<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/D6uzCbh.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>Name:</strong>Cloud 9/ Abigail Boylen<br/><strong>Time/Date:</strong>Late Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>All over Manhattan but eventually ending up at Luke's Bar, Harlem<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Green Jacket, Gray Scarf, Black Pants<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open<strong>Mentioned:</strong>N/A<br/><strong>Warning:</strong>N/A<br/><hr/><br/><strong>Yesterday Night</strong><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">New Jersey State Police Audio Transcript</div><div class="spoiler_body"><em>I am a predator and humanity are animals. They think they are safe, civilized, that they are somehow higher, elevating themselves to their own self importance. But its not true. Humans aren’t safe. They aren’t blessed and they are all in danger. From drunk drivers. From tornadoes. From mosquitoes. From me. Humans go missing or are killed off by predators at the same rate as any other herd animal, it’s the truth. I’m not crazy, I’m part of the natural order. I’m the predator, I’m the hunter.<br/><br/>I saw her breasts rising and falling with each of her breaths as she approached her vehicle in the car park and I lay and wait. So much life in her, and I’ve been stalking for many long minutes now, waiting for her to come. For her to arrive like a wildebeest at the watering hole. My eyes follow her approach. My stomach starts to churn, unlike a true predator I still eat the drab food of my prey… hopefully not for long.<br/><br/>I withdraw the knife, palming it in my hand, and walk up to her casually. I attack through deception, like the spider, or the crocodile. I don’t look like an ordinary person, I am an ordinary person. Got the time? Where’s the ATM? Blah. Blah. Blah. The prey is disarmed, ripe for the taking as soon as I gain her attention.<br/><br/>She gets distracted, I drive the knife to her throat and like clockwork I push her into the car, bending her head down so she can’t scream. In the wild, the prey always die slow, this should be no different but… I don’t want her to feel pain. I raise the knife.<br/><br/>It drops to the floor.<br/><br/>So does my arm. It hangs limply, a strong throbbing welling up from just below my shoulder but I feel no pain, just a numbness. The woman screams beneath me, wriggling out of my grip. I back up a step and look around and notice the most dangerous game strike my face as a wooden cylinder slams into my nose. I taste my own blood, it’s familiar. What is this new creature? It has me cornered but I see it… a female.<br/><br/>I withdraw my pistol as she approaches from twenty paces away. I fire. She disappears in a puff of smoke but not from my weapon. The cloud clings to the ground, almost like a hazy fog and she appears, ripping through the expanding cloud as I feel my throat itch with burning. My bullet must of gone through her. Impossible. What is this? What is she? My feet suddenly lose their sense of the ground and I realize I am rising up in the air, listless. Helpless. <br/><br/>For a moment I gaze down and see the woman, standing in the mist, gazing at me with calm eyes. I'm merely a predator. She is a hunter. I almost feel smitten before the mist dissipates beneath me and I realize I am falling through the air onto the street below.<br/><br/>My other arm shatters. I feel the pain now. But I get up, and start to run. The most dangerous game is after me, and I am forced to flee. There is no such thing as an apex predator, all are hunted by something. There is no other recourse. Another strike, another sensation, my legs stagger. Already I know it was her. What is she? She was on the third level of the carpark. Far behind and above me. Was I shot?<br/><br/>Before I can dwell on it I’m blinded by headlights from the side.<br/><br/>I get struck like a common deer on the road by a police cruiser.<br/><br/>It will make the police officers career. I will be placed in the zoo with the other animals, denied the honorable, natural death a true hunter like myself deserves. Why didn’t she just kill me?</em><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Suspect was found to have blunt force trauma injuries to his upper back and right shoulder, consistent with twelve gauge bean bag/baton rifles fired at close range. Other injuries were sustained in the fall from the third story of the car park and being struck by the police cruiser of the arresting trooper. Suspect has yet to be identified but is suspected to be involved in more then one felony at this time.</span> </span></div></div><br/><hr/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">NYPD Precinct #33 Witness Statement, Felony Assault</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>WITNESS STATEMENT OF </strong><br/><br/><strong>Name   </strong>Julie Frederich   <br/><strong>Address </strong> #############         <br/><strong>Occupation   </strong>Special Education Teacher   <br/><strong>Date </strong> ##/##/20##<br/><br/>I make the following witness statement:<br/><br/>I believe that the contents of this my witness statement are true and accurate. My name, address and occupation are as stated above.