11-25-2014, 04:15 PM
"Can't you feel this world is changing? Moscow is its bloody heart, the epicentre of what is to come. Of course we're dangerous. You and I could raze this world if we chose. Sooner or later, someone will try."
Sören's lips twisted a scornful frown. The CCD was not interested in protection, only in securing its place at the top of the chain now that the world had shifted. Sarkzoy might view himself the white knight, but he was little more than a pawn in a larger game. The CCD did not even admit to the existence of men like them, and they would continue to deny it until their hand was forced. The day was coming. Sören did not intend to be caught in the cross-fire. Nor did he intend to be trampled underfoot.
Despite the pains Sarkozy went to to try and invoke a sense of duty, Sören was unmoved. He did not feel obligated to offer answers, even now, despite the cop's attitude of entitlement to them. His actions spoke what his words refused; he complied, albeit coldly, and he had not raised his gifts once, though he could feel the maelstrom thunder its call. In his eyes it was exoneration enough; words were an unnecessary peripheral, apt to secret lies amongst their promises. But since the man insisted.
"Not coincidence,"
he agreed. The anger had diluted, but irritation still clipped his words. Sarkozy had already mentioned the ring, and Sören held no interest in discussing it further. He knew perfectly well what the draw had been; he'd felt it himself. Any further Sören did not wish to enlighten. "Had I not been there, your girl would be dead."
What more was there to tell? Nothing else would issue forth willingly, not without motivation. Sarkozy had hardly endeared himself.
"So tell me, Detective Sarkozy, what exactly is the CCD doing to keep people safe from men like us."
The question came dryly, but the interest was sincere, despite the unspoken 'besides harassing the innocent' implied by the tone.
Sören's lips twisted a scornful frown. The CCD was not interested in protection, only in securing its place at the top of the chain now that the world had shifted. Sarkzoy might view himself the white knight, but he was little more than a pawn in a larger game. The CCD did not even admit to the existence of men like them, and they would continue to deny it until their hand was forced. The day was coming. Sören did not intend to be caught in the cross-fire. Nor did he intend to be trampled underfoot.
Despite the pains Sarkozy went to to try and invoke a sense of duty, Sören was unmoved. He did not feel obligated to offer answers, even now, despite the cop's attitude of entitlement to them. His actions spoke what his words refused; he complied, albeit coldly, and he had not raised his gifts once, though he could feel the maelstrom thunder its call. In his eyes it was exoneration enough; words were an unnecessary peripheral, apt to secret lies amongst their promises. But since the man insisted.
"Not coincidence,"
he agreed. The anger had diluted, but irritation still clipped his words. Sarkozy had already mentioned the ring, and Sören held no interest in discussing it further. He knew perfectly well what the draw had been; he'd felt it himself. Any further Sören did not wish to enlighten. "Had I not been there, your girl would be dead."
What more was there to tell? Nothing else would issue forth willingly, not without motivation. Sarkozy had hardly endeared himself.
"So tell me, Detective Sarkozy, what exactly is the CCD doing to keep people safe from men like us."
The question came dryly, but the interest was sincere, despite the unspoken 'besides harassing the innocent' implied by the tone.
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