He looks at Kara and taks his cue from her. "It looks like it is starting then." Adrenaline says to Hero and Conner. As he moves towards the seating area, he nods to the young woman, Emerald and extends his arm for her to take it. "Shall we?"

The best part about being a shapeshifter is that you can look like anything you want. As a chamelion of substance, you can become what you touch. For the Changeling, it was the best of both worlds. Surprisingly, he had been spending more time tinkering for his 'other employer', than actually changing form and substance.

On this night in particular however, he had to see a movie premier that starred his friend, Kara. He mentioned several months ago that he would try to be there, and tonight he was fulfilling that promise. But unlike some of the others in attendance, he had to keep his profile more discreet. The media made at least one of his employers, nervous. It was that sort of grief that the Changeling wanted to avoid.

Arriving several hours early, he preceeded all of the crowds. Miraculously, he was able to sneak through an open window, which suspiciously looked to have been left open. Once inside, he settled down into a seat in the balcony waiting for the crowds to arrive. Occasionally, an usher or other theater personnel would make a walk through, and Zachary made sure that he was unseen. An easy task when dealing with baselines.

As the crowds began to enter the seating area, Changeling ozzed over the ledge and onto the carpet where he reformed himself. An astonished usher turned white and then backed out of the doors and into the lobby. It was best to stay inside the seated area because of the large numbers of press outside. After the movie, he would give the press their 'pound of flesh' if need be.

He sat in one of the aisle seats near the entrance to the lobby. Kara would see him when she came in. At least he hoped she would.

[OOC: I plan to post up scenes from the movie. Please bear with me; this will take time, given my schedule. I'll try to have the next done by Sunday at the latest. Feel free to comment.]

The lights dim and the credits immediately roll. There appear to be no previews for this release, which makes sense as it is an independent production. Soft, ambient music begins while a gray background fills the screen. Onto this background flash images of ropes, cords, even knotted panty hose. The audience realized that these weren’t just inanimate objects, but devices with which one could kill.

The fade up comes upon a woman walking alone. She seems like she might be a victim, from the way they’re filming and lighting her, but it’s Kara’s character. She’s probably not going to get killed immediately. The reason for her impractical dress is apparent; she meets with a man at a restaurant. The actor appears to be an older version of Mech. They kiss and make a bit of couple sweet-talk. They’re living together, and about to be married; his name is Allen, hers is Susan. Just as they’re about to sit down, her phone rings. “Can you let it go, this once?” he asks softly.

“Sorry, work,” she replies apologetically. She answers; the audience doesn’t hear what is said, but her face falls and she looks at her boyfriend guiltily.

Scene shift to a crime scene. Susan is crouched next to a body; the light is drawing out her eyes, making them pop in the dark, grimy alley. “I was on a date,” she grumps to no one in particular.

“So was I,” another detective says.

She looks at his jeans and flannel shirt and grins. “What were you guys doing, lumberjacking?”

“Ha, ha,” the detective snorts. “We were watching a movie.” He looks glumly at the body, a young woman dressed for club-dancing but now sprawled on the dirty concrete. “I wish I were there now.”

“Don’t we all,” Susan sighs.

A man approaches; he’s a beat cop and he looks nervous. “Detective Miller?” he asks, looking from one to another.

“That’s me,” Susan says, standing and offering her hand. “What can I do for you, Officer?”

“Can I talk to you?” He’s incredibly nervous. Susan glances at the other detective who shrugs.

“Sure,” Susan replies, stepping away from the body. Once they’re out of earshot, she asks, “What can I do for you?”

“I think it’s a nova,” he says.

She frowned and peered at him. “What is a nova, the victim?” She turns back, ready to take another look at the woman when he stops her.

“No, the killer,” he says. “He’s a nova.” He looks tense, ready for her to reject him or laugh.

Susan nods. “Ok, it’s a theory. Convince me.”

He draws a deep breath and says, “The placement of the bodies. It’s the same.”

“We know that,” Susan answers. “A lot of killers arrange their victims the same way, every time.”

“No, they’re exactly. Here.” As Susan watches, he pulls a handful of papers out. “I traced these from the crime scene photos, when I had the chance. I had noticed that the positions were really similar. But I have perfect memory, and I started to realize that they were exactly the same, every time, every scene.” He’s smoothed the papers together and holds them up to the light. The camera moves to show that they see: the lines all mixed into one form, like if they were all drawn by the same hand.

“A baseline could do that,” Susan said, but the doubt and excitement in her voice are clear.

“Not this perfectly,” the cop insists. “Not every time, with her being the same distances, her hair being the same. Everything perfect.”

Susan nods. “We’ll consider it. What’s your name?”

“Doug Hauser,” he replies eagerly.

“Thanks, Officer Hauser. I appreciate the tip,” Susan says, taking the papers.

“Well… I was hoping. I’m trying to get my detective shield-”

“You want on the case,” Susan cuts him off before it gets too awkward.

“Yeah,” he nods.

“I’ll talk to my supervisor,” Susan says, “but no promises.”

The lab scene is short but gruesome. The camera doesn't linger much on the corpse itself, but the reactions of the people are fantastic. "She was strangled," the ME confirms. "That's the offical cause of death."

"What was used to strangle this one?" Susan asked, her face half-obscured by a mask.

"Mmm... something fibrous," the ME replied, his pasty face meeting hers over the table. "We'll have lab work done on it to see what it is."

"Good," Susan said, pulling off her mask with one last grimace at the dead woman. "Send me the report when you have it."

She went home and cuddled with her fiance. "It's bad," he muttered as she lay across his chest; earlier sex was implied by their postures and reactions.

"Hmm?" Susan asked, moving her head so that she could look at him.

"The case is bad. You have the million yard stare... even during sex," he said.

She winced. "Sorry, I'm bringing it home again," she says regretfully.

"You can't help it," Allen says, but his voice and face are frustrated. It only worses when the phone rings. Susan curses but answers. acThere'd been another murder, and Susan stands over another corpse. "That's five," someone unhelpfully says.

"I can fucking count," Susan snaps. She doesn't bother to apologize, because she's too busy staring at another dead woman.

"Is it the same position and everything?" Hauser asks. He is still in his uniform; until he earned his badge, he'd have to wear the blues.

"You tell me," Susan mutters, rubbing her face. "You have the memory for this."

Hauser swallows and stares, then nods. "I think so."

"Think?" Susan asks sharply.

"Yeah," Hauser shoots back. "I'm not a nova."

"Is that an excuse?" Susan replies. "When you retire a sargent, will the cold self-comfort be, 'because I never erupted?'"

He glares at her and says tightly, "As near as I can tell, the position is exactly the same, Detective."

"Good, thank you," Susan says. Hauser starts away, but she says, "All I ask is your best, officer."

He frowns at her and leaves the scene.