Several hours in the future, and a surprising distance away the first rays of light are breaking through the damp dawn in Knowhere valley. A hunched figure walks slowly through the streets, stopping only occasionally to stretch his back after the long train ride. The trench coat seemed a darker hue against the calm morning, as though the early morning rays had forked a path around the figure out of fright, disgust, or possibly even respect.
The detective hated sunrises. He was not one to see many sunrises by nature, as, like most detectives, he was a nocturnal creature whose mornings were densely populated by hangovers and feelings of unattached guilt. The few sunrises he did come upon he tended to sneak up on behind, like this one, and the concept of a sunrise marking the beginning of a day instead of the end was one what would certainly require a very stiff drink to consider.
He had been to Knowhere valley before, but never on business, no detective ever had to come to Knowhere valley on business. Several of the beat cops downtown were from around here, even… His mind strayed for a moment… Phil… For a moment he could remember the deep and distant voice of officer Redman. He knew exactly what to expect, he had told himself that over and over again, but he knew he would never get used to the idea of a man being broken inside. A man’s body can be broken easy enough, it had happened to him several times, but a man’s spirit, a man’s soul, that was something no one else could touch… He shook his head and, after waiting for his vision to clear again, attempted to make out the nearest street sign. A quick check against his notebook, and he made a quick left. In his mind he took a moment to roll it over, he knew there was no way he could catch up with this lot, do he’d have to get to where they were going before they got there. He had spent all night digging through is notes, before he remember Knowhere valley. Twice before they had shown up at convenience stores, and this time, he had a hunch were they were going to show up next.
As he continued walking the streets, he remember that several of the older detectives had retired to Knowhere valley. The detective tried to remember their names, but soon gave up figuring it was for the best. One did not come to Knowhere valley to be remembered. He continued walking for several more minutes in the silent dawn, his unlit cigarette drooping low out of the left side of his mouth, until finally he arrived at a run down convenience store, another in the globally forgotten Convenience Store of the Damned chain. He pushed open the door and waked strait to the front counter.
Standing behind the front counter was a large man, with a square jaw and a deep scar across his left cheek. The detective had encountered many men of this sort in his line of work, but he was almost taken back when he finally realized that this one wore a deli apron and a small paper deli hat. The brute of a man looked up at the detective, gave a short nod of acknowledgement, and then returned to cutting deli meats with frighteningly a deft knife skill. The detective stared at the brute for several more moments. The man had a figure felt empty without a set of polished armor and a broadsword strapped to his back, and in fact the brute did have a toilet brush (clean the detective hoped) strapped to his back as one would expect to find a weapon of war. Finally, the detective addressed him.
Detective: *Cough* May I have a word with you.
The brute shrugged silently at his request. Realizing that the conversation was likely to remain one sided; the detective reached into his coat, and produced a photo of Mr. Stafford.
Detective: Do you recognize this man?
The brute stopped slicing meat, and looked quickly at the photograph.
Brute: Yeah, He owns the store and gave me my job. *After a moments pause* I am grateful for my job.
Detective: Have you seen him around recently?
Brute: No…
The detective returned the photograph to his coat, and produced another one.
Detective: How about this woman, do you recognize her?
Brute: Yeah, She’s my new manager…
Detective: Really? Unfortunately she has become involved with some rather unfortunate events…
Brute: No… Can’t be…
Detective: I’m afraid so, can you tell me the last time you saw her?
After several moments of hard thinking.
Brute: I’d say about ten minutes ago, she introduced herself and went in back to her office… I think she’s crying now…
Detective: Excuse me, I don’t think I understood you there, you said you saw her this morning?
Brute: Yeah, She said she was new manager, gave me new toilet brush, then go in back to do work.
Detective: Could I go back an talk to her by any chance?
Brute: Ummmm… I guess so.
