Cooper "Coop" Knowles

Discussion in 'Character Biographies' started by Anonymous, Jan 27, 2019.

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  1. Anonymous

    Anonymous Guest

    Cooper Jameson Knowles
    Height6'0 ft.
    Weight180 lbs.
    HairBlack (Graying)
    BornMontpelier, Vermont
    BirthdayMay 23rd, 1958
    GraduatedBaker College, 1983
    MajorsLaw Enforcement
    Criminal Justice
    CareerHomicide Detective, Retired
    Detroit Police Department
    Character Reputation
    ThemeThis & This
    AtmosphereMusic, More Music, More

    Physical Appearance:
    Standing near six foot, around one hundred and eighty pounds, Coop would appear more rough around the edges now than he ever had in his life. His hair, although well kempt and cut short, was at the initial stages of graying. He had thin, tired eyes, marred by bags from a growing number of consecutively sleepless nights. Dressing formally for most occasions, in a three piece or two, often in a coat or trench, it had become natural to find him disheveled, whether by insomnia or the alcohol no one could determine. And though he was at least moderately pleasant on the eyes, his demeanor often betrayed his good nature through a scowl, or a grimace. It was rare that he might seem truly amiable.

    Biographical Information:
    When the world burns down around you, it's a normal reaction to dredge through the ashes. His colleagues had been on their hands and knees, sifting with fine tooth combs. The therapist, the girlfriend, the worried phone calls from back home. You could see it in his eyes from a mile away, that emptied, vacant stare. Coop had seen enough by the time he reached Astoria that he hadn't the will for digging any longer.

    By all regards, Cooper Knowles had an average, American childhood. He was born and raised in Montpelier, Vermont by two loving parents who lived relatively boring suburban lives. He excelled at school, though he struggled with managing his focuses between study and athletics, chasing girls and playing varsity baseball in his late teens. He left to study at Norwich University, though that didn't last long, and after two semesters he moved to Michigan, changed his major to law enforcement, passed the entrance exam, and graduated from the Police Academy of Baker College in Detroit. At the age of twenty-five, in 1983, he was assigned to active duty at the DPD.

    He spent eight years on the beat before he was plucked from the ranks by a senior officer who noticed his potential, and by that time he'd seen all Detroit had to offer. Manufacturing plants were shuttering in waves, the rise of unemployment fed into the already troublesome and mismanaged tragedies of homelessness, gang violence, and substance abuse. By the time Coop earned his shield, he was used to living in one of the most dangerous, deteriorating urban environments the United States had to offer, and he had a passion for the work, perhaps at times too much passion.

    Coop caught his first major case in 1991 from what would later be referred to as the work of the "Wayne County Killer", otherwise known as William Everett. Spanning the next year, the case developed into the investigations of eleven murders which culminated at trial in 1994, where he was found guilty. Shortly after being attached as Lead Detective to the Everett case, he was attached to another string of murders being worked by a colleague and friend, which ended with the arrest of Lindsey Latham Wilkinson, a serial rapist who took fondly to young girls.

    In particular, these first significant cases molded him into the detective he was, and over the following fourteen years he developed a reputation for expedient results despite the circumstances, being so bold as to bend or ignore what was jurisdictionally prudent to make certain the necessary individuals had been served justice. But as time went on, Detective Knowles became more reckless and encumbered by guilt -- he drank to excess, womanized without concern -- and all the while Detroit slowly but surely descended into the depths of hell, dragging him down with it.

    The last case he worked was that which broke him, chasing the individuals posthumously proven responsible for the murders and human trafficking of an estimated thirty-six teenage girls. When patrol cars arrived on scene, responding to a 10-71, Detective Knowles was found wounded, gun shot, and unconscious in the same apartment of three primary, associated suspects who had been killed during their altercation. His firearm was later linked by ballistics to their untimely demise.

    Though he spent months in recovery, he only ever rode a desk until the end of his career in 2005 when he was pressured to resign over the mounting evidence of his final case, those three killings, which suggested he had not acted in self defense. His life spiraled out of control in the aftermath, and a year later drew him westward to Oregon, where particular opportunities had provided the means to put his experience to use.

    Ajax: I can tell another professional when I see one -- hell, I'd swoon if I had a gash between my legs -- but what secret government program did this son of a bitch escape from? Forget it, I don't want to know.

    Firecracker: At face value, we couldn't be more different. After a lifetime of posturing, the respectability, the years of tracking body to body, she stands out -- vibrant, wild, dynamic -- like a mushroom cloud at dusk. Fire and coal. She's dangerous, that's what we share in common, and it gets my blood up.

