"Captain, is there any chance that the dead child found in the wasteland was a victim of the Origami Killer?"

"We can't say for certain at this time, but my officers are investigating the death as a homicide. It looks to be another Origami victim."

"You said 'another' victim. How many other people has the Origami Killer murdered?"

"Not including this morning, we know of seven people that have been murdered by the Origami Killer. There was evidence of the same methodology used by the killer in all seven cases, suggesting this is all the work of one singular individual."

"If this is one individual, how are you certain that you will catch him and stop the killings?"

"The police department is pulling all of its resources in order to study and identify the killer. He's going to make a mistake sooner or later, and when he does, the PPD will be there to take him down."

Norman was too late to stop his quiet snort, and made even less effort to hide the shake of his head. A woman glanced up at him curiously, and he pushed off the back of the chair that he'd been leaning on, avoiding her gaze. He had to get out of there. The flashing of the cameras was going to give him a migraine if Captain Perry didn't give him one first.

He stepped out of the conference room and into the main lobby where the busy office sounds greeted him. Ambient phone calls, low voices, and the sounds of filing cabinets being opened and closed echoed through the spacious room. For a Philadelphia police station, it was actually quite calm. There was room to walk in between the office cubicles, and most of the police officers were sitting down at their computers. If he had known it would be this spacious, he probably wouldn't have requested his own office.

Blake hadn't said a word to him since he arrived at the station. Norman scanned the cubicles for the familiar dark hair and beard, and spotted him at the far end of the room. He had no reason to believe that Blake would spare even a minute to talk to him, but Norman felt restless. He didn't survive three hours of motion sickness from Washington to Philadelphia just to sit around in a conference room listening to the PPD talk about how they'd accomplished nothing in the past three years.

Norman moved through the cubicles, twisting his body occasionally to pass people who were seated in the walkways. When he arrived at Blake's desk, he leaned against it to get his attention.

"Captain Perry's at the press conference," said Norman. "Do you have time to talk about the case?" Blake tapped at his keyboard, eyes locked on the screen. Norman stared at him for a moment, biting his lip. "Did you hear me?" Blake continued to type without so much as a glance. Norman adjusted the ARI glasses in his coat pocket, feeling his frustration begin to rise. "Look, if we're going to catch the killer, the least we can do is put aside this… feud."

Blake paused and looked at Norman without moving his head. "You can start by getting off my fucking desk."

Norman felt his face flush, but forced himself to contain his frustration. He stood up straight and folded his arms across his chest.

Blake resumed typing. "Plus I don't have time to hold your hand through this investigation. You wanna help─ go get the information yourself."

Norman fought the urge to fling Blake's monitor across the room. He quickly scratched the back of his neck to diffuse his disgust as he moved away. "Fuck you too, Blake," he muttered under his breath.

His head was beginning to pound. It seemed the more he tried to involve himself in the case, the more resistance he was met by everyone. He'd participated in police investigations before but nothing of this magnitude, and certainly not with this level of disdain. It seemed so much to ask for one thing to go smoothly, or at least not completely berate him off the case.

Norman rubbed his forehead as he grabbed a cup from the water dispenser. He pressed the tab, and tapped when nothing came out. He pinched his eyes shut with his thumb and forefinger. One thing. Just one thing. He simply wasn't going to win. There was still time to call Washington and tell them his services were no longer needed. And if he did, he doubted the police department would say any different. Even as he considered it, he felt his stomach twinge. He'd at least give himself another day before suffering the drive back.

There was a heavy slam, and Norman spasmed in shock as the water dispenser rocked back and forth.

"Sorry. You have to pound the top of it like you're trying to murder it when they put a new tank in."

"Jesus…" Norman ran a hand through his hair, breathing deeply to slow his pounding heart. It took a moment for him to focus on the officer standing next to him, her brunette pony tail falling sideways as she gazed at him. She ran a thumb over her bottom lip and motioned to the water dispenser.

