The air was thick with the noise of yelling and screaming, throwing his thoughts into disarray and amplifying the strain on his already fraying nerves. The pressure building in his head wouldn't let up, worsened by the effort required to raise his voice above the surrounding gunfire. Dust swirled in dense clouds, kicked up by the blades of hovering helicopters. As he pressed himself against the gritty ground, his throat ached, raw and tender from trying to shout commands to his team. Beside him lay Kenneth, a squadmate whose once-bright eyes had become dull and lifeless, sending a chill of dread through him like blood seeping into the earth below.
What gnawed at his gut wasn't just the loss of his comrade; it was the cold detachment of his unit around him, especially the man in black whose face was hidden behind dark sunglasses. This figure looked down at him, his expression flat and emotionless, as if he was merely observing rather than participating in the chaos. With a deep, gravelly voice that carried an unsettling calmness, he presented an ultimatum: "You either take the deal, or you'll end up like them—just with more paperwork and… well, knowing your family." He pointed to two of Slade's fallen squadmates. "They followed you and now they're gone. For nothing, just like this village that the world doesn't care about unless you accept the deal. It's not personal; it's just my job."
Slade tried to assess the situation, his eyes scanning the area. The screams had quieted, but the sporadic gunfire continued, cutting through the air along with his unit leader barking orders. "Light 'em up, boys!" the leader shouted, his voice slicing through the haze of destruction. Flames erupted behind the man in the suit, rising like a vivid flame against the surrounding chaos.
"Fuck you, spook," Slade growled back, his voice a painful rasp laced with resentment. The suited man's expression remained impassive behind his sunglasses, which he lowered to reveal eyes as pale and lifeless as a corpse. Before Slade could react, a rifle butt struck his skull, plunging him into darkness.
He startled awake, coming back from what felt like a fall into the abyss, breathless. Instinctively, he reached for the gun he thought rested under his pillow, but his fingers only found cool fabric. "Another nightmare? You had one yesterday too," a gentle, soothing voice asked, wrapping around him like a comforting presence. Slowly, he opened his ice-blue eyes to see the familiar reality of his old room—the place he once thought of as home, now frozen in time like a preserved memory, though it carried a hint of earthy scent. The clock on the side read 10:30.
Glancing toward the foot of the bed, he spotted Emari watching him. Her striking deep brown eyes, reminiscent of her father's, sparkled with a blend of concern and affection. Her long, silky black hair flowed over her shoulders in a graceful cascade, but today, the absence of her usual smile felt unusually unsettling.
Slade responded, his voice gravelly as he sat up and wiped the beads of cold sweat clinging to his forehead. 'Most of my nightmares are just memories now.' Emari's intense gaze was fixed on him for a moment before she turned away, moving to his desk and rummaging through her bag. 'I'm really sorry for using your room to mix my herbs. It's just...' She paused, looking back at him, the light catching her eyes as she glanced down. '... Dad really missed you.'
With a gentle touch, she took out a small, transparent case that held her homemade herbal capsules, which seemed to be alleviating his nausea, handing him another. 'I missed you too, punk,' he said, a genuine smile breaking through the heavy fog in his mind as he took one of the capsules and swallowed it.
'Don't call me that,' she said, stepping closer, her tone softening the moment. 'And it's Nurse Punk to you. If Dad has me stitching your leg again, you'll have to call me Doctor Punk.' She paused, a mock seriousness crossing her face. 'But really, I'm not twelve anymore.'
Slade let out a deep laugh. 'Oh right, how could I forget? You're a big girl now.' Emari responded with a playful slap on the head, prompting him to mumble, 'The old man probably broke a record yesterday with how many times he smacked me. Don't tell me you're trying to top that,' as he rubbed the side of his head in mock indignation. Emari held out the clear container, her eyes sparkling mischievously. 'That was for not calling me as often as you said you would. Plus, for keeping me in the dark about everything going on with you.' Though her words were light, there was clear concern behind them.
Slade looked at her, holding back the urge to roll his eyes at her jab; phone calls were a luxury he rarely could indulge in.
As Emari walked to the bedroom door, she said, 'Also, Dad thinks you need a haircut. You looked like a hobo on television with the picture you're using... just my opinion. I'll be back in a bit,' and she closed the door behind her, though he could have sworn he saw a smile on her face. She knew how much he disliked grooming. Emari had always preferred his hair shorter and used to be the one cutting it back when he lived there. She would collect the hair for charity, joking about making a wig for herself one day. He chuckled at the memory, glancing around the room. Dust hadn't settled where he expected; maybe Emari or Yori had tidied up. He noticed an array of colorful plants on his desk and the window—gardening was never his thing.
