Crimson liquid splattered across the walls of your home, he found you curled up in your room; the murder weapon in your hands. You were conscious yet unresponsive to the sirens of the police cars and every officer that was questioning you.

With you handcuffed, Abbacchio carried you in his arms to his cop car. You had just committed murder but almost seemed relaxed in his arms; your head resting against his shoulder.

“won’t you talk to me?”

Abbacchio was intrigued to say at the least.