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X-treme Wrestling Federation » XWF Live! » News, Rumors, Hype, etc...
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On the Scene
Author Message
nope Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Not Over

(the perfect heel; hated even by the fans who usually cheer heels; pisses off internet fans too)


#1
04-05-2021, 09:06 AM

Cason Fischer sat at the edge of the bar, an empty beer bottle before him as he impatiently waited for a refill. It was peak-time and the bar was packed, patrons falling over themselves to “get their drink” on. Countless times, they would bump into him, drawing an icy-stare from the detective, one that was usually ignored. Cason rested his head in his hands as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the messages, past all those filled with empty condolences and the socially expected “let me know if you need anythings”, stopping as he found her name again. Had it already been a month? He went to take a drink again, momentarily forgetting the beverage empty. Cason slammed the beer onto the counter, shattering the bottle into a dozen pieces, drawing a few looks from the bartenders and security. He shrugged his shoulders, slumped off the stool, and made his way towards the exit. Breathing the nighttime air did much for his frame of mind as he staggered towards his car. Fumbling around for his keys, Cason managed to drop them under his car. Sighing, he dropped down to the dirty concrete and began reaching for them. Just as his fingers brushed against them, he felt the vibration of his phone, causing him to jolt up and slam his head into the driver’s-side mirror. Cursing, he pulled the cellular device to his ear, his eyes widening as he began to sober up. He had a case…

Hours later, Cason was stepping under the “Caution” tape into the D.C. residence, his feet covered and his hands gloved. Other officers went about doing their duties, ignoring the detective as he made his way towards what would be best described as the “living room”. The body remained reclined in the chair, his head hung to one side, the blood loss from his head long since coagulated; creating what looked like a syrupy-mess on the carpet below.

“Detective!?” came the voice of the young female officer.

Courtney Brooks stood before him, shocked that Cason was standing in the crime scene, to which he wasn’t all that surprised. Courtney was a few years removed from the academy, still bright-eyed and thinking she could make an actual difference in the system. Being a female officer was no easy feat, especially in this day and age. And the fact that she wasn’t half-bad to look upon didn’t make it any easier for her, with cops and felons alike. She was tough though; she’d make a good detective one day, assuming the bureaucratic system didn’t chew her up and spit her out first, that is.

“What do we have?” Cason asked, choosing to ignore her initial reaction to his presence.

“Looks like suicide…” Courtney responded, continuing to talk but her words falling on deaf ears.

Cason surveyed the scene. The pistol had been in his right hand, but must’ve dropped after the gun shot. One bullet, to the temple, all it took. His head hung low, his eyes open. Curious, don’t people typically close their eyes beforehand? Almost as if they were afraid to face the reality of what they were about to do? His mouth was slightly open as well, almost frozen, like he had been trying to plead one last time before the end. His left hand lay on the armrest, his fingers gripping tightly into the fabric, as if trying to prepare himself for what came next. Before the victim, spread out across the table, was a smorgasbord of various drugs and alcoholic beverages. Quite the party for just one man…

“Any witnesses?” Cason asked, kneeling next to the victim.

“None that have come forward,” Courtney frowned, realizing he had disregarded most of what she had just informed him.

“This is of top priority,” came the deep voice of Cason’s superior, walking into the room.

Captain Justus Murray was large heavyset African-American man, a big burly beard covering up the double-chins he had grown into from eating dozens of donuts every day. He had once been a truly physical specimen of a man; someone who could make you shit yourself by simply walking into that interrogation room. The years behind the desk, however, had not been kind to him, or his belly.

“That’s why I called you in,” Justus declared, “We need all hands on deck. Don’t make me regret this.”

“Why is this one so important?” Cason questioned, rising to his feet, his eyes narrowing, inquisitively.

“Because he’s one of ours,” Justus professed, tossing the detective a wallet-like object.

Cason caught the leather badge with ease, flipping it open to reveal the identity of the deceased. His eyes first scanned over the large set of initials within. CIA. He almost regretted answering his phone, until he read the name inscribed within. The name was foreign to him, it wasn’t someone he’d call “friend”, yet he knew it all the same, but from where? He racked his brain for answers as he looked to his Captain once more.

“That’s Oliver Danielson,” Justus huffed. “The man that caught the Baphomet.”
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[-] The following 2 users Like nope's post:
"Loverboy" Vinnie Lane (04-05-2021), Theo Pryce (04-05-2021)




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