    Fritz: Something about him sets off alarms in my head. Hammer and nail, right?

    Lemon: I only caught her name, but we exist on contrary wave lengths. An extrovert, surely. Apply sedatives without prejudice. Rinse and repeat, apply again.

    Mark: Seems a decent sort. Possibly down on his luck, perhaps a bit unruly, though I wouldn't hold that against him. He's young.

    Noah: Needs to remember where his balls are, I anticipate he finds his backbone sooner than later. The world's been known to chew through guys like him without remorse. Sink or swim.

    Teach: Still getting to know him, I'm sure that'll change. We see each other out and about frequently enough. Next round at Frankie's on me.

    Tom: Charismatic, and he works the best watering hole in Astoria. He's also a bourbon man. I can respect that.

    Ron and Dianne: I see them more than anyone else, yet we rarely talk. They know my usual without having to ask, and I leave generous tips to keep them on my side when I'm falling to pieces. Works for me.

    Raven: The butcher, she's got an edge I can relate with. Didn't catch me with my best foot forward, but I dig her ink and she's cordial, loves what she does. That's respectable.

    Dante: Played a game of twenty questions at Frankie's, won a free night of drinking. He's alright, a bit young, very inquisitive.

    Decebal: Interesting guy, charming by most considerations. Says his name is Romanian, but I wouldn't know. It's definitely unique. Works at the Docks, could be a useful source of information.

    Queen Victoria: Laura's a brain, obviously very intelligent and driven. We're both in Astoria for the sake of research, amongst other things, and given her initiative we probably share more in common than not. She stood me up for coffee once, but who could blame her?

    Joel: Officer Behn's a good cop, a man with amiable intentions who understands the plight of his community while actively espousing the values of Policing. Says he wants to get out before the work buries its' claws, and I think that's commendable. Wish I had the same motivation when I was his age.
    #1 Anonymous, Jan 27, 2019
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 19, 2019 at 12:29 AM
  2. Anonymous

    Anonymous Guest

    Prelude, I

    [​IMG] Every road he traveled lead him to this destination. This was his moment, that pinnacle of events formulating from years of diligence and sacrifice, the hour in which he would face his greatest adversary. He looked to his conscience for guidance, but it had long since vacated. It was nearly three in the morning.
    [​IMG] Steeling his nerve, he quietly opened his car door and stepped into the bitter cold. This part of town was one of many others like it, decrepit and failing, emptied of respectful residents many years ago. The only people who still called it home were trapped by circumstance or born into wickedness, and after two decades of living in the city he had no remorse for either. Two of these citizens in particular he followed to this silent corner of Detroit, earlier in the evening. He'd been waiting for hours.
    [​IMG] Coop had studied the residence he tracked his suspects to many months prior. The ADA and the 36th District Court had worked together then, to facilitate a search warrant that ultimately lead to a lack of substantial evidence and a surmounting mistrust of their division resources. The Captain and the Major were both ready to abandon the case. They needed a clearance and it was not forthcoming.
    [​IMG] Knowing the stakes, Cooper had premeditated a solution in the days preceding. It was a squat building, a meager two floors, mostly abandoned. The apartment in question was a simple climb from the balcony beneath it, faced away from the street and to a deserted, overgrown lot. The lights inside were off. When he tried the sliding glass door, it budged without effort. The interior latch had not been engaged.
    [​IMG] It took a moment for his eyes to adjust as he entered unaware to the residents. The apartment was almost empty, save for a card table with folding chairs. Pizza boxes and delivery bags were strewn about in disorganized piles, empty beer cans and liquor bottles. A couch had been pushed against the far wall, and a suspect he recognized was sleeping there, gripping a pistol to his chest.
    [​IMG] Mindful of the dwellings floor plan, he crept cautiously towards the bedroom and entered without a sound. He expected to find the next suspect there and he did, sleeping on the floor -- snoring, face down -- near an old mattress that had been positioned askance, as though haphazardly tossed inside, but Coopers attention was urgently caught by a light that poured from underneath the connecting bathroom door. Suddenly, it swung open.
    [​IMG] Face to face with an individual identified and previously released during the same investigation, Cooper experienced an epiphany which hit him like a truck. There wasn't supposed to be a third man present. As if time had stopped, they stood there, staring at one another in the dark, shadowed by the door frame. The suspect knew in those final seconds what he was there for, it was shared in the whites of their eyes.
    [​IMG] As a scream pierced the air, Coop raised his firearm and pulled the trigger. There was no turning back now.
    #2 Anonymous, Jan 31, 2019
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 10, 2019
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  3. Anonymous

