conflicting interests {Carson}

[Randel Anthony]

Randel knew all too well the police chief’s political affiliations. It was hard to keep secrets within the Pilot Ridge Police Department, and though he couldn’t have said he experienced any of Carson’s bias first hand, he knew there was a considerable amount of unspoken tension between them whenever they were in the same room together. It didn’t bode well for the responsibility they held within the community. Any workplace might strain and crack under infighting, except this one was charged with the well-being of thousands of civilians or so.

It was true his meta ability was a boon when it came to his job as a detective. He could remember many times it’d come in handy: he’d often see the faces of a few key witnesses, or even perpetrators, before he’d meet them, and so learn who had valuable information and who didn’t. Sometimes, even visions of crimes yet to happen crossed his mind. Randel was aware that this might be something of an advantage over the ordinary detective, and he’d long since learned to keep his visions to himself, only conceding prior knowledge when it was explicitly asked.

Likewise, he avoided Carson unless explicitly needed. It was a tough endeavor: he was the head of the department, after all, and all major decisions went through him. Randel had found himself in his office a few times.

Today was one of those times. Randel didn’t normally handle this sort of thing – missing persons reports were usually filed through the officers = but a waiting and distraught mother had roped him into it on his way to the water tank. No others had been available, which left him only with Carson to pass on the news.

He cleared his throat and knocked the doorframe before entering (a passing nicety). “Chief,” he began, “There’s a lady came by, said her son’s missing since yesterday. He’s done this before, she had a fight with him, he’s been in trouble with the law before…all the usual stuff.” They got a lot of cases like this, and so far all of them were simple cases of a delinquent child, gone to hide out at a friend’s for a while. Randel was certain this one would be the same, but he wanted to see if Carson wanted to investigate, just in case. “What do you think?”

[Carson Flatwood]

He knew he was relatively safe in his knowledge. There were a few people with Meta powers in the department, but, really, all they had was any sort of conjecture to go off of when it came to him, or his affiliations. He met PUSE strictly out-of-uniform, or in-uniform to answer a 'complaint', but so off the record and infrequently that no one could really tag it to him. In a town full of these metas, it was important to keep that under wraps. He wasn't so worried about losing his job, because at least then he had enough files to get the attention that a RICO investigation would for a drug lord. He'd have a story, and he could win the public's hearts.

But the fact of the matter was that he was more powerful here. More powerful because he could build a pile of various evidences, cases where he was personally involved, so that he could make a better statement against the Metas. He didn't want to kill them, he just wanted them out of normal town America.

But then there was Randel. Randel was a notable exception to the rule in the sense that, while his power wasn't /dangerous/, it could certainly fall in to ill abuse, he could go in cahoots with people who had more scary, harmful powers. He had some ability to have a very crystal clear memory. Pair that up with a killer, pair that up with someone who has a vendetta, and that instantly put him, and his less-public associates in PUSE in the way of harm.

He looked up from his paperwork when the little rap on his doorframe occurred. He actually really appreciated that gesture. He didn't insist upon it, but it was better than someone just storming in, and blabbing up a storm. It gave him a moment to stop, set his pen down, and give the person requesting an audience his full attention. Brown eyes looked up at the detective, he listened as he gave the brief summary. It was one of these days.

Yeah, this town had plenty of those. It was caught between the idyllic small town lifestyle, and the privileged teenager lifestyle that began to take hold. Runaways were all too common, even if that practice was a little bit silly and unconventional. If this boy had a history, though, well, it was better to just bring him home with a slap on the wrist.

He acted, though, like he had to mull it over, if only for a few seconds. "Alright, no arrests need to be made, then. If you know where he went, just go and pick him up. No handcuffs or anything, just set him in the back seat. Otherwise, just do some poking around." His tone was not bitter or authoritative, just business-as-usual.

"You're good at talking to people. So I'm sure you'll manage just fine with him."