Chapter Text
He's standing in front of you, the sword still dripping with blood and the body slumped against the wall. You have no idea who this guy is, but he's crazy. Holy shit he's crazy. He's got this dog mask stapped over his face and a black suit stained with blood, and there's this fucking clown thing just kind of torn and ragged around his neck. You just stare at him, spinning your keys on your fingers. You aren't shocked, you've seen worse and you've heard of worse. This guy's a mass murderer. People have been calling him “the Black.”
“So,” you say, “looks like you've been having some fun.”
“A wise guy, huh,” he replied.
“Yeah, I kinda have that reputation.” You stop spinning your keys. “They call me Problem Sleuth. You've probably heard of me.”
“Couldn't give a damn.”
“What? Oh, come on, I'm the guy who got Mobster Kingpin!”
The Black holds out his hands. “Look at all these fucks. These are all the fucks I give!”
“There's nothing there.”
“You're thick, aren't you.”
You narrow your eyes, cocking your keys at him. You're the best god damn detective in Midnight City. You are not thick.
But he's not even phased. He's just standing there with his arms slowly lowering to his sides. You don't get it. You have a gun and he has a sword.
“Look,” you say, “let's not make this difficult. I've got two guys staring at you down a barrel right now and you're not gonna get away. So just drop the weapon and let's go.”
You hear snickering.
“You mean the fat guy and the skinny fucker? Yeah, they're watching all right, I pinned 'em to the ground with their own guns. That skinny fucker could barely even hold his. Damn, though, the fat guy I had to bleed into submission. He's strong, I'll give him that.”
Now you're shocked. There's no way this guy took out Ace and Inspector. You mean, you could understand Inspector, maybe, but Ace? Holy shit. You can't fool around with this guy. So you open your mouth, but you only get the “Sep” out before there's something hot in your throat cutting you off. It forces it's way out your mouth and trickles down your chin. Metallic. When did it get there? More importantly, when did the Black get this close to you? You're staring down the nose of his dog mask. You try to step back, but a sharp pain in your stomach stops you and you look down. Your white coat is being stained with deep red, and it keeps dripping down on your pants. You look at the source, Black's blade shoved through your body.
“Yeah, sorry, can't have you leeching from the Green Sun,” he hisses. You don't understand, the sun isn't green. You try to say something but all that comes out is more blood. Black laughs.
“Yeah, turns out there are a couple fucks I give about you. But they all only care about your strange connection to the Green Sun. You could match me if you got that out. Too bad you never will. You don't even know what it is, do you? Why would you, you're body's to weak to handle it's power. You can't stand seeing it all the time, so you cut your link subconciously.”
You don't know what he's talking about and quite frankly you don't care. So you smack him with the butt of your gun. The mask flies off, skidding to the ground and you just freeze. His skin is sort of ashen; sharp, dark eyes that could strangle a soul glare at you; and slicked back jet black hair. You manage to make a noise.
“Slick?”
He pulls his sword out of you and kicks you to the ground.
“Look you little fuck,” he hisses. “I'm nothing like that wannabe mobster.”
Are you talking about the same person? Slick is definitely not a wannabe.
“The name's Jack Noir, fuckass, keep that straight! Got it?”
You glare at him, and he picks you up and shoves you against the wall.
“GOT IT?”
You nod and he grins at you, all sharp teeth and.. is that blood? You're willing to bet it's not his.
You get the keys ready to hit him again, but he's ready this time and smacks them away. Far away. He grabs you by the throat and drags you up the wall, squeezing your throat shut. The hole in your stomach throbs painfully as you're starved for oxygen. Who knew oxygen was a natural pain killer? And how'd you ever mistake this guy for Slick, he's a couple inches taller than you.
You stare into his eyes, hoping it looks more threatening than you know it does. He laughs at you, and holds you gaze, choking you all the while. And you see something. There's something in his eyes, something ancient and green and bright and you've seen it before. It's warm and powerful, and for a fleeting moment you're not in pain. And then you vision blurs and black starts fading in from the edges of your sight.
Then there's a loud bang and Jack is off of you, leaping back and hissing. You turn your head to see Diamonds Droog standing there with a gun in his hand, his pokerface in tact as always. Wait, were you just saved by Droog? Oh, who cares, you're on the ground coughing your lungs out and gasping for air simultaneously and feels fantastic to breathe again.
“Slick doesn't appreciate lookalikes,” Droog said in deadpan, never taking the gun off Jack.
Jack growled and darted for his mask, placing it back over his face. There was another shot, but it wasn't from Droog. Droog doesn't miss like that. That's definitely Clubs Deuce's handiwork. He's all trigger-happy and no aim.
“Yeah! Especially when they're taller than him.”
Droog's pokerface twitches a bit. They weren't supposed to mention the height. No one is supposed to mention the height. So Deuce fired more shots, all missing, and Jack hissed at him, lunging towards the little guy only to almost get decked in the face by a huge Hearts Boxcars fist. You had to give Jack credit, he was pretty damn good at auto-parrying. If only you had been that good, and your hand falls to your side. God it hurts and you've lost way to much blood, but you can't just sit there and watch. Or maybe you can.
