Mar. 4th, 2015 12:27 am
dr_spencer_reid: (a lack of colour)
[personal profile] dr_spencer_reid posting in [community profile] londoncallingrpg
The day had started off like any other. A morning full of paperwork, a lunch involving a salad he didn't really want... Then a few hours at his desk reviewing cases and a meeting with his boss. Normal things. ...Mundane things. Things he could do in his sleep.

Honestly, as pleased as Spencer was to be back in the field, he had to admit that he didn't feel as challenged here as he had back home. Partly because it was so rare that they were invited in on any cases- And partly because the cases they were invited in on were so straight forward and, well, normal- For lack of a better word. It was to be expected he supposed, statistically speaking at least, that there would be less cases, and that the cases they did have would veer towards the traditional. However, knowing that didn't stop his mind from yearning for a challenge. ...And as a result, he found himself spending more and more time with cold cases.

One in particular had become a bit of a fixation. A series of murders that seemed to stretch from Turkey to Scotland- All with the same MO, and the same signature- Yet also without any leads or even prime suspects, a fact that had only left Spencer even more interested. After nearly a month of digging he'd finally stumbled onto something solid, a lead strong enough that he'd started pulling the files of officers who'd been involved in the original investigation.

Though even with a working theory, he hadn't been certain he was on the right track. ...Not until tonight.

He had been sitting at his usual table at his usual cafe, his coffee getting cold on the table in front of him as he combed through file after file. He only tore himself away from it all long enough to ask the girl behind the counter if she had a spare pen. It only took a moment, however, upon returning to the table he found a letter waiting for him. Using the tip of his freshly borrowed pen, Spencer opened it, Frowning at the sight of a single sentence, typed out in bold letters and all caps.


Glancing around, he couldn't see anyone suspicious, and he had to assume that whoever had left the note hadn't lingered to see his response. Reading it again, he brought his cold coffee to his lips, taking a sip and then immediately spitting it out into a napkin. A bitter tang lingered in his mouth, and as he pulled the plastic lid off atop the paper cup, he instantly felt ill. ...It was impossible not to see the very large, and very dead, rat inside.
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