With a determined grunt, Atticus pushed himself up from the bed and began a slow walk around the room, feeling as if things were slightly out of place. Everything was in its designated spot, but the disarray still bothered him, leading him to fix minor misalignments as he moved. He peeled off his worn coyote t-shirt in search of something more suitable, but a thought nagged him. Most of his old clothes were probably too tight, almost like a cocoon, especially the jackets. As he rummaged through a couple of shirts, he felt a mild annoyance creeping in—the simple act of putting on a new shirt was quickly turning into a small wardrobe crisis.
After struggling with a handful of shirts, his frustration peaked, and he tossed them aside in irritation. "Not one loose shirt!" he muttered under his breath, reflecting on his growing dislike for restrictive clothing. Each shirt's tightness only fueled his annoyance, a truth he was hesitant to confront amidst his other quirks. He thought about stretching a shirt or two, determined to salvage his morning routine. Pulling at the fabric in an effort to create a bit more space, he only succeeded in ripping three shirts before he gave up. The idea of wearing the coyote brown shirt crossed his mind, but he still found it unappealing.
As he stood there, he sighed; anxiety and paranoia gnawed at him, and his dwindling pack of cigarettes wasn't going to calm his nerves from the Sunday night, especially after hearing that his Uncle Koi and Sara had been discovered outside Raccoon City, brutally dismembered. The thought felt like a dark void expanding inside him. Koi had been the catalyst for Yori's change in direction, alongside Emmy, whom Atticus regarded as a mother figure. Still, he knew it must hurt Emari even more; Emmy was her mother—the very reason she had pursued nursing with such passion.
In the middle of the room, lost in his somber thoughts, the light streaming through the window highlighted his scars, particularly the lash marks that crisscrossed his back. Just then, the door opened again, and Emari entered, holding a small black container. He glanced over to see her wide-eyed and flushed, quickly looking away, her hair falling in front of her face like a curtain as her head bowed. She extended the box toward him by the handle, keeping her eyes on the floor. He had always tried to keep these things hidden; people usually asked questions, and that would just give Emari one more question to hold against him. "Shit, sorry," he said, pulling on one of the snug shirts. The uncomfortable fit felt like a second skin, pinching at his chest hairs like annoying insects. He set the black container on the bed and turned to Emari, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "Did Dad say anything about finding any booze or...?" he asked her.
Emari's face flushed even more. "I'm sorry, I meant to… figure out how to put some more back in there. But Dad took the guns years ago," she replied quietly. Atticus's jaw dropped briefly before he let out a deep, throaty laugh that gradually grew louder. Emari looked up, confused as he held his stomach slightly. "Oh, I needed that. You didn't tell me you were a sneak thief. Let's maybe keep that from Dad; I'm sure he'd do more than just pop me on the head if he found out about it, might think I influenced it," he said, smiling at her as he turned to face her fully.
"My friends talked me into it… I thought you had given up drinking ages ago," she said bashfully, smiling up at Atticus. He shook his head, choosing not to ask how she found out about his hiding spot or if her friends were in his room too—though he was curious.
"Shall we just get this over with?" he said with a hint of sarcasm. Emari's face brightened as she pulled out his desk chair and gave it a friendly pat. "Should I tie you down?" she joked, laughing lightly. He settled into the chair, which creaked under his weight, while Emari retrieved the clippers from a box on his bed and began talking to him. "So… did you have anything specific in mind?" she asked, giving him a playful smirk as her hair fell to the side. Atticus shot her a sideways glance and replied flatly, "I'm guessing you have something planned?" Emari jumped back into her spot and giggled softly, "Maybe." Atticus raised an eyebrow and turned his head just before she could start, saying, "Not too short, and definitely nothing like the trends you kids are into these days."
The clippers buzzed to life, and he felt the vibrations as they trimmed his hair. He shifted nervously, feeling a bit tense as Emari held him steady, her tone slightly annoyed. "Sit still; you'll mess it up." Atticus tried to comply; the small mirror on the wall showed him his reflection, provoking a sense of unease. He focused on anything but his own face—perhaps on Emari, the window beside the desk, or the vibrant herb plants on the very same desk.
