“Oof!”
Daxton made contact with the ground pretty hard as he stumbled and fell onto his front. Like every time, he dragged his sorry self to his feet, but when Quincey caught up with him she took hold of his hand and looked him as close to in the eye as possible.
“You need to rest,” She said, “We should stop for a bit.”
Daxton tried to stifle a yawn. Going a whole day without sleep as well as running for his life certainly made it difficult to pull a tough act. “I guess the sun is going down, we should find somewhere to rest,” He said.
“Hey, over there seems good,” Kenny said, gesturing to what amounted to a tree right next to some big ol’ rock a little ways off the riverbank they’d found after their little trip through natural history. With that much tree and that much rock, it seemed pretty likely that they could get a fair bit of cover to hide behind if anyone came. Of course they didn’t feel relieved when they tucked themselves into the shade, but they were happy to get off their feet for a little while.
Considering the fact that setting up camp for them took no more effort than parking their rear ends somewhere on the ground, it didn’t take long for them to feel the awkward stillness of not marching along the countryside. Still, it gave them a chance to catch their breath and think things over – something they sorely needed after running into men and women with rifles. They needed to gather their thoughts and relax just a little bit. With the agreement that they’d huddle up if they got cold, the pack settled in their little nook for the night.
“So what’s the deal with that sword anyway?” Laila asked as she parked her rumpus down right next to Kenny, who had sat a little off to the side and was studying the blade in question.
“I don’t know,” He answered, “I just thought I needed something to scare those guys off. Quincey, do you know anything about it?”
Quincey, who sat somewhere at the opposing side of the half-circle their cover made, got up onto her hands and knees to crawl closer and take the blade into her hands. “Hmmm… I’m not too sure…” She said, eying the swords scabbard that sat in Kenny’s lap as well, “It’s… small, and sharp on all its sides.”
“Small n’ not very cuddly,” Laila grinned. She planted a hand atop Kenny’s head and messed up his fur, making him grumble. “Just like someone we know,” She finished.
“I swear I’ve seen it somewhere before though,” Quincey continued, “Like in my files. It HAS to be a kind of weapon prevalent in human history somewhere… I can’t imagine where else I might have seen it.”
The sword itself had a rounded tip on its hilt where one would grip it by the hand, and was a sort of blade that was indeed good for both stabbing and slashing motions. It wasn’t an overly long blade, which made it perfect for Kenny since he wasn’t very big either. The sheath for the blade was somewhat unremarkable at first glance, but in a moment something caught Quincey’s eye. She reached out to take it from Kenny’s lap so she could look at it closely, and she reared up to sit on her knees so the light could hit the leather-bound scabbard and the golden embroidery on it.
“Oh!” She said, “I think this here is supposed to be Mars!”
“What’s that?” Kenny asked, “The planet?”
“No, look,” Quincey turned the sheath so that Kenny could observe the symbol on it, “That there, you see it? It looks like a man with a spear and a war helmet. In Ancient Roman mythology, Mars was depicted as the God of War… not to mention an agricultural guardian.”
“So he guarded farms?” Laila pitched in, “Golly, I like the sound of this fella.”
Quincey gave the giraffe a look, and Laila returned it with a cheesy grin. The pig girl continued, “He was a strong figurehead in Roman history, and often a God of worship for the Roman armies! So if I had to guess, I would say that this sword is a Roman Legion sword.”
“So it belonged to the Roman army?” Kenny asked.
“Impossible,” The pig shook her head and sheathed the blade, “Even in a sealed container like we found it in, if it really belonged to the Romans it would be… thousands of years old! I think the only logical explanation is that this was made back around the Neo-Victorian era… maybe even the Stockweight era. It’s probably just a replica they made.”
“Oh, hm,” Kenny kind of frowned, “Would have been cooler if it belonged to a Roman army.”
“Yeah, but… do you really need it?” Daxton asked kind of tilting his head.
Kenny accepted the blade back from Quincey and said, “It could come in handy! It could cut things or… well you saw those guys with the rifles. Better to have something.”
“Yeah, I don’t think one neu-rod is gonna be enough between all of us, and we left that gun back there,” Laila added, “I don’t wanna hurt nobody, but best we sharpen our teeth, right?”
“I think I’ve got enough right here,” Daxton raised his fists.
“And I can… make another me,” Quincey chimed in, only to wilt at the less-than-stellar declaration of her freaky ability. Her friends went silent too, for a moment, before Laila tried to push herself to her feet.
“Well, I wanna soak my leg,” She said, having removed her boots and displaying a rather prominently bruised right calf, marred with ugly swaths of purple and red, “Maybe clean up a bit in the river. Come on, piggy-pig, we oughta take a rinse!”
“O… Oh, okay!”
Quincey scurried off after Laila, and the girls didn’t waste time in stripping their clothes off before they reached the water.
“Hey.”
Daxton looked over at Kenny, arms crossed, one leg outstretched. “Some of the things you said back there…” He said, “You wouldn’t have really killed that guy… right?”
Kenny immediately winced at the question and took offense, “What?! I… No!” But then he calmed down and turned his head aside somewhat, “But… what if I had to? Like, if I had to pick between Quincey and that guy…!”
Daxton didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at Kenny, which started to annoy the lemming because he couldn’t see the look in the eye of someone who didn’t have eyeballs.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kenny reaffirmed sternly, giving the other boy a glare.
-
--
-
Harbington Precinct was buzzing with activity and murmurs. Something big had been dropped right into their laps, something dumped onto them by the big-wig Arbitrators. Certainly, the job of a police officer sometimes came with a certain level of secrecy in order to protect the general public, but this happening was too big to keep entirely quiet. A gun had been found.
To make matters worse, the weapon retrieved from the last known location of Daxton Kemberge was reportedly just one of many. This fact was perhaps the most distressing of all, because there shouldn’t even have been one gun, let alone several. Guns had been stripped from the hands of humanity for one hundred years and everyone was meant to move on to peaceful coexistence the likes of which they couldn’t possibly afford to go against. The population was dwindled enough without people trying to shoot at one another.
That being the case, the rifle that was recovered may as well have been a nuclear bomb from the stone-ages for how utterly improper its mere existence was. Just having it in the secure evidence locker was enough to keep even officers at a wide berth, as if it emitted some sort of residual fear. It didn’t help that the alien scare and the continued absence of Quincey Abram had everyone on edge to begin with either. This new development meant that the officers had to split their focus between two bombshell cases, and so it was decided that an investigator with some real scruples would have to tackle the issue of the firearms.
