#caseclosed

Conan brings this up later but does anyone have any idea why Conan’s tranquilizer dart didn’t knock Gin out?

And why Gin proceeded to SHOOT HIMSELF IN THE ARM? Because I am confusion.

It is pretty metal though, but it just confuses the hell out of me. Even when I read it for the first time I was like, “Sir? Are you okay?”

umm more detco roblox doodles i guess 🥴

these are a collaborative effort btw we switched drawings every like,, 60 seconds

FIRST ACT – NOISE   I.The Exact Hour

[Interior – Small apartment, Tokyo – Dawn]

06:00am

Korn opens his eyes. Not because any alarm rings, but because that’s simply how his body works.

He had spent years waking up at the exact same time, without a second of deviation.

A moment later, the familiar beep of his old plastic Casio watch sounded. He didn’t turn it off. He let it beep. As always.

For a few seconds he remained still, listening to the silence. Then he sat on the bed and placed his feet on the floor: left first, then right. As always.

06:04am

Korn begins his routine: fifty push-ups, fifty sit-ups, fifty squats. The same repetitions. Every single day. The body reacts automatically; the mind, not so much.

06:22am

Korn looks at himself in the bathroom mirror. He shaves with an old but sharp blade. Every stroke is symmetrical, deliberate, silent. Always in the same order: cheek, chin, neck. Never the other way around. He tried it once. And he bled. He likes the feel of metal on skin. The cold water. The smell of soap.

06:40am

Korn takes a shower.

The water falls over his body, warm, unrushed. Afterward, he dries himself with a towel, also unrushed. He knows he has plenty of time as long as he sticks to the schedule. The mirror fogs up. He wipes it with an open palm. For a moment, his reflection becomes clear. The exact moment he needs to apply the aftershave he already set out. Then the steam covers him again. He prefers it that way. He returns to his room and gets dressed.

In black. Always in black.

06:55am

Coffee. Cheap coffee. Bad coffee. The kind he likes. Or he is used to.

Strong. No sugar, no milk, no other flavours. Just bitterness.

He reads the newspaper, always on paper. The ritual isn’t about the news, but about the cadence of the pages, the sound they make when they fold, the smell of ink. Sometimes he underlines words or sentences for no reason at all, just to feel he’s still interpreting the world.

07:12am

He goes back to the bathroom, opens the cabinet above the sink, and there it is: his first-aid medical kit.

He checks the bandages, the alcohol, the gauze. Makes sure nothing is expired, or damaged. Or out of place. Not because he expects to use it today, but because he never knows when he might need it.

The Casio watch blinks on his wrist.

07:30am

He steps out onto the balcony. Looks at the city. Watches the smoke from the chimneys rise slowly.

It’s cold outside. January. New year, new life. Or so they say. He doesn’t buy it. He only believes in routine. Routine as Anesthesia. He thinks it, without saying it, just as he does every day: “Everything still stands.”

07:45am

He closes the apartment door. The hallway smells of bleach and damp. He walks down the three flights of stairs to the lobby and steps outside.

The street is already boiling with noise: trains rattling in the distance, the hum of electric cables, the first neon signs flickering awake on office buildings. And people —everywhere— filling sidewalks and crossings.

Korn walks with his hands in his pockets and dark glasses on. Sometimes, if he pays attention, he notices people stepping aside before meeting his gaze. He isn’t sure if it’s respect or instinct. He only knows he’d probably do the same.

His car waits for him across the street: an old diesel Jeep, the kind you hardly see in the city anymore; too big for everyday life. The body carries dents from older years. The paint, a dull dark grey, is peeling at the edges. Inside, is smells as oil, tobacco, and worn leather.

And yet the engine always starts on the first try. Korn never thought about replacing it. He doesn’t like change. As long as it works, he’ll keep it. And, in some way, the car seems to know:

It isn’t pretty, but it’s loyal. Noisy, but steady. Like him —an old mechanism that keeps doing its job without asking for anything in return. Only to stay in shape and be ready for whatever comes.

Like his body. Like his first aid kit. Like Korn.

He stubs out his cigarette, climbs into the driver’s seat, shuts the door, fastens the belt, and turns the key. The deep rumble of the diesel engine fills the air like an old animal waking from hibernation.

He shifts into gear and joins the traffic.

08:20am

He reaches the industrial district on the outskirts of Tokyo. A maze of rusted warehouses, parked trucks, and lots that were half-abandoned, half-for-sale, surrounds him.

In one of those warehouses —no sign, no windows, no neon arrows pointing anywhere — lies the secondary base. One of the Organization’s many secondary bases.

Korn had been working with them for years. Or for them. Over time, the difference had stopped mattering.

Orders arrived by regular mail. Payments came in cash. No signatures. No names.

Still, he liked to drop by every now and then. It was always good to remind them he existed. To let them know he was still around.

Even if his work was almost always in the rear, and not on the front line.

08:30am

He adjusted his glasses. Stepped into the warehouse. The door creaked before closing behind him.

Inside, the air was cold and dusty.

The industrial space was cluttered with useless junk covered in tarps, rusted crates, a lathe that had been dead for years. No one walking in would imagine what lay beneath their feet. That was the point.

Korn walked toward one side, slipping between two crooked shelves. He glanced both ways, though he already knew no one was there. He opened the floor hatch and descended the metal stairs.

His footsteps echoed through the underground tunnel — a long, silent cylinder of concrete. At the end, a perfectly ordinary elevator waited, with no unnecessary buttons. Just one.

Korn pressed –8.

The elevator began its descent with a soft hum. For a few seconds, he felt the vibration running through his bones. He checked his watch.

08:38.

Right on time.

He might have smiled, if he remembered how. But he didn’t even try.

When the doors opened, it wasn’t onto a narrow corridor, but onto a long, white, polished hallway lit by recessed LED strips.

Korn walked forward, unhurried. He didn’t like rushing. Experience had taught him that rushing is what gets people killed.

At the corner, the hallway opened into a massive underground garage — as big as a department-store parking lot.

Rows of vehicles — SUVs, vans, motorcycles, even sports cars — waited patiently to be chosen.

A mechanic, lying under a chassis, cursed something under his breath while a coworker handed him a tool. A group of three employees crossed the space carrying labeled crates; another group climbed into a van, sliding the door shut with a metallic thud before driving off. In one corner, a woman with a ponytail picked up cigarette butts and mopped the floor while humming to herself.

Everyone wore black. No one looked up. No one made more noise than necessary.

No one would guess all of this existed beneath an abandoned warehouse.

Korn crossed the garage with steady steps, greeting no one. Discrete cameras tracked his movement; he didn’t need to look at them to know.

At the far end, an automatic door slid open without a sound.

The next room resembled a minimalist corporate reception area: metal counter, inactive screens, a table with three chairs that no one ever used. A faint smell of coffee and air freshener lingered in the air.

There, leaning against the counter, a woman waited for him with a folder in hand.

—You’re on time — she said.

Korn didn’t reply. Punctuality wasn’t a virtue — it was simply his nature.

She opened the folder.

—New orders — she announced.

A pause.

—A new assignment.

The Casio on his wrist flickered. Korn lifted his gaze.

He was ready.

If you want more my insta is xastrial_secretsx, though I don't post much.

I totally forgot to post about this thing I posted today on YouTube for Shinichi/Jimmy’s birthday!!!