"It's um─ you can use it now." She took a small step back. Norman rubbed his forehead again as he threw her a sideways glance.

"Thanks." He held the cup under the tab as it filled with water.

"You're that FBI agent from this morning, aren't you?" said the officer. "You were at the crime scene."

Norman looked at her over the rim of his cup as he drank, and recognized the wide brown eyes he'd seen under the hood earlier that morning. He motioned with the empty cup. "Yeah." The exasperation rose in his chest as he flung the cup into the nearby trashcan. "Yeah, that's me."

She shrugged. "Well, if you need any help on the case, feel free to ask me or Lieutenant Blake. Perry's had us on the case for three years now." She shifted slowly from foot to foot, and Norman was reminded of a child asking a parent for permission to stay up late.

Norman gave a friendly nod. "Thanks. I think I got it all figured out."

The officer looked around as if trying to find something else to say. "Have they shown you your office?"

It was difficult for Norman to keep from groaning out loud. He kept it down to a small sigh, and part of his frustration was replaced by small, cynical rise in hope. At least there was someone in this city who was willing to work with him. He looked at the officer, and waved his hand. "No, not yet."

She moved next to him as she pointed to the other end of the room. "There's two offices there. The one on the left is yours." She pointed to a curly-haired woman sitting behind a desk near the offices. "If you need anything, the secretary will help you. Her name's Charlene. She's kinda slow, but she makes good coffee."

Norman nodded. "Okay, then." He scratched the back of his head again, and motioned to the officer. "Thanks." She smiled, and moved away.

Norman watched her as she left, and shook his head slowly. No wonder the Origami Killer hadn't been caught for so long. The officers running the case were either assholes or just plain crazy.

He moved past the cubicles, and opened the door to his office. A strong musty smell immediately hit him, and he peered through the dingy light. He thought for a moment he'd entered a large closet space, but as the dust settled around him, he saw a lopsided desk covered in stacks of paper. A rusty filing cabinet stood in one corner, and in between piles of newspapers was a chair with a missing wheel. Curtains of cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and the walls were patterned with chipped paint.

Norman doubled back and looked around the lobby as if expecting someone to correct him into a different office. This time they were sinking really low. When he'd asked for an office, he hadn't meant a storage closet.

He moved toward the secretary and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he said. The secretary turned to him. "I'm Agent Jayden from the FBI." He motioned over his shoulder. "I think they gave me the wrong office."

"No, that's the right one," said the secretary without looking at his gesture. "You wanted a quiet private office to work in?"

Norman began to reply, but his frustration paralyzed him. He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. Without a word to the secretary, he turned and entered the dingy closet space. It didn't take much for him to get the message, and it wasn't necessary for them to ram it down his throat. He closed the door and paused facing the scratched wood. With a heavy sigh, he rocked forward and smacked his forehead against it. Something tinkled from the ceiling and broke on the floor next to him.

The throbbing pain in his head wasn't going away, and Norman didn't expect it would anytime soon. He looked sideways at the office. As shabby as the office seemed, a desk and a chair was all he ARI would take care of the rest.

He walked to the desk and with a deep breath, he pushed the stacks of papers onto the floor which erupted in a cloud of dust. He waved the cloud out of his face, and headed to the chair. Gripping it by the backrest, he jerked it forward, catapulting the loose pages of newspaper onto the floor, and dragged it next to the desk with a heavy screech. Then he placed both hands against the desk, and pushed. The desk immediately wobbled and crashed as he walked it flat against the wall, and Norman was willing to bet his badge that the entire department was aware of his struggle in the makeshift office. Good for them to know they got exactly what they wanted.

Norman propped the desk level using a small stack of newspaper underneath one of the legs, and did the same with the chair. Then he stood up straight and admired his handiwork. He definitely wouldn't be taking any meetings in here. He dusted his hands, and caught sight of his suit which was now layered in dried dirt and white patches of dust. So much for his five-hundred dollar suit.

