>>6056865A metallic taste wells in the corners of your mouth and you manage to slip into a chair as your ears ring and you feel an overwhelming surge of pain radiating out from the back of your head. You feel your lungs tighten and the familiar surge of adrenaline.
"Fucking brat..." A voice echoes in your head.
Your vision dims at the edges and your head surges and swims. You feel the pinching heat of your clenched fists and a familiar bubble of molten anger in your gut.
Then just as suddenly as it came it fades away. The throbbing pain subsides and you're muscles relax, leaving you draped over the office chair like a sheet. The voice lingers in your head, pulling at the stem of your brain, so familiar. You close your eyes and let the natural fading of the pain and adrenaline bring your mind into slow focus. That voice.. You let out a slow breath trying to push everything but the thought of what you just heard and after a few seconds it clicks.
That voice, you'd heard it before, Angelo. Your hair bristles at the memory of when you had heard him last. There was no doubt it was him, but why now? You chance opening your eyes and the sting is far from what you were expecting, unfortunately it seems you're getting used to this feeling. You lean forward and feel as if you'll topple, your head heavy like a concrete block, but you force yourself to stand.
The door clicks open and Hawthorne enters with a small stack of loose paper, seeing your face his eyebrows knit tightly and he rapidly steps forward to offer you a hand.
"Jesus Christ, Rook." He says as you wave him away, your balance returning to you. "You look pale as a ghost."
"I got something from Shivers." You say, weaker than you intended.
"You're giving me shivers, sit down for God's sake."
"No.. it feels better to stand, to move around a bit." You blink a few times to get the last remnants of this sting to dissipate. "It felt like I took a haymaker right to the jaw, the back of my head started burning, and I was.. really pissed. Furious."
You break free from your own recollection and notice now the true concern in Hawthorne's eyes as he looks over you. You do your best to muster a grin.
"I'm fine, sir. It just caught me off guard is all."
"Uh-huh.." Hawthorne mutters, unconvinced. You glance down to the papers in his hand and nod.
"What'd you dig up?"
"Turns out Gorchakov only had two partners here before he got assigned one for Vice."
"Sounds about right for the two or three that Question thought it could be."
"Yeah well, we could still be up short. His first partner: Derek Gavin Free. He was killed in the line and it was.. messy."
"Shit. You think Gorchakov.."
Hawthorne gently sets a printed image down, a room with not much other than concrete, tools, and sets of rusty pipes. The floor is littered with at least five bodies and a large dark pool of blood.