“Detective Paris Marcello. I’m heading the Firearms Investigation.”
Detective Marcello was going to have to be as good as it got. With most of the force busy keeping the peace and hunting down the Inkling, there wasn’t much manpower left in the department to get things like that done. With the detective flashing her badge to the other officer behind the protective glass, the door to the evidence room clicked open and she was allowed entry. Marcello flashed the officer a polite smile before moving to the door and allowing it to slide open before she stepped into the very sterile room. It was almost unreal how it looked, with confiscated objects from a multitude of cases all stored away in individual lockboxes, an examination table to more closely study various objects, a terminal to access previous files when necessary, and… a chair. Nearly everything was coloured white, from the floor to the ceiling, with bright lights ensuring all the shelves could be easily seen and labels clearly readable.
Of course, she didn’t have to look far for the weapon she was to study – it was still on prominent display on the observation table with the attending officer still trying to make sense of it as he looked it over. Politely, she raised her gloved hand and cleared her throat against her fist to get the man’s attention. He jolted and turned to face her quickly. “Oh!” He said; blinking a few times as he was momentarily distracted by the dimly glowing, neon-blue bauble attached to her illicium. “Are you… Detective Marcello then?” He asked.
“That’s me,” She said, spreading a sharp-toothed smile across her features, “You’re the officer who found that?”
“Officer Nancy Telly,” The man introduced himself, holding out his hand. He was something of a chimpanzee by the look of him, albeit a younger sort. His monkey-tail was a fit of motion, never really holding still for more than a couple of seconds. Marcello took his hand and gave it a shake, and Officer Telly’s eyes gazed upwards at the woman’s forehead again. “Nice, uh… thingy,” He said.
The bauble attached to the dangly antennae that sprouted from just at her hairline created by her feathered, pale-blue mohawk wobbled as she chuckled. “Thanks,” She said, “Now what about this weapon?”
“Oh, that, well… It’s a… well it sure is a rifle alright,” Officer Telly said as he quickly stepped aside to allow the anglerfish woman a chance to look at the weapon’s sleek and smooth design.
Marcello planted her hands on the table and leaned over the weapon to get a good look at it. The material it was made from was obviously very smooth, but not polished as to not reflect light. The creases in the outer shell revealed the glow of a fusion core, so it was definitely of modern make. It had a barrel, a trigger, and a stock… yes, it was indeed a rifle, but that only told her so much. “Helpful, but do you have anything else on it?” She asked.
The officer shifted nervously just a little, his eyes widening momentarily before he dropped his gaze to the weapon. “Well… no,” He said, “I’m no expert in this sort of thing, ma’am. Weaponry was a little before my time. We were going to have it looked at in diagnostics to determine more details a little later – the kind of materials, the level of power it has, all that sort of thing. That information will be given to you ASAP.”
The woman’s honey-orange eyes glanced up at him with some dissatisfaction. “So I’m just sitting on my hands for now?” She asked, idly stretching one of her suspenders off her shoulder to adjust it. The brown, elastic suspenders held up decidedly ‘officer blue’ pants that had a lot of pockets on them.
“I can tell you a little of the details surrounding where we found it,” Officer Telly said, “And if you allow me, I’ll transfer those files to your PET too.”
Marcello let the suspender snap back onto her shoulder before she rounded the examination table and sat in the lone chair there. “Alright, shoot,” She nodded.
“We found the rifle around sundown, approximately 5:34 PM following a tip we received from Daxton Kemberge at 2:58,” Telly began to explain.
“Daxton Kemberge? Arbitrator Kemberge’s kid? The one that went missing with the Inkling?”
“Right,” Telly continued, “It was reported that Daxton came into contact with multiple people holding weapons just like these. He didn’t explain any more detail about them, and after we found the weapon buried under a pile of leaves next to a tree we searched the area for any evidence of other people, but the area was completely abandoned. There was what looked to be evidence of weapons fire that had blown chunks of wood off of trees several yards away.”
“And Daxton wasn’t there when you got there?”
“They went further into the forest assumedly after reporting to his father that he’d discovered the weapon,” Telly explained, “He and his friends are supposedly escorting the alien symbiote to Locksmouth. We followed what we thought might have been their tracks, but they stopped making sense after a few leagues. Wherever that kid is, we just haven’t been able to find him.”
“So they’re not going to be any help,” Marcello concluded, giving one of her bicep-length gloves a tug at its folded cuff before leaning back in the chair and planting her boots on the table, crossing her feet one over the other, “And all we have is this gun, and it’s not much of a talker.”
She breathed a sigh though loose lips, causing her to blow something of a raspberry. “Well we’re off to a great start,” She said, “I guess we’ve got to go looking for these guys. There’s got to be some trace of them somewhere… Maybe we’ll scour a radius around the point where we found the weapon – start at ten acres and see if we can’t find something.”
Telly stood proper, as straight-postured as he could, just watching as the violet-skinned woman seemed to mull over details to herself. When she finally noticed him standing there again, she raised a hand to shoo him away. “Alright I think you’ve told me everything, right?” She asked, “If that’s the case, feel free to get going. Just make sure those files get to me.”
“Ma’am,” Telly nodded and excused himself, leaving the room in a dutiful march.
Marcello puckered her lips like in a characteristically fishy manner as she uncrossed her legs and stared down between her feet at the rifle at sat on the table.
“What secrets do you hold, my naughty little friend…?”
-
--
-
And then Quincey was sprayed all over the walls and floor, gone from pig-girl to dazzling silver and blue smears in moments.
Daxton woke with a snort, the image passing through his mind startling him as he perked up. His world was dark, pitch black even, and he could feel the cool breeze of the night drift through his hair. His ears lifted to make up for his lack of sight, and he could hear the chattering of crickets that only came out at dusk, as well as the breeze rustling the dying leaves on the trees and the flow of the river nearby. Was it night time? When had he fallen asleep? He shook his head, trying to shake the image of his dream away, but waking up to blackness only served to make the image linger. “H’ooh… man…” He groaned.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Quincey said. She sat next to the corgi boy, having taken his hat off his head when she realized he’d fallen asleep. She knew that leaving it on would be detrimental to his rest, not unlike sleeping with your eyes open. She scoot sideways and let her round hip bump against his, setting his hat in his hands.