There was no point in standing around sulking. Norman sat at the desk, steadying himself on the wobbly chair. Perry clearly thought he was useless, Blake refused to work with him, and his environment was one giant trashcan. Norman fumbled with his chest pocket. At least there was one thing they didn't count on.

The surrounding dust was punctured by blue light as the receptors on the ARI glowed. Norman unfolded the glasses, and slid them casually over his eyes while he pulled the glove from his jacket pocket. As he fitted the glove onto his right hand, he felt his built-up frustration begin to break down. It was starting to feel more like home.

One thing was certain: he wasn't going to be staring at a wall of cobwebs all week. He pressed his hands together and drew them apart, the familiar tingling sensation stirring at his temples. A line of spheres appeared as if he were opening an accordion, spinning and bobbing in the air. Norman flicked his hand sideways, causing the orbs to rotate around him, and automatically put his hand against his favorite. He held his breath, and slammed the orb onto the surface of the desk.

The walls, cobwebs, newspapers, and filing cabinet melted away with a loud rush of air, leaving a void of darkness around him. White sand spread under his feet, and thousands of squirming blue dots floated over his head like frozen fireworks. Some of the dots drifted into the sphere of light that surrounded Norman's desk, taking the shape of bizarre fish and eels before fading back into the darkness. Far into the distance, a low moan caused the desk to vibrate, and an enormous dark shape moved through the shadows, creating a black path through the bioluminescent fish.

"Hey, Nessie," said Norman, flexing his hands. He breathed out slowly and flicked his wrist upwards, conjuring a ring of small objects in front of him. "Time to work."

The pounding in his head subsided a bit as he cycled through the bubbles of information he'd gathered from that morning. The tire tracks, the pollen, the orchid and origami figure… there wasn't much to analyze. He narrowed his focus like a beam on each object, scanning for traces of DNA or fingerprints. A faint signature glowed in the folds of the paper figure, and Norman cupped it in both hands, pulling his right hand away as he zoomed in. It was too small, and as he drew deeper, Norman felt his mind begin to scatter as if someone was shaking him violently. He pulled away, and gave his head a shake to clear his mind.

Aside from the body itself, there was little to no evidence that a murder had been committed. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear the police had purposely trampled the crime scene to destroy what little evidence was left.

Norman swept his arm over the desk and the bubbles shot away into the darkness. If he couldn't make headway at the crime scene, he might as well do some profiling. He dropped his hand flat on the desk and closed his fingers, pulling out an ethereal file. He released it and the file opened in front of him, the pages splaying evenly. There wasn't much information on the Origami killer, considering the killings had taken place over three years in such just one city. He flicked through the reports, narrowing his focus to absorb the information quickly. Eight victims, all in Philidelphia, bodies scattered throughout the wasteland near railroad tracks, orchids and origami figures… and absolutely no information on the killer himself. No witnesses or leads despite thousands of people questioned on the subject. The boys disappeared during the day and were found three to five days later, drowned in rainwater.

There'd been easier cases, that was for sure. Creating a profile from nothing was going to be frustrating, not to mention risky. Norman ran his finger over specific lines in the file, highlighting sections and pulling them out into the air. Then he pressed the tips of his gloved fingers onto the table, creating highlighted keyboard keys. He took a deep breath, then raised his left hand to the floating notes and began to combine them.

Philadelphia─ three years─ eight victims─ all boys─ railroad tracks─ orchids─ origami─ Norman flexed and twisted his left hand to touch each note, scattering some to the side and drawing others back. His right hand tapped away on the surface of the desk and highlighted keys which printed a separate ethereal sheet of numbers and statistics. Woman thirty-seven percent─ man sixty-three percent─ juvenile, young, middle aged, elderly─ asian, white, African American, hispanic─ vehicle─ weapons─ location─ motive─

Norman could never be sure how long profiling would take. He flicked his hands and looked back and forth quickly between the two stations, fighting the numbness in his temples. Overhead, the blue lights floated lazily, and the dark shape groaned as it spinned slowly behind him.

