Alex Maurell was doing his best to fit in. To be that ideal that his adoptive father wanted him to be, to prove to everybody that he wasn't some monster. The trial had been two years ago, or it would be in January. And yet, people haven't forgotten. His face maybe, but the incident, his name, still recognizable to most. That's why he had been really happy when he found a date online. The guy seemed sweet enough and had been receptive to hearing him out, even with knowing who he was and what he was capable of. Which made this day all the more disappointing. He had come to the cafe in hopes of meeting him but...he was a no show.

Alex waited hours for his date to show up, actually waited all day. Which made this even more pathetic. He had come in during lunch and had stayed until dinner. He had checked his phone a thousand times since, texted him what felt like a hundred, but this was a failure. He almost hoped something bad had happened, as guilty as that made him feel, because at least then there was an excuse to leave him hanging. He felt like an idiot for waiting for so long. Two hours had been long enough but four?! What in the world was he thinking? He left the cafe feeling absolutely crushed and wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and forget this day ever happened.

Unbeknownst to him, his date actually did have a reasonable reason not to show up. A report had gone out that a mutant had been spotted and the eye witness account made it sound an awful lot like Alex and his power set. The police were informed and while the report wasn't immediately taken serious, it was worth a look into it.

The sun hung low in the sky and was hitting that perfect golden hour moment, casting the city in an orange glow and deepening it's shadows. Alex walked home, he had walked here because he didn't want to deal with traffic, and now he honestly didn't want to deal with commuters. The bus and the subway was just too crowded and full of strangers. This was safer, longer sure, but safer. Plus, the cool of the autumn air felt good, calming.

"Funny."

A blonde guy squatted over a grisly scene.

It wasn't funny. It wasn't even in the same ballpark. Detective Drake eyed the MRC forensics officer who had said funny, and asked "What?"

"There was a case a few years ago. Guy got cleared. Don't remember the exact details. But the details of this death..."

"Yeah?" Ashton said. He could do basic math. Something was adding up for the blonde MRC forensic investigator, and Drake thought it equaled 'Four.'

"It's probably nothing," blonde forensics guy hedged. He rose from his squat, and tugged at his white latex gloves.

"Illuminate me," Drake glowered.

The forensic frowned. "Just that it came out during the trial what he could do. And this and that. Kind of similar."

Which meant what?

"Animals," the forensic grimaced. He looked towards the body. "Can't be certain until the coroner takes a look. But have them check the wounds."

Guy wasn't taking the hint. Kept leading towards a thing then trailing off. People in MRC were sometimes like that. You deal with mutant powers on a routine basis and you start to think one thing looks like another. Has the potential to make one biased towards a certain skewed idea, which just ain't right. Better just to say you think something's hinky on your initial review, but let the coroner and the lab work speak their piece. Let the detectives detect based on unbiased data, and let the forensics workers gather it without contaminating any part of the scene... or the lead detective's mind.

Ashton kneeled by the body. He asked if they had identification.

It wouldn't be right if the mystery were solved simply because some guy thought some guy was connected because the body looked mauled. This was a real case. That meant real details, like witness testimony and vague or nonexistent clues.

"Phil Collins." Blondie said. Ashton looked up at him and his notepad. "No relation," he explained.

Ashton and the other MRC spent the rest of the night going over the scene of the murder of Phil Collins. They secured evidence, took pictures, and did what interviews they could arrange that night. It came out somewhere amidst the investigation that someone had been seen with Phil prior to his death. A date, they wondered? There was a description, but no name. A sketch was made.

It was a pain getting the judge out of bed to get a warrant to unlock the guy's phone and check recent texts. Getting permission to check his social networking program came with it. Some sort of dating app? Kids today.

The next day, they'd pored over the data on too much coffee and too little sleep. The autopsy was arranged. Press, dealt with. No statement yet. "We're investigating." In this day and age of instant gratification, some people still didn't like the fact than real answers take time. It wasn't until later that afternoon that the autopsy report came back.

---

"Crispy crunchies?" Ashton asked incredulously. The report made even less sense in-person. He'd had to go down to the city coroner's office to get resolution on the glaring questions. "Definitely not done by a living animal. This isn't going to be like those zombie dinosaur sightings, is it? Or the sewer unicorn from a few years back?"

He worked for MRC, not PT Barnum. Yes there was a sucker born every minute. No, he wasn't going to volunteer to be one of them. He was familiar with MRC dealing with strange things. They didn't need a nondescript freak show to give to the media circus. The fact the man had said nonliving animal had been fine. It wasn't objectionable. What was objectionable was that he hadn't said what he thought it was or offered further explanations or hypotheses. Ashton explained that to him. He needed answers. Theories. More than just 'not a living animal.'

The coroner, a tiny man with curly long brown hair and thick glasses, clarified quietly. "Not living. A bit of flesh was found in the wounds that was necrotic... a bit desiccated, actually. Dried up. Crunchy ... attached to a rotten yellow tooth. Looked like a dogs tooth."