The brute leads the detective to the “Employee’s only” door, and having opened the door, leaved the detective to enter alone. The detective immediately spots the closed door marked “Manager” and knocks gently. A female voice responds, and though it does not sound to the detective as though she had been crying, he certainly did detect distress in her voice.
Female voice: Enter
The detective entered into a small and prototypical managerial office. That is to say: Desk, filing cabinets, and lots of paper. Sitting across form the desk sat a young woman in a sharp new uniformed vest.
Detective: Excuse me, I’m a detective, Mind If I ask you a few questions… Ms…?
Voodoo: Snowflake, Voodoo Snowflake.
Detective: Thank you Ms. Snowflake… Um… I apologize for asking so bluntly, but do you by any chance have a sister Ms. Snowflake?
VS: Excuse me?
The detective, realizing the wording of his question quickly produced a photo from his coat.
Detective: It’s just… Well, you see this was taken from a security camera yesterday afternoon at a Convenience store… At another Convenience store of the Damned… Quite a ways away from here. The video shows what we believe to be a hostage handoff gone wrong, and unfortunately it appears that the girl behind the counter may have gotten involved.
He points to the figure of Voodoo being lead away by Mr. Stafford in the photo.
Detective: You bear a remarkable resemblance to the woman in the photo Ms. Snowflake.
VS stares into the photo momentarily, with a distance look on her face.
VS: No… Im affr…..
VS stops suddenly as she notices the Sarn shaped void in the puddle of blood at the bottom of the photo…
VS: …hero…
Detective: Ms. Snowflake?
VS: He… He tried to take me away…
Detective: You mean he tried to kidnap you? Unfortunately that is his MO…
VS: No… He… He tried to save me, to take me with him… he is a hero…
Detective: Hero or not, he is wanted for suspicions of kidnapping and possibly more.
Voodoo looks up suddenly from the photo, the fires slowly re-kindling in her eyes. The detective takes the photo back, and returning to his coat, sits back into the chair opposite VS. He takes a moment to play with the unlit cigarette in his mouth, and after several moments of silence, addresses Voodoo.
Detective: Ms. Snowflake… Perhaps this man… This Hero… Sarn, that is his name if you don’t know… Is the good guy. Maybe he is the hero, and he is just mixed up in some very unfortunate business. If that is the case, then I still need to find him and help sort things out. If you could help me find this Sarn… and assuming he is the hero you claim him to be, them I can help clear his name. Either way, I could certainly use your help in finding him.
Voodoo remains quite at the preposition for some time.
VS: I… umm…I… I was just transferred here… Today is my first day, and… and I cant just leave. I need this job… I am Grateful for this job… I can’t just leave on my first day as manager.
Detective: I understand Ms. Snowflake. This is official police work, I can explain it to your boss, I’m sure he would be glad to help, especially as it was one of his other stores that was hit last… But I guess it’s for the best… You probably would have been disappointed anyway when you discovered the truth about this Sarn character.
VS: NO… I’ll come with you!
The detective smiles quietly to himself, Very well… Let’s go down to the local station and see if we can pickup an unmarked car, then we can see about finding this Sarn fellow.
-------------------------------------------------------
Back in Real time, Barraling down the highway at speeds unheard of in a minivan, Sarn, SokMunkey, Hawthorne, and the mysterious and charming Sasha continue the story only slightly after we last left them.
Sasha: … But if you check the torque tables from the P-440 it clearly shows that, if left without a linear-feedback transmission, power drops off significantly at higher output levels.
Hawthorne: The Torque tables are grossly inaccurate, and I say that from personal experience. And as for the linear-feedback transmission, If I HAD a linear-feedback transmission I might use it, but as it is a 12:42:12 satellite gear fly back provides enough back feed to keep the power at…..
For a moment Sarn and Sok are relived at the break in the endless mechanical blather.
Hawthorne: Wait… we forgot something!
"Well, if I am not drunk, I am mad, but I trust I can behave like a gentleman in either
condition."... G. K. Chesterton
“questions are a burden to others; answers a prison for oneself”
