Chapter 4: Investigation

Through the silent night and dark alley, a patter of footsteps invade the surrounding reticence, forcing vermin to scatter and hide. Once all were out of sight, the figure holding a sizeable paint brush and bucket walks to the end of the outdoor hallway and is met by a brick and mortar wall. He sets the tools down and leans against the wall.

Some time later, a person wearing a suit and tie comes down the alleyway and sees the man next to the white paint bucket and broken street lamp. He looks at the graffiti on the floor and other walls as he approaches the painter.

"Why did you need to meet me here?"

The artist takes his brush and dips it into the paint. He begins making an outline of a lion with fluid strokes. "I felt that I needed to give you a visual as to what I'm talking about."

"You've yet to give me a reason as to why I should join this organization you work in."

"Fair enough…" The artist pauses as he illustrates smaller details into the lion.

"Well?"

"There's been new management where you used to work-"

"That group has been dead and buried for the past seven years."

The artist's strokes with the paintbrush start becoming graceless. "That may be, but now a new group has risen from the ashes."

"And you're making their insignia to help convince me?"

"Not just you, but any others who wish to serve our cause."

"Count me out then."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I have no reason to join you. I've come to terms with what has happened and seen that it is best to leave what was in the past."

As the man in suit and tie is about to leave, the artist pulls out a small knife from his sleeve.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

With the distinct clicking sound from the switchblade, the man in the suit quickly turns around and hits the knife bearer on the wrist. The blow stuns him shortly, enough time for the sharp dressed man to clock his jaw.

Unbeknownst to him however, the artist utilizes the momentum from the strike to turn his body and roundhouse kicks his attacker's upper sternum. The blow stumbles the fine dressed man, forcing him to grip the wall in order to stay standing. The artist attempts a sweep, but is caught as the business man pushes him upon his painting supplies, forcing him to trip and get white paint all over both their clothes.

"I hope you understand that you're not fighting some other Grunt from the AAHW."

The painter slowly gets back up, knife still in hand. "I've been aware of it."

With a great leap, the artist aims his knife for his enemy's heart. Instead, the knife punctures the sharp dressed man's left forearm, dripping yellow blood. Swiftly pulling the blade out, the painter retracts his weapon and delivers a debilitating knee to his adversary's diaphragm, forcing him to bend over with the wind knocked out of him. The artist seizes the opportunity by putting the sharp edge to the former ATP's throat and promptly slices through.

Yellow blood squirts on the walls, the floor, and onto the artist himself. Once the Engineer is down, the painter rubs the blood off his face and neck as he looks back to his illustration, still incomplete. He walks to his tools and takes out a thin paint brush. Then, returning to his Engineer's, he dips the brush into the fallen assailant's slit throat.

He continues his work with the painting.

Walking past the water cooler, a detective approaches the door to the chief's room. He reaches for the doorknob but hesitates. The memory of when his boss had a meltdown and had almost half of the force arrested makes him gulp. Yet mustering up newfound courage, he knocks on the door and immediately enters.

Inside, he sees the chief sitting at his desk, emptying a bottle of scotch into a shot glass. Taking a step closer, the man at the desk turns to him.

"What is it?"

"There's been another string of murders tonight."

"And we've been stretched too thin right now."

"Yeah." The detective hands the folder to him while looking at the name carrier on the desk:

Head Chief of Police

Sanford Evanson

Sanford opens the folder and reads the latest victim. "Yet another AAHW."

"What do you think this could be about?"

Sanford downs his scotch. "So far, this looks like some kind of vengeance scheme."

"Do you think this might be another gang war?"

"Sam, if this was a gang war, we'd have figured out who's fighting them."

Sam looks down. "Right, sir."

"Look, right now, since our other investigators are busy and your partner's sick today. I'm gonna have to come with you."

"Yes, sir."

The police car slows as an alleyway comes into view. The once dark outdoor hall now lights up thanks to the lone moon in the sky and the car headlights and siren. Sam and Sanford glance at the graffiti sprawled all over the walls and floor as they stop the car.

Sanford gets out first and immediately feels the cold, dry air surrounding him as he walks to the dead body lying beside the end of the alley. Sam follows suit, covering his nose and mouth with his sleeve as the stench of the corpse grows stronger with every step. With such a noxious redolence forcing him to turn away, he sees the image of a white lion holding an ATP's mask.

Sanford has the body lie on its back. The position reveals a wound on his throat, alongside dried yellow blood all over its suit and the ground.

Sam turns to see the body. "You think it might be a Soldat?"

"Doubt it," Sanford answers as he inspects the carcass's face. "Soldat's were smarter than the other guys."

"Anything to see?"