"Thus, not living. Not dead. Zombie. Or something very sickly and in need of a dentist." He trailed off quietly, losing his fire.

"Zombie dog," Ashton repeated, for clarification.

"Uh huh."

"Thank you."

He left. Either this case was getting simpler, or else it had just gotten more needlessly complex. What was it that one detective had always said? The more complex the crime, the easier it is to solve? Yeah. Bull.

---

"Alex Maurell." Blonde MRC read.

"Think its pronounced Mah ooo Rey, Allen," another MRC person cut in. "Latino, maybe? Or French."

"Latino," Allen the blonde forensic at MRC agreed. He remembered now. Always read his name wrong in the newspaper. But he'd been that kid. From the trial. He said as much and it was a wonder Drake didn't lose his eyes with how hard he rolled them in his head.

Allen had been right, about the wounds. And now the dating app pointed to this Mah ooo Rey 'Johnson' on the phone. It had felt like an invasion, reading the last conversation with the dead man. With a sigh, Ashton agreed he'd go talk to the kid and they could get some answers on what they'd done on their date... and where he'd gone afterwards. He looked like the man the witness had described. It didn't look good for Mister Maurell. Ashton reserved his judgement until he met him. Something felt off. You don't usually set a zombie dog on a man you just met. Even if the date goes badly. It just felt like there'd be more passion involved in something like that. It didn't jive with the conversation at all.

Ashton grabbed his car keys and left MRC headquarters to see about meeting the man with a difficult past.

---

It was evening by the time Drake knocked on the door of Alex Maurell Johnson's home. The evening of the day after Collins's death. He said his name as Detective Drake, with MRC, and asked if they could talk. Routine. If Alex glanced through a peephole, he'd be able to see the ID and badge held at eye level. Or, he'd see them when he opened up.

Ashton wasn't expecting him to run, but he was prepared for the possibility. Usually, you'd do things like this with a partner but they still hadn't set him up. It was just him alone, in a gray suit with a solid black tie and dark shoes that looked more business professional and uncomfortable than they were. One couldn't see the lone space invader near the tie's tip. It was hidden within the confines of the suit jacket. A Christmas present. Nice. Though if asked, he would have preferred an Imperial TIE fighter- Darth Vader's, if you want specificity- instead of the space invader ship. For obvious reasons. He never made a point of looking gift horses in the mouth, however. It kind of made one sound like a pretentious ass. Then again, when you're a cop, people like to think loads worse.

The apartment that Alex rented was small but comfortable for someone living alone. He could have stayed at the Mansion, but it felt awkward being in a home for mutant kids, especially after finally getting his GED. He could make his own way now. Okay not completely, Sam, his adoptive father helped with some of the rent and health insurance but other than that he was on his own. And he was happy with it for the most part. He still did 6 am training and started adding meditation to his regiment to help with his anxiety. He was applying to colleges now with hopes of getting into somewhere and did telecom work from home. It wasn't the best job, he would have even preferred the same work but in an office. But no one was hiring him, so it was his only option.

Seemed like just looking up his name utterly destroyed any chance he had of getting a normal job. It was frustrating to say the least.

In any case, Alex had just kicked off his shoes and changed his clothes to something more comfortable, sweat pants and a hoodie, when someone knocked on his door. He had just gotten home from the corner store and he wasn't expecting anybody. He heard the voice before he looked through the peephole. A cop? He swallowed nervously, old fear catching his heart. Oh god, this was the last thing he wanted to deal with today.

Still, he couldn't refuse the cops, could he? He didn't want to get in trouble again. So he took a steadying breath and opened the door a crack, not removing the chain lock, "Can I help you officer?" He wasn't about to open the door or step out, not until he was sure it was safe, that this cop was safe. He glanced at the badge, being sure to memorize the number just in case. People still wanted him dead after all. Some of those people could be cops, there was no way to tell until it was too late. He wasn't about to be caught unawares. This week sucked enough, he didn't need an arrest on top of that.

When the kid had finished gawking at his badge number, Ashton slid the identification into a pocket and away. Can I help you, the kid asked. Ashton smiled, cinnamon sweet. "I hope so, son.
I'm looking into something. Can you tell me where you were, on the night of" He cited the date and time of the murder, down to the estimates the coroner had given.

Most of the time, people get nervous around police. He had wanted to ask to be let in, but people aren't always so kind. Cops aren't vampires. They don't need to be given permission to be let inside a home, so long as there's probably reason for them to be there. Mostly, asking was just polite. He'd get to there. For now, he was playing it by ear, and starting with a slow build. Find out where someone was, go from there. Learn about any potential alibi they have, or are falsifying. Then, ask about their relationship with the victim. Don't flat out start there. Don't give them anything they can use to get themselves situation so you don't have them off balance. Better to catch someone flatfooted than to let them work from the high ground.

