#kuchiveil

"Do you perhaps have a temporary position that I may assume? I... find myself in need of some quick cash."

Stelle moved her head slightly to look at him. "You don’t have enough money for a date, is that it?"

"I uh, well...you see-"

"No no, don’t bother trying to come up with an excuse," she said, waving her hand at him. "You make it far too obvious anyways."

"Ah...haha..."

"Here," she said, grabbing her phone off of her desk. "Treat her well."

Ashveil felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. He took it out and quickly fumbled to unlock the screen.

"T-twenty thousand credits?" he said in disbelief.

"Don’t mention it," Stelle said, returning to the very pressing matter of lounging about in her office chair.

"...Anything but actually hiring me, huh?"

Stelle acted as if she did not hear him.

Even if the ritual of asking the boss was somewhat humiliating, at least Ashveil now had some credits to his name. The last thing he was going to do was to let this brief window of free time slip away, as he was not shameless enough to ask a lady to pay for a date.

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Ashveil stirred the chopsticks around slowly. The brown broth glistened from the lights suspended above, tainted only by the seasonings floating on the surface. The thick noodles spiraled in the both, occasionally getting tangled in the chopsticks. Finally, after countless hours of passing off investigations as dates, Ashveil finally had time to spend with Kuchiba, though any plausible topic of conversation had escaped his mind. He had been so on edge racing against the clock to stop this Herald of Death that not even he and Narrator have had the time to spare for such casual chatter.

"Nekomata got your tongue?" Kuchiba asked, finally breaking the silence between the two.

Ashveil continued swirling around the noodles. Perhaps a sense of shyness had been quietly weighing him down.

"I am simply...at a loss for words," he admitted.

"The greatest charmer I know being at a loss for words? Impossible."

Ashveil subtly nudged the bowl under his face so that he could play his burning red cheeks as a side effect of the steam.

"You..."

Kuchiba smiled at him. She twirled some of the noodles in her bowl around her chopsticks then blew them off before eating them.

"So," she asked, "do you have anything that you like to do outside of your work?"

What did Ashveil like to do outside of his detective work? Come to think of it, he had been lacking horribly in leisure time ever since he arrived in Planarcadia.

"When I do have the free time, I do like to watch anime."

"Oh, really? Like what?"

"The Daybreak Squadron, or at least, I used to watch it. Kind of got tired of seeing it after that whole Herald of Death nonsense."

"Understandable," Kuchiba said as she held up some noodles to cool. "I only tuned into a few episodes to see if it would help me understand that case better.”

"And there’s no other cartoons that run on TV around here either. It’s all the same ol' 'don’t worry be happy' crap."

"Happens when you let one maniac run the television network."

"That should change. But I know it won’t, so I have DVDs for a reason," Ashveil huffed, taking a bite of his noodles while carelessly singeing the tip of his tongue on them.

"You should invite me over to your place then. Introduce me to what you consider worthwhile."

"Ah...I’d have to ask Stelle if she would lend me her office. I don’t exactly own a four-star cinema." Ashveil took another mindless bite of his noodles without cooling them, causing him to once again burn his tongue. "Yeouch!"

"Simmer down, hound dog," Kuchiba said, poking the bottom of his jaw with a chopstick.

"Apffptbbtpbbfttrpftrbtt..."

Ashveil’s tongue dangled out of his mouth, in pain from the hot broth. He continued stirring the noodles in defeat, hoping that they would gradually cool down. Kuchiba smiled at the detective, then went back to eating her own bowl, blowing out the noodles in the chopsticks before taking a bite. Ashveil huffed at himself for not doing so sooner, but it was a little late for that as his mouth had already been burnt.

A more fitting conclusion for Kuchiba to have drawn was that Oroboros had his tongue. That shadow didn’t want him to eat, nor did it even want him to speak. All it had managed to do was make him look like a fool. With a pout on his face, Ashveil held up the thick noodles in his chopsticks over the bowl, allowing them to cool before he ate them. Regardless of what he did from there on out, his tongue still stung from the pain.

Kuchiba had finished her bowl before Ashveil. The detective, meanwhile, was struggling to blow off his noodles with a burnt tongue. Things would only grow increasingly awkward for him, until the broth had finally gone cold and Ashveil finished his serving. At least Kuchiba seemed to not mind — her patience was hardened from years of experience in interrogating suspects — but Ashveil could not help but feel guilty nonetheless.

At long last, the check had arrived. Ashveil was held back by hesitation out of fear that he did not possess enough credits to cover the bill. Kuchiba very quickly caught onto the reluctance in his eyes and pulled out her phone. Before she could do anything. he reached forth and grabbed onto her wrist, with just enough gentle pressure to obstruct movement without leaving a single fold upon her jacket.

"Allow me," he said.

He finally forced himself to look at the bill. Just over ten thousand credits, it came to. A relief, as he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he came up even a little bit short. Ashveil, his confidence quickly restored, paid the full bill without a hitch, tip included.

"Things finally moving along in the office, hm?" Kuchiba noted.

"...You could say that."

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"Twenty thousand credits? That’s more than a month’s salary for me!" Furbulitzer protested.

"Be thankful I even pay you," Stelle said, further leaning back in her chair.

"We’ve been working around the clock," Paraprince added, "surely, a little extra won’t hurt?"

"Cook up that hit piece that takes the internet by storm and then we’ll talk."

"Yes ma’am!" the two furbos said in unison.

His shoes kicked aside the rubble as he walked upon the dilapidated sidewalk. To think that this place used to be a bustling and beautiful city full of joy and glee; now it was overrun by doom and gloom. The stagnant air was occasionally disturbed by the shifting of the stacks of rubble. Perhaps he and Narrator were not alone, but the two of them had yet to spot even the slightest clue of life in the vicinity.

Where was he to go? Street signs were of no help, as poles were bent over and pointing upwards towards roads that no longer existed. It was hard to believe that these so-called Phantasmoon Games were held on this very planet. Perhaps the rumors were wild or the travel brochures were outdated? Regardless of the reasoning, La Mancha had to stay on the low. This place could either be crawling with IPC cockroaches or desolate to the point where even the apex predators were struggling for survival.

Some "buildings" still stood, though they were merely serving as reminders as the past that once was. Narrator and La Mancha looked up at these toppled structures, unable to make piece together any useful info from the signs that still remained.

"Perhaps we should pick a direction and just head in it," La Mancha suggested.

"A brilliant idea. Especially since we have no idea where we are currently,” Narrator said.

La Mancha crossed his arms. "We’re sitting ducks on these streets. Prime targets for whatever still lives out here to track us down, IPC or otherwise." He pointed his finger in the direction of where the toppled buildings were the densest. "Seeking out the heart of the city and working from there will be our best bet."

"And walking right into the domain of the city’s biggest monsters as if we belong here. Impeccable thinking, as always."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Something that doesn’t involve us becoming bait, potentially."

"I... you...come on, let’s just get going," La Mancha said, walking forth.

Narrator sat behind for a few moments, watching the Ranger march onwards through the rubble. Realizing that it was a battle that he was not going to win, Narrator caught up, walking not too far behind.

La Mancha scanned his surroundings as he stepped over chunks of stone and pushed aside remnants of collapsed structures. It was most evidently a bustling society at one point in time. Cars were still lined up in a somewhat orderly fashion along the road, though they were no better than heaps of rust slowly being eroded to dust by the wind. Stores down the streets, though long since ransacked, were left with doors open as if they were still welcoming visitors. Ruins of conflict were something La Mancha was all too familiar with, and he knew it was futile to stick his head inside to gaze upon what remained. Out of an unfortunate habit, his eyes briefly locked onto the windows of the buildings, but he carried on as there was no use stopping for a closer look when he knew what he would see.

Just because he had held the bodies of the Rangers he had failed, doesn’t mean that he had interest in going out of his way to gaze upon bone dry corpses.

Along the way, a bus stop still stood. La Mancha stopped at it, though not expecting a ride to appear for him any time soon. Discerning his current location from the map that remained was impossible, as the majority of the illustration had been worn away. Not even the city name could be read at the top; all that was present were a few winding roads and what was presumable notable attractions marked with symbols. As for the map key to read the symbols in question? Now why would fortune favor him for that to remain legible too?

La Mancha pressed the tip of his finger on a building that was more distinct from the rest.

"There’s a police station, that much I can tell. If we want to figure out where and how to get out of here, that’s probably our best bet."

Narrator looked up at him. "And where is this police station in question?"

"I have no idea."

He looked around for anything that could even remotely resemble a police station or directions towards one. Nothing of use, unsurprisingly. Any text was almost completely unreadable, and any signs were bent out of shape. La Mancha kneeled down and extended out his arm to Narrator. The slumbernana monkey scampered up his arm and sat upon his head, scouting out the area around.

"Do you see anything?" La Mancha asked. "Community center, police station, anything?"

"Hmmm. Perhaps that building in the distance very faintly marked 'Police Department' is what you’re looking for."

"W-where?"

Narrator bent over, appearing upside down in La Mancha’s vision. He pointed forth into the rubble, not exactly the easiest terrain to navigate, but La Mancha had faith in his guidance as he followed where he pointed. He pushed aside rubble and wiped dust out of his eyes as the hellscape before him felt as if it had infinite generation. After climbing over one pile and pushing through the next, finally before him stood the remains of what was once a grand police department. The sign that was once above the building had mostly weathered away leaving the words "Police Department" legible, but not a single clue as to the identity of the city remained.

The front gate was shut, but most of the metal bars were pried apart or otherwise completely broken off. An emblem initialed F.P.D. held the gate shut with a most futile seal.

La Mancha looked down at Narrator. "I do not believe it is wise for us to enter,” he whispered. “Whoever was here before us either wanted to keep something in, or they wanted to keep us out."

