marauder13
a lecherous old bastard
- Joined
- Mar 8, 2009
- Posts
- 7,322
[OOC : This is a closed thread. Reader Warning : This thread will contain material that some people may find offensive and not to their liking. Those of you that are not offended, then I hope you enjoy this tale.]
Special Agent William Frants walked over to the police tape confidently. His regulation suit told everyone that he was an FBI agent, but he still showed his badge to the officer by the tape. The younger uniformed policeman raised the tape allowing William to pass without breaking his stride.
He scanned the normal crowd of law enforcement personnel on site, seeking one fellow in particular. Once found, he moved over with the same stride as before until he stood beside the other man.
"Bob."
"Bill."
"Impressive."
"Unfortunately."
The two men stood before a pile of twisted metal, broken glass and other materials that hinted at the type of cars they had been before attempting to occupy the same volume of space. William could make out four different paint schemes in the twisted, smoking wreckage.
"Got any details for me yet, Bob?"
"Five vehicles, seven confirmed dead, two more that probably wont see the next dawn. We literally got confirmation that it was him a minute ago. He gave us the identifier, which we matched as you pulled in."
"What did he do this time?"
The detective looked at the FBI agent, before staring back at the wreckage. He took several deep breaths before he spoke.
"A potato cannon."
"Hit one of the drivers?"
Detective Robert Ilses was surprised by William's response. "From what we have been able to determine, the lead car's passenger compartment was struck, the driver lost control, and the remainder were not able to get clear in time. We wont know if the driver was hit or not until after we cut the mess apart.
"So, Bill, your people having any success figuring this nut case out?"
"He's far from being a nutcase, Bob. He is very clever in what he has been doing. Our people are pulling their hair out trying to get inside his head. He appears, does his deed, the vanishes again with barely a trace. And what little he leaves us is close to worthless. No, this one is very, very careful, clever and plans his strikes with a degree of precision that is almost awe inspiring. He could have done less harm by blowing up a building."
"Yeah. We copping heat from everyone for not doing enough. When we do, the public screams about us being too brutal, messy, not acting on enough information. Victims' families are trying to sue the various government bodies. Civil libertarians are up in arms over our 'heavy handed tactics'. Geez, I don't know who I hate more. Him, or the everyone else."
"Personally, I hate him more. Mainly because the prick's just too good."
The TV screen showed a standard news room, with a young woman presenting the news.
"Local police have confirmed that the multi-car accident on the northern freeway was caused by the Terrorist known as Taurus. In another daring display, he used a homemade cannon to attack passing motorists. The attack has left seven people dead, and another five injured, two of them critically.
"There have been continued calls for the Police Chief and the District Attorney to be replaced due to their inability apprehend what is now looking more and more like a single man. Even assistance from the FBI has not been able to slow down Taurus' persistent series of attacks on the city.
"As the death toll rises, people are questioning what Taurus wants, and how he plans of achieving his end goals. Current theories include that his is nothing more than a creative serial killer who has no real underlying motive for his murderous campaign. Others suggest that he is merely waiting for the right moment to announce his demands. One matter is certain, only Taurus knows why he is doing what he is."
A soft click caused the new cast to go silent and fade to black. Taurus smiled, knowing that he had again committed a crime that the authorities would have little chance of using to catch him. His weapon was something that could be made from one of numerous listings on the internet, using materials that were all standard, mass produced objects sold in hundreds of stores within the city itself, thousands within half a day's drive. Little about the construction methods would reveal anything that a simple person could deduce. He was skilled enough with his hands to make everything he had used to date.
His workshop was well stocked with many items he would use to carry out his attacks. Most of them had been purchased randomly. Never in bulk, always in amounts that suggested personal use by the home handy man. Other more specialized parts were stolen from businesses that suffered from a serial arsonist, who was also him. The items stolen were easily lost due to the fire, and no one was the wiser that the arson was simply another means of covering his tracks.
Years of accumulating everything he needed, without bringing any attention to himself had paid off nearly six months earlier. Then his war commenced. The Police and FBI could not stop him. Random raids, arrests, copycats that were filling their jail cells while the real Taurus continued to work towards his end goal. Even now, some people were taking the law into their own hands trying to protect themselves against him. Not that it would do them any good. He watched the news. He knew where the people were complacent. He knew exactly where, and how to strike.
He delighted at the simplicity of his approach, and how effective it was in upsetting those bent on catching him. He walked over to the laptop that sat alone on one desk. He paused, and hit the space bar. the screen went blank for a split second, just long enough to be seen, before displaying what he needed to know.
