Once the commotion outside simmered down and it looked like Sakura had everything under control, Tora and Poppi ducked back inside the electronics shop Akindo. While the Nopon lauded the foresight it took to make such a smart purchase, Sakura didn’t give him one of the new walkie-talkies she showed him, so he proceeded empty-handed. Eager to put his idea into practice before the spark of inspiration left him, Tora got to business straightaway. After selling some of the shiny junk he’d collected throughout his travels so far, especially in the icebound crypts of the Inner-Mountain, could afford just what he wanted: a small, nondescript camcorder, the sort one would expect to leave someplace for security rather than take on a nature hike with the extended family. He and his companion then left, since he couldn’t exactly begin the installation on the premises, to find a private place he could crack Poppi open.
Leaving the market street, they turned the opposite way that the Punks had gone and proceeded along the sidewalk toward the bottom-right corner of the Gutsford triangle. “Tora not like feeling of being watched,” he explained in a loud whisper to his partner as he waddled along. Politely she stooped as she walked beside him so that she could listen in. “It bad in Al Mamoon, but it even worse here. Tora want way to watch back, plus record in case anyone need proof. Had enough misunderstandings to last lifetime, meh!”
While scanning the street for a suitable location, Tora instead spotted a familiar mop of brown hair and blue-white tracksuit. “Oh, it Sakura!” he said, pointing down the street at the girl for Poppi, even though the more perceptive artificial blade had already seen her. Sakura appeared to be about half a block ahead of the pair, and one of the guys who’d been around the video store jogged alongside her. “Maybe she see someplace!”
He picked up speed to a brisk bounce to try and close the distance, with Poppi in tow. So focused was Tora on the Street Fighter up ahead that when a trash can lid slammed shut next to him, it just about scared his pants off. “MEH!” he yelped, spinning around to backhand the can with his wing. It toppled over and hit the ground noisily, spilling a bunch of junk anywhere. Just as before he found no sign of any spying device, but when he looked up he found Poppi staring off into the distance.
“Not to panic,” she muttered out of one side of her mouth. “But it seem that Masterpon draw unwanted attention. Carefully peek around.”
Tora obliged, discreetly checking out his surroundings. At first it looked like nothing was amiss. He’d gotten some looks, but since he knocked over a trash can that didn’t surprise him. On closer inspection, however, he realized that not only were people still looking his way, but also that everyone who was looked the exact same. They held different objects, but each sported turquoise skin, a beige trench coat, a matching hat, and red eyes fixed on him. Pedestrians silently walked around the watchers, each averting their gaze. “Tora see now. Who they?”
“Poppi not know, but they seem hostile. Probably linked to watchers from before. Should we confront one and find out what want?” His companion asked, glancing down at him.
“Poppi know meaning of phrase ‘kick skeeter nest’, meh?” Tora asked as he turned to continue his walk down the street. When Poppi shook her head, he went on to enlighten her. “It mean cause unnecessary ruckus only to get stung badly. Even if shadypons look funny at Tora, no need stir pot just yet. C’mon.” Without another word Poppi followed, and after a good twenty seconds spent watching the two stroll down the street, the G-Men seemed to lose interest.
Once far enough away, Tora wiped his brow. “Phew! Look like false alarm. As long as not make scene, we probably okay.” He took another look around to make sure. By now, he and Poppi were close to the roundabout at the bottom-right corner of Gutsford, but they’d lost track of Sakura. Up ahead lay some of big, fenced-in facility full of trucks, and right across the crosswalk lay the gas station
Chaps, its rows of
pumps hard at work fueling the trucks up for the ride to Midgar. “Aha!” Tora exclaimed. “It place just like Hammerhead! Perfect for tinkerings and fixings!” Ignoring the garage on his side of the street a couple hundred feet ahead, where Sakura and Edge were busy looking for Punks, he and Poppi joined a few pedestrians to cross the street.
