To hunt a Hunter

(OOC: Ages later, I finally got around to editing this.)

Agent Derrick Johnson stood in the center of the room, ignoring the crime scene photographer and the coroner team as they studied the four bodies that were scattered about the apartment. Local city police had cordoned the area and were already questioning what few witnesses that had been willing to come forwards, but the building was in a rather grimy neighborhood. Reliable witnesses weren't expected.

He had been standing there near an hour already, just studying the crime scene. Nobus had arrived on scene almost before the local police; their many field offices were constantly monitoring calls for emergency services. The address of this call had coincided with records of a family of demon-borns, and a P.I.B. team had been dispatched immediately. That team still waited on the street outside, helping coordinate between the N.Y.P.D. and the hospital the coroner team had arrived from.

A crowd had gathered on the street; more so for a glimpse of the Nobus agents then for any real interest in the murders that had happened in the apartment behind them. Violent crimes were hardly worthy of note to the locals. The Two men and two women were quite the sight, in their differing camouflage uniforms and exotic equipment.

Derrick wore a pair of stout, simple leather boots reminiscent of the trench boots of the First World War; they were a modern make, of course, with modern conveniences and comforts, but the style was certainly similar. Neatly bloused trousers, a simple and sturdy brown khakis pants, were worn below an equally comfortable and sturdy white button-down shirt, the sleeves neatly rolled above the elbows and a pair of leather Y-shaped suspenders.

Compared to the more conventionally dressed techs and coroners, he seemed a bit out of place. While everything he wore was certainly store bought, easily found in most department stores, the ensemble was decidedly out of place; he seemed better suited to be in some movie about stiff-lipped police officers fighting corrupt gangsters in some 1930's setting flick.

The sword at his hip kibosh-ed that image, however. He wore a complex sword belt, one that seemed heavy with age. Unlike his clothes, the leather straps were certainly not from any store. Nor was the sword and scabbard that hung there, as well as a collection of curiosities that dangled from various points of the belt. Some seemed to be old military dog-tags. The sword was European longsword, over a full meter in length and surely better suited to a movie about dragon-slaying knights, and it seemed to carry an even greater weight of years then the well maintained belt.

He had gleaned what few scraps of evidence he could from the crime scene already, but had refused to leave until the last of the remains had been placed into body bags. Then as the coroners set them on gurneys and brought them down to the waiting van, Derrick finally shrugged into a simple wool jacket and a well-worn WW2 trench coat, and left.

Most of the police officers and support crew had been used to this sort of scene. A young family murdered in their home. Butchered, really. Some of the senior detectives had thought it had to be someone who knew them; the only way to explain the...vigor...with which the attacker had seen to the murders. Some of the more 'wet behind the ears' types hadn't been able to stay in the apartment more then a few minutes before they had had to flee the scene.

Derrick left the building, sparing a brief glance as a painfully small body bag was loaded into the van by a pair of ashen-faced staff, then he scanned the faces of the crowd that had gathered to watch. His appearance seemed to draw a few looks; the trench coat he wore was emblazoned on the sleeve with the Nobus symbol as well as his rank insignia, and his out-of-date style rose more then a few questions about just what he might be.

One face in the crowd caught his eye. A person of interest oft mentioned in the case file he had memorized. It was believed the woman was dead, but no body had ever been found, and there had been conflicting reports from some of the other crime scenes linked to the killer he was tracking. So seeing her out there didn't come as much of a surprise. Really, little came as much of a surprise to him anymore.

He gave a faint nod in the woman's direction; he had no doubt she realized he recognized her. But he made no further move towards her yet, as the senior P.I.B. agent approached. The two conversed briefly; the Primary Investigation Team was already spooled up for another warning flag situation. Derrick dismissed them from the scene, and the four piled into an armoured vehicle and left the area. The police were given control of the scene from there on out, with orders to keep Nobus informed of any further developments, and Agent Johnson turned and walked from the area.

He had no vehicle, himself; he preferred to walk when possible, even for what most would consider great distances. But, he accepted there were times when a car was far more practical. Nobus was still hard-pressed to get him on a plane, however. He hadn't a phobia of flying, but he was quite conscious of how often complicated technology failed in his presence. And planes were decidedly complicated.

Most folk left him alone; as interested as they might have been in seeing a Nobus agent, few were willing to outright talk to one. So they parted and let him go, before barraging the police on sentry with questions of who's and why's and whatfor's, so he was able to walk through the brunt of the crowd without too much issue, moving towards the woman.

He stopped infront of her, studying the woman for a long moment. "We should talk, ma'am."