Ah. Didn't realize this posted in the actual game. Oops.

*deleted*

It was another summer morning in Philadelphia. Jessica Hauser, Special Agent with the FBI and recent transplant to the city, woke to the sounds of a morning commute and a malfunctioning AC unit that her landlord had promised to fix three days ago. Needless to say, she was not amused.

Reaching for the square-framed glasses on her bedside table, she checked the clock there, just to make sure she was on time. There hadn't been a day in years that Jessica had failed to wake up at 7 in the morning, but all the same, the need to reassure herself of this was constant.

By seven-fifteen, she had made her bed and was out for her morning jog, another habit picked up quite some time ago. Unlike some of her male colleagues, she didn't bother much with weights or gyms, but there was no denying the effectiveness of exercise to keep one sharp, in both mind and body, not to mention the fact that it provided would get her out of the sauna that passed as her apartment.

And I thought the only time I missed Okinawa was the damn winter, she mused sardonically. Headed on autopilot for her favorite park, she counted the fenceposts as she went. 87. There were always 87. Some mornings, she had to count the broken one at the end, just so it could be 88. Today, when she had woken uncomfortably from nightmares about things she'd rather forget, was one of those mornings.

The run eventually rounded a circuit and took her back to her apartment. Not the most expensive place around, but on a side of town that was clean, unobtrusive. Third floor, Apartment 33, by special request to the landlord. No families above or next door, and no dogs. Well, perhaps request wasn't exactly the right word, but Jessica cared little for such meaningless trifles as Mr. Bartlett's obvious dislike of his newest, and cleanest client.

A cold shower and some toast later, Jessica was off to the Philadelphia PD, arriving at 8:55 a.m. exactly, which gave her just enough time to turn the coffee machine on, so that when some rookie inevitably forgot, the others would still have their steaming black cup of slightly-less-irritable. Which meant she wouldn't have to listen to them berate the kid on caffeine detail.

Removing her suit jacket and stowing it appropriately, she noticed that a file seemed to have been left on her desk, which, as it so happened, was to the left of Langford's (Smith and Kaltenbach had offices). His desk also seemed to have a manila envelope on it.

Sliding into her seat, she picked up the folder. Looks like we've got a case...

The heavy rain from last night had left puddles in front of the subway station. While in a hurry, det. Cody Langford tried to avoid them, but couldn't prevent drenching one of the cuffs of his trousers. 'Just great,' he murmured to himself, 'nice way to start the day'. Grabbing one of the free newspapers, Cody made his way down the stairs. The station was crowded, but it could have been worse. While he was waiting, a young couple next to him started to make out. A bit embarrassed, he opened the newspaper.

On page 5, an article sparked his interest. It was about the so-called Couples Killer. Or more accurately, it was about the fact that the police hasn't captured the bastard yet. Cody couldn't help smiling while the author went on and on about the lack of action and capability of the police force. Journalists can be so quick to judge. If only this journalist, going by the name of Howard Yates, knew how much time and effort the homicide department has put into these cases. It made Cody wonder though why his team hasn't been called in for this job yet.

By the time he arrived at the PD, Cody was glad to learn that somebody had already made coffee. He would complement the rookie on that later. With a cup in his hand, he walked towards his desk. As usual, the desk next to his was already taken by a woman. 'Good morning Hauser,' he greeted her. She looked up from the file she was reading and gave him a weird look. Cody couldn't help to feel a bit uncomfortable around her. She was nice enough, but had the tendency to react strangely to people. 'Good morning Langford.' She gave him a swift smile and then went back to her file.

He then noticed the envelope on his desk, realizing it probably contained a similar file as to the one Hauser was reading now.

One of the positive points of being a chronic bachelor was the promise of an uninterrupted morning, and Benedikt Kaltenbach had a routine that wouldn’t be strayed from unless the god-hand of intervention stopped him. He could roll out of bed at 5:30am, tossed on a ratty tracksuit, and left for his morning jog.
That morning was calm and everything fit harmoniously together. The sun crested over the hill and bathed the world below in a warm new light. The beams of light broke through patches of stubborn rain clouds, sweeping the city in clean light. The living poetry around him did little to still an ill feeling tossing in his stomach. His gut was telling him to turn around, get home, call his mother, have a brew, and try to get a grip on the day he was going to have. Ben quickened his pace so the burn of physical exasperation spread throughout his body. The acid in his legs did nothing to distract him from the feeling he had in his gut.
'The Son of Sam was brought in because of a parking ticket', he thought, his mind ever-occupied by work, 'maybe that is all we need. Please Christ, let him do something stupid.'

Benedikt returned to his crummy little apartment sometime around 7:00, when most of the other gentlemen in the area left for their cubicle jobs. He entered his apartment, and looked over at his kitchen table. Staring at Ben from a mound of procrastination depravities was a literal pile of paperwork that had to be addressed. It greeted him with sad limping papers, paperclips, jutting post-it notes, and lots of red ink. The majority of it were papers for work, others were personal bills. Usually, when dealing with work, Ben went at it like a bulldog with rabies.
But Ben hated pushing paper. Forms. Pens. Questions. Legal bullshit. It was the wallpaper to his single-roomed hellscape. Sometimes he wondered if getting shot was more pleasant than dealing with forms for a half an hour. At least when he was shot he had a few days with great drugs.

Benedikt glared at the mound with balled fists and a sour taste in his mouth. He stared at in the same, ‘I could kill you now’ look that he tended to give people in the integration room. Ben stanched up a pen, fell into his chair…
And decided he should do some sit-ups for good measure. He had only gotten a few reps in when his Blackberry on the kitchen counter begun to vibrate. Ben ignored it for a time, but then remembered that it could be work on the other end, and drug his body over.

