Henry Barthow
Henry adjusted his rear mirror away from the latest group of normal people to walk down the sidewalk, focusing back on the reports that sat on his lap. Sitting in his car, parked on the side of the road going through a quaint and seemingly quiet residential neighborhood, bearing a focused and somewhat weary look, he was the very picture of the gruff cop.
A skeptical investigator focused on the idyllic surroundings that were almost too good to be true in a place like the Nexus, which recent experience had taught him always concealed some manner of oddity or iconic bizarreness. It was, in fact, the near-certainty that this tranquil face hid something like that which had brought the man here, away from paperwork and rubber stamping of cases that had other officers getting upset at in his stead.
It was an advantage of his position that he had a voice and eyes where it concerned things that were of particular interest to the thing underneath his own face. Since finding a place in the force and going through his share there he'd been trying to get cases on cults and undetermined rituals more organized, and the inquiries he'd submitted had finally returned something.
An increasing number of incident reports of mostly harmless but offputting instances that he'd managed to narrow down to this general vicinity now that he had caught a break from the current big concerns of the police force. It was a familiar thing to the demon wearing the mask of the detective. Idiosyncrasies that had no place being there, apparitions that seemed to point in particular directions, objects no one remembered composing unusual symbols, incomprehensible felonies followed by traces of absurd property damage, and worse. Signs forming invisible patterns.
On the way to getting here he thought he'd heard a familiar grinding of gears under his feet, though the sound of his car disturbed his awareness. And now here he was, and the Unchained had found the air thick with mystical waste such that he could fill his tank and have enough to spare.
It was that disconcertingly reality which had Henry reviewing his data and looking for cues he had missed, loitering in proper reflection while his true mind debated with itself on whether this was what he feared or what he expected, in turmoil over how to approach it past his original mission.
Until he felt the hidden channels of physical laws practically whistle like a factory engine at an overheat, with the distinct sensation of a key being forced, and Henry pulled himself off the vehicle and slammed the door shut.
His face stiffer than a moment earlier but otherwise unchanged, the cop walked with some uncertain purpose, as he searched for a proper avenue to engage the residents or interrogate the area about the telling disturbances.
The gears under his feet were telling. He took just under a minute to wander like someone uncertain of where to begin before honing in on the likely source, going up the steps of the front door. Knocking curtly, politely relaxing his frown as he pulled his insignia from his jacket.