Daxton carefully rubbed his eyes… or rather, where his eyes would have been. Instead of eyes, he rubbed against his malformed eyelids in their sunken sockets, careful not to push the flesh around too much and make the perpetually closed lids uncomfortable. He lacked the muscle density in his face to blink, and therefore just barely touched his eyelids if ever at all. With his hat returned to him, he slipped it on his head, and Quincey made sure it was on before she tugged her PET from within her sweater.
“Oral code 502164 – Puppy-Dog Eyes,” She said. Daxton’s sight returned to him then, the camera-view his hat provided burning into his mind. He seemed to wake up pretty readily too – that had always been a side-effect of the threadlinks reacting with the implants in his brain. It was like juicing a battery.
“Are you hungry?” She asked.
Daxton was almost too groggy to catch it, but Quincey’s voice sounded distant. He’d lived with her for so long that he knew her tells, her signs, to indicate that something was bothering her. Often times she’d try and act like nothing was wrong, trying to reject her natural emotional behavior in favour of false normality so as to not burden those around her with her problems. But it was just no good around Daxton. Maybe on a good day she’d be able to fool Kenny or Laila just on account of the fact that they were less likely to notice in the first place… But for a boy with no sight, Daxton was painfully observant.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Huh? What?” Quincey’s double-inquiries were often another sign that she was being a big fibber, “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bull,” Daxton said plainly, “I can tell something’s wrong… it’s pretty obvious.”
“I am doing just fine,” Quincey breathed, her voice shaking.
Daxton dropped his hand aside to take hold of hers, taking a rather deep breath while he did so. Truth be told, he wasn’t feeling any less uneasy.
“I’m scared,” The girl meekly admitted.
Daxton turned his artificial gaze toward her, but Quincey was just staring at the ground. Her expression showed obvious signs of restraint. She was attempting to subdue herself, and what meant to be crying were just shiny, watery eyes and pretty, plump lips pulled into a tight-faced frown. She sniffled once, whether from her unshed tears or simply the nippy cold of the autumn night, Daxton wasn’t sure just why. That was sort of how she always responded to being scared… she just couldn’t deal with it, and never really was able to. It was a wonder how she managed to read so many tales of monsters and supernatural creatures and yet still somehow be scared when any situation got out of hand…
… Then again, this time he couldn’t really blame her. He gave her hand a squeeze and said, “Me too.”
Quincey was a little surprised to hear that. From the get-go, Daxton had kept a level head. He made up his mind quick to help her any way he could, and went above and beyond what she thought she could expect out of him. He’d fought for her, protected her, and concocted little schemes all on her behalf. He gave orders and defended her against doubt; how could he have been scared? He seemed to be the bravest out of them all, so… how? The look in her eyes reflected that sort of quizzical doubt she held. Was he just saying things? Was being told he was scared supposed to somehow make her feel better?
Daxton took a moment to think before taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh. “I have to admit something,” He said, “… I was scared of you.”
Quincey tried not to gasp, lest she wake Kenny and Laila who slept cuddled up nearby. “What?” She asked, fraught with disbelief, “Why?”
“After I saw you that night at your house all covered in that ink, I… I don’t know. I wasn’t sure what to think,” He said, “Then I had to hit you, and then you broke out of the hospital, and I thought you were acting crazy.”
The porky girl wasn’t sure what Daxton was trying to say. She just narrowed her eyes, obviously confused. Her logical mind reasoned that certainly, the things she had been forced to do were completely out of the ordinary. On a regular night she would have been just heating up a pudding for herself after finishing her homework to eat a snack before bed, after all. But had she really acted so strangely considering her situation? Her mind screwed just trying to make sense of it. How was she supposed to act? Her confusion mounted to a slight frustration that painted itself across her features, causing her pudgy cheeks to kind of flare out. That puppy had better have started to explain himself, or he was in for a stern talking to.
He noticed her look and sat up to turn his body towards her. “Face it,” He said, “You’d never… ever… have wanted to do anything like this… ever. None of us would. I’m not sure if that was you or just… it.”
“I’m me!” She practically squealed, pausing when she realized she may have been being too loud. No, she’d gotten enough odd looks and obvious doubt cast on her… she couldn’t let Daxton feel that way too! She wouldn’t! She took his hand and tightly held it between both of her own, leaning towards him and looked him dead in the… where his eyes would be. “Daxton, please, please believe me,” She pleaded, “Duplex isn’t controlling me at all. It said that it would just stay out of the way as long as I did what it wanted. I’m… I’m not an alien!”
She was seriously tearing up. Her lower lip trembled.
“I hate this,” She almost choked on the words, “Daxton I hate this so much, I just want to go home. I’m cold and I’m itchy, but… But I have to do this. I don’t want to die, Daxton.”
Daxton swallowed. Seeing her cry was never easy for him.
She carried on, shuffling a little closer. “Daxton, I don’t want to just be gone… I can’t stop thinking about how if I died I just wouldn’t be around anymore. I… I wouldn’t be able to see you anymore. I know I’m acting weird, but everything is weird!”
Daxton took in her words with a look of frustration. His ire wasn’t directed at her as much as him however, as the thought crossed his mind… he should know her better than that. He’d been with Quincey all his life, for as far back as he could possibly remember, but he’d never seen her act the way she’d been acting those past few days. She was never strong, she was never brave… but what else could it have been? She went against authority, took on a trek across miles and miles of forest that Daxton could never have seen her do even in his wildest dreams, and when she’d torn apart Duplex at the seams that one night…
… Had she really done all that just to live and be with him and the others longer?
Death was such a strange thing. People in Harbington never really talked about it. The history classes covered wars and said that people died by the hundreds, if not thousands. Science classes went over the population drought where infants since the day the humans began to splice would be rendered stillborn, with so very precious few surviving to take on adult lives. The Skin Plague killed millions of people. Maybe it was cold of Daxton to admit it to himself… but he never really felt any sense of connection to these referenced lives lost, or lives never lived. Maybe that was what made trying to figure out Quincey’s actions such a task. If she died… she really would be gone, wouldn’t she?
He wouldn’t see her on the way to school anymore.
She wouldn’t be next to him on the train.
They wouldn’t rub feet under the lunch table.
He’d never feel her warmth or softness ever again.
Her cute snorts would just be the empty sound of a breeze.
He wouldn’t even get to comfort her when she was sad.
Because she’d be gone. Forever.
What would life like that even be like?
