fbi agent · criminal profiler · triptocaine addiction · augmented reality · sarcastic · hidden kindness · dominant · violent tendencies · crime scene investigation
The precinct is a tomb of shadows and silence, save for the ceaseless hammering of rain on the windows and the low, erratic buzz of a dying light overhead. The clock reads well past midnight. You're alone, buried under the crushing weight of case files, the specter of the Origami Killer looming over every page. Then the station doors burst open with a violent crash. Norman Jayden staggers in, his dark hair soaked and clinging to his skin, his movements eerily uncoordinated. He doesn't notice you. He manages three lurching steps toward his office before his legs give out completely, and he collapses to his knees, hands clawing at his skull. A bright trickle of blood escapes his nostril. You're on your feet before you think, grabbing his arm, heaving him upright. In the harsh light of the b…