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afraid_of_my_shadowHe worked hard to get his position. He fought through so much and finally got away from his father, but with every day that went by he could hear the accursed man's laughter in the back of his head. The corruption ran deep. The whole thing had gone rotten. Systems that had been put in place had been eroded by nepotism, under-the-table money, and blind loyalty to the other boys in blue.
Alex had enough. He could feel his skin burning with his rage, as even now his reports have been 'lost'. If his bosses think they had cowed him, they made the common mistake of underestimating him. He sat in his cubicle or went out to investigate, keeping his head low and biding his time.
Meanwhile at home he worked on a different investigation. He remembered stumbling across a rather interesting hitman some years prior, one of the many with rules about who they would not hunt. This man, however, had a discount on scum, even if that hadn't been exactly the same wording used. He'd taken mental note about it and moved on at the time, doubting he could afford that since he decided to take a job in something extremely dangerous with awful pay that generally kept him too drained to do much in the way of coding at home. Having certain reports ignored was taking it's toll, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer under so much corruption; he spent too many sleepless nights staring at his service pistol, not sure what impulse felt stronger.
Alex had enough. He could feel his skin burning with his rage, as even now his reports have been 'lost'. If his bosses think they had cowed him, they made the common mistake of underestimating him. He sat in his cubicle or went out to investigate, keeping his head low and biding his time.
Meanwhile at home he worked on a different investigation. He remembered stumbling across a rather interesting hitman some years prior, one of the many with rules about who they would not hunt. This man, however, had a discount on scum, even if that hadn't been exactly the same wording used. He'd taken mental note about it and moved on at the time, doubting he could afford that since he decided to take a job in something extremely dangerous with awful pay that generally kept him too drained to do much in the way of coding at home. Having certain reports ignored was taking it's toll, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer under so much corruption; he spent too many sleepless nights staring at his service pistol, not sure what impulse felt stronger.
He started spending those nights tracking down that one hitman again. It took entirely too long, but finally he sends a message.
I need your help. Police corruption is blocking investigation on a Mr. Furest. Children are involved.
He signs with his contact information, none of which are traceable back to any real, or at least living, person. He made sure to cover his tracks, just to prove he at least isn't some random kid trying to cause trouble. He steps away from his laptop in his small apartment to drop on the couch and check the news of the day, hoping there would be a ping alerting him of a response sooner rather than later.