Now Quincey was crying. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She’d thought about all the same things he thought about in that moment and she’d thought about them many times before. Quincey had a lot of time in that hospital to truly understand why she should be afraid of death; and that was because in death she would lose everything she loved in life. She would lose every opportunity, every dream, every love, every hate, everything she ever had. She’d lose her parents and her friends and the other kids at school… and they’d lose her. It wasn’t like if she was never born at all, rather… that she’d just leave some big hole where she used to be. And as Daxton mulled over those thoughts as well, his lips parted in gaping surprise. The realization had dawned on him too late.
He was wrong.
He got up to his feet, a firm hold of her hand, and took off. The sobbing girl’s tears glistened as they fell away from her cheeks, and she gasped as she stumbled along in tow. He brought her towards the river where they could hear the water more clearly and the crickets less so, and so that they wouldn’t risk waking up Kenny or Laila. Daxton took hold of her hands and looked her in the eyes again – an unfair advantage of his – and he shook his head before wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug that caught her off guard. She tripped into him and was squeezed around the arms, locking her in and pushing her glasses askew.
“I’m sorry,” He said, “You’re right, I’m a total idiot. I’m sorry.”
He squeezed her tighter and held her.
“I don’t care if you have an alien in you or not – in fact, screw that guy,” He said, pushing his nose down to nuzzle against her cheek, “You’re my Quincey. Our Quincey. We had you first and you belong here with us.”
He held her in spite of that stupid inkling. Duplex couldn’t take that from him.
“You’re always gonna have me,” Daxton said, nodding once as he pulled away to get a good look at her again, “Got it? You’ve been my best friend for my whole life. If anything, I’m just going to hold on to you tighter.”
“D-Daxton…” Quincey sniffled. That was more like it. That was more like Daxton. But one thing he said bothered her…
“I… I d-don’t want to be your friend,” She said.
Daxton felt a rush wash over him as he perked his ears, “What? Quincey, I’m sorry. What I thought was wrong, you… you’re stronger than that.”
“No, Daxton, I…” Quincey sighed. Her hands found his chest, and they gently squeezed and rubbed, “We’ve been together for thirteen years… We do everything together.”
“What are you saying?” He asked, like a big, clueless pup.
Quincey wasn’t sure what her future held. The trip to Locksmouth seemed to have more dangers than she ever could have anticipated, and it could have ended in so many different ways. She could die, or something could even happen to one of her friends. She could make it there, and Duplex could turn out to have been a liar all along… or maybe everything would work out for the better. She had no way of knowing for sure, but it was that sort of thinking that made her realize that she needed to do things. She needed to do all the things she ever wanted to do; just in case she couldn’t do them later… just in case she never met Daxton on his way to school ever again. The thought painted what she was about to say with bitter-sweet hope.
She wrestled with it for a moment, rubbing her eyes clear of her tears. Her face burned red, because it was right on the tip of her tongue, yet the words refused to surface. She had to tell him something that she’d known for years!
“I love you,” She blurt out.
Daxton looked surprised. “I love you too,” He said, “You know that.”
Good lord. Quincey couldn’t do much else than give him the most judgmental look. “No, Daxton…” She said.
Her body pressed closer to his, and she brushed the side of her snout against the side of his head.
“I love you.”
Her whisper tickled his ear just right to make his cheeks light up in a blush that turned from a hot pink to a burning red. He seemed… surprised, maybe? His breathing seemed to pick up and his heart really started to pound; Quincey could feel it against her chest. Honestly it felt like her own heart was trying to drop-kick her in her throat in its attempts to escape from her chest. It was true that Quincey had been there by Daxton’s side for thirteen long years. When she’d first met him at three years old, he was an aloof boy that she found fascinating. She crushed on him right then and there, right at first sight. She never fully understood why, as the three-year-old Daxton was shy and never really wanted to talk to her. Throughout their early childhood, he just got mad at her for always hanging around. But her feelings remained true, and she never left his side no matter what.
Something had changed eventually. Daxton warmed up to her one day, and ever since then they were attached at the hip. Like brother and sister, they slept in the same room together, ate their meals together, and went to school together until Quincey’s parents graduated from the University and landed secure jobs in the medical sector and could focus on supporting her. But even when she was forced to move back home, she and Daxton were a pair – two peas in a pod, and as they grew up, Quincey started to find him handsome, and admired him for more and more. He was strong and determined, and made her feel… happy.
There was no doubt in her mind. She loved Daxton Kemberge.
“I don’t want to be your friend,” She swallowed, “I want to be your girlfriend. W… When this is all over, if… if we go back home… Will you… go out with me?”
Daxton and Quincey went out many times before. Sometime when they reached thirteen years old, their relationship jumped from faux-siblings to Junior High sweethearts. They started to cuddle and even OC’d… but that was what all pack mates did. Daxton and Quincey were part of a pack, and were there for each other for anything they could need. Quincey’s words made it clear though that Daxton’s feelings for her – his obvious favouritism, his desire to touch, hug, and smooch her, his drive to protect and support her… it was more than just pack stuff. She was Quincey. She was the girl he felt the most strongly for, and the girl he’d fight to keep, alien be damned.
Her question was like saying magic words. Asking to go out with him suddenly changed her from sister, best friend, and pack mate into something he maybe never allowed himself to consider.
Daxton wanted to grab her and kiss her, but… that seemed too normal, to let teenage instinct get the better of him. Instead, he laced his fingers between hers and held their hands at chest-level, palms pressing on each other’s.
“Yes,” He said, nodding a few times, “I’m going to sure you get back safe, Quincey. And when you do… I’m going to tell everybody that I’m dating Quincey Abram, and that she’s my girlfriend and that I love her more than anything.”
Quincey couldn’t hold back her smile or her happy tears. Finally, of all the things to happen on that God-forsaken trip, something was going her way. “Daxton…!” She said his name again, but it felt a bit different that time. He wasn’t just ‘Daxton;’ he was ‘Daxton, my boyfriend.’
They sealed their confessions with a kiss. Not the kind of kiss where their tongues would seek one another out; they kept their lusts in check as the endorphin rush tried to whip their teenaged hormones into a frenzy. They kissed with more purpose than that – not to simply have each other’s body, but to have far more.
“God I… mmf-- I love-- you…” Quincey breathed between smooches and kisses.
Daxton removed himself from the kiss, but their noses continued to rub against one another. “I love you too,” He said, “I’m not scared of you… I’m just scared of losing you.”
The girl threw her arms around her long-time friend and now-lover, nuzzling more than fondly against his shoulder as their bodies couldn’t get any closer. Daxton squeezed her tight and brushed some of his fingers up the back of her neck and through the hair on the back of her head. She practically cooed in delight as her sensitive nape tingled.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”
-
--
-
Promise… He promised.
