Archive of Our Own ^beta

On the road was a black town car with the darkest tinted windows, heading for the classiest museum in the city. Sitting in the backseat of the car was a well-dressed man. They watched outside the window as the splashed colors of sunset slowly turned dark.

Dashiell fiddled with the buttons on their coat, watching the view of the brightly lit museum come nearer. The entrance was bustling with reporters and photographers, meddling with fancily dressed people. The majority of attendees were the rich and famous, waiting to throw their money at high-priced art all for a good cause. The town car pulled over. Dash stepped out and fixed his coat, thanking the driver.

They swiftly walked past the paparazzi, easily blending with the crowd. Dash was able to get inside after showing their identification to security, making their entrance to the main hall where the ball was.

Many were scattered across marbled floors, dancing and drinking the night away. Some were in circles conversing and laughing loudly, and few were admiring art and sharing interpretations. ”I’m inside the hall.” Dash pressed into their earpiece, alerting the intel outside. The mission had begun.

The Museum’s air was filled with music, ‘The Four Seasons, Concerto No. 2 by Vivaldi’ as he’d identify it; from where he was, it was nothing more than a muffled symphony. Lucien watched the ocean of people flood the entrance from the terrace. Important, lustrous individuals stepping onto the red carpet one by one as the flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras fight over the best take.

The dark-haired man leaned over the marble railings, carefully analyzing the face of every individual that stepped foot into the venue. There was no mistake, all attendees were in the dataset provided by Atlas. Heirs, CEOs, high authoritative figures from large scale enterprises, magnates, of course; certainly more, but nothing less.

Their pockets were so obviously filled with wealth, a mere event like this wouldn’t even make a dent into their bank accounts and they were ever so eager to flaunt it. All the revenue obtained here would come towards a good cause, yet something about this left a bitter taste. ‘I’ll just have to make extra sure it goes where it’s supposed to.’

Lucien, occupied by confirming the status of guests faltered at the appearance of one certain individual. Brown hair, perhaps lilac colored eyes, and a certain way they carried themself that he wouldn’t dare miss even from a mile away. He watched them blend in with the crowd, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Did you really think I wouldn't see you, Poirott?” he scoffed, talking to himself.

Now, what on Earth was a detective doing in a place like this? The espionage carried himself out of the terrace, deciding to take a good look of his target instead.

I'll have to make sure this doesn't interfere with my mission. No mistakes.

Dashiell walked around the ballroom, scanning every face they came across. They recalled the briefing for the mission. An anonymous caller informed the agency about a possible murder taking place during the auction later this evening, so naturally Emypre had to attend to prevent that from happening.

They looked around for any suspicious individuals or activities happening. But instead of spotting potential suspects, Dashiell spotted an unfortunately familiar dark-haired man making his way down the museum’s terrace. They tried to focus their sight on the spy, and though half his vision was blurry, it was no doubt that it was him.

“What is he doing here?” Their brows furrowed while standing between heavily perfumed men and women making their way through the sides of the detective, the heavy smell infuriating Dash even more.

”DW, what’s the situation inside?” A thick Irish accent buzzed in Dashiell’s ear. ”Maeve!” Dash pressed into their earpiece and quietly yelled while making their way to get out of the crowd, ”What is that Atlas spy doing here? I thought this case was guaranteed only for Empyre?”

”Atlas agent? Oh! Don’t—don’t worry about them, aye? Just focus on your mission. Copy? Okay! Don’t drink on the job!” Maeve’s voice quickly cut off before Dash could even say something. ”What—Maeve? Maeve!”

The night had just begun, and Dash could feel a stress headache coming. Frustrated, Dashiell called over a waiter with slim champagne bottles filled with bubbling gold. They swiped one, their first “sip” already making the glass empty.

The spy quickly made his way towards the center of the ballroom, a pretentious smile plastered across his face to match the expressions of those around him. He fixed the coat of his dark blue suit and straightened his tie, looking for Kenji and the detective amidst the crowd. Lucien’s path was obstructed by a rich diamond-strutted man wishing to shake his hand, ‘You want to be business partners? oh please.’ he thought, his smile never wavering off of his face despite the impatience he felt. ‘You are in a crowd, Lucien. Keep your composure.’ No way. When did his conscience ever learn to lecture him?

Eventually, he broke free of the unwanted interaction, subtly excusing himself as increasing individuals took the businessman’s attention. He doesn’t have time for this, any passing second was crucial; there was no room for distractions, unless if it’s a detective you’re dealing with.

Lucien checked his watch, stating 12 minutes past six. His target wouldn’t come until approximately 20. If there was anything he’d pride himself in doing, it was the accuracy of his information. Kenji would come soon according to his calculations, but an agent from Empyrean? Not once had that landed in the guests list, his contacts, security systems, anything. This must’ve been some stupid joke. For one, his mind was set on the fact that this mission was Atlas’ domain; and their presence could possibly end up souring this mission.

‘If they get a hold of the hard drive, Atlas wouldn’t proceed with the mission. I mustn’t let that happen.’ He watched from a distance that gradually decreased as he made his way towards the detective.

With a hostile smile, he approached the individual in the suit; his self-designated ‘archenemy’. The detective Poirott of the Empyrean Investigative Agency.

“What brings you here, detective?” He asks, leaning towards the individual to whisper their title, following the rest of his message. “Eager to take my case yet again?”

Dash downed the rest of the champagne in the glass and wiped their mouth with the back of their hand, setting the glass onto the empty tray of a passing waiter. Dashiell felt their eye twitch hearing the voice of that guy. They slowly turned around to meet the agent’s face (as much as they didn’t want to).

It took a bit to identify Lucien’s face. Their right eye’s vision wasn’t getting any better—probably getting worse each day. But there he was, in all his pretentious glory.

”Take your case? It’s you who I should be asking that. I’m surprised Empyre is still in business after you sharks keep grabbing all our work.” Dash scoffed, staring the dark-haired agent down.

”It’s not your business, spy.” Dash bitterly spat, “Now go away, a real investigator is working here.”

Lucien stared him down, the eyeing the bottle of champagne. “You? In this state?” he scoffed. “You wish.”

A long time had passed since he last saw the detective in person, the agencies feeling the effect of their rivals passively… in terms of the number of cases. He could tell how much the detective had changed over the times. “Sharks?” he scoffed. “It’s not Atlas’ fault you’re way behind the times. Who do you think you are, Sherlock?”

The spy crossed his arms, his sight drawing over to the people mingling amongst themselves. Thankfully, they were too busy with the ball to witness the two agent’s dispute. “Listen, I don’t care what you’re here to investigate, but it better not get in the way of my mission.”

“So tell me. What exactly are you here to achieve, Poirott? Perhaps we can even leave this place in one piece and you can go back to solving your little cases.”

”I may not be Sherlock, but at least people know how we work. I hope it doesn’t hurt your feelings when your efforts don’t get recognized, with your little ‘work in the shadows’ gimmick you have at Atlas.” Dashiell placed a hand, roughened throughout their years of working and vitiligo markings scattered, onto their waist. “At least people trust us. How about you?” A glint in their eye shone, their gaze piercing through the tense atmosphere.