He struggled; the sound of the clippers morphed into the sound of gunfire as he fixated on his own eyes, hearing distant screams, feeling his skin pale and begin to decay, his eyes watering and fading to a milky white. Emari's scream jolted him, and in a fit of hunger, he threw his head back and bit down into her throat, blood spilling out as he tore out her throat, her screams gurgling as the meat and gristle tore away. A loud snap snapped him back to reality.
A loud snap snapped him back to reality "hey, earth to mothership, are you in there? I just cut your hair; there's no need to act like I just neutered you." He turned to her, still dazed. "I, uh... I love the haircut; just checking in with home." Her expression turned concerned as she spoke softly. "Don't want to discuss it?" Atticus shook his head. "Honestly, you'd think I belonged in a mental institution; maybe they'd make me their show pony." Emari crossed her arms and leaned back with a disapproving look.
"First off, I've always believed you could use some time in a mental health facility. Second, I treated your knife wound, bandaged your cuts, and disinfected that cuff on your wrist; I just can't wrap it. Then third, it's been years since we've seen each other, and suddenly you show up with Dad, with that knife wound, and end up fainting on the kitchen floor. We all had to drag your heavy self up those stairs. Thank goodness it was delivery night! I deserve to know something. You're making headlines; they're calling you a butcher. They've set up roadblocks outside the city, a perimeter, Atticus. Does this implicate the kitchen staff, too?" Atticus sat there for a moment, trying to make sense of it all, unprepared for Emari's outburst. He could see tears threatening to spill, but she seemed to hold them back, finishing with, "And then there's your thrashing in your sleep. Dad won't fill me in on what's happening; it's so frustrating not being kept in the loop."
Atticus rose from his chair and turned to Emari, grappling for the right words. He thought, "What about saying something like, 'Hey Emi, there are zombies outside just like in those Night of the Living Dead movies. Go on, take a look for yourself,' though he wasn't sure he wanted to share that at all. After clearing his throat, he began, "I… this year, well, the last couple of years have been a nightmare; it's all pretty overwhelming. Honestly, I'm not sure how to explain it to you." His tone turned somber as he continued in a hushed voice, "I… I can't discuss it. Especially not what happened the other night." Emari shot him an irritated glance and insisted, "Atticus, you need to tell me."
Feeling defeated, Atticus let his shoulders slump and glanced at the floor before meeting Emari's gaze. Could he really share this with her? Maybe he could explain why he's being called a butcher on live TV. He cleared his throat again, "I… I'm pretty sure a zombie tried to attack me; it smelled and looked like one, and it seemed to be bleeding. I'm almost convinced it took out one of the guards. Then… I think I had a fright in the night, and the old man brought me here."
As he finished speaking, he heard the sound of a slap before feeling a sharp pain on the left side of his face, her voice piercing through, "You've always been an emotionless jerk," as Emari's angry cries faded, slamming the door behind her as she exited the bedroom. Atticus kept his gaze fixed on the spot where her force had hit him, an air vent on the floor. "Maybe starting with zombies wasn't the best idea; I wouldn't have believed it either," he murmured to himself before collapsing onto his bed.
"Yeah, you probably should have started with how you got your friends killed," a smooth southern voice chimed in, accompanied by a grin that highlighted his strong jawline and twinkling light brown eyes. He could almost look like Captain America if not for the bullet holes in both sides of his temples showing where blood had come out both ends, yet one was clearly the exit wound. Blood had soaked into his BDUs and tactical vest, staining them in dark hues of black and crimson over the varied shades.
"Looks like ya done seen a ghost, my friend. Maybe that's what happens when ya fail to bury your good buddy Kenny, and the rest of us rotting in that jungle didn't help either." Slade stared at him as Atticus pondered this; perhaps he was losing his mind. Now he was seeing the dead. He considered that maybe this apparition was just a figment of his imagination, though it felt all too real. "Oh yessir, your brain has definitely checked out. Doesn't necessarily mean some things aren't real, brotato chip. You're dodging the real issue here. Why are ya still hanging around? You should be moving, not playing nursemaid. The longer ya stay put, the more trouble your trouble catches up to ya. Ya need to track down the bag your old man took and get out of Raccoon City. Head for Costa Rica, or even further. Bid your Adieu, Raccoon city." Atticus's mind raced as he whispered, "Yeah, you're right; avoiding trouble might be best for everyone."
He rose to his feet, and Kenny watched him. "We both know the road is a lonely one, somethings wrong with this place. Plus, ya shouldn't have to carry any dead weight." Atticus shot Kenny a sidelong glance and retorted sharply, "They're not dead weight." Kenny chuckled, "Well, there's clearly something in your noggin there that's toying with that idea, or I wouldn't be suggesting it."