    Anonymous Guest

    Prelude, II

    [​IMG] Nothing, there was nothing. It stretched out before me like an endless plane of snow, so pure and so white I cannot fathom the beginning or the end. I am overwhelmed by an intense euphoria, a comforting warmth, like someone had wrapped me in linens fresh from the dryer. In this instant, I experience bliss the likes of which I hadn't the capacity to understand, as though bathed in sunlight and affection, an infinite peace.
    [​IMG] Abruptly, the sheet is pulled from my eyes. The moon hung in the sky, bright and imposing, larger than I ever remembered, cascading a brilliance in elaborate platinum upon a field of swaying grass. In the distance, a river of stars weaved through a mountainous valley bordered by snow capped peaks, and upon either bank were crowds of people milling aimlessly. Some of them I could recognize, even from where I drifted at the precipice, floating above it all like some wayward spirit or empty illusion. Their eyes were locked with mine.
    [​IMG] The face of my father appeared most prominent. My mother stood beside him, their brothers and sisters, further still those women who I loved and who, for a time, had loved me. Ever more remote, friends, colleagues and acquaintances, each of them gathered by the anticipation of what would come next, but none of us certain. Across the river, an amorphous, inky clot accumulated. My heart sank with dread as I fell towards it.

    [​IMG] My eyes open. Two heavy doors swing wildly aside as I'm wheeled through, feet first, slamming with great effect and a resounding thud. Florescent lights flash in sequence as I pass beneath, the smell of bleach stinging my nostrils, and though I can hear unfamiliar voices shouting pluralities, I cannot focus on what they're saying. When my eyes close again, I am glad to be rid of them.
    [​IMG] There was nothing to fear, and nothing to doubt.
    #3 Anonymous, Feb 6, 2019
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 10, 2019
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  4. Anonymous

    Anonymous Guest

    Prelude, III

    [​IMG]He was celebrated when he first returned to duty. The briefing that afternoon consisted of ceramic mugs filled with whiskey, cheerful colleagues, and the sort of platitudes men paid one another when women and children weren't present. Coop had four slugs extracted in the emergency room, one of which still remained in pieces, poking out from under the skin, just over his ribs, and everyone wanted to see it. He spent most of that day with his shirt untucked and half buttoned.
    [​IMG]Over the following weeks, that tune quickly changed. They didn't want him working cases anymore, they wanted him in the Sergeants seat, or passing examination for a more promising career, the sort a hero deserved. It was all he could do, keeping it to himself. He shot those three men in cold blood. If they hadn't found the victims, he would have been facing a disgraceful termination and murder charges, he had no doubt in his mind.
    [​IMG]Once Internal Affairs got involved, the camaraderie disappeared. Coop worked a desk while he completed the rest of his physical therapy. Administration, bullshit, all of it a show by certain individuals to keep the pressure off as long as they could manage, and he suffered for it. He showed up to work drunk, developed a taste for dilaudid, prescribed to him after the shooting, and with the story what it was in the papers and on television, there wasn't a doctor in the state who didn't want to medicate the man who brought to justice the criminal element responsible for the trafficking and murder of countless teenage girls.
    [​IMG]Eventually, it was a weight too great to bear, so his Lieutenant talked him into resignation. It wouldn't have looked good for the department to fire him under the circumstances, and the internal investigation was being lead in circles by the people who still had faith in Detective Knowles. After nearly fifteen years of public service, the sole focus of his livelihood and the drive which gave him purpose, he left the Detroit Police, Second Precinct, and imploded in the process.
    [​IMG]Whatever immutable good he once cherished in law and order quickly vanished. He spent his days a sloven mess, reading case files and studying, left by his live-in girlfriend, the lawyer, until contacted by an Agent he developed a friendship with in the Bureau who brought to him an intriguing development. With the IA's investigation floundering, he was hired on through government contract and sent to Astoria in an advisory role, to help establish the profile for a collection of fresh murders which almost identically matched his last case in service.
    [​IMG]At forty-eight, it was all or nothing. This would be his last clearance, and he was prepared to die trying.
    #4 Anonymous, Feb 9, 2019
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 13, 2019
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  5. Anonymous

