-:When the Gun Fires:- A Crime Roll Play :- Open&Accepting!!

[Chaotic_Theoretician]

"Get up, go to work, head on home for bed. Roll around, toss and turn, dreadful pictures in my head. Working hard, working long, workin' well past dawn. Throw 'em in, lock 'em up, cage the devil's spawn."

♣ Erin Frey Wulf ♣



Homicidal Detective
...Talk about a Maniac...

Erin left the chief's office and headed down the hallway to her own office on the same floor. Her office, tucked in the farthest corner, was small...and messy as hell. Erin tossed the papers on her seat and gazed around at the cramped space, her door shutting behind her. As always, the blinds that fell in front of the glass walls were pulled shut. Nobody bothered to ask why--many were too afraid to, not that Erin couldn't blame them. Not only did the room look like a tornado had blown through it, but her very personality seemed to be reflected in the clutter: Chaos. Ah, beautiful, wonderful chaos. And within chaos--order and structure. Formality within informality. Peace hidden behind turmoil. Truth hidden behind lies. A philosophy Erin clinged to, lived on, and inhaled with each breath.

Erin set about to clear an obvious space in her desk. She quickly sifted through papers, tossing away usless ones, setting the ones that needed to be filed on the filing cabinet in the corner. It was a mindless task. Perhaps that was the reason why Erin liked the clutter. It made her clean portions of it at a time, something that preoccupied her time and kept her moving when she just wanted to lie down and melt away. She tossed the pencils and pens into the middle drawer of her desk with loud CLINKS and sat down in her chair, spreading the papers from the file across her now-spotless desk. There were over thirty newspaper clippings on the elusive killer, as well as thick bundles of documents from interviews with witnesses.

"To hell with them," Erin muttered, shaking her head. "They aren't witnesses until they've seen the man." Erin shrugged, leaning over one stack of documents, her eyes scanning the small print. "Of course, they'd probably be dead if they saw him."

There were a nice collection of photographs clipped to one of the documents. Erin slipped them out from under the paperclip that held them and flipped through them, scattering them across the empty spaces on her desk. Out of the twenty-five recorded murders, only five of them had been done while the person was alive. Continuing to read the files as she clipped each set of pictures that corresponded with the reports, Erin found that the killers--Whispers--alternated between what seemed to be a Colt .45 and an M1911. They were rough guesses, considering that the killer was smart enough to have obtained untraceable guns, as well as using smaller bullets than the normal rounds.

A plastic sandwich bag slipped out from between two papers, and Erin picked it up from the floor. The light from the window behind her fell across what lay inside, and blood-red letters glistened up at Erin, reading GOOD-BYE. The card was textured slightly, laced with thick, noticeable threads of pulp. But it looked to be an ordinary business card. From what she had gathered from the reports and the photographs, Erin couldn't understand why they had bothered to bag one, even after it had been scanned for prints. She flipped it around and understood why.

They call me Whisper, don't you see? They are blind--all they hear is me. My voice is quiet, spoken in different ways. Those who hear it are the ones who pay.

The phrase was chilling and exhilarating at the same time. Erin stared long and hard at the back of the card, breathing with excitement. This is a case worth solving, she determined. This man's gonna give me a run for my money.

Ah...just how she would've wanted it.

She is one Lethal Weapon



"I am insane, it's plain to see. I am a Lethal Weapon secretly. I wear a badge for most the night. I give the villians a mighty fright."
--from Writings of a Hero

{Thanks. ^_^}

[Chaotic_Theoretician]

"Find a gun, pick it up, put it to their head. Shoot 'em now, shoot 'em right, while they lie in bed. Hide away, toss the gun, wipe the prints--so clean. Keep on going, life keeps rolling--I am still unseen."

Scott Red Harrison



He's a real KILLER.

Scott pulled up in front of a small house all the way across Manhatten, away from the murder he had just commited. It was a nice house, boasting a Master bedroom, a guest bedroom, one and a half bathrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a small garage. Pushing a small button from a control in his pocket, the garage door opened, and he gently guided the bike inside. He killed the engine and removed the key from the ignition, the garage door closing silently behind him, as silent as he walked through a house unseen. Dismounting the bike, Scott shrugged out of his leather jacket, grabbed his trenchcoat from the back of the bike, and hung the leather jacket on a hook beside the door that led into the house. Trenchcoat draped over one arm, he entered the house and quickly disabled his alarm system.

The house was cold, all the more easier to traverse in. Scott was one to like the heat. The cold reminded him of a dead corpse, of someone he had just sent off into the Land of Eternal Dreams. Heat only reminded him of living bodies, and high temperatures often made him sluggish and angry. Though he was known to have some anger management problems, the heat only made it worse. It was during those times that he had to restrain himself from fulling one of his cravings to kill, knowing that he would most likely get caught because he would be blundering through the process. It wasn't like he just randomnly selected a house to enter. No. He was smart enough to stake-out the place, do some research on the person--or persons--he was planning to murder. It was all procedure.

"It's procedure in a complexity of chaos," he said aloud, his voice sounding down the hallway as he went up the stairs to the second floor. "A beauty within itself, Chaos. Chaos with an underlying order. Peace hidden behind turmoil. Formality within informality. Truth hidden by lies. A beauty."