Atticus glanced around, lost in his thoughts while his fingers rubbed together anxiously. He knew he had to leave; it was crucial to sneak into Yori's room, grab his go-bag, and escape the city, even if the others chose to stay. It was only a matter of time before things went south; even those who believed in luck often failed to grasp that luck could swing both ways and depending on it was downright foolish. His priority needed to be formulating an escape plan, not catching up with his sister.
He had just moved toward the door when he heard footsteps and muffled voices echoing in the hallway. They sounded like they were in a heated conversation and coming closer, so he pressed himself against the wall next to the door as the knob turned. Instincts kicked in when the door swung open, revealing Yori's balding head and his sister's long black hair as she said, "I thought I heard—" before trailing off, startled to see Atticus. A woman with long brown hair whipped around, her bright green eyes widening in shock as Atticus lost his footing while trying to pull out of his punch. The intense sting of pepper spray hit him in the face, accompanied by the woman's surprised yelp, Yori's rapid-fire Japanese, and Emari shouting, "Oh no! Wait!"
As his back hit the wall, Atticus coughed and growled, struggling to make sense of the chaotic scene through the painful haze clouding his vision, his nose running from the sharp scent of pepper spray and burning rubber. He raised his hands to shield his eyes, fighting the urge to rub them. "Shit!" he yelled, knocking into a shelf and stumbling over a chair near his bed, hair that had fallen around it creating a makeshift carpet. Emari was exasperated, saying, "Were you about to attack us?" The woman he vaguely recognized as Lily stepped closer to him. "I'm really sorry; you nearly made me scream," she said softly, giving him a wry smile that he could barely see.
Coughing and breaching to breathe, Atticus attempted to focus on her through his irritated eyes that were now watering and bloodshot. "Well, maybe we should try to avoid these kinds of encounters," he managed, forcing a brief smile. Kenny, sitting on the bed beside him, chimed in, "Bad news, brother. If she can track you down, think about who else might be looking. You're not using your head here, and if you are, it's the wrong one. You know she's a journalist. This could get messy."
Lily stepped a bit closer, noticing Atticus's quick glance toward the wall as her brow knitted for a moment before she spoke. "I… just wanted to ask if you could help answer some questions for me. I'm trying to piece things together and get your perspective, if that's okay?" She glanced down before meeting his eyes again. "Ideally, in private, but it seems your family has other ideas." Emari scoffed behind her, while Yori assessed the situation, placing a hand on Emari's shoulder. "Come, let's give them some space," Yori said quietly, offering Atticus a reassuring smile and a nod. However, Emari shot daggers at the back of the journalist's head as she was escorted out of the room.
As the bedroom door clicked shut, Lily turned back briefly before selecting a chair to sit down. "I need to ask you something," she said. "Did you kill that young girl and the man in the park the other night? And what about the soldiers in the Humvee—what happened to them? Can you also share some of your past with me?" She paused to catch her breath from the barrage of questions. Atticus, his face unreadable, shifted away as she leaned closer, his stinging eyes darting about as he contemplated how to sidestep her inquiries.
"I can't say anything about a man and a girl," he replied quietly, maintaining a steady gaze. "One guard died in the crash, and the other just… vanished." Lily fidgeted in her chair, then murmured, "What about the homeless man? Did you kill him like you did the other?" Atticus's eyebrows knit together, and he stood up, his voice firm. "He was already dead when I found him. I don't typically go around killing strangers for fun."
Lily straightened, looking him in the eye defiantly. Atticus sensed her hesitation, the slight quiver in her jaw and the unevenness in her brow as she spoke. "I just want to hear your story. Don't you care about the truth? Share your side of things. That's all I'm asking, Atticus."
His brows creased slightly, eyes flitting back and forth before he spoke coolly. "Nobody cares about the truth, especially here. You'll end up like everyone else. Honestly, I think I've done more than enough for you, Miss Vane." At the mention of her last name, she flinched, pulling back slightly. "How do you know my name?" she asked, her eyes narrowing then widening in realization. "You pickpocketed me," she stated, irritation creeping into her voice.
A ghost of a smile flickered on Atticus's face. "You're sharp, aren't you? At least your brains match the looks," he said. Lily flushed slightly and retorted, "Don't call me girl, you… you…" She pointed a finger at his chest, but Atticus raised an eyebrow and finished her thought. "…Butcher?" he suggested.
