ENTITLED TO A SENSE OF CONTROL \\ VISITOR(ISH)

[VOLATILE]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: calibri; font-size: 9.2pt; line-height: 1.4;"]You know what? V agrees with this little princess. Everything that happens is a choice, and he likes being the man that makes people choose. Your life, or their life? Or safety, or theirs? Tell me what I wanna know and maybe you keep your legs. Likes watching them crumble under the pressure — this one looks like he'd do it too. Find the right place to push and he'd crack all to pieces. He's sure not impressed. Too clean, probably from some middle-of-nowhere city with all those buildings that felt like they'd come tumbling down on his head every time he looked up. The man's expression is sour and irritated, stress pulsing through his veins like red hot iron. He's still so sore, should be calmer than this. Needs another fight, needs to feel blood on his skin and all that adrenaline. He needs — Volatile's never sure about what he needs, not these days. Better to think about what he's got.

Hard brown eyes study the stranger in front of him with that same angry restlessness as before, but with that reminder his body language settles slightly. "The fuck are you wanting?" he asks, demands, head tilted and chin jerked out like he can't even start to comprehend what this idiot's doing askin' that shit. "We're too busy for sightseers, Girl Scout."

[KING]

[align=center][div style="width:500px;font-size:9.2pt; text-align:justify"][ INFO ] Twisting too many strings- that was different. That was pulling pottery from the kiln and dropping it to see whether it would break. He was the only one in control. He was the one who chose to throw them at the wall to watch them bounce or break, and under that pressure, it was always the latter. It wasn't their choice at that point. Whatever happened would be his failure, not theirs- his ethical failure. Anyone who delighted in destruction couldn't care for the components of creation, and King wasn't interested in giving men like him chances; he knew it'd always end the same: pretending to try, if only because it was another game, another vase to be knocked off the table.

He didn't bother bleeding trying to set the pieces back together anymore. No point in putting more effort in someone else's life when they wouldn't do it themselves.

But the good people who just wanted to build something out of the wreckage- he'd try for them. That was why he stood here, faced by a man who was probably worse than the one he looked for. Her family deserved to rest easier fearing no assassin.

King straightened up, shoulders back, hands shifting to clasp together behind him. "I don't have any cookies with me, sorry." He smiled breezily, as though the man didn't appear unhinged enough to kill King on a whim. "But you have a killer." A pause. "Well," he began to correct, "one you don't want around. He's an assassin. I have reason to believe he's been here." He raised an eyebrow. "Too busy for that?"

[VOLATILE]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: calibri; font-size: 9.2pt; line-height: 1.4;"]tw for animal cruelty and. human cruelty

Sounds like he'd still end up blaming the pottery for breaking, doesn't it? Could've been made stronger, could've held up longer. 'Least he's right about this one thing: V would end up toying with him. Fuck him up in whatever way possible as soon as he let his guard down. But it ain't like the rest of the world's like him. There are some good people out there, with softer hearts. People that don't do shit for the fun of it, but for the necessity. There's a difference between shooting a deer for dinner and pulling off a fly's wings. It's all about the power of it. He revels in all of his shattered too-sharp edges, the things about him that make it hard for pretty prim things like King to pick him up. He's not something useful or soft on the eyes. He's shards of glass and rusted chain fences.

Every professional shift of King's demeanor has his teeth grinding and adrenaline flooding his veins, that urge to tear him apart ad see what ticks underneath the surface. See him bloodied and ruined, not capable of that breezy smile and easy way of talking. His fist clenches and Volatile breathes a little hard, but he cools himself down with the promise of a spar later. Punch a wall until his own knuckles are bleeding and Caustic's close to hitting him too. Good. Fine. "Aren't you just a good luck charm," he drawls with a molasses friendliness. "You're a lil late to be of any good to us, Girl Scout. Murder scene's in the middle of the town. Have fun."

[KING]

[align=center][div style="width:500px;font-size:9.2pt; text-align:justify"][ INFO ] Not everything was a choice, but the most important tests of free-will were. Always. Only the person holding the gun could pull the trigger, and maybe if there was another one pointed at their head, that'd make some difference. Just slightly, though, because then it became a priority of lives, a matter of choosing who was more important, except that was a one in a million scenario. Dixon wasn't going to pretend that the world before was perfect, but at least it'd had rules. Laws and procedure. Murderers were the outliers.

He wondered what it must have been like, searching for killers back then. How much easier it might have been with cameras and facial recognition and fingerprint databases.

Now, he had to rely on witnesses and shaking down the surfaced criminal underworld. Phrasing it like that made him seem more prepared than he was, but this ghost was his first real assignment. This wasn't chasing down a thief in the rundown city he knew by heart, though the killer had certainly made a mistake involving his city. King wasn't anyone important, could be spared if something happened, but not the face of his home.

She was a good woman, and the man who killed her was anything but.

His gaze roamed across the wide fencing, nose wrinkling at the skulls. This was all relatively uncharted territory, which was why it'd be perfect for someone to keep low, especially after murdering someone in an entirely separate area. Couldn't be anywhere near the crime scene. It was possible he hadn't gone this way, but after buttering up the right person in the right place, he knew someone suspicious had come this far. Given the perimeter, though, it was possible he'd just found a slew of them. No way of knowing if any were him yet.

"I'm just here looking for someone. If you can help, I'd appreciate it."