Scott sighed with pleasure and entered his bedroom. The room was impeccable, almost too clean, in truth. Scott was careful to keep everything clean, even from his own prints. He spent on day a week--a Sunday--wiping down every inch of the place, his hands clothed in latex gloves. He was paranoid or controlled with OCD. It was the way he did things, the 'procedure' with which he followed. Removing a hanger from the closet, Scott hung the trenchcoat as close to the door as possible, making a note to wash it later and remove any incriminating evidence...not that he expected any.

Scott peeled back the leather gloves from his hands and slapped them down onto the bedside table, intending to clean those later as well. Recalling that he had left his gun in his trenchcoat, he removed the weapon, the silencer, and the spare rounds from the pockets. In the back of the closet was a compartment. The lines for the compartment, once the door was closed, were paper-thin. They were invisible in the light and gone in the dark. Even with the shadows, they were no longer there. Only a trained eye would be able to see the fine lines of the compartment's door.

Using a key, Scott inserted the key into a small hole found in the top corner, no bigger than five centimeters. The key slid into the hole noiselessly, and the compartment swung open, the hinges deathly quiet. Stashed away was a variety of guns, ammunition, and sound supressers. Scott put the gun in the missing area and hung away the silencer under a label titled USED. The silencer would only be good for another two shots, maybe--if he was lucky--three. He'd have to replace it soon.

Locking the compartment and hiding away the key, he smiled and traveled down the stairs, ravenous with hunger. He hadn't had breakfast yet.

They call me Whisper...



"They call me Whisper, don't you see? They are blind--all they hear is me. My voice is quiet, spoken in different ways. Those who hear it are the ones who pay."
--from Writings of a Killer

[SparklingBloodRedRoses]

{I am posting shortly, my appologies for the delay in the thread. End of "quarter" homework piles on too quickly and has left me with my head spinning. The day has too many activities and not enough hours for them all some times. Hopefully between tonight and tomorrow I can conjure something up.}

[SparklingBloodRedRoses]

-: Downa 15 Special Agents :-

"...Tonight my heart is cold
Lost in your eyes, transparent cries..."

-: Evangeline "Hawke-eye" McKenzie :-

-: Team Lead, Field Agent, CSI, Criminal Profiler. :-

Night looked over Eva's shoulder to see the file in her partners hands. Agent four gave a small grunt as she shook her head again. "Isn't that the truth, of course in today's world sometimes their doing them a favor," she said quietly, "Not like I'm condoning these killers or anything,"

Through a tightend throat Evangeline swallowed, "You're probably right," she spoke just as quietly, eyes staring down at the file, "it almost seems like the world has become a kill or be killed world. A sickening form of survival of the fittest." Softly the young woman shuddered, images of a twisted darwinist world flitting through her mind. Gently she picked up the pictures of the victim and turned them right side up, a mangled body with one bullet hole straight to the head. Gang violence was written at the top of the file as a possible motive but nothing was definant.
"Stopping this is like going to like trying to dout a wild fire."

Her emerald eyes lingered on the photograph as she spoke, eyes focussed on the victims head. He must of been in his last thirties and probably even had a family back home, if they weren't killed as well. How could he have ever know that, that night would be his last? In some ways, as she stared at him and into his cold, blank face, he looked a bit like her old partner. The thought made her shudder once more, but she kept it internally.

Quickening her pace Evangeline breezed past her partner, when it came to short distance running she had always been faster than Kevin. "Officer of the law, stop!" Had been tested on this young kid, probably no more than 18 years old himself, but had not been successful. They had to resort to rougher tacticks. After a few more moments of running down the side walk the young FBI agent had reached the boy and grabbed him by the shoulders, attempting to wrestle him to the ground. She would have too, if he had not had a secret advantage. From his long jacket he extracted a bat, swinging it at the officer of the law to get her away. It hit her three times, once in the rib cage, the other in her stomach and the last on her upper arm, barely missing her head. The blows knocked the wind out of her, causing her to stumble back and loose her grip. "Damn it." She spat as the boy ran away."

"Eva-" Kevin started as he ran up but she whacked him across the arm and jabbed her finger in the boys direction. "Get him," She hissed through clenched teeth, "I'll catch up." With a small hesitation the man ran off, managing to tackle the boy to the ground. "Agent 12" one of the other assistant agents spoke, their voice panicked as they called her by her badge name. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be alright when you stop asking me that." She snapped, attempting to limp her way painfully towards her partner. Wind still hadn't decided to grace her with the return of normally breath and it hurt enough to breath with her injured ribs poking into her. By the time she reached her partner, waving all other help away stubbornly, her breath was labored. "What kind of coward resists arrest and attacks a female officer with a bat?" Her partner was already having at the boy before she got there to help out.

"Kev," She spoke up, causing Kevin to look up at her with worried eyes, watching as his partner leaned against a street sign for support as she recovered her strength. "Leave the poor man alone."

"Let me go man," The young boy in their custody whimpered, "I didn't do anything wrong." To that Evangeline snorted, pushed herself off the sign with a wince and scooped up his bat. "Oh, yes," She whispered, "You did nothing but resist arrest and assault a federal officer - do you have any idea how much time that will get you?"

"It would stink for you to have to spend more time than necessary in a prison cell," Kevin looked down at the boy, "You could be well into your thirties by the time you come out." Exageration, sure, but it made the boy think twice.

"I didn't do anything other than that man, honestly, I didn't know anything!"

"What are those men doing in that house?" Evangeline countered, crouching down on the balls of her feet, elbows resting lazily on her knees. Pulling from her pocket a picture of an eight-year-old girl with strawberry hair the agent pushed it into the boys face. "What about her? Is she in there?" The boy looked panicked the minute she shoved the image in his face, "I didn't have any part in this," The spoke, voice wavering with fear of being convicted for a crime, "All I did was bring them food and information, I didn't help take her."