"Asshole. That's what you are," she shot back. "If you don't share your story, I'll… I'll tell them where you are," her voice trembled at the end.
Atticus fixed her with an unblinking stare that seemed to stretch on forever. Finally, she swallowed hard, nervously scanning the room as she edged back. Kenny clapped his hands in amusement. "This one's got some guts!" he exclaimed. "Shame she can't be threatening your family like that, brother. That kind of thing might get someone killed. Come on, what does she weigh, a buck forty? You could throw her like a ragdoll."
Atticus closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and finally said, "Alright." Lily exhaled in relief and looked up at him. "Okay, just stop looking at me with that tone, alright?" Atticus crossed his arms. "No promises. So, how do we do this? I want to get it over with." He noticed Lily rummaging in her purse until she pulled out a camcorder, making him shift uncomfortably. "Can we skip the camera?" he asked as she turned it on, looking at him. "Well, it's hard for people to argue with video footage like they can with audio," she replied.
Atticus rolled his eyes, and Lily observed him for a moment, her face unreadable. "So, let's begin with the night you helped me," she suggested, glancing between him and the camcorder resting in her lap as she started to record. He shifted uncomfortably between her and the camera. "All of it?" he asked. Lily nodded, smiling.
He glanced around, trying to figure out what to say, and then took a deep breath. "I was being transported to Regason for a premeditated Article 118 case. It was essentially a death sentence. Anyway, we took a detour near Raccoon, and there was someone in the road. We veered off the side, and the corporal… Mick or Mitch? He was killed on impact with the side of the vehicle," he explained, sighing as he sought the right words.
"The private got out because the Humvee lost power, so we had no radio contact. He went to check on the person in the road, and I saw my chance to escape," he continued, maintaining a neutral expression, though his eyes still stinging and slightly watered, were searching harder for the right words. "There was shouting, then gunfire… then it went quiet. Soon after, this… guy showed up. He was dead, no other way to put it," he stated. Lily's reaction caught him off guard; instead of horror, she seemed curious and leaned in, encouraging him to keep going. "The guy started climbing into the Humvee, and when I kicked him, it broke one of the cuff links from the force. I tried to grab the corporal's gun, but… I panicked when the dead guy started coming back inside…" Lily raised her hand. "Hold on… how did you know he was dead?"
Atticus stared at her for a moment, uncomfortable with the need to describe such a vivid memory. He described the scene—the sights, sounds, and smells—which made Lily pause slightly, but she didn't seem shocked or disbelieving, even at the mention of the groaning and hanging eye. That fact weighed on him. It felt like she was making him relive that night and it felt to Atticus that she knew more than she let on, and then she started another recording. "Can you tell me what brought you to the death penalty?"
Atticus' eye twitched as he briefly glanced at an air vent, his jaw tightening. "I can't," he replied, keeping his gaze steady. Lily tilted her head, shaking it. "Why not?" There was something in her tone, like a news reporter delivering information. With a heavy sigh, he spoke slowly, each word feeling heavy in his throat. "I wouldn't take the money, and I refused to cooperate… I'm being framed for the murder of an entire village along with my three squad mates," he explained, the weight of his words pressing down on him.
"In January, we were sent into a remote part of the Amazon rainforest. We were airdropped into a clearing, but the helicopter couldn't make a full round trip. We spent two or three days trying to navigate through the jungle; some of the guys started developing jungle rot on their feet and got frustrated trying to locate a supposed rebel camp hidden in that damn jungle." His gaze wandered, avoiding Lily's eyes, fixating instead on the air vent again as he continued. "Ethan Garedy, our comms expert, came to me and a few others after intercepting some talks from our chief. From what he shared, they were calling the target 'subjects' and mentioned needing to 'sanitize' the area."
Atticus stood up, walked over to a floor air vent, crouched down, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of rye whiskey. Lily watched him worryingly as he approached the window, glanced outside, and then uncorked the bottle, taking a drink to dull the sharpness of his memories. "You know you shouldn't be telling her; they'll kill her too, and you know it," Kenny's smooth Southern drawl interrupted, prompting Atticus to turn his head slightly in acknowledgment before redirecting his gaze back to Lily, who had raised an eyebrow.