"Whatever it was, it’s probably long gone anyways by the looks of things," Narrator said. "Not to mention, these gates don’t look very effective at keeping anything from crossing."

With an uncertain and almost indifferent shrug, La Mancha stuck his hand through a gap in the bars and unhooked it from the other side. It took a bit of working through the rust, but eventually, he was able to undo the latch and push the gate open. The weathered metal screeched as it opened, and Narrator pulled his ears down in response. With the gates apart welcoming them in, the building looked awfully intimidating for something that was, in theory, abandoned.

"Shall we?" La Mancha said.

Narrator shook off his headache. "After you."

The front courtyard had been reduced to tumbleweed, and the formerly neatly inlaid stone had become cracked and shattered. What caught the attention of La Mancha, however, were massive claw marks up the stairs and around the door.

Whatever made these marks could’ve easily been well over two to three times his size.

The doors were most heavy, requiring La Mancha to use the entirety of his body weight to force them to open along their worn hinges. The two of them were greeted with the sight of a ransacked lobby. It appeared to have been a work of art in itself, once upon a time. All sense of color was drained leaving muddied traces of its former vibrancy. Elaborate tapestries were shredded or otherwise disintegrated to where the needlework was unrecognizable. Up a flight of stairs, the statue of a woman would have been looking over all who walk through, innocent or guilty, but she had no head to look with as it had been broken clean off.

Ahead of them, the reception desk appeared to be left in fairly good shape, relative to their surroundings. La Mancha and Narrator looked at each other and nodded their heads, silently agreeing to make checking through it their first order of business. The papers both on and in the desk that La Mancha shifted through were proving to be of minimal help. Visitor logs and idle scribbles were all that remained legible. The ink had otherwise faded, and it was reasonable to conclude that anything that could have been of use either blew away or was stolen.

"Dammit, how hard can it be to find out where you are?" La Mancha complained.

"It is usually not that difficult, provided that the cell phone bill is paid on time," Narrator said, his paws tapping away at a typewriter.

"Argh..."

Before La Mancha could utter a retribution, his attention was piqued by the sound of creaking wood from somewhere deeper within the station. The two of them went silent, down to their breaths becoming hardly audible. One who didn’t know better may presume that they were dead.

"...What was that?" La Mancha whispered.

A few long moments of silence passed.

"I am sure that it is simply the old structure faltering," Narrator said.

"If you say so."

It was not an unreasonable conjecture to make. The building was struggling to hold up, even with the stone supports that remained. The structure was bound to crumble and shift from the weight over time, and perhaps the opening of the doors had set off a chain reaction disturbing something somewhere. The only reason they would have to worry is if the creeks were consistently moving...which they weren’t.

"Well then," La Mancha said, tightening his fist around a useless sheet of paper, "we won’t be making any progress here, so shall we be off now?"

"To where?" Narrator asked, paw still on the typewriter.

La Mancha walked over to one of the side passages which had been locked down tightly by shutters. Electricity had long been gone from the building, so flipping the switch upwards and instantaneously opening the path forward was out of the question. Nonetheless, he flipped the switch and hardly spared a reaction when nothing happened. La Mancha stood there and stared at the door for a few moments, crossing his arms in thought. Narrator hopped down from the top of the desk and sat down near him to join in taking in the sights of the shutters.

"Staring at it isn’t going to get it to magically open," Narrator pointed out.

"But of course, which is why I have a little friend up my arm."

La Mancha slid one of the nails out of his wrist. Manifesting from his arm was a long tentacle-like shadow with a gaping maw at its end. A sight that was most terrifying...if Narrator was not already accustomed to it. The shadow of the Voracity slipped itself beneath the shutters, protruding its jaws from the ground. Its teeth snapped shut on the shutters tightly, then forced itself upwards. The metal was bent as it was forced upwards, and a large chunk was swallowed by the shadow. Almost like a proud dog, the fanged tentacle turned towards La Mancha and presented the path it had opened for the two of them.

"...After you," Narrator said.

The shadow was quickly withdrawn to La Mancha’s arm, having served its purpose for the time being. He quickly redid the nails to reseal the beast, then patted his wrist. He peered his head around the corner and noticed that the side hallway before him was rather dark, though beams of sunlight slipped through from where the building had been decimated. Message boards were on the wall, with remnants of missing persons and old newspaper clippings pinned into them. La Mancha stopped in front of one for a moment, kicking aside some of the rubble so that he could stabilize his footing.

The news clippings were illegible, with only faint headlines and photographs discernible. The lost persons posters were faded, and only the word "MISSING" printed in bold stood the test of time. La Mancha solemnly looked at these posters, though not even bothering to squint at their details through what tiny amount of light filtered through.

"...I wonder if they were ever found," La Mancha thought aloud.

"Most likely not. If they didn’t die from the passage of time, then whatever tragedy that befell this city would’ve."

"You’re right," La Mancha said, forcing himself to turn away and continue through the hallway without another word.

Though he was supposed to be sniffing out clues to anything regarding his current location, La Mancha found himself lamenting the state of the place more than actually looking. In all fairness, there wasn’t much present for him to look at. Anything of use was gone, and what remained hardly functioned if at all. Torn seals flimsily held a door shut, all peeled off with ease to lead into a domain where computers no longer powered on and sunlight weaseled in through cracks between the boards on the windows. All that accompanied them in the building were lockers pried open waving at them with their doors and cracks in the floor to give the tip of La Mancha’s shoes a little hug.

And the distant sounds of the ruins shifting from movement within.

Narrator pressed his paws upon one of the keyboards, the key coughing up dust in between clicks. La Mancha shifted through what was left, but all he found were a few pots without plants and some office supplies that have been neglected by pillagers. Not even paperwork with a trace of a clue — apparently even back then, mundane government documents proved to be more valuable than the necessities.

La Mancha picked up a hat and shook off the accumulated debris. He held the hat up closer to his face and squinted, reading the insignia embellished with "F.P.D." They didn’t even bother spelling out the entire damn name. The consequences of minimalism striking even on a post-apocalyptic planet...La Mancha could not figure out where he was, and also it looked horribly cheap and lazy.

He put the hat back on the wall hook, swatting away the dust that it kicked up. "I don’t think we're going to find anything here."

The hook fell off, taking pieces of the wall with it.

"There’s really nothing to find," Narrator said, still pawing away at the keyboard as if he were expecting it to do something.

"There’s still an entire half of the building remaining, not to mention what we have yet to cover on this side," La Mancha said, walking over to the door and putting his hand on the handle. "I’ll be damned if all we get out of this is the F out of the F.P.D."

Narrator hopped down to sit beside La Mancha. "You’re awfully confident as every 'lead' you’ve found only baited you."

La Mancha turned the knob and pushed the door open. "Logically speaking, there has to b-"

Upon opening the door, he was greeted by a massive creature staring him down with two yellow eyes. It resembled a cat scaled up numerous times in size, except that it had two massive tails flickering behind it instead of one. He and Narrator both stared at the massive cat for a few moments, before La Mancha closed the door back as if pressing rewind on his actions.

Almost immediately after the door was shut in its face, it started clawing away at the wood, and La Mancha pressed his back against it in an attempt to hold it off. Narrator ran up his leg and sought out safety perched upon his shoulder.

"I don’t think this place is as abandoned as we thought," La Mancha said from in between his fangs.

"Then what do you suppose we do now, great detective?"

The beast’s claws pierced through the door, just barely missing La Mancha’s neck.

"Run. We run."

Run to where? The office space was practically a dead end. With his face on wanted posters that were scattered across rural walls and IPC message boards alike, the infamous leader of the Galaxy Rangers was no stranger to making a swift escape. He ran to the back of the office, freeing the door from resistance and allowing the creature to break through, taking some of the wall with it. In the center of the room were a few cubicles, and La Mancha stood his ground near the back waiting to see what side it was going to approach from. It went left, so he bolted in the opposite direction to slip behind the beast and out the door down the hallway. La Mancha kept running straight down the hall, kicking up and tripping over rocks and rubble as Narrator was securely perched atop him.

The shutters that had previously cut off that section of the building no longer served a practical purpose, as the Voracity had bitten through a significant chunk of them. Not to mention, they were severely bended and folded as a result of being forced upwards. The logical decision would have been to bolt out the front door in the time he still had to spare, but with half of the building left unexplored, La Mancha went straight for the shutters on the opposite side.

"Can’t you just consume the beast itself?" Narrator asked.

"Do you want me to eat the whole damn place?" La Mancha snarled as he worked the nails off of his wrist.

As the shadow worked the shutters up, the massive feline beast stepped into the light from the hallway opposite. It charged across, and La Mancha ducked his head under the shutters as they were halfway lifted and dashed down the opposing hallway. Off to his side, he noticed a door, and praying that it was left unlocked, he forced his body through it. Of course, it just had to be one of the less securely shut doors, and so he toppled onto the ground, and dropped his cane a fair distance away, Narrator leaped off of his shoulder and closed the door in his steed. He retrieved La Mancha’s cane and handed it back to him, and the two of them watched as the feline trotted past the window.

Exhausted, La Mancha slid himself towards the wall and leaned against it, sighing heavily. Narrator sat in front of him, giving him his usual googily-eyed stare.

"What the hell is a nekomata doing in a place like this?" La Mancha huffed in between breaths.

"I think the question that we should be asking is, what the hell are we doing in a place like this," Narrator said.

"Y-you pointed us in the direction of the police station! How was I supposed to know there was a giant cat on the prowl!?" La Mancha sighed and slumped further back against the wall. "Doesn’t matter now, anyways. We still don’t have a clue as to where we’re at, other than it being some kind of city."

"That much is obvious to anyone with working eyes."

Narrator untangled a ribbon that had gotten tangled in his leg from him sitting atop it. From what little light still shone through, La Mancha could tell that it was of a faded blue color, though it had mostly turned to sand and dust. Looking up, he saw that the office was adorned with remnants of streamers. A huge banner acted as the centerpiece, though one side had fallen and become tangled amongst the central desks. Welcome...he couldn’t read the name.

