Chapter 24 - Eyes of a Killer

To catch a serial killer, one must embrace the darkness enter the mind of the predator to emerge with the truth. It's a journey that tests not just the intellect but the resilience of the human spirit – Dr. Janet Holcombe

Operation Menu: Phase Dinner (D-143.20 hours)

FRAGO: Operation: Marianne's Vigil (D+.5 hours) 

Heather and Whisper strolled down Peach Street, their path leading them towards the distant Nakatomi residential building. The setting sun, its warm glow slightly obscured by the playful dance of puffy clouds, cast a golden hue across the city. As the sun dipped closer to the silhouette of the distant mountains the residents scurried about the streets of Battle City.

Whisper reached behind her and adjusted the top hat perched atop her head. The hat had brushed against the metal blade of the Naginata, the weapon strapped to her back, one too many times and required constant adjustment. As she turned, the blade of her weapon swung close to Heather's head, prompting a stern look from her.

"Will you be careful with your Naginata?" Heather asked, her voice mixed with amusement and caution.

"Fine, switch places with me," Whisper responded, her tone nonchalant. "Lullaby wants a better look down the alleyways, always."

"Why? It's not like that thing is an artifact or has a personality yet," Heather said sharply.

Whisper swiftly turned on her feet, the sharp blade sliced off a lock of Heather's reddish-brown hair. The curly strand tumbled to the street and was carried away by the wind.

"Excuse you," Heather snapped, stepping to the other side.

"There, there, sweet Lullaby. That old ginger poodle didn't mean to hurt your widdle feelings," Whisper said, as she patted the black lacquer handle of her weapon.

They continued down the street as residents hurriedly closed their shops and rushed indoors. The air grew tense, electric with an unspoken unease that seemed to seep into every corner. Heather felt the tension in the atmosphere like a physical weight, her muscles tightened involuntarily.

Her eyes, normally a calm shade of hazel, flickered and glowed intensely as she activated her Witch Sight. The bright green glow of her enhanced vision scanned each person they passed, her senses alert to the subtlest of changes. With each pedestrian they passed by, the individual averted their gaze and quickened their pace.

Whisper, who walked with a strut in each step, was entirely unfazed by the anxiety and fear that gripped the residents. Her steps remained casual; her demeanor nonchalant as she strolled along. The nervous glances and hurried movements of the people around them rolled off Whisper like water off a duck's back.

Heather adjusted her jacket, attempting to maintain a sense of composure, but the fabric seemed determined to accentuate her curves and push up her breasts. Frustrated, she futilely tried to push her breasts down, but they stubbornly bounced back into place, defying her efforts.

"These stupid tits won't stay down," Heather muttered, poking at her chest in annoyance.

"It's cause you failed to properly shape your corset, luv'" Whisper said in a bad accent but laced with a hint of amusement.

Whisper waved casually to an elderly woman whose trembling fingers struggled to unlock a nearby door, her attention momentarily diverted. When the woman finally managed to unlock the door, they hurried inside, slamming it shut behind her.

"I thought you hated dresses and all the fancy girlie-girlie stuff. You even put on lipstick!" Heather exclaimed, checking a woman who sped by, cradling a baby in her arms.

"You say lipstick, I say war paint," Whisper retorted. "Besides, I used to hate wearing this style of garments till Boss Kitty pointed out the strategic potential dresses offer."

Whisper lifted the side of her black dress, adorned with a strip of silk purple trim, to reveal a layer of interlinked metal plates. With a satisfying thud, she smacked her hand against the metal. Next, she unbuttoned her black jacket and proudly displayed her corset underneath.

"After I properly shaped my tri-Kevlar weave corset, it fits better than any armor I've worn before," Whisper explained, her tone carrying a note of confidence.

Whisper's slender fingers brushed over the brim of her top hat, nudging it lower on her forehead again. With practiced ease, she fastened the buttons of her jacket, the fabric settling snugly against her frame. The corners of her lips curled into a contented smile that sparkled in her eyes. The cerulean silk scarf around her hat swayed gracefully, dancing to the rhythm of the wind, its hue mirroring that of a boundless summer sky.

"Do you always try to weaponize everything you own like some sort of Jack-booted fascist?" Heather asked, then pausing for a moment after seeing Whisper's smile change to a scowl.

Heather's question hung in the air like a question mark, punctuated by a pause of unspoken thoughts.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like that," Heather said, lowering her tone of voice. "Force of habit, I guess."

The subtle scent of city life wafting on the breeze had changed and carried with it a sense of urgency and fear. With a flick of Whisper's hand, the scarf fluttered behind her shoulder, like flicking away a pesky fly.

"Fair question," Whisper replied, her voice as calm as a tranquil sea. "Being fifth gen military, I understand that not everyone was brought up in a bleeding-heart hippy family. Some families needed to step up to protect the ungrateful."

Heather looked down at the ground and her stomach knotted up. Whisper's face relaxed and she extended her arm and fingers to form the 'V' sign.

"One team one fight, luv' ya' Blue, right?" Whisper said.

Heather responded with a half-smile. They continued down the deserted street; the only sound was the rhythmic echo of their steps on the sidewalk.

Upon reaching the next block, Heather reached into her leather pouch and produced a silver flask. The aroma of herbs and flowers danced on the breeze as she took a sip. Intrigued, Whisper cast a curious glance towards the flask.

Heather extended the peace offering to her and asked, "Do you think you could help me with my corset?"

Whisper took a long sip and handed it back to Heather.