Atticus continued, "When we got there, there weren't any rebels, no compound, no weapons — just a group of sickly villagers. Some looked like their skin was rotting, while others seemed deranged and paranoid. The only thing that stood out was a figure lurking in the shadows. Umbrella must have been involved; they were offering hush-hush mercenary contracts. Biohazard countermeasure if I recall. We four turned them down. They shot the other three and threw me to the ground; that's when—" His voice trailed off as he shot a glance through the window and leveled a slightly frustrated look at Lily. "I thought I told you not to call the cops on me!" he growled.
Lily's eyes widened as she stood up. "I didn't call! I was just bluffing," she said, moving closer to the window. Atticus, now with a jacket draped over his back, spoke condescendingly, "Did you happen to leave the hospital before they had a chance to question you?"
"Well, I—" she hesitated, her hand going to cover her mouth. "I'm so, so sorry." Her wide emerald eyes met his. Atticus waved her off dismissively, tucking torn shirts under his mattress to cover any signs of his presence. "It's fine; just say you're a family friend or something. Unfortunately, Yori adopted me, and they'll check while they're here." He looked at the nearly empty bottle in his hand. "Damn it," he said, handing it to Lily. "Just hide this somewhere. I'll slip out the back. They have no idea I'm here."
Shoving the bottle into Lily's hands, he reached for the door handle, glancing back at her with a neutral expression. "I didn't kill anyone in the village if that's what you were thinking. I'm not saying I'm innocent, though. They wiped out everyone, burned the whole village, and then covered it up, writing a report that framed me and my men as a murderous rampage. I can't remember how they spun it, just in case the local government caught wind." Then he stepped out into the apartment hallway, leaving Lily's eye's, they seemed sympathetic.
He approached the stairwell door, cracked it open, and listened carefully. Muffled voices and the sound of dishes clanging echoed from the floor below. Feeling a sense of ease in his alcohol-induced fog, he moved further down the hallway towards a window at the far end, sliding it open to access the fire escape before climbing through. Cursing himself for drinking, he nearly lost his balance as he stepped onto the balcony, grabbing the railing just in time before descending the stairs.
When he reached the ladder, he kicked it free, the sound of metal clanging against the rails echoing loudly as he dropped. Without wasting any time, he climbed over and slid down the ladder. "Hey! Hold it!" a voice shouted from the end of the alley as he turned, squinting through the stinging haze that watered his vision to see an officer rounding the corner from the direction of the police station. "Crap!" Atticus muttered as he realized the predicament he was in.
"Good hidey-hole, Slade! Run!" Kenny bellowed at him. Atticus smacked a couple of trash cans next to him across the path of the officer, turning on his heel, losing his balance thanks to the alcohol, and bolted in the opposite direction toward City Hall. The officer gave chase, speaking into their walkie. Hell, he thought, they're calling for backup. His eyes scanned back and forth, his arms and legs pumping toward the passing traffic and scattered pedestrians under the overcast sky.
Exiting the mouth of the alleyway, he pushed past a couple of pedestrians, startled by the force with which they were pushed to cross the street, sliding over the hood of a parked car before he heard the rev of an engine, feeling the impact of his body against a metal hood before being sent tumbling across the asphalt, violently coming to rest on his stomach.
The heat of the asphalt seeped into his body, his skin stinging from the scratches and small pebbles embedded from the impact. "Stay on the fucking ground!" a man's voice bellowed over him, feeling the bottom of a boot pressing against his back as the barrel of a pistol pressed into the back of his head. He looked up to see passing pedestrians watching, whispering and talking amongst themselves with faces of intrigue and fascination as they witnessed the scene unfolding before them. The sound of more feet hitting the roadway had increased, and he felt his arms being pulled behind his back as a knee dug into his back, then the cold clicking of handcuffs biting into his skin as the officer on him radioed "This is unit 13 we have the butcher, suspect being detained near City Hall by the intersection at Park and Elm"
Kenny knelt down in front of Atticus, a wry smile on his face as he shook his head. "You knew better, man. You should have listened to yourself and left long before Miss Pretty Eyes came looking for answers. At least you're leaving... just not the way you wanted," his arms opened wide, gesturing around him. More police cars' tires protested, their sirens piercing the air. Everyone was trying to get a view as more arriving police began to keep the crowd back.
"Now you've really screwed the pooch," Kenny jeered, looking over to his side. Atticus followed his gaze to the sidewalk. Emari and Yori were watching him. Emari's eyes were wide with worry; the journalist Lily had a grave expression, recording the scene with the camcorder. Yori's face was more disappointed, and it seemed to cut into him from a distance, adding to the sinking feeling dropping down his gut.