"Whoever they were, seems like they had a hell of a first day," La Mancha remarked.

"And that first day was most certainly their last."

La Mancha didn’t want to think about it. His mind was already plagued enough by the thoughts of those he could not save. Though the destruction of this city had to have happened many years ago, it mattered not to him if he were five minutes too late or five years. A deep regret still filled him looking at the state of the place around. Whoever was here before him seemed to have passed on that welcome to him.

He would’ve settled for a welcome without the giant nekomata staring at him through the door window, though.

...The what?

Their heads turned up immediately. Though they were sitting against the wall below, it did not take long for the beast to circle back around and peer into the windows. La Mancha and Narrator froze, though it was far too late as it had very much noticed them. The three of them stared each other down, locked in a stalemate awaiting the other’s course of action. Just as quickly as La Mancha propelled himself onto his legs with his cane, the nekomata busted the door off of the hingers with a quick swipe of the paws. He ducked beneath its paw, just barely missing it as strands of his hair were sliced off of the top of his head. Grabbing onto Narrator’s arm and swiping him onto his back, he made for the door located on the opposite end of the office.

True to the nature of a cat, the beast managed to slip its large body through the opening. With both routes left and right blocked by its massive body, La Mancha’s only hope was that the door didn’t lead into a dead end. He burst through: hallway to his left, hallway to his right. Good enough for him. He turned his head left, right, left, before shooting forth. With just barely missing running into the wall, he made a sharp turn, and before he knew it, he circled around and was stopped by a big shadow in front of him. La Mancha leaned back as the two tails just barely missed his face as they idly flickered.

The nekomata kept walking forward away from the duo, so he figured that if he were quick and snappy about it, he could slip out unharmed. Regrettably, La Mancha forgot about two things. One, nekomata had above average hearing. Two, as demonstrated previously, the nekomata had the ability to squeeze though tight spaces. Both of these traits were on prime display as its ears angled back and it turned around in the tight hallway to face La Mancha and Narrator.

"Aaaaaaawooooo!??"

The snap of its jaws just barely missing him, La Mancha turned around himself and took off running. The pursuit circled around the entire half of the building at least once more before they ran back into the lobby. Running through the doors and making his exit from the place had become an appealing idea in theory but the doors were too old and heavy, and he would be stopped in his place.

He ran through to the other hallway where the nekomata and La Mancha exchanged their first greetings. There was no point in taking shelter in the room as it had already been broken down before. Rather than loop around once again, he turned down the hallway in the direction of the back of the building, which was mostly open to the sky. He climbed up the rubble, Narrator hanging on for dear life La Mancha fumbled through the crumbling stone guided by his cane. Once he reached the top of the mountain, quickly he scouted out the outdoors around him, taking note of a staircase that appeared to lead deeper underground. From where he could tell alone, it was most certainly narrow enough that the nekomata would be unable to follow him, so he leaped off of the side of the building and made for the staircase. Down he ran, practically sliding down from his quick footsteps, until he landed at an underground parking garage.

The parking garage was littered with cars. They had long since rusted out, so they would have been no good for trying to drive off even if he could find a key. At the very least, the garage wasn’t sealed shut, and the road ahead lead towards the open sky. With the exception of dust particles floating around his ears, it was dead quiet around. Seeing that freedom was well within reach, La Mancha and Narrator leaned up against the wall, taking a few moments to catch their breath.

"At least there won’t be any giant cats down here to chase us," La Mancha said.

"Don’t jinx it," Narrator said.

"Oh come on, what’s it going to do, follow us through the walls? Besides, there’s nothing but foundation making up these walls. I’m sure they’ll hold up for at least one more afternoon.”

Giving La Mancha an "are you sure about that" look, Narrator turned his head away.

"To think after all of that, we still never found out what this place was called," La Mancha said. “The fact that figuring out one’s location had become a difficult task is most curious."

He looked around while his primate companion stood idly by. Somehow, it was as if time stood still, yet all too many years had passed all the same. Cars had collided with each other and doors were left wide open, likely a result of panicked escape attempts. Anything of use, ranging from fire extinguishers to personal toolkits kept in cars, had long since been swiped.

Though it was quiet and safer than the building above, it was a most eerie setting. Ruins of not just of a past society, but also of a great struggle were prominent. File down a few layers of rust, and La Mancha would’ve felt as if he was living in a freeze frame of the action itself. The image plagued his every thought. He did not want to stick around any longer than he had to.

"Let’s go," La Mancha said.

Narrator was a tad bit perplexed at his command, wondering what happened to the initial idea of taking a breather. Nonetheless, he was in no position to contest. The old wolf had a clear exhausted limp to his step as he pushed himself forth with his cane, but he paid no mind to his condition as his eyes were fixated on the daylight ahead. He was focused so much so, that his guard was completely let down.

It was the perfect opportunity for one to break through the walls of the garage and strike its unsuspecting victim.

"Watch out!"

By the time La Macha turned around, the nekomata's claws were a mere breath away from clasping around his face.

In between her fingers, she held many white seals inscribed with red ink. Right ahead, a giant black nekomata was leaping for a gentleman that somehow must have gotten lost within the city. With a skillful throw, the seals flew across the underground lot and stuck to the fur of the beast. For being little scraps of paper, they knocked the nekomata back with such force that it crashed through the wall into the room on the other side. The wolf and the little monkey looked over to see that the once fearsome creature that pursued them was being held down with little stickers before its existence faded amongst the rubble.

"Are you alright?"

A woman dressed in all black approached the duo from across the garage. La Mancha looked at her up and down. At first glance, she possessed a stunning beauty to her soft gray hair and her green and orange eyes, and he couldn’t help but be instantly captivated by her appearance. Though she was clearly concerned for his well-being, she possessed a fierce glare in her eyes that made it most evident that she was not a woman to be toyed with.

It was at that moment that this wolf was grateful to not have a tail. As smitten as La Mancha was with his savior, it all felt a little too suspicious. The only trace of human life in the vicinity…no, she couldn’t be. There was no way that a human being just happened to be in the ruins at the same time as him.

A sense of logic and reasoning finally returning to his mind, La Mancha took a step back and raised his cane.

"...Vixen!" he shouted.

The woman tilted her head and looked at him confused, suspiciously like that of a fox.

"Vixen?" she asked. "Did some of the rubble hit your head?"

La Mancha took an offensive stance. "Your concern is cute, but this old wolf’s nose cannot be fooled by the likes of you.”

The woman sighed and reached for his arm. "Listen, we can figure out what’s happening later. Right now, you need to get out of here, and fast.”

La Mancha pulled himself back immediately. “Silence! I am not falling for the dastardly sweet invitation of a kitsune!”

"A…kitsune?"

"It’s the only possible explanation as to why a woman of your bewitching beauty can be found all the way out here in these ruins. And it is awfully suspicious that you just happened to be there to save me right as my neck was on the line, no?”

"You truly think of me to be an imaginae? Ha, I’m almost flattered," she said, twirling handcuffs around her fingers. She pointed towards the pile of rubble where the nekomata had crashed into, though only paper and remnants of wall remained. "Do you really think that if I were an imaginae, I would’ve been able to throw those seals with my own fingers?"

Seeing as how quickly the nekomata was knocked aside, it really felt like a no-brainer once La Mancha had put a little more thought into it. Not to mention, the beast had quickly dissipated, and the woman likely would have herself upon contact with those seals. So maybe his deduction had missed the mark by a long shot. This time, it was for the better (or worse) as his spiritual tail began wagging once more.

"I... suppose not," La Mancha said, scratching the back of his head.

"With all talk of imaginae hopefully behind us now, do tell me. Why are you here?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Well you see miss, I am..."

Quick, he had to think of some kind of excuse. Something less embarrassing than, “I just got here and I am completely lost.”

"...a detective."

She hardly seemed convinced as she looked at him up and down.

"A detective? I don’t recognize you around these parts," she said, reaching out to flick the dog on the forehead. "And where’s your hat too?"

"I lost it while running from the nekomata."

"Never thought I’d see a detective clumsy enough to lose his most treasured hat."

"Likewise, my lady, I never thought I would see a kitsune forgo her fluffy tail."

“A real charmer you are,” she said with a hint of a giggle to her voice. “I don’t believe I’ve caught your name.”

Looking at her, handcuffs and all, she was very clearly a cop. It was a miracle that she did not recognize the face of a man who was plastered all over the galaxy. Or maybe the news hadn’t made it to Planarcadia yet, which was highly unlikely given the tight grip the IPC held over the planet. Giving her his real name would be most unwise, so in the split second he had before things became too awkward, he had to come up with something new and something unrecognizable.

Through the veil of ash that settled around them, the gaze of the woman pierced his soul. She was expecting a response in the next few milliseconds before she became suspicious, so-

"Ashveil."

For the briefest of moments, her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t believe him. Whatever questions were raised in her mind, she did not speak them. She merely extended out her hand.

"Kuchiba," she said.

"Ashveil" accepted her handshake, though it didn’t last long before she pulled away.

"We’ve wasted enough time with idle chatter," Kuchiba said, turning to walk deeper into the parking garage. "It’s not safe here, nekomata or not."

Kuchiba’s heels echoed throughout the underground as she approached a group of cars parked in the back. Apparently, Ashveil’s initial impression of the garage being nothing more than a graveyard of rust was incorrect. He caught up to Kuchiba, who lead him to a car parked as neatly amongst the ruins as she could possibly manage. It was no weathered machinery either; it was about as well taken care of as a car driven through crime scenes could possibly me. She opened up the driver’s side and looked over at Ashveil before sliding in.

"Hop in. And take your pet with you."

