Forced BetrayalThe murdered super-hero's apartment smells like cotton candy and popcorn.
And blood. Lots and lots of blood.
I pad around the place in the blue plastic booties that the crime scene investigators make me wear. I'm trying not to step on any evidence, but it's almost impossible. The poor girl's remains are splattered everywhere.
Suddenly, I hear a voice from a few feet behind me. "You didn't waste any time gettin' here, didja, Bonnie? Mardi Gras bites it, and presto, here you are."
I don't bother turning. Why give the douche the satisfaction? "Somebody dies, I don't piss around."
"Somebody super dies, you mean." The douche is Lieutenant Tank Driscoll, Isosceles City P.D. Don't let the scrawny 5'3" frame fool you; this guy will roll over you like a tank if you let