An e-mail was from James Smith, and was attached to the message detailing all the facts of the current scene. Ben, as the Investigation Leader, had to be prepared to present this information to the rest of the team with Smith.
“Goddamn it all to hell...” Benedikt said to absolutely no one. He glanced down at his tracksuit slick with sweat. If he didn’t want to smell like a dead man he had best hurry into his shower and toss on his suit.
Ben did the mechanical rounds of showering, shaving, buttoning up his suit, and adjusting his gun holster around his chest. The briefcase where he kept all his official notes was resting by the door; he grabbed it up moments before he left his apartment and on ward to his truck.

Ben’s truck could be compared to a space shuttle, if only you counted the escape pod that was burnt up when it entered into the atmosphere, then crashed full-on into junkyard. The front end was compressed and a spider-web crack radiated out from the center. Ben, being thoroughly himself, had been listening to a police scanner on one of his days off. When he heard of a police chase was taking place a few streets away he decided to make a move to end it quickly-- using his truck as a makeshift road block. As far as head-on collisions go, it was fairly anti-climatic; the fleeing criminal had hit Ben square in the truck's grill and suffered a minor head injury. Ben thought it was hilarious, the other cops did not. He had ended the police chase; Ben was still waiting for his thank you.

Ben’s key stuck fast, but the engine only gurgled at him. It was his luck. Benedikt cursed at it for a solid five minutes to stimulate some kind of motivation. It finally burned with life, and Ben sped away to work. Luckily he only lived a short ride away from the office.

Benedikt slipped into the office with his usually grimace. The boxy elevator around him seemed to amplify his angry vibrations. Imaginary situations laced with cusses blinked passed his mind like a news ticker. The doors opened to his team’s collection of desks, and he stormed in with his usual morning glibness.
“Conference room.”
It was the only two words he said to Hauser and Detective Langford when he entered. It was less than an explanation, and far from a ‘hello’.

Ben slipped into the conference room and found his usual seat at the conference table and removed his paperwork. This table space was obviously his normal spot; there were sizable dimples in the table where he had slammed pencils through the wood.

It was no surprise to Jessica that Langford was the next to arrive. She hadn't been working with the team for that long, but things tended to fall into patterns pretty quickly in her line of work, and she couldn't say she disapproved.

So when the slightly-disheveled Detective with the wet pants cuff and cup of coffee greeted her in the way he always did, she had fixed him with her customary look. She knew, of course, that this made him uncomfortable. She was a profiler; it was her job to notice things like this, the tiny minutiae of facial expressions, the way fingers tightened their hold on something in a way that someone was only semi-conscious of. Every detail was important: her instructor at Quantico had been quite specific about this fact.

She couldn't help the twinge of amusement at his obvious acquisition of the coffee she'd put on only a few minutes before. Sometimes, she wondered what they would do if they knew it wasn't the forgetful rookies getting at least one thing right. Then, she decided she'd rather it was her own little secret. It was a trait of her nature, perhaps not one of the better ones, to enjoy knowing things that others did not. It was what made her murder in an interrogation room; Jessica rarely played good cop.

So she raised an eyebrow and returned the greeting, and went back to her work. Glancing at her clock, she attempted to estimate the amount of time it would take Kaltenbach to reach the office. Assuming he wasn't in the middle of a fight with that hulking heap of refuse he referred to as a vehicle, he should have been here about three minutes ago, not too long after Langford. Assuming he was, well, that was another matter entirely.

When he swept in a few minutes later, growling the order to assemble in the conference room, she shook her head to herself. From what she had read of the file, today's case was going to be a doozy, even for them. Which meant more rabid obsessing for some of her coworkers and long nights followed by telephone arguments for others.

Ah, yes, there was nothing quite like the comfort of the familiar.

The coffee Cody was drinking wasn't a particular good coffee. It wasn't a bad one either. It was your run of the mill coffee. Not that there was anything wrong with that. An average coffee prevented you from being distracted, since the taste was neither too delicious or too awful. Cody actually preferred it this way.

He was just pondering about this some more (not realizing he was distracted by the average coffee anyway), when Kaltenbach entered the office, wearing his notorious face of frustration and annoyance. No wonder he was requested to take anger management classes, but Cody wasn't going to remind him that. After giving his team the usual greetings, which are none, he ordered them into the conference room. Knowing that it would take Kaltenbach at least another minute to organize his space, Cody quickly finished reading the file. It wasn't very detailed yet, but he was sure that more information would come soon enough. Taking on the Couples Killer case wasn't something they should think lightly about.

Entering the conference room, Kaltenbach was sitting in his usual seat, going trough his briefcase. It was clear that he was bothered by the fact that he couldn't find what he was looking for immediately, whatever he was looking for. Hauser was sitting opposite Kaltenbach and observing him, probably analysing everything he did. Cody wouldn't put it past her if she had to report her insights to the higher-ups.

Cody sat down in one of the remaining seats, waiting for the briefing to start.

6:45 flashed in bright green on the alarm clock sitting on the kitchen counter. Chief Investigator James Smith didn't notice. Nor did he notice the flickering lights of cars moving along the street or the increasing brightness of daytime as the sun came up. He did, however, notice when the cat came in and planted its tail in his face.

"Sorry Jenga." He said to the calico as he gently nudged her away from the papers strewn across the table. "I'm working.” James ignored her as she rubbed against his leg and mewed. He was too absorbed in studying the case file in front of him.

