websites all about Alkaline. I start on the letters.
It makes me embarrassed to be a woman after reading just five of these things. My luck with men isn’t the best. Once I’ve even gone a year without sex, but I’ve never been so delusional or desperate to write a convicted rapist and murderer pledging my undying love. What the hell are these chicks thinking? Most border on or just plain are pornographic. At least Ryder had something to do in his cell all day. I am so wearing gloves when I touch anything in there.
I just don’t get it. There are letters from hundreds of women, and some men, to this butcher and rapist. Sure he’s a handsome man, and there is the danger aspect, but he shoots acid out of his body. Acid. How the hell is that sexy?
These letters go in the pile of possible accomplices. Sadly, the pile is really fucking big. At least fifty women and men have pledged their devotion and love to Ryder. We’ll have to interview all of them to get their alibis, not that I think the accomplice is any of them. A smart man, and Alkaline is that without doubt, would either destroy or keep the letters from his accomplice, but he might have made a mistake and forgotten, so these fans will be getting a knock on their doors today. This would be a hell of a lot easier if I could figure out how he communicated with them.
After two more pornographic tales of longing, I close the file. I’m not going to find anything here. I’ll have a rookie sort through the rest. Time to move onto the light reading: psychological profile. Ryder had monthly meetings with Dr. John Qwan, prison psychiatrist who is now having his guts weighed by our medical examiner. It’s mostly information I already know. Anti-social personality with extreme narcissistic tendencies. Feelings of persecution. Genius IQ. God complex. A basic psychopath.
Ryder was born to two loving parents in Galilee, where he lived five blocks from me. I probably passed him on the street a million times. We even went to the same high school, though at different times. Creepy. He had one sister who, along with the parents, died in a fire when Ryder was fourteen. The same year his power manifested. The fire marshal declared it accidental due to a gas leak. Yeah, right. Ryder was stuck in foster care, three different families, but ran away from each within days. Started his first gang then, building a small empire by age twenty. He was arrested twice, but released both times for lack or loss of evidence. He went pretty much unchecked until Justice resurfaced and made him a priority. Then Ryder got mad and became Alkaline.
Diablo’s Ward wasn’t enough for him, especially when he lost control of the piers. He went from mob boss to uber-villain, chasing Justice all over the city. He kidnapped and killed the police commissioner, robbed banks, and tried to release a stolen virus at the library. All of this just to get Justice’s attention. It worked. Their war resulted in almost a billion dollars in property damage, multiple deaths, and worldwide interest. Now he’s back out there, more pissed off than before.
There’s nothing in this file to help me locate him, which is all I care about. Hell, the only real way we’ll find him without relying on luck, is to tie Justice up on the bridge and wait for Ryder to slime his way toward him. This scenario brings a smile to my face.
I pull out the file the warden’s secretary gave me with the list of people who had any contact with Ryder. The poor, overwhelmed thing had to go back and get me the complete list. She only had the names of people with direct contact. One theory I came up with was he left notes in his sheets, and one of the people in the laundry delivered them. Farfetched, but possible.
People from the library where he had books delivered, cleaning crew, guards, medical personnel, even the secretary of Dr. Qwan, the list is close to forty people. For a man in solitary confinement, there were a lot of people he had
It makes me embarrassed to be a woman after reading just five of these things. My luck with men isn’t the best. Once I’ve even gone a year without sex, but I’ve never been so delusional or desperate to write a convicted rapist and murderer pledging my undying love. What the hell are these chicks thinking? Most border on or just plain are pornographic. At least Ryder had something to do in his cell all day. I am so wearing gloves when I touch anything in there.
I just don’t get it. There are letters from hundreds of women, and some men, to this butcher and rapist. Sure he’s a handsome man, and there is the danger aspect, but he shoots acid out of his body. Acid. How the hell is that sexy?
These letters go in the pile of possible accomplices. Sadly, the pile is really fucking big. At least fifty women and men have pledged their devotion and love to Ryder. We’ll have to interview all of them to get their alibis, not that I think the accomplice is any of them. A smart man, and Alkaline is that without doubt, would either destroy or keep the letters from his accomplice, but he might have made a mistake and forgotten, so these fans will be getting a knock on their doors today. This would be a hell of a lot easier if I could figure out how he communicated with them.
After two more pornographic tales of longing, I close the file. I’m not going to find anything here. I’ll have a rookie sort through the rest. Time to move onto the light reading: psychological profile. Ryder had monthly meetings with Dr. John Qwan, prison psychiatrist who is now having his guts weighed by our medical examiner. It’s mostly information I already know. Anti-social personality with extreme narcissistic tendencies. Feelings of persecution. Genius IQ. God complex. A basic psychopath.
Ryder was born to two loving parents in Galilee, where he lived five blocks from me. I probably passed him on the street a million times. We even went to the same high school, though at different times. Creepy. He had one sister who, along with the parents, died in a fire when Ryder was fourteen. The same year his power manifested. The fire marshal declared it accidental due to a gas leak. Yeah, right. Ryder was stuck in foster care, three different families, but ran away from each within days. Started his first gang then, building a small empire by age twenty. He was arrested twice, but released both times for lack or loss of evidence. He went pretty much unchecked until Justice resurfaced and made him a priority. Then Ryder got mad and became Alkaline.
Diablo’s Ward wasn’t enough for him, especially when he lost control of the piers. He went from mob boss to uber-villain, chasing Justice all over the city. He kidnapped and killed the police commissioner, robbed banks, and tried to release a stolen virus at the library. All of this just to get Justice’s attention. It worked. Their war resulted in almost a billion dollars in property damage, multiple deaths, and worldwide interest. Now he’s back out there, more pissed off than before.
There’s nothing in this file to help me locate him, which is all I care about. Hell, the only real way we’ll find him without relying on luck, is to tie Justice up on the bridge and wait for Ryder to slime his way toward him. This scenario brings a smile to my face.
I pull out the file the warden’s secretary gave me with the list of people who had any contact with Ryder. The poor, overwhelmed thing had to go back and get me the complete list. She only had the names of people with direct contact. One theory I came up with was he left notes in his sheets, and one of the people in the laundry delivered them. Farfetched, but possible.
People from the library where he had books delivered, cleaning crew, guards, medical personnel, even the secretary of Dr. Qwan, the list is close to forty people. For a man in solitary confinement, there were a lot of people he had
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