"Is she alive?" Kevin demanded, eyes locking on the boys. When the boy didn't answer Kevin gave him a bit of a shake. "Is the girl alive?" He hissed, eyes that of stone. "Y-yes, she is...but not for long. T-they are going to make the last hostage tape and kill her. Try and fool the feds, you know? Get their money for their drugs and other things and screw the government." Evangeline allowed her eyes to flicker to her partners, meeting them at the exact moment he did the same thing. "Take him to the police station." Kevin instructed the other agents, "Tell them they are not allowed to let him go until we say so, they can talk about it with Director Kendrick if they wish. You and I," He turned to Eva, "are going back to the house." It took them five minutes to walk back to Kevin's under-cover car because of Evangeline's condition but from there they drove to the house, parking on the same side of the street. For five house they stayed there, staking out just the way Director Kendrick said they would. "I don't like this any longer," Evangeline was surprised to find herself saying before her partner, "Maybe we can call back up and make the Director change his mind?"

"We can call back up," Kevin said, "but the Director won't change his mind." Without waiting for an argument he flipped open his phone. "This is Agent 7 badge number 16, requesting back up at 144 blackwell drive..." His voice droned out as Evangline watchd a car pull into the drive over her "book", behind it a large utility truck pulled up to the curb. A man jumped out of both and went tot he utility trucks trunk, extracting three rather large cases. Either drugs or weapons she assumed. "Back ups on their way." Kevin told her and she nodded, once back up was there everything would be okay.

Everything didn't go alright though, because back up didn't show. Dusk had come and was almost gone and still there was no sign of assistance. "We have to go in." Kevin said, unhook his seat belt. "We're waisting precious time."

"We have to wait for back up, Kevin," Evangeline protested, "you could loose your badge if you disobey Director Kendrick's orders again."

"And if I listen to his orders that girl is dead," A gun shot from the house made both agents jump. Was that the kidnapper getting rid of the girl, or of an accomplice? Kevin grabbed his partners arms and met her eyes, "you've been in that girls place, Eva, maybe you don't remember it but you were. Both you and I know it. You saw your families death, only to be left alive to torment - death only expected to come at the last minute. If you were in her place wouldn't you want to be rescued? If we leave her there she's dead, if she isn't already." Piercing his lips the handsome blonde leaned in close to her, "Do this for me, Eva. I promise, the Director will not take my badge. Okay? We're a team until the end." If Eva had only of known what that meant she never would have agreed. "Alright." Evangline said, only to recieve a peck on the forhead from her friend. Silently both agents slinked from the dark car into the equally dark cityscape. Using soft footsteps the sneaked up to the house.

For some reason Evangeline glanced to her right, only to see a shadow dart from the window. Had someone seen them? "Kevin-" She whispered urgently, "I have a bad feeling about this, I think we should turn back." Kevin looked at her with raised eyebrows, and a look that said, jokingly "you chickening out on me again, Ev?" Ev, his godforsaken nickname for her, she hated it with a loving patience. Softly he smiled and shook his head, waving his hand to attempt to ease her nerves. Gingerly he placed a finger to his lips, Evangeline moving up so she was nearly three feet behind him. "Federal Agents open up!" They were supposed to wait fifteen seconds for response but Kevin didn't wait that long. Nearly immediately he busted the door open with his shoulder, once done he flagged her to follow, which she did. That's when it happened. The figure she'd seen from the window, male eyes lit with fierce insanity, rounded the corner, gun pointed towards them, levelling on the officer closest to him. One shot, that's all it took. Kevin hadn't had any time to react, and she had had barely enough time to alert him - to have him turn to face the shooter. He stumbled back towards the ground, the force of the shot throwing him backward in the flower bed. For a moment she thought it had him him elsewhere, but he lay motionless once hitting the bed of flowers. Her fingers became numb on her gun as she stared at her partner, her dead partner. Her voice locked in her throat, eyes glossing over as she watch his blood feed the flowers.

The gun man looked at his victim with only a momentary flicker, as if doing a quick body count in his head before he pointed the gun at her. She turned her eyes back on him from staring at Kevin's lifeless body, hands shaking a bit, and her breath erratic. Her mind barely comprehending what it just saw. "Do as I say." He warned, snatching her gun from her hands. Fighting to steady her shaky breath Evangeline nodded, glancing from Kevin's body to the gun pressed to her temple. Back up still wasn't there, she was in this completely alone with barely any hope of getting out until they arrived. "Whatever you want." She spoke calmly, allowing him to force her into the house, her hands were where he could see them but her mind was racing, paying close detail to where they walked through, seeing if she could formulate an escape plan if she needed to. The gun moved down her neck now, jabbing into her shoulder blades, and pushing her towards a closed door. "Get in there."

"Where is everyone today? Have you seen them?" Evangeline spoke abruptly, shutting the file and brushing her dark bangs from her eyes. The dark silluete that had shaded her face from her bangs disappeared with the movement. Softly her eyes twinkled as one edge of her mouth curved upward in a half smirk-half attempt smile, "Lazy bums must've slept in."