A few moments more and they were in. With a gritty, ostentatiously western aesthetic, Chaps turned out to be not just a gas station, but the favorite resting spot of the hardy truckers between trips across the perilous barrens. It also featured the only bar in all of Gutsford, Anaconda. Open only to said wasteland bravers, its staff strictly enforced the limited clientele, although that must be pretty easy with a
proprietress like that lounging in the back; Tora doubted that the giant robot arms around her chair were just for show. All this he saw through the shuttered windows, but the acrid smell of smoke from inside quickly turned him away, coughing. “Okay, this fine spot,” he declared, putting down his toolbox at the back of the fueling and maintenance area outside. “Now, let’s get little doohickey installed.”
“Excuse me.” A monotone voice came from behind them. Tora froze, then slowly turned around to see a couple G-men standing nearby. “This area is for grease monkeys only. No other monkeys allowed. I must ask you to…”
His red eyes fell upon the wrench clutched in Tora’s wing. He held up his own wrench, then cleared his throat. “Oh, excuse me, fellow machinist. I see by your wrench that you too are here to grease the wheels of progress.” He held his tool like a ceremonial sword and bowed. “Keep up the good work.” With that, he turned to join the other G-Men around the gas station, most of whom seemed to be juggling spanners to the repressed frustration of the actual mechanics.
Tora breathed a sigh of relief. “Shadypons very weird. We should finish and leave soon.” With renewed energy he got to work, and after only a few minutes, he successfully installed the recorder in Poppi QT’s right pigtail. “There!” he declared, dusting his wings off. “Tora originally plan to add to Poppi eye, but already jam-packed with features. Meanwhile, pigtail serve no purpose, so perfect slot for install!”
“No purpose other than look cute, right Masterpon?” Poppi prodded him.
“Of course! That why Tora put it there!”
Just as the duo went to leave, wrenches in hand to avoid the G-men’s suspicion, an unexpected event unfolded across the street. The graffiti-covered door to the old-fashioned garage by the Trade Depot slid open as the Punks returned from their joyride and pulled inside. It slammed down again just as quickly, but not before their pursuer Midna could slide in behind them, and once back inside their hideout the four goons quickly discovered a couple of unwelcome guests waiting for them as well. “The hell’re you doin’ here!?” the green-haired one yelled at Sakura, putting up his dukes.
The one with face paint glowered at Edge. “The jerkoff sold us out! Get ‘em!”
With the strange and not-so-vaguely threatening G-men closing in both in front and behind, even trusting in a couple other (more human) identical strangers suddenly sounded like a good idea. Rather than try to fight or escape the alleyway going upward, Peach quickly joined Raz, Roxas, Blazermate, Susie, Geralt, and Bede without even pitching in an excuse. The Seekers stuffed themselves into the backroom of the pet shop, and the moment the last person squeezed inside the earring-wearing twin locked and bolted the door behind them. “That’s all of them,” he confirmed.
“Good,” his brother deadpanned, masking his relief. Both seemed serious as they turned to address the expectant faces arrayed before them. “You were right to trust us,” he told them with a foreboding shake of his head at Geralt. “Those creatures aren’t just enforcers. They’re the agents of the Midgar government’s Investigation Sector. In other words, spies, and supernatural ones at that. If they so much as touch you, it’s curtains.”
His brother beckoned the group to follow him, holding a finger to his lips. “Ssh! Away from the door, I guarantee they’re right outside. We don’t have much time. The boss wants to see you. Follow me.”
He led the way through a door to a storeroom, which smelled strongly of pet chow even from a distance. Once inside, however, the Seekers found that one of the walls featured an enormous desk rife with computers, files, and various pieces of equipment. A giant corkboard hung over it on the wall, blanketed in tacked-on papers and pictures. Most concerned the G-men, including their favorite stakeout spots and patrol routes, but on one side were a handful of relatively low-quality pictures of people the newcomers recognized, including Tora, Poppi, Jesse, Sectonia, Midna, Primrose, and Raz. And on the far end of the room, casually sprawled atop a pile of Satisfactory-brand dog food bags, was the person Peach’s team had been brought to meet.