"Not much. Doesn't seem to have any bruises in his head." Sanford turns back to his temporary partner. "Be sure to use your training to check the rest of the scene. Don't want to make any assumptions before all evidence is present."

The rookie looks back at the painting. "What about this?"

"What about what?" Sanford asks as he leaves the lifeless husk.

Sam points at the white lion. "This."

The white lion holding an engineer's mask comes to Sanford's view as well as the phrase below it:

Ab Ipso Ferro

Sanford runs his finger against the white paint. The residue on the brick and mortar wall smudges as the tip of his forefinger has a faint white hue. Both he and Sam take a closer look on the yellow for the ATP mask painted.

Sam rubs the yellow on the wall, getting some on his hand. "What kind of paint has that pattern?"

"None that I know of."

Sam takes a whiff of it. "Smells nothing like paint."

Sanford mimics his inferior's actions. "That's synthetic blood."

"Really?"

"I'd recognize it anywhere. Whoever killed this man used his blood as paint."

"You think it's part of a message?"

Sanford winces. "What else would it be? Call the station if there's been any other sighting of a painted white lion near the crime scene."

Sam flinches as he takes a few steps back. He grabs his radio and proceeds to move further away from his boss.

"Y-yes sir."

While the rookie talks through his radio, Sanford keeps his attention squared directly at the painted image before him. Sifting through any possible clue it might give him; any other message to give.

Sam returns to the crime scene as he puts his radio away. "There's been at least four other sightings of a painted white lion next to the dead bodies. Anything else we need to do?"

"Call the cleanup team and look for any clues we might have missed," Sanford orders as he begins to exit the alley.

Sam scrambles for his radio once again. "Where are you going?"

"Have a hunch to follow."

Back at the Station

Passing off-white walls and a half empty water cooler, Sanford storms into the back lab of the police station. Some of the seven people are seated at their computers, while others stationed at printers and assorted fax machines on mahogany tables. The only visible light comes from the monitors themselves.

We really need to change some of the lights.

Everyone jumps as their boss walks by them with a stern scowl.

"One of you, find me a place where someone bought a shit ton of white paint. Now!"

With the command thrown at them, all the desk workers begin their search. A few minutes pass and one of them yelps.

"I've found something!"

Sanford walks to the voice and sees a small woman at her computer looking up at him with cautious optimism. He leans towards the computer, blocking any glare from the ceiling lights.

"What'd you find?"

"Turns out there's a place called 'Al's Paint Shop' that's had several exorbitant orders of white paint."

"Can you print me the address?"

The desk officer presses a few keys and clicks her mouse. "Of course."

The printer sounds off. Within a few moments, a paper with the address, opening and closing times of this "Al's Paint Shop" comes out.

Sanford takes the paper. "Thank you, Deputy Ramirez."

The Deputy smiles as she notices him leave. "Any time, chief. Are you going to search for the owner?"

He turns back to her. "Not tonight. It'd be best I question him when shop opens up in the early morning."

"Whatever you say, sir."

The Next Morning

Sanford arrives to the proverbial "Al's Paint Shop" in his white Ford Escort. The dawn sun reflects off the glass of the shop and into his eyes. He parks his car in the shared parking lot for the paint shop, as well as the bookstore next door. Turning off the engine, Sanford gets out of the car, folder in hand. He feels the warm air enveloping him.

CLUNK!

Turning to the sound, Sanford spots a young man wearing a leather jacket. The young man fumbles with his tools, all the while chasing a rolling paint bucket, until it stops at Sanford's heel. The artist hastily grabs it and walks to his car, not at all noticing the person in front of him.

Sanford looks back at the address. "Looks like the place."

Bells by the door sound off as Sanford enters the shop. The person at the desk waves at him.

"Hello there! Any specific paint you have in mind for me to get?"

"Eh, sort of."

The register tilts his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Sanford presents his badge to the register. "I'd like to talk to the person in charge of the place."

"You're looking at him," the desk man says as he reaches his hand out to shake. "Albert."

Sanford shakes his hand. "Evanson."

"What seems to be the problem, officer?"

"Chief," Sanford corrects. He takes out a few pictures of crime scenes, all with the white lion painting. "There's been a few murders with this symbol as a sort of calling card."

The store owner takes a close look at one of the paintings.

"I was wondering if you have any idea what it might be about," Sanford continued.

"Not a clue. What does it have to do with my shop?"

"It turns out, you've had a customer come here that's ordered a gratuitous amount of white paint from you. I would like to know who it is."

"Well…" Albert pauses. "It's not going to be such an easy task."

"That kind of thing happens all the time?"

"Not exactly. The thing is that I have four people that made an order like what you're describing."

"Can you give their names and addresses?"

"Of course." Albert turns to his office. "Give me a minute."