Quincey wasn’t sure when she fell asleep. She was so excited about finally telling Daxton how she felt that she had trouble sleeping. Normally when she slept all cuddled up with the corgi boy she would have easily drifted off – but being near him made her heart race, made her muscles tense, and made her painfully aware of her own breathing. With her confession, everything was going to be different. No more did she have to convince herself that Daxton was just her friend, that her feelings for him were somehow misplaced or wrong… She had other things to convince herself of instead. Why Daxton wanted to be with her too, she wasn’t entirely sure; but even if she thought for a second that he could have done better, she was also quick to remind herself that she deserved the love.
How long was she supposed to stand there and wrestle with her feelings before she was worthy of them? It had been thirteen years of being by his side and doing things with Daxton, for Daxton that she’d never do for anyone else. They were a couple, and it felt like it was a long time coming.
She dreamed a happy dream. Nothing was happening that would make her smile, but the energy coursing through her brought upon a sense of joy. She stood in a room that reminded her of Daxton’s… an old-fashioned room, looking rustic with its wooden cabin walls and plank flooring covered by some kind of large rug or mat. She didn’t hear or smell anything, but she felt the warmth of the rug on her bare feet. As if the world was procedurally generated, she discovered that she was standing in front of a mirror… but who was she looking at? Was it her?
The porcine woman staring back at her wasn’t her. The woman didn’t have Quincey’s bob cut of red hair, but rather longer hair with wind-swept bangs that made her red hair look wavy and messy in that… appropriately messy sort of way. The hair above her sideburn area was long, draped down either side of her head just like the way Quincey remembered her own hair looking, except longer to the point it passed her shoulders. The girl turned her head, and the woman in the mirror did the same – she wore her wavy red hair in a pony tail, tied back with some kind of scrunchy. Quincey turned her head the other way, watching the woman’s features as she performed the same action. She had freckles dotting her face just like Quincey’s, and green eyes like her too. Continuing to test, Quincey puckered her lips; the woman did the same, showing off her plump lips painted with ruby red lipstick.
Finally, Quincey looked down at herself and determined that she was the woman in the mirror with a double-take. Her body was very different from how she remembered looking, not to mention she dressed differently. Her womanly body was adorned in a navy blue blazer, double-breasted with modest, subtle buttons that strained to hold in the fat breasts of a matured piggy. They seemed bigger than before… the tastefully revealed cleavage attested to this fact. Quincey gently smoothed her hands over her chest and felt the warmth of them fill her hands generously, then smoothed her palms down over her body.
She watched her reflection in the mirror as it did the same, her hands gliding over her pudgy belly. The modest blazer ended, but it seemed her body wore a black pencil-skirt dress. When her hands rested upon her hips, Quincey shifted her weight to jut to one side. Her hips seemed wider… she didn’t even thick it was possible, but a turn of her body confirmed it – her butt was even fatter than it used to be. How her dream-self squeezed into the little dress was beyond her.
“Wow…” Quincey did a little spin in front of the mirror, her gravid form feeling like it had to catch up with her when she stopped facing the reflective glass again. That wasn’t some sixteen-year-old dorky-pig she was looking at… it was a grown-up woman, and it was her. She was dressed so professionally, like some kind of business woman, and it took her a while to realize that she wasn’t even wearing her glasses. Leaning forwards towards the mirror, she brought a hand to her face and turned her head to stare at her own eyes. She must have been wearing contacts.
Quincey looked amazing. Was that what she’d look like when she got older? How old was she? Twenty-five; or more?
Tentatively, she reached out and touched the mirror. When her fingers brushed the glass, she jerked her hand away. She knew she was dreaming, so… where was Duplex? It must have been around somewhere – her dream was so vivid! She could pick out details of the room when she’d settle her eyes on things: a large double-bed with thin blankets, a giant wardrobe and a vanity, pictures on the night stand of her mother and father… The room wasn’t just for her, and when she saw a hamper full of men’s clothes, she got a little excited. This room must have also belonged to…!
The door opened with a gentle creak as if to affirm her suspicions, and a familiar corgi man stood there, blonde hair swept backward in a gentle wave. His hairline seemed slightly receded, and his eyes… were covered entirely by the dark lenses of circular framed glasses – that was Daxton alright. He looked bigger, stronger, his thick biceps hugged tightly by the rolled-up sleeves of his green shirt and his broad chest pushing out noticeably. The folded-up fabric was white underneath, providing a contrast in colour at the cuff. What looked to be blue denim jeans covered his legs somewhat loosely, but not frumpy, and he wore black socks over his feet. When he smiled at her, she noticed a scruff of fur under his chin that was lengthened and grown out that made him look… adorably ‘cool.’
Quincey was so happy to see him that her smiled bared her teeth. “Someone’s been working out…” She commented after getting a good look at him.
Daxton smiled, and approached Quincey as she turned to fuss with her appearance in the reflection of the mirror. She was interrupted when Daxton moved behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her waist to pull her back into a hug. The porcine woman breathed a sigh and rested back against Daxton’s frame, her fingers smoothing over his forearms that bulged gently when he squeezed her.
“You look so beautiful,” He leaned over her shoulder to kiss her cheek.
“Mmnh… We’re married~” Quincey spoke in a hushed sing-song.
Daxton breathed out a chuckle and smiled brightly. “Ma~rried~” He cooed in his surprisingly melodic singing voice.
Quincey turned quickly to face her beau and gave him a kiss. She felt so beautiful and so happy, and it made sense with Daxton around. She only felt that way with him. “It seems like just yesterday we told each other that we liked each other,” She said, “Do you remember?”
“… I think it was just yesterday,” Daxton said strangely, “When we were hiking towards Locksmouth, with Duuuu—oooh! Oh! Whoa!”
Daxton jumped, making Quincey whip around again as well to see her reflection emerging from the mirror – except upon leaving the mirror, her reflection took on her regular teenaged form. Both she and Daxton backed up, watching as the teenaged Quincey turned silver, and developed shiny, blue, painted-on eyes and a cartoon-looking mouth. Quincey stood apprehensively with her back to Daxton, and Daxton held her shoulders securely, but was also rather rigid with caution as well.
“Host body,” Duplex spoke predictably.
“Duplex!” Quincey snorted, “What do you want?!”