“I also don’t give a damn about whatever “mission” you have,” Dashiell shot air quotes, “but unless you’re involved in catching a murder, you can start leaving me alone.”

Dashiell didn’t want to give up all the details about their mission. In fact, they didn’t even want to talk to Lucien in the first place. Dash’s eye twitched at the length of the conversation (and his face). Lucien was distracting them from observing the whole room. For all they knew, the murder could’ve happened already.

“If you’re done yapping, I’d like to go back to work.”

“We call that ‘gimmick’ working in the long run, detective.” His eyes thinned, “Compared to you and those in your little detective agency, we aren’t fueled by ‘praise’ or public attention. If anything, you should start taking notes. We actually care about people here,” he remarked, a flash of frustration as he mentioned the word ‘trust’. What else do people want? We take care of their affairs for them, yet they have so little faith. Lucien could almost hear Asterion’s speech over their meeting; he took his words to heart more than he intended after all.

“Detectives, holding your head up so high just because the citizens flash even a wave of attention towards you,” Lucien groaned. His attention then focused on a different aspect of the conversation, something the detective mentioned. A murder? Nothing of the sort was reported to Atlas, this was only meant to be one to gather information. Oh, but of course. It’s not only us that’s after the hard drive.

His watch beeped. 6:19 PM.

Lucien sighed. “Haah. As much as I do wish to continue this conversation, detective,” Not. He wanted more than anything to get out of there. “I’ll leave you on your own. Revel in that satisfaction for now, won’t you? I truly hope we don’t see each other at all tonight, as much as you do look punchable in that suit, now wouldn’t be the time and place.”

I have to look for the target.

“Αντιο σας.” he waved with a sly smile, clearly fading as he walked away.

“Je t'emmerde.” Dash cursed the agent out, losing the chance to retaliate Lucien’s jab at their job. It was no matter, because they didn’t really care. All that Dashiell cared about was getting back to looking for the potential culprit. But amongst the sea of people flaunting their wealth and privilege, no one seemed suspicious. Even the waiters seemed normal. And that made Dash even more skeptical.

Dash tried to recall the briefing once more, hoping to find any clues on how to make identifying the possible murderer more easier. Nothing came to mind. What about the victim? “There was something Maeve said… What was it? It was an in.. something.”

They looked deep in thought, trying to remember what word was mentioned by their boss. In.. Inter.. Inform…

”Informant?” Dash had looked around a dozen times, but no one seemed like they could be hiding something. “Tsk. I need to look harder.” Dashiell began to venture in the crowd, being pushed against suits and evening gowns while receiving dirty glares.

Lucien walked along the crowd, his eyes drawing over to the entrance. People came and flocked over to watch the last few attendees, the paparazzis not having even a moment’s break to take the perfect image. One of the few strutting over the red carpet then was Kenji Villanueva, the holder of one of the only catalysts that’ll either change the world for better or for worse; and Atlas needed to take a hold of that very item. That was his mission.

Now, how hard do you think it'd be to secure a measly hard drive? Surely Kenji must know the worth of what he’s holding, no? There’s a high, almost complete possibility that he’ll have bodyguards scattered all over the place. I’ll have to be very careful. There’s only so few chances of me to go by.

“Kenji Villanueva.” he whispered under his breath, looking at him from across the hall. Lucien took a glass of champagne from the glass towers, taking a swift drink before being on his way. A part of his thoughts became flooded with Dashiell’s words. ‘Murder’? Could they mean Kenji? It’s not too far of a reach, though that’d mean he’d have to get to him first before anyone ever could.

The espionage watched from afar, as his job required him to do. He subtly navigated himself slightly closer to the man, though the crowd seemed far too lively to traverse easily.

The music had stopped for a moment before switching to a different tune, ...waltz? Are you serious? His eye twitched as the guests eventually came to the middle of the museum, obstructing his line of sight. If it wasn't terrible enough, they began to dance.

”Crap, where the hell are they?” Dashiell spent the majority of their time excusing themselves and being mindlessly shoved aside to make way for ‘someone important’. Usually, Dashiell wouldn’t mind not being able to spot any sort of clues right away. Patience was something they learned in their years of working on the field. But being caught between loud, snooty, rich people got on their nerves quick.

Dash’s luck might’ve turned around when their eye caught a dark-haired man with parts dyed teal enter the room. His face looked familiar.. Kenji, was it? They saw his profile in a file not too long ago.

It’s a high chance that Kenji could be the murderer’s target. The dark case held in his hand couldn’t have made it any obvious that there was something important inside.

”I found the potential victim: Kenji Villanueva. Target locking, I’ll observe his surroundings.” Their quiet voice informed intel, making a safe distance between Kenji and themselves.

Dashiell’s surroundings cleared as people flocked towards the middle of the room. A piece of classical music played, it sounded familiar but Dash couldn’t name it. To their surprise, they began dancing what seemed to be the waltz. Following their surprise, Dash gets dragged in the rush of people wanting to dance, getting put in the ring of waltzing partners and couples.

“Wait—sorry, no—“

A lady takes their hand and begins leading the dance, swaying along to the music.

”FUCK.”

Laughter rang through the crowd surrounding Kenji, as he joined in with the many businessmen and women chattering and joking about the briefcase tightly held in his hand.

“Oh trust me, my friend. If this little thing were to get in the wrong hands, we’d all be doomed. And my paycheck would never come!” Kenji’s laughter covered up his fear of screwing up this assignment. In all honesty, he didn’t really know what was inside. All Kenji knew from his boss was that it’s vital that passing the case should go smoothly with no problems whatsoever.

He should’ve expected that holding the case would come with its dangers. Kenji swore he felt two pairs of eyes watching his every step.

‘God, I hope nothing bad happens..’

Lucien followed the target diligently, carefully avoiding any sort of invites to dance. Sigh, it’s so hard to be such a beautiful face. ‘Oh, how shall I avoid getting invited to dance in a situation such as this?’ he hummed, going around the center circle—narrowly moving past the dancers. Gosh, Lucien. It’s like you’re trying to get invited.

He turned to look at his surroundings, spotting the frustratingly familiar individual yet again… now dancing? Are you kidding me? “Detectives… really.” he shook his head. Who would’ve thought? Perhaps I can ask Asterion for a copy of the camera tapes so I’ll have something to bicker to them about.

Now with the task at hand. Lucien looked towards Kenji, his hands holding onto the briefcase containing the hard drive. ‘It’s a large ass case, there’s absolutely no way to fuck this up. I just need something to replace it with and not get caught.’

The spy strolled over to the ocean of businessmen that weren’t able to get a date, possibly because they were far too snobby for anyone to ever ask. Rich, narcissistic individuals that know absolutely nothing about how people live and far too focused on themselves and their wealth, nothing else. Which is precisely why there’s no place better to get the counterfeit.

Money. Wealth. Throwing your money towards anything and everything. Nepotism? Just don’t mention taxes. Perfect conversation formula.