She was a Brazilian woman, five foot eight, in semi-formal attire, her sky-blue eyes sizing the Seekers up. Her distinctive scarlet hair, middle-parted, fell to either side of her head in short ribbon-like strips, although they got much longer toward the back until they wound together to form a tight-knit braid all the way down to her waist. Her white collared shirt extended only as far down at her diaphragm, barely held together by just two heroic buttons, exposing part of her midriff but coming together again at her collar thanks to a very short black tie. She also wore suspenders, black fingerless gloves, rather baggy high-waisted black dress pants with a gold-buckled belt, a black suit jacket, and black-green heeled boots. Though business casual, she also possessed a certain edge only amplified by her yellow glasses and cross-shaped earrings. Somehow her appearance conveyed both the down-to-earth charm of an
irreverant bodyguard and the mystique of a
secret agent. A huge green-furred wolf with an odd symbol on her head lay at her feet, her white eyes already on the new arrivals.
“What’s up?” the ringleader greeted, nonchalantly raising a forearm to wave like the whole thing was no big deal.. “Spooks give ya a rough time? Well, look, I’m sure you’re full of questions, but time’s a luxury we don’t have. They’re outside for now, but can bet your asses the G-Men are gonna waltz right on in once they round up some new disguises. So I’ll give ya the short version.”
She sat up and leaned forward, her arms on her knees. “My name’s Giovanna, and I’m with the Special Operations Unit in Midgar. After Vernon’s term ended a while back and he resigned from office, we broke with the government with him. Me, Goldlewis, Hayabusa, Vernon himself, Erica, and the doctors here, M and N. And yeah, I know those names diddly-squat to most of you, ‘cause except for little Raz there you sure aren’t in the pictures Goldlewis sent me. But you’re still the Seekers, right?”
Peach listened, her brows knitted together, until Giovanna tried to confirm their identity. “What’s it to you?” she asked, her phrasing not as ambiguous as she might have liked.
“All you need to know is weren’t not with the current administration. Or these creeps snooping around,” Giovanna assured her.
Arms crossed, Peach considered whether or not to trust her. Perhaps the most important factor, however, lay directly before her. “Your eyes…you’re not under Galeem’s control, are you?”
“Nope. After he met you guys in Al Mamoon, Goldlewis made sure to free us all the minute he got back,” Giovanna replied. “But forget about us for now. There’s a lot more to cover, believe me, but it’ll have to wait. Right now we gotta focus on getting you out of this town.”
“Out?” Peach’s brows rose. “We’re trying to find a way to Midgar ourselves. Our goal is to find and defeat Galeem’s Guardian in this region, and we think it’s holed up in there. There are more of us out there looking for a way. Can you get us out of here?”
Giovanna flopped back into the dog food bags, sighing. “More huh? That complicated things. I got a chopper already on its way, but the spooks’ll be all over us long before it gets here. There’s too many out here to be on their own. Someone’s got ‘em organized. Someone smart. Which can only mean one thing: a damn Turk.”
“High-ranking members of the General Affairs Division’s Investigation Sector,” Dr. M supplied from the back of the group. “If the G-men are the foot soldiers in Shinra's war against internal strife, the Turks are the captains. They no doubt traced us here in the first place, but now they’ve got our scent, we must do something before the knot can tighten."
“Mhm.” Giovanna hopped down gracefully. The wolf floated off the ground, its legs dissolving into a wispy spirit tail as it wound around her, then disappeared. “So we’re gonna meet our rescue half way. Assuming you’re not gonna cut and run, that is. If you’re gonna back down, now’s the time, but your chances are a hell of a lot better with us.”
