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Ireturn to the scene of the most recent crime, a sad and filthy alley which extends the entire block, very narrow. It’s a choke point, and the sort of place most people avoid because it’s the sort of place one could easily be stabbed. The scene has been opened up to the public again, but it’s quite obviously not the sort of place people want to hang out. It smells of piss and worse things besides.
Is this really where the murderer is? Is he so arrogant as to stay near his last meal, slowly digesting the better parts of an unlucky son of a bitch?
Holy shit.
I see him.
Behind some rancid dumpsters, pressed against the filthy wall, wings out, the back of his head nearly flat with the building, he’s easy to miss. In the same way moths are camouflaged when they land on trees, he is camouflaged against the filthy brick alley wall. It makes me wonder if these creatures don’t have some ability to shift their appearance like a chameleon. That would have been useful to hear from Justice.
Rage the murderer must have been here the entire time, throughout the scene examination, while I was here with my party hat on. He was no doubt listening to our conversations, probably laughing at us as we expressed how grossed out we were.
I am not sure what to do. Having found a mothman is one thing but apprehending him is something else. I keep walking, not wanting him to know that I’ve found him. He probably can’t see behind his head, but I am sure he has some form of chimera awareness of his surroundings.
I could go and get Justice, but he can’t emerge during the day, and I can’t risk letting this criminal murderer go. So fuck it. I retreat from the alley, and I call for backup. “As many units as possible, converging on last murder location. No sirens. No lights. Take it easy. Suspect is asleep in the alley.”
Within ten minutes, there are six cruisers, three on each end of the alley. With a normal criminal, this would be the kind of pincer maneuver that helps us ensure there is no route of escape. I’m not so sure how it’s going to work with this kind of criminal. I never tried to catch a mutant before.
“Is the suspect armed, detective?”
“I don’t know. I just know he’s in there. Behind the dumpsters.”
I should tell them that he’s an eight foot plus moth, but my mouth refuses to form those words. I keep hearing them out of other people’s mouths in my mind, and I can’t be one of those people who says those things.
The officers approach from each side, guns drawn. I don’t know why they are bothering. In this tight an alley, facing one another, there’s a far better chance of shooting each other than there is of getting the monster.
I’m starting to feel guilty as they approach the spot I found Rage. I know that what is about to happen is going to change their lives forever. Any moment, they are going to come face to face with a creature unlike any they have ever seen, and I won’t be crazy when I talk about a mothman.
The officers reach the middle of the alley together and look around, clearing the area.
“We’ve got nothing. You sure you had a guy here?”
“He was up against the wall.”
“Well. There’s nobody here.” They look at me like I’ve wasted their time, which I suppose I have. I go down the alley and look for myself. They’re right. There’s absolutely nothing there whatsoever.
The uniformed officers are confused. I am confused.
“Alright, well.”
It’s awkward now.
The officer makes a thumb jerk gesture in the direction of his car. “We’ll get going. Let us know if you see any other murderers.”
I am left looking and feeling like a complete asshole. I walk the length of the alley and back to the spot he was. They’re not wrong. It’s just normal wall. I’m left wondering if I was wrong, if I ever saw him at all.
And then I look up. Above my head, he is splayed across the distance between two buildings, four arms and two legs pressed against the bricks on either sides. He is looking down at me with a broad, self-satisfied grin, and before I can so much as shout, he winks one red eye and flaps his wings, skittering up onto the roof.
“ASSHOLE!”
I give chase, up the liquor store, through the back, and then up the fire escape. I am not going to let him go. I am not going to let any moth asshole make me look stupid. I’m going to go up there, and I’m going to bring him down.
I burst up onto the roof, panting and with my gun drawn. Just as I figured, he’s on the roof. He can’t leave the roof without flying, and he can’t fly in daylight without exposing himself to more New Yorkers than we can count.
Up close, he looks a lot like his brother, but in an angrier, more murderous kind of way. Red eyes give themselves to a kind of natural intimidation. This is a scary motherfucker. His wings are jet black now. His clothes are simple. Blue jeans and boots. That’s it. He’s naked from the waist up, and his chest looks smooth and I’d say hairy, but it’s probably furry. The hair is dark brown, but I suspect he can change and shift that too. He’s different from Justice. His upper lip is curled back in a perpetual snarl, and I can see that his teeth are both sharp in some places, and flat and chew-ready in others. It suddenly makes sense why the bite patterns were so odd in the victims. It also makes it readily apparent that he ate them raw.
“You shouldn’t have come up here,” he says, seething visibly. His shoulders are rising and falling with deep breaths. It must take some effort to do a plank twenty feet above ground while half a dozen cops are searching for him.
“You shouldn’t have murdered a bunch of people. What did you think was going to happen?”
