Not much is clear from this wallet. At first glance it seemed somewhat average, but at closer inspection it had such intricate designs on what Thomas could make out in its closed state in the inner lining that his detective sense tingled with adrenaline-like euphoria.
Though, when the wallet was opened, not much was there to be seen.
A catalyst to this fact is the controlled best of light that escaped from the wallet the moment it was opened. Some sort of mechanism, maybe to deter anyone with sneaky fingers, maybe to get the owner's attention.
It took Thomas a moment or two before his sight returned back to normal, although everything was still somewhat... weird.
As he waited for his sight to properly return, he inspected the insides of the wallet once again.
Aha! A driver's license! But... where are all the details? It was completely blank, save for a name. "Willford Walkins"
It looked like things were getting back on track. As forensics got details about the possible bum that was left in the crime scene, giving the Swiss a run for their cheese, he got more and more leads. If everything goes well, maybe he could get an extended vacation for the day off he had to cancel, fully paid, of course.
Asking around for a Mr. Willford Walkins yielded absolutely no results, the countless faces he's interrogates all feeling blurry from uselessness, to the point where Thomas was tempted to call in one of the other guys from the station.
No, he was called in, and he was going to do his part to the fullest extent of his job description.
It was then that it hit him, as he looked around for possible acquaintances of the blank-carded fellow.
It was a drycleaner! He could just see the sign, a half-dead neon outline of the name within a deep alley.
God, how did he miss this? He passed by this street at least twice! It was then that he noticed that his sight was not getting much better.
He rubbed his eyes once, twice, but no luck.
What on Earth was that thing in the wallet?!
He was burning daylight. He had to go in. Heck, it could just be a mix-up. Following a red herring would make a lot more sense than running into whoever made an umbrella stand out of that poor fellow.
But Thomas would not know what connection there was between the kill and the licence within the oddly-marked wallet.
He would see white. A sort of haze, like smoke on a mirror or fumes on a pair of glasses.
That.... and a weird mark. Once he was down, he could see it.
A mark, similar in pattern to what he saw inside of the wallet.
But it couldn't be. Why would such people roam the streets unprovoked? Or rather, what dolt had pissed them off so badly that they retaliated so aggressively?
No, he had to see this through. He had to inform the chief.
They were close. Somewhere. Up on the roof? No. Behind the sewage grates? Don't be retarded.
Rosera was a fresh graduate who had been for only a few weeks at Caltech, and yet her presence never went unnoticed. An unnaturally cheerful person, her voice either motivating others to succeed..... or demoralising them to a passing grade.
Long story short, she wasn't massively popular.
But she did enjoy working. She loved learning and she loved applying her own ideas, though... they never did turn out the way she wanted them to. She still needed to gather the money to help renovate her friend LeBroquisha after her "little tweak to that old toaster" ended up in literal flames.
But this was it. Today she would prove everyone wrong! Her idea was unheard of, and once it is heard, no one will doubt her again!!!!
Buuuut, in a nice kind of way. Like, "Hey Rosera, wanna hang out someplace where we won't put eye drops in your ice cream?" or maybe "Hey Rosera, can you help me with my exams? I think you're really awesome." kind of way. That was possible, right?
She ran, hugging the mechanical wonder in her arms. Oh, if it could just work as it did last night! The contest was held in a room not too far away, and the added decor hanging by the doorframe was a clear sign of where she was supposed to go, along with all the countless signs pointing there. But she didn't need a piece cardboard to tell her where to go! Pfft! That's what computers are for!
Okay maybe she was a little too excited. Last thing she'd want is to appear overly confident.
It became pretty darn easy as she saw how many other inventions were there, from what sort of looked like an automatic potato peeler to what could only be described as a layman's guide to the bedroom.
Luckily, there was a table clear, just ready for her.
She was cutting it close. She needed to set everything up and hope her device would top everyone else's.
And hey, maybe she could find another toaster burn buddy to hang out with! Though, maybe not with LeBroquisha.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words are merely the smallest element of language capable of containing meaning in isolation, and as such could never directly produce the 4000 Newtons of force per square centimeter required to break bones.” - Michael Stevens