Peach elected to stay, which set the tone for the rest of the group. After they concluded any deliberation and made their choices, Giovanna nodded and began again. “Kay, here’s the plan. We need a decoy, someone fast and loud to draw them away. The G-men are dangerous, but they’re not fast. Once they’re gone, the rest of us are gonna make a break for the southeast corner of Gutsford. There’s a fleet of trucks just about to roll out, and we’re gonna hitch a ride. Not inside, ‘cause they check thoroughly, but on top. Trouble is, we’ve only got about five minutes. Need to round everyone up, ditch the spooks, and make it there before the trucks are gone. Groovy?”
At that moment, a loud knocking on the front door resounded through the pet shop. Giovanna grit her teeth as she glanced in that direction. “Damn, they’re fast.”
“We’ll just need to be faster,” Peach assured her.
Giovanna nodded, a thin smile on her lips. “Took the words right out of my mouth. Right then, decoys, you ready?”
“We might need one or two up front as well,” Dr. M ventured. “Someone to keep them occupied while the rest of you make a run for it. Any good actors among you?”
“Whatever happens, don’t get caught, guys. They have ways of making you talk,” Giovanna warned them. “We’re out of time, people. Decoys: you’re up. Let’s move!”
Once she set foot outside Iselda’s mapless map store, Nadia took just a few steps before coming to a stand still in the middle of Dirtmouth. “Where’d everyone go?” she wondered aloud, looking one way and then the other. Aside from the Elderbug, who now sat and dozed beneath the curled lamp post on a wrought iron bench by the Stag Station, she couldn’t see anyone. It was quiet. Desolate, even. Aside from the clang of distant pickaxes and the low roar of the wind across the mountains, the ghost town sat in silence, its long-abandoned ovoid houses still and solemn as tombstones. It didn’t help that an actual graveyard lay on the town’s outskirts, cordoned off by a fence of intricate wrought iron, much like the bench. The others must have split up in a hurry, Nadia figured. Maybe this place gave them the creeps, although to her it just seemed sad.
Well, they would need to meet back up before going anywhere else, and with the others handling the various practical matters for the journey ahead, Nadia didn’t know what to do, really. She looked around idly, swishing her tail. A ways off she made out Primrose and Therion engaging with one of the work crews, all of whom seemingly preferred to make their own camps rather than squat in any eerie, decrepit Dirtmouth husks. At one point a lightshow drew her gaze up to one of the high precipices overlooking the spiral canyon from the Valtarra Mountains, where the feral’s sharp eyes recognized Sectonia squabbling with the local wildlife. All she could really make out about the big bug’s opponent was a serpentine shape, but whatever it was probably wouldn’t last long against the sheer volume of glow rings Sectonia pumped out. Nadia could scarcely imagine that such lavish use of magic came at no cost, but the thought that Sectonia would splurge so much energy on a random critter puzzled her, too. Either way, it ended up being a pretty bland fight despite the fireworks, so Nadia’s attention soon wandered.
Just when boredom began to set in, a
bright pink butterfly fluttered into her field of view, which instantly piqued her interest. As it came her way she tensed up, her wide, sea-green eyes stuck to the bug like glue, and when it got close enough she hopped up to swat at it. She narrowly missed, the wind from her arm’s passage speeding the butterfly on its way. Intently focused, Nadia jumped after it again and again, but missed both times. “Playing hard to get, huh?” she snickered, smiling. “You butter watch yourself!” She hardened her nails into claws and scampered after it.
The evasive insect led her on a merry chase through and over the blue-black hovels, prompting her to run, leap, and climb after it. Nadia pursued her quarry tirelessly, blissfully ignorant of the fight a couple tiers down toward the Chasm by Robbers’ Barge. No matter the speed or the angle, the little pink fiend managed to evade her grasp; even when she thought she got it, her prey somehow slipped through her fingers. Finally, after the butterfly led her out of Dirtmouth and over toward a
sawmill once used for cutting logs into scaffolding, it slowed down around a patch of silvery lupine wildflowers. Nadia slowed up and got down onto all fours, creeping closer with an intense look on her face. She wiggled her hips as if building up power, then pounced, clapping the butterfly between her hands.
