London Central Police Station
Interrogation Room 1
A small lanky boy sat in the dark, damp room, glaring at the police officers opposite him, who were staring at him the way cheetahs stare at their prey as they stalked it through the dusty, hot savannah. In the dim glow of the room, the boys pale skin was alabaster white and the heavy bags on his eyes screamed out. He was thin and tiny, he was a delicate tree in the midst of a tornado, and he didn't look like he had eaten in years let alone days. Despite his emaciated figure the boy radiated an aura of strength and, 'you don't want to mess with me', and, PC Fiona Harbridge noted with more than a hint of distaste his preference of dark, mostly black clothing, which only created more contrasted with his deathly pale skin. Today he was wearing black converse, black jeans and a grey tee-shirt and a long black coat. His appearance and facial features did nothing to combat the feeling of death and despair that surrounded him. His mouth was thin and pale and pulled into a harsh line as his inky black eyes surveyed the two police officers watching him hungrily. His hair was the deepest, darkest black and it was thick and tousled like he had just been pulled out of bed by two police officers way too early in the morning, oh wait! He had. Overall Nico Di Angelo was not happy.
"So, 'Whisperer'" Sgt Gareth McLaughlin, with a slight sneer at his name, "What do you know about the Red Thief?"