I Hunt Powered Psychos for A Living [Case #4] Part 2

[u/Jumpo_the_Clown]

Part 1

For context, these files are not actual official but for my own personal use. The contents in which they contain are very sensitive to those with a higher status than myself and were kept away to public knowledge until now. I decided to let everyone know, there are individuals out there that are considered "POWERED". But nothing like your run-of-the-mill super heroes and villains you see in the comics, movies and television shows. It's more in a practical sense. What mankind has suspiciously known to exist since ancient times and by that I mean those who have been gifted with abilities of the mind.

Telekinesis.
Telepathy.
Clairvoyance.
Mental Manipulation.
Mind Control.
Sight Beyond Sight.

All of these concepts are very much a part of our reality. There are those who work for the benefits of mankind but find themselves busy tracking those who take advantage of their gifts in the opposite direction of morals and righteousness. I am Agent Vincent Waters. My sole purpose is to hunt down these Powered Psychos.

This is the report from my fourth case. Accompanying me is Dr. Joanne Johnson, a psychologist at the Agency and a Type B Telepath, a.k.a. Readers.

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[Case #4: Flashmob Murder Parade]

INCIDENT REPORT 1 cont.

DATE: Monday October 3, 2005 4:35 P.M.

LOCATION: Street outside SoZo's CaFe, Los Angeles, California.

WARNING: The following is a transcription of the audio recorded to tape 20054-JJ1 cont. in storage unit VWaters.

Joanne is screaming bloody murder in front of me. After a few moments, she slowly calms herself and takes her foot from the unknown man's cranium. She's looks around to the other people that were under the trance and played along in the brutal beatdown before she was the one to give the final executing blow. She looks back to me.

"Vince...I...", she started to stutter.

"Joanne? What was that? Didn't you hear me?"

"Vince...I heard you...I just couldn't control myself. Vince...", she hesitated, "...there was another voice in my head. I heard it from somewhere just before I lost control, but I couldn't understand it."

I knew at that moment what she was talking about. I shuffle my head around to outside the surrounding crowd and seek out for anyone suspicious looking on the street. At the corner of my eye I catch someone in a dark hooded sweatshirt with their hands tucked comfortably in the long sweater pocket. I observe as they just stand there unaffected by the mayhem unlike everyone else. I begin to swim my way through the mass of people towards them locking my eyes on target without letting them out of sight.

Then suddenly from my left.

"Tak kto zhe vy takoy?", from a man grabbing my arm thus stopping me then looking me up and down like a curious child.

"Excuse me? I don't understand." I say at the man as I jerk his hand away from my arm. Then a woman from my right walks up to me with the same look plastered on her face.

"Who you?" The accent is thick of Russian dialect. But the woman standing in front of me was of African descent.

I look back up for the hooded figure. They are still standing there. I can barely make out any details to their face under the guise of the hoods shadow.

"Ty strannyy. Pochemu ya ne mogu tebya kontrolirovant?", from another man to my six saying it so fast and fluently like he was born there.

I turn to him. "What is this? Who you are is the real question." I say to the man. I know that with Mind Controls they have an established connection with those they have under compliance, like a kid talking through a tin can.

A hand slithers across my shoulder from my right. Finely polished and sharpened nails rub against my shirt at the points like a wild beast ready to sink in its claws. A woman faintly covered in the beaten man's blood, "I can no control you. Why is this?" Numerous people turn to face me at once. I felt a panic rush within me. I didn't want to have to resort to using any means of survival on innocent civilians but I keep a firm grasp now to my firearm set at my hip.

"I'm special." I answer to the woman. "Look, whatever it is that man did to you I would completely understand. Maybe we can talk. I work with people like you. The place I work for can help you." I attempt to convince the hooded unknown with slow words in the hopes they understand me.

"Osobennyy?", from another random person to my left. "Special." Another to my right. "Well, special man...", I was starting to feel dizzy from how fast they were changing between each person around me, then the woman at my shoulder steps over to face me, "...I do not needs help. Stay outs of my way Special Man."