    Anonymous Guest

    The Interim: A Phone Call

    [​IMG]"Did you get my message?"
    [​IMG]"Yeah, Coop. Things are going to hell here. IA's out for blood," a voice buzzed through the speaker, the sound of a familiar baritone that, simply by its presence, relieved some of his uncertainty. His faith in the thin blue line remained partially intact.
    [​IMG]"Who's talking?"
    [​IMG]"No one, not yet at least, but they're threatening everyone in the unit. It's just a matter of time," replied the man on the other end. "Did you read that story in the Free Press?"
    [​IMG]"Fuck no, I've got enough on my plate." The sound of ice on glass rattled, following a long pause. "What are they saying?"
    [​IMG]"You know, the same stupid bullshit they always say. 'Was it justified?', 'What was his record?', 'Did he have a history of violence?' Shit, who did we work with that didn't have a history of violence?" Cooper didn't respond. He was two days deep into a bender of case files, liquor, and opiates.
    [​IMG]"Listen partner, you need to get your priorities straight. Why are you dodging your union rep?"
    [​IMG]"Said they're fighting my pension. A quarter fucking pension. How much did I sacrifice for them? How many girls did we pull out of that shipping container," Cooper asked, the volume of his temperament echoed by frustration and guilt.
    [​IMG]"I heard the Bureau tapped you for a profiling contract. You know the Feds are gonna come down on you hard if this investigation hits Grand Jury, right? They won't tolerate it."
    [​IMG]"Yeah, well, unless they can come up with a testimony that contradicts what Maddy's been saying from the get, it's all circumstantial. Have you checked in on her recently?"
    [​IMG]"Reg popped in the other day. She's holding together, but it'll be a long road before she gets her life back. The psyche evaluation," the other man needed some time to find the appropriate words before he could continue. "She's all fucked up."
    [​IMG]"Did you hear from Candace," Coop inquired, prepared for a response he wouldn't be pleased with. An exasperated sigh transferred across the line and he instantly knew what to expect.
    [​IMG]"About that. When you left town she went to the apartment and cleaned house. She said to tell you to fuck off next time we spoke."
    [​IMG]"Yeah, that sounds like her," Coop replied in defeated, flat tonality. They'd been at eternal odds since his injuries sustained at Dearborn. Even she doubted him. Silence overrode their conversation.
    [​IMG]"You and I both know what happened to those sons of bitches was justice, Coop. Because of what you did, those monsters aren't stealing women off the streets and sending them to god-know's-where to be raped and murdered. Fuck the procession and fuck the Grand Jury."
    It was a difficult pill to swallow. He'd seen it every night on replay in his mind, over and over again, the events which lead to the shooting, the endless white, the river of stars. Making sense of it left him a shell of a man, and he couldn't bear the thought any longer.
    [​IMG]"Hey, I gotta go. Send my love to the boys," Coop replied, abruptly flipping his phone shut before the other voice could reply, shoving it into his pocket with a shudder as he poured himself another fresh bourbon. It was destined to be a long night.
    #5 Anonymous, Feb 12, 2019
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 15, 2019 at 6:08 PM
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  6. Anonymous

    Anonymous Guest

    Astoria, I

    [​IMG]The light from a television dimly illuminated a dark, narrow room. He was laying snug in bed, dizzy from bourbon and opiates, adorned in the day's dress shirt and slacks, passing a joint between a woman with frizzy pink hair. She was younger than him, considerably even, only half his age at conservative estimates but they never specified. It was a trend in their relationship, whatever the hell it was. They didn't spend time dwelling needlessly on details and he preferred it that way.
    [​IMG]As a movie rolled in the background, his thoughts remained preoccupied. Shutting off had never been easy, though now more than ever. His career, the purpose for which he'd shaped and dedicated his life absolutely, had been on the brink for a year. The Grand Jury was closing in, his pension had been denied, the woman he left in Detroit was glad to be rid of him, and rightly so, relinquished to substance abuse and guilt, but he remained single minded in his pursuits.
    [​IMG]His friend in the Agency had sent him there under cloaked pretenses, unbeknownst to certain operational supervisors. While the research and profiling was his day job, an affair aided by twenty-three years of Police work, information continued to pour in regarding a case which he'd been deadly attached. Girls were still being pulled out of shipping containers. They were finding them all over the west coast, and Oregon had not been spared.
    [​IMG]Maddy was a common focus of his attention despite the proclivity, but through relation. When he was shot at Dearborn, it took weeks to compile the events as they occurred. The crime scene had offered little in the way of hypothesis, but when she woke up in the hospital days before Coop, her story provided all the necessary motive to put an officer in that apartment the night three men were killed. She lied because he saved her life. She lied because she wanted them dead, too.
    [​IMG]However, in eighteen days, he was no closer to discovering the leads his Federal counterparts needed to pursue the criminals abducting those young women, like Maddy. He'd heard accounts of a dead girl found in an alley; the missing person, Sandra King; rumors of men in hazmats who had quarantined the boardwalk, which he had not been able to verify directly; the mishandling of nuclear waste from a vessel docked in town, also mere speculation; and that the fishing had died off in a place where professionals were accustomed to teeming waters. Separately, none of it made the impact he needed. How or if any of it was connected, he had only conjecture.
    [​IMG]It continued like this throughout the night, every night, inwards and outwards like the product of neuroses, while the sort of distraction he received from his time spent with Bonnie had become his only opportunity to relax. She administered a sort of humanization that had grown distant, and when Coop thought of her, he could not help but contrast what she was to the grisly heap of images he sorted through every day. He rarely slept, he ate less than a prisoner. His drive to collapse like a dying star -- implode for the sake of respite -- had been quelled by the company, and though eventually everything would end, he never could have anticipated their friendship.
    #6 Anonymous, Feb 14, 2019 at 1:46 AM
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 17, 2019 at 6:58 PM
  7. Anonymous

