Author here. THIS IS AN EXPERIMENT. Writing a serious Inspector Gadget-I owe a great deal of rekindling my fanficcing this cartoon to the fake trailer on youtube. Look it up, it looks totally amazing and I wish it were so. That's a remake I'd be willing to watch. Anywho this story is a noir/urban fantasy sort of thing. I want you to let me know what you think of the elements I use from the cartoon-I will only go off cartoon(the firt film was alright don't get me started on the second). I am majorly adding crap to this, and yes I am doing something unthinkable. You'll see soon.

Any suggestions or feedback is always appreciated and treated with respect.

He stood alone with no sign of moving. The dark alley swallowed him up so that the sickly glow of a waning light bulb just touched the brim of his hat. The shadows congealed under this blocking his face and body from view. He could have been mistaken for a shadow, except for the fact that a tiny pinprick of green light just barely escaped from the right side of his face.

This man was still as a statue, not even shifting his weight. Though it was impossible to make out his silhouette he stood with his feet planted firmly on the cracked cement. Crumbling brick walls flanked him, the one on his right holding the single point of light on this end of the street. A cinderblock wall blocked the alley behind him and a pair of metal trashcans stood silently against it. Graffiti shone in the baleful light as sinister looking letters threatening whoever did not fear the street gang that put them there.

A pungent mixture of decay, filth, and cigarette smoke wafted on the midnight breeze. There were traces of other smells too. Scents that didn't belong in the night air like that of passionate love making or alcohol laced bile.

A shadow passed by him and into the measly light. It was a grey rat mangy and covered in fleas it scratched at as it stared at the almost imperceptible point of green. Before the rat knew that it was staring at another living object a quiet swish cut through the darkness and a millisecond later the rat's head rolled into the shadows dropping a bloody trail as it went.

The man remained where he stood not even staring at the decapitated rodent. A nearby fly probably busy around the trash approached the newly dead creature eagerly. Perhaps intent on laying several dozen eggs in the soon to rot flesh.

A truck passed by the alley causing the pooled water to rise up in a wave that splashed just centimeters from the man's feet.

The neon sign of a bar across the street flickered and buzzed. Dolly's in pink neon flashed to an outline of a pin up girl and back to the name again. Next to it was a sleazy little convenience store. Most likely the store made it's profits off of the nude bar's patrons who managed to get one of the dancer's attention.

Music wafted from the building despite all the windows and doors being closed. The music was as catty as the girls who worked inside. Every now and again a man would slink up to the place his coat hiding his face as he was allowed in by the bouncer.

The bouncer was a demon of a woman with buzz cut black hair and a sharp pinched nose wearing black cargo pants and a tank top. There was obvious traces of Austrian heritage and it came out in her height and build. At six and a half feet tall she towered over most patrons and her broad shoulders easily blocked the doorway. She was fit and her muscles taught, though she could have easily slipped into a leather cat suit and entertained the men.

There was no one else outside. Just these two complete strangers. She glanced over at the alley as if she felt his eyes on her but saw nothing other than the usual alley shadows. He stared back at her evenly unafraid of her imposing figure.

The door opened suddenly and a man in a wide brimmed black hat slipped onto the street. He walked purposefully uninhibited by a drop of alcohol. His steps echoed into the night as he made his way down the street. He kept a scarlet scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth tightly. He wore a black double breasted suit with crimson pinstripes. Silver buttons reflected the meager light and his gloved hands swung at his sides. He looked nothing like the usual customers, no dirt or poverty about him.

The man in the alley stepped into the light so smoothly the bouncer stared in disbelief. But she made no other reaction, her job was to guard the door. He walked after the black clad man with brisk quiet steps. He no longer merged with the shadows his tan trench coat and brown fedora now visible. He wore black slacks and a sapphire tie. Black dress shoes gently touched the damp asphalt without much noise. His face was still covered in shadow though, and the green point of light now gone.

In moments he caught up to the man from the bar. His pocketed hands suddenly flashing out there was a hissing sound and the man in black found himself falling to the street entangled in some kind of steel cord. Instead of a gasp there was a chuckle, as the man broke free of the metal bonds and spun to face his assailant.

The two men looked each other over. "You still trying to stop me?" The one in black asked. His voice was a smooth rich tenor with just a touch of derision. He spoke through the scarf though it didn't seem to muffle his words.

"You know I have to," the other replied his voice softer with no melodic twinge as he spoke in complete seriousness.

"My my, when will you ever learn dear brother." The voice changed to amused condescension.

"I'm not your brother." The quieter man replied. He had no time for these immature games.

"Yes I know, you just can't stand such a despicable thought. But you know Trent, times running out. I'm not a patient man." The suave voice grew tense.

"But I am." Trent replied. "And even if you run tonight, you'll still have to watch your back. I've learned a few things since the last time we met."

"You sound so heroic. How did they manage to fit all that altruism inside of you? Replace your heart with it?" Sarcasm dripped from his every word.

Trent's face was hidden in the shadow of his hat but he spoke with a tight voice. "Maybe." Trent's hand flashed from his side and swung his fingers balled into a tight fist. The other man made no move to dodge or block the blow. He took it square on the jaw and though his head snapped back he remained upright.