As Albert gets to the back of the shop, Sanford turns to the assortment of paint that imbues the store. In spite of the strong smell, shelves and containers are empty.

That Al better hurry up with those names. Paint smell's making me dizzy.

After another nauseating five minutes, Albert comes back with a piece of paper in his hands.

"Here you go, chief."

Sanford takes the paper. "Thank you. I noticed that you happen to have a shortage right now-"

Albert waves him off. "Oh no, I've just been able to sell so much paint thanks to all the rebuilding going on."

"Is that so?"

Albert nods. "Yep. Majority of the the architecture has its paint and texture come from this store."

"How've you been able to get that much paint?"

"My kids and I make our own. Helps that I can get it for cheap from southern Texas."

Sanford begins to turn to the exit. "Anyways, take care."

"Oh, forgot something," Albert says as he reaches to the police chief.

Sanford turns back to him. "What?"

Albert points to the bottom of the list. "This one was just here a few minutes ago. He's probably halfway home by now."

Sanford folds the paper and turns to the door. "Thank you. Good day."

He grips the steel door handle and hears the bells sound off as he takes his exit.

After the oak door behind him shuts, Sanford looks to his watch.

Interesting, didn't take that long after all. Ab Ipso Ferro, From the Same Cloth. What does it mean?

Sanford opens his car door but hesitates as he hears a honk nearby. Turning to the sound, he sees Deimos in his Dodge Monaco, waving at him. The car slowly drifts to Sanford and the window rolls down.

"What brings you to this place?" Deimos asks.

"I'd ask you the same thing."

Deimos pulls out a children's book. "I came here to get something for my kid. What about you?"

Sanford leans in the open window. "I'm here for my investigation."

Deimos' face lights up. "You think I could help you out?"

"Don't you have a company to take care of?"

"Not today."

"Alright, but it'll be best if we use one car."

"Got it."

Sanford gets into his car and follows Deimos out of the driveway and into the road. Spray-painted road signs invade his vision. Uneven concrete make the roads a bumpy ride as they navigate out of this part of town.

Why is it that road reconstruction only happens to the roads that need it least?

As they finally get to Deimos' house, the garage door is already open. The other car is nowhere to be seen.

It would be a bit funny if Henry was right about Mary.

Deimos pulls into his garage as Sanford parks beside the lawn. Through Sanford's side mirror, he sees Deimos rush out of his car and get straight into the police cruiser.

"I thought you were going to give that book to your daughter."

"I will, eventually."

Sanford drives the car into a U-turn. "You didn't go to that specific store for that book, didn't you?"

Deimos gives a big grin, trying to stifle a laugh. "Well…"

"How'd you find me?"

"One of your officers told me where you went."

"This was supposed to be a private investigation!"

Deimos nudges Sanford's shoulder. "So? Isn't it bad to keep secrets from your best pal?"

"Forget it. Hopefully you can help with some of these subjects."

Sanford hands Deimos the list of names and addresses.

"Don't know any of these guys," Deimos says as he puts the paper in a cup holder.

"I can see this 'help' is working out perfectly."

"You've been getting pretty sarcastic since Henry appeared."

"That may be, but it leaves me with a few questions."

"Like what?"

Sanford hands Deimos the picture of the white lion painting. "You have any familiarity to the phrase, Ab Ipso Ferro?"

"I know what it means, that's about it."

"Well, considering that painting was made while other AAHW murders were happening in the same night..."

"You're thinking that there's more than a few people involved in it?"

"Exactly. And with the case of Henry, where the Hell could that madman be if he's not already dead?"

"Thank you for your time," Sanford says as he gets up from his seat.

"You sure you don't want to keep some of my paintings?"

"If I wanted to have a white canvas on my wall, all I would need is a sheet of paper."

The artist grabs a black canvas, "Come on. What about a black sheep at night?"

Sanford facepalms, "Look, I'm not part of the demographic that enjoys your 'art.' Plain and simple."

The artist looks down. "Fine."

Sanford walks to the dark oak door and turns the cold brass knob. He pulls the door open and feels the wind whip his face. As he gets out of the apartment, the door closes behind him and the bolt can be heard locking the door.

With that out of the way, Sanford gets out of the building. He sees the uneven cement making the walkways and the small park in the center of the complex, surrounded by dead grass and an ash picnic table. Moving past all of that, he gets into the police car and sees Deimos slouching on the passenger seat, playing some game on his phone.

"He wasn't the guy?" Deimos asks as he turns off his device and puts it in his pocket.

"What do you think?"

Deimos shrugs.

Sanford starts the car. "I'm going to repeat myself because I'm genuinely concerned about your wife and kid. Shouldn't you be at your company?"

Deimos looks out the window, "Eh. It's already failing anyways. We're about to be absorbed by Apple soon, so it won't matter."