“Gotcha! Nyahahahaha!” she laughed, standing up straight with a big, dumb grin on her face. She took a deep breath of clear mountain air, then let it out in a sigh. “Agh…I feel like such a poser.” She looked down at her tail, more piscine than lupine. “I’m barely a cat anymore…now I just feel silly. Am I gonna have to change up my puns?” Having to come up with new, less feline-oriented material seemed like a nightmare.
Nadia’s reverie came to an abrupt end as a massive shadow fell across her. Jolted into panic, she looked skyward to see an
incredibly huge butterfly, its scaled wings hundreds of feet of vivid emerald green and orange. The aerial colossus flapped those enormous wings without making a sound, floating high overhead on the wind currents like a giant kite. Mouth agape and ears flat, a motionless Nadia looked down at her hands, then back up at the colorful giant. Clearing her throat, she ditched the butterfly she’d caught, clasped her hands behind her back, and walked away in an exaggerated casual manner, whistling as looked off into the distance innocently. Behind her, her catch fluttered wonkily away.
Luckily the big one didn’t seem to notice Nadia’s crime, or at least it didn’t care. It sailed blindly forth, its shadow sweeping across the Chasm until the giant butterfly disappeared over the mountains. Nadia sank to her knees, exhaling, and wiped her hand across her forehead. “If bugs are gonna be what this region’s all about,” she told herself, “I’m gonna lose it.”
After that she hurried to meet up with the others, surprised at just how far she’d wandered. Some of her fellows were only just now concluding their endeavors to amass supplies and equipment, while others -including the Koopa Troop, to nobody’s surprise- had already trekked down the rocky terrain of the Chasm toward the pit itself. Nadia offered to help the Octopath Travelers carry stuff, pocketed what little she could in her hoodie, and raced down the dusty slopes. While she realized the extent of the inconvenience caused by her lack of inventory, especially after the very annoying loss of her brand new hair dye during the river rafting, she would have to look into it some other time; for now, she needed to catch up with the trail blazers.
“Heya!” Nadia greeted the others, jogging to a stop at the edge of the pit. “What’s cookin’? …Whoa!” Surrounded by floating chunks of gray stone, as if held aloft by the sheer tectonic power at work here, the gorge extended farther down into the earth as even the most perceptive among the Seekers could see. The way to the fathomless deep seemed remarkably and uniformly straight as well, its walls boasting the same spiral formations as the Chasm itself.
Like staring down the barrel of a gun,, Nadia thought, shivering. How fitting that both would typically be a one-way ticket to the underworld, for anyone but her, that is. She straightened up, backing away from the brink to give a low whistle. “...That’s a pit alright!” The feral crossed her arms and looked around at the others. “So, is Sectonia carryin’ us down, or what?”
The plan seemed to be to use the big crane to lower the team down atop the giant wooden platform. Despite appearances, everything suggested that the Chasm was not, in fact, bottomless, so by the time that water tower-sized spool of rope ran out, the Seekers would be at their destination. Someone would need to stay up here to operate it, since nobody else appeared to be around, much less willing, to lend a hand. If one or two of the fliers handled it, though, they could just follow the rest into the abyss afterward. Compared to most of the construction work around here, the platform looked pretty sturdy, but it still rocked back and forth in the wind. Naturally, Nadia jumped on to test it first. “Whee!” she called, down on all fours for balance as the platform rocked a lot more than she thought it would. After a moment it evened out, and the feral stood, sighing in relief. “Whew, plank goodness. All aboard!”
One at a time, the Seekers got on. Miraculously, the reinforced wood held, although Nadia didn’t doubt for a second that everyone had some sort of emergency measure close at hand should the worst come to pass. For her part, she figured she could jump and airdash her way to the spiral formations on the Chasm walls if the situation went belly-up, and just climb down manually with her steel-hard claws, new chain-anchors, and natural agility. It would be long and tiresome, but it could be done. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a longer journey than her ride up and down the Alcamoth lift, which to an attention-deficit catgirl felt like a lifetime by itself, but who knew. When everyone was ready, the crane operator could start the ride, and after an initial jolt the platform began its gradual descent.