He looked down at Narrator. The two of them blinked at each other, unable to come to a silent conclusion on whether or not they should accept her invitation. Ashveil put his hand on the handle of the back door, but he did not pull it open quite yet.

"To think that just moments ago, you claimed this woman to be a kitsune and were insistent on not falling for her tricks," Narrator said, "but clearly, it doesn’t take nine tails for a lady to convince you to follow her orders.”

"I-you-come on! Do you have any better ideas of getting around?"

"One that preferably doesn’t involve getting into the car of a cop we just ‘happened to run into.’"

Against better judgement, Ashveil pulled open the back door and slid into the seat. Kuchiba glanced upwards and met his gaze through the rear-view mirror.

"Come up front," she said. "Your pet can stay in the back."

"...Pet?" Narrator said.

"Pet?" Ashveil said as he sat back down. "That is not a pet. He’s my assistant...Mister N."

The only time he had been brought into this conversation, all to be called a pet. Was it really worth it sitting through the back and forth between an old wolf on the run from the law and a fox just waiting for the right moment to ensnare him in cuffs? Probably not. But he had nowhere else to go. Not to mention, La Ma-Ashveil still owed him quite a few bananas.

Skillfully, Kuchiba maneuvered through the remnants of the garage and exited the ramp into the sunlight. Though most of the road lay in ruins, she drove through the city like she owned the place, not stopping even for a moment to rethink the direction in which she was taking them. Ashveil watched as the ruins passed by outside his window, but Kuchiba kept her eyes on the road as if she were merely driving through her second home.

"Here I was convinced that there was no life here outside of those imaginae," Ashveil said. "What could a place like this possibly have that interests you?”

"Despite its appearance, the ruins of the city are most significant topic amongst the Department of Aberration Defense. A cult once called this city their home, and we’ve been investigating its birthplace for clues left behind as to who, or what, its mastermind may have been."

A cult, Ashveil thought. They did all of this?

“Which in turn,” Kuchiba continued, “makes me wonder why you’re here yourself.”

"You see, I uh...took a wrong turn and ended up here."

"So much for being a detective,” she snickered. “Don’t you have a GPS on your phone?"

Truly, it was the worst possible moment for the leader of the Galaxy Rangers to be a broke bum.

"Yeah well...I have no money to pay the phone bill."

Mr. N could physically feel his tiny furry body writhe from the embarrassment.

"In any case, regardless of how you ended up here, you picked a most awful place to find yourself in. Compared to the rest of Planarcadia, it’s been more akin to the planet’s slums ever since the Herald of Death incident years ago.”

"The what?" Ashveil whipped his head around to look at Kuchiba.

"The Herald of Death murders are a big deal, even to this day. It is an insanely sensitive topic amongst citizens and law enforcement alike, and I still find myself cleaning up traces of him. I can tell you must be new here, considering you have never heard of him."

Ashveil pouted, his cheeks turning a light pink as he huffed and turned away. Rather than pull the wolf’s tail for his ignorance, Kuchiba smiled as she kept her hand on the wheel and eyes on the road.

"In any case,” Kuchiba continued, “life is still abundant on Planarcadia. Almost too abundant at times, I must confess. I’ll catch you up on things once we arrive at the station, detective."

Detective. It seemed as if that was going to be the identity of La Mancha for the time being. As they drove further away from the city, the roads became less rugged, and the sight of the ruins of grand skyscrapers were replaced with abandoned civilian homes on the outskirts. Many burning questions still remained, but only one was important to him for the time being.

"So, where are you taking me exactly?" Ashveil inquired.

"To Duomension City. The station is located there, and you’ll find that Planarcadia is not as dead as you initially thought.”

They drove past a large sign. Ashveil turned around quickly to catch a glimpse of what it read before it faded into the horizon behind.

Welcome to Furbo City

Narrator didn’t say anything. He reached his hand down over the edge and practically shoved the phone screen into Ashveil’s face. It appeared to be displaying some form of news article. As his vision was still blurry, Ashveil took the phone from Narrator’s hand and squinted to read the headline.

[GRAND THEFT CHOCO: TRUCK CARRYING 412,000 CHOCOLATE BARS STOLEN IN DUOMENSION CITY]

"...Am I reading this right? What use could someone possibly have for that much candy?" Ashveil asked, bewildered.

"I don’t know," Narrator said, "hence why I am asking your intentions behind this."

"I-you-me!?" Ashveil stammered, his body shooting up out of the freezer. "You think I’m the one responsible for stealing all of those snacks?"

"Where were you last night?"

"Asleep in my freezer! Where else?"

Though his face was hardly capable of showing any emotion, Ashveil nonetheless felt Narrator squint at him with the way he looked up at him. He handed the phone back down to his primate companion.

"And where would I store any of it in the first place? Just look around! This place hardly suffices as a kennel for a bum-ass dog!"

"That’s what I would like to know."

"Ugh, never mind," Ashveil snarled, prodding around for his own phone. "I suppose now I have to clear my name, don’t I?"

"Nobody is accusing you of anything, but while you’re at it, save some of the reward money to be put towards my bananas."

"The hell you mean nobody is accusing me? You just...forget it."

A runaway snack truck was among the least of Ashveil’s concerns when peoples’ brains were being nailed from right under everyone’s noses. The nature of the crime in question wasn’t what he was on the trail of; it was that reward money that he needed to keep the lights on for at least another month. Not to mention, the way Narrator kept his googly eyes focused on Ashveil... did he seriously think he was the mastermind behind the heist? As he proceeded to make a phone call, his assistant kept staring at him blankly to the point it was becoming a little unsettling.

Ashveil turned his back to Narrator, but he still felt his looming presence staring him down. He leaned against the freezer and tapped his claws against the rim as he called the phone of the police station. Or, to be more specific, the cell phone of a certain someone who worked at the station.

Kuchiba was walking along the streets when her phone started to ring in her pocket. Her march remained uninterrupted as she picked up the call.

"Ashveil? You’re up early," she said.

"Yeah yeah, I know. Did you see the big story?"

"About the stolen truck full of chocolate? I’ve been on it all morning. Why do you ask; has the culprit decided to call me on his way back to the scene of the crime?"

"Th-that’s the second time someone...you...never mind..."

Narrator's blank expression only grew more wary towards Ashveil.

"A-Anyways, I’m wondering if you have any leads on this peculiar case," he continued, "because Narrator is convinced that this scruffy wolf can haul twelve tons of chocolate bars around undiscovered..."

"That’s the thing. I have nothing. Not even a sign of a struggle in and around the area the truck was first reported stolen. I’m beginning to think that this was done from inside the company, as no driver has personally come forth and reported their truck as stolen.”

"Well, if you’re struggling to find any leads on your own, perhaps you are in need of a detective to sniff out clues for you?"

"Proving your innocence or just a little too happy to see me?"

"Hey, I need money to feed Mister N and keep the lights on! Well, of course I’m happy to see you, but-"

"I’m just messing with you, Ashy," Kuchiba said with a giggle. "I’ll send you the coordinates and we can rendezvous there.”

"R-right, my lady."

Ashveil hung up his phone and shoved it into his pocket. With haste, he grabbed his hat and reached for his cane as he opened the door.

"Mister N, hold down the fort for me," he said, adjusting his hat. "I’m going to get to the bottom of this sugary snake."

"I’ll keep watch while you’re on your little date."

"You-ugh!"

Without further protest, Ashveil closed the door behind him.

☆ 🔍︎ ˚｡𓃦｡˚ 🔎︎ ☆

"So, this is the scene of the crime," Ashveil said, looking around. "Either my eyes are going or nothing looks out of place."

"That’s the problem here," Kuchiba said. "The scene appears to be virtually undisturbed."

Ashveil closed his eyes and thought for a moment, tapping his claws against his forehead. Then, he was struck with a sudden revelation.

"That means there could only be one possible answer. An imagenae has to be the culprit!"

"Or, the culprit is a worker inside the company, and used that to their advantage to make their escape virtually unnoticed."

"…That was going to be my next thought!"

Kuchiba sighed. "We aren’t going to make any progress just standing around turning over the same rocks that have been here since five weeks ago.”

"Then come on my lady!" Ashveil said, walking off along the road. "The further we delay, the further they will get away!"

"Do you truly believe that we’re capable of catching a rogue delivery truck on foot?"

"No, but we can certainly begin narrowing our search. Take this gentleman, for example!"

Ashveil reached out his cane behind the back of a human passerby. He nudged him off his feet and herded him towards Ashveil, stumbling as he was being pushed along. With the top of the handle adorned with a wolf’s head, he nudged the man’s chin upward, forcing their gazes to meet.

Ashveil glared down at the man with the eyes of a wolf about to sink his fangs into the throat of a helpless lamb, but he simply inquired, "My good sir, have you any recollection of a rogue delivery truck passing by in the general vicinity?"

A drop of sweat rolled down the side of the man’s face. "N-no, I haven’t seen anything like it. S-sorry."

Narrowing his eyes as he observed his clearly panicked and unfortunately innocent expression, Ashveil freed the man’s chin and nudged him forward with the handle of his cane. "Very well. Carry on, now."

"Ashveil,” Kuchiba said, putting her hand on his shoulder, “we can’t just interrogate every person on the block. It’s impossible to expect someone to keep track of every truck that passes through their field of vision."

"Surely, if we keep pawing at them, we’re bound to dig something up.”

"By the time we interrogate every person and imagenae on the streets, they would have enough time to drive that thing to Furbo City.”

"As if it’s not a possibility that they’re already a good few hours away from here. Did they even bother to check the truck’s GPS before whining for your aid?"

Kuchiba shook her head. "Already asked them that. Unfortunately, our suspect is too intelligent for their own good and thought to cut off the GPS signal.”

"Dammit," Ashveil huffed. "Are we supposed to just wait for the truck to show up in a back alley one day? Or for a convenience store to suspiciously gets a sizable stock of chocolate bars in?"

