Chapter 1: An uneventful Day

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Sarah Miler is a coppertop. Unbeknownst to her, especially in her still grim state after the death (or apparent death) of her older brother. She's about to see her older brother once again. She lives in Chicago Illinois, the Windy city. Crime, poverty, riches and commerce. She works for a hospital, her training as a nurse just ended two months ago. Sarah Miler works third shift and it's mid-morning.

The sun is up, but it's chilly so she wears her coat, a coveted possession that was birthday present from her brother. When she received it, it chilled her to the bone; her brother had died when his test air-craft crashed two months before. There was even a note, signed and dated on her birthday. That was a year ago. She took third shift at the hospital so she wouldn't be up nights thinking about him. It was strange to her, her therapist said it was normal to mourn, but it had been a whole year. She supposed the birthday gift from her dead brother was her reason for maintaining her mournful state. Though this was not something she ever told her therapist.

The city had just woken up for another eventful day; people were walking, driving, generally commuting to their places of employment. This generally put her into a good mood, to see the sun up and to feel the breeze in her hair; to see people to go about their lives as usual. Sarah reached the corner of Eighth and Whitney, there was some commotion, and she heard gunshots ring out through the streets. Echoing off the pavement and throughout the glass canyons. The noise amplified itself in here ears and she clutched her hands over them. Strangely this busy intersection was barren, and there was no hint as of yet where the gunshots had emanated from. She turned and began to run the other way, she'd passed the police station one block back, and she had her tennis-shoes on.

Running, partially out of fear, partially out of excitement, she came into view of the police station, four black and white patrol cars were parked out front. An officer leaned on the hood of one patrol car, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup and munching on a doughnut. He acted as though he didn't hear the shots.

She approached him, "Officer, didn't you hear those shots, down the street...On the corner of Eighth," She was breathing hard, she had not run so hard in all her life. He wore a bewildered face, "Shots? I did---" He wretched, his face contorted in pain. His hand quivered and he dropped the doughnut and the Styrofoam cup crushed in his clenched fist. He began toâChange before her eyes. His skin, his very form seemed to contort to a rubbery visage. Then his form snapped back into place, the doughnut and discarded Styrofoam cup at his feet. It was no longer a uniform police officer standing before her. Instead it was a tall dark skinned man with short cropped hair in a black suit.

He tossed her aside and she slid across the pavement into the street, though the unusually light traffic ensured she would not have been hit by a passing motorist. Instead she skidded across the cold, wet and hard asphalt. Her face and exposed skin on the left-hand side of her body was abraded and bruised.

He looked at her, cocked his head and arched his brow. âYouâre not him. Where is he?â

He scowled, she was in a lot of pain and she thought something might be broken. "What are you babbling about?" She wasn't able to finish her sentence, in a flash this stranger, who appeared out of a police officer's body, picked her up by her neck. She dangled in his vice-like grasp, gasping for air and struggling to get free.

"Where is Griff?" She stared into his dark sunglasses in horror. Her brother? What was he talking about? Gregory had been dead a whole year, there's no way anyone could be looking for him. Unless he's still alive!. Sarah's hopes suddenly soared, although she was quickly running out of breath.

He dropped her to the ground. She held her neck, gasping for air. The distinct sound of a gun being cocked is what seemed to have goaded the man to drop her. The, without any further warning, whomever came to save her open fired. It was the loudest noise she'd heard in her life. A staccato burst from what she assumed was a hand gun fired right over her head. She looked up, thinking she'd see the man in the dark suit bleeding severely. But he stood, not a one bullet appeared to him. Was her rescuer a bad shot? That wasn't good.

Sarah looked around frantically for her would-be rescuer but she saw no one, in fact the man that had nearly killed her moments before was gone. Eight bullet shells laid on the ground where she assumes the gunman stood. She picked one up and ran in the direction of her apartment. She didn't want to be around if the man in the dark suit returned.