Lucien conversed with the attendees, saying nothing but what they wish to hear just to get into their good graces. Fuck, was it infuriating. And then as if Asterion heard the threads of his patience itching to tear, someone bumps onto his shoulder and hands him a fake briefcase. Same exact copy as the one Kenji held. It would be strange if people noticed it fall into his hands out of nowhere. His situation, though, was heavily benefitted by the crowd far too occupied with the dancing, no individual even bat an eye. An individual in Atlas had also been prepared to modify the tapes. No loose ends.

He strolls back to his station, watching Kenji with a careful glare. Poor guy, he looks almost unaware of what he’s holding. If only he could see how many people are waiting to kill for that drive he has.

‘Ah. So that’s where the murder comes in.’ Lucien’s eyes drift towards the detective, then to Kenji. ‘There’s nothing I hate more than babysitting, so I’ll get the briefcase and get on with my day. If he dies… that’s another story. Dear God, I almost hope he doesn’t die.’

Dashiell had to physically pry themself off of desperate women attempting to soothe their woes of being alone in a ball, huffing with exhaustion. This night couldn’t get more frustrating. All their cases went without a hitch, not until they met the Atlas agent—everything went to shit immediately. Their luck and patience was running thin, with every minute wasted by meaningless interruptions. Purple eyes darted to a laughing Kenji with a glass of champagne in one hand and the other dangling below his body holding the weight of the case.

Their vision got a glimpse of the devilish spy, who suddenly had a case in his hand. The same kind of briefcase Kenji had..

’Shit, is his objective to kill Kenji? But then he wouldn’t have a duplicate of the case.. Perhaps they’ll switch? What’s even in the case?’

There wasn’t enough time for wondering. Dash quickly made their way near the radius of where Kenji and Lucien were. ’If the switch-off was about to happen, then so will the murder.’ Dashiell shrugged off every kind of offer or conversation starter that came to them. All their focus was getting a closer look at who was surrounding the cases. Their hand crept down to the hidden gun stashed in the inner pocket of his suit, in case the victim decides to strike.

Lucien followed Kenji, the suitcase within his grasps. He watched him closely, waiting for any moment he’d let his guard down or let go of the suitcase for even a second. As he was here for an exchange, there must be someone else that came to look for him. He needed to find them soon, or else they’ll find Keiji.

The dark-haired man chatted with the guests freely, unbeknownst of what might happen to him. Could his partner perhaps be one of them? Or is he just that carefree?

The spy approached even closer, preparing to make the ‘exchange’. If he won’t put it down, he’ll simply distract him until the case is not his first priority as I take it. For one… bumping into him, cause him to drop it. We have the same case, after all. If his boss knew any better, I assume he wouldn’t have taken a look to see what was inside. A simple switch.

Though, as he was about to approach Keiji, a rather unfamiliar lady had a different thought in mind.

A pink-haired individual stopped him in his tracks. Veliona Alastair, the heiress of the Alastair military and wife of the Anzerweit’s only lady. What could she ever want with him?

“Diamandis.” she said, her tone rather haunting. His heart had skipped a beat, eyes looking up at the woman in front of him. What was this that he felt, fear? Ridiculous. And here he thought Atlas had erased every bit of connection they had with that name from the face of the Earth.

“Come with me.” she muttered, saying no other word before leaving him behind. Strangely enough, he felt no choice but to oblige.

The hand grazing the handle of the gun faltered once Dashiell spotted Lucien following behind a pink haired lady. ’What…?’ Dash became skeptical of Lucien again. Where was he going with her?

Suspect one.

Dash made their way closer to Kenji, who thankfully still had the briefcase in his hand. Surrounding him were slightly influential entrepreneurs and affluent nepo babies, using every opportunity to one-up one another. New sports car this, new mansion that.

No, none of them could be the perpetrator. They wouldn’t pull off something so risky that could lose them their fortune or reputation. Who else?

Dash’s eyes landed on a long, strawberry blonde haired man standing quite close to Kenji. He looked quite intimidating. Piercing squinted purple eyes darted on every person who dared graze their hand on Kenji’s shoulder or breathed in his direction. The huge scar across his face and many little ones on arms that were crossed didn’t help lessen the intimidating aura he had.

That said man began walking to Kenji’s direction, making Dash alert. Their hand went back to the gun hidden, preparing to draw their weapon.

”Sir, are you alright?” Elysium quietly whispered behind Kenji. Kenji excused himself from the slightly awkward conversation he was in. “Yes, Ely. You’ve checked in, like, 5 times in the span of 10 minutes. Chill a bit! It’s a party!”

Kenji tried to relax his bodyguard (which was a probably impossible feat, Elysium is too serious at his job.) Elysium simply nodded and returned back to where he was first stationed.

His hand retracted once more. Huh, maybe not the man? He couldn’t hear what they talked about though. And Dashiell couldn’t shake off the weird feeling about the stoic man.

Suspect two.

A man with long, red hair tied up in a ponytail waved away a waiter’s offer for a glass of wine. For a tycoon within the wine industry, he wasn’t quite fond of drinking. The man merely enjoyed the expression on people’s faces when they enjoy something he pours, but not so much when he’s the one to drink. Was he a lightweight? Perhaps… he hadn’t had a sip of wine after the Fire-Water incident, after all.

‘Diluc Ragnvindr.’ His name alone could conjure up a storm, but he’d never been one to flaunt it. He’d rather be quiet, cunning, calculating. Now, here he was, attending one of the largest events of the decade.

As he walked through the Museum halls, he decided to approach a rather lively crowd. Diluc had never been one to miss out on information, of course. The rumors of an important item being present in the event caught his attention, yet the most crucial fact that he knew was that it wasn’t going to be on auction. It was with the man standing right among that crowd, and he just had to see it first hand.

“Greetings,” he smiled, catching the attention of those that surround him. Pretentious, sly yet naive attendees, joining such an event for nothing more than clout. It was a group he’d be ashamed to say he was familiar with. “What a lively horde, may I join in?”

Kenji turned to his side and nearly spat out the bubbly champagne onto the balding man who was red in the face from all the alcohol. He made sure not to choke as he swallowed down the sparkling wine. He couldn’t believe who was joining the group—THE Diluc Ragnvindr. Famous for his world-renowned wine. Kenji wasn’t that fond of drinking, but he would gladly take a bottle of Dawn Winery if given the chance.

His nervousness was worsened with the addition of the wine tycoon. All these unimportant, low-ranking, Elon Musk wannabes could never compare to Diluc. Even Kenji himself couldn’t.

“W-why of course! Kenji Villanueva. It’s an honor to meet you, sir Ragnvindr!” Kenji handed his glass to Elysium nearby and held out a slender hand to Diluc.

Diluc smiled at the young man’s politeness. Compared to the other attendees at the event, he displayed an aura much different, much more… ‘refreshing’ to say the least. Though, this was the man holding the item, so we cannot be too sure if he wasn’t just sent out here by his superiors as bait. If that’s the case… what a pitiful situation.

He extended his hand to accept that of, who he now finds out, is Kenji Villanueva. “Kenji?” he thinks for a quick second if that name had ever come up in his meetings. He must be rather new. The possibility of Diluc’s earlier theory had never seemed more apparent. Yet, he still maintained his smile. “I see. It’s an honor to meet you.”

The red-haired man didn’t quite enjoy the company of these businessmen other than Kenji, but he couldn’t quite allow just anything to happen to this man now, could he?

Diluc stayed in close proximity, wary of anyone who might come close to the Holder. Whoever it is, and if they use the information in any way less than for the good of all, they would not be in the Ragnvindr’s good graces.

Dashiell found themself standing by a long table scattered with cold plates of hors d’oruvres, barely touched by the guests. They grew curious and picked a suspiciously pink-looking meat.. cube? Dash mindlessly tossed it in their mouth and—yeah, they know why no one bothered to eat anything.

Dashiell not wanting to seem unclassy woefully swallowed the munched up “meat”, quickly removing the weird taste with champagne. “The catering sucks here.”

Their eyes trailed back to Kenji, and were surprised to see a very infamous red head joining the group. ’Huh. Diluc Ragnvindr?’ It wasn’t really a surprise that he was here. Anyone and everyone (who had money), and Diluc was no exception. Dashiell does love his wine, you could clearly taste the high quality with just one sip.

Dash should’ve moved on with observing more possible suspects, but they noticed something.. fishy with Dawn Winery’s owner. Diluc was standing quite close to Kenji, looking at the case occasionally. Hm..

Suspect three.

A young harbinger in a black suit stood a couple pillars away, drinking a fine glass of Moscato as his eyes explored the crowd. He carried a sense of eerieness, impatience as he looked for a particular man. It was evident in his expression that he wished to spend no moment longer in this place, not having had a choice but to replace Tartaglia in this mission. Fortunately for him, all he was meant to do was switch a briefcase, simple enough. He just hopes the trader isn’t as brain dead as all the Fatui he’d been around lately.

“Scaramouche, 11 o’clock,” a female voice stated through the earpiece. He followed her instruction, drawing his attention slightly to his left. “That’s Kenji Villanueva.”

“I have no need for his name,” he irked. “Why the hell is there so many people around him? Is he trying to draw attention to himself?”

“All you need to do is switch the cases, simple as that. Don’t be so pissy.”

“‘Pissy’ my ass. The moment he calls the attention of the wrong person and he’s dead,” he states a point, crossing his arms. Scaramouche straightens his tie, placing the empty glass of alcohol down and picking up another. “A few more minutes. His guard must know I’m here by now.”

“Don’t drink too much. Your suit’s expensive.”

“Yeah, yeah. Might as well enjoy myself while I’m here.” He waved his hand, earning a sigh from his colleague. “At least, their alcohol isn’t half bad.”

Each second passes, Kenji feels the weight of his job get heavier. When he received the assignment he didn’t pay that much mind. I mean, how hard was it to hold a briefcase at a party? And the pay could’ve solved 99% of his problems. So he took the job, no questions about the briefcase whatsoever.

More and more people he’d never even have the chance to talk to if he hadn’t had the briefcase kept approaching. The bodyguard that was assigned to him was too serious at their job. And now tycoons and heirs were chatting him up like old friends—Kenji’s nerves couldn’t have been more all over the place.

“My, you haven’t put down that case since the start of the night! Aren’t you tired?” A woman with the reddest blush possible asked, likely out of concern for the poor man. “Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to this, haha!”

”Bah, how heavy even is that thing? I bet my fifth mansion that it doesn’t weigh anything! Give it ‘ere, boy. You probably need a break.” A slightly muscular man, who looked like they were in his late 40s, stretched out an arm towards Kenji. Though it seemed like it was just an excuse to flex his ‘muscles’.

“Oh no, I can handle this. My boss emphasized how I couldn’t let anyone else hold this.” Kenji declined the offer. At this point, he was looking for an escape from the group. It was getting quite uncomfortable for the poor guy.

But the man persisted, insisting that Kenji was tired. The conversation went back and forth, and the aged man’s voice gradually raised. Elysium’s attention was caught as they stood by Kenji.

”Sorry, but I believe we shouldn’t force the man.” A blue haired individual who wore glasses piped in, looking at the two concerned.

”And who are you to tell me what to do? Huh? You’re just some plus one! Don’t you know who I am?” He swiftly turned to Aiden, his wrinkled face turning red. ”Yes, but it’s clear that he was ordered not to give the case to anyone. Even a ‘high ranking individual’ such as yourself can understand that, no?” Aiden remained calm and collected despite the man almost being close to their face as a weak attempt at intimidation.

Kenji, a little shaken up with the little conflict, breathed a sigh of relief now that the old man had picked a new person to bully.

However, his hands couldn’t stop trembling. And with a combination of sweaty palms, plus the weak feeling he had in his arms by holding the case all night, led to Kenji accidentally dropping the case.

“Shit, fuck—“

Kenji wiped his sweaty palms onto his black dress pants before retrieving the case. Elysium quickly rushed to be by Kenji, in case someone else besides him grabs it.

Scaramouche reared his head at the commotion, a sharp sigh escaping his throat as he noticed that it was in the same direction as the holder. ‘Way to ruin the fun,’ he mutters under his breath as he wastes no time to walk over to the group, frustration flooding his senses—annoyed as he witnessed the situation at hand. A drunk, old man roughly in his late thirties to early forties, possibly a heavy lifter who seems like he makes a living lifting trucks, picking on a normal person? How ridiculous.

“Don’t you know who I am?” the old man asks, reeking of alcohol which earns an irk from the approaching harbinger. ‘Who the fuck cares?’ he urges to say. Unfortunately, he wasn’t finished. “I personally know the organizer of this event! Ha! Look at you, thinking you’re some bigshot just because you’re working for some mob from a miniscule organization!”

His voice is so fucking annoying. I’ll shove a bottle down his throat, we’ll see who’s laughing.

The man prepares to charge, his drunk hostilities drawing the attention of people nearby, yet no guards from the Museum itself could be seen. People started whispering, but that wasn’t enough to stop him. He huffs, as if a spearback gathering momentum, retracting his arm towards the blue-haired individual.

“I’ll show you who’s really in charge of things now,” he laughs, maniacally, throwing a punch towards Aiden until—

‘Scaramouche. Scaramouche, can you hear me? Your BPM is off the charts. Whatever you’re doing, stop it.’ The womanly voice in the earpiece whispers, though the harbinger ignores her warning. The purple-haired man now stood in front of the targeted individual, holding the aggressor’s arm into a tight lock. The old man tried to fight for his freedom, but to no avail. If worse comes to worst, he’d have been prepared to reach for his gun, but… that’d be all the more trouble for the Fatui.

“All bark, not so much bite.” the harbinger uttered, “People like you annoy me the most.”

Dashiell had been at the sidelines, watching the whole altercation. They would’ve intervened if it wasn’t for the small yet surprisingly strong man who seemed to apprehend the old man with ease. Dash would’ve been impressed if it wasn’t for the fact that the apprehender appeared so suddenly.

Suspect four..?

They stood still as they watched a purple-haired man take down the wrinkled old man who was close to knocking their face down to the floor. He swore his fast heartbeat could have been heard by the people surrounding them.

Despite being absolutely terrified, Aiden kept their calm composure and slowly turned to his “savior”

“Um, uh.. thank you.” They unintentionally let out a small laugh, not knowing what to feel in this situation.

Scaramouche kept the old man locked into his hold, sighing at all the trouble he had to deal with. Not only that, the attention that could’ve compromised the whole mission. He turns to Kenji, who seemed tense with everything that had happened; quite sure that this man doesn’t yet know that he’s the one he needs to make the switch with.

“Agh! Fuck! Let me go!” The fallen aggressor wouldn’t stop squirming in the harbinger’s hold, angering him further. His indigo eyes thinned, the hold seemingly getting tighter around his neck. “If you don’t want me to kill you, stay still.”

The threat worked, immediately so, enough for Scaramouche to drop him onto the ground. The people’s attention hadn’t yet dispersed, his mind already preparing himself for all the lecturing that would come from La Signora.

His eyes gaze towards Aiden, wherein the black case the harbinger formerly held sat gently by where he stood. The harbinger stayed silent, instead moving to his direction. He picked up the ever-so-similar suitcase, patting the dust off of his suit before approaching the blue-haired individual with a taunting smirk. “Hmph. You wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Lucien hurried towards the scene, an unfamiliar sight unfolding before him. What the actual fuck? What the fuck happened? Why is there a man on the floor? Shit. Most importantly, the suitcase. The curses flooded his head as he navigated himself nearer to Kenji’s bodyguard, the one who now held the suitcase.

Earlier as he left the discussion with Veliona, Asterion called to bestow upon him crucial information. To show a symbol: The Fatui’s insignia. They were the organization that had such interest in the information. With their notoriety… he could only assume that it wouldn’t be anything less than the unimaginable.

He snuck past through the flooding guests, eyes latched ever so closely to what unfolded before them. Surely, no move towards the suitcase would go unnoticed, though he still had to try.

As Lucien approached the guard, suddenly—the lights shut, and the Museum was filled with darkness.

Dashiell couldn’t shake off this feeling they had. Something was going on—but what? It wasn’t adding up. None of the suspects were making any kind of move, and they’d been keeping their eye on each like a hawk.

Dash slowly made their way closer to Kenji, when they caught sight of Lucien easily making their way through the crowd who were busy watching the scene. ”What the hell.. you goddamn Atlas agent—“

They quickly sped up as they were nearing Kenji when—

’SHOOM’

Total darkness.

Lucien’s hand reached out to the suitcase, feeling the target’s bodyguard switch out the two items despite the darkness. He felt a short, moment of relief in his heart for having gotten what he came for, though accompanied by something unnerving. Why had the lights turned off so suddenly, and why does the timing feel so perfectly staged?

He held the suitcase in his hand tightly, the sudden change in lighting surprising the other attendees as well. No matter what, he had to protect this case with his life, for with one single mistake could lead it falling onto the Fatui Harbinger’s hands.

“Greetings, my dearest guests.” A formal voice spoke through the intercom. “My deepest apologies for the sudden interruption, but know that everything is going according to plan. This is merely a crucial part of our precious show. Good luck, and have fun.”

'What the fuck? What kind of game is this?'

’Shit, shit, SHIT.’

Dashiell’s hunches were right. Something bad was definitely happening, which means that the murder was going to take place; right here and right now. They whipped out a small flashlight they’d always carry, which just so happened to have no light coming out. Dash swore they’d just reinstalled new batteries last week.

’How fucking convenient! Crap, what the hell is happening?’ Dashiell tried to contact communications, pressing into the earpiece to ask for immediate backup. “I need backup, stat. Do you copy?”

But all they got was radio static. Dashiell tried once more, “Hello? Is anyone there? Maeve!” but not a single voice could be heard.

’Did they screw up the signal too? They planned everything..’

Dashiell had no choice but to use their sense of hearing to find out whether anyone was making too much movement, or if anyone was struggling. Which would have been easier if everyone hadn’t been so loud, yelling all of their complaints simultaneously.

“Can’t people just shut up?!”

Diluc was caught off-guard by the sudden power outage. He adjusted quickly, attempting to find anything that may provide light but to no avail. He sighed as a few attendees came reaching out to him, asking if he knew anything about this happening. “Sir Diluc!” A guest had come to grab onto his shoulder, causing him to furrow his eyebrows. “Were you aware about any of this happening?”

“No, I was not.” he uttered, his vision still obscured by the darkness; gently whisking the other’s hand away. “Please, maintain a distance from each other. It’s dangerous to move so much in such an unfamiliar area with no light.”

While some people listened, others remained confused and worried. This was merely supposed to be an auction show, yet why did they have to turn the power and jam the signal? Anyone in their right, logical mind would know that this would sooner lead up to something suspicious. Guests chattered, spewing questions toward each other left and right; flooding the atmosphere with unnecessary noise which nerved the other guests.

Ragnvindr heard someone yell for silence sooner or later, it was none other than the brown-haired individual he saw before approaching the crowd, watching them intently. If his memory served him right, he wasn’t an ordinary guest. Rather… someone from an organization. Part of the Government? Police? Ah, no. Detective Poirott… from an Investigative Agency. It was something he’d learned about through word of mouth as he used to do bartending, and something Elzer had come to mention quite a few times.

“Right. Please stay calm, everyone. It’s important to remain vigilant now of all times. Let’s not allow any unnecessary exchange to cloud our judgement.” he assisted. ‘Detective... what will be your next move?’

The lights going out was a shock to everyone, including Aiden. The commotion heard throughout the large ballroom got increasingly loud, some feeling enliven by the thrill while others perturb by the darkness that clouded everyone’s vision.

It might have seemed strange, but they could have sworn that Kenji’s presence felt.. gone? With the old man who tried to assault him, Aiden was the one of the closest to the dark-haired guy.

“What..?”

Dashiell’s efforts to listen in were a bust. They tried to flail their arms to try and feel something, but after a shrilling yell from an innocent person.. the brown-haired detective tossed that idea out the window.

Dash couldn’t move freely either, with every step they took just so happens to have a person blocking their way. “Sorry—oh, I am so sorry..”

Countless apologies were thrown away at people they couldn’t even see. A couple of more steps and Dashiell felt like they had bumped into a really tall, definitely muscular person—the said person grunted once their bodies hit one another. The impact left a brief pang across Dashiell’s forehead.

“I am so sorry..”

Dashiell stops in their tracks to note something: The person they had bumped into smelled.. pleasantly bitter-sweet.

What the fuck was this shitshow?

Scaramouche kept clicking his earpiece for any sign of his colleague. Nothing. Fuckers figured they’d jam the signal too, didn’t they? How fucking convenient. Despite the fact that he couldn’t contact La Signora, he decided to proceed with the mission. Kenji wouldn’t be able to see the insignia anyway, so why not just take the suitcase and be off with it? As long as it’s the right one, there shouldn’t be any problem.

The harbinger moved towards Keiji’s direction past the old man who had gotten himself up the floor. He’d know better than to start a fight in the dark.

There was a strange feeling of emptiness around where the dark-haired man was supposed to be. Fuck. Where the fuck did he go? His hand eventually found itself on someone else’s shoulder. Fuck. Navigating your way in the darkness feel's like walking into a lion's den blindfolded. Who was this? The target? No, this was different.

… the blue-haired guy?

The old man mentioned him as the target’s plus one, so surely he’d know if he ran off somewhere, no? He might know the mission, no less. That’d make my job a whole lot easier.

“Hey. You. Where did your little friend run off to, hm?”

"GAH!-" Aiden yelped when he felt a sudden weight laid onto his shoulder. With the darkness, they couldn't identify who's hand it was (but who could identify a person based on their hand alone?), but hearing that chilling voice---Aiden knew it was the purple-haired man who saved his face from being a punching bag not too long ago.

"Oh, it's you!" They let out a sigh of partial relief. It was nice to know it wasn't some rando touching his shoulder, but the way their voice sounded as if he was under interrogation. He didn't do anything wrong though.. (at least, he thinks so?)

"My friend? Kenji? Oh, uh.. I don't remember him going anywhere. In fact, he just disappeared. It felt strangely empty beside me.."

“He’s gone?” he asked, a flash of seriousness draping over his face despite it not being visible in the darkness. “Fuck,” a curse escaped his throat. “Then that means the suitcase isn’t here.”

One job, Scaramouche. He groaned, trying to recall the events of what happened before. First, he walked up to apprehend a man about to throw a punch, Kenji was still very clearly right next to the individual right in front of me. When did he disappear? Exactly when the lights turned off? But it’s strange, why? Did they wait deliberately to grab him while everyone was caught off-guard?

Scaramouche knew that the management had plans to close the lights right before the auction, though not of Kenji’s disappearance. If that’s the case, it’s either someone knew of the power interruption as well or that they just took the chance as the moment presented itself.

Now, before the lights turned off… there was a silhouette of a man reaching out to Kenji. Unfamiliar, not part of the group before the harbinger walked in. If anyone were to have the suitcase, it’d be him.

Fuck.

He better still be here.

“Alright. Fine. Stay close,” the harbinger instructed—blocking other attendees from walking towards his direction or bumping into him.

Lucien couldn’t leave the crowd, the mass of people clumping over each other rendering him unable to move freely. He held the suitcase in hand, making sure no passerby would be able to lay their hands on it for even a moment.

Annoying ass crowd. I should’ve known my luck would come to shit the moment I saw Detective Poirott pass through that gate.

‘Please, for the love of all that is holy, turn the lights on.’ he whispered inside his head. ‘This situation alone makes me sick.’

The bittersweet scent lingered in their nose for too long, causing an uncomfortable itch in their nose. "Familiar.. too familiar.. fuck, why does this sting?" It irritated Dash. What could it be? It couldn't just be perfume. Very few would choose a scent that specific. "Can't they turn the lights on?!"

By some miracle, the bright lights of the museum blinded everyone clouded with darkness for a long while. There in the center stage stood fancily dressed men and women posed beside ancient artifacts and paintings covered in crystal glass. The auction had begun.

"Apologies to keep you waiting, my dear guests! Welcome to th--"

"AAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!"

The announcer, not even close to finishing his sentence, was interrupted by a loud shriek.

"What the--"

Dashiell's blood ran cold at the sight right beside them.

There laid on the cold, marbled floor was Kenji. His body was lifeless, his hair became disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, and the light from his eyes was gone.

"...Shit."

What the fuck? Are you fucking serious?

Lucien’s gaze dropped down towards the limp body, his head lightly aching from the subsequent smell. It was unfamiliar, something that hadn’t been present until the lights went out. A new variable altogether.

The target was now dead and Lucien held the actual suitcase. He had to get it out of here without gaining any unwanted attention. Lucien drawed up a number of escape routes within his head. ‘A disguise, sure. I can blend in like an unsuspecting, worried-for-safety individual, but that Detective’s seen me and they sure as hell won’t let me leave unscathed. Fuck. Okay. That’s totally inconvenient, but I’ll sneak out of here and—’

“All units! Guard all exits!” A Museum guard yelled, followed by a chain of armed forces synchronously positioning themselves around the venue’s doors.

The master of ceremony stood nervously upon the stage, taking orders from the higher authorities from their cell. “A–ah, um. Yes sir.” he mumbled, hanging up and attempting to compose himself. “I apologize for the inconvenience and delay, but the event’s auction will be cancelled upon further notice. In addition… n–no one will be allowed to leave the Museum until the authorities arrive at the bottom of this. Please compose yourselves and do not cause any unnecessary trouble.”

The high-ranking guests, of course, were fuming. Rich, old yet immature trust funds thinking their money is above the law voiced their complaints. Very loudly. He felt a little bad for the MC, poor guy had no business getting front row seats of the consequences of his boss’ actions.

Right. Boss. My boss—fuck, I’ve got to contact Asterion.

The signal remained slow, possibly still processing the earlier effects of the jam but thankfully, a voice came through. “Asterion, do you have eyes on the situation? There’s a dead body for fuck’s sake,” he talked to his earpiece, receiving bits of static.

“Lucien, you d..” Interrupted by static, “kill him did you?”

“Is that even a question? Of course not! Why would I?” he asked, seeming caught off-guard by the question.

“Good. But it isn’t..” Shit. Even more static. “..looking too good for you. You were the last one that h… approached …the victim.”

Shit. “I know. I'll figure out a way to deal with this.”

“Detective Poirott will likely be the only agent on scene.”

Huh. Strangely enough, there was no static on that one yet it was the very dialogue he struggled to hear. Perhaps the static made its way into his brain, haha. Fuck. Lucien, you’re so fucked. “Sir, you're joking, right? Not a very good time to jest—”

“I'm not kidding, Lucien.”

“Asterion… surely you know our agencies have been at odds with each other for years, right? They hate me!”

“I’ve heard they’re the best detective from the EIA,” he stated, earning a groan from the man. “They're your best shot at this, we can't trust other detectives provided by the Museum. You can trust that they'll be impartial and know what to do.”

“And if I’m arrested?”

“Hm,” he paused. “We’ll see.” You’ve got to be fucking with me.

The earpiece beeped, indicating that Asterion had hung up. The dark-haired man turned to look at the detective. ‘Is the final jurisdiction… really up to them?’

"Please step away from the body, everyone. Clear the way."

Dashiell made their way through the large crowd flocking towards the young man's body. 'These insolent people. Swarming over a body as if they're just a measly attraction.’

There was no use in hiding their presence anymore, even if they hoped to remain low-key the entire night. The anonymous caller was right, their hunches were right. And now, Dashiell loomed over Kenji's cold corpse. Their sight darkened--they failed to protect a (supposedly) innocent man. The guilt was beginning to settle in their heart, feeling like their body was sinking down a dark ocean. A feeling Dashiell knows all too well.

But it wasn't time to feel. Not now. All that mattered was solving this heinous crime and give well-deserved justice to poor Kenji.

"Alright!" Dash turned to face the onlookers of transgression as they pulled out a shiny, warm-golden colored badge with the words 'Empyrean Investigative Agency' engraved onto it, "I am Detective Poirott from the Empyrean Investigative Agency. Please do not tamper with anything in the body's radius."