His phone buzzed at his side. Once. Twice. On the third time he picked it up and held it a short distance from his ear, expecting it to be his ex yelling at him about the child support. Nobody else called that early. When he didn't hear her shrill tones he looked at the phone.

A text message. Damn those young kids making newfangled electronics necessary. He would take an old brick of a phone over the 'smart' one any day. James fumbled with the phone and nearly dropped it before finally figuring out how to read the thing.

It was Ben letting him know the team was assembled in the conference room. That made James late, something he very rarely was. He checked himself in the bedroom mirror and noticed that his hair was a mess, his cloth were thoroughly wrinkled, and he had bags under his eyes. All of it made it obvious that he had not slept in at least one night, maybe more.

There was no time to spend taking a shower, so he threw on a newly pressed pair of black slacks and a pale green shirt, doused his hair with water before combing it into place, slipped on his loafers, and quickly left the house in his truck.

Seven minutes later he walked into the conference room, an air of confidence and purpose about him. He gave a nod to the team members assembled before starting in on the new case.

“I am sure you have all seen news of the ' Couples Killer'.” He spoke the name with a slight tinge of disapproval. The naming of criminals was a mistake in his opinion. “As of the fifth murder, we have officially been asked to take over the case. “

James slipped a disk into the computer stationed at the front of the room and brought up a series of photos from the crime scene while explaining the details of the case so far. It didn't take him long to finish; there wasn't much evidence found to talk about.

“The storm a few days ago washed away nearly any chance of finding evidence, but we will head there first anyways.”

Jessica's mind was already racing as the group headed for the crime scene. There wasn't a whole lot of useful information, but she was struck already by a strange pattern. Every time, the UNSUB alternates. Ear to collarbone, then ear-to-ear. Why? What's the point? Is there a point? Of course there is: there's always a point, you know that. It just depends on whether you can be demented enough for a few minutes to figure it out.

Then of course, there was the manner of death itself. Knives were up-close, personal. And generally also somehow a substitute for impotence or some similar problem. But the personal nature of the weapon was somewhat counterbalanced by the fact that the victims were attacked from behind. Obviously. He's outnumbered to begin with. Knock out the man, kill the woman, then go back to the incapacitated one. That explained why the women had extra injuries more often than the men; they were conscious enough to struggle. Does that mean they're the primary targets? But he saves the men for last. UNSUBS who are only after the women just kill the men first, saves having to worry about them waking up. Then again, if the man were the primary target, he'd be kept awake to watch her die; more psychological torture that way...

This was troubling. So many of the little details, the ones that she knew mattered almost more than the obvious ones, weren't making sense. I need more information. Until then, I can't judge who the primary target is, assuming they aren't both equally important...

Jessica realized she'd been zoning out when the car pulled up to the crime scene. She shook her head as if to clear it, and stepped outside, glad once again for her practical tendency not to wear heels; the ground was wet and more than a little muddy in places from last night's rainstorm. Relax, Jess. You just need more information. This is your job, and you're quite good at it. They wouldn't put up with you otherwise. The last thought brought something of a wry smile to her face. She'd only been with this team for three months, but already she knew that they were better equipped to deal with her than the FBI itself. It helped that they all had their own share of issues, most of which presented much more readily than hers. Who was going to worry about the obsessive-compulsive profiler when you had such gems as "Mr. Anger-Management" and a couple of obvious workaholics in the bunch, one of who's personal problems (when they happened, anyway) were public office knowledge?

But all of this was irrelevant right now. There was a crime scene to be examined, clues to be found and all that. Jessica wasn't much for the classic sleuthing or the scientific gadget-whirling that characterized the others, but the reason she was there was that she could use different sorts of information in the first place.

Time to get to it, I suppose, she reminded herself, any traces of the smile fading from her face.

Ben’s bitter morning atmosphere gathering around him seemed to lift when James stepped into the room.
“Morning, Boss.” He said in a low, far more private tone. If he hadn’t been in a professional setting with a foreboding situation hanging over everyone, Ben would have made an off comment about how shitty James looked. The two had been partners once, and had been friends ever since Ben drove their squad car into the river during a car chase. They had both come very close to drowning while being shot at. Good times.
Ben waited as James gave the group the formal announcement of their involvement with the case. This was fantastic news for Ben, who had been reading about the developments with the case in the newspaper and grinding his teeth all the while. It was finally time for his chance to find Philly’s new serial killer.
Ben’s fingers where busy fussing with his black tie as his mind aligned all of his thoughts. The facts of the case where buzzing around his ears like bees in a shaken hive.
James felt like it was time to move to the scene right away, and Ben had no desire to delay him, but he wanted to say a few things before then.

Ben Kaltenbach cleared his throat, a habit exposed whenever he was about to say something of importance, and stood at the conference table. He flattened his large, callous-layered hands on the surface of the table.
“The Boss is right,” He started, his eyes regarding everyone in the room with camaraderie and respect, “the rain has taken much of our particulates and washed them down the drain.”
Ben gestured widely with his arms, the muscles of his broad shoulders tightening under his suit, “But this won’t stop us from finding this guy and cutting off his testicles.” This was Ben’s version of a pep talk.

