At first, it happened to be a blip in the grand scheme of things, a situation in which a man was a victim of circumstance, burned alive into whatever was left of his charbroiled remains. A truly despicable crime, with the gall to burn away any and all leads they could have had onto the culprit of the crime. Then came another pile of burnt remains singed to the bone, then groups coming in indescribable shapes, and then it all came to a head when there was no coincidence in sight. The nighttime scenery couldn't change the utter truth that there was a serial arsonist coming into fruition, and god be damned if Detective Tsukauchi could not find him. He had various things piled onto his ever-growing plate that normally would have him running on empty into sleepless nights, working into the dawn of a new day in search of suspects, yet animosity was growing far too quickly for his liking.
Starting in the Osaka prefecture, nearly a 4 hour drive from his station in the Shizuoka prefecture, is where the terror started in Shinsekai. Dating back to 1912, the city was modeled after the most modern and chic streets that could be replicated to imitate Paris, opening a gigantic amusement park by the name of Luna Park. Its history of errant fires coinciding within a short amount of time caused the booming entertainment factory to shut down within 11 years. It surely doesn't help that this serial arsonist is attempting to replicate such fires in a much larger scale, bringing human lives into stake and horrifying the locals with case after case slowly moving east to Kanagawa. As if the flames cremating the dead were sparking retribution, dragging more lives along their path.
Sighing, Naomasa ran his calloused fingers through his stringy hair, flinging them back as if they were curtains formerly casting a shadow on his face.
"Yet another one," he rhetorically said to himself, slamming the driver's side door shut and lifting his beige trilby hat up to his chest.
"Looks like this perp's not letting up anytime soon," Sansa stated, whistling at the already blackened area around the entrance of the alley they were deployed to inspect.
Of course, the further the villain moved east, the closer they were to the gallows, with Musutafu being the golden gates for the epicenter of heroism, with the likes of UA alumni patrolling and working towards investigating crimes. It didn't help that more heroes suited to the limelight of polls and rankings would shy away from such a gruesome case, with their one and only back up being none other than the underground hero, Eraserhead. When the stacks of paperwork grew too thick and were heavy enough to flatten his absent-minded fingers in the middle of his investigation, he immediately grimaced and shot a pleading look at Sansa while gritting out his alias.
The man himself, Aizawa Shota was utterly transfixed at the case in front of them, cautiously detecting slight details that the police may miss, keeping his foreboding presence in the background of his silent demeanor. He was currently viewing the scene from various differing perspectives, attempting to calculate motives, and look out for anything of vital importance. Scarf acting as an immediate capture weapon, rationality was imbued within every facet of his being. Missing any key details could cost them dozens of more lives, in such a way that their bodies would lock up and be contorted through a disgusting act of singeing. While the occurrence rate of the criminal's appearances appeared to be haphazardly strewn, both of the middle-aged individuals knew there was far more to it than just that.
Bringing his hands to rustle his morning shade grit on his chin, Aizawa sniffed, "The man has a personal vendetta. All of the 10 victims were known to be involved in minor, petty theft, prostitution, or plainly nuisances to the areas they lived in."
The plain-faced detective shifted his attention to his ally, nodding in affirmation to his deductive reasoning, then making his way further into the alleyway before noting a minor discrepancy, if nothing more than that. Brick of usually maroon and dusty orange arrangements were dyed into a diverse amount of greys and blacks staining the infrastructure of the walls, the floor being no exception. The elongated and large radius of the crudely star shaped black area below their feet was tracking one set of loafers they had already ID'd as being stolen from a convenience store, size 11 belonging to someone of a tall male stature. Despite the amount of deaths caused by this single man, they had not been able to pin him and identify him for only one reason; like a never-ending desert, one blindly reaches for an oasis even through the illusion-induced dehydration, much like there was no river to be found in this desert of casualties they arrived to. No evidence other than what can be obviously gathered, the most they can do for the moment is merely to attempt to locate the whereabouts of a person that has not been seen by a single witness, the only saving grace being the villain not trying to cover their tracks.
"He must be searching for a place of residence, or housing if his patterns are correct," Tsukauchi remarked clinically, his sights set on capturing and bringing the murderer to justice. Another shuffling of steps by his policemen dusting the ground in search of any other prints they could find, like hungry dogs with ribs protruding in absolute desperation. If the intensity of the crimes spiked, the severity of the scorn would rise against the Police Department once again, and in the wake of heroes they could not do much to abate the concerns people had against the inferior force.
"If that's the case, I'll increase the number of patrols I have set in the however miniscule chance I may find our culprit," Aizawa doted out, turning around to catch the concise report one of the underclassmen had created to summarize what they had undergone. Poor police trainees and rookies didn't stand a chance between Shota and his pursuit of consistent, logical information as he had come to know, and only set out the more experienced on the clock to work with them.
Slipping his yellow, geometric shuttered goggles snugly onto the bridge of his pronounced arched nose, Eraserhead swung his tan-white fabric to wrap around a phone line, swiftly dragging himself up further onto the rooftops with his practiced and seasoned momentum. A cacophony suddenly arose from the receivers all of the policemen had on their belts, crackling yells and shouts spouting directions to a new sighting of a more frequent vigilante escaping in progress.
"Sir! Sighting of Psyche 6 blocks down and on route are two patrolling officers attempting to not lose them!" one yelled from farther away, Naomasa noting the urgency may lead to further complications in their line of work. Fixing his beige trilby atop his crown and speedily walking in long, purposeful strides to his vehicle, his equally beige overcoat settled in further wrinkles with the new movement.
"Well, we aren't police for show, are we? Let's head down there," he replied authoritatively, no room for questioning incited by his serious tone of voice beckoning his men to follow his actions.