ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Huntin'

Vignette - Huntin'
Dramatis Personae Cris, Eric	2017-01-05 '
Location <NYC> NYPD Headquarters - Mutant Incident Division Office
The office of the Mutant Incident Division is located as befits a group of their stature: at the headquarters of the New York Police Department. In the basement, in a former storage room with little light and no windows. A few mismatched desks and computers goes well with the tattered chairs and the sign on the door long ago graffitied to amend the department's official name with its more commonly known aptroynm: Freak Squad. Sitting with his legs up on his desk, lazily clicking a button over and over on his keyboard with one finger, Eric is reclining in a chair in front of his computer. Each press of his finger brings up a new photo of a different mutant in the tri-state area that matches the general description of the still frame frozen to the other half of his scene: a short, hooded figure hanging as if frozen in mid-air, lit from below by streetlights. Throughout this, he recites a quiet litany of sorts, occasionally lifting his head to let it drop back onto the chair behind him. "Nope. Nope. Nooope. Nope. Nope. Uh-uh. Nope." By the tone of his voice, this has been going on for a while. The door to the office opens, and Eric tilts back a little bit further to look at the man stepping into the room. "'lo, Cris." "Hey, Sarge." "You ask out Officer Gibbards yet?" The shorter man snorts as he steps over to the (battered, rusting) lockers and begins to shuck off his body armor, as Eric turns back to his computer. "You know," Eric says, as he turns back to continue looking through pictures. "I know you might be confused by spendin' too much time around Estefan, but you /do/ remember that most people can't just read your mind to see what you're thinkin', right?" Cris laughs, hanging up the armor in the cabinet. "Yeah, fuck you, Sarge." "That's my boy." Eric says, slapping the keyboard with the palm of his hand. "Alright, this is goin' fucking nowhere. If they're registered, they're from nowhere near here." The sargeant straightens up in his chair, putting feet back on the floor and running a hand through his hair. "Alright. Where's that report from TARU?" Eric grumbles clicking the mouse several times impatiently. "This the Greene case?" "Yeah, yeah. We gotta get this wrapped up before this city starts to tear itself apart. Ya heard about Evolve, yeah? Shit. I gotta go talk to Shane about puttin' a squadcar outside a' the door during business hours, whether it's us or Patrol." Eric doesn't sound particularly happy about this proposition, muttering darkly under his breath, "And I bet Shane'll just /love/ the suggestion a' me askin' some random flatscan cops to guard the place." Silence reigns for several minutes, the only sound the click-clack of keyboards as Cris sits down at his desk and begins filling out the daily stack of paperwork. It isn't long, though, before Eric lets out a low whistle. "I think I might'a got somethin' here. TARU pulled the list a' all the cellphones connectin' to the towers within the area. I cross-referenced it lookin' for cell phones listed ta' folks not registered with MAD, or folks with family not registered with MAD, and we got some hits. Fifteen names. Now we're fuckin' talking." Eric looks up at Cris, eyes flashing, standing up from the chair. "Time ta go huntin'."