“Despite the lack of evidence, the numerous defensive wounds and the slashed necks means it must be our guy.”
Ben’s chin was thrust slightly forward as his continued to speak. It was unconscious evidence that he was becoming further saturated in a new case. The aggression he felt towards criminals manifested itself in slight, primal expressions on Ben’s face.
“What I want is photographs of every damn thing we see, and I want to talk with these kid’s friends and family; I want to know if the Couple’s Killer is taking trophies off the bodies.”
He glanced about the faces in the room, snagging a glance on Jessica for a moment. He pondered what she could be thinking about at the moment; since she was always thinking.
Ben was impossible when it came to remembering names and everyone knew this. Faces, yes, Ben was nearly photographic, but it took him months to internalize names. It was why he fell back on the aid of nicknames when addressing others. It was why he silently called Jessica ‘that profile girl.’ When speaking to her directly, he avoided saying her name completely. Ben honestly thought that girl was stranger than a shithouse rat (using his father’s phrasing), but he liked her well enough. Give him another four months and he might be able to remember her first name.

The time in the conference room appeared to have come to an end. Ben gathered his field gear and left with the team to the parking lot where the kids were murdered. He stepped out on the scene very unhappy that a crowd had reached it before his team.

((This event takes place the previous night of August 24, around 3am.))

The soft rainfall was not enough to extinguish the fever of a night downtown. A young man and his good friend are straddling the curb with their arms raised, trying to hail a taxi. The city is lit up in with the winks of windows and flooding highlights, burning through the night, illuminating the faces in the crowd and lifting their voices out into oblivion.
The blonde girl, a college student fresh from the American heartland, turns to her friend Wesley,
“This isn’t working. We aren’t going to find a taxi at this hour. Let’s just walk.” Amanda is modestly drunk, and her words are sloppy and slurred.
Wesley flashes a full smile, “Yeah, this is bullshit. We only live a few miles away, after all.”
Philadelphia was a patchwork city, snitched together with sidewalks and alleyways. Wesley pulls Amanda in under the shelter of his designer umbrella and they start down the sidewalk with a drunken swagger in each step.
Wesley lights a cigarettes and starts to complain about their quiet university. Amanda laughs softly along the way. They passed a parking garage, gangs of teenagers, few apartment buildings, all things expected to be cultivated in a city like Philadelphia.

A set of shoes chime on the concrete of the uneven sidewalk. The two students aren’t aware of the lengthy shadow their forms are casting over the stranger following them.
They take a few sharp turns, left at the law firm, a shortcut through the alley, until they reached the long and empty parking lot at the foot of their apartment building.
Ahead is a man with crutches, limping towards them with untrustworthily legs. He slips in a puddle, he hits the asphalt with a resounding thud, and tenderly touches his ankle; he moans in pain.
Wesley snubs his cigarette under his heel, “You alright man?”
The man is obscured by the inky night. The night is a hot one and a screen of steam burns up from the wet asphalt. He offers them a hand, “Just… help me up…please.”
Amanda, being more of a bleeding heart than her hedonistic friend, hurries over and takes the other’s hand.

The steel blade the man was hiding smiles in the dim glow of the streetlight. Amanda doesn’t have time to scream before the gleam is slid smoothly into her abdomen. He hits just the right spot. She falls to her knees, then topples to the asphalt.
Wesley stumbles backward; it took a seeming entirety for him to register what had occurred. The man gained to his feet with a terrifying speed. He seizes Wesley’s arm, twists it behind his back, and kisses the blood-slick knife to his throat.
The slice is profound in its simplicity. The blade breeches the boundaries of the skin, the veins are taut, and then they sever, releasing the liquor of blood from the ear to the shoulder blade.
Wesley passes out from shock before he bleeds out completely. Amanda, however, is still clinging to her fleeting life. She is soaking in the warm flush of blood draining out of the wound in her stomach. All of Amanda’s body is struggling to find the power to flee. She lays facedown, he arms sprawled outward, her nails digging weakly in the loose stones, trying to crawl to safety.
She is still cognitive enough to hear the man approach. His hand gathers her hair, forces her head to arch back, exposing a throbbing weave of veins and arteries in her neck. Amanda squeezes her eyes shut. Tears rush into the stream of rain.

The man completes his deed. The rain surges and lighting leaps across the sky. The man seethes his hunting knife, removes the crutches from the ground, wipes Wesley’s wrist with a rag and Amanda’s hand clear of fingerprints. Before he disappears into the belly of the city, he removes an object from his overcoat, kneels before Amanda, slips it into Amanda’s mouth, and clenches her jaw together.

The Crime Scene for Wesley Monticello and Amanda Dutch

A large, white apartment building contrasts with the black asphalt at it’s base. The building is bearded with ivy and all the windows have flowers for eyelashes and blinds for eyelids. Inside each room posters can be seen. It is an apartment complex almost completely inhabited by college students. As the sun climbs higher, the shadow of the building shifts dramatically over the urban landscape below.
Rows of cheap, student-owned cars are to each side, leaving an expanse of uneven asphalt to gather litter in between. The parking lot is lonely, with a high wall boarding it on all sides but the one facing the street. One old streetlight seems to blinks Morse code messages on into the morning twilight. In the far-a-way corner is a small alleyway in a break in the wall leading to a nearby street.
Amanda’s body is in sharp focus in the very center of the parking lot. She is on her stomach, her face awkwardly pressed against the pavement. Her arms are out in front of her and her fingers are curled tightly together, pressing small stones into the flesh of her palms.
Amanda is sodden with rainwater and ribbons of water-saturated blood are present below her. Her blonde hair has taken the hue of her blood and lies in one tendril on her back. Amanda’s eyes are tightly bound together, barring out her last images on into her death.
Wesley is only a few feet from his friend on his back. His umbrella is abandoned and open nearby. A lake of rainwater and deluded blood is pooled in a pothole near his head. Unlike Amanda, he appears to have died more peacefully. His eyes are shut calmly, however his arm remains folded under his body.
The local police has set up cheap shelters over the bodies incase the rain returns to strike more damage. Yellow police tape rings the area and a crowd presses against it.