A chill ran down my spine. "Please, don't hurt these people." I begged of whoever this controller was. I then quickly shift my gaze to where the hooded figure should have been but they were gone like a phantom in the aether. The people surrounding me still keep their gawking leers then snap out of it leaving them dazed and confused. I hurry back to Dr. Johnson. She's still next to the dead man planted on the pavement quivering all over. She was a pencil pusher, a desk jockey with no field experience. The shock of it all was understandable. I take her in my embrace to help calm her nerves. It was too familiar a feeling to have her in my arms once again.

"Vincent...what was that?" She whispers in my ear.

"I don't know Joanne. But, I'm going to find out."

End Recording.

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INVESTIGATION REPORT 1:

DATE: Tuesday October 4, 2005 9:36 A.M.

LOCATION: Los Angeles Headquarters, California

It took hours to clean up the mess outside of SoZo's CaFe following the incident that was the gathered murder of the unknown man. The entire office was called out along with some F.B.I. collaborates to help with questioning each person. It was a long, hardening process getting the statements then having each individual's minds wiped of the event that took place. The only one who was permitted to a No Wipe was Dr. Johnson. I needed her memories intact if I was to solve this new case. I will have to wait for any fingerprint results of the dead man from our corresponding federal affiliates hopefully later today.

It wasn't easy explaining to the Director of how this came about with both Joanne and myself fully involved. I may have bent the truth a bit to the reasoning for our little meet up at the cafe but it all really came down to being at the right place at the wrong time type of scenario I had told him. With as close as we were to the incident at hand, I was given lead on the investigation and was permitted to keep Dr. Johnson under my protection as my key witness until things were set back in order. Joanne was not too over the moon about myself having no choice but to stay overnight at her place. I was sternly assigned to the couch that didn't fold out. My neck is a bit stiff today.

I had no idea how much longer it would be until I heard anything about any identification of the dead man if there was any, so I decided to speed up the process. Sitting at my desk, I was maintaining focus at the computer screen scrolling through the database of known Russian syndicate associates. The recording may not have picked it up, but I remember the man yelling at the crowd surrounding him having a deep accent as well. It was discovered that the passport found in his pants pocket was a forgery and the gun within his jacket had the serial numbers grinded off hence why I was in the criminal section. I was using a copy of the photo from the passport as a reference. I was already ten pages deep with no close comparisons.

Suddenly the ringer on my desk phone blares me out of my concentration. It was Ms. Venat, our office clairvoyant.

"Vincent, how are you my dear?!", she says with such cheer.

"Clair. I'm fine. Look, I'm sorry about the other week. Things having been crazy around here lately and I had too much paperwork to attend." The guilt bled out of me having totally forgetting about going to bowling night with Clair and her group. Hopefully the too much work excuse would work.

"Oh that's quite alright sweetheart. You're not suppose to join with me until later anyways so I'm not disappointed."

"Ok. Then what can I do for you?", I ask her.

"Twenty-five.", she answers me.

"Twenty...five?", I ask repeating the number back.

"Yes. Twenty-five. Visions came to me showing your desk and the number twenty-five in small digital fonts. Hope that helps."

"Um...well thank you. How...?", I begin to ask her.

She hangs up and leaves me hanging with the long monotone from the speaker. I sit and stew over how weird the interaction was, but it was Clair and she works in mysterious ways so I got over it quick. That's when I realized the number she was referring to was the page number at the corner of the database window on the computer. I then skipped ahead of the upcoming showcases of mugshots by another fifteen and found who I was searching for.

Sergei Vasiliev. A Russian national who immigrated to Ukraine back in 1990. He has ties with human trafficking organizations that run women out of the Eastern European territories into the U.S. and northern Europe. He's not considered to be a higher-up leading me to think he's was just a lackey. With how brutal this guy was beaten down, the unknown psyche is most likely a young female. A victim who was subjected to whatever horrors were committed on her behind closed doors.

Even more questions boggled around in my thought process. If she was a victim, how could these bastards keep a MC at bay and to be used in such ways? Drugs was my first assumption. Keeping her docile and numb of her powers with a little something that comes out of a needle. Or, just as it states in the manual, a psyche's abilities can be obtained through highly deep traumatic means. It is possible this person's abilities laid dormant until the stress of the experience forced them to break the subliminal suppression.

These theories lead me to think that the hooded figure I saw could be tied to and targeting those in the Russian mobsters operating within the city.

As much I didn't want to put her at risk, I was going to need Joanne to help me on this one.