Monseur Pierre le Gouswague por Weevil von Gurrere on la Riviere by the Portside (Represent, Niggas!) clapped the finely ground, high grade (only the bestest, biatches! Let the Portside REPRESENT!) flour from his hands, satisfied at a day's honest, and prize winning work (PORTSIDE!). His bakery and eatery were one of the best culinary establishments in Nerima, allowing him to become one of the acclaimed "Good Eat'n consortium'. True, the word is used out of connotation, and the 'good eat'n' doesn't exactly establish a certain panache towards the members' expertize, but they all decided they liked the name just the same. As he turned off the main lights, leaving the display lights in the store window on, Monsuer Pierrehisnameistoodamnlongtheauthorshouldshortenit retired to his upstairs loft that resided above his grand establishment. As much as he adored his trade; the delicious scents that kept him company, the smiles in adults and children alike that indulged in his art, the... invigorating vapors he could inhale from freshly opened whipped cream spray containers, he could only contend with it so much of his day. When the lights went out, and the closed sign greeted potential customers, it was Pierre's time to escape.
"Oh hoh, my radiant vision of mystic and romance," Pierre cooed, sitting before the only other resident in his room, "You look lovely in your gossimer white stockings, I bought you those, did I not? I believe it was in Champaign, five month ago, non'?" He affectionately pet the undergaments, savoring their delicate feel, "these are beautiful, truly a gift befitting you..."
He brushed them out of the way, allowing him to type in his password, and waited irritatingly through the slow loading resource hog of an internet browser, "Though, in retrospect, perhaps it was to be more prudent to buy you zee RAM, que?" Sighing at his lack of foresight, the pastry chef logged into his email, delighting at the four links of contact that granted him a sembalance of a social life (Hey, pastry chefs don't get out much, alright? PORTSSSIIIIIIDE!). On a cursory glance, one particular caught his eye, "Oooh? What is zis...?" He opened it, finding a link. Without any sense of foreboding, caution, or concern of his password getting stolen through a trojan virus download, he clicked on the link.
"And you say you found him like this?" Martial Master enquired, staring at the overweight pastry chef with a cliche French mustache, wearing nothing but his boxers and chef's hat.
"Martial Master, for the eighteenth time, he said YES!" Tom Boy shouted, wishing she could get on with the investigation so she wasn't staring at an overweight pastry chef.
Martial Master glared at his sidekick, I mean really glared, like the kind of glare you don't like getting because you can't just flip the other person off, a mother's glare. No, wait, a sinister anti-hero glare! "I wanted to hear it from him directly, with his own voice."
Tom Boy bowed her head in exasperation, "He's mute, he can't speak, but he can nod like he has for the LAST TWENTY TIMES YOU'VE ASKED!"
Martial Master narrowed his eyes, glaring at the police inspector, "I don't like it, you know muteness is the first symptom of miming." Martial master pulled out a tongue depressor from his nifty utulity belt that he had just recently restocked at the clinic Kasumi goes to for her private and confedential screenings, "He better talk... or else..."
"Perhaps I can speak for him, no need to traumatize the poor man."
Martial Master stood upright, placing back the tongue depressor, "That'll suffice, for now." The crimefighter threw the chief inspector a harsh glare, yeah, that glare, the kind you give the author for getting redundant, "But I'll be watching you
"There were no breakins, no scuffles, nothing that attested to violence of some sort. We only found out about it when one of his regular gluttenous customers cried that he hadn't opened, and it was four minutes past."
"I see, that is dire," the pigtailed crusader nodded, while Tom Boy checked her watch, she had cartoons to watch, and this was her alternate Saturday off from school.
The secondary inspector nodded, before handing over a piece of paper, "Our SWAT team found this web page on the screen. Please, be careful, for we lost three good men in obtaining this."
"Waitaminute," Tom Boy interjected, "You lost three men, from a SWAT Team which was already overkill, to an investigation of a non-violent death?"
The secondary inspector shook his head, and sighed, "Yes, it was quite messy. You see, one fell down the stairs, breaking his neck in the process, the second one wandered off somewhere, we haven't seen him since..."
MARTIAL MASTER INSIGNIA WAITING IN LINE FOR HIS XBOX 360, EVEN THOUGH IT'S ALREADY PAID OFF FOR THE PREMIUM VERSION AND HE WILL GET IT WITHOUT WAITING ANYHOW...since he doesn't suspect the author will update this fic until it comes out... WHILE THE SCENE CHANGES
A man in heavy yet mobile police issue kevlar armor lowered his assault rifle and battle mace, before blinking, and ripping off his goggle and mask, "WHERE THE HELL AM I NOW?"