    Anonymous Guest

    Astoria, II

    [​IMG]The boundless sky was stark and bare, smothered by swollen, languorous clouds. Gentle waves rolled awash in the distance, the earthy aroma of Lake St. Clair drifted on a wayward breeze. Wherever he looked, shipping containers sat in neat stacks, stretching like a labyrinth as far as the eye could see, but the beam of a flashlight focused upon one in particular. Unexpectedly, the doors lurched open.
    [​IMG]Every muscle tensed. Inside, young women lay heaped in piles like rubbish, an assailing, rotten odor drawing bile to rise in the back of his throat. As though outside of his body, Cooper watched himself pick through the corpses in desperation, each as frigid and still as the last. When the realization gripped him, the dirt dissolved beneath his feet. "No survivors," the words wailed like an echo.

    [​IMG]A shocking, searing pain coursed like lightning through his every nerve as he fell, clutching at the carpet in frantic handfuls. Blood pooled like syrup, ever expansive. Within moments of laying prone he was saturated by it, almost indistinguishable, painted like so many crime scenes etched into his memory. He teetered on the edge then, absent of will, a triviality in that place where worlds come to die and men find peace of mind.
    [​IMG]As an endless alabaster sea swelled on the horizon, he heard a scratching not unlike fingernails upon wood: whimpering, squeaking, like an animal, he thought, or a child. It sat across the room, a closet, just meters away now but an impossible feat all the same. Coop crawled forward and collapsed, reclaimed his mettle and strived again, on and on until languishing at the threshold. The door slid open of its own accord to reveal a malnourished woman.
    [​IMG]She was a young adult, shaking, crying, dressed in rags and filth. Her hair was red and matted, her pale skin covered in a barrage of burns and contusions. When he reached for her, a blinding light filled the room. Like some divine halo, Maddy sat shrouded, sheltered, the last face he would ever see, of that he had never felt so certain. Without warning, the room tore away to expose nothing. Nothing and forever.

    [​IMG]Cooper was standing on the bank of a familiar river, snaking through an ancient basin surrounded on all sides by impassable peaks. The current rushed like a deluge, sparkling as if the surface of a thousand tiny stars in crisp, obsidian water. His feet carried him onward involuntarily, shoulder to shoulder with a meandering crowd that accompanied, but eventually he began to recognize them, the portrait of all the people he ever met, knew or cherished: family, colleagues, lovers; Candace, Maddy; the guise of Astorians; Bonnie.
    [​IMG]On the other bank, an inky cloud had formed. Like the space between galaxies, threatening tendrils reached over the flooded torrent amidst cryptic intent. Without explanation he was overcome, crippled by the nature of something he could not fathom, driven to terror without ever understanding why. Convinced to save himself, he dove into the river and was instantly propelled outward, through the universe, as though shot from a canon.

    [​IMG]Startling awake, he sat upright like a spring, drenched in cold sweat. His breath had gotten away from him, dizzied and spinning, white as a ghost. He planted his hands to secure himself as the room reeled, but it spiraled remarkably from his control, faster and faster. In a singular, fluid motion, Cooper stood from the bed they shared and crumpled to the floor like a cheap suit. Serenity beckoned and he answered the call.
    #7 Anonymous, Feb 17, 2019 at 6:54 PM
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 18, 2019 at 7:45 AM
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