---

Music blared out of the speakers of a young investigator's iPhone as Detective Logan Colby sat at his computer, typing away.
"Turn that crap off!" Logan shouted. The young investigator was either unable to hear him, or too content in his own ignorance. Either way, Logan was ignored and the music went on. He groaned, finishing up the email. It was more brief than he'd wanted, but it would have to do until the godforsaken song was over. He pressed enter, and the email was sent to the five recipients. He was hoping they'd all show up when expected - he didn't really want to send out some officers just to retrieve suspects that might not even be the kidnapper. He whistled to his desk mate. "Corey, get us my Migraleve, will you? And some coffee?"
Corey nodded.
"I won't be a minute," He said as he got up, before he tucked his chair under and walked off. In the meanwhile, Logan tried his best to hold back the oncoming migraine as the young investigator's noise fest went on.

Corey returned after two minutes, with two yellow tablets, (along with two pink ones just in case) and a cup of coffee. The detective gave his thanks and took the items, placing the pink tablets and one of the yellow tablets on the desk. He took one yellow tablet, before he took the other one, and set the pink ones aside. I'm gonna have to take the pink ones... he thought. That fucking music won't stop.

Three minutes, two pink tablets and a cup of coffee later, the terrible song eventually ended and the young investigator put his phone away. Thank fucking God.
"Hey, we've got another report of a kidnapping!" Detective Kevin Dalton called out, his eyes racing across his computer screen as he took yet another 911 call.
"Fucking hell..." Logan muttered, getting up and coming over. "What's the location?"
Kevin typed away at his keyboard, talking to the distressed woman on the phone.
"Just at the back of The Midnight Fox Nightclub."
Logan walked back to his desk, radioing to Squad 1.
"We've got another kidnapping. Yeah, the Nightclub. Right. Thanks." He sighed, before he turned off the radio and sat back in his chair. Five minutes until he left work. He decided to leave a little earlier, since another kidnapping wouldn't happen within five minutes. Surely not? He put on his coat and walked out of the Police Station.

---

"Logan!" A voice called out as the detective entered the Police Station the next day. He groaned, turning around.
"Yeah?"
An infuriated looking P.C Eugene Vaughan strode up to him, face red as blood.
"What were you doing leaving five minutes early?" He barked. "Something else could've happened in that time, little as it was! You are the man who keeps this operation together!"
"Eugene, I-I--"
All rage seemed to disappear from the constable's face in an instant, replaced with a laugh.
"Oh, I got you!" He laughed uncontrollably, much to the detective's embarrassment. Logan blushed.
"God, Eugene, you gotta stop doing this to me."
The constable managed to regain himself.
"Go on, Logan. You wait for those suspects."
Logan nodded, before he walked to the wall and waited for the suspects to arrive.

"Yeah, yeeah, I know, I don't want to miss the big music festival either." The woman (Who we'll refer to as Suspect 2) said into her phone. With her Jamaican accent obviously apparent. She was leaning up against the door of her taxi - watching the city go by. "Cops want to talk to me - I never did anything! I just make music, that's all. Why would I jeopardize that?"

She sounded worried. And she wondered why, of all people, the police thought she had something to do with what's going on. She was just a 5'4 Jamaican woman. What crimes would they think she'd commit? Ugh! It was just bloody racists. In their eyes, if you aren't white, then you aren't innocent.

"Yeah, yeah, but I'll head to the Police Station and sort all of this out - Oh! It's coming up now." Tanya said as the taxi pulled into a spot right in front of a police station. The Cab Driver's counter was around sixty dollars... figured. Tanya rolled her eyes up into her head. Tanya reached into her purse, and pulled out three twenties, and handed it to the cab driver. Before giving him a smile, and a playful nod, before stepping out of the car, and onto the sidewalk. The car pulled off, and Tanya inhaled, then exhaled.