MARTIAL MASTER INSIGNIA IS... ewwww... WHILE THE SCENE CHANGES
"So, you really think it's just a natural weather cycle that's causing the sudden flux or hurricane activity in the United States?" Tom Boy, asked, squatting on her heels and listening to the conversation, raptly.
"Yes, not only that, it's affecting other weather patterns, such as the tornadoes in the midwest US, the melting of the polar icecaps is increasing, and hairy men are shedding a lot more." The secondary inspector elaborated, as he sipped on a cup of mocha
"Hmph, whell I still say it's the effect of global warming, which as it continues to increase, it will develope more and more powerful hurricanes until we are once again visited by the fabled 'Supercanes' of the Pangea era. That reminds me, Akane, have you read 'Burning Sky' Yet?"
"Not yet, is it any good?"
"Well, it'sSHIT! WE'RE ON!"
Martial Master quickly moved back into position, with Tom Boy standing right next to him, the secondary inspector quickly tosses away his cup of mocha, and dusted his jacket off. The primary inspector straightened his lapels, while stuffing his go-go gadget helicopter back into his hat, as Martial Master quickly brought Tom Boy back to the correct side of him.
"Our third man," the secondary inspector began in an eerily low voice, barely managed to get this before he succombed to its horror." He handed the paper over to the crime fighters, before bringing the brim of his hat over his face to shadow his expression for dramatic effect, "We suspect fowl play was involved."
"Fowl play? I thought the guy was into pastry, not poultry."
"Hold that thought," The police inspector interjected, before continuing, "Folks please donate to your favorite charity in support of the victims of Hurricane Katrina, as the author, and many others including readers have felt the effects, or had good friends that fell victim to it's devestation. Also give your prayers to those who may fall in the terrible mercy of Hurricane Rita, and wish their welfare."
All bowed their heads in silent reverie.
"Well, that was a buzzkill," Tom Boy quipped somberly, "Did that really need to be inserted?"
"Yes, well, be on with you, you know you're not supposed to be at a crime scene..." With that the secondary inspector turned away, barking insepid orders at his underlings to savor the rush of power
Martial Master nodded at his dismissal, "Let us away Tom Boy, there is crimesolving to be done!" With that, Martial Master lept away, rather gay-like, in a very flaming way.
Tom Boy blinked, before turning to the primary inspector, who pulled out a cigerette, lit it, and began leaning against a low wall next to him. Only there was no cigerette, no lighter, and not even a damn wall. Tom Boy surrupticiously scuttled away, deciding it was none of her damn business, no matter how creepy that was.
MARTIAL MASTER INSIGNIA POURS OUT A BEER FOR HIS HOMIES ON DA PORTSIDE WHILE THE SCENE CHANGES (isn't the portside a naval ship term)
Martial Master sat at the helm of the Martial Master computer, tapping his index fingers together in concertation. He scrunched up his chin, before typing in the command once more... and narrowed his eyes "HEY, AKANE! IT'S NOT WORKING!"
"I swear, if you're trying to install that damn Half-Life 2 patch again, I'm..." Akane mumbled, before walking into the Martial Master Dojo. She looked at the screen, and sighed, "I told you, Ran-Er, Martial Master, you type in 'TRACERT', not 'PING'!"
"I always get those confused," The pigtailed crimefighter mumbled, as his sidekick input the command and the web address. They both watched as it traced all the routes connecting their point to the website's origins. When it finally stopped, Martial Master nodded, "I see, this tells me... "
"Like I said, absolutely nothing, exept that this route went through Dallas, Novascotia, and... Pluto, what the hell?"
Martial Master sighed, "Ah well, a dead end, at least I can check my email!"
"Whatever, I'm going back to my cartoons," Akane commented, before starting out the dojo.
"Hey! Sweet! A weblink!"
Akane paused, before her eyes went wide. Turning around, she saw the web address hyperlinked, big as day across the screen...
'http/ ualuealuealeuale. ytmnd. com/'
"MARTIAL MASTER, NO!" Akane leapt, just as the crimefighter moved his mouse cursor over the link, and his finger descended on the right mouse button...
WILL AKANE REACH MARTIAL MASTER IN TIME? OR WILL WHAT'S BEHIND THE DIRE URL BE REVEALED? TUNE IN SAME MARTIAL MASTER TIME, SAME MARTIAL MASTER CHANNEL. AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON'T CHECK THAT LINK! IT'S TOO EVIL! TOO HEINOUS! UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU REMOVE THE SPACES AND POST THE LINK INTO A WEB BROWSER!