you learn of the wounded suspect's death?"

Shadow Wing frowned and flicking his cigarette ash into the street. "I don't know. Sometime after noon. Maybe noon thirty. I'm sure I skimmed over it in the papers before I headed out in the morning."

"Where were you when the suspects began to fire upon you?"

Any sense of composure Shadow Wing had quickly dissipated. "What the fuck do you want? My exact point? Somewhere in the middle. I appeared and then BANG! Bullets everywhere. Needless to say, I moved. It all happened pretty quickly. That's what happens when people are shoot at you. I'm not bulletproof, you know."

Of course you're not, Shawshank thought to himself, stifling an ironic laugh. He kept his voice even. "So you were surprised when the suspects opened fire."

"About as surprised as they were that I popped up. Look, Investigator, I'm not exactly sure what you're gettin' at here, but I daresay I thought they were going to stop shooting immediately. Do you want to see my little grazing scar I have on my arm? One of them got my pretty bad in the arm, but it don't you know, cause too much damage." Wing pointed to a tear in the suit, near his shoulder

Shawshank was beginning to feel his anger rising. He felt the old intent vs. action argument building. "What I'm getting at is that you came, armed and suited, to what you claim was a simple, everyday task. To me, that shows you either knew the robbery was about to go down, or you're going around as a vigilante twenty-four seven. So which is it, Shadow Wing?"

The superhero grinned confidently. "You got me, I'm just a vigilante twenty-four seven. You know, Savior listens to police scanners, Investigator. I just have a faster way of getting there. Besides, it's a hell of a lot safer for me to go, fire off a couple of rounds and someone accidentally dying, someone that would probably go on to murder an old lady in an alleyway than to have and officer die unnecessarily."

The investigator's hands tightened around his notebook, and his voice began to grow slow and angry. "Did you shoot one of the bank robbery suspects?"

"Oh, Investigator Shawshank...I'm not exactly sure that people would be happy with my answering that question. You and I both know the answer to that question. If you're actually asking me if I killed someone, I did not."

"Did. You. Shoot. A. Suspect." Shadow Wing was wearing down on the investigator's last nerve.

"I'm pretty sure that I am permitted to return fire when my life is in danger, Investigator."

"Answer the question."

"I believe I just did. I returned fire after I was hit. I'm sure I probably hit one of the suspects Did I kill him? No."

And there it was. So I am victorious and so I am damned. Shawshank let out a heavy sigh. "Shadow Wing. By the authority of the New Atlantis Police Department, I am placing you under citizen's arrest." He drew a pair of handcuffs from behind his coat. "Please put these on."

Shadow Wing stared at the cuffs. "...A citizen's arrest? Really? Do you honestly expect me to put these on for admitting to an Investigator that I shot someone? You know, I can and will resist being put under citizen's arrest." The super hero blew smoke into the investigator's canvased face and walked away. "Evenin' Investigator," he said with a cocky smile.

Shawshank watched him mount the motorcycle and prepare to drive away. He yelled after him with all the strength he could muster. "You walk away and I'll chase you with a full warrant with the police!" He calmed down, but spoke with a doomed man's intensity. "We'll come gunning and it will be messy. Very public. Very invasive. We'll learn where you live. Who you are under the mask. You want that?" He paused. "Come now, and you can keep your identity and appeal for a self-defense case. Lord knows enough of you people have gotten off that way."

Shadow Wing turned back to the investigator. "Now you're threatening me with a warrant and jail time, Investigator? After I told you that I only fired after they fired and I felt my life, and the lives of other humans, yes, humans, I don't give a damn, Investigator, if you think I'm human or not, because your little government still allows me to keep my identity hidden despite being who and what I am. I have been doing a hell of a lot more good than bad since joining Savior. If you feel the need to make an example of me, go ahead and try, Investigator. I have a damn good lawyer, and I can guarantee you that I will not even see the inside of a courtroom because there are plenty of men out there that appreciate what I do. They don't care that I may have shot some bank robber that hit another member of Savior in the leg. So, fine, place me under citizen's arrest. Give me the fucking handcuffs."

And thus the debate begins again. Shawshank tossed the cuffs at the superhero. "Fine then. You're under arrest." He reached into his coat and pulled out a cell phone. He hit a speed dial and raised it to a covered ear. "Captain Maury? It's Shawshank. I have a vigilante who's confessed to discharging a weapon." He waited and watched the vigilante. "Shadow Wing. Yes, at the Bank. I need a uniform to make it official."

Shadow Wing jumped in angrily. "Oh, you need my fucking Miranda Rights to make it official, Investigator. I believe that if you intended on interrogating me for official police use, you should have read me my god damn rights first. After you're done with my fucking rights, I want my lawyer."

"He wants his lawyer. Alright. Alright, I'll tell him." He flipped the phone shut. "You can give your lawyer's name to the arresting officer. He should be here in two minutes."

"I'm going to give you my lawyer's name, Investigator. Jude Donovan, go ahead and call him at his ungodly hour of the night, I'm entirely sure that he'll be more than happy to hear from you."

"Not my place to call him. I'm just a witness to your crime, now."

A police car pulled up, sirens off. An officer stepped up to Shadow Wing.

"Shadow Wing. You are under arrest for the second degree murder of James Holloword. You have the right to remain silent..." Shawshank watched with with his blank and emotionless face.

"You're not a witness to anything!" The officer cuffed Shadow Wing, who deliberately remained solid for him. "You interrogate me on the street and expect that be legal because you work for the Government? That's bullshit, that's exactly what that is. You know that bomb detonated and the building fell on him. That's how he died! I don't care what sort of bullshit vendetta you have against Savior, but I'd be careful if I were you, Investigator. We are very protective of our own, and you singlehandedly just put a wedge between the police department and Savior. Have a fantastic night, Investigator Shawshank." The vigilante got into the cruiser, smiling with the confidence of a madman.

Shawshank looked on, unmoved.

Maury was going to be angry. Good. That means I'm doing something right. There was undeniably going to be trouble. Then the trouble makers will be arrested. Was his faith so strong? Yes. Absolutely.

Shawshank looked to the corner liquor store. The police tape had already been removed. He sighed and walked to it, casually dropping a cardboard square on the street. A clear window began tuning black before the investigator had even walked away. I'll have to watch out for that later, he thought to himself.

The investigator turned his collar to the cold, then began the long walk to PD HQ.