The police station looked a lot more intimidating now. Though, long as she kept a happy face on, she'd get out of this all right. Tanya heaved her guitar over her shoulder, and walked up to the building.

Its too bloody hot! the irritated voice at the back of Suspect 4’s subconscious nattered as she made her way awkwardly through the hustle and bustle of Kingston. She squeezed uncomfortably through the crowd, getting sharp looks from the passers-by that she bumped in to, trying her hardest to keep her eyes on the pavement ahead of her, and away from the accusing glances of the rush hour mob.

Beneath her snug denim jeans she could feel her big thighs tightly chaffing against each other, which was sure to break out in some kind of rash in the near future, making Suspect 4 want to get to the station all that much faster, so she had somewhere to sit down and recuperate.

This is such bullshit… she grumbled inwardly as she made her way down the bustling Kingston highstreets. Suspect 4 had been editing her latest video when she’d gotten the email from the man calling himself Logan Colby, and it had completely and utterly soured her mood. She was supposed to have a gig tonight, but she had no idea how long this meeting would run on, which meant she might not get paid, which meant she’d be stuck in these shitty jeans at the very least until she could find more work, and there was no telling how long that would be.

Her phone buzzed.

She looked down at the glaring white screen; Anna Knight sent you a pin the notification informed her.

She ignored it.

Dripping with sweat, and puffing and panting like no tomorrow, Suspect 4 ran out of breath about three minutes later, deciding to plop down on a rickety wooden bench whilst she regained some stamina.

Wiping her chubby hands on her jeans, she decided to check her inbox to kill some time.

Hi all!

Just checking in to remind you our regular meeting on Monday will continue as scheduled, and to ignore anything you receive from Julian. I don’t know what plane of reality he’s operating on.

Attendance is mandatory, so if I see any faces missing you’ll be reprimanded accordingly. Missing two meetings in a row will result in a lowering of your commitment grade to 1.

Hope you’re all having a pleasant day!

Michelle Romirez, Head of the more able and talented committee.

Suspect 4 kept scrolling.

Dear patient.

This is an automated reminder that you have a delivery of 20ml fluoxetine tablets to be collected from the child health clinic.

Your item will be held for three days before mandatory disposal.

The child and young person’s health team.

Mustering the will to keep walking, Suspect 4 hauled herself up off of the bench, before making her way down the street towards her destination.

The police station was a great big squat and ugly building that sent a sort of cold shiver down the back of Suspect 4’s neck.

“Let’s rock and roll.” She mumbled to herself, before striding up to the front entrance, wheezing ever-so-slightly.

---

"Welcome!" The detective's British accent rang through the main entrance as the first suspect - Suspect 2 arrived through the door, followed by Suspect 4 ten minutes later. He called for Eugene, and asked him to wait for the other suspects as he led 4 and 2 through into the Investigative Offices. "Please, take a seat here," He said, motioning to two of six chairs that had been set up at the back of the office, "I'll be right back."
He walked off to the coffee machine and got two mugs, before filling them both with decaf. He grabbed two sugar packets and walked back to the suspects, handing them a mug and a sugar packet each. "Constable Eugene will come back down in a moment to keep you company. I've got to go back and wait for the other suspects."
He went out of the Investigative Offices and down the corridor to the Main Entrance, taking up his post at the wall once again. "Eugene, keep them company, will you?"
The constable nodded, and went back to the Investigative Offices, before walking over to the suspects and dragging up a chair near them.
"Hello," He said, "My name's Police Constable Eugene Vaughan, but you can just call me Eugene."

No. That was a stupid idea. He gently closed the screen of his netbook and began to drum his fingers on it, the metallic plastic sounding brittle on each tap. He checked his watch. About time. He had places to be, apparently. Stowing his laptop carefully in its case, he swung the strap over his shoulder and swiped his oversized plastic cup of chilled coffee, cream, milk and a foolish quantity of chocolate syrups. Expensive, yes - more than he should really make money for, but, still. He took a swig, eyes gently frowing behind the huge swirl of cream obscuring his face.