Special Agent William Frants walked over to the police tape confidently. His regulation suit told everyone that he was an FBI agent, but he still showed his badge to the officer by the tape. The younger uniformed policeman raised the tape allowing William to pass without breaking his stride.
He scanned the normal crowd of law enforcement personnel on site, seeking one fellow in particular. Once found, he moved over with the same stride as before until he stood beside the other man.
"Bob."
"Bill."
"Impressive."
"Unfortunately."
The two men stood before a pile of twisted metal, broken glass and other materials that hinted at the type of cars they had been before attempting to occupy the same volume of space. William could make out four different paint schemes in the twisted, smoking wreckage.
"Got any details for me yet, Bob?"
"Five vehicles, seven confirmed dead, two more that probably wont see the next dawn. We literally got confirmation that it was him a minute ago. He gave us the identifier, which we matched as you pulled in."
"What did he do this time?"
The detective looked at the FBI agent, before staring back at the wreckage. He took several deep breaths before he spoke.
"A potato cannon."
"Hit one of the drivers?"
Detective Robert Ilses was surprised by William's response. "From what we have been able to determine, the lead car's passenger compartment was struck, the driver lost control, and the remainder were not able to get clear in time. We wont know if the driver was hit or not until after we cut the mess apart.
"So, Bill, your people having any success figuring this nut case out?"
"He's far from being a nutcase, Bob. He is very clever in what he has been doing. Our people are pulling their hair out trying to get inside his head. He appears, does his deed, the vanishes again with barely a trace. And what little he leaves us is close to worthless. No, this one is very, very careful, clever and plans his strikes with a degree of precision that is almost awe inspiring. He could have done less harm by blowing up a building."
"Yeah. We copping heat from everyone for not doing enough. When we do, the public screams about us being too brutal, messy, not acting on enough information. Victims' families are trying to sue the various government bodies. Civil libertarians are up in arms over our 'heavy handed tactics'. Geez, I don't know who I hate more. Him, or the everyone else."
"Personally, I hate him more. Mainly because the prick's just too good."
~||~
The TV screen showed a standard news room, with a young woman presenting the news.
"Local police have confirmed that the multi-car accident on the northern freeway was caused by the Terrorist known as Taurus. In another daring display, he used a homemade cannon to attack passing motorists. The attack has left seven people dead, and another five injured, two of them critically.
"There have been continued calls for the Police Chief and the District Attorney to be replaced due to their inability apprehend what is now looking more and more like a single man. Even assistance from the FBI has not been able to slow down Taurus' persistent series of attacks on the city.
"As the death toll rises, people are questioning what Taurus wants, and how he plans of achieving his end goals. Current theories include that his is nothing more than a creative serial killer who has no real underlying motive for his murderous campaign. Others suggest that he is merely waiting for the right moment to announce his demands. One matter is certain, only Taurus knows why he is doing what he is."
A soft click caused the new cast to go silent and fade to black. Taurus smiled, knowing that he had again committed a crime that the authorities would have little chance of using to catch him. His weapon was something that could be made from one of numerous listings on the internet, using materials that were all standard, mass produced objects sold in hundreds of stores within the city itself, thousands within half a day's drive. Little about the construction methods would reveal anything that a simple person could deduce. He was skilled enough with his hands to make everything he had used to date.
His workshop was well stocked with many items he would use to carry out his attacks. Most of them had been purchased randomly. Never in bulk, always in amounts that suggested personal use by the home handy man. Other more specialized parts were stolen from businesses that suffered from a serial arsonist, who was also him. The items stolen were easily lost due to the fire, and no one was the wiser that the arson was simply another means of covering his tracks.
Years of accumulating everything he needed, without bringing any attention to himself had paid off nearly six months earlier. Then his war commenced. The Police and FBI could not stop him. Random raids, arrests, copycats that were filling their jail cells while the real Taurus continued to work towards his end goal. Even now, some people were taking the law into their own hands trying to protect themselves against him. Not that it would do them any good. He watched the news. He knew where the people were complacent. He knew exactly where, and how to strike.
He delighted at the simplicity of his approach, and how effective it was in upsetting those bent on catching him. He walked over to the laptop that sat alone on one desk. He paused, and hit the space bar. the screen went blank for a split second, just long enough to be seen, before displaying what he needed to know.
9 days
North East section
Home invasion
One victim
North East section
Home invasion
One victim
Last edited: