Chapter Text
JANUARY 27TH, 2010.
A rusty sewer pipe juts out from an opening nestled between cement and steel bars. It hangs in stasis, bent in odd ways like a crestfallen knight. Drops of pale beige tap bleed from the edges, coalescing in a gash just beneath the waning metal. The equilibrium of this artificial ecosystem was astounding. Filth loses its way in the plumbing, finding itself on the rusted precipice, cementing an aching, entropic eternity. Either waiting to fall or hoping you’re not smothered by what comes next.
“HEY!”
A growl from somewhere muzzled Adachi’s thoughts, causing his teeth to come crashing down in a forced grit. That familiar taste of iron shot to the roof of his throat instantly. He placed his hand over his mouth, cursing nothing under his breath. When the blood settled, a craned head met the strange half-yell.
“You’re that upstart they sent,” the crash of a clawlike mitt met the detective’s back, clutching his side. There was an unspoken force to the grip, pulling him closer to the man who stood close. Too close. Adachi could smell the rank blight of liquor coasting along his tongue, wrinkling his nose and shifting his upper lip. Quickly, he reached upward– adjusting his glasses. He grasped a plastic tag hastily wrapped on the hinge near the lens, ripping it off and stuffing it in his pocket.
“You gonna look at me?”
“No-”
“‘Scuse me?”
“Oh. Sorry, sorry. I meant–” Adachi had pressed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, straightening his still-being-crushed back. He forced a smile, looking at the man and politely shifting himself away. The half-man half-bear-hugger huffed, crossing his arms.
“Just needed to adjust these, new pair, no biggie.” When the detective’s vision returned, he got a good look at the man in front of him.
Short and stout. Wrinkles galore. The man was dressed in simple attire, his calloused hands resembling stumps rather than fingers. One of them tapped rhythmically to a beat Adachi couldn’t hear. He imagined that if asked, this man wouldn’t tell him the song anyway. Still, he knew that an attempt at diplomacy was the way to go. Stood on the edge of the curb, tall and proud, he inhaled.
Artillery is in position. Mentally prepared for takeoff. Houston, we have a problem (wait, that isn’t-). All systems go and there’s no looking back!…
“Tohru Adachi, MPD. Here to help!” The detective bowed, glasses scooting down his face. He fumbled with them again, pressing the bulbous lens back against his eyes. He tucked a tuft of hair by them as if that would keep it from rebelling. Realizing he only had a second to make a save, he stood himself back up.
“We got a report that you guys were having some issues... and well, I’m the best they had on hand,” (That’s what the guy slacking off on calls said when he vaguely pointed in my direction, I just happened to be gutsy enough not to piss myself…), “believe me, I totally agree with them. I’ll really be able to help you ou-”
“I don’t need your life story. Wait out here.” The man stepped to the side, rolling his eyes.
Geeky Superhero Detective Tohru Adachi slumped over with a depressing lack of oomph. Was that really the impression he was giving off? Was that man the only one seeing that newbie aura radiating off him like an eyesore? They all gassed him up at the station, fresh meat with a hint of wit. Adachi shrugged off the insecurity like a musky coat. There was no doubt in his intellectual capabilities. He’d worked his ass off to prove that.
The insecure police dork wrenched his tiny booklet from within his pocket after a bit of effort, grabbing a pen that barely fit against the temple of his glasses over his earlobe. He shifted it through his fingers once or twice. That calmed him down enough.
The shorter judgmental man didn’t seem intent on talking, eyeing the detective with a skeptical brow. Adachi had the occasional nagging earworm, wanting to say exactly what he saw in people like him. Ungrateful, the way his brow creased made the detective’s neck-hair bristle.
Adachi noted him down in his little booklet with an unflattering sketch. Vengeance achieved. Waste of time avenged.
Another man approached from the left with a striking amount of subtlety. When he spoke, Adachi jolted up with enough animation to look like a cartoon cat, spiking fur and all.
“Sorry about the wait, we didn’t call for nothing. Follow me inside?”
“Yup, on it..” Adachi walked like a neophyte behind his first case– person– thing. He was overthinking this. Nah, it was just the right amount of thinking to be doing in your first case that you really didn’t want to screw up or you’d be fired into the pits of hell, in a cannon, with lasers.
Adachi’s mind had a way of whimsically catastrophizing things.
By the time Adachi got home, it was well past 3 am. Most of his clothes were still on the floor. Something sat uneaten in the fridge. A few opened cans filled with flat fizz remained… just like that rusty pipe. With nothing to move them, there was no change. It was up to the resident, whenever he felt inclined to throw them away.
Eh. Later.
Like a dwindling horn on a slowing music record, Adachi sauntered into his apartment. He yanked the key from the front door, tossing it onto the counter with a clatter that made him wince. He pushed air out his nose, pressing his hands under his glasses and over his eyes, rubbing them idly. Mumbling to himself, he surmised the day's events. He had a few leads that added up with what was on file. Even better, collected evidence already pointed to a suspect, plus witnesses, blah blah blah. A break-in. Amateurish, clearly sudden. Nothing he couldn’t deduce from a look or two. Someone had a grudge.
At the thought of that old fart he saw earlier, Adachi snickered. Serves him right.
All that fear bubbling in his chest hadn’t wiped away the potential for greatness underneath. He had enough details and CCTV footage to work with. Spend a few hours sifting, sitting, shitting— and this would be solved by lunch. All in a day's work for a killer detective. He was a natural and he worked hard. Nose to the grindstone. He was a triple threat.
Pfft. The apex of all threats could wait.
Right now his body longed for that rusty stasis, a tin automaton standing in a pouring rain.
Just a little while longer.
When his body crashed into his futon, the hunger that boiled in his stomach was the last thing on his mind. He shifted over the cheap sheets. One hand felt the bullets of sweat that dribbled down his forehead. Adachi almost rolled over his glasses, letting out a quiet “Shit!” and tossing them onto the floor beside him. His chest heaved a breathy sigh, gaze fixated on the ceiling above.
He could afford a wink for his troubles.
Tomorrow he’ll get back up. Do it all over again until he’s satisfied.
Whenever that is.