Who: Victor and OTA When: Friday evening. Where: Outside the police station What: A killer walks free...again. Rating: High for possible violence and language. Status: Ongoing
They called him the Harbinger, and while the man dressed in the expensive suit found it amusing, none of the police officers shared in his amusement. Victor Budarin was a cold blooded murder, and the money that was paid for his services could easily afford a team of the cities finest lawyers. Yet even though this was officially the fourteenth time he had been brought in for questioning, he never bothered with legal representation. The story was always the same; strange circumstances regarding the death of someone...however, there was never a shred of evidence against the man wearing black. In fact, for every single death there seemed to be a mountain of evidence, eye witness reports, and even video footage showing that the man was simply an innocent bystander.
Once again the police brought him in as a "person of interest" yet after the harassment suit that the department lost last month, no one was pushing hard anymore. Yes he was there, yes the man was always close by when people died...but there was not a single thing that the police could do. It was after a detective died right there in the police station, amidst a sea of cops and other detectives, that Victor was given the name Harbinger. For the cops served as his alibi, and he had been in handcuffs and seating fifty feet away surrounded by four uniformed men when the detective "accidentally" fell out of a window. They called him that for where Mr. Budarin went, death shortly followed.
To most of the city he was a security consultant, a man of wealth who enjoyed fine suits, art, and wine. However, to a select few in the underworld, the crime lords and criminals in need of services, Victor was an assassin who killed for profit. He used his telekinetic abilities to kill, and the years of Division training had seen to it that there was never a shred of proof. Even with all the supposed heroes and do gooders running around, none could say or prove that he was anything more then a man who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. So he smiled as the police officers removed the cuffs, and offered a polite nod before exiting the station yet again. With a soft chuckle the man in black patiently stood outside by the street, hands folded behind his back, as awaited his ride.