"Going so soon?"

The barista, a mousy, if forthright, woman in her thirties called to him. She was used to him working in the coffee shop all day; he was usually the only customer, which was, of course, precisely why he went. It wasn't for the décor, paint peeling from the walls and a once-ironic plastic flamingo that had by now abandoned all hopes of remaining pink. It wasn't even for the coffee, because he knew for a fact that it was mostly cream. He took another thick slurp.

"Yeah. I've got a, uh, meeting."

"A meeting, huh?" She sort of winked at him, a shudder of her whole body rather than a precise movement of the eye. She obviously didn't think he had a meeting - of the 'official' variety, anyway. That was fine. She could think what she wanted to think.

---

The coffee was almost dead by now. Just a few smudges of chocolatey goo and crushed ice dregs were to its name. Still, as he approached the police station, a fat, grey blot on the landscape, he subconsciously bit the straw and inhaled tensely through it, gently regulating his own breathing.

There was somebody there, waiting. The trench coat gave him away instantly. This was the guy he was apparently supposed to meet.

---

Logan smiled as he saw a silhouette of a man walking up to the police station. As they neared, the detective noted his appearance, and pinned it immediately - Suspect 1. The suspect neared, and Logan almost threw out his arms in welcome.
"Oh, hey there! You must be here because of my email. Please, this way." He beckoned him in - his routine gesture for the day - and led him to the Investigative Offices. The detective noticed the empty coffee cup in his hand, one from the rundown store just up the street. Guess the French don't know what decent coffee is, he thought. "Please, take a seat." Logan said as he brought the man over to the set of six chairs, motioning to one of them, next to where the two ladies sat.

Suspect Five’s ass was just starting to go numb, but he was just buzzed enough not to care. He was sitting alone on a city bus, switching from staring straight ahead to staring out the streaky window. There were other people on the bus, he could hear their voices, but apparently none of them wanted to sit next to Suspect Five. Maybe it was the smell. Cigarette reek did have a nasty habit of sinking into clothing and staying there.

As the concrete landscape crawled by, the scruffy older man shook his head anxiously, trying to shake away those last couple swigs of vodka before he arrived at the station. It had been a while ago, but he was still feeling the effects. Suspect Five wanted to make this Logan guy’s day a little easier by sobering up, so at least he would have some legal credibility for whatever nonsense this little interview was about. He did have a full flask for after the meeting though, and he could feel its comforting weight in the front pocket of his jeans, along with the pack of cigarettes, lighter and cell phone in his left hand pocket. Just as he was about to pull the lighter out, the bus hissed loudly and came to a halt at his stop.

Five climbed quickly out of his seat and off of the bus, hearing another hiss behind him as it lumbered away. Since the station was a couple of blocks away, he stuck a cig in the corner of his mouth and lit it, taking quite a few tries since his lighter was on the fritz. Knowing exactly where to go, Suspect Five dragged his his previously athletic legs in the direction of the police station, smoke trailing in his wake.

The journey was a short and uneventful one, unfortunately for Suspect Five, as he was hoping to see something along the way that might capture his imagination. Apart from the crowds wrinkling their noses at him, no such luck. He stepped on the remainder of his cigarette as he shambled up the steps towards the station entrance and stepped inside. The inside was bland, clean, and enormous, just like he expected. Five shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for whatever this was.

---

Logan had already made his way back down to the entrance when Suspect 5 made his way into the Main Entrance. He greeted the man with a smile.
"Welcome! Please, this way." He said as he led the man to the Investigative Offices. The route was becoming so familiar that he could walk there with his eyes closed. The detective brought the man to the set of six chairs, before he rushed off to the coffee machine. He returned with two mugs and two packets of sugar. He gave 5 one of the mugs (which contained decaf coffee) and a packet of sugar, before giving Eugene the other sugar sachet and mug. "Eugene will take care of you and keep you company for now. I'm off to go wait for the final two suspects. He said, nodding to Eugene and walking back out.