Ashton listened as the boy gave him his story.

Alex shifted nervously on his feet as the cop seemed to be looking for an alibi for yesterday. Thankfully, he had one for that exact time, "I was at the Terrace Cafe not too far from here, for about 4 hours waiting for a date that never showed. I have the receipt for my coffee if you need it." He really hoped this had nothing to do with Phil, that Phil was still just a jerk who ditched him with no explanation and hadn't been hurt. Or worse murdered.

Though it wasn't like he had any reason to murder the guy. He had only talked to him a bit online and this was supposed to be their first date. Alex had assumed that Phil had gotten cold feet, maybe the guy wasn't as out of the closet as he hoped. Maybe he had been scared off by what he had done years ago. There were a hundred different reasons for Phil not to show up and for this not to be related to his first failed venture into the dating world. It had to be one of them and not the worst possible outcome that would leave him stuck at the police station trying to prove his innocence...And with someone else's death hanging over his head. It wouldn't be his fault obviously, but still, his brain had a tendency to take on guilt for things he had no control over.

He did his best not to jitter, not to let his worry show. But his experience with the police wasn't the best and cops weren't that great when it came to mutants. Even if they did go to the length of having a whole other division dedicated to mutants.

The kid seemed nervous, whatwith the shifting on his feet. Whether that was due to that nagging guilt that came when any cop questioned you, even when you did nothing wrong... or due to him having done something wrong... was still to be decided. Could also have been due to his past. Cleared or not, people remembered. They could be unfair.

His alibi didn't make sense. If people had spotted him at a certain spot with a date he insisted he'd never met, then someone, somewhere was either lying or confused. The kid had at least some sense, if he had remembered a receipt. That'd be useful in placing him at where he said for the time stated... it would take asking around to confirm if he'd stayed there long as he had. Thankfully, with a place like that there'd be witnesses who might have seen him and remembered. It was information they could look into. That was a point in his favor, if it all panned out. They wouldn't know until they'd exhausted all leads.

Ashton's response was a conflict of textures. His face was hard, but his tone was soft. Even if his voice had a little gravel to it, he was gentle, not pressuring. Like good cop and bad cop rolled into one. He wanted answers. Whether or not those answers lead to Alex was to be determined. "I'd like to see the receipt, please. If you have it." he said. After a moment, he added casually "What did you say your dates name was, again? The one who never showed?"

Alex nodded, relaxing a bit at Ashton's calm tone,"Yeah, just a second, I need to grab my wallet." He closed the door a moment to undo the chain lock before opening the door again. "Here, come on in." He had a feeling this was going to take a while and he didn't want to seem guilty by keeping the cop waiting at his door. Plus, he was feeling pretty safe with this guy, no bad vibes so far.

He looked back at the added question and smile a little, "Oh, heh, Phil Collins. Not the famous one." Phil was technically five years older then him, which would have been creepy to some, but they had got along great in chats, no pressure, all honesty. Alex had felt comfortable with him. Plus, after everything he had gone through, all the trauma and death and living out in the wild, at nineteen year old Alex didn't feel like he could relate to someone closer to his age. It was weird, he knew that, but it had only been a date. No pressure to do anything else.

Or it would have been, if Phil had ever shown up. He picked up his wallet from the kitchen table next to his laptop and dug out the receipt. "Here, date and time are on there. I got something like three refills waiting for him." He waited a bit before speaking again, "So, what's going on? Did something happen to Phil?" He voiced his concerns, almost certain that was the case. He had only just met the guy, not even in person yet, so he wasn't all that connected to him. But he definitely didn't want him to get hurt or die, that was the last thing he wanted.

When he opened the door, Ashton entered. He stood around waiting while the kid went to get his wallet.

Ashton did not arch an eyebrow as the nonchalant mention of Phil Collins, nor the joke. He was still getting a feel for the kid. Ashton didn't know if he was being honest with the alibi and exuded innocence, or simply a fantastic actor. He nodded at the reply, a nod that gave nothing away. He didn't want to scare Mr. Maurell. Not when he was being so helpful.

The boy returned, receipt in-hand. He passed it off, and Ashton ogled it. Date and time were listed, and they lined up with Alex Maurell's description of events from his point of view. It sounded like he'd waited quite a time at the location, too. Big time windows made verification easier, because people who sit at the same table waiting on a date that supposedly never came draw eyes. People look. They notice. Someone noticed Maurell, if he was where he said he was, when he said he was. So long as their own timeline was right.

He looked up, at Alex's question. Now came the time to gauge reactions. The kid hadn't outright given any hints that he knew Collins was dead. His reaction here would help Ashton understand what he actually knew.

Lips a thin line, Ashton told Maurell. "I'm afraid something did, Mr. Maurell. We're currently looking into Phil Collins' death."