Daxton urged Quincey aside and lunged forwards, grabbing Duplex by its shoulders and slamming its back against the mirror to hold it there. Duplex’s body kind of flopped, but it didn’t seem to register the discomfort of being pinned to the full-length mirror. “What are you doing here?!” He practically growled, “Aren’t I dreaming? Get out of my head!”
“Aren’t I dreaming?” Quincey also asked, “Normally when Duplex shows up, nobody else…”
“You are sharing the same dream,” Duplex said calmly, “We allowed Daxton Kemberge to share in your consciousness… We felt it was necessary.”
Daxton’s brow scrunched. “What? Really? We’re sharing a dream? How?” He questioned, “And… why? Necessary for what?! If you’re thinking of trying anything…!”
Daxton’s grip on one of Duplex’s shoulders tightened so hard that he could feel his fingers touching his thumb through the creature’s body. Duplex remained unphased, however, and startled Daxton by reaching out and resting a hand gently over Daxton’s chest. Daxton quickly released his grip and smacked Duplex’s hand away in a hurry, stepping back in fear that contact with the alien may somehow transfer it to him.
“That feeling…” Duplex cast its gaze aside in contemplation, “… You would do anything.”
“Damn right,” Daxton huffed, “Just try something, I dare you.”
Duplex shook its head, its round eyes ‘closing’ into gentle ‘U’ shapes. “No… We do not desire to ‘try something,’” It explained, “… This feeling… love… we have felt this before.”
Quincey and Daxton shared a look of uncertainty. It was Quincey who took the plunge, stepping forwards to regard the now-shorter Duplex who appeared as her teenaged self. “You’ve been in love before?” She asked.
“We believe so,” Duplex nodded, “We loved… someone… we think.”
“Quincey, what the hell is it going on about?” Daxton gestured to the alien creature, “Why do we care if it was in love before?”
Quincey paused and thought about how to answer. It seemed simple, though: “Duplex doesn’t remember why it came to Earth.”
Quincey could relate to Daxton’s reaction as he stomped his foot and shouted in sharp frustration, “What?!”
“Does this have anything to do with that?” Quincey asked as she regarded Duplex again.
“Perhaps,” Its answer was less than preferable.
Daxton stared at the two of them before resting a hand gently on Quincey’s shoulder, having her step back. He glared at Duplex and gave a firm instruction: “Sit down and cough it up.” His firm gesture towards the bed made his intention clear, and Duplex complied not unlike the scolded child it was being treated as. With its head hung it lumbered towards the bed and sat down on it. For appearing as Quincey, it was not nearly as heavy as it appeared. Its body didn’t bear any weight down on the mattress at all – not even a dent despite it bearing the wide and rotund rear and thick, hefty belly just like Quincey’s.
“… Osoth…” The name passed Duplex’s penciled-on lips in almost a whisper.
Daxton looked to Quincey, whose brow furrowed as they stood before Duplex not unlike a couple of parents having a serious talk with their ilk. “… Isn’t Osoth the one who attacked Locksmouth?” Quincey asked.
“Yes,” Duplex answered.
Daxton seemed to get more on edge with this information, “You were Osoth’s boyfriend or something?”
Duplex stopped to think, visibly sifting through its thoughts to properly answer. It shook its head after a moment with a hesitant no, and then attempted to think some more on the memories that pieced themselves together in whatever it was that Inklings had for a brain. “We love… loved… Osoth… before?” It seemed uncertain even in its own answer. “Thinking of Osoth makes us… sad,” It clarified, “Pity? Osoth… attacked Earth but we loved her… before.”
“So… you didn’t love her when she invaded?” Quincey inquired.
“Osoth was… different,” Duplex responded, “Before she invaded Earth, she was… very different. Before she became Empress.”
“Are you sure this has anything to do with it?” Daxton hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck, “Isn’t Osoth dead or something?”
“Maybe… Maybe we should just listen,” Quincey sighed, “Duplex?”
Duplex stared at Quincey for a few moments before solemnly nodding. “We will try to remember,” It said.
“Osoth usurped power, this we know. If our memory is accurate, Osoth stole leadership of the Inklings and ruled with an iron fist. Who she stole it from, we do not remember… But it was someone Osoth had to be close to, otherwise… how would she get the opportunity? And we were there… But we do not remember how. We simply remember Osoth… perhaps we were her friend?”
Duplex rubbed its temple – a pointless gesture.
“Every day we saw her. We were with her each day and we helped her… like servants, we did her bidding, no matter how trivial. We summoned other Inklings to her court and acted as her eyes and ears where she would have none. We… admired her. She was strong, powerful, enough to consume an Elder Inkling and command obedience from those around her. But… we were frightened. Every day, every moment, she grew more unlike herself. She became frightful of the Inklings she commanded, she desired more control than seemed possible. She consumed her opposition and rebirthed them into something new – a new servant, a new soldier, until they swore obedience. She became wrought with paranoia.”
The alien creature hunched, slumping to rest its chin in its hands.
“She trusted no one. She did not trust us, but we were there for her. She put up walls around her, closed herself to any… salvation from herself. Then she began the conquests. Controlling Canvas must have become too easy, or maybe… we wanted to believe there was a reason for us to go to other worlds, to capture new hosts, to live outside of Canvas… but now, we can think of none. We were… simple. How were we to know the reasons behind her actions?”
Daxton and Quincey watched as Duplex sat up again. “Something happened,” It said, “Something… that brought us here after she took to Earth to battle Echelon. But we cannot remember, the details are… as you humans would say, ‘fuzzy.’ Nothing is clear, but… we disagreed, we believe. Osoth did something and we… objected. But not to her, not so she would know. We were hidden. We feared her, just as all others learned to.”
“So… what does that have to do with coming here?” Daxton asked.
If Duplex had teeth, they would have been clenched as tightly as its eyes as it struggled to remember. “We… do not know…!” It said, “Something… we came here… after realizing that something put Canvas in danger. But for some reason we cannot remember. Perhaps… we were consumed by Osoth and reborn? We cannot think of any other reason our memories would not be so clear.”
“But you said you got along with Osoth… sort of,” Quincey added, “So that doesn’t make sense.”
“That is more terrifying to think,” Duplex said, “If it was not Osoth who did this to us… then there is another capable of such a thing.”
Duplex took a breath – again, a pointless action – and let it out in a very Quincey-style sigh. “… Your feelings, host body, spur us,” It said, “Feelings of fear, loneliness, and desperation have dominated your being and we know these feelings well. Love, however… caused us to remember more. As we become more accustomed to you, we may learn more.”