A few uneventful minutes passed. Whoever designed this system clearly prioritized safety over speed, which Nadia could appreciate, but it also dragged on a little bit. After a little while spent swatting at beetles who’d hitched a ride, she took a seat and just watched the stone fly by. The team wasn’t exactly chatty at the moment, but Nadia did learn that apparently the others had been in a scuffle, which also explained the addition of the Knight to the team. The little bug said not a word, but whatever business it had below, Nadia didn’t mind.
After a little longer, everyone who kept their eyes and ears on alert for any sign of danger found their vigil rewarded. Without any further ceremony, a purple flash went off above them, and those who looked up found someone, a little taller and broader than Omori, in a set of armor they recognized all too well even silhouetted against the sunlight above.
“Howdy!” an unfamiliar voice echoed down at them. Thick tendrils of some kind extended form his back, which held onto the rope. He seemed to be wearing a helmet or mask shaped like the sun, but no further features could be made out. “Having a nice little ride down, are we? Yeesh! Talk about boring! Well, you know what season it is, right?” He held his hand out and a whole host of lights blossomed into being in a wide range around him, like stars in the night sky, but far too close. “FALL!”
He snapped his fingers, and the white spots fell like rain, yet they were a mere distraction to throw off the Seekers’ attempts to interfere. The Consul put his hands against the rope and opened fire, quickly ripping through until the weight of the platform and its occupants did the rest. It tore loose and began to plummet down. Pockmarked by the Consul’s bullets and forgetting all her earlier contingencies, Nadia instinctively buried her claws on the wood, her mind subsumed by terror. Up above, the Consul waved at the fallen, cackling shrilly. “Ee-hee-hee-hee! Welcome to the Under, heroes! Do me a solid and survive this, ‘cause I can’t wait to see what happens next!”
Of course, Nadia couldn’t hear even a little of what he said over the sound of her own screaming. Down, down, down she went, alongside the others, into the unknown.
How much time went by, Nadia couldn’t tell. She awakened from a dark and dreamless place to find herself in a bed of yellow flowers, green grass, and crinkly red leaves, surrounded by the unconscious forms of her fellow Seekers and the destroyed remains of the wooden platform. Her eyes blinked open, staring upward into the
Chasm and the tiny mote of sunlight impossibly far above. The memory of what happened returned quickly, and with a groan she sat up. “How did…we survive the drop?” she wondered aloud, running her hand through the flowers. Their petals were big, and really quite soft, but that couldn’t be it, right?
Well, that wasn’t important. What mattered was that she lived, and since the others hadn’t been reduced to extra-chunky salsa on impact, it looked like the others fared similarly. Some weren’t here, but since a few of them could fly that didn’t come as a surprise. What did concern Nadia was where the team ended up. At the very bottom of the Chasm, where the Seekers had fallen, lay a
dripstone cave littered with ruins, some wrecked and some overgrown by ivy. Both the cavern walls and the stone bricks carved from it to line the tunnels and passengers were purple. These Ruins must be vast, extending much, much further than the light from above could ruch. “So this is the Under…” she whispered. Despite this relatively peaceful scene, she was instinctively loath to disturb its silence. Something about the darkness out there…for reasons she couldn’t explain, it unsettled her.
After just a few moments though, her instincts got proven right. In the gloom her cat-eyes detected movement, and she did not like what she saw. “H-hey,” she whispered urgently, shaking a few of those yet to awaken. “Rise and shine. We’ve got company!”
