Gunplay [Closed for TheAntiRebel]

[NekoMata]

Bio
Name: Sinclair "Sin" Arita
Age: 20
Hair: Auburn
Eyes: Hazel
Occupation: Hitwoman
Orientation: Bi
Sin was a born and raised hitwoman and trained in stealth and both weapons use and creation. Sin is sadistic as well as being masochistic and doesn't think twice about killing someone.

XxxX​

Sin sat in the leather chair and leaned back. She twirled the pistol lazily around her finger. She spun the chamber and pointed it at the man tied in the chair. "One bullet and eight chambers. If it doesn't kill you, I'll let you go. If it does, well your dead." she said. She swept her reddish brown hair out of her face and removed her shades setting them on the table.

"Please! Don't do this!" sniveled the man. Mr. Jerry Galston, real estate tycoon and all around asshole. The insignificant little worm had a hit out on him by a angry ex-wife/customer. So now her Sin was playing one way Russian Roulette with his life.

"No...I think I will do this." she said pointing the gun and pulling the trigger. A low pump of air sounded from the silenced gun barrel. A burst of blood came from his chest. Good thing she had set him in a plastic tub or the blood pool would have been impossible to clean up.

A few hours later

She walked out of the building brushing her hands off. She straddled her black Yamaha and rode out of the parking lot. She smiled to herself. Another job well done. As always it had been allto easy. She had let the man bleed out before carving the letters of her name into his body, the S in the palm of his right hands, the I on his forehead, and the N in the palm of his left hand. She truly desired a challenge.

 

[TheAntiRebel]

Inspector Malcom Jonstone
Age: 32
Inspector Jonstone is a well-respected police detective. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with a modestly muscular build and sandy blond hair and deep blue hairs. His hair is slightly unkempt and he's always sporting a day's worth of stubble on his face. Recently divorced, he's spending unhealthy amounts of time on his work.

Malcolm drove his unmarked Ford town car up to the building. The whole area was roped off. There were more than a few squad cars parked in the area with their lights lit up. Uniformed cops were everywhere. He pulled up to the rope, where a uniform waved to him. Malcolm rolled down the window.

"Hey, Inspector. We got a warm one for ya'," the cop explained.

"Thanks, Tommy," Malcolm said nonchalantly, before rolling up his window and climbing out of his Ford. He ducked under the crime scene tape and entered the building. It was an satellite office to Galston Enterprises, a big real estate firm in town. Malcolm followed the scattering of uniformed cops until he entered an office and saw a plastic tub in the center of the room with a dead body inside. The man was marinating in what looked to be about 90% of his blood supply.

"Hey Inspector. The night custodian reported it. We don't know who he is. We're trying to get a hold of the owner," another uniformed cop explained.

Malcolm walked over to the dead body and examined it. The man was shot by a clean bullet to the have. "We'll have the crime scene team here any minute," the uniform said over Malcolm's shoulder.

"I don't think you'll have any luck contacting the owner." Malcolm said dryly.

"Why's that?"

Malcolm walked over the wall behind the desk and grabbed a framed newspaper article that was hanging on the wall. The headline was "Local Tycoon Promises New Playground To School" and showed Mr. Jerry Galston standing up a news conference podium, promising to build new playgrounds for all the cities' schools. Malcolm showed the picture to the uniformed cop. "I hear he has a real bad headache."

"Shit. So, what was this? A robbery? Maybe embezzlement or something?"

Malcolm set the framed news article back on the desk. "I don't think so. Petty robbers don't drop their victims in a bucket, first."

"So, what was it?"

"I think it was a hit. A big tycoon type like Galston probably has dozens of enemies," Malcolm put his hand on his chin and felt his unshaven hair. "We just need to figure out who hated him enough to pay for him to be killed. And, more importantly, who did it."

Malcolm started walking to the door and then stopped. "Tell the crime scene team to send me their full report. I'm going to check with the traffic division. I wonder if any of the area's traffic cameras caught our Mr. Hitman," he said curtly before walking out.