Tossing the file to the side of the deck she picked up another. It felt odd spending a morning, or any time rather, without Agent two. Where was he? Perhaps she was a bit too worried about him, she didn't know, but she couldn't help but worry when anyone was late. Holding the file in one hand she picked up her cup of tea with the other, her slender fingers curved delicately around the warm foam surface. Shrugging softly she took a sip, allowing the warm herb water to slip past her painted lips and down her throat, warming it as it flowed. "This stuff is alright, but not the same as coffee I am afraid. Honestly, I think I should hire someone to come into this station and fix the coffee machine. Sooner or later it's either going to come to that, me going to Mocha Joe's or going insane. Since I'm already the latter it's between the first too." Sighing softly she placed the cup back down. "You seen Agent three lately? Or are the all M.I.A.?"

"...If I could write one letter to the world as we know it
I would list these rhymes that mean everything to me
Heartache temporary, bullets only stop your bloodPain will live on and on
In everyone, in everyone..."

[Ryku Kishimoto]

Ryku sits at his desk shuffling through several different case files. "Ugh, more and more files added to my desk ech day, wish the chief would stop dumping these cases on me, half of these have nothing to do with narcotics." Ryku picks up his coffee, takes a sip and puts the mug back down. "Hmmm wonder what else is going on around here, I need a break." A detective shows up at the door with a folder. "Detective Kishimoto the chief wanted to you to look over this case for him, he says its a top priority, perp has over 150 first degree murder charges, and even more drug charges." The detective puts the folder on his desk and leaves. "Ugh okay lets see then. Jason Rhodes, age 41, international drug lord, sold over 3 billion dollars worth in drugs such as heroine and cocaine and killed many people obviously, and his whereabouts are completely unknown, well that's just great, i'm going to need some major help for this one."

[Chaotic_Theoretician]

"Get up, go to work, head on home for bed. Roll around, toss and turn, dreadful pictures in my head. Working hard, working long, workin' well past dawn. Throw 'em in, lock 'em up, cage the devil's spawn."

♣ Erin Frey Wulf ♣



Homicidal Detective
...Talk about a Maniac...

Erin had been sent home early, only because the Chief had suggested it. When he had called her back into his office, he had looked at her warily, as if fearing that she would do something crazy. Erin wasn't in the best of moods. She picked up the file of her new assignment from her desk and headed out the door, not bothering to say good-bye to anyone like all the other cops did. Nobody liked her, and she knew that. Not since the incident in 1999. Just remembering the date made Erin depressed and angry all the same. She slammed the door shut behind her, opted to take the stairs to the ground floor, and hopped into the truck she always drove. She revved the engine and led the car home, where she pulled up into the driveway and settled down inside her comfortable abode.

Erin tossed the stack of files on the coffee table in the living room and made her way through the small house to the cluttered kitchen. Taking a look around the messy, chaotic space, Erin shuddered, vaguely wondering why her kitchen hadn't been infested...with who-knows-what. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Coors glass bottle of beer. She popped open the top with her bare hands, the cap cutting slightly into her skin, and tossed the cap into a pile of other beer bottle caps. The fridge door shut behind her with a small click, and she went back into the living room.

Her house was hardly fit to be called a house, in truth. There was hardly any space to move around in some places, and the house was located near the beach. It was an isolated little home, since the only houses near enough were at least a few miles away from her. Erin loved it this way, though, being secluded. It didn't help that she had been along for the past ten years, mulling over with the death of her love. And she knew that he hadn't just died on the job--he had been murdered. Somebody had hired someone to murder him, just to get to her. Or maybe...maybe they had thought she was with him, so they were mistaken and ended up shooting him instead because they thought it was her.

True enough, an hour later--and several beers later--Erin was in tears, her face distraught, her voice hoarse from trying to suppress her sobs. Her eyes were red, almost to the point that no white was visible, and she couldn't breathe through her nose. Her face was slick with her tears, her shirt drenched with them. She held her gun in her right hand, and she transferred the gun to her left hand, reaching around in her pocket to find the hollow-pointed bullet she always carried, just for her. She rolled it around in her hand before cocking open the gun and slipping the gun into the chamber. The gun slammed shut, the noise ominous. Clicking off the safety, Erin stared down the barrel, stared down into that deep dark space. Her hands were shaking. She pressed the gun to her head and squeezed her eyes shut, her finger tightening on the trigger. She was trying to steel herself, her face contorting as she tried to force herself to pull the trigger.

She couldn't. Erin tore the gun away from her forehead and opened her mouth, shoving the gun in there. The metal clicked against her teeth, jarring her head, but she took no notice. Again, she tried to pull the trigger. She closed her eyes, having this horrendous vision of beind found headless. Her trigger finger spasmed, and the trigger was halfway through engaging the mechanism. Erin took a deep breath...

And she yanked the gun out of her mouth, letting out another cry. She clicked on the safety and pulled out the bullet, shoving it back into her pocket. Newfound tears streamed down her face, and she choked on the saltiness of the liquid. She tossed the gun onto the other side of the couch and tilted her head back, her eyes focused on the ceiling. Her voice gargled in her throat.

"Another day," she said aloud, her voice hoarse and almost inhuman. "I'll see you guys another day..."

She is one Lethal Weapon



"I am insane, it's plain to see. I am a Lethal Weapon secretly. I wear a badge for most the night. I give the villians a mighty fright."
--from Writings of a Hero

[Thirteen Broken Hearts]

{{Hey....I'm trying to come up with something to post and may not post until tomorrow. I don't mean to hold things up, but I'm a little tired and not sure what to post in reply.}}

[SparklingBloodRedRoses]

{{I understand completely, I am utterly exhausted. When I posted this morning it took me forever to figure out what to post - therefore I went with a bit of the past & normal conversation. Only thing I could think of. I'm attempting to recruit more people - D. 15 members, police officers, villians...etc... so, we'll see if that brings in any help.}}

[Thirteen Broken Hearts]

"Once upon a time, I called out in the dark, but you just ignored my screams until you found me, lying motionless in my own blood....,"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxI.s.a.b.e.l.l.e||T.r.i.a.d||N.i.g.h.t.i.n.g.a.l.e

< < N.i.g.h.t > > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hostage Negotiator and Linguist"

"Look, I can curse at you in ten different languages, don't push it,"

Isabelle shook her head to answer the question about where the others were. They probably did sleep late, with all the long nights the group had had lately. Her mind was slow to react to what was going on around her. She was tired herself and Eva's mention at the tea, she realized she was parched again.

Night reached out, picking up her iced tea and sipped it quietly. She smiled at her friend's jokes about the coffee machine. Isa had never been keen on coffee, it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Cappuccinos were good though, with a whole bunch of sugar.

She shook her head slowly at the question about seeing Agent Three, she hadn't seen him since earlier the day before. "No, not since yesterday," she replied. Her eyes watched the door warily as she spoke. It was as if her greatest fear was someone to knock on that door. That dreaded knocking on the door, someone telling her her partner was dead, someone else was dead. The girl knew it was wrong to think, but as long as it was anyone other than the D. 15 agents, she wouldn't be too upset. Just not the agents, no one that was close, like her brother...

Night couldn't open her eyes, it frightened her almost. There was so much pain radiating from her shoulder, and her head. Agent Three's voice flooded her ears all of a sudden. It seemed he was sitting no more than three feet from her, where ever she was. "Is she going to be alright?" he asked, Isa could tell her sounded worried.

The man who answered next was familiar. He was the same doctor that she had seen before when an angry homeowner had dried to assault her with a knife during one of her negotiations. It hadn't been a good day for the homeowner. "I can't say as of this moment, we've stopped the bleeding and removed the bullet, but her heart rate isn't stabilizing, there's a chance she could go into shock,"

Night felt herself fall again into the darkness. Nothing else made a sound and it was slightly peaceful until she heard Agent three's voice again. This time it was almost frightened sound, far away though. It felt like Isabelle had to walk a million miles for her ears to catch exactly what the voice was saying. The woman felt the exhaustion surrounding her body and she didn't have the strength to open her eyes at the time. She did realize that the pain had become a numb sensation since earlier while she was listening to her partner.

Isa realized that Agent three was holding her limp hand, gently, in his larger ones. There was a sob hidden in his tone, like he was afraid that if he said the wrong thing, he would lose her forever. "Night, you can't leave me, not yet, you're all I have left now," he whispered, "I need you, you said you would die for me, but can't you live for me instead?"

The woman smiled weakly through the pain, letting her hand clench tightly around his. It took a lot for Night to force her eyes open, but she did. For her partner, there wasn't anything she wouldn't do. He was watching her, a relieved smile on his face as he reached and wiped a stray tear from her eyes. Slowly, she nodded yes instead of speaking. It was mostly because she still didn't have the strength to speak. Agent three let go of her hand and shook his head like a disapproving mother would. "Don't you dare, ever take a bullet that is aimed at me ever again," he hissed, "I can't lose you..."

Isabelle blinked as she realized she was still staring at the blurry bottom of her cup. The woman took another sip and laid the cup back down. She cringed as her shoulder sent a spike of pain through her. Damn them doctors....but the pain was enough to be a reminder. A reminder of why she was still here....to save those she cared about.

Night looked up at Eva, thinking about what they had talked about the day before. "So, did you ever talk to the director about going undercover?" she asked, lowering her voice a little. A lot of times the others called her paranoid, but she wasn't sure of what the other cops could hear through these walls.

{{Roses, I hate to steal your idea, but the bits of past thrown in with conversation is the best I can come up with ideas right now....}}

"I whispered I would die for you and in return, you shot me in the back...,"

[SparklingBloodRedRoses]

{Don't sweat it, I don't mind. smile I'll try to post tonight or tomorrow. Not sure if I can get through one tonight without falling asleep...}

[Chaotic_Theoretician]

.: Downa-15 Team Leader/Special Agent :.

"You think I'm crazy? You call me crazy, you think I'm crazy? You wanna see crazy?"



"When I was 19, I did a guy in Laos from a thousand yards out. It was a rifle shot in high wind. Maybe eight or even ten guys in the world could have made that shot. It's the only thing I was ever good at."

Martin Riggs

"You know as much as I do that I am no lazy bum."

Martin Riggs stepped into the room, a broad smile on his face. His mess of curly brown hair framed his head, his stark blue eyes sharp. Something inhuman--almost animal-like--danced behind his pupils, and it sent shivers down the spines of those who knew his reputation. Much like Erin Frey Wulf, the Manhatten Police Department's renowned, crazy homicidal detective, he was insane to a great extent...but it was even more so with him than it was with Detective Wulf. He was known for killing without mercy and snapping all the time, going from a laid-back man to a crazy maniac. He would become reckless and more of a Lethal Weapon than Detective Wulf would ever pull off, even if she was ten years younger and probably had more energy.

"I don't sleep, you know that," he said, punching Eva's shoulder playfully, though the force behind it was a little too much. "Hey, Isabelle. You've been pissed again--don't go all crazy on me. Could be a problem."

Riggs was one of the few people that called Night by her first name, and he knew that she had quite a temper, though it didn't even land anywhere near the intensity that his would get. If he was only annoyed he could be one hell of a problem. If he was a girl, he would be one hell of a b***h. He chuckled inwardly to himself as the thought crossed his mind and shook his head, peering down at the stack of files. He quickly sifted through them, his practised eye scanning the articles efficiently and effortlessly. He sorted the really important ones from the less important ones and picked them up from the desk.

"And you guys are left with the s**t assignments," he said, smiling broadly, his baby blues twinkling with amusement. "Just kiddin'. Hey, Isabelle, how's that shoulder doing? If you ever want, we could compare scars." He grinned again, the light in his eyes mischievous. "I have a five-inch scar in my right thigh from when this a-hole nailed me with a knife. I got that b*****d good. Tore the knife from my thigh--it went completely through everything, by the way--and stabbed 'im quite a few times in the stomach before dropping a box car on the f**ker's head."

Though he was trying to talk lightly, anyone could tell that Riggs was proud of this accomplishment. It was the same man who had driven his wife off the road and had killed her, though it was accidental. The man had also drowned his girlfriend four years after that, which unleashed "the animal" in Riggs, as some liked to put it. Riggs had been riddled with bullets after killing the man, but he had been lucky enough to be wearing a Kevlar, so he only suffered bruising and soreness.

"The b*****d just crumpled as the box car fell on top of him. I didn't stick around to see them clean up the stuff. Box was wide enough that you couldn't see anything." Riggs pursed his lips for a moment. "He probably looked like a flattened soda can."

Clapping his hands together in a loud gesture, Riggs glanced between Eva--his partner--and Isabelle as he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket. He had been trying to stop smoking for years, but he needed one every once in a while, especially after he talked about a tender subject. He lit the cigarette and took a small drag on it, exhaling the smoke over his shoulder so as not to disturb the two women. He had been trying to get rid of drinking, too, but that didn't go very well either. He'd probably end up going home to getting a bit drunk that night, maybe consider commiting suicide again. He tried not to think about it.

"So...you'd better lay off on the tough assignments, Isabelle. I can see the pain in your eyes. You aren't going to be much use if you're in pain like that." It was technically an understatement. With Riggs, he could deal even better under pain, because it was the pain that helped him stay down to Earth, or so it seemed. He had dislocated his shoulder over twenty times, and it always hurt to put it back in--but he still did it, and he would end up laughing at the end.

He doesn't give a Damn

"I'm surprised you haven't heard of me, I got a bad reputation, like sometimes I just go nuts like now. Ha ha!"



"You do this my way. You shoot, you shoot to kill, get as many of them as you can. All you got to do is just not miss."

[SparklingBloodRedRoses]

-: Downa 15 Special Agents :-

"...Tonight my heart is cold
Lost in your eyes, transparent cries..."

-: Evangeline "Hawke-eye" McKenzie :-

-: Team Lead, Field Agent, CSI, Criminal Profiler. :-

Softly Evangeline laughed, the act abrupt, short and laced with sarcasm. "Yeah, I talked to Director Kendrick about going under cover." Shaking her head lightly she rolled her eyes to the cieling, allowing the emerald spheres to rest there for awhile. "You know the Director. He's constantly changing his mind. He tells us no one day, which he did, and then yes the next. Whether he likes it or not I think we should, at least part of the time. I mean, after all, civillians are the ones who are in the most danger right now. Despite the fact that the federal death count is climbing, at least they have guns, these people aren't brave enough to just let our open fire at a cops house - they could be surrounded before they had the chance. Director will kill me but," She smirked softly, hearing the familiar heavy steps of her partner approaching the door. Throwing her voice to pass the door she added, "I'll just blame it one Riggs." It was a joke of course, she would never let her partner take the blame for anything. The Director wouldn't take her badge anyway, nor would he probably take Martin's. There was only one time Evangeline had ever been sure Kendrick was going to take her badge, so sure she dropped it on his desk only to have him hunt her down and throw it back infront of her, threatening that if she ever pulled something like that again he would take her badge.

Heeding his advice, she never made such a foolish act again and went on with her life. In a strange way the members of Downa 15 were Kendricks favorite, nobody had to be a scientist to figure that out. Although he claimed not to favor anyone under his power, Downa 15 seemed to get away with more than anyone ever could. Including the above said.

Turning her head the young brunette watched as her partner entered the room. "Hey, lazy bum or not," She grinned, something that for the most part only he and his special crazed humar could make her do, "you have a few more years on you than I do. Takes you a bit more to get going than it does me." With a soft wink she expressed that she was joking, only to falter on her feet for a mere second after her partner jabbed her in the shoulder. "Ah, right." She said like she had forgotten, nodding her head a bit and leaning back into the filing cabinet once again. "We've all become noturnel - you more so." Over the three years of working with Riggs she had gotten very good at hiding her worry for him. He was, persay, a bit insane. It wasn't that Evangeline had a problem with his insanity, actually, she enjoyed it in some strange wa but she was always worried half the time as well. An obsessive-complusive behavior she'd picked up after Jones' death.