Stepping out of the car, Cody noticed the crowd that had gathered on the parking lot. Ignoring them, he walked over to the two victims. It wasn't a pretty sight, and he felt a little twitch in his stomach. Not that it made him sick. He had seen far worse by now. No, the little twitch came from the fact that he felt disgusted. Disgusted that some human beings were capable of doing things like this.

Cody first walked over to the male victim. He looked up at one of the police officers, "Do we know who they are?" The man nodded. "Wesley Monticello and Amanda Dutch. Two students, living in this building right here." While the officer walked away, Cody couldn't help but noticing the deceivingly peaceful expression on the victim's face. Some people would think at this moment that 'at least it was quick'. Cody wasn't one of those people. Those words were used to comfort the people that are left behind. A member of the police shouldn't think that way. It would only suggest that the killer had enough sympathy to not inflict any suffering. Which is a foolish thought.

Then something near the body caught Cody's attention. It was a cigarette. Or at least what's left of it, as somebody had put his heel on it. Cody beckoned over one of the forensic team. "This might or might not be important, but we should at least take a look at it." Cody then focussed his attention on the woman, named Amanda. By the looks of it, she did everything she could to fight off her assailant. Her face was like a statue, carved in a way to emphasize the agonies of her last moments. Her face... Something was off with her face. Cody squatted down to examine it further. One of her cheeks seemed to have a little swelling, like there was something inside. Moving very carefully, he opened her mouth gently with his gloved hands. Something was pressing on the inner sides of her lips. Putting two of his fingers on it, he felt a round object. No, he felt two round objects. After pulling the first one out, he saw a large glass marble with a black swirl lying on his hand. Immediately he pulled out the other object as well. It was another glass marble, exactly the same size as the other. This one had however a white swirl. Cody stared at the two marbles. The two objects lying like this together, it reminded him of a yin yang symbol. Why in the name of hell would the killer leave something like this?

Cody stood up and looked around him. Nobody seemed to have noticed what he was doing. He called over to his team, "Guys! You better take a look at this."

Alec woke up at eight in the morning... without his alarm blaring at him like usual. He swore, his alarm hadn’t gone off, he officially admitted to himself that he needed a new clock as he rushed himself through the process of getting ready. He quickly showered, dressed, and brushed his teeth before he rushed out the door of his apartment, almost forgetting to feed his fish. It wasn’t that he was worried about being late, he just knew that he seemed to miss things when he wasn’t early.

He rushed out the door, barely stopping to lock it, and down to his car, a blue Dodge Caliber. He swore to himself again, he was going to be late, it was not appreciated when one got to work late. It was already close to 8:30, and he didn’t exactly live close to work. He scowled as he made his was there, only to be informed that the rest of the team had gone out to the crime scene. He swore yet again as he grabbed his equipment and rushed there, he had no clue if they would need his or not, better safe than sorry.

Once he arrived at the scene, he knew he was a little late, though he suspected he wasn’t too late, as it didn’t look like they where doing much investigating. Alec sighed, partially in relief that he wasn’t horribly late, and partially at the fact that other forensic analysts where on the scene. He didn’t have anything against the other guys, he just hoped they wouldn’t make any stupid mistakes, that just made his job harder. He got out of his car and pulled on a pair of gloves before closing the door with his foot.

He looked around for a second before he heard Cody call out, he walked over to the detective, wondering what had peaked that man’s interest.

Jessica happened to be standing by the man's body when she heard Langford call. Making her way over to where he was crouched near the woman, she caught sight of the marbles in his hand.

"They were in her mouth?" she asked, though it was really more to herself than anyone else; where they had come from was pretty obvious from Langford position. Marbles? To lose one's marbles. Marbles is a game, a child's game. Is it a game then, the killing? Perhaps. Black and white. Good, evil, light, shadow, yin, yang. Female, male, sometimes. Innocence, corruption? Hmm... morality. I wonder.

The wheels in her head were spinning at their usual dizzying rate, pulling common associations and symbolism from an almost-unhealthy repertoire of knowledge. And yet, there was still nothing. But it is the woman... and she suffered more this time. But you stabbed her from the front, took on two people alone. That's not like you, and how did you do it? You're too much of a coward to throw away surprise. A ruse, then? But what kind?

She was beginning to wonder if one of the lab rats was going to show up soon. Personally, she wasn't too fond of most of them. A few were a bit high-and-mighty about their "cold, hard science," and she'd run into a large number who thought that her vocation was little more than voodoo. That Greyson kid though, he wasn't too bad.

Kid? You're 27, Jess, you don't get to call him a kid. She frowned slightly, and brushed away the errant thought, choosing to refocus on the task at hand. Not that there was much to focus on, as of yet...

Upon arriving at the scene James immediatly noticed the crowd-and the local police not doing so well at keeping them back. A reporter slipped a camera between two of them and started snapping pictures. He doubted she had gotten anything usefull, her angle was off and the back of one of the lab techs was covering the body, but it was the principle of the thing that mattered. He went over to calm the crowd, trusting Ben to play leader with how the scene would be worked.

The local P.D. looked relieved when he planted his hand in front of the still flashing camera lens. The reporter just looked annoyed. She rattled off something about the publics right to know, stopping on reflex when James held up his hand.

"We don't know anything yet, Miss..." He waited a pause as she supplied her name. "Charmikel. I will let the public know when we do."