"You know that doesn't work on me," and this time the man's words were sincere, no mocking, no games. For a brief second he seemed to consider leaving Trent alone.

"Yeah Cranston, I do." Trent replied hoarsely. This time Cranston's hands moved like a blur and Trent let him get close enough to grab his throat. Cranston gave a mighty squeeze cutting off oxygen. "I can still breath ya know." Trent whispered.

Cranston sighed. "I thought I'd try for old times sake." He released the man's throat with a shrug and turned away. In the last second he spun to face Trent a massive steel and iron claw in place of his right hand. It closed with a sickening clank. Five mechanical fingers each fitted with a bladelike claw. "And I just had this suit fixed. You owe me Trent."

"The only thing I owe you is sending you to hell where you belong." Trent spat in reply. He quick stepped back pulling a gun from his coat. It was long and black with a glowing blue chamber behind the muzzle. "Go ahead Tex, make my day." Trent growled.

"My pleasure." Tex Cranston charged forward his mechanical claw swiping towards his enemy's face. Trent blocked the blow with his left arm and fired his gun for Cranston. A blast of sizzling blue energy was discharged from the muzzle and hit Tex in the chest. The man staggered back for a moment. Trent aimed his gun for the head while Tex fought the sudden shock. This second shot was dodged though just in time and the projectile exploded in a shower of sparks against a concrete wall illuminating the two combatants briefly.

Cranston grinned. "You never were fast enough to stop me Trent."

"I'm not done yet." Trent assured dropping the gun to the ground and jumping into the air. He launched from the blacktop five, ten, twelve feet before arcing back towards his nemesis. From under his hand a metal tube protruded from his wrist, he whispered something and an inky black substance rained down on Cranston.

The other man spluttered as he wiped the thick oily liquid from his face in annoyance. He tore his now stained scarf from his face but the black goo still concealed much of his features. "You'll pay for that one Gadget." Cranston's voice grew furious.

"I think not." Trent replied ignoring the nickname. He had landed beside Tex one hand keeping his hat firmly on his head and now kicked Tex in the gut while he was trying to clear his vision. The man fell in a shadowy black heap against the curb.

Trent walked over ready to cuff his defeated foe, but something struck him in the face lightening fast and sent him reeling. He stumbled backwards pain flaring in his cheek. Cranston laughed and brandished his claw the fingers dripping with crimson blood. Trent hissed and put a hand on his ravaged cheek to stop the bleeding. "Fool, you think I would let you win that easily?" Tex asked.

Trent glared between his fingers. "It's never that easy."

"That's right." His hand shot forward again and Trent nimbly dodged the knife blade tips.

Several more swipes forced him against a wall the metal hand raised for the final blow. Trent mumbled something under his breath and he suddenly sprang up into the air somersaulting and twisting to land behind Cranston a smirk on his bloodied lips. "I'm not as clumsy as I once was," Trent remarked giving his adversary a round house kick to the jaw.

Tex tripped backwards his left hand flying to his face.

As if some twist of fate wanted to prove Trent wrong the greasy liquid on Cranston came off onto his shoe and when he brought his foot down it slid out from under him and he fell on his ass with a thud.

Both men glared at the other taking a moment to gauge their next moves. Trent pushed himself up in a fluid motion and ran towards Cranston this time a pair of throwing stars flew from his hands. Both were targeted for Tex's head, but the man let the blades bury themselves in the frame of his right arm.

"Is that all you've got?" Cranston asked straightening up. Trent smiled in answer and yet again he whispered something under his breath. The throwing stars exploded. Cranston yelled in pain as part of his mechanical arm was dislocated. Bits of twisted metal fell or hung from the elbow and wrist joints. Exposed wires sparked and hissed. His clawed fingers went limp.

Trent gave a genuine smile from under the brim of his fedora. "You don't know the half of it." He answered. "Now put your hands up." Trent ordered.

Cranston chuckled. "Still playing Detective are we?" Trent said nothing but picked up his gun and pointed it at the man's head.

Tex did as he was told and as his enemy approached slowly he suddenly thrust his right arm forward. There was a sound like an engine spluttering to silence accompanied with a violent shower of sparks as the live wires made contact with Trent's chest. The man went rigid a half yell escaping his lips before he went limp and fell to the ground. His eyes stared in shock at Cranston who smirked and pulled his shredded arm away.

"Guess we know who wins this round. Until next time Gadget." He tipped his gunk soaked hat with his left hand and laughed as he walked away.

Trent tried to force himself to move, but his body refused to respond. He managed to stay conscious amidst the discomfort and stress and begged his mouth to work. He finally managed to murmur something under his shallow breath. "Hello?" A feminine voice questioned from the air.

"Vera, I'm going to need some help." His voice was weak and raspy.

"Right away. I'm sending a dispatch to your location now." The woman replied. Her soft voice was tinged with worry but she said nothing else.

Trent finally let the pain and shock have their way with him. His eyes drooped and his thoughts melted into shadows that drowned his entire subconscious as well.

I'm also working on fanficcing Nekropolis by Tim Waggoner. So watch for that stuff!