From the darkness came monsters. A rugose
purple brute, its cavernous maw home to a venomous green tongue studded with eyes. A gaunt,
scarlet-veined albino, tongues lolling from its many heads. A
horned juggernaut, with spindly crimson limbs poking out from thick metal armor. An
animate turkey gorged with green worms and human skulls. A
green devil overgrown by spiky vermillion pustules. A
faceless knot of pale tissue and hooked talons, almost fungal in nature. A bipedal
cloven horror with eyes ringing its pipelike mouth. And the largest, a
puzzle monster, ever-shifting but for his vile maw of sharklike teeth. The monsters approached, their nightmarish features ever more dreadfully distinct in the light of day, and they made for the fallen heroes.
Edinburgh MagicaPolis
Level 8 Big Band (21/80)
Ace Cadet’s
@Yankee, Red’s
@TruthHurts22Word Count: 1522
The ‘unite-thing’, as Ace put it, did concern Band a little. While more than happy to work as a team while fighting, he strongly preferred any action on his part to be voluntary. This ability of Red’s clearly offered great power, but at the same time it removed his allies’ autonomy and put them at his mercy, not to mention his judgment. Becoming little more than a resource to boost the strength of someone else did not sit right with Band, teammate or not. The superhero’s admission that participation in a Morph could have negative effects on his and the Ace Cadet’s health just put the nail in the coffin.
“I’d much rather hold off on any more Morphs, then,” Band told Red, contrary to the monster hunter’s declaration of support. “I might fight better if I threw ya ‘round like a baseball, but that don’t mean I got the right. So I better not catch you wieldin’ me without my say-so, neither.” It went without saying that he possessed a lot more utility in a fight than just some extra mass to swing around, as well.
Ace agreed with Band’s suggestion, but apparently Red would be fine outside in his super-suit, which tipped the balance of those who needed cold-weather clothes versus those who didn’t. “Actually, I’m fine as-is. Got systems in place to regulate my internal temperatures, and it ain’t half so bad as Split Mountain out here.”
With that in mind, Band could make better use of time spent split up from the others. “I was thinkin’ of takin’ a good look around myself, startin’ with the local law enforcement. My badge and my good years might be behind me, but I ain’t ever lost esprit de corps.” He thought about Red’s proposed time and location. “I’d rather meet back here than by the Metro, since that’s the first place they’ll look if more Consuls come knockin’. Let’s say two; one hour is just a moment’s time, gone before ya know it.” The detective nodded. “Good luck out there. Just remember, if we’re gonna be here a while, we’re gonna need money, so keep an eye out for job boards an’ such.”
A couple minutes later, the three had parted ways. Splitting up not only kept the others safe should any one be discovered, but allowed them to tackle very different tasks. Ace’s would just be taking a casual tour of the area as he searched for an apparel store, peering into whatever shops and chatting with whichever citizens struck his fancy. Rather than casting a wide net, Red delved into the more interesting places in the immediate area around the pumpkin. Even if the patrons of the places he visited weren’t inclined to open up about local affairs to a masked man in spandex, his trained eyes and ears could pick up on something.
Band, meanwhile, allowed his gut to lead him deeper into the city. In the silence of the quiet, snowy streets, he got the shivers; the hairs on the back of his neck could rise like antennae and tune him into the city itself–to its whispers, the story told by his surroundings. As he trudged along, the deep, dark eyes that peered out from beneath the brim of his fedora read that story between the lines etched onto brick, mortar, concrete, and steel. From footprints, the darkness of grit-stained snowbanks, slush, litter, as well as the state of various buildings’ stoops and storefronts he could infer information about the foot and motor traffic: which ways they went, how often, the spots people avoided, and so forth. Interestingly, everything from the lights to the vehicles seemed to be modern, but magical. Still, it wasn’t much of a departure from what Band knew. From what he gathered, people were out and about here with the frequency one might expect of a metropolis in midwinter, which was to say, no more than necessary. Those he spotted around moved with the slight haste of ones used to but still not fond of the cold. They did not hustle furtively, or fearfully, and despite Band’s size they paid him no particular mind. Everyone had somewhere to be, and their own business to mind.