Miss Charmikel didn't seem pleased with the response, but she knew better than to continue. As is the nature of reporters, however, she couldn't just walk away from a 'story'. She had just spit out half of a question when Cody gave a shout. Immidiatly she started snapping pictures again, and immidiatly James stopped her with a hand over the lens and a short 'threat'.

He wasn't as quick to get nasty with reporters as Ben, but if she kept it up he would[i] take her camera.

Cody had found two marbles, one black and one white, in the female victims mouth. [i]Amanda Dutch's mouth, James silently corrected himself. She had a name, and he would use it.

"Good work." He said to the detective before turning to Jessica. "Do you have any thoughts on what it might mean?"

It was logical to ask the profiler, as he had her transfered to the team specificaly to make sense out of nonsense. James was fully capable of doing so himself, as were most of the team members to an extent. But he wasn't nearly as good as she was.

Benedikt swung his hard gaze over to the crowd of reporters. He shifted his steely blue eyes over the faces of each one of them. Each step he took towards the scene was long, defiant, and pointed. Ben tossed back his jacket, purposely flashing his firearm, and plucked a pack of gum from the inside pocket. Inwardly he was grinning to himself. Hopefully he was able to send a cold chill rippling through the reporters and the crowd. Ben was thankfully set aside for the moment; he did not have to dance with the reporters bordering the scene.
He folded a piece inside his mouth and begun reading the ghost of the events that took place a few hours earlier. It has been rough since Investigator Benedikt stops lighting up potent Russian cigarettes when scouring a scene. His jaw grinded the gum with an animalistic fierceness; he appeared to be really pissed off at that chunk of mint-flavored gum.
Ben rarely spoke when he was at a fresh murder with his team. His mind was busy tinkering with scenarios, with scenes, with chess pieces moving in front of each other. The many objects littering the scene all became clearer when he brought him out of their place among the other anonymous stuff. He mentally moved them away from the scenery, and they started to pronounce their meaning. Ben had to bring them all into focus and place them together to find the answers he desired.

It was raining. The kids were heading home. They had been drinking, they probably tried to find a ride, had to walk. The booze would have thinned the blood, made them easier to bleed. Maybe this guy knew that. Maybe he had been watching the bar—
“Goddamn that blinking light. Shit.” He thought. It was distracting.

Ben circled the immediate area with his eyes sweeping the ground for anything worth noting. The reason James was a better leader was obvious; Ben operated on silent dictation. The team fell about their duties without him needing to say a word. Of course, if they dicked up while on the job, Ben would have plenty of words.
But although he would rather have his arms drop off than verbalize it, Ben really trusted him team. Maybe his lack of verbal verification was enough to say it. His silence doth betray him.

Benedikt removed a writing tablet from his jacket pocket and a slim #2 pencil. He began furiously scribbling any idea to flint across his brain, diagramming in illegible marks everything laying about the place. He went to the make victim first. The way he was collected together on the ground perked Ben’s interest in how the murder happened. He snapped on a pair of rubber forensic gloves and kneeled next to the corpse.

The killer did this one quicker than the others. The male victim has no obvious defensive wounds, his clothing appeared to be tidy enough, and didn’t have any scuffmarks on his shoes from kicking and thrashing in the gravel. His arm had been twisted behind him. Their killer must be very strong to immobilize a healthy young kid with a single twist of his arm.

Cody discovered a cigarette near the body, frayed and torn from being snubbed on the ground. Ben checked the brand on the discarded cigarette, and then compared it to a pack sopping wet inside Wesley’s pocket. The brand matched.
So the kid paused to snub the cigarette. Had he been hurried to get out of the rain, he would have just flicked it. Maybe he had been held up; maybe the killer stopped them. Had he ambushed Amanda first, Wesley wouldn’t have had the mind to crush the cigarette. Could it have been a façade?
“That blinking light--” Ben was getting frustrated with the questions his speculation was offering him.

Ben eyed the slash in the male victim’s neck and weighted it against his placid expression. He leaned in and inserted the tip of his pinky finger to measure the depth of the cut. It was shallower than expected, leading Ben to believe that he had bled out. The serial killer had left him alive; had he been rushed?

Detective Cody called out from the female victim’s body. Ben stood, swiveled on his heel, and trotted over to the scene of the discovery. Ben kept his distance from the body,
“This is new for our guy.” He said over the head of those in front of him. James and Jessica were already pondering the marbles significance. Ben was also interested in Jessica’s opinion. He may not understand the science involved with picking at the mind of a murderer, but he certainly respected it.
“Leaving us clues now? That is good news. He’s getting cocky and that means he’ll make mistakes.” Ben said to anyone willing to listen.

The placement of Amanda’s body in relation to the scene unveiled more to Ben what may have occurred. If the kids had been heading to the apartment, then the murderer may have used the alleyway in the corner of the parking lot to access them.

In an unannounced move, Ben lifted his gun from its holster, pointed it in a seemingly wild direction, and fired a single shot. The malfunctioning streetlamp exploded in a shattering of glass that rained down over the roof of a car. He had successfully ended his irritation.
“Sorry,” He said to the team once the pang of the gunshot dissipated, “I couldn’t think with that thing in the corner of my eye.” He apologized with an unalarmed tenor, as if he had done nothing more than knocked over a houseplant.

The marbles were bagged and tagged and spirited away to a lab. He turned to Detective Cody and gestured to the litter-clotted alley next the building. It was partially blocked by a wayward bush, and appeared to be little used.
“Let’s check that alley out. I betcha he came in here from that direction.”