"Please cooperate with the authorities and do not panic. This situation is under control." Dashiell tried to reassure everyone, which.. somewhat worked. Many complaints and threats were thrown at the detective by selfish, deep pocketed people. Dash simply ignored the meaningless words, and turned to the closest museum guard they could find to discuss the course of action.

As Dash made their way to the stiff-looking officer, they got a quick look of the Atlas agent's face. As their eyes met, a look of skepticism was clearly evident in Dash's glare.

Scaramouche crossed his arms, clearly amused by the whole situation. “Hah. It seems we have a detective in our midst.”

There wasn’t inherently wrong about their presence, though when you think about it… this Museum was filled with attendees wherein each bore a varying relationship with the law. Let’s not mention how many of these people likely committed something illegal to obtain the net worth they have now. A number of guests weren't afraid to voice their dissatisfaction, thinking this event was going to be the perfect time and place to perform some shady dealings.

Well, that would make him one of those guests.

‘Detective Poirott, you say…’ the harbinger thinks within himself before eyeing the victim’s guard. “Hey, you. You work with Infernos, don’t you?” He approached, taking the opportunity to make the exchange as the detective acquainted themselves with the officers. Scaramouche took the Fatui insignia from within his vest into his hand. “You should know what this means by now. Let’s make it quick.”

He stared down the Fatui member, skeptical about making the switch in such a crowded room. It felt dangerous to hand over the case when guards were all over the place, and at any moment the EIA detective could tackle him down onto the floor and attach his hands with cold steel.

But Elysium wanted escape. He can feel the glaring eyes of God stabbing their back like knives. Thou shall not kill, and yet Elysium did--for the sake of freedom.

"Keep quiet." He whispered to Scaramouche, slightly extending the hand that held the case towards him. Elysium tried to be inconspicuous. Their adrenaline was pumping all throughout their veins, anxious of what's to come.

The harbinger’s eyes thinned, an odd feeling emanating from the other individual, yet he chose to keep silent. Whatever, he didn’t mind in what way or who was to give the suitcase as long as the exchange ended up complete.

‘I’ll check the contents after this whole charade.’ he thought to himself. Opening such a conspicuous object in the middle of a trial would get him caught up in trouble that he had no desire to partake in.

Scaramouche returned in his place, seemingly awfully calm for a person standing right in front of a fallen individual… someone he had indirectly interacted with a few minutes back, no less. Rather, his attention returned to the detective, awaiting to see what they would do next.

Diluc sighed at the scene before him, feeling pity for the poor individual who had gotten caught up with his organization’s schemes. People with ulterior motive is certainly no surprise, though for someone so young to be targeted by such people… it was truly unfortunate. These situations were something the wine tycoon had sworn himself to stand against.

The man walked towards the detective, who seemed focus with their task at hand. “Excuse me, Detective Poirott?” he inquired politely. “If I may interject, could I offer you some assistance? There seems to be an apparent lack in manpower, so if you’d allow me, I’ll help you in what needs to be done. Just say the word.”

"Maeve. Maeve, do you hear me?" Dashiell pressed onto the earpiece, hoping that the signal jam had been solved. It took a few more tries until they could hear a faint, choppy voice play inside their ears.

"..sh... D...as.. Dash!" Dash breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Maeve, the target is down. The tip off was right. I've contacted the event's organizers through the guards, and they're telling me the city's authorities are able to get here after an hour." Which seemed strange to Dash. Why the delay? "Do I proceed in completing the objective?" They waste no breath on unnecessary words, their eyes move quickly on each person present. Everyone is a suspect.

"Crap... Alright. Go ahead and proceed, DW. Do you have any suspects so far?"

Dashiell called back to all the individuals he deemed the most suspicious: Kenji's bodyguard, the mysterious purple-haired man, Diluc Ragnvindr, the blue-haired person, the old muscular man, and Lucien.

"Yes, 6 are on the top of my list. Including that Atlas agent."

"Lucien?" Through the earpiece, Maeve had a puzzled look. "Are you sure?"

"I need to look at all the possibilities. Being an Atlas agent doesn't excuse him from being a suspect." Dash eyed Lucien who was standing in the background.

"..I trust you, Dashiell. This case is under your jurisdiction until the police get there." The EIA's chief detective cuts out.

"Copy."

After contacting Maeve, Dashiell turns around to face Diluc, who had been kind enough to offer their assistance.

"Sir Ragnvindr, thank you for your offer. But I believe your help could come useful later on. For now, please do not cause any sort of trouble. I trust that you can do that."

The espionage groaned, uneased by the entire situation. Not only was he a suspect, but a detective he so despised was assigned to the case. Can’t the authorities just arrive here, already? Though… on second thought, that could be worse. God knows they might be bought off. Fuck.

‘I really have to leave it up to them? No, nuh uh. I’ve never second-guessed a decision from Asterion, but this one I just can’t leave alone.’

Surely it wouldn’t be so terrible for me to make impressions of his own, no? Maybe he can even defend himself with these later on. Alongside Lucien are six suspects, obviously all with eyes towards the suitcase; though only three came prepared. There was Diluc, a wine tycoon who seemed… curious, to say the least. He didn’t appear to be like any average passersby, his eyes were wandering, seeming to be examining the crime scene himself. Plus, offering to investigate the crime with the detective? How odd… like a criminal directly inserting himself onto the murder. Still, his assumption wasn’t solid enough.

The victim’s bodyguard was next. Though he seemed professional, he was also antsy, cautious—trying to hide it, too. He had a strange aura emanating from him, surely he wasn’t the only one that felt this, too? As for clothes… he wouldn’t be able to tell directly unless approaching him and checking on his own, which is rather too bold and too suspicious to even inquire as someone with not a lot of authority in this case. ‘Ugh… I guess I’ll mention it when Poirott does.’

That was two of the five, perhaps it was time to take a good look at the body as well. From where Lucien stood, Kenji’s hair and clothes were still disheveled. There didn’t seem to be any loud noises during the murder despite it occurring during the black out. That must mean it wasn’t caused by guns or any sort of explosives. Something silent… not a knife as there aren’t any cuts or punctures, not a lot of—oh, rather, there’s no blood at all.

‘Internal injury?’ he asked himself, turning to look at Dashiell to see if they’d confirm it. Come on, Lucien. It’s not like they can read your brain.

Purple and grey eyes stared at the crime scene with intent. From afar, no other kind of evidence could be seen. All the average person's eye could see was the body splayed onto the floor. Dashiell took note of how the corpse was laid down on his back, with his face turned to the side.. Other than that, there wasn't anything obvious. 'I'll have to get a closer look.'

Before getting close, Dash took their agency-issued phone out from their pants pocket and took a few pictures of the scene in various angles, including one that had the onlookers inside the frame. Since a team couldn't come ASAP, Dashiell had to settle becoming the photographer for the scene of the crime. They proceeded towards Kenji, pulling out white gloves from a pocket inside their jacket and swiftly put them on. Dash kneeled to take a closer look, maintaining some distance to avoid moving the body.

Firstly, the clothes. They noticed significant wrinkles on the chest and shoulders of the coat Kenji wore. For such a high-class event, one would surely press-iron their clothes to avoid their clothes looking unkempt, especially if the majority of guests are from wealth and privilege. 'This must be where the assailant grabbed Kenji.'