Daxton fell into silent thought, one hand rubbing the scruff on his chin. He tugged the little tuft of longer fur, stretching his lower lip down until his fingers slid off it and made his lips smack closed again. “All I’m hearing is that you could be some… agent of Osoth or something,” He said, “And all I know is that you’re threatening the girl I love. I’m only doing this for her, so why tell me all of this? I don’t care about you.”
Quincey watched Daxton as he spoke and turned her gaze away to mull over her own thoughts. Duplex answered, “You are the leader of this group, are you not, Daxton Kemberge?”
“Me? I dunno,” Daxton said, “I don’t really…”
Duplex shook its head. “They listen to the words you say, they carry weight. We have seen this,” It said, “In knowing this; we… thought it may be important for you to know more about us.”
“So you expect me to trust you? Tell me you’re not going to kill Quincey,” Daxton answered swiftly.
Duplex paused.
“We cannot.”
Both Quincey and Daxton were unsettled by the response. Even if Duplex was in a sharing mood, it seemed it intended to hold firm on Quincey’s life.
After a few grim moments of silence, Daxton reached forwards and grabbed Duplex by the shoulder once more. “You better not,” He said, “Because if you do, I’ll kill you back.”
Quincey blinked, “Whoa.”
Duplex didn’t seem bothered, “Daxton Kemberge, that is impos--”
Daxton glowered, “Don’t doubt me.”
Duplex relaxed its jelly-like form and nodded simply. “… As long as you and the host body…”
“Quincey,” Daxton interjected.
“… As long as you and Quincey continue to assist us, you have nothing to fear,” Duplex said, “Have we not helped? Using our power, we are doing what we can to assure you reach Locksmouth. We only hope by then we understand our purpose more clearly.”
Another moment of silence befell the room, where every party within seemed to simply sink into thought. Quincey was the first to speak up after several moments. “Is that it then…?” She asked, staring expectantly at the Inkling. Duplex simply nodded once more, but remained silent and expressionless.
“If that’s it then… can we just go back to our dream?” Quincey asked.
The idea hadn’t seemed to occur to Daxton or even Duplex. Duplex rose from its seat and politely excused itself back towards the mirror. It was a strange way to leave a room, stepping into the mirror while having to twist and turn its fat, gelatinous body around to wriggle inside. The glass surface rippled like water as the creature sunk in, but without a word it disappeared into the glass pane like it had never been there in the first place. The room seemed more normal without Duplex’s presence. It just seemed to be missing that happy glow of when the dream had begun. Standing there with Daxton was now awkward for Quincey, who tugged somewhat at her skirt.
“So that’s what you have to put up with, huh?” Daxton asked, and Quincey nodded. He followed up with, “Does it always feel this weird to talk to it…?”
Quincey nodded once more.
“… Do you think it could actually… you know… kill you?” The grown-up corgi asked.
Quincey let out a brief exhale as if she’d held her breath for the few seconds it took to ask the question. “I don’t want to test it…” She said, “I want this to be our real life one day.”
“Yeah…” Daxton adjusted the glasses perched upon his nose, “Well… we have this dream right now. Do you wanna…?”
Quincey peered at Daxton with a little grin, “Wanna what…?”
“… You know… see how much we’ve grown up?” Daxton shed a little grin of his own.
Quincey blushed and curled an index finger against her lip; but she responded promptly:
“Yes. Heck yes. We can worry about Duplex tomorrow.”
-
--
-
It was time in Harbington’s weather cycle for rain… it was just as well, as every day felt dreary.
Edward had tried to busy himself in the days that Daxton and his friends were gone, but his mind kept going back to his son. The stunt Daxton pulled for the sake of that Inkling had Edward’s husband, Eddie, busier than ever running around and trying to keep the reins on the search efforts, not to mention the whole firearm incident that Daxton dropped into their laps. Edward was as lonely as ever in that big old house of his, watching as the lush grass in his back yard got wet and matted down, practically sloppy with puddles of water filling the gentle rolls and divots of the ground.
Edward put on a good face when the other parents all got together and started tossing blame around, but since then things hit an awkward plateau that he hadn’t expected. It would have been different if it was only one night, but moving into the third day of his son’s absence brought an unsettling quiet into his life. It was a gnawing silence that loudly reminded him that something was missing, and anything could happen.
What bothered him the most was the weapon Daxton had found. Why did he have that? Who could have been chasing after Edward’s son with something so awful?
“Daxton, where are you…?” Edward found himself putting his most pressing thought to words. He quietly uttered pleas to himself, wanting his son and Quincey to be okay… to have them come home.
Before tears could come to his eyes, Edward was broken from thought by the chiming of his doorbell. He pulled himself away from the glass door in his kitchen to march to his front door… though his feet dragged more than he’d like to admit. Whoever this unexpected guest was, Edward was in no mood to entertain them. As he approached the front door, he already had it in his mind to turn away whoever was there. Even so, he took a moment to tug at his hot pink tank top and try to smooth out the wrinkles.
Opening the door, he leaned out to almost get a bauble in the face. His eyes crossed as the glowing, neon-blue orb bobbed just in front of his face. He blinked out the sudden feeling of inertia brought upon by the thing and stepped back to focus instead on the woman at his door. He couldn’t help but smile at the angler fish who stood there in her leather jacket and baggy, loose pants.
“I’d recognize that gaudy thing anywhere,” Edward reached down deep for some sass, though it didn’t have the same jovial tone as before, “Paris Marcello, just what are you doing here? Last I saw you was in college, stalking my husband.”
“Not stalking,” Marcello raised her finger, all matter-of-fact, “Observing. There were a few boys and girls who wanted to know just who he was getting involved with – nothing personal, just P.I!”
Lowering her hand, she cast her golden eyes on Edward’s own blues. “But I’m sorry to say I’m not here to wax sentimental,” She explained.
Edward nodded softly. “You want to talk about Daxton,” He concluded, “You’re investigating the weapon then?”
“Yes, I’m the detec--”
“Well I’ll tell you exactly what I told the officers before,” Edward cut her off; “Daxton called my husband, and showed us the gun when we had him on video. Then he hung up. That was the last thing I’ve heard from my son: that he’s out in the middle of nowhere around dangerous people, Paris.”
Marcello cocked a brow. “You were investigated by other officers?” She asked. Her brow then scrunched into a puzzled expression. Did they not trust her to get things done? She may have been a little green, but…
“Yes, some… Sergeant something-or-other,” Edward flicked his wrist dismissively, “Daxton never called back, I haven’t heard from him since. And other than that, I don’t think he has anything to do with this sort of thing.”