"Son of a fucking bitch!" Victoria had just woken from a dreamy and peaceful sleep to a melodious tune from the 60's. Music playing could only mean one thing. The alarm had went off already... Over an hour ago! Her peacefulness slammed into a state of panic as she untangled herself from the sheets and jumped out of bed. "God dammit! I need clothes." She frantically searched the floor for the pants from last night. Spotting them, she pulled the black slacks on causing her badge to loosen and fall to the floor. As she turned to pick it up, she froze.

There was a man in her bed. Staring up at her with a impish grin as he lay there contently and seemingly amused by her frantic rage. Victoria stared, wide eyed, as flashes from last night played in her mind. "Oh my god!', she groaned, covering her face with her hands. Her rant began, "Look... Last night... Well... I think we, I mean I... had too much to drink. Whatever happened...", she cringed knowing fully well what had happened, "It was really just nothing and now I'm late for work. My boss... Oh my God! My boss is going to literally kill me. He is going to strangle my neck and watch the life drain from my body as he laughs." She made a strangling motion with her hands to emphasis the seriousness of it as she continued, "There is no need for goodbyes or breakfast or whatever the fuck is supposed to happen right now... I just need you..." she hesitated, not remembering his name, "I just need you to get out of my house as fast as you can."

She didn't wait for his response but hoped she had appeared crazy enough for him to scoot. Going back to retrieving her badge, along with a wrinkled, blue blouse and her belt, she finished throwing on the necessary items to get her out the door. In the midst of brushing her teeth, splashing her face and attempting to pull back her tangled mess of hair, she heard the front door shut. "Thank you Jesus!" she yelled dramatically through a mouth full of foam.

Spitting then taking a sip of water straight from the running faucet, she headed out of her tiny bathroom. She stole a quick glance from the hall mirror and reassured herself that she didn't look like a total mess. Her blackberry from the counter informed her that she was now an hour and a half late, there had been a briefing on a major case this morning, the team was now at a murder scene and yes, Ben was more than likely going to kill her. "Great."

It was mornings like this, and yes she was willing to admit these mornings were not rare, that she wished she had some sort of fast sports car. Instead she had a silver Jeep Wrangler. It was perfect for those off road crime scenes that so often happened back in South Carolina. Not so much in Pennsylvania though. The Jeep may have not been the fastest vehicle but she definitely pushed it to it's limits all the way across town. Also thanks to very illegal texting and driving she managed to get some more information about the case. She slowed as she approached the crime scene and pulled into a spot away from the others, hoping to keep a low profile for fear of Ben's wrath.

Hopping out of the Jeep, she trotted across the street to where the other's were gathered. After wrestling through bystanders and reporters, she finally ducked under the yellow tape. Gloves were immediately handed to her. She noted that Ben had went to a side alley. "Thank you again." she murmured as she squatted down beside Alec, hoping to pry him for any action and information she may have missed. All the while silently praying that Ben and James would be too distracted by the two dead bodies before her to notice her insane lateness.

In seconds she had forgotten all about the drama of this morning and plunged into working the crime scene. Takeing in the two corpses lying in puddles of their own blood, she said the only words that came to mind, "What the fuck?"

Alec cringed when Ben had shot the lamppost... thing. It was no secret that he didn't really enjoy the sound of gunfire, he didn't make a big deal out of it though. He just moved on after hearing Ben's halfhearted apology. He then squatted down next to Amanda's body frowning, She was a pretty girl too... He began to examine the crime scene around him, looking over things, taking in details. He crouched-stepped over to the male victim, Wesley's, body. He examined the would on his neck, it wasn't deep, probably bleed to death. Didn't look like he put up much of a fight either. That's what intoxication and being caught be surprise do to you. He shook his head, he couldn't think of a reason that someone would want to kill these two, or anyone for that matter, but what wasn't his job. He was doing his job. He was pretty wrapped up in studying the crime scene, not worrying about moving the victims, the other forensic analysts wouldn't even let them be anywhere near the victims if they hadn't finished taking pictures and documenting.

He was in the middle of checking Amanda's wound when he heard the ever so graceful sound of Victoria's voice. He smiled lightly, "Good to know I'm not the only one that slept in this morning, maybe now I'll be spared from Ben's fury." He shook his head, "We have two victims here. One male, one female. They where killed sometime last night, we'll figure out more specifics once we do an autopsy, Amanda here," He pointed to her, "Was stabbed, angle makes us think from the front, it was probably the leading cause of death." He paused to stick his thumb in the male victims direction, "Wesley's neck was slit and we currently believe the cause of death to be hemorrhaging." He nodded, agreeing with himself, "Now if you'll excuse me, I didn't get the greatest night's sleep so multi-tasking isn't easy right now."

Jessica was snapped out of her thought pattern when Smith approached and asked for her opinion on the marbles. Your guess is as good as mine... well, maybe not. Smith was a talented cop, and Jessica had a hell of a lot more respect for him than she'd had for her last boss, but she was the profiler here.

She was opening her mouth to speak, then shut it again as Kaltenbach made his way over to them after pausing at the man's body. "Leaving clues?" she repeated, shooting him a skeptical look. "They're only 'clues' if you know what to do with them. At this point, I think the colors are important. Black and white are opposite, and I don't think the UNSUB would have chosen them on accident. Mostly because nothing this one does is accidental. Marbles is a new one, though." She shook her head. "Nothing else about this scene is all that distinctive, really... yeah, it's carnage, but nothing I haven't seen before. But marbles... I think he's evolving, trying out a signature. The distinctions between the treatment of the two victims was more pronounced this time, as I'm sure you'd noticed-" she fell silent as Kaltenbach whipped out his service weapon and shot out the blinking street light she'd noticed earlier.