He stood at the exterior wall of the station this time, enjoying the views of the city. This street was the least busy, so at least it was peaceful for him. The occasional car went past, but it actually gave him some comfort to listen to the soft rumble of the wheels on the rough tarmac. Sometimes he'd get a dirty look from a passer by, but it was to be expected. Cops didn't really get their renown in Kingston - the citizens all thought that they didn't do a good enough job, with the city being full of crime, and all. It was a rather stupid idea, however, as its the crime doers that were the cause of that. At least that's what they taught you in law school.

Overall, it was a nice day. The polluted air seemed fairly clean, though that was probably just an illusion caused by his calmness. Still, it would've been nice if there was real clean air. Either way, he was happy with what he got. After all, he was one step closer to finding the kidnapper. That'd get him a good bonus. It wasn't just for the bonus, though - Logan wasn't that kind of person. He just wanted to help the world. Kingston was probably the wrong place to come, though, as the citizens there weren't really appreciative of charity work or the work of the police. They tended to just view them as racist, just like the rest of California's cops. Well, at least the donut stereotype hadn't reached Kingston yet. A tourist would probably bring it over, soon enough, though.

Logan snapped himself out of his thoughts, anxious of whether he'd been thinking out loud or not. Oh well, he thought. It won't be the first time I've looked stupid. He brushed his thoughts away and leaned on the wall, waiting for the next suspect.

Suspect #6

---

---

♪ beep beep beep beep ♪

The green LED lights shone brightly in the gloomy apartment room as the high pitched tocsin shrieked noisily at an obnoxiously loud volume. As if the poor choice in ring tone wasn't enough. There was an exaggerated sigh of discontent followed by a groan and shuffling in the sheets when the lone figure rolled over in his bed to silence that annoying little alarm. Judging by the way he slapped a hand onto the over-sized 'dismiss' button and then roughly shoved the plastic clock off to lay abandoned between his nightstand and the wall, it was truly no wonder why this was the fourth one this year. They were probably used up faster than the limited hours he had with the escorts he rented every once in a while.

The man who -unbeknownst to him- would be referred to as Suspect Six very soon, untangled himself from the comforters and groggily marched to the bathroom. Shower, change clothes, feed the cats, make breakfast; the everyday tasks passed in a blur as the man struggled against the urge to go back to sleep. He knew there must have been a reason behind why he was being forced out of his abode on his day off, but he had yet to recall exactly what that reason was. Stupid brain.

Scrolling through recent text messages on his phone provided no clues and neither did sorting through the stash of mostly unopened mail. Hoping it wasn't important enough to get him in trouble if he claimed that he'd simply forgotten or, if it was important, praying that at the very least it would come back to him later, Suspect Six took his half-assed attempt of a meal with him to the sofa and plopped down. The television was promptly turned on for background noise and he kicked his feet up on the table (no one was around to lecture him for the undesirable habit so why the hell not?). Suspect Six casually pulled out his cellular device and began scrolling through the new notifications that popped up while he absentmindedly munched away at his food.

"Shit."

He saw it then, the email he'd received earlier this week, and the severity of the situation hit him hard. This wasn't something he could just blow off, this shit was serious! And unfortunately for Suspect Six, he'd had more than enough of his fair share of run-ins with the authorities before so he was most definitely not looking forward to this. The man paused mid chew and looked up at the old clock he had hung up on the wall. To add to his dismay, he was due to be at the KCPD within the next seven minutes, with over three and a half kilometers separating him from his destination. Suspect Six wolfed down the rest of his breakfast and hurried for the door. Cell? Check. Keys? Check. Smokes? Check. Was there anything else he needed? Suspect Six patted his pockets and did a full three-sixty as he searched desperately for whatever else it was he'd need later. Screw it, he thought to himself, and decided he'd better leave now unless he wanted to be any later than he already was.