"Like hell." Evangline retorted, reaching up and snagging one of the files out of his hands, although she had to reach up on her toes to do so. Sticking out her tongue she leaned back into the cabinet once more, allowing the cold metal to seep through her black suit-jacket and thin sweater. Peering over the file, jokingly, as if she was narrowing her eyes at him she upturned her nose. "There's no way in some burning pit somewhere below the ground that I am going to be stuck behind a desk looking at files the entire time I'm here - researching who killed the bar of soap. I spent my first three years with Kendrick that way - if I do it anymore I may loose my mind." That image was both almost hilarious and a bit frightening. Although she knew that Riggs had lost it more than once she had only completely lost her sanity once. The next day back on job after Jones' death she was obviously in shock, the adreniline that had been roused now had fallen to the wayside. For a week she lived in a haze with only one thing on her mind - twisted revenge. She found his killer, who had escaped the police when she escaped, and hunted him down. He was in a warehouse waiting for a delivery of drugs and money, despite the fact she had called back up she only waited 15 seconds from pulling in the lot before barging in. He recognized her, obviously, and tried to intimediate her by words. Clouded by overwhelmed emotions Evangeline shot at him, missing his head and hitting his shoulder. The scene that the back up squad found when they arrived was this: the young agent of one year was covered in the man's blood, a dagger by her side drenched in it as well and her gun hooked on her belt. Director Kendrick covered for her, how he did, she wasn't sure, but after that day she heard nothing more of it.

Carefully Evangeline watched as her partner talked about his past, she had shut the file in her hand and was watching his face carefully. They'd talked a few times about the past but not as much as Evangeline supposed was healthy. She was a private person, bottling up things until - by chance - something set her off. Softly her eyes shifted down to the cigarette in his hand, if it had been any other moment she would have reminded him about his attempt to ditch the habit but she couldn't bare say it then. She undestood why he did it, more than anything she did, and if it helped she couldn't complain - unless, that is, if it ended up severely endangered his health. Drinking, his other habit, Evangeline never nagged upon. When she wasn't one duty Evangeline had a bit of that addiction problem as well, and she was never one to throw stones when living in a glass house.

"I talked to her about it. So did Kendrick." Evangeline commented, poking into the conversation at the end. "You know she's just as stubborn as he is - the lot of us are." Looking endearingly at Night she turned to look at her friends desk. Using her foot to kick the drawer that held Night's pills Evangeline looked back at Riggs. "We both also think the pyscho doctors with a love for sharp objects and medications gave her the wrong drugs. She won the argument needless to say, beating both Kendrick and I - if you think you can beat her, my dear partner, please do try your best." Her eyes lit up with a sparkle, and the corner of her mouth twicked in an upward direction. She did agree with him, Night needed to rest but she could also understand why she wanted to be in the action and personally, she couldn't blame her.

"Hungry, Lethal?" She asked, calling him endearingly by half of his nick name. Reaching to her side she ripped appart her bagel so it was equally split in half and tossed him the half she had yet to eat. "There's still no coffee in the break room, however," She scooped up a rather large handful of all of the spreads she had snatched, "we probably have enough spreads to feed a village."

"...If I could write one letter to the world as we know it
I would list these rhymes that mean everything to me
Heartache temporary, bullets only stop your bloodPain will live on and on
In everyone, in everyone..."

{My appologies for the quality, it was kind of rushed.}

[Ryku Kishimoto]

Ryku gets up from his desk and walks over to the window of his office and looks outside. "Uhh I can't wait tio go home im so tired for some reason." Ryku walks over to the door to his office opens it, walks out into the station shutting the door behind him and starts to look around and scope to see if anyone was here. "Hmmm gotta find someone to talk to." Ryku continues to just scope around the room.

(Sorry my posts are short I try to make em big but its hard to when im Rping alone....also can i have a second character (obviously i would have to have a second profile made but i would take the time to.))

[Chaotic_Theoretician]

.: Downa-15 Team Leader/Special Agent :.

"You think I'm crazy? You call me crazy, you think I'm crazy? You wanna see crazy?"



"When I was 19, I did a guy in Laos from a thousand yards out. It was a rifle shot in high wind. Maybe eight or even ten guys in the world could have made that shot. It's the only thing I was ever good at."

Martin Riggs

Snatching the file back out of Eva's hand, Riggs raised his eyebrow, a small grin spreading across his face. His smiles weren't rare like one would think. He often a laid-back guy. It was when he wasn't smiling that someone should start to worry. From Eva's comment about him being nocturnal, he could tell that she was struggling to hide her worry from him. If he hadn't been so used to hearing the worry in people's voices, he wouldn't have been able to pick it up. He'd have to congratulate her later about keeping most of it concealed from him.

"You kiddin' me?" he asked, shaking his head. "I am the only man on the force that has chased down cars and still had enough breath and energy to kick the criminal's a**. So don't go pushing your luck saying that it takes me a bit to get going. The day you chase down a car in your bare feet on asphalt, I'll say that you beat me. Until then, don't count on it." He shook his head, his blue eyes twinkling, though there was a mild threat and challenge in his pupils.

He listened to Eva talk and darted glances between her and Night, who had yet to say anything. He knew that the both of them had suffered a lot. If they knew half of what he had gone through, they would be happy that what they went through was hardly anything. Again, Riggs tried not to think about it. Old memories reopened old wounds. He'd been fuming for ten years, running on the energy of his insanity. He was damn well sure that he wasn't going to burn out any time soon. He chuckled at Eva's comment on Isabelle's medication and trying to convince her to lay off the job for a while. He had ways to keep the girl at home if he were to try to. People would do a lot for a man if they were afraid of him. For all they knew, he was liable to go nuts any second...which, in truth, was entirely probable.

