Guardians: A Change in Era

Prologue

Midnight, on the dot. It was a cold and bitter autumn night, with dark rain clouds gripping the sky and blocking out the moon's light. The streetlights lining the sidewalks illuminated the streets with an artificial glow and caused the puddles formed by the rain to reflect nearby buildings. Though it appeared to be an ordinary evening, something was about to prove otherwise. 

"Male; age and height still unknown. It's almost impossible to identify him with all the blood and damage done to his face. It's almost as if the person who murdered him didn't want anyone knowing who their victim was."
"I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. If we could classify the murder victim, it would give us a good headstart on where to look for leads. Who he was involved with, why he might have been killed, etcetera."
"It's been a while since I had a challenge like this. Too bad I'm not the head of the investigation."
"You're not? That's a change. Who is it, then?" 

I had been listening to their conversation for quite some time now. It was amusing to hear the thoughts of my peers, whether they were just plain stupid or actually clever. I was standing outside of the room that the crime scene was in, leaning against the wall beside the doorframe. It was a lovely apartment, especially for a place in New York City. The walls were painted a dull, pastel blue, decorated with pictures here and there. Directly in front of me stood a shelf. I could see a framed photo, which caught my attention. I stood up straight and reached out to grab the photo when one of the men from the other room came through the doorway. 

"Ah, Catherine Dawkins, the head of our investigation. What took you so long? We would have this case nearly solved if you had arrived when you were supposed to."
"I could have very well chosen to not show up at all. Be grateful for once, Oliver. Nobody likes a cranky officer," I quickly retorted, looking him right in the eyes. Though his ice blue gaze held a hint of menace, I remained unphased. That was Oliver Cullens, an officer working in New York City. He had immigrated with his family to America from Britain a few years back, which could be assumed already by his thick British accent. He was normally rude to those around him, especially people who happen to cause him any minor inconvenience. However, in his mind, isn't everyone just a nuisance to him? Figures.

"I would assume that our murder victim is through this doorway, correct?" I questioned, pointing through the doorway. Though I was almost completely certain that the murder had happened in that other room, it was always better to gain reassurance. Oliver didn't respond. He did, however, give me a curt nod. That was enough validation for me.
I entered the room and prepared myself for what I was about to witness, as I had with any other case. Still, what I saw was beyond what I would have expected. The room was a kitchen, which was typical when it came to locations of murder. Blood stained various spots and items in the room. The wall, the floor, the counter, and even the stove had traces of the scarlet liquid. This wasn't the worst part of it, though. The body was practically drenched from head to toe in what was supposedly his own blood. There was another officer in the room, who I was unfamiliar with. He was leaning against a wall, eyes to the ceiling; he clearly didn't know where to even continue with this investigation. I inched closer to the corpse, eager to get a closer look at the man. The face was completely mangled, but it somehow seemed oddly familiar to me. He had dark brown hair, which was obviously messy from the current circumstances. I kneeled beside the body, careful not to come in contact with any blood. One of the biggest rules in investigative work. Don't contaminate evidence. As I scanned my vision across the dead corpse, I came across a new piece of evidence. A piece of paper sticking out of his left pocket. I carefully reached over and grabbed the paper, unfolding it and bringing it closer to my face in order to read it. The other officer that was in the room had fixed his attention on me at this point and was watching me with a great level of intensity.  I ignored this and instead focused intently on the paper. 

"'I wanted to thank you personally for being so kind and fending off those men at the bar, but by the time I had gotten a chance to return, you had already left. So instead, I leave you with this letter. I hope to see you quite soon. Sincerely, Lucas'," I read aloud what was written on the letter. Bar? Lucas? Does that mean that-... I dropped the paper on the ground, coming to the shocking realization as to who the murder victim was. The dark brown hair, the connection to a bar and a man named Lucas. I covered my mouth with my hand to prevent myself from letting out a gasp. I stood up, shaking, unsure how to react to this. This was someone I knew personally, someone I had grown fond of. This was someone that I had helped on multiple occasions and someone that you would least expect to be murdered. He was just an innocence bartender. The only thing out of the ordinary for this fellow was his interest in men rather than women. Even so, that wasn't anything to be killed over. 
"What is it, Dawkins? You look as if you saw something paranormal."
"I-I know who our victim is. Personally. And I'm afraid that I might just be a reason for his murder."