The strong smell of ash and smoke could be smelled for miles around the skeleton of what was once a luxury penthouse.
The chaos of the firefight had died down, now replaced by the murmurs of police officers and reporters.
Fire crews moved through the blackened carcass of the building, their boots crunching on broken glass and damp, burnt wood, the fire hoses in their grasp still dripping water from use.
In the center of the scorched living room, a team of forensic technicians wearing white Tyvek suits moved carefully, illuminating their work with harsh, portable lights they'd set up beforehand.
The house was in ruins: the clean floors were now cracked and stained, the expensive art was reduced to flakes of blackened canvas, and the grand, floor-to-ceiling windows were either cracked or blown out entirely.
"Anything?" a voice crackled over from one of the detectives on site, a blue-eyed man wearing a standard-issue suit. He stood at a distance, so as not to compromise the scene, but he was heard.
A tech kneeling near the epicenter of the worst burn looked up at his words, shaking his head as he spoke. "Accelerant sniffers are going crazy, it's Gasoline, Detective Thomas."
"So he was trying to burn the house," The Detective muttered, his eyes focused. "Then he's hiding something."
"If he was trying to hide something, then we've found it," the tech responded as he rose, earning a nod from Detective Thomas, his attention undivided.
Noting this, the tech continued. "The trail leads from the garage, up the stairs, and…" the tech paused, gesturing with a gloved hand towards a sealed doorway at the side of the living room. "…concentrated in there, the doors sealed shut by the fire. Saw's coming in though."
As he spoke, a firefighter brandishing a sawzall walked into the room, and towards the door, his breath rough as he began cutting it open, speaking to no one during this duration.
As he did this, the stench that billowed out was uniquely horrific (a cloying mix of cooked meat and chemical cleaner that made everyone not wearing a respirator recoil).
Inside, three bodies could be seen, charred almost beyond recognition; it was a disgusting sight.
"Jesus," the young tech muttered, turning away from the doorway to compose himself.
"Hmm," Detective Thomas hummed, shaking his head as he said. "I'll be outside."
Meanwhile, beyond the perimeter outside was a circus of flashing lights.
Looking over, one could see people who claimed to be neighbors or family friends, a dubious assertion given there were no other houses for miles. They were reporters, and they gawked from behind the police tape.
Among the uniformed officers and fire personnel, a distinct tension hung in the air, meanwhile the reporters asked questions:
"What is happening?"
"Are there bodies!"
But the police officers did not pay them any mind; rather, their attention was fixed on a pair of stern-faced men in impeccably clean suits.
They had arrived moments earlier in a black sedan with government plates.
"What are you guys doing here?" Detective Thomas spoke in a hushed tone, taking off the top of his Tyvek suit.
"We're just surveying," one of the suits said, taking off his glasses to reveal his dark eyes.
"Well, take your survey shit somewhere else," Thomos scoffed.
The suits were quiet for a bit, but just chuckled. "What have you found on our guy? Tell us, and we'll be out of your hair."
"Nothing. No one saw the guy, and he was careful; not so much as a hair was left behind," Thomas lied.
Meanwhile, away from the noise, one loose-mouthed cop (a chubby man) was filling the other cops in on the story, his form leaning against his cruiser.
"Nah, Unit 7-Adam-12 was first on scene. I got here second. According to him, his K-9 was the one who alerted. Damn dog pursued the suspect into the woods, got itself pretty banged up too. Said the suspect was a guy.
"The fuck? Isn't Rourke's K-9 a greyhound?" One of the officers asked.
"So?" The chatter box countered.
"Who the fuck outruns a greyhound!"
"You wanna hear the story or not?" the chatter box argued forcing the officer to back down as he continued. "The suspect fled north, so we'll start searching there, I guess. More fucking work."
"Kinda feel sorry for the dog," one of the other officers, a woman, cut in. "Heard it's at the vet with a cracked rib."
"Yeah," the chatterbox nodded. "I heard the dog managed to bite the suspect's ankle. We got blood. Not much, but we got it. It's already been sent to the lab for testing. Results should be in soon..."
"What?" The chatter box asked as he noticed that his colleagues had gone quiet, their gazes strange, some even moved away from the location going about their businesses.
Turning back, the chatterbox noted the two suits, who now had small smiles on their faces, and the detective, who was frowning heavily. 'I'm fucked,' he thought.
One of the NIU agents from the black sedan then turned to Detective Thomas, his voices grim. "That evidence is to be bagged, logged, and immediately handed over to my team. This scene is now a dual jurisdiction operation."
Thomas scowled at those words. "On whose authority? This is an arson-homicide. It's ours."