Norman gritted his teeth as he worked, flicking his hand more rapidly. Beside him, the profile sheet rolled in on itself, filling in pictures, maps, and charts. He scattered notes to the side and combined the last few. Then the sheet sliced off at the bottom, and Norman rocked back in his chair, breathing heavily as if he'd run a mile.

With a flick of his finger, he straightened the sheet in front of him. Now he had something to work with. He raised his hand to his glasses, and the scenery melted away in a low rumble, replaced by the drab environment of the office.

Norman set the ARI onto the table and leaned forward, rubbing the sides of his head. Not bad work, if he said so himself. Washington would certainly be proud of him if they could see him drawing an extensive profile from only a few notes and observations. Perhaps now Blake and Perry would be willing to listen to him.

He stood up, stuffing the glove and the ARI into his coat pocket. The sooner they were all on the same page, the sooner they could catch the Origami Killer, and the sooner he could go back to Washington. Norman moved towards the door.

His shoulder hit the wall, and Norman paused. The room around him grew dark as if a cloud had moved overhead. He didn't need to look at his hands to know they were shaking. He rolled back so he was flat against the wall, and struggled to control his breathing. It was happening. He knew it would, but there was no way to prepare for it.

Norman closed his eyes and slid down the wall onto the floor. Hopefully this time it would be less. If not, he still had…

He groaned as he put his forehead in his hands. His stomach wrenched, and his hands and feet tingled with needles. It was coming on sooner than usual. Norman breathed through his clenched teeth. He had to breathe. Breathing was the most important thing. His head swam, and for a moment, Norman felt as though he were floating through space. He straightened his back and stretched his legs, flexing his hands over and over to root himself again.

The pressure on either side of his head increased, and Norman bottled his scream. He ran his fingers through his hair and clutched as he began to rock back and forth. This was getting bad. But he hadn't been in the ARI for very long. Why was this time so much worse?

Norman opened his eyes, and saw only inky blackness. His entire body was tingling, and he could almost swear the blood was leaking through his skin. He slid sideways and fell against the tiled floor. There was no escaping it. He'd put up a fight, but it was beyond his control now.

He fumbled in his coat pocket, and quickly grasped one of the small vials. Staring blankly into the darkness, Norman pried the lid off the vial with his thumb and without hesitation, brought the vial to his nose, drawing the contents deeply into his lungs with one strong sniff.

The vessels in his body seemed to erupt, starting from his face and spreading outward to his limbs. His vision shifted from inky black to blinding white, and Norman could only watch in silent awe as the shattered office ceiling slowly morphed into view.

He lay on his back for several minutes, letting sensation flow back into his body. He could never get used to the feeling, as if his soul were slowly being poured back into him. He'd never understand it, and he didn't want to.

The glass vial rolled away as he raised himself into a sitting position. There was no more tingling. No more pressure. Norman breathed a heavy sigh. It was gone.

He stood up slowly and attempted to brush the dust off his suit. One of the pockets had torn, and streaks of permanent stains patterned his coat. He dropped his shoulders and closed his eyes. He was going to need a new suit.

There was a sudden crash as the door burst open. Norman steadied himself against the wall as Blake's form appeared.

"Hey, if you're done jerking off in here─" Blake looked around for a moment, and his eyes narrowed as he spotted Norman. "What the hell happened to you?"

Norman swallowed as he shook his head. Blake rested his hand on the doorknob. "Well, get your ass out here. We've got another kidnapping. Looks like it's the Origami Killer." Blake turned and left through the door, leaving it open behind him.

For a moment, Norman simply rested his shoulder against the wall and watched the bustle of movement in the lobby. His head was pounding again. Another kidnapping? The same morning a body had been found?

Norman sighed and crunched the glass vial beneath his foot. This was going to be a long week.