*The new program was bullshit, plain and simple. Annette waited in her office, the one it'd taken her most of her early twenties to earn, working on the most prevalent case that was stumping the department, evidence posted on her whiteboard of "The Painter", a serial killer who used his victims to paint murals. Who she was waiting for, was her new partner, a supposedly reformed con artist who was assisting the police to lessen their incarceration. A con artist, that apparently had gone through a number of interviews to ascertain his intelligence, value, and his earnest attempt at redemption. She'd already looked over their file. A laundry list of crimes, ranging from forgery to wide scale scamming. They'd even run an underground fight club at one point. She had doubts about this person's sudden character change. Annette leaned back in the chair and sighed, lighting a cigarette and choosing to focus on the case in front of her instead. "The Painter". 13 victims across all boroughs of NYC. No particular time of day. Victims in back alleys, hotel rooms, and even one in an old pizzeria, found by an older Italian man as he opened his family's shop. No discernible pattern. And the murals, visceral displays of art woven from blood, organs and flesh. Annette was shifting through photos of the murals, looking for any connection in the gruesome displays when the door to her office opened and in stepped her new partner. Ex-con extraordinaire. And already a headache based on their expression.