The suit didn't blink. "On the authority of the National Intelligence Unit. We have reason to believe this incident is connected to an active, multi-state investigation involving a known affiliate of a person of interest. The NIU is taking the lead. Your forensics team will cooperate fully and report their findings directly to us."
'Ohh I'm gonna have that fat fuck fired,' Detective Thomas cursed at the chatterbox in his mind.
Before the argument could escalate, the low thrum of another engine cut through the tension, driving so recklessly into the scene that everyone was forced to look.
A vintage, well-kept car (a Lin Baroga) pulled up to the edge of the tape, its tires screeching slightly.
The driver killed the engine and got out soon after slamming the door as he stretched his shoulders.
He was a man in his late forties, with the build of a former athlete who still trained hard.
He wore a simple sweater, his jeans worn but clean. His face bore the appearance of someone who had just woken up, but other than that, he possessed angular features.
Scanning the scene with his dark eyes, he ducked under the police tape as if he owned it, his grey hair fluttering slightly as he approached Detective Thomas and the NIU agent.
The suits spotted him as well and immediately straightened up, a flicker of unease in their otherwise stoic demeanor. "Hunter. They called you in already?" one of them asked, his tone quizzical.
At this question, Hunter offered a thin, humorless smile that didn't reach his eyes, his tone calm. "When a high-profile arsonist covers a triple homicide with a fire this sloppy, and then outruns a police greyhound, people call me, I guess. Don't worry, I've been briefed by both the NIU and local PD."
Detective Thomas at those words narrowed his eyes. 'First the suits and now Hunter? I know he's been around but he's usually doing his own thing.... Wait, The Artist?' he thought.
Meanwhile, Hunter didn't wait for a response from anyone and instead moved past them, his presence commanding enough to silence the bickering.
"Give me that," he spoke, taking a pair of boots and gloves from a startled evidence tech, wearing them before stepping into the ruin.
'Bleach!' Hunter then thought as he scanned the surroundings, his gaze trailing to the charred bodies in the open room, before he moved upstairs.
Upon arriving, he saw another open room (empty), but he cared not for what was inside.
Rather, he spent a long time staring at the doorway where the door had been ripped from its hinges, his eyes narrowing at the splintered frame. 'First he outruns a greyhound and now this... hmmm,' he closed his eyes. 'He seemed to have been locked up here, it's possible that he's an accomplice to The Artist.'
With that thought, he made his way to his final stop, the garage, and back, where he prepared to exit the building, but then something flashed from the corner of his eyes.
Looking toward one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, or the reminants of one, he saw a pamphlet on the floor.
'That wasn't there before,' he noted as he walked towards it, his eyes calm.
Opening it, he noticed that it was a kind of tour guide for RD University, and immediately, he saw the name; his mind flashed to a kid he'd interviewed before.
'Valen?' he thought, noting how Mr. Valen was to start school at RD University soon, but immediately the thought crossed his mind, he frowned as he took into account one detail.
"Who left this here?" he muttered, turning to a tech at the side before asking. "Did you see who dropped this?"
"No, Sir," the tech answered, earning a frown from Detective Hunter.
He then went on to ask a few more people at the scene but none of the admitted to seeing the pamphlet before.
Standing in the middle of the building, Detective Hunter felt a nagging feeling assault him, a feeling that something was deeply wrong, a feeling that he was painfully familiar with.
He looked toward the broken window where he'd found the pamphlet, peering into the forest beyond, but could see nothing in the evening's darkness.
'She is here,' he concluded, scanning everyone in the room, looking for abnormal behavior, and when he found none, he took note of their faces.
After a long moment he finally re-approached the lead NIU agent, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The blood sample from the dog's bite. I want it. The full forensic report on the cleanup chemicals. And the file on the previous owner of this property. Everything."
The agent nodded. "It just came in. According to the reports, the preliminary DNA analysis is… unusual. Degraded in a way the lab can't explain. It's as if it was exposed to extreme cold and radiation simultaneously. They couldn't even create a profile."
At those words, Hunter's eyes flickered back towards the scorched penthouse, then back to the palmflet in his grasp. 'Then it's official, this person uses the same DNA masking technique as the artist meaning they're most likely accomplices.'
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Meanwhile, far away from the crime scene, a familiar red eyed woman could be seen sitting on a mighty tree staring down at the direction of the crime scene.
Watching Detective Hunter gaze at the pamphlet, she smiled and muttered, "That's a good boy. Hunt Valen down for me. Can't have my new little toy growing up soft, can I?"
As she spoke, she thought back to how Mr. Valen cleaned up the crime scene, effectively relieving himself of all affiliation.
'I had planned to end his normal human life with this,' she mused, 'but he has earned his place. He will come into contact with the supernatural regardless.'
With that, she shook her head and leaped off the tree, disappearing into the darkness of the forest.