The Crew takes action, and you feel something cold touch your shoulder. You turn to see a robotic arm, and then it's owner, Spades Slick.
“You really suck, you know that?” Slick snarls, yanking you off your hands and knees.
“Yeah, well, he's got some, like, inhuman power or whatever.”
“And we don't?”
Slicks glaring at you with his one eye, and you can't help but give an apologetic smile. He's right, you guys do have at least some sort of inhuman power. Which you should be using. Jack said you'd stand a chance with Sepulchritude... for whatever reason.
“Hey what the fuck are you doing?” Slick demands as you get to your feet.
“I thought you hated it when I slacked off, Slick,” you respond, hating how weak your voice sounds. You can tell Jack's looking at you. He's moving a little clumsily against the Crew. Was he actually afraid of Sepulchritude? You had to find out. So you screamed it. Before Slick could stop you, or Jack for that matter. Jack stiffens, glaring at you as you stand there and glare back. You feel as though it is light versus dark, right versus wrong, day versus night. He runs at you—no, he's flying at you. Wait, when he get those wings? And when did he start glowing green? Rather, flashing green. Like lightning was coming off of his body.
You auto-parry, though not quite with the ease you planned do to the pain in your side. Then there's blade-on-blade action and you're both swinging madly at each other. You feel like you do stand a chance against this guy.
Until he summons fire.
And you freeze.
Because it's green.
Why is the fire green?
Why is the fucking fire green?
And it's roaring towards you and all you can do is jump back and pin yourself to a wall. It's bright. It's so bright. It's too bright. And you realize it's not even the fire you're looking at anymore. It's a sun, a giant green sun and it's too bright you can't handle it. You try to close your eyes and flinch away but you still see it, burned into your retinas with all that power.
Someone's screaming at you, and then you realize that you're screaming, too. You curl against the closest thing. Sepulchritude had not been like this last time. Sure it hadn't been a walk in the park, but it didn't burn your eyes with that FUCKING SUN. Your screams have dulled to whimpers, but the other person's still yelling at you. You keep your eyes closed tightly and just cling to the thing next to you.
“Sleuth, god damn it, let go of me! What is wrong with you?”
Words are starting to register in your mind, and you realize the screaming's coming from Slick, who you are currently curled against. You can't pull away, though, it hurts too much.
“Make it go away... It's too bright,” you whimper, unable to keep your voice steady. Damn, you sure are off your game. You'd slap yourself if you had the energy or willpower.
Slick starts saying something else, but you collapse against his chest and the green glow fades. You realize there's no fire and a lot of blood everywhere. You also notice that some of it is ink. You also notice that you're in Slick's lap and he's not exactly trying to push you off. Not that you haven't been in Slick's lap before or anything, but it's purely stress relief and nothing else. At least that's what you and Slick keep telling yourselves.
You can't see the sun anymore, you only feel exhaustion from bloodloss and Sepulchritude. You're pretty sure you didn't even go all the way through with the attack. Because although you're cold, you don't feel like you're dying. No wait, you feel like you're dying, you're just not cold cause Slick's screaming at your for being draped against his chest. Droog mentions something about Noir getting away, but your eyes close and you're out in seconds.
You wake up about five million years later with Droog stooped over you and dabbin your forehead with something cold. A wet towel. Okay. Well, this can mean only one thing.
“God damn it,” you croak. “I kicked the bucket.”
“I can't show kindness by trying to bring your fever down?” Droog asked, his pokerface still completely in tact.
“No.”
“That's the logical answer. The last time you woke up you kept calling me your best friend.”
You stare wide-eyed and swat his hand away. You did what? When was this? You and Droog weren't exactly buddies. You know he wants to gouge your throat out with his bare hands. Why is he helping you now? You then become aware of the the other figure standing in the door way, his arms crossed. Oh, Slick was supervising. Droog was the best medic of the Crew, and seeing as neither the Midnight Crew nor Team Sleuth were very welcome at the local hospital... well, whatever. You sigh and close your eyes, letting out a groan.
Droog stands and leaves, making it so you and Slick are alone in the room. You look over at him, and he just stares back for a while before walking over and taking a seat next to the bed. His expression is rather... calm for Slick, more of something you'd expect on Droog.
“So, how'd you like curling up against me like a little girl, Sleuth?” he asked, a smirk curling onto his lips.
You'd punch him if you had the energy. “Don't remember most of it, actually.” That was the truth, but you still wanted to punch him. You'll do it later.
“So what was it? That got you whimpering like that? I've seen you stand up to foes with worse wounds than what you had. What the fuck happened to you?”
“I'm so happy you care.”
“I don't want to catch it, and it had something to do with fucking Noir, didn't it?”
Slick's leaning over you, his face incredibly close to yours. Noir is obviously bothering him. A lot.
You don't answer him for a long time, you stare into his eyes, almost searching for that terrible green brightness. It's not there. Not in Slick. You let out a sigh.
“Do you know anything about the Green Sun?”
He gives you a weird look, but doesn't say anything after that. And you just wait in silence, both of you staring at each other. Looks like you had a big problem the sleuth.