And I thought I was the one with OCD here... she thought sardonically. Outwardly, however, she merely raised an eyebrow at him. Kaltenbach was also an excellent detective, but he really should consider those anger management classes. Not that she blamed him. Jessica hated shrinks, interestingly enough. Apparently, the police psychiatrist's office had a pool going on how long it would be before one of them could endure more than one session with her. She supposed having everything they said and did thrown back in their face unceremoniously was a good way to deflate an ego, but she was just being honest. No, Jessica could go the rest of her life without seeing some pretentious jerk who thought his PhD. made him somehow qualified to pry into things she did not wish to discuss.

Which is why she never reacted much to antics like these, giving everyone the same amount of privacy and discretion she desired of them. "Feel better now?" she deadpanned.

As soon as Kiernan stepped into the Precinct it really hit him, he was now an official police officer. He could have just stood in that doorway forever with that stupid grin on his face but right away a large red faced man came forth and was speaking to him.
“Hey your Kiernan Cassidy right? The new rookie from Canada? Well I’m Officer Ramona you are going to be taken down to an active crime scene.” The officer motioned for Kiernan to follow him. “Now we are taking my car down to the scene, so just sit quietly and I’ll get you there.”

On the way to the scene they stopped off at a star bucks and officer Ramona walked in, Kiernan sat in the car thinking about what was happening. ‘Wow I am actually on my way to an active crime scene, this is great. They must know how good I am.’ Officer Ramona returned to the car holding a tray full of coffee. Kiernan raised an eyebrow at the officer.
“No thanks I don’t drink coffee.”
Officer Ramona shook his head. “The coffee isn’t for you kid, as the new rookie you’re going to be expected to bring your bosses coffee, and next time you’re buying.”

Officer Ramona dropped Kiernan off at the scene and drove off again. Kiernan was now in the face of quite a large crowd, he managed to push his way through the army of people. Then he looked up and saw the bodies, it does not matter how many pictures of dead bodies you see, in person it was much worse.

He got behind the crime tape and was looking around; he knew he was reporting to someone named James Smith. He walked over to a local police officer and asked for James Smith, he was directed to a man that looked about ten years older than him. He shook his head and walked up to Mr. Smith.
“Hey I’m Kiernan Cassidy, I was told I reported to you.”

Ben's gun went off, and James shot him a weary glance. Havving worked with the guy for five years he was used to such things. And at least it had cleard out some of the crowd. Then Ben and Cody went to take a look at the alley and Victoria arrived.

Alec had been late as well, and James gave both him and Victoria a stern look that made it clear he did not approve of that fact. He wasn't the type of boss who was into the whole micromanaging shtick, nor was he big into the 'talks' that alot of his collegues were, so the look was all they got.

Most of the team, of course, knew what the look meant and that he expected it to be all that was needed.

"Yes." James responded to Jessica. "He does seem to spend more time with the women."

He had barely finnished replying when Kiernan walked up with coffee and introduced himself.

"James Smith. Welcome to the team." James shook the kid's hand and relieved him of one of the coffee cups. "Normally there would be more time to get into the swing of things, but..." He gave a small shrug and a gesture towards the bodies in explanation.
"I'll need you to take pictures of the crowd. Get everyone, and as many different angles as you can."

James headed to the alley where Ben and Cody were, paused, and turned halfway around.

"Thanks for the coffee."

Cody tried to make sense of what Hauser was saying. Sure, she might be right about the killer figuring out some kind of signature. But somehow that didn't feel completely right with him. This was the fifth (or tenth, depending on how you looked at it) murder. Given that the first murders occurred in April, wouldn't the killer have figured out some sort of signature by now? Why change now? He was just about to ask Hauser about this when Kaltenbach suddenly made his presence - once again - known by shooting down a street lamp. Cody couldn't help flinching, but just as easily relaxed again as he regarded his superior. The man had a point; that lamp was annoying.

Kaltenbach gestured towards a small alley next to the building. "Let's check that alley out. I betcha he came in here from that direction." Following him to the alley, Cody could see why it had sparked Kaltenbach's interest. Filled with litter and partially hidden by a bush, it was the best place to enter and leave the parking lot undetected. Pushing aside the plant, Cody noticed a little blessing. "This alley is more or less sheltered from the rain. There might still be some traces left." He turned around and gave the Investigation Leader a grin. "Since the killer has been out in the rain on the parking lot, I don't think he was able to leave the scene completely, let's say, 'clean'. I wouldn't be surprised if..." Pausing, he walked slowly into the alley, careful not to step on anything. Then he saw what he was looking for. "If he left some footprints behind."

There they were, a nice set of footprints, for the most part undisturbed by the rain. Crouching down, Cody took a closer look at them. "Sneaker imprints." Of course the killer wore sneakers. As most people in Philly owned a pair of them, it would be very difficult to trace them. On top of that, most brands could be worn by both man and woman. Cody assumed the killer was male, based on the fact that the person could handle two persons at the same time and most serial killers were male, but he couldn't be certain about that yet. "It's hard for me make out the shoe size." Then he noticed a little symbol that he recognized. "At least we can be sure that these are Adidas."

Standing up, he could see that the shoe prints were leading away from the crime scene, close to the left wall. "I guess I should find out where this alley is going." Passing some garbage bins, Cody could already see the end of the alley. Coming on to a street, he saw nothing else then identical looking houses, all with the same typical small urban gardens. There was no indication which way the killer had ran off to. Shrugging, he returned to the footprints. "Just normal houses out there. Someone should inquire if anybody has seen somebody entering or leaving this alley." As he said it, he knew those chances were very slim.