Suspect Six had ridden his bicycle most of the way there, swerving through traffic and frequently cutting off other drivers whenever he got the chance, then hoping off the block before the station to tether it to a pole. He shamelessly proceeded to speed-walk it the rest of the way and ignored the burning glares or wondering stares he received from bystanders as he pushed his way along. Crossing the street and finally within view of the police station, Suspect Six paused and glanced at his watch. As presumed, he was tardy. Well since that's the case... Suspect Six wiped both hands down his face, trying to clean off all evidence of his rushed journey here, and waited a couple more minutes to catch his breath and tidy himself up. Once satisfied, he stuffed both hands into his pockets and strutted over the main entrance.

---

Logan waved his hand slightly as he saw a man coming into view. The man was clearly late, and the detective had every idea why. He came closer, and Logan beckoned him in.
"Welcome! You must be here because of the email. Don't stress being late; it's nothing to worry about. Please, this way. He led him to the Investigative Offices, bee-lining straight for the six chairs at the front of the room. "Take a seat," He said, offering the man an option of two chairs. He then turned to Suspect 1. "Would you like another coffee, sir? I'm about to make our new arrival one, but I can make you one if you like, too."

---

"Logan!" A voice called out from behind him. "Suspect 3 has been kidnapped!
"Damnit!" He muttered. "I'm afraid we're going to have to start this meeting with one less suspect, then." He sat down on the chair at the front, getting comfy. "My name's Detective Logan Colby, and I'm going to be the one hosting these meetings as we investigative the Kingston kidnappings over the next three weeks. And I'm sure you've all met Eugene, here." He gestured to the Constable, who gave a smile in response before going back to sipping his coffee. He turned to Suspect 1. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"

Fast, grey eyes flickered across the room as others came, never quite settling on their faces but intensely tracing their outlines. His head barely moved, but his fingers quivered, his right hand gently drumming the leg of his jeans, while his left tensed and relaxed against the mug in his hand. He'd accepted the coffee gratefully and had immediately dumped in the pack of sugar. Coffee was coffee and coffee was good, but it tasted bitter in his mouth, though only partly because the coffee wasn't sweet enough.

"Logan! Suspect 3 has been kidnapped!"

Suspect 3? He could feel his blood curdle in his veins.

"Damnit!" Their liaison, or whatever you called the guy accusing you of kidnapping, sat himself down, "I'm afraid we're going to have to start this meeting with one less suspect, then. My name's Detective Logan Colby, and I'm going to be the one hosting these meetings as we investigative the Kingston kidnappings over the next three weeks. And I'm sure you've all met Eugene, here."

And then Colby gestured to him, "Would you like to introduce yourself?"

The first thought that flashed across his brain was a simple one that came in the form of a word; 'No'. Subsequent thoughts continued along the same track, supplementing 'I wouldn't' and subsequently 'but thank you for asking'. It wasn't a real question, though. He cleared his throat, which almost masked the slight squeak as his voice settled.

"I'm, uh, Vincent," he gave a gentle, ironic wave. His voice was neutral as he scrabbled for anything to say, "And I don't know why I'm here."

---

He smiled, knowing that he'd probably backed the man into a corner with his non-question.
"Nice to meet you, Vincent. And I'm sure none of you know why you're here. But don't worry, everything will be explained once we're done." He turned to Suspect 2, thinking of a more polite approach. Unfortunately, detective's instincts highly limited that function. "And you are, miss?"

Suddenly, Suspect 2's various doubts were starting to melt away the second she stepped through the doors and was introduced to the nice police officer. On cue, Suspect 2 sat down, and once the officer came back with coffee, she put her hand up, and politely said, "Oh, no, I don't drink coffee." Talking quickly in her thick Jamaican accent.