"Hmm, you might be onto something."

"I am? I mean- of course I am!"

"Once they end up in the wild, we could trace the chocolate bars back to the stores that stocked them, and even further back to their supplier. That, however, relies on the willingness of the people to cooperate with us.”

"Tch. Good luck with getting the population of a half-lobotomized city to participate in a police investigation.”

Kuchiba slid out her phone from her pocket and scrolled silently for a few seconds. Then, she beckoned for Ashveil to come closer, in which he obliged and looked down over her shoulder at her screen.

"See?" she said, angling her screen towards him, "The story is already spreading like wildfire. People can’t help but be morbidly curious about such an absurd story. We can weaponize their curiosity to aid in tracking down the culprit.”

"And how do you expect them to do that?" Ashveil asked, tilting his head. "Make everyone take their candy bars to the police station?"

"We can easily figure out which truck they lost contact with. They can also narrow down the batches of chocolate that were shipped on that very truck. By exploiting that very curiosity to steer them into documenting the batch numbers of candy bars that they possess, we can trace any matches back to the stores they were bought from..."

"And even further back to this 'supplier...'"

"Bingo. I’ll bring this plan to the higher ups. See where we can take it from there.”

"So...wait, hang on. Does that mean you don’t need my assistance after all?" Ashveil asked, the soul leaving his body.

Kuchiba reached up and petted the tuffs of hair on the sides of Ashveil’s head. "Nonsense. I’ll still need your nose on the trail of their scent once the time comes,”

Reassuring, but that meant no payment for the day.

He flung open the door to his office and was greeted by Narrator sitting atop the chest freezer.

"I take it the date with the lady did not go as planned?" Narrator asked.

"It wasn’t a date. It was an investigation," Ashveil clarified. "And no, the culprit left not a trace, and the people around have not a single recollection. It’s an impressive crime to the point where it’s annoying."

Ashveil sat down in the chair at his desk. He kicked his computer on with the tip of his boot and waited as the fossil booted up. As soon as what little RAM he had allowed him to, he immediately got to work...browsing the internet. Narrator gazed over his shoulder from the freezer he sat upon.

"Detective hard at work already," Narrator commented.

"Shh. Kuchiba said that utilizing the assistance of the ordinary citizen was the best approach to take. So yes, I am hard at work following the officer’s instructions."

"Like the good dog you are."

"I-hey!" Ashveil swung around in his chair to face Narrator. "Of course I listen to the cops!"

"And listen to Kuchiba, you do very well."

"This isn’t even about me right now! Twelve tons of chocolate are at stake!"

Ashveil furiously swung his chair back around and resumed scrolling with a pout. Narrator wasn’t going to let him off so easily and he scampered down from the freezer and climbed up the back of the chair.

"Must be desperate times for you to be scrolling through a feed of dog videos."

"Listen! Infiltrating the general public is serious business! Just watch, something is bound to show up about it soon since it’s currently occupying everyone’s little goldfish brains.”

Ashveil scrolled through some posts. And then through a few more unrelated posts. Surely, one was going to turn up soon. Finally, after some furious scrolling, Ashveil settled on a post mentioning the crime in passing.

"It’s making quite the buzz among the general public and its sheer absurdity will only cause it to spread even further in due time! I’m telling you, Kuchiba herself said that this was the best way to go about things!"

Narrator didn’t say anything.

“…I promise you, I’m working on getting you the money for your bananas.”

 He stood on the back of the chair and blankly stared at Ashveil before scampering down the back of the chair and allowing him to return to business without another word.

Ashveil looked at his cell phone laying on his desk amongst the strown about papers and pills. He turned the screen on. Nothing, except for overdue bill reminders. She was busy, but he wanted to ask her just how things were coming along, even if it had only been a short time since their parting. Even a simple text would suffice, so that she could respond at her convenience. Ashveil resisted the urge, sighing and shaking his head as he simply returned to scrolling.

The evidence he had accumulated was few and far in between, but breadcrumbs were better than nothing. People were talking about the incident, people were amused by it, and he hoped that discussion would hold for long enough for public interest to be retained.

After two or ten hours, the exact amount he didn’t keep track of, his phone buzzed on the desk. His eyes briefly glossed over the screen, expecting another collection call. The caller ID read "Kuchiba," however, and so he snapped out of his half-asleep state and picked it up almost immediately once the realization sank in.

"Kuchiba? Have you picked up on our sweet-toothed friend’s trail?" he asked.

"Not yet," she said, "as I’ve been in and out of meetings all day. The Department of Aberration Defense managed to get the go-ahead to develop a tool to help.”

"Really?" Ashveil asked, eyes lighting up.

"An online tracker where people can put in the batch number of their individual candy bars to see if they’re a lucky owner of evidence in a million-credit robbery. If anything turns up from the stolen stock, we can trace it back to the store they purchased it from and hopefully even further back to their supplier. Not to mention, the code shouldn’t take them very long to write given the overall simplicity of the concept.”

"You managed to talk an entire corporation into developing a code for a gag?"

"An investigation disguised as a gag, yes. Satisfies their curiosity-"

"While giving us thousands of eyes on the field to patrol alongside us.”

"You catch on quick, little pup."

"Ahaha, moving on, but what if nothing turns up? Do you plan to investigate every single chocolate bar in the wild by hand?"

"Essentially."

"All of this and I won’t get to buy one because I don’t have the money," Ashveil said, drooping like a kicked hound dog.

"Ashveil,” Kuchiba said with a sigh, “I’ll get you one if you really want."

He immediately perked up.

"I made it clear to them that I wanted my partner in this operation to be on board too," she continued, "so you’ll have access to the entire back-end by the time it’s up and running.”

"And how long will that be?"

"You know how these companies move. Dangle the credits in their faces and we could have it up as soon as tomorrow evening."

A smile crept across Ashveil’s face. "Good. I will be on standby eagerly awaiting its completion."

"In the meantime, send me whatever good dog videos you come across during your 'research.'"

"I-hey!"

☆ 🔍︎ ˚｡𓃦｡˚ 🔎︎ ☆

It turns out that by dropping the right buzzwords, one can manipulate big corporations into doing anything. Publicity stunt. Profit margins. Kuchiba knew how to use that silver tongue of hers well. Within a little over a day, that little gimmick site of hers was running and open to the public.

Disguised as a clever little trick to fuel curiosity, the spreadsheet was already filling up from negative results from people testing what they had from sheer curiosity. Many of these bars would have been produced weeks or even months ago. But the people still wanted to help! Lending a hand was the right thing to do; it’s what the happiest patients of the Research Society would do! Might as well bring a few smiles and see if you’re one of the lucky owners of a black market chocolate bar - oh, don’t forget to give us the location where you purchased said chocolate bar!

Did it feel scummy? Perhaps a little bit, but there were far worse ways to approach the investigation. Plus, it was working, and people seemed to be having some fun with it from what Ashveil could tell online, so he was going to let it slide. Hopefully soon, someone would have a match and he could make some real progress instead of rotting in his office. Every time Ashveil checked the sheet, the numbers being recorded fluctuated closer and further away. Occasionally, Kuchiba would “meet” up with him on the sheet as well. Seemed as if she was just as anxious as he was for their progress. And every time, their little profile icons would display in the upper corner next to each other. Cute.

How long until he had to start turning over every bar by hand? Kuchiba didn’t suggest a date, but he figured that this hypothetical deadline was fast approaching. And if that didn’t pass first, it was going to be the impending deadline of rent and bananas.

Some mindless scrolling during a very unexciting evening later, a post came across Ashveil’s feed causing him to stop in his tracks. Over twenty-six thousand likes. A claim to have acquired a bar that was previously part of the stolen stock. He had almost never grabbed his phone so fast, it practically slipping out of his hands as the shadow chewed at his keyboard to unlock it. Surely enough, conveniently highlighted in an unsightly green, was a match reported just shortly before the post was made.

The claimed location was not a far-out corner store like he initially feared. Though he recognized it as being nothing more than an average storefront on Dovebrook Avenue, its lack of notability made it all the more a prime suspect for Ashveil to investigate. Quickly, he threw on his jacket and grabbed his cane, almost forgetting his signature hat as he bolted out the door.

"Guess duty finally calls," Narrator said to himself, not bothering to budge from atop the freezer.

Struggling to properly balance his hat atop his head, Ashveil ran down the steps and almost stumbled upon the sidewalk. A few paces down the main street and a diversion down a back alley lead to the very convenience store mentioned on the report. The next course of action: infiltrating the scene of the crime. And infiltration simply meant Ashveil making his grand entrance through the front door during business hours. He lucked out; it just so happened to be open for another five...hours.

He pressed his palm against the door as if he were to open it, but quickly retracted his hand. The real first order of business: calling Kuchiba, which was something that he really should have done from the start.

The phone rang and rang, but his call went straight to voicemail. Was she sleeping? No, even if she was, she would’ve rolled out of bed and answered him, albeit groggily. Ashveil wasn’t too keen on giving up so soon, so he attempted to contact her a second time.

"Kuchiba...Kuchiba!" Ashveil stammered as he watched the calling screen.

"I’m right here."

The detective’s head jolted upwards, hat sliding backwards. Sure enough, Kuchiba was standing right in front of him as he was hunched over his phone. He held his finger on the screen to put an end to the call.

"I-I knew you were coming!" he said, straightening his posture and readjusting his hat. He pushed open the door and gestured for Kuchiba to proceed, doorbells chiming above his head. "After you, my lady."

The inside of the convenience store looked just as one would expect from the outside: crammed, disorganized, and sketchy. The wolf kept his fangs bared as he held his arm around Kuchiba's waist; though she was more than capable with her own two hands, Ashveil felt more at ease keeping her close in such an environment.