Sanford starts driving out of the parking lot and into the road. "You seem pretty calm about it."

Deimos rolls down the window. "Let's just say I have a plan. If it fails, I'm fucked. But if it succeeds… the world's gonna be a very different place."

Deimos lights a cigarette as Sanford slows the car down to a halt.

"What?" Deimos asks as he takes a puff.

"If what you're doing is going to cause problems for me, don't expect me to bail you out when things go to shit."

Deimos gives no response as he blows smoke out of the car as Sanford starts driving again.

"Deimos."

"Don't worry, Sanford. I'll have it under control."

"And what exactly are you going to be using to change the world?"

"I'm not at full liberty to say right now. We're trying to figure that out."

Sanford grumbles as he keeps his sight on the road. As they ride continues, they come across a run down house. The roof is warped and has water dripping from the sides. The yellow pine is covered in mildew and moss.

Deimos throws his cigarette out the window. "This is the last house. What makes you think you'll find your guy?"

"I don't know if I'll find him here," Sanford says as he gets out of the car.

Deimos turns back to tapping at his phone. Sanford continues his path along the sidewalk, hearing a German shepherd barking from across the street. Looking back at the house, he can see the wood making the southwest corner is warped to the point of near collapse. The yellow pine looks horribly scratched and marred, much more so than the rest of the small house.

As Sanford makes it to the front door, he notices that the hinges are barely holding it. Knocking, he hears muffled shuffling from inside. He waits for half a minute, then grabs the handle. As he pushes down the latch, he rips it from the tarnished door.

Sanford pulls out his phone. Punching in a few numbers, the line on the other end picks up after the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Deimos, start the car and get into the yard."

"Alright."

Once Sanford hears his police car start, he takes his pistol out of its holster and kicks the door. The hinges give way and the door falls flat on the floor.

As Deimos drives into the backyard, Sanford slowly enters the house until he can hear the wind from another room. He rushes to the bedroom, seeing a bed frame missing its mattress. All over the walls are white lion symbols and the same latin phrase from earlier:

Ab Ipso Ferro

As he turns to the doorframe, he sees the letters "AAHW" inscribed on top of the frame.

"SANFORD! FOUND THE GUY!"

He turns to the open window, where the wind was gusting into the room and climbs through. Once Sanford is outside, he sees a familiar face in the same leather jacket from the paint shop. Sanford points his .45 at the artist.

"How many people work with you?"

The artist raises his hands over his head. "Too many to count."

"Were you part of the AAHW?"

"I wish. Getting rid of Hank and you for ruining the system we had. Killing good men for your own, self-righteous Higher Powers."

"What significance does the lion have?"

The artist gives a grin ear-to-ear, flaring his browned teeth before running out of the yard. Sanford fires a shot beside the fleeing suspect, not phasing him in the slightest. Deimos pulls up right beside him, opening the passenger-side door.

"Hop on!"

Sanford jumps into the police car and hears the engine go off as Deimos speeds through the yard. They see the leather-clad suspect hop a wire mesh fence. Deimos drives right through it.

"San, how do you turn on the siren?"

Sanford presses a button on the dashboard and the lights turn on, alongside an ear-splitting siren. As they chase the suspect, he falls over on the sidewalk and starts rolling frantically. Deimos stops the car as Sanford exits and gets to the youth.

"Stay the fuck down, or I swear to God, I'll-!"

He never finishes that sentence as black flames engulf the artist. The familiar screams of pain and terror fills the air.

Running back to the police car, Sanford takes out a fire extinguisher from beside the passenger door. He starts spraying it on the burning victim, only to see the dark flames remain unflinched.

"What the Hell is this stuff?!"

"Uh, uhh! Shit, shit! Sanford, I think we're gonna need some holy water here!"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Deimos!"

As Sanford empties out the fire extinguisher, the suspect wails one last time before succumbing. As the life exits his body, the flames die down, leaving a charred and ghoulish corpse before the duo.

Sanford turns to his partner. "What the Hell was that?"

Deimos keeps his attention at the carcass. "I've got no clue. Think Hank might know what this is?"

"I don't know Deimos. I really don't know."

"This is what happens if you fail your mission. Understand?" A man in a grey overcoat says, pointing at the scene before them.

The one in casual attire watches the police chief and his friend. "Yes, sir."

"Do you understand why this one failed his?"

"Yes, I do."

Across the road from the police car are two people sitting at a bus stop. One wears a black shirt and red tie covered by the overcoat with black pants and formal boots. The other wears a black t shirt and cargo pants with black sneakers.

The man in the overcoat gets up. "Good, now do your job."

"What're you going to do in the meantime?"

"An ally of ours is behind bars. I wish to change that fact."