Marcello cast her eyes to the stoop, rubbing her chin in thought. “… What about your husband?” She asked.
“You can’t possibly be implying that Eddie has anything to do with it either!” Edward gasped, “How? Why? His entire focus in the past month has been convincing everyone that guns were terrible tools that should stay banned.”
“Has he been around much?” She asked, ignoring any accusations she detected in Edward’s stance.
“He’s been up to his ears in work since Daxton took off with Quincey!” The beaver grit his teeth, “Now he has to fend off attackers from all sides about this whole weapon thing AND handle the Inkling situation. Walter and Paula have been breathing down his neck for… God, practically seventy-two hours, and Jim…! Mason has been raising a fuss like he wants to start a riot! And while we all sit here bickering about what to do, my boy is out in the wilderness somewhere!”
Marcello swallowed, but kept a stiff upper lip. “The police have been searching daily for signs of Daxton, Edward… I’d help if I could, you have to believe me on that, but this is my assignment,” She said, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket, “If you can’t tell me anything else about the weapon…”
“You know as much as I do!” Edward huffed, “My husband may be able to tell you more than me, but good luck getting a moment with him!”
“I sure can’t!”
Edward finished with that and slammed the door in Marcello’s face. She leaned back as the wooden door slammed, and droplets of water were flung onto her face. She didn’t mind that so much – she liked the moisture, even if her hair was barely keeping any semblance of volume in the rain. She puffed out her cheeks as she breathed a sigh, turning on her heels and stepping off. Her heavy boots sunk into the muck created by the dirt and gravel that made up the Kemberge home’s walkway, errant stones scraping off her boots when she hit the roadway. Pulling a small remote from her jacket’s pocket, she pressed a button that made the door on her jet-black car open upwards.
She stepped into the car, the door closing automatically once she settled into the driver’s seat of the sleek two-seater. A light on her dashboard blinked as a dialed ringing sounded off, and she reached forwards to push a button on the screen built into her dash board. The image of a bespectacled, graying velveteen hare appeared, and Marcello raked her fingers through her hair to toss the wet Mohawk back.
“How is the investigation going, Detective?” The hare asked.
“The Kemberges aren’t going to be any help, Carson,” Marcello reported, “Please tell me you and your egg-heads have something better than ‘it’s a gun.’ I could really use some kind of headway on this.”
“Well,” The hare put on a pair of spectacles and seemed to regard something off-screen, likely reading data, “The weapon itself is constructed not of metal, but a sort of plastic-rubber compound called Curon. It makes for a durable material that can be put through vigorous strain, and thanks to its rubberized components, is able to withstand.”
“Okaaaay…?” Marcello turned her head slightly, “And…?”
“It’s certainly a strong-field weapon. It fires concentrated blasts of… force, for lack of a better term,” Carson explained, “Rather than being fired to kill or even pierce the skin, it creates impacts. To be blunt, it would be like firing a fist at someone travelling approximately ninety miles per hour.”
“Like a mean baseball pitch,” Marcello deducted.
Carson nodded, “Something to that effect.”
“Weird though, isn’t it? If they’re going to make weapons, why not go all out and make ones that can cause some serious damage?” Marcello puzzled, “I mean… How can they be so brazen as to skirt a century of weapons-banning and still be morally objected to going that far?”
“Perhaps we’re not dealing with the terrorists we thought we were,” Carson shrugged, “These weapons have a different purpose.”
Marcello let out a long, weary sigh. “And I have to find out what,” She said flatly, “It’ll be great. Okay, I’m heading out to the search area around where the weapon was found. Thanks for the information; I’ll keep it in mind.”
With a nod from the hare, Marcello switched off the feed and tugged the seatbelt over her chest to buckle up and get moving. Rain water pelted her windshield as the sleek vehicle’s engine hummed to life quietly upon starting, and the car lifted off the roadway as the gravity skiffs took traction, and she took off towards the outer end of the dome. In the silence of it all, she attempted to sort her thoughts. It was a short task, since the investigation wasn’t going anywhere.
Maybe she ought to look into the Amendment Party – those political nuts that lobby constantly for their guns back. Maybe they know something about weaponry of that sort… But then, maybe they’re also partially responsible. That party had been pushing for guns not a day short of a century since the Disarming of 2440. With that much passion towards something that most people felt was an unnecessary hazard, there had to be some sort of over-zealous nut or two mixed into that party bowl.
She also had to look into this Curon. Knowing what the weapon was made out of could help, in that knowing the materials may help her track down just where they were being supplied from. She didn’t remember her metallurgy or basic compounds very well, but how many things could be made from Curon? And that also begged the question… If the gun was discovered a couple hour’s drive away from Harbington, then where were these supposedly gun-toting men operating from? Nearby, she’d wager, and if they were getting supplied it’d have to come from a larger epicenter, a dome that could receive shipments.
That meant her home city could be the site for some illegal gun ring. That seemed like the biggest joke of them all: Harbington, the sticks of the modern era, housing a smuggling operation. Locksmouth would have been a more traditional setting for such a thing, if not the ever-shady collection of store-houses and asteroid mining operations of The Ring.
But she had to admit, she was excited.
What officer in her lifetime could ever say they cracked open an arms ring? Not any she would know, that’s for sure. She was going into a situation that reminded her of adventure games she played during her Criminal Investigations courses in college – stories of murder and mystery, with dangerous situations and life-threatening odds. Not to mention that there was a distinct possibility of alien involvement, considering the fact that it was claimed these gun-carriers were pursuing Quincey Abram. Marcello’s fingers gripped her steering wheel tighter as a rush ran through her body. This was the sort of case someone could only dream of!
All she had to do was get over the first frustrating hurdle of having nothing to go on.
She eyed the empty passenger seat as the edge of the dome came into sight, and she muttered to herself, “The game is afoot, my boy.” That’s right; she didn’t have the faithful sidekick that so many detective stories had. She really should have gotten her hands on one sometime. A cute one, maybe, with big muscles and charming eyes…. Or then again, maybe she ought not. She shook her head and kept herself focused as she pulled up to the checkpoint to flash her badge on the inside of her jacket and pass a simple identification.
First, she’ll worry about leads. Then she’ll worry about getting shot at and avoiding danger. A detective must always eat their vegetables before having their dessert, after all.