Shoved on one of the shelves in a red cardboard box with its top cut off was the potential evidence in question. It was a box of chocolate bars, not completely full as a few had already been purchased. Ashveil took one from the box and flipped up the flap, showing it to Kuchiba who had her phone ready to test its numbers against their data.

It was a match.

Ashveil grabbed another bar from the pack and held it up to Kuchiba. Another match.

Another bar. Another match.

And another.

"I’ll be damned," Kuchiba said, "that’s a whole box of em'."

"And chances are these boxes too, came off of that very truck,” Ashveil said, picking up the sealed boxes and rotating them in his hand.

The two looked at each other and nodded, and thus approached the store owner tucked away near the back wall. At the checkout desk stood a canvas peacock, looking, if one could call it that, at the duo. Wasting no time, Ashveil leaned forward and slammed his arm on the table, his hat sliding down to obstruct one of his eyes.

"Scuse me, but we would like a moment of your time to answer a few questions," Ashveil said.

"These chocolate bars," Kuchiba said, holding out the few that her and Ashveil had recorded, "from where did you acquire your latest restock?"

The peacock stood still, tail brushes drooping and dripping paint on the floor behind it. It moved its hand-head back and forth between Kuchiba and Ashveil, addressing the situation. With a panther’s piercing gaze and a wolf smiling with hunger, it ultimately decided that any attempts at resistance would only result in tragedy.

“☝️”

With its beak…or fingers… the canvas peacock began typing away at a computer that made Ashveil’s look like a luxury. Kuchiba waited with her arms crossed and Ashveil’s snarl relaxed as they waited for the canvas peacock to finish typing one handed.

“🫴”

It gestured for the two to lean over the counter and take a look. On the monitor a fairly normal warehouse storefront was displayed. The canvas peacock pointed first to the price of the chocolate bars in bulk, then to the prices of other candy around it.

"So, you seized the opportunity to restock while the prices were much lower?" Kuchiba observed.

“👍”

"And how were they delivered to your store, if you can recall?”

It typed furiously into the search engine then navigated to the image results. It clicked on an image that although appeared artificial to the eyes of Kuchiba and Ashveil, it was enough for the canvas peacock to convey the message.

"Flaunting the company logo and everything on the side of the truck to hide in plain sight. Those sly bastards," Ashveil snarled.

"Somehow, that both narrows our search down and doesn’t help one bit," Kuchiba said.

"We’re gonna be takin' these boxes of chocolates in," Ashveil said, walking back to the shelf to pile his arms full. "All of this is valuable evidence of a serious crime. We thank you for your cooperation, by the way.”

“🫳”

Kuchiba sighed. "Don’t mind him, we'll properly compensate you for the loss."

“👍”

Arms piled full of chocolate, Ashveil nudged the shop door open with his shoulder, holding it open for Kuchiba with the tip of his foot. He balanced the boxes leaning against his chest in one arm while his other hand was needed to hold his cane.

"I hope you weren’t planning to take those back with you," Kuchiba said. “Even in our possession, by all technicalities, it is still police evidence."

"N-no, of course not." Ashveil said.

"As evident by you holding those boxes as close as possible with the entire willpower of your claws. A sweet crime for a sweet wolf," she said, reaching to pat his hair.

"Agh, dammit!" Ashveil stammered, struggling to balance the boxes that were sliding out of his hold.

Kuchiba reached her hand up into the open box of chocolates on the top of the stack and grabbed a bar out. She shoved it into one of Ashveil’s coat pockets, nudging it down so that it wouldn’t tumble out.

"Here, because I know how you are with food."

☆ 🔍︎ ˚｡𓃦｡˚ 🔎︎ ☆

Ashveil rotated the empty wrapper in his fingers. The office was silent with the exception of the desktop computer buzzing and Narrator chewing on the chocolate bar. On his desk in front of him sat his phone, the words “MATCH FOUND” illuminating his face. He had his leads. The little pieces of the puzzle were all coming together. He felt as if the culprit was just within reach, yet they could be anywhere within the borders of Duomension City and beyond.

Dropping off an order of candy knowing damn well the cops are on the lookout for a rogue company truck, he thought as he continued to fidget with the wrapper. That takes guts. I have to give them that.

Where was he to find a big red truck carrying thousands of stolen goods? Certainly not freely cruising around the streets, that’s for sure. A more probable answer was that the culprit had decided to set up camp in a sketchy back alley, away from the eye of anyone respectable.

And if entire boxes were already making the rounds in local stores, it was probable that headquarters was not too far away, all things considered. A longer travel distance meant more opportunities to be stopped and questioned along the road. Better to play it safe and keep things local. Ashveil had no definitive proof of anything. But he felt as if for the past few days, the criminal had been camping out under their noses the entire time.

Hours passed, and even Narrator had turned in for the night. Exhaustion could not overtake Ashveil as his instincts were clawing away at him. Unable to ignore the call of curiosity, Ashveil quietly slipped out of his office, careful as to not disturb Narrator. A furbo staying after hours looked up from his computer, taking note of what great haste he was walking with, but prodding the detective with questions was not worth a pay deduction. The ignorance was mutual, as Ashveil paid no mind to the worker as he walked out of the building and started sniffing through the back alleys of Duomension City.

A lot of the alleyways were easy to rule out, as they were far too narrow for a truck of that size to squeeze through. But even if they were just barely wide enough, albeit with the sacrifice of a mirror, he walked down them. The sights of every shady alley were virtually identical: trash strown about, emoti crying in boxes or performing questionable acts, and Research Society rejects infesting every turn. It was not an ideal section of the neighborhood to be strolling through at the hour, even for the La Mancha.

Many people whose neural functions were hanging on by a thread walked up to him and begged him for money. Why should he oblige? Even if he spared them a coin, their delirious smiles in return were all fake. No matter how desperate they were, even if they hooked onto his clothing, he simply shook them on and never spared a second glance.

He kept his tired body propped up with his cane as he scoured around. Exhaustion was beginning to creep upon him and turning back was an awfully tempting course of action, but Ashveil felt as if answers were hidden behind just a few more peeks around the corners. Lots of laundry left out on clotheslines under the moon, but no runaway truck. Emoti begging for a passerby with a heart, but no displaced boxes of chocolate. On a dusty road with hardly any remnants of the concrete sidewalk remaining, considerably wide tire tracks lead deep into the heart of the shadows. Without hesitation, Ashveil picked up the pace and followed them down the alley, pushing aside the trash in his way with his arm.

Near the dead end of the alleyway, Ashveil was greeted with the sight of a red delivery truck impressively parked between two dumpsters. It wasn’t a company owned parking spot, that much was obvious. And, the truck matched the appearance of the one reported by the store owner, without the machine generated flaws. Only one step remained to confirm the true nature of Ashveil’s discovery. He got closer to the back doors and was greeted by a hastily fastened chain standing between him and the goods. One little snap from the jaws in his arm and the metal links draped onto the ground. Ashveil untangled the chain from the handles, and opened up the doors to reveal a treasure trove before him.

With the tip of his claw, Ashveil sliced one of the boxes open and grabbed a candy bar. With his shoddy mobile connection, he flipped up the flap and inputted the imprinted code.

Match found.

"Jackpot," the hungry hunter said to himself.

The sound of metal squeaking behind him quickly diverted his attention. The doors behind him were slowly closing, and a figure was just barely visible outside under the ambient light. Ashveil tossed his cane, wedging it in between the doors so that they could not close fully. He bolted up and forced himself out from the opening he had spared himself, sliding his cane out before it fell back and was closed in. Illuminated by the moon and the dim light seeping through the windows was an ordinary man.

An ordinary man with an extraordinary smile. An empty grin Ashveil recognized as a trademark of a Research Society patient.

"My treasure! What do you think you’re doing prying through my treasure?" the man yelled, with a smile that didn’t quite fit the emotion behind his words.

"...Your treasure?" Ashveil inquired, spinning his cane back upright and resting his hand upon the top. "What kind of happiness could an unfathomable amount of chocolate bring to the likes of you?"

"Smiles! I exchange them for smiles! And their smiles in return give me even more smiles!”

Ashveil scanned the man up and down. His dirty clothes were fraying at the ends and filled with holes. Beneath the thin cloth, the outlines of his bones were most prominent. Despite his debilitated condition, he was smiling ear to ear, feigning ignorance to the state of his body. Ultimately, he had been reduced to another sad case that Ashveil has already seen all too much of, even during his investigation down the alleyways.

The Research Society had stripped this man of money and emotion alike. He just happened to retain enough of a mind to pull off such a peculiar feat.

And Ashveil knew that he was, nonetheless, beyond the point of salvation.

"You look like you could spare me some smiles!" the man continued. "H-here! I have all of the smiles that you could ask for! I’ll even offer you a discount!"

He pulled one of the doors back open to present Ashveil with his stolen treasure trove. It was, admittedly, quite an impressive display for a low-class criminal’s doing. All of these chocolate bars presented for the taking, yet Ashveil did not hunger for such sweet indulgence. The nails on his wrist quivered as he narrowed his eyes and his gaze shifted to the scrawny man.

Beneath his coat, the eyes of the Voracity opened and locked their gazes upon their prey.

"W-what are you doing?" the man asked, backing up further and further until he collapsed against a heap of trash.

His coat fluttered outwards from behind him, lifting up like a pair of wings. Ashveil’s eyes shone an intense violet, piercing though the man’s empty soul. Only more distracting than the presence of this fallen angel, however, were the shadows creeping up behind him obstructing even the brightest lights of the restless city. Thick tentacles reached out and gaping maws dripping with shadows manifested at the tips. These beasts locked onto the man with deathly focus, despite not being in possession of eyes.

With one hand still resting on his cane, Ashveil raised a single finger up to his lips.

"Good night," he whispered from in between his fangs.