<br/><br/><em><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: comic sans ms;">We had never gone to that bar in Washington Heights before so neither of us knew any of the people there. We just went there after the show because it was within walking distance and on the way to the station. When my husband and I entered the bar, we saw the bar was backed up and we had to actually wait for drinks. That's when the two guys started cat calling and wolf whistling at me. My boyfriend [Frank Hutz, the victim] tried to ignore them and I was trying to ignore them as well. But the two of them kept harassing me and whistling and laughing and calling me names. [see attached Witness Statements] <br/><br/>My boyfriend trained in MMA and was just as tall as these two guys and finally got fed up and told them to knock it off finally. He also tried to get the bartender involved but the bartender and staff were busy. The two men just laughed when my boyfriend said he was going to call the police. They stopped calling me names when he called them out on it and they started to look real bad. It was then that one of them, the shorter brown one with the stubble who was wearing the black Yankees shirt stepped forward [Armando Aceveda, Suspect #1] and flinched at Frank. But Frank didn't flinch. He just stared at him and then laughed in his face and then we stepped out of the bar since it was clear no one was going to help us.<br/><br/>Before we reached the end of the block though the two men followed us. The short guy said he was sorry and asked if we would come back and he promised to buy us a drink. Frank waved him off and turned around and that's when the second person stepped in. He was taller. Lighter skin. Like tan. Slim. More gaunt. He was wearing a leather jacket and black jeans. [Philip Fernandez, Suspect #2] He stepped forward and punched Frank right in the side of the face. He had something metal wrapped around his fist like a chain [Evidence A1, Brass Knuckle Duster] around his fist and Frank fell down. The two of them then started kicking him in his ribs and head and he tried to cover himself up but he went limp when they kicked his head repeatedly. No one was stopping to help him.  <br/><br/>Then this woman wearing a green jacket and a scarf obscuring most of her face arrived. She looked young. Most of her hair was bundled up under the scarf. I didn't even hear her coming. I was too busy screaming and backing away from it, looking for someone to help. She just sort of appeared behind the tall one or like jumped on him and hit him on his back really hard with a bat [believed to be a telescoping baton, see: Medical Report, Philip Fernandez] and he staggered. And I was still screaming because I thought there were three of them attacking him but then I saw she was hitting him with the bat again and again and he finally fell down. The shorter guy then turned and she hit him across the face. And that's all that it took I think. She didn't even say anything. She just ran down an alley as soon as I stopped screaming. </span></em><br/><br/><strong>Signature   </strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: comic sans ms;">___Julie Frederich </span><strong>Date   </strong>##/##/20##</div></div><hr/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Bank of America ATM (co. West 166th Avenue &amp; Jumel Plaza) Entered into Evidence</div><div class="spoiler_body"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;">White male, early twenties wearing a black jacket, black stocking cap and black jeans and boots is seen approaching late model Range Rover parked in a side parking lot located across the street from the ATM. It takes the suspect approximately two minutes to gain access to the vehicle, circumventing the alarm and disabling it. Entering the drivers side door, he closes the door behind him. A moment later the suspect emerges, in distress and pulling off his stocking cap, pressing it over his mouth. He runs around the corner, deeper into the parking lot and out of sight.</span><br/><br/>[Suspect was found twenty minutes later by Officers Dietrich and Trumbell of the 34th Precinct after anonymous 911 call was placed from a pay phone three blocks away]<br/></div></div><hr/><br/><strong>Today</strong><br/><br/>New York City. It was always a city she had to return to. No matter how long she spent living in campground and rest areas and open fields, she always felt the urge, the compulsion to return to civilization and just feel the presence of people around her. It wasn't because she liked people or crowds... or the sights or smells or sounds of city life. It just felt more alive, brushing up with humanity instead of secluding herself. Instead of disappearing off of the grid, she immersed herself in the crowds and buildings, hidden in plain sight. City life. It was always moving. Always active. Always bustling. And New York City was the liveliest city of them all. She walked into the city crossing George Washington Bridge yesterday morning. The movies and television shows never did the scale of the city justice. She walked south to Midtown, taking in most of the sights. The Museums. Central Park. Chose a random place to eat some of the flavored paper they called pizza for lunch and then hit up the Intrepid and geeked out there for most of the afternoon.