Title: The Harrowing Tale of the Sexy Irish Beast, the Vaguely Homosexual Police Officer, and the Fight to Save the Ozone

Author: Laura Fones

Fandom: Minority Report

Category: Humor, I like to think.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: In a world where murder can be predicted before it happens, and the perpetrators punished, and sexiness distilled into a means of repairing the ozone layer.well, mayhem and Stuart Townsend tend to occur. READ IT.

Author's notes: I noticed a certain abundance of A.I. fanfiction, but a complete and utter lack of Minority Report stories on the FanFiction.Net forum--which is strange since Minority Report was a far superior movie, despite it's non-potential for shipper couplings. And so, with that in mind, and with the boredom of summer dulling my usually nimble and productive brain, I created this bit of chaos.

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"Red ball, brown ball. Red ball, brown ball." Detective John Anderton juggled the spheres with the unerring grace of an epileptic hyena, occassionally cracking them against an inauspiciously placed light fixture. "Red ball, brown ball--shit!" The balls flew across the room and into the carefully polished loafers of a certain scumbag and resident hottie.

Detective Danny Witwer smiled. "Hello Clarice."

Anderton pouted. "Gimme back my balls!"

"No one can do that for you, John," Danny said sagely and retrieved the little roly-poly items at his feet. "Anne Lively? Did she die again?"

Anderton lifted his finger quite wisely and said, "She didn't die, but she's not alive." Strange Enya-esque/tribal chant yelling sounded in the background.

"Why the hell does that keep happening?" Danny asked and placed the balls on the table.

Agatha spasmed in the Temple below and cried, "Can you see?"

"What, sweetie?" Danny yelled and smiled his arrogant, devilishly sexy smile.

Anderton turned his chair backward and sat astride it; "I had sex with a pre-cog once."

"You were tall enough?"

He squeezed his fingers together. "By that much."

"Impressive--gum?"

"Is that why your teeth are so white and shiny?"

"That and bi-weekly appointments to my dentist," he grinned and The Teeth gleamed.

In the fishbowl chamber beneath, Wally went insane. "We've got incoming!" He tore rabidly at his jacket and played with some shiny syringes.

"Is he on any medication?"

Anderton tucked his hand beneath his chin, "We've suggested it, but there are policies."

"Same problem in the NRA."

"We've got a red ball," Fletcher glided into the office to man the computer.

"Time?"

"Ninety-seven minutes, twenty-three seconds."

"I'm gonna stir my coffee and look sexy for a while--see you in a bit." Danny left the room.

Chief Anderton took the crimson balls--blue was the color he most associated with, alas--from the glorified bingo machine and set them in the scrubber, popping in a disk of classical music that he didn't particularly like but was sure would fool "the ladies" into thinking he was deep and profound. "The ladies," it turned out, much preferred an Irish lilt and a streak of hereditary alcoholism

As the images began to unfold themselves, Danny reentered. A shot of the Irish countryside projected on the screen. "I can see my house from here." he chuckled sexily to himself, popping another bit of gum into his mouth.

Anderton did his best to ignore him, but it didn't change the fact he had readily noticed his nemeses perfectly fashioned ass. "All right," said the chief, "We've got one man, one woman--unclear faces at this point--a gun.no, a knife."

"Big difference, pal."

"Shut up, Danny!" said Anderton, "Anyway--single homicide. A cottage, bag pipes, a kilt--okay, it's in Scotland!"

"I thought we could only pick up murders within a 200 mile radius--Scotland isn't in your jurisdiction," as Danny licked his coffee stirring stick, sweat beaded on Anderton's forehead.

Fletcher had sat quietly while they bickered, but now he stood. "It doesn't matter what's within our jurisdiction--a human life is at risk!!!"

Danny raised a dark eyebrow, "Flight time?"

Fletcher checked his monitor quickly, "An hour and a half."

"Fuck that then; lost cause." Anderton threw the pre-cog balls into the opportunely placed trashcan beside him. In it laid two or three dozen other reject pre-visions.

"I have a complaint," Danny said quickly, "this film has like no women-- there's no one I can have sex with properly."

"You hit on my wife!" Anderton growled.

Danny piffled him away, "She wishes."

A catfight broke out for absolutely no explicable reason.

"You horny slime ball!"

"You impotent midget!"

"Loafer-wearer!"

"Bad actor!"

"Obscure actor!"

"Ugly, weird-teethed Yankee scum!"

"That hurts, man."

"Oh, I'm sorry.would you like some tea?"

"Isn't that an English thing?"

"How do you think we sober up?"

A knock resounded in the shiny metal palace--and Danny went straight away to get it.

To the surprise and vague horror of everyone in the room, there stood a ravishing Stuart Townsend. "I have come to have sex with your families," he said.

Anderton smiled gratefully, "Thank god, my wife is gagging for it."

"Someone as sexy as me is in the room," Danny said in anguish, "does not compute--cannot survive--system overload--Stuart too sexy.Noooooooooooooooooooo!"

Danny promptly passed out.

"He's right too." Stuart said, "Thankfully I have learned to convert my overflowing sex appeal into a means of replenishing the ozone layer, so that my sexiness may make the world a better place."

"I thought it was a bit cold in January," Fletcher remarked.

"That it was. Now Danny (Colin Farrell for the cinematically-challenged) must join me in the quest for victory against global warming. His sexiness must be used for good--just as Ewan and I learned."

"Can I do anything to help?" Anderton asked.

"No."

"Oh," Anderton said, "Well, will you bring him back after you're done?"

"Of course."

"Oh, good."

An uncomfortable silence followed, and Anderton rocked back and forth on his heels.

Stuart finally spoke. "Farewell good citizens of a fictional future!" He lifted the unconscious Danny Witwer onto his shoulders and was gone.

Fletcher stood dumbfounded. "Who the heck was he?"

"I don't know," said Anderton valiantly, "But whoever he was, he had a nice ass."

THE END