Captain Steve Rogers (captains_orders) wrote in marvel_mashup, @ 2015-04-27 18:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | mcu: steve rogers, redshaw: troy, silvercloud: eva, silvercloud: jon, x-men: angel, x-men: bishop |
Destination Murder
CHARACTERS: Captain America, Astrape, Forge, Angel, Bishop, Network, Mandrake.
TOPIC: T stands for trouble.
DATE & TIME: Tuesday, April 21st @ 1:02pm.
LOCATION: Xavier's.
The alarm had gone off at the same time. Steve had gotten out of bed at the same time. Run his laps, done his exercises, and ended up back in the Avengers facility at the same time. The rim of his water bottle had even hit his lips at the same time as yesterday. Steve watched the second hand pass around the twelve an extra time just so he felt like Tuesday was a different day than Monday. He was stuck, beyond stuck – but the soldier, so used routine, told himself that was a good thing. Wasn't it?
“Good morning, Friday.” Captain America greeted the computerized assistant, and then walked around the kitchen island in order to reach the refrigerator.
“Good morning, sir. I hoped you slept well – I’ve prepared your tablet with the most current news available.”
Steve snatched a breakfast bar from the corner and found his tablet on the island he’d left it on the night before. He swiped at the screen, which illuminated and did indeed bring up the news feed Captain America had grown accustomed to scanning. The item at the top seemed to be usual, especially for the normal mix of planetary intelligence he browsed. But it didn't take him long to become interested in the fairly biased article on the murder of a young woman and the arrest of the mutant suspect, regardless of why it was on his screen. Steve was curious now. “Friday?” He prompted the computer and simultaneously unwrapped his breakfast. “What else do you know about this story?” He said while he pointed to the screen.
“One moment, sir.” Friday told the soldier, which to Steve felt unnecessary because the computer voice returned almost immediately. “North Salem is home to Xavier’s Institute for the Gifted, and the man who was arrested is a professor there.”
“I’ve heard of it.” Captain America told Friday so that computer would not feel the need to over-explain the school. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s records were full of information about the school – most that Natasha did avoid dumping on the internet - because she really did have a soft spot for orphans. “What do you know about him?”
“Logan, codename Wolverine - I’ll download his file onto your device.” Friday told Steve, and the super-soldier swiped away at the screen while he bit into granola.
“War records since the Civil War, mutant experimentation…” Steve spoke out loud while he read and took in the little bits and pieces of information Tony and S.H.I.E.L.D. had on Logan. “Wow, S.S.R. files.” Steve was impressed – wasn’t everyday he found another living person’s S.S.R. documents. The more he read about the man that had been arrested the less it made sense. “This guy doesn’t seem like the type to murder a girl in the back of a nightclub.” Maybe if there was more to the story; but whoever wrote the article was more interested in painting a picture of a dangerous mutant who stalked the sleepy town of North Salem than the actual details. “Any idea how they feel about the school being located in Westchester County?”
“Given the amount of petitions to close the school submitted to the State of New York every year, not well. And several of the town’s mayors have taken a hard stance against the school, dating back to the seventies.” She answered and gave Captain America even more to stew on.
“Right. Could you download everything you can find on the school, the town, and this Wolverine, please?” Steve asked politely and then set his tablet down on the island.
“Planning a trip upstate, sir?” Jarvis countered.
“Right after a shower.” Steve responded, a routine smashing jog in his step.
Steve did his homework, got that shower in, and even stopped to chat about the situation with Natasha before he straddled his bike and rode into the country. It was seemingly idyllic; the two lane highway flanked by trees that just realized it was spring. The covered bridges and Americana in Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow tempted Steve to stop on his way north. Even North Salem itself had this feeling as though it might have looked fairly similar during Steve's day. Pitched New England roofs, revolutionary heroes frozen in stone, even the quaint main street he rode down on his way to the scene of the crime. He reached the address Jarvis had provided, parked his motorcycle at the curb and stepped off onto the sidewalk. This part of town was fairly vacant, he recognized that the spooky nightclub from the picture on the paper and realized that this ‘Salem’ had also embraced the creepy nature of its name. He would have sworn that even Salem, Illinois probably felt akin to the famous one it Massachusetts.
Steve examined the outside of the building, which was decorated further by police tape, but had nobody official in sight. He noticed something else out of place, the fresh smell of spray paint and messages printed on the sides of the building. Mostly targeted against mutants and the school that sat less than a few miles from where he stood. Steve noticed someone in the alley alongside the building, and took a few cautious steps closer. “Hello.” He called at to the man with a broom, who looked surprised he was noticed. “You work here?”
“Who’s askin’? You another reporter?” The guy called back, weight now pressed against the broom he’d been sweeping with.
“No.” Steve reassured him, and stepped into the alley to talk to the guy without having to raise his voice. “I’m just curious, how long has this spray paint been here?”
“Yeah, that.” The older man looked less than thrilled about it. “Not five minutes after the cops cleared out, it just appeared...” His eyes widened from disbelief. “I’m the landlord of these couple buildings and I try to keep it clean around here. Just one more thing to scrub up.”
“Your tenant got a problem with mutants?” Steve asked and hoped the man wouldn’t take offense to the question.
“Only that he doesn’t have a problem with them. As soon as they arrested that mutant for what happened… whole town is started to pick sides. Lived here my whole life, never seen anything like it.” The landlord explained.
“Gotcha,” Captain America’s eyes focused on the side of the building and surveyed the damage. Didn’t seem too bad, but the fact that the graffiti attack happened so quickly worried him. “Thanks,” Steve extended his hand and shook the other man’s in a further expression of his gratitude. Steve started to walk back toward his bike when he stopped and turned back to the other man. “You think they got the right guy?”
“Hell, I don’t know… she was a nice girl, you know? Grew up here, not sure why anyone would want to hurt her.” There was a tint of sadness that Steve picked up on immediately, and he knew it was probably shared by a good portion of the town. That was part of the reason they were so quick to turn the first suspect into the villain.
“Yeah,” Steve nodded his head and didn’t want to press the issue any further with someone that was clearly still processing it. The article had said this was the first murder investigation here in nearly a decade, he could already tell this place was shocked by it. “Don’t work too hard.” Captain America added with a gentle smile and a wave. The man waved back and muttered something about how he rarely tried to work hard, and Steve walked back to his bike slightly more troubled than when he’d arrived. He’d hoped his perceived anti-mutant vibes were just from the newspaper reporter.
Next he drove even further north, to Graymalkin Lane, and arrived at what looked part boarding school, part mansion, part country club. If he’d thought Westchester County looked like a page out of an art collection, he’d saved the best for last. Circle drive, gardens, tennis courts, ten-foot-tall hedges, and the smell of everything from flowers, motor oil, and chlorine floated through the air. He parked his bike out of the way for the drive, and wondered if the front gate was always left open, or had he wandered in during a lapse in security. Because given the files he’d read, he knew the place had security. But either way, Steve left his bag and his shield on the back of his bike and jogged up the front steps. He waited for a moment by the door, half expecting something to happen, and when it didn’t, he just knocked.