<br/><br/>She had a cupcake for dinner out of some local, hole in the wall bakery somewhere on 69th Street. She had to have some sort of cake for her 21st Birthday after all though she satisfied herself with one candle instead of adding twenty more. Easier to blow out as well. "Happy birthday to me," Abigail then said as it dawned on her about just how depressing it was that she was celebrating her birthday all by herself. But the truth was, she wasn't feeling the guilt. She wasn't sure if it was possible to be sustained by random acts of kindness and good deeds, but she knew she had performed a half dozen of them last night, and three of them didn't even involve interceding in criminal behavior. People could and were doing good things everyday. It just so happened she knew her training and abilities allowed her to do much more then help old people carry their groceries or pick up litter. So no, she wasn't the kind of person to feel depressed, or even lonely.<br/><br/>But she did know that she was 'alone' and on her birthday at least, that did seem somewhat odd.<br/><br/>She didn't so much want to hang out with people, just be around them. Amongst them. Remind herself that yes, she was a bit inhuman thanks to her abilities but she was still part of society. Validate herself and her place in the world, as strange and isolated as it felt sometimes. And on this night, she hoped the bar she entered this night wouldn't end up with her having to intercede in a felony assault.<br/><br/>As soon as it started getting dark, she took the subway back up to Harlem for a reason. It did have a reputation despite the effects of gentrification which (perhaps thankfully) didn't quite ruin the character and culture of the neighborhood. She knew that when she was done celebrating her 21st, she would have plenty of time to spend her nights doing more good deeds. She started off the evening by reserving a room at the finest, cheapest motel she could find in the area before heading to the classiest dive bar that didn't look particularly ethnic and was within walking distance of her motel in case she had to drunkenly stumble... or float... home.<br/><br/>She entered the bar and immediately noticed it was one of those nice small, long establishments with the long bar and just enough room for some tables along the windowfront. She was actually pleasantly surprised as the rather diverse clientele that made up the bar and from the way the big Black guy from behind the bar was interacting with some of them, they seemed to be regulars. In fact the bar actually had an almost community type of feel, as if it was insular. She could only hope that it wasn't so insular that she couldn't get a drink.<br/><br/>It took her about a split second to realize the thought of a bar refusing to serve a cute blonde twenty something a drink would be something amazing indeed.<br/><br/>Though, a bit to her dismay it wasn't the hunky mountain of dark muscle that took her first drink order, but some codgy old timer (http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Roy_Healy). "Getya?" he asked or perhaps grunted with all of the charisma of asbestos.<br/><br/>"Glass of water. And," she paused, noticing the drink specials. "Two cranberry vodkas. Heavy on the vodka. Something Russian... Or Sobieski's if you have it," Abigail then said when the old man paused and grunted, as if expecting something else. It actually took her a second to realize he wanted her ID. Apparently the bar wasn't that cozy as she reached in and produced it. The man glanced at her drivers license. It was from Illinois. Still good too. She had fakes of course, but it wasn't like 'Luke's Bar' was likely infiltrated by HYDRA.<br/><br/>"Happy Birthday Tsarina," the old man grunted, drawing a smirk from Abigail as he clearly mocked her special request for particular vodka, like she was somehow an expert on her first day being able to legally drink. "Sobieski it is. Do you know-."<br/><br/>"He helped drive the Turks out of Vienna in 1683," Abigail replied, revealing she did know her history as he poured out the vodka and cranberry into two glasses.<br/><br/>There was a slight chuckle that looked more like a grimace that rose from the old mans weathered face. "Smart girl to know her history. I can see why your drinking alone tonight," he then added mockingly. "I'll start you a tab sweetheart okay."<br/><br/>"Okay!" Abigail replied with a smile. "And don't forget the water!" she added.<br/><br/>"Smart... smart girl," the old man continued to mutter as he filled up a tall glass with water.<br/><br/>For a moment, Abigail leaned back on the barstool, making sure the compact pistol she had neatly tucked in a shoulder holster wasn't exposed as she opened her jacket up. Just the gun and the baton. She left her real weapons of justice back in the motel room. Shotguns and scoped rifles were kind of hard to conceal on ones person plus, she wasn't exactly expecting trouble. She was just going to celebrate her birthday, by herself... amongst strangers she didn't even really want to talk to. Though if the old man was the crankiest person in the bar, that must've meant everyone else in this bar was probably just absolutely peachy.<br/><br/>And old. Not old like that bartender that had just served her but... definitely older then herself by a few years. She perked up an ear, hoping to pick up some entertaining nuggets at least from what seemed to be at the very least, an interesting conversation while she started to sip her drink.