☆ 🔍︎ ˚｡𓃦｡˚ 🔎︎ ☆

Kuchiba lazily rolled over in her bed. Perhaps she had spent a little too long investigating during the night prior and should’ve opted for early rest, as she was being led nowhere but back a few steps and in circles. Eyes still heavy, she sleepily reached her hand onto the nightstand beside her to grab her phone. Instead, she tried to turn on and unlock…a chocolate bar.

Strange…Kuchiba didn’t recall taking any chocolate home with her. Was she so far gone that she became hungry for the evidence? Taking a closer look at it, she had noticed that the flap had been flipped upwards prior, yet still remained sealed. She reached over once again for her phone and opened up the spreadsheet to see if she had recorded the entry during the night prior.

There it was, during the wee hours of the night, a match was found with that precise entry. Kuchiba was confident that she wasn’t awake at the time of entry, though. Did she somehow record it in her sleep? Looking closer at the line, though, it became evident that its mere existence wasn’t the most curious aspect of this specific candy bar. The location recorded was not a place, but seemingly a note directed towards her.

"Regrettably so. Alas, standing out of the way while we pry will have to suffice."

"I don’t believe that accomplishing that will post much of a problem for either of is. The crowd ahead is too depressed, waiting for their prophet to make an appearance. I highly doubt any of them even possess the energy to pay attention to their surroundings."

Ashveil directed his attention to the crowd in question, tapping his metal claws on the top of his cane. If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed to be looking at a forest of dead bodies. Each individual stood like weeping statues; the only semblance of movement was their shallow breathing and the idle breeze swaying their bodies. Drooping, hopeless, empty shells… it was as if Ashveil was staring into a room comprised of a mosaic of mirrors.

"You make a fair point, my lady," Ashveil simply agreed.

"Before we make our move, we should attempt to mingle with the people around, so we at least know what we're walking into.”

"Well then, let’s not delay any further and put on your best happy face," Ashveil said, forcing a fanged smile.

Kuchiba laughed softly. "I don’t think smiling will be too much of an issue. They’re too lobotomized to properly process any sort of emotion.”

"Quite literally."

A burst of laughter erupting from the amongst streets interrupted their conversation. Their heads turned and they took note of a human man, holding his stomach as he yowled in hysterics. The onlookers witnessing this display did not flinch. Rather, they maintained their smiles with an essence eerily akin to that of the crowd of zombies.

"Well, there’s a good place to start," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

Ashveil nodded his head in agreement, and so the duo approached the hysterical man. They stood back out of the way enough as to not forcefully insert themselves into the conversation, yet close enough to signal intent to join in. Neither of them could get a word in between his laughter, however. When he had paused just long enough for silence to settle, Kuchiba opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a single word, she was cut off by the man in tears.

"Hahahaha...by the Laughter! I haven’t felt this great since…I haven’t felt this great ever!" he said, words choked from painful lungs.

"I don’t recall you ever looking like joyous,” a woman responded. “To be fair, I really don’t recall much since before my surgery, either!"

"Haha, this is great! Nothing has the power to bother me!" the man shouted, eyes as soulless as his smile. "Not even whatever is, was, and ever will linger in my body! Even these stitches from just yesterday after they had removed that tumor that was slowing me down for years. Or what I had witnessed in the middle of the procedure from the doctors not using enough anesthesia!”

"This damn city and its medical malpractice cases," Ashveil snarled under his breath.

"...Believe me, I’m way too used to them," Kuchiba whispered back.

"My eyes were wide open, and the surgeons’ hands were covered in my blood," the man continued. "Absolutely painted! Like they had dipped their hands into strawberry jam! Oh, what about the pain, you may be wondering? What pain? I felt nothing! I felt nothing but unbridled joy as I watched them pull a huge, heaping mass out of my abdomen! The lump of flesh was convulsing and squirming and oozing all sorts of fluids, and I had to hold back my smile through the entirety of it so that I was not knocked back out!”

Ashveil and Kuchiba scanned the listeners of the man droning on and on about his graphic good morning. They were expecting, no, hoping to see some sort of discomfort or recoil, but as the man continued on, their smiles only grew wider. Sadism? Emotional ignorance? Their lack of discomfort was the most discomforting of all, as even the officer and detective felt sickness creeping up the back of their throats.

"So many things were slowly being pulled out of my stomach, one by one. Fleshy mounds and prehensile tentacles… I didn’t know that I had it in me to be a biological grab bag! And I felt happy...happy that it was all gone? No, happy that I harbored so much within me! If it wasn’t for the tubes shoved into my throat, I would’ve shouted for them to pull out more and more and more and more!"

The joyful talk about watching the extraction of what one could assume to be parasites from his own body. The woman’s smile only stretching larger and larger with every word spoken. It was enough to make the skin crawl of even a seasoned cop and devourer of gods.

"Ohohoho, keep talking like that and you’re going to make me experience jealously again! Haha! Being sliced open and pulled apart sounds aaaaamazing.~" the woman said, shut-off street lamps reflecting in her eyes.

Having your flesh ripped from your bones isn’t all that, Ashveil thought, looking down solemnly at the nails hammered through his wrist.

"Why stop at the happiness surgery removing just your worries? Unravel the threads of my veins like tangled holiday lights! Let’s see what other fun surprises have nestled themselves amongst my flesh!”

Ashveil tapped his fingers on his cane, the sound of the metal clinking against the handle reverberating down through the ground. It felt sore. The body he was confined to felt sore. What if he too, could rip the worries from his flesh, and feel that same sense of joy without consequence?

"You lot seem awfully ecstatic," Kuchiba said, snapping Ashveil out of his spiraling thoughts. "I presume that you must be familiar with the Research Society?"

"Oh yes, yes definitely!" the man said. "They’re the ones who cured me of all of my worries and woes! And now I feel nothing! Nothing but happiness!"

Even with the quick follow-up to correct himself, that “nothing” felt a little too apprehensive.

"You seem a little down," he continued. "But you’re just in luck! Our savior Fulwish is going to be making a grand public appearance soon! See that crowd over there? They’re practically dying to hear her wonderful words of wisdom! But hurry! Space in the streets are filling up quick!"

Ashveil and Kuchiba turned to the undead crowd that they had observed prior. True to the words of the deranged man, the street where the supposed gathering was taking place was becoming quite packed. With unspoken acknowledgement, Kuchiba and Ashveil looked at each other and nodded their heads.

"Thank you for your time," Kuchiba said.

Unaware of his casual chatter being the key intel that the detective and the cop sought, the man waved farewell with a cartoonishly large smile painted across his face. Then, he continued enamoring his audience with whatever gut-ripping nonsense. A few feet shy of the heart of the crowd, Kuchiba put her hand on Ashveil’s shoulder and held him back.

"Your hat has been drooping off of your head ever since that man’s ramblings about twitchy tumors being pulled out of him. Is our detective a little too squeamish to handle a bit of body horror?" she asked.

"Cured of all of worries and woes..." Ashveil muttered to himself, grip shakily tightening around his cane.

"Don’t tell me those nails in your wrist lobotomized your mind too."

"Ahem. Do not waste your concerns upon me. There is simply much left to be thought about, big and small. Come, now. One thing that man was correct about was space for Fulwish’s presentation filling up fast.”

Kuchiba narrowed her eyes and watched as Ashveil trotted away into a less densely packed corner of the herd. Hidden amongst his shadow and sealed with nails were secrets of his own. But Kuchiba wasn’t on a mission to investigate the detective, at least not today.

Side by side, the cop and detective duo stood tucked away amongst the crowd. The people around them wobbled unsteadily, a mere gust of wind able to knock their skulls against the pavement.

"She has to be coming out soon," Ashveil said. "Any longer, and the peoples’ hearts will give out."

"If not their hearts, then whatever is left of their minds after they are severed."

"Everyone! She’s here! Our savior, Fulwish!" someone from the crowd chattered.

Surely enough, that was the very overlord of that propaganda television series taking the center stage. What better way to honor the dead than a spectacle upon where their blood last stained the pavement before it was washed away to become another case file? Ashveil had seen his fair share of gruesome scenes over the course of the Amber Eras, but it had obviously left a deep scar on Kuchiba. Her nose scrunched up at the very obvious disrespect, but she kept herself from speaking against Fulwish as to not draw attention to their presence.

By the Master of Elation, may THEY bless all souls and grant them smiles. Are you all happy today?

No. The wolf had been stumbling through the galaxy with a broken leg to fend for himself. Failing the lives of the Galaxy Rangers, and outcasted by those who were lucky to survive. Every second of having to listen to her drained him, but Ashveil had to keep his ears pointed upwards for investigation’s sake.

“Very happy, very happy!” the crowd shouted.

The broken legged wolf, glimmer of light in his eyes obscured by his white hat, quietly snarled in discontent, as he knew that was a lie.

Thank you for your smiles. They're like lamps in the dark, so precious.

A smile was only a dim flicker of light within the shadow that had been tearing through every fiber of his very existence. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Kuchiba smiling like a hunter eagerly awaiting her prey to be ensnared in her trap. Though drearily, the limp wolf’s tail wagged. Perhaps in a way, he did understand the argument that was being made.

But before we celebrate the Elation, let me share a memory drenched in tears. It once dragged me into the abyss, yet it also taught me what the Elation really means.

Like Fulwish had any right to speak upon the abyss. These shadows flowed through his body, consuming his life essence every waking moment. Within the fangs of that shadow was a graveyard. Corpses of Lord Ravagers. Bodies of criminals. Hopes. Dreams. Companionship. His future. All to satisfy the hunger of the gluttonous beast within him to spare him a fleeting moment before Ashveil’s bones are once again gnawed upon out of desperation.

That day, I lost my parents, my classmates, and the others... The morning greetings, the little daily chatter... All went silent under that crimson dusk.