She guessed that she was supposed to sit here until her ass goes numb. While the rest of the "Suspects" talked, Tanya merely sat there, looking around, playing with her thumbs. Hoping that she'd clear all of this up soon as possible, and get out of this place. Because she's missing a music festival! She's a star, and you can't lock a star up in chains like this. Not when she has loads and loads of fans that are just waiting for her! Though, she calmly coughed to herself, and quietly listened. Picking information, and desperately trying to keep her cool. It was like a stage - a performance. Just imagine everyone like that.

Though, things took a turn for the worse once someone shouted into the room saying, "Logan! Suspect 3 has been kidnapped!"

That made her heart sink. In broad daylight?! You gotta be kidding me! Suspect 2 thought to herself as her eyes widened, and she leaned backwards in her chair. Looking around at the reactions in others. Now, she was getting worried. She started playing with her hands, and tried to keep her cool, but yet, she was probably bringing even more attention on herself.

"And you are, miss?"

She barely even noticed that she was being addressed, until she, from the corners of her eye, noticed him looking at her like he was expecting an answer. Oh! He was talking to her. Suspect 2 put a very awkward smile on her face, and then said, "Tanya Lamont... you might have heard of me if you keep your ear to music."

---

"I prefer instrumentals myself, but I'll check you out someday." His smile continued as he turned to Suspect 4. "Would you kindly?"

Suspect 4 felt more than a little out of place amongst the assembled group, but she tried her best to maintain a cheerful demeanour, taking slow sips from her coffee. She’d rather have had hot chocolate, but she’d felt too uncomfortable to ask, and she didn’t want to treat the police like baristas. Suspect 4 felt a slight pang of nervousness trickle down her spine, but she tried her best to ignore it. She nodded politely as the others introduced themselves, a warm smile spread across her chubby face.

"Would you kindly?" the detective asked, turning his gaze to her.

“Uhmmm, Hi everyone. I’m Janette,” she said, suddenly immensely self-conscious “Ehmm, Janette Faulkner. I’m on the music scene too, but more youtubey stuff, so I don’t think you guys would have heard of me…Sorry, I didn’t mean to insinuate that you guys don’t use the internet or whatever, I’m sure you do, I’m just….not very big I guess. Well I am, just not on youtube.” She laughed awkwardly, gesturing to her huge frame.

Her eyes creeped briefly over to Detective Colby “I do some instrumental stuff. I don’t know if you’ve heard Goldberg Variations, but I covered it on my friend Katie’s Harpsichord.”

---

"Very interesting. Glad to see there's some out there who still have appreciation for plain music. Nice to meet you, Janette." His list let him around to Suspect 5. "I guess you know the drill by now." He chuckled.

Suspect Five only had to wait a few moments before a man in a neat coat smiled and approached him. Five looked up at the other man wearily, thinking perhaps that this was the sender of the email he received. He certainly looked like a detective, though Suspect Five thought the coat was a bit more suited to hunting down Replicants.

“Welcome! Please, this way.” The man greeted rather pleasantly, then turned and led him mechanically through the labyrinth-like hallways until they found themselves at the Investigative Offices. Inside, there were six chairs, and three of them were already occupied. One man, two women, each looking uncomfortable in their own unique way. Five glanced at their features briefly, then turned back to the detective as a mug of coffee and a packet of sugar was forced into his hands.

"Eugene will take care of you and keep you company for now. I'm off to go wait for the final two suspects.” The detective said before walking away and leaving Five with the others and Eugene. He glanced at the officer, raising an eyebrow, wordlessly asking a question he knew wouldn’t be answered. ‘Final two suspects?’ Five then sat down in one of the empty chairs, leaving only two empty ones left. So it’s like that, then.

As he sat down moodily Five took a sip of the disappointingly decaffeinated coffee, ignoring the sugar packet entirely. Settling in, he was able to get a better look at his fellow ‘suspects’. The man in the group was a bit nervous, tapping his leg rhythmically. The larger girl seemed out of breath, but that was no surprise. The other woman just looked like she really didn’t want to be here, and Suspect Five sure as hell couldn’t blame her.