Riggs glanced at the bagel Eva had offered him, and he shook his head, another grin splitting his face. "Nah, I've got dog biscuits to snack on," he said, grinning. "I have to do something to keep from smoking. Speaking of which..."

Riggs doused the cigarette on a piece of paper on Isabelle's desk and cleaned up the remains by dumping the thing in the trash. Being the man that he was, he picked up the cup that had held Eva's tea and dipped the end of the cigarette into it, just to make sure that the fire was put out completely. He dropped the remainder of the cigarette into the cup and handed it back to Eva. Leaning against the edge of the desk, he looked up with that crazed look of his and grinned broadly.

"That's what I think of that," he stated. He chuckled to himself and focused his attention between the two agents. "You know what, Isabelle? Did I ever tell you about my partner when I was a part of the LAPD? No? I don't think so." Thinking about his old partner, Murtaugh, made him laugh some more, and he shook his head, his eyes turned towards the ceiling as he recalled some of the good memories as a cop in the LAPD. "He was a good cop with a wonderful family. He still is, only he lives elsewhere now. I kind of lost touch with him when I left..."

Riggs fell silent for a moment. His reasons for leaving California had been clear and obvious, though leaving the rest of them had been hard. The only thing that tied him there was his old police badge, the motor home he lived in, and his dog, a collie named Sam. He didn't want to remember that place, that state and city where his life had been altered and ruined more than once. Silences like this were never good, especially since Riggs was around. It could only mean trouble--trouble in the sense that he was getting more and more depressed.

"Anyway, Murtaugh and I were always getting into s**t...he got into it only because I was his partner and I was always up to my eyeballs in it. One time, I thought I could disable a bomb and I only ended up making the timer go faster." Riggs pursed his lips and glanced at Isabelle and Eva. "We saved the cat that was left inside and our own hides. Another time, poor Murtaugh was on the toilet and there was a bomb planted on it. Poor guy. I pulled him off after the bomb squad had squared everything away so we could do it with a better chance of survival. Poor Rog--his name was Roger--could hardly get off the toilet. He'd been sitting there for almost ten hours. I had to yank him off the damn thing. It probably was one of the funniest things I had ever done."

Just thinking about it made Riggs laugh. "We met this guy named Leo Getz, and, boy, he was one crazy b*****d. The guy just wouldn't shut up, and he always wanted to tag along and carry a gun. This one time, he decided to try and come with us to a job we had to do at a Mesa Verde construction site. I was so annoyed--I had just put my shoulder back into place for the millionth time--that I shot two of the tires on his car." Riggs focused his sharp gaze on Isabelle. "I can do much more than that to keep you from overworking yourself. Be warned."

He doesn't give a Damn

"I'm surprised you haven't heard of me, I got a bad reputation, like sometimes I just go nuts like now. Ha ha!"



"You do this my way. You shoot, you shoot to kill, get as many of them as you can. All you got to do is just not miss."

[Chaotic_Theoretician]

"Get up, go to work, head on home for bed. Roll around, toss and turn, dreadful pictures in my head. Working hard, working long, workin' well past dawn. Throw 'em in, lock 'em up, cage the devil's spawn."

♣ Erin Frey Wulf ♣



Homicidal Detective
...Talk about a Maniac...

Erin woke up sprawled in an awkward position across the couch, her face sticky and salty with her old tears. She wiped her hand across her face and rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand, surprised that she had actually slept. She wasn't one to sleep much. She sat upright, her foot clinking aside a glass beer bottle. Her brain throbbed in her skull, and she felt worse off than she had before. Nausea tickled her stomach, and her throat screamed for proper moisturization. She was tempted to go the fridge and pull out another beer bottle, but she refrained and headed to the bathroom, stumbling her way unsteadily to the door. She relieved herself and stood in front of the small mirror. Turning the faucet for the sink on, she cupped her hands and caught some of the freezing cold water. She splashed the sleep from her eyes and tried to wake herself better.

Drying her face on a towel, Erin headed into the kitchen and lazily threw together a small meal. She cooked up some buffalo wings and loaded up ont he barbeque sauce, her nausea quickly overcome by hunger. She glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall and was taken aback. She had slept for almost five hours. It was almost noon. Erin groaned and picked up the file on her new assignment from the kitchen table. Blinking, she tried to focus her attention on the papers in front of her. She read and re-read the description that the Department had scraped from witnesses. She scoffed at the term, again reverting to her original statement of saying that they weren't witnesses unless they saw the man.

Going over the file, she determined that the man was truly a genius and knew how to get things done. She was always up for a challenge. That's why she loved her job. Glancing back down at the papers, Erin suddenly thought of Martin Riggs, the person some people had considered her counterpart. She knew well enough that he was much more insane than she would ever be. She had shared her time with him once in a while, since they had so much in common. Oftentimes, he wanted her to take him with her on some assignments. She had the vague feeling that he missed his job and his old home in California, which he had left due to bad and unwanted memories. Too bad she couldn't do the same.

"Maybe I should call him up, see how he's doing," she thought aloud, but she shook her head. "He's probably too busy, anyway. That, or he's doing something incredibly stupid and crazy." Shaking her head, Erin laughed, a rarity amongst itself, and turned her attention back to the files.

She is one Lethal Weapon



"I am insane, it's plain to see. I am a Lethal Weapon secretly. I wear a badge for most the night. I give the villians a mighty fright."
--from Writings of a Hero