"Love to," Whisper replied, her voice tinged with enthusiasm. "We could swap out the steel whalebone for strips of titanium-nickel alloy. Those babies will stop anything short of an unmodified .50 cal or DU rounds."

"It's okay, but that kind of metal would take too long to acquire, right?" Heather asked as she sighed.

Whisper grinned and said, "We have plenty now, thanks to T.C. salvaging material from that cursed mechanized rabbit."

Heather snickered.

The residential tower loomed closer. Whisper suddenly stopped and darted down the darkened alley between two buildings.

"Where are you going?" asked Heather, who kept a vigilant eye on the street and the alleyway.

Whisper ignored her and pulled a hand-sized metal cylinder from her bag and shook it vigorously. The can rattled, and when she ceased, Whisper popped the top off. She turned the base until the arrow aligned with a black square. A black stream shot out as she began to spray the wall.

"Whisper, are you crazy? We don't have time for graffiti," Heather said, adjusting her glasses. "We have a serial killer to catch."

"Bla, bla, bla. This will go faster if you don't interrupt my muse," Whisper retorted, adjusting the can, and changing the color to blue.

While Whisper immersed herself in her art, Heather asked, "So, how do you plan to approach interviewing the NPCs? Drawing from your military expertise, I mean."

Pausing in her work, Whisper shook the can, assessing the remaining paint, and turned to face Heather.

"I doubt your soft nature would allow me to employ any Enhanced Interrogation Techniques on them, effective as they be," Whisper remarked.

"No, really, give it a shot," Heather challenged.

"Well, we could start on the first floor, black bag and drag the NPCs into the cellar. Then employ strategic pressure by threatening to execute them one-by-one," Whisper suggested, as she shook the can. "Eventually someone will tell us what we want to know."

She clicked the spray can until it aligned with a silver square and continued her graffiti work.

Heather's eyes widened, and she exclaimed, "That's..."

"A bad idea, I know," Whisper interrupted, readjusting the can to blue once again. "The plan won't work without black bags anyway, and besides who sells them at this hour?"

Heather chose not to risk asking for any more suggestions. After seven minutes, Whisper paused to wipe a bit of paint from her face.

"Do you think it sends the right message?" Whisper asked.

"Uhhh," Heather mumbled, her gaze fixed blankly on the mural.

"Oh, wait, I forgot something," Whisper said, and she sprayed a diamond shape with four spikes sticking out of the sides.

"Better?" inquired Whisper.

"Ummm, you got the House Thornewood sigil correct," Heather said, inspecting the mural.

Whisper had spray painted a giant penis shooting white liquid at a bloody guillotine blade. Under the art piece were the words: 'Luv' ya' Blue', 'if its RED it's DEAD', and 'Go home Gold!'

"Originally I was going to make it pee, but I ran out of yellow," Whisper said shaking the can again.

"I'm sure…Boss Kitty would be pleased," Heather said dryly.

"I hope so, it was her idea for me to embrace my inner muse and start tagging our turf," Whisper said putting the spray can away.

The automatic lights flickered when they stepped back onto the sidewalk, casting an eerie glow on the surroundings. Amidst the dim illumination, a series of clicks chirped in Heather and Whisper's ears. Heather checked to see how far they were from the Nakatomi.

"Check in time, I got this," Heather said tapping her ear a few times. "White Witch, White Witch, this is D-Rude, road's clear of commie and gold bears, 20 at the Nap Trap in 2, D-Rude out."

Whisper stared blankly at Heather; her right eye twitched a few times.

"What? I got a CB for my tenth birthday, been a CB Jock ever since. What did you get, a gun?" Heather asked playfully.

Approaching the edge of the tower, Whisper stopped by the edge of the stairs and considered the question.

"Parents bought me technical manuals until I was old enough to handle crew-served weapons with my kid brother," Whisper said as she rested her hand on the railing. "Most hand held weapons are too unwieldy to operate effectively. Crew-served weapons rely on teamwork and less on physical strength."

"Sorry I asked," muttered Heather.

"What do you expect from an aristocrat military family, dollies and dresses?" Whisper asked, swinging open the door to the Nakatomi residential building.

Heather shook her head and strolled inside. Whisper noticed the sign that read "CAUTION: Wet Paint" taped to the wall and ran her finger along the blue surface.

"Can't you read?" Heather asked, sneering at Whisper.

"It's not that wet," Whisper retorted, displaying her dry finger.

The scent of fresh paint lingered in the hallway as they walked towards the stairs. Heading upstairs, they exited to the second floor.

"After we check the surveillance video, maybe I could help you with the teleportation circle and interview the residents in the morning," Heather suggested.

"Sounds like a plan, but I completed the circle the other day," Whisper said casually.

"What?" Heather's voice echoed down the hallway.

Whisper stopped at a door and ran her finger across the placard that read "SECURITY: Authorized Personnel Only!" She ripped the sign off and tossed it in a nearby trash can.

"You mean this whole time," Heather said, her tone edged with anger.

Reaching into her coat, Whisper pulled out a sign that read "Warning: Sewage Overflow Containment" pulled the plastic from the adhesive strips off and stuck it to the door.

"I thought we both needed the cardio and besides..." Whisper teased, poking Heather in the stomach, causing her to giggle. "You're turning into a pudgy wudgy poodle. You really need to lay off those fatty cakes."

Heather pushed her finger away.

"If you are going to poke me again, buy me dinner first," Heather said causing Whisper's cheeks to turn a bit red and entering the room. "Come on, let's go watch some must see TV."

***