His closest friend, his beloved rangers, and anything close to a family were all ripped from Ashveil’s embrace. Navigating through an infinite void of loneliness and despair, it seemed as if Ashveil and Fulwish had more in common with each other than what could be deducted from the surface.

No. This was the exact kind of pandering Fulwish was doing in order to appeal to those around her. Ashveil mustn’t let himself fold so easily under the influence of her words. Not to mention, he wasn’t truly alone, at least not for the time being with Kuchiba on the trail with him.

After that, for a very, very long time...All that remained of my world: a door shut tight, a room steeped in silence, and a wound in my heart that would never heal.

The lid of his freezer was shut tightly, sealing him off from the rest of the world as the shadow within him tore through his body. All he could do to combat it was to shut himself off from the rest of the world and wait out its fury, howling and thrashing coddled only by the subzero walls. His heart bled darkness, freshly clotted wounds almost immediately being torn open again.

He would never heal as long as the shadows of the past were tearing him to shreds.

Just hearing the words "Herald of Death" made me shake uncontrollably. I even...

...I even once thought the only escape was to follow the dead and leave with them.

Ashveil gripped his cane tightly, holding it down with such force that it was causing the muscles in his arm to tremor and his grip to become unsteady. Its base rattled against the ground, attracting even the attention of Kuchiba. He clenched his jaw, canines protruding and piercing his bottom lip. Ending his own life, one way or another, had been a long-pursued dream of his. Ashveil was once again reminded of his ultimate goal: to win the Phantasmoon Games and claim his prize as death by Aha, so that the cosmos may laugh at him one final time. Kuchiba could see the clear distress in his eyes, but she turned to refocus on Fulwish, as inquiries would have to wait until later.

Back then, I was just an empty shell, breathing, beating, but lifeless inside. And just as my soul was about to fade away, an old lady from the mutual aid society knocked on my door.

Ashveil possessed no real soul himself. He was merely the shell of an alpha wolf outcasted by its pack. His flesh and bones served as a host for a shadow of voracity piloting his every decision despite his conscious protests. And as for the previous owner of that body, the man who had been known as La Mancha? Dead, leaving behind this shell as a legacy.

She didn't offer empty words of comfort. She just looked me in the eyes and asked— "Child, would you... try stepping outside this door? Out there are many people, broken by pain just like you. But together, we can start picking up the pieces... One by one.

Ashveil could hardly step forth. The split in his broken leg was not a clean one, thus making repair with a hammer and nails out of the question. The missing fragments trailed behind him, scavenging virtually impossible as many had eroded with time and have long since been lost with the wind. Bits and bits of his self broke away, slowly disappearing. Ashveil was merely a remnant of the person he used to be.

She smiled at me. A warm, gentle smile. And in that smile, I felt the Master of Elation grant me a reason to live.

Had anyone had bothered to smile at the broken legged wolf? The answer was yes, somewhat. Any grins spared for him were typically out of a client’s malice. No one would truthfully want to spare a smile to a homeless detective barely making it by with the help of his diseased assistant.

No one except for Kuchiba was willing to spare him a grin with any semblance of sincerity. Though their relationship was built upon a foundation intended for business and business only, the way she smiled at him in the middle of their conversations or while they were on the trail of a culprit pulled at his heartstrings.

The source of Ashveil’s only smiles was for all intents and purposes his coworker. As she was not a clueless woman, Kuchiba saw right through him and his frail attempts to hide his glee. Her suspicions had been confirmed with a fleeting, playful tease of calling him a "good boy." His tail would wag and fangs would poke through from the smile he was unable to hold back, a reaction that not even a DogDash coupon could pry out of him.

Ashveil did not allow himself to think of the reasoning behind her actions, as he believed he was no longer worthy of love.

At the mutual aid society, I saw countless souls scarred by fate. Some bore wounds beyond healing, and some had lost their loved ones. Each of us bore a different wound, but every wound cut deep.

Beyond healing. Tell me about it, Ashveil thought with a snarl under his breath. Two people in question here were beyond healing: the woman who was spouting lobotomized nonsense, and the wolf who had fallen so far into despair that he was actually considering this lobotomized nonsense.

And yet, what truly moved me wasn't the pain. It was how, beneath those scars, they still reached out to one another, offering a smile to a child who'd stopped crying, lending a guiding hand to someone lost.

Pain had become Ashveil’s guidance. His past failures as La Mancha weighed heavily upon him. The death of his Galaxy Rangers was no one’s fault but his own, and the remaining survivors despising his very existence was very much deserved. The karma of physical pain that still lingered was a rather light punishment.

Even he felt selfish seeking out methods to soothe it as much as he possibly could.

They taught me something precious: Pain can destroy a person, but the wish to bring Elation to others can spark the fire of rebirth. That was when Aha's voice echoed again in the silence of my heart.

For the majority of his life, Ashveil had spent it at war with this agony within him. The thought of being reborn not as Ashveil, but a man without crippling pain was a most tempting offer. Destroy the part of him that felt agony. No more being held down by the weights within his body. No more dragging across the back alleys of the cosmos.

Ashveil wondered, did THEY laugh at him too? How the mighty hunter had fallen, once having devoured gods, is now being consumed by agony himself?

The smiles passed from one another through mutual aid is Aha's most precious blessing. It does not belong only in the small room of a support group, it yearns to illuminate hearts lost in darkness.

The smile that he did treasure, it felt cruel to call her a blessing of Aha, given how that Aeon seemed to have been playing him as a fool. Or maybe, Kuchiba’s companionship was yet another joke of the Elation? He once more stole a glance of her smile. Kuchiba seemed pretty real to him, at least in the moment, so perhaps the punchline had yet to be delivered.

Each time we share a true smile, it's as if we hear Aha's voice. And when that voice rings out, all suffering fades, all pain is healed, and everyone knows what true happiness feels like.

That voice. That voice was chanting for his death. Despite this, aided with his cane, he strayed ever closer. It was enchanting, intoxicating, and his legs moved on their own towards this voice. Perhaps he should take up the Society’s promise to eradicate his pain.

If the ending result was death, then it would have succeeded beyond his expectations. Ashveil did want to be free of his torment; he never said that death was off the table.

That's why the Research Society of Happy Smiles was founded! I will share this divine smile with all of you!

Divine smile.

Kuchiba’s smile. The only thing keeping him anchored to this world as the shadow continued to devour him from the inside out. Ashveil, however, would have likely had better chances hanging on with a needle and a thread between his fingers.

His head drooped and the grip on his cane became stronger.

Was there really a path out there for him to take that meant no more pain? Why was he too cowardly to go through with it for himself?

"Ashveil."

The sound of Kuchiba’s voice breaking though the mind-numbing chants once more snapped him out of his self-wallowing. He turned to look at her, who was giving him a very concerned look.

"You’ve been out of it ever since we started digging deep into the Research Society," she continued. "Something is obviously the matter, so what troubles you?"

The sound of the cattle worshipping the Research Society was mind-numbing. Ashveil turned his head away and pulled his hat down to deflect some of the noise.

"It’s nothing," he claimed.

"Nothing," Kuchiba said, narrowing her eyes at him, "and you’re clenching your cane and your eyes look like a sad puppy."

"Heh…nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Of course not. I wouldn’t be much of an officer if I couldn’t read my suspects.”

"Likewise," Ashveil said, loosening his grip and tapping his finger on his cane, " I wouldn’t be much of a detective if I couldn’t sniff out your fair share of worries."

"Caught me red handed. The original Hearld of Death incident left such a deep scar on Planarcadia, both to those involved and to the general population. To see the spot of where a victim had their last terrifying breath be used as a propaganda stage, it’s..."

"Appalling," Ashveil cut in.

Kuchiba nodded her head. "To put it lightly, yes."

"Tch. They’re too far gone to even knock some sense into."

She put her hand on his back. "You watch yourself, detective, lest you fall into the same trap."

"Keep your wits about yourself too. Save your boiling anger for Fulwish for until after we dismantle the Research Society’s operations and apprehend her."

Ashveil and Kuchiba focused their attention on the gathering in front of them. Fulwish stood before the crowd, arms raised like a prophet beckoning for her followers’ loyalty. The lifeless crowd, despite waving their arms and shouting chants in favor of Fulwish, somehow managed to feel even more dead. A nail hadn’t even been shoved into their brains yet and they were already following her words like gospel. It was impressive, if not terrifying, as Ashveil could feel them prying into his mind as well.

While the ritual continued, the two disregarded the eerie scene as Kuchiba said to Ashveil, "How about we go for some coffee after this?"

"Eh?" Ashveil said, his hat sliding halfway down the side of his head. "W-why the sudden proposition?"

"Clearly, there is too much that remains unspoken between us. We're better off learning about each other over a nice cup of coffee rather than in the heart of a lobotomy cult.”

"I-I-I don’t even have any credits on me! I spent the last of what I had on bananas for Mister N..."

Kuchiba held her hand up to silence him. "It’s all on me. Consider it as our reward for making it out of this investigation alive.”

Rewarded for getting out alive...which meant no turning to the Research Society for their help and wandering down their path of eventual demise. For just a little while longer, Ashveil was going to have to bear the pain.

The promise of coffee with Kuchiba was enough of a motivating factor to carry on.

"Thank you kindly, my lady," Ashveil said, lowering his hat to hide his cheeks turning pink.

"Thank me later," Kuchiba said, giving him a pat on the shoulder, "for it looks like our opportunity to strike is upon is.”

The chaos of the crowd had simmered down, though Fulwish still took center stage. Her conversations appeared to be more “down to earth,” for lack of a better term, as her focus was diverted to speaking one-on-one with the audience members.

"Now’s our chance," Kuchiba continued.

Ashveil nodded and straightened out his hat, weaving his way through the crowd not far behind her.

"Oh, and for the time being, keep your eyes on the prize."

"Eh? I’ve been on the Herald’s trail for quite some time now," Ashveil said, tilting his head.