Costigan had already sought out his shady figures and concluded his business for the night hours before. He had gone home, had a few drinks, and rolled around in bed for awhile. Eventually he had no choice but to accept that insomnia had returned to him. Rising, he threw on clothes again, and slipped silently out of his place to go visit the closest thing he had to the grave of his recently lost friend.
Paranoia was second nature to the undercover and he often felt suspicious of the people around him. It was a permanent state, constantly seeking exits and being aware of where everyone was at all times. That never went away. This time was different, an itch at the back of his mind telling him that something he was noticing but couldn't quite piece together might be a problem. He felt like he was being followed, beyond the usual paranoia that he might be.
He stopped in the middle of the street and turned around, scanning the crowd, but no one stood out. Instead of the usual route, he opted to take a series of alleys, a few of which were empty. Costigan had no fear of the dark or the people in it with a 9mm at the small of his back and a switchblade in his pocket - or maybe that was the apathy he felt about his existence here.
It only took an extra fifteen minutes to arrive at the suite. While he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling, he had no evidence of it and was a man who did his best to work on evidence whenever possible. Without hesitation, he moved past the door and around to the window where a small piece of wood ensured it never fully closed and locked. He wiggled the piece and then slipped his fingers beneath, lifting the window. With one last look out at the empty darkness, he slipped into the empty suite.
It had been reset for the newcomer, for whatever unfortunate soul would end up in this place of nightmares. Hell, if not for some of the souls trapped here. Costigan moved silently through the rooms, knowing exactly what he would find in each and still comforted by it somehow.
no subject
Paranoia was second nature to the undercover and he often felt suspicious of the people around him. It was a permanent state, constantly seeking exits and being aware of where everyone was at all times. That never went away. This time was different, an itch at the back of his mind telling him that something he was noticing but couldn't quite piece together might be a problem. He felt like he was being followed, beyond the usual paranoia that he might be.
He stopped in the middle of the street and turned around, scanning the crowd, but no one stood out. Instead of the usual route, he opted to take a series of alleys, a few of which were empty. Costigan had no fear of the dark or the people in it with a 9mm at the small of his back and a switchblade in his pocket - or maybe that was the apathy he felt about his existence here.
It only took an extra fifteen minutes to arrive at the suite. While he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling, he had no evidence of it and was a man who did his best to work on evidence whenever possible. Without hesitation, he moved past the door and around to the window where a small piece of wood ensured it never fully closed and locked. He wiggled the piece and then slipped his fingers beneath, lifting the window. With one last look out at the empty darkness, he slipped into the empty suite.
It had been reset for the newcomer, for whatever unfortunate soul would end up in this place of nightmares. Hell, if not for some of the souls trapped here. Costigan moved silently through the rooms, knowing exactly what he would find in each and still comforted by it somehow.