Before long, another man was led into the room and seated just like they were. This last man was a good deal taller than some of the group. Just as he sat down, Five heard a voice from another room shouting at their host, who was apparently named Logan. “Suspect 3 has been kidnapped!” The detective cursed to himself and sat down in front of the rest of the group. Suspect Five glanced at the remaining empty chair and shivered a little.

One by one, Detective Logan Colby asked people to introduce themselves, starting with the jittery man who informed them that his name was Vincent. Next came Tanya Lamont, who was into music somehow, though Five didn’t much care for the music from this generation. Then the chunkier woman introduced herself as Janette Faulkner and then rambled incoherently after doing so. When she was finished, Colby turned his eyes to him and said, “I guess you know the drill by now.”

Suspect Five didn’t move a muscle as he was addressed, though he did grind his molars a bit at the thought of a group of complete strangers knowing his name. He realized eventually that the others had introduced themselves readily enough, and it would be unfair to them is he didn’t do the same. Crossing his arms, Suspect Five told them his name, his smoke ravaged lungs making his announcement sound more like a growl than a greeting. “Michael Polzin.” He cut it short there, not seeing why he should tell them anything more than they needed to know.

---

The suspect had hesitated slightly, but eventually followed the 'procedure'.
"Michael Polzin." He grumbled as he crossed his arms. Logan smiled.
"Glad to have you here, Michael. Now," He turned to the final suspect - Suspect 6. "If you'd kindly introduce yourself, we can start."

Suspect #6

---

---

Suspect Six was relieved, to say the least, when the man greeting him at the entrance easily dismissed the fact that he was quite obviously late. He followed the authoritative figure obediently in silence as he was shown into the police station. So did that mean this was the detective? Probably. That would make the man Logan Colby if he was remembering it correctly. Suspect Six realized he was fidgeting and shoved both hands deep into his pockets to keep himself from appearing nervous as he tossed furtive glances around the unfamiliar environment. Oh how appealing a good smoke sounded just about now.

Once he was finally lead to what appeared to be a sort of debriefing room -a guess which he had concluded based on the several other people sitting in the said room who all were probably as confused as he was- Suspect Six quietly accepted the more isolated of the two seats offered and made no attempt to converse with any of the others. He'd simply rather they get this over with quickly so he could go home. Suddenly, there was a shout from someone else about another kidnapping and the meeting abruptly began.

Logan Colby, Vincent, Tanya, Janette, Michael... The names floated lazily on a repeated cycle in Suspect Six's head as he tried to memorize them and the faces to which they belonged. He was almost intrigued by the stark differences between himself and the other four accused, in the physical characteristics of course but intellectual ones were automatically unavoidable. Even twins were never the same. Yet something, or rather many things, connected them all enough to be brought in for questioning. What could possibly match him with four other strangers he'd never even met before?

"... we can start." Suspect Six looked up from the floor as he suddenly realized that he was the one being addressed now. With everyone else having already introduced themselves he realized he was the last one left before the meeting really would begin. He cleared his throat and sat up straight in his seat, then looked awkwardly around the room as if he couldn't remember how he got there in the first place.

"Mishka Zholnerovich." Though he always spoke with an American accent, a habit he formed years ago which erased any and all signs of his European lineage for no reason at all other than to make it easier for people to understand him, his Russian accent thickly coated the words as the name rolled of his tongue. To him, that was the only way to say it properly -he hated the sound of it when anyone else unfamiliar with mother tongue tried and failed at pronouncing it. The cadence left as easily as it had arrived as he continued. "But everyone simply calls me Hannibal." Mishka realized he may have just seriously dug his own hole with that last one but it was too late now to take it back. Nicknamed after a cannibalistic serial killer, how coincidental was that? But the deed was done and Mishka decided to stop fretting over it, lest he induce an aneurysm.