Luther
Cold. Smelly. Smokey. Dark. London, 2:15 AM. One man - John Luther, stands amongst ashes. He's seen a lot of shit in his time, but nothing like this. Nothing of this magnitude, this calibre. He knew though, he'd done his reading. History books. World War Two. Rwanda. Cambodia. It was a genocide.
These were people. They, like Luther, had lives of their own. Dreams, hopes. And now they were gone. Their loved ones would now have a piece of there life gone. It wasn't just physical death, but spiritual. The fate of so many changed. Luther knew. He'd lost loved ones - Zoey, Ian, Justin. It still stung. Luther knew he had to find the culprit - he had to avenge these lives. Not just for the people that lay dead before him, but for their loved ones. For his own.
Time ticked by as Luther inspected the scene. He tried to think the way his partner, Justin Ripley, used too. He had a good mind - analytical. In some ways it was like he was back from the dead, though not physically of course. He was still alive through Luther, and if Luther could keep the spirit of these people alive, then Justin's legacy would live on even further.
There was a pattern. Japanese, Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese. Indonesian, Malaysian, Filipino, Nepalese. All East Asian, ethnically. This was not aimless, there was a reason for this. Racial tensions seemed higher in London than ever before, Luther knew, he was , UKIP, nigger this, coon that. Chink, Paki. He'd heard it all. But he never thought it would escalate like this.
Racism came in many flavours. He'd seen ignorance - music videos, Avril Lavigne, that sort. But this was hatred. Pure hatred. It wasn't just people that was killed, it wasn't just an idea, a memory, it was culture. It wasn't just a killing of people, it was killing of a shared history. Oppression, freedom, repeat. Love, hate. Whoever committed this crime was not just trying to end lives. He was trying to end an idea.
Luther sat. He thought of those he had lost, the history they had shared. In some ways, the murderers he caught were innocent. They were trying to spread ideas of their own. Misguidedly, perhaps, but their intentions were noble. But this? To kill history, to kill an idea? Luther knew he couldn't fight fire with fire. As Luther thought about how to catch this killer, he thought not only of the experiences his loved ones had granted him, the help they provided, but of those he had never met. He was going to spread an idea of his own - that people might die, but their legacies never do.