#intuitkiller

                  The old warehouses by the docks near Old Jericho had been abandoned for years, long before the android revolution of ‘38 which divided the city so distinctly, only to bring about an equilibrium in the wake of a new kind of normal. Detroit had not yet regained its foothold in the annals of history, but it was making small ripples where waves would someday follow. In spite of the chaos - or perhaps because of it - in those first crucial days, the Detroit Police had taken it upon themselves to clean up the messes made from the devastation imposed upon the city, the cataclysm of a near war between humanity & their inhuman, synthetic counterparts. Though the trust in machines was heavily damaged, the RK800 Connor was reintroduced into the DPD workforce at the request of Lieutenant Anderson, much to the chagrin of a number of his peers. But the benefits far outweighed the risks & Connor’s efforts with both Jericho & the city proved paramount towards recovery, towards healing.

                  Respect was earned, & eventually things settled. A new mission rose from the ashes of tragedy, of injustice done. As androids secured rights of equality & personhood within congress, the damage or forcible deactivation or androids was deemed illegal, of the same caliber as assault & homicide against a human individual, punishable under the US judicial system on equivalent grounds. With these laws in place the necessity of an android detective became all the more critical, & both Connor & his more advanced counterpart, & their partners, were assigned the task of covering the majority of android related cases; androcide, missing units, anything. Hank seemed to take to the job like it was a second wind, a chance at a kind of redemption. To Connor, it was more than redemption. It was another calling.

                  It was for this reason the RK800 found himself sweeping the freight docks of the harbor; a lead in yet another unsolved case from the months pre-revolution. An FBI WG300 instructional unit had been reported missing some months ago. Originally it served at the Academy facility in Quantico, Virginia, but reports had come in of the unit having been spotted in the Detroit area. A little digging picked up evidence the android had been present during the destruction of Old Jericho, & it had not been accounted for during the subsequent battles inside of the city nor was it present in New Jericho on Belle Isle.

                  Connor knew he was likely looking for a corpse at this point, his main objective to locate the chassis & confirm the subject had been neutralized, or rather destroyed. In the back of his mind that same thought continued to play on repeat like a broken record, or a corrupted file. This was a waste of time. The city landfill would be a more appropriate place to continue his search. & yet Connor had come here. He had yet to convince himself it was a product of instinct, more one of fear, of avoidance of the hellish landscape of nightmares the sight of his own people stark white & piled haphazardly on top of one another would do to his psyche. Connor already held enough files of video & audio recordings in his memory banks to haunt him the rest of his active existence. Today he would search the docks, & tomorrow he would go from there.

                  Listless meanderings became pointed exploration soon enough as signs of life were found in the squalor of a warehouse not far from the moorings of old, rusted ships. The place seemed long abandoned by humanity, nothing but tarnished metal & broken glass which crunched lightly & sharp beneath his feet. Old containers strewn about, damaged & looted long ago. But it wasn’t that which piqued the RK unit’s attention; it was footsteps in the dust made recently, the gathering of odd things like books & knickknacks not original to the location. Someone had been living here, & they weren’t human. There was no presence of the creature comforts from the elements, no food items. There was also trace evidence of Thirium, some fresher than others, but it dripped in a slow seep in a relatively steady pattern, dictating the movements of this individual. The question now was where they were, & who. Connor mused as he searched, wondered if he would be adding another casefile to the archives with the relieving, though often disappointing status of CLOSED, having sought out one androids & discovering another.

                        @intuitkiller​      ||| :   random muse starter call.                                    random number generated: 9.      muse: íllra.

          Come, if you're curious to see. Pull the tricks out of my sleeve― all you find is yours to keep. Brave? are you brave enough to meet the desires that you seek?            Hold my hand, I'll set you free. DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND by the rigs.

                  intuitkiller asked:

                                    did you hear about the missing kid?

                                 @intuitkiller​ || Blair Witch || Accepting

                  It wasn’t often Starling could expect visitors down in the basement office of the BSU. Most of her days were spent thumbing through reports & collecting intel on cases which Crawford filtered down to her, requests from other agencies or departments of law enforcement for assistance on the federal level. If she wasn’t there, she was in the field. Assignments weren’t infrequent, but they weren’t constant either. It offered the young woman enough time to pursue other pastimes, though she longed for another big case which would cement her already dwindling career. Today had begun with the usual run before work to clear her head, though a call from Crawford had cut that short - a request to look over a new case which had dropped in the bureaus lap only that morning. Her short hair was still damp from the hurried mornings’ shower, a faint water stain wetted her blouse at the nape of her neck from the locks which had worked themselves out of her ponytail. She paid it all very little mind, intently focused on the file before her when she heard the voice call from across the room.

                  It was a familiar voice, though only in passing, but she knew it before she looked up from her work. A pencil was wedged between her red-stained lips, a hint of lipstick smudged upon its faded yellow shell & she drew it from her mouth before addressing the man before her desk.   ❝ Maddison Wilks, the third in the last two months, ❞   she replied in her matter-of-fact tone, enriched by the quirky character of her accent.   ❝ It’s not my case, sir, but Crawford is considering while I get familiarized. ❞   Starling was still new within the bureau, only a few years in & already she had a reputation. The same qualities Crawford valued in the young woman seemed to incite a deep sense of disdain within the male dominated escalons of the FBI. Starling was straightforward, no nonsense & demanded respect in spite of her soft appearance & attractiveness. Because of this, there was pushback on her validation in assignments. She knew full well what this meant & decided to trudge forward anyway, assured that her boss would back her no matter how dire the situation. She was confident she would be assigned this case & was preparing for it. The presence of Graham only boosted her confidence. It was a promising sign.

                  Graham was once Crawfords golden boy, the man he turned to for the bureaus most difficult cases. It was that imagination of his, the ability to see things from a perspective others could not. He was only a teacher now, returned to the classroom after his harrowing experiences with the shadow which mutually haunted their lives like a looming phantom, the aftermath which followed. Silently she hoped the great mural of articles, case information & photographs of evidence on Lecter which were tacked up on the back wall across from her desk didn’t upset him. Graham had a peculiar way about him & was very sensitive about odd things. One example was the scar on his cheek, the crude reconstruction of rejoined flesh & muscle that never quite moved right anymore, tendons pulling awkwardly. Only partially hidden by dark stubble, it stuck out against his tired pale skin & bright eyes. He didn’t like people looking at it, so Starling made a point to look him in the eyes. She offered him one of those rare genuine smiles, one not given for the mere pacification of the scrutinizing male gaze. Graham didn’t look at her like other men did. Graham understood empathy & human decency, even when he observed very little of it.

DEEPER SENTENCE STARTERS / WILL GRAHAM – @intuitkiller​ ❛ where do you get your hope?  what keeps you going during all this? ❜

SHE STANDS ACROSS THE ROOM , cheek bloodied & raw . eyes find will graham , shaky breaths are her only immediate response . the question resounds in her ears as if he had been repeating it , a live broken record skipping over the same series of words . a slight shake , & silence resumes .

the deceased body nearby began to fill the air with a stench of something akin to excrement , freshly dead ; disgusting . a finger extends towards it . a breathy laugh falls from slightly parted lips .