Well, not everyone. What Band really wanted to find were people whose destination
was the streets, and who minded the business of others rather than their own. He scanned the snow-laden sidewalks for a double set of matching heavy footprints side by side, spaced close together enough to suggest an aimless amble rather than purposeful stride. It took a while, but eventually he found them, and when he followed them he found those responsible. That the
pair of cops in question were actual dogs only surprised him for a moment. Everything else about them, after all, seemed familiar. The posture, the surly shuffle, the intermittent looks around for any sign of trouble, the air that said
God, what am I doing out here. After all, he’d once been a beat cop, just like them, out on patrol come rain or shine, hell or high water. Once he got an idea of their path he took a shortcut to meet them coming the opposite way, rather than approach from behind.
“Good afternoon, officers,” Band called out. He stopped in front of the dogs Copper and Booker, towering over them. “Detective Benjamin Birdland, N.M.P.D. I’ve got business with your boss, so I was hopin’ I might be able to ask you gentlemen to escort me to your precinct station. I know it’d mean cuttin’ your patrols short, so if it’s any trouble, please don’t pay my any mind…”
The dogs, though gruff for a moment, quickly connected the dots. Any excuse to get out of the cold early sounded fine and dandy to them. Just as Band hoped. “Oh, no, no bother to us,” Booker the Bulldog piped up, no doubt the more pliable of the two. “We’d be ‘appy to uh, escort ya back there.”
His partner, Copper the Akita, looked a little more conflicted. “We’ve got a ways to go still, Booker. We cannot shirk our duties!”
“We ain’t, we ain’t!” Booker assured him. He gestured with a paw up at Band. “He’s one o’ us, right? It’s our job to help one another, ain’t it?”
Band bowed his head, doffing his hat with a mechanical arm as he took the response as acceptance. “My gratitude to you, gentlemen, you’re too kind.”
Together he and Booker seemed to erode the last of the straight-laced akita’s resistance. By-the-books or not, he wanted out of the cold, too, and having a legitimate reason really helped. “That is true too, I suppose. We’re here to help, after all!”
With Band in tow the dogs broke off the patrol route and returned to HQ. After some more time spent trudging through the snow, with Copper muttering about paperwork and Booker about his favorite hot dogs, they arrived at a
station on a dreary corner beneath light, fresh snowfall. They went inside, and while the dogs headed for the break room Band went to the front desk, where he found a
blonde woman sound asleep in her swivel chair, her workstation covered in burger wrappers and mostly-empty coffee cups, with a paper bowl of instant noodles by her keyboard that had been cold for a while now. As he passed Booker thumped on the desk with his fist, waking up the police lady with a start. “Whuh!? Whozzawuzzat!?” She hit her knee on the underside of the desk hard enough to crack it -not for the first time either, by the looks of things- and knocked a few of the coffee cups to the floor. “Ooh, oww,” she winced, holding on her knee with gritted teeth. In so doing she noticed Band, which left her terribly embarrassed. Clearing her throat, she pulled herself up to her desk with her elbows on top and clasped her hands. “Heh, heh…hello theah,” she greeted him in a thick New York accent. “What can I do ya foah, mistah?”
Band hid his despair for the state of this police department beneath an amicably amused smile. “Detective Benjamin Birdland, N.M.P.D,” he recited. He flashed her a piece of metal inside his coat so fast that she couldn’t tell it wasn’t a badge, then extended a mechanical limb to demand the lady’s attention. “I’m from out of town on a case, and I was hopin’ I might be able to meet with whoever’s in charge around here.”
“Oh!” The policewoman jumped to her feet, smoothed herself down, and shook Band’s proffered hand. “Howdy-doo, mistah Bahdland. Detective Lucia Moahgan. I’m, uh, not shoah if the chief’s in right now, but we can check togethah, just follow me.” As a couple
other officers looked on, their manner much less friendly than Lucia’s, she led Band down the hall.
