Whoa look who's got another story for you! Fair warning, kind of dark. Enjoy!

Element 1 – Ice

Cameras clicked rapidly, their bright flashes providing further illumination on the scene that the sun could not quite provide behind its dreary clouds. Police tape kept the hungry reporters at bay, though their chatter, and that of the crowds', could not possibly hope to be restrained behind the yellow line. People gawked and asked questions, came up with their own hypothesis on what had occurred, who had done it, and why. Police insisted there was nothing to see here, but oh, there was.

What a sight!

A man, late 40s, heavy build, was sitting in a chair, bound, bent over, dry blood pooled in his lap. His right eye was an empty socket where something had been shoved through, destroying the eye and damaging the brain, killing him almost instantly. The other eye stared in frozen horror at the concrete below. Men in uniform patrolled the scene, searching for a murder weapon, a clue, a piece of evidence, anything, that would explain the scene. Their breaths froze in the cold Colorado air, leaving little puffs in front of their reddening faces.

"Was he shot?" Someone asked in the crowd.

"Looks like a stabbing to me." Came another voice.

"Who did it?"

"Why is he tied to a chair?"

"Was it a fight?"

Dozens of voices mixed and mingled, providing their own commentary on the gruesome death.

"Folks!" An officer finally called out, "Please return to your day. There's nothing to see here."

Complaints and protests rose from the crowd as it slowly dispersed. People threw their last few glances before moving on, continuing to their jobs and errands.

The officer, a blonde man in his late 20s, turned back to the scene and stepped up beside the detective, who was crouched by the body, examining. "What'chu think? Gun shot?" Murder was rare around here, especially one so strange, and though he'd been on the force a little over a year this was the first time he'd dealt with this sort of thing.

"Nah." The detective shook his head, his curly black hair shaking slightly, "See how the area around the wound is damp? His lap is too, and I'm willing to bet the hole in his head is nice and wet."

The officer scrunched his face in confusion, "What's that mean? Was he water-gunned to death?"

The detective ignored the sarcasm, "I think this man was killed with an icicle. Stabbed in the eye and through the brain, killing him."

"Is that even possible?" The officer asked in slight disbelief.

"With enough force and a big enough icicle." The detective stood, "It's the perfect crime, really. No murder weapon or prints. The best we could hope for is finding a hair on the rope or chair, but chances are slim. We'd normally dust for prints, but that sort of rope just won't work. The chair is a porous wood too, so that sucks." He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it up.

"Well, fuck!" Proclaimed the officer, "What now, Bax?"

The black man shrugged, "We get an autopsy done and go from there." He offered the pack to the younger man, "Want one?"

"Nah." The blonde shook his head, "My wife's on me about quitting."

"Tch, have fun with that, John." The detective shook his head, chuckling some. He looked back at the scene passively, mind racing for motives, explanations, potential murderers. They still had a lot of work to do though.

"The body of 42 year old David Kovack was discovered in an alleyway on 12th Avenue in Sterling today. Police aren't giving any details about the scene, but murder is a possibility."

The TV droned in the background as Phillip attended to his duties. He wiped down a table as he listened, a frown forming on his feminine face. Though he was in his early twenties, he was still rather small for a male. Many thought he was much younger or, sometimes, a girl. He wouldn't mind if he didn't get harassed for it all the time.

"Isn't it just terrible?" An elderly woman at the table next to him spoke.

"Yeah, very." He nodded, "Murder is just dreadful. I hope they find out who did it soon."

"Gosh, me too." She nodded enthusiastically, "I don't want to see anyone else hurt."

"Me neither." He gathered some trash and carried it to the bin before washing his hands and grabbing a notepad. There were two people seated at a table nearby, a young couple it looked like, and he quickly headed up to them. "Good afternoon." He smiled brightly, British accent making him seem even more chipper than he already was, "I'm Phillip and I'll be your server. What can I get you?"

"The body of 42 year old David Kovack was discovered in an alleyway on 12th Avenue in Sterling today. Police aren't giving any details about the scene, but murder is a possibility."

Damien flipped through a magazine, easily able to tune out the TV thanks to the loud buzzing of the tiny drill. His back burned where a needle dug into his flesh, leaving behind black ink. The pain was something like a hot burning, but he easily tuned that out too. Soon, the noise stopped and the tattoo artist scooted away.

"All done."

Damien grinned and tossed the magazine aside, "Let's see it."

The Hispanic man grabbed a mirror and held it behind Damien's back so he could see. Bold Japanese lettering decorated his right shoulder blade. Two words, one was a couple days older, but another right below it was a darker black from being freshly done. The top read 'Aisu' in Japanese kanji and the second, newer one, 'Kasai.' Of course, no one but him would know that, since this was an English speaking country.

He smirked, "Looks great. Thanks."

"Any time." The artist put the mirror down and carefully patched the area, "I'm assuming you know how to take care of it?"

"Yup." Damien nodded, waiting patiently for him to finish, "How much do I owe you?"

"It's $75."

Damien snagged his wallet and pulled out his card, "Take it off that, along with a ten dollar tip."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"No problem."

Minutes later, Damien stepped out, his black shirt over his torso again, a cell phone in his hand. Nearly 3pm, he should probably get packing. He was leaving in the morning.

He looked to the left, down a few blocks, where yellow tape was blocking off an alleyway and police were patrolling. He scoffed.

That guy had been a total asshole anyway. So was his daughter, actually.

He carefully climbed into his sleek black car, being careful of his tattoo, and started his engine. It roared to life and in seconds he was headed down the road toward his apartment.

Reviews are sincerely appreciated!