Post by 0 on Nov 11, 2017 5:42:12 GMT
You know how it went.
Sometimes the most important details had been hiding right under your nose the whole time.
They went unnoticed until the very last moment.
Perhaps it would have been seen sooner had it not been for all the recent madness in their fair city.
The details in his report had been very clear and concise, and yet even he forgot about it with all the hubbub being stirred up.
The small district he worked under had been focused on cleaning up a park so that it could be opened again, and after that...well, just take a gander across the northwest coast--that shore across the sea hadn't always been there.
Then there was helping with repairs, tracking down remnants from this last invasion (who knew how many strays still remained), scientists working around-the-clock to bolster the country's technological prowess, and, with their eventual release into the force, additional training on the near horizon.
He didn't look forward to any of it.
He missed the old days, back when being a police officer was as simple as patrolling the streets on foot, and didn't involve all this subterfuge.
But...that was the past for you.
When finally time was allowed for reviewing minor reports more thoroughly, there was found a discrepancy in a report back in July of that year, several months ago to the day.
The "independent researcher", one Roginald Stewart, as cited by the officer Lughaidh Walsh, knew of the peculiar spatial rifts, unnatural phenomena which had been cropping up with startlingly increased frequency, until they seemed suddenly to drop off not long after this most recent of demonic scourges.
The identification which the officer had scanned all checked out, save for one thing: the man in the picture was a bit younger looking, for the ID's renewal was nearly a decade overdue.
Despite the date, it had been initially taken as an innocuous detail; a ticket had been wrote, and a note had been made to check in a week whether Mister Stewart had finally renewed his card or not.
Well, the date for that check-up was long overdue, and when the man's identity was run through the database, a little more than an unchecked identification card was found.
Roginald Stewart : MISSING
Disappeared from █████ ██████████ [nursing home] around twelve years ago.
█████████████ prescribed for memory loss.
No college degree.
The man used to pave roads and take construction work before automated machinery had taken over the industry.
It was a good thing that the officer had taken the photograph when he had, for now the missing man's up-to-date image filtered through the database, one among countless others.
A warrant was put out, and Walsh had a familiar new face and name to keep in mind while his service vehicle puttered along the roads.
He thought his chances rather slim that he'd ever catch sight of the man again; Roginald may be an aged homeless oaf, but the old fart had survived for twelve years on his own.
The man had been forgotten for so long, gone this much time without notice, hadn't yet ended up face-down in the gutters, and had even managed to fake government certification.
Why, he was probably far more cunning than his background suggested.
And a lot less honest than Walsh had initially given him credit for.
Sometimes the most important details had been hiding right under your nose the whole time.
They went unnoticed until the very last moment.
Perhaps it would have been seen sooner had it not been for all the recent madness in their fair city.
The details in his report had been very clear and concise, and yet even he forgot about it with all the hubbub being stirred up.
The small district he worked under had been focused on cleaning up a park so that it could be opened again, and after that...well, just take a gander across the northwest coast--that shore across the sea hadn't always been there.
Then there was helping with repairs, tracking down remnants from this last invasion (who knew how many strays still remained), scientists working around-the-clock to bolster the country's technological prowess, and, with their eventual release into the force, additional training on the near horizon.
He didn't look forward to any of it.
He missed the old days, back when being a police officer was as simple as patrolling the streets on foot, and didn't involve all this subterfuge.
But...that was the past for you.
When finally time was allowed for reviewing minor reports more thoroughly, there was found a discrepancy in a report back in July of that year, several months ago to the day.
The "independent researcher", one Roginald Stewart, as cited by the officer Lughaidh Walsh, knew of the peculiar spatial rifts, unnatural phenomena which had been cropping up with startlingly increased frequency, until they seemed suddenly to drop off not long after this most recent of demonic scourges.
The identification which the officer had scanned all checked out, save for one thing: the man in the picture was a bit younger looking, for the ID's renewal was nearly a decade overdue.
Despite the date, it had been initially taken as an innocuous detail; a ticket had been wrote, and a note had been made to check in a week whether Mister Stewart had finally renewed his card or not.
Well, the date for that check-up was long overdue, and when the man's identity was run through the database, a little more than an unchecked identification card was found.
Roginald Stewart : MISSING
Disappeared from █████ ██████████ [nursing home] around twelve years ago.
█████████████ prescribed for memory loss.
No college degree.
The man used to pave roads and take construction work before automated machinery had taken over the industry.
It was a good thing that the officer had taken the photograph when he had, for now the missing man's up-to-date image filtered through the database, one among countless others.
A warrant was put out, and Walsh had a familiar new face and name to keep in mind while his service vehicle puttered along the roads.
He thought his chances rather slim that he'd ever catch sight of the man again; Roginald may be an aged homeless oaf, but the old fart had survived for twelve years on his own.
The man had been forgotten for so long, gone this much time without notice, hadn't yet ended up face-down in the gutters, and had even managed to fake government certification.
Why, he was probably far more cunning than his background suggested.
And a lot less honest than Walsh had initially given him credit for.