There was a faint smell coming from.. Kenji's face? It would be unwise to have a closer sniff, knowing that there were poisons that could kill just by inhaling. Which was most definitely the case for Kenji. With the lack of wounds or even blood, it's likely that the perpetrator forced him to draw in something. Or maybe they had injected something? It seemed unlikely, because why would his face have such a.. a bitter smell..? Dashiell took one more cautious whiff--it was slightly sweet. Almost an almondy fragrance.

‘Cyanide..?'

Moving on, the detective inspected for any sort of marks on the areas of skin that were exposed that showed signs of force. However, none were visible. Perhaps the assailant had marks on them? Kenji would have definitely tried to claw their way out of the transgressor's grasp. Dashiell noted observing the suspect's clothing closely.'

After repeatedly scanning the body and it's surroundings, Dashiell couldn't find anything else. They had to find two things: the poison bottle and a piece of cloth. Both of which weren't seen near the crime scene. "They hid it well. But where?"

The detective slowly stood up, adjusting their gloves as they watched the onlookers feast their eyes on them, as if they were performing for their eyes.

"Everyone leave this floor, except for these 6 individuals. You'll interrupt the interrogation, and I can't stand all your yapping." Dashiell loudly announced to the crowd, fed up with all their quibble.

Lucien looked as the onlookers visibly became upset at the detective’s command. ‘Leave? Seriously? So they’re technically singling us out, what a way to play it.’ There’s no mistake that the detective believes it’s within the group. The culprit is one of us, huh?

“How are you so sure that the culprit’s one of us, detective?” He placed his hands on his waist, flashing Poirott a questioning expression. “It seems far too early to reduce the scope of your investigation from a large crowd to… merely six people.”

A few guests from the outlier didn’t wish to leave, amused by the ‘whodunnit’ unfolding. Are they really so thirsty for any sort of drama, when there’s a literal murderer in their midst? How sick. Lucien examined his fellow suspects one by one. Aside from the two he had mentioned earlier, there were three more.

There was certainly other people that had eyes on Kenji and his suitcase; others that yearned for the hard drive that was within, and those ruthless people those who’d immediately resort to violence at a time like this lurking within the crowd. An example of which would be the purple-haired man and the old trust fund, it seems. Though he didn’t see the situation firsthand, he did hear a few comments from the people around them awhile back. Their statements were as follows:

‘That old tycoon seems like he could rip you in half…’ a woman whispered, ‘Didn’t you see what he almost did to that poor guy? Thankfully, the mysterious violet boy came to save the day!’

‘Are you serious...? He looks like he was going to kill that old man if he dared to make another move…’ she received in response.

Lucien drew his conclusion of the two other suspects from these statements. Violent, unforgiving. ‘I wonder what they’d think of these two. Not to mention, that little harbinger seems to be holding a suitcase as well.’

That left one more for him to observe alongside himself.

Lucien's hair and clothes were fine, the flowers of his suit a little misplaced due to him constantly having to move yet not so much that it'd look like he just murdered a man. His heartbeat ran a little rampant due to the possibility of getting wrongfully accused, contrary to his composed expression.

‘Dear god, never let my life fall onto this detective’s hands ever again.’

Their eye twitched hearing Lucien’s doubts. If only they could cuff the agent to the railings of the balcony to shut him up.

But it wasn’t the right time for this personal rivalry to get in the way of work.

“I know what I’m doing.” Dash looked deep in thought as they stood in front of the 6 suspects. They needed to collect alibis, but worried of the authenticity of their statements. Though, there were some suspects Dash could possibly point out any discrepancies with their alibis, having a close eye on most of them before the murder.

They first took note of each of their clothing. Of course, all of their clothes had garnered some wrinkles from movement throughout the night. The old man’s suit had been crinkled from being tossed down by the harbinger who also had wrinkly clothing as a result. The blue haired individual’s collar area had been messed up due to the old man’s attempts of intimidation. Kenji’s bodyguard had strange creases on the sleeve area, though it might be because of their stance, with their arms being crossed throughout the night. Diluc and Lucien looked.. untarnished, though Dash’s suspicions never went away.

“Please explain to me all of your whereabouts or activities prior to the murder of Mister Villanueva.” Dashiell began the interrogation, eyeing each suspect with the same amount of suspicion.

Lucien cleared his throat, “I’ll go first to get this over with. Prior to the murder, I was entertaining a guest who had some questions for me, causing me to leave the group for a short while. A few minutes later, I’d say two minutes before the murder or so, I had just been arriving back to see what I’d missed. You saw me arrive first hand, no?” he recounted with confidence. That was it, nothing more, nothing less. Totally.

“Have any more questions for me, detective? Or are you ready to move on to the next individual?”

”Care to tell me what you were doing with that person? Or who was that? For all I know, they could have given you the materials and instructions to carry out the murder.”

Dashiell pushed Lucien. They wanted to get everything out from each suspect, even if it meant offending them with their hostility. “Veliona Alastair, entitled ‘Duchess’, a friend of a relative, you could say. We were… talking? I don’t see why I need to disclose the contents of the conversation,” he shrugged. “Though if you’re really curious about what we spoke about, it’s nothing related to the case at hand nor Villanueva. Rather… It's about my upbringing.”

“If you’re still pushing onto finding out what exactly that means, may as well ask me again over a cup of coffee. Though, of course, not really the time and place. Do you understand, detective?”

Dashiell knows they can’t assume Lucien’s innocence with that statement alone. Perhaps they could find that Duchess and ask for her statement too? Dash hadn’t seen her again once Lucien came back to the main hall, though.

“..You.” Dashiell moved on to the second suspect: Scaramouche.

The harbinger raised an eyebrow at the detective’s tone. Hm, whereabouts or activities, huh?

“Me? Oh, I can gladly answer, detective. I threw that pathetic excuse of a man and locked his head in between his arms for almost hurting an innocent individual. Dreadful etiquette, I know,” he crossed his arms, turning his head towards the old rich man. “Isn’t that right? Fucker.”

His taunting had caused the old man to almost snap, “You b—fuck! Let me go!” he cursed, having gotten himself apprehended by the Museum officers. About time those guards finally did something. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Oh, come on. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Dashiell watched the pathetic scene of the supposedly rich and powerful man get held down by museum officers. “Escort this whining toddler to the side. Until he calms down.” Dashiell’s eye twitched at the curses the man kept throwing in an effort to retaliate against authorities.

Dash got a closer look at Scaramouche. They hadn’t noticed the short man until his little squabble with the old man, which made the detective wonder where he came from. Maybe he was blended in well with the crowd? Not many dusty, well-offed people had purple hair. And what was with that case he had? Actually..

There were three cases.

“What’s inside the case?”

His indigo eyes squinted at their question, “Oh, this little thing?” Scaramouche asked, raising his suitcase. “It has all my work items, detective. Laptop, notebooks, top-secret documents and the like. It would be the unfortunate end of me if others see the contents, but if it’s you, go ahead. Take a look. Though I’d much prefer it if the others do so as well.” Might as well check theirs while I’m on it.

Scaramouche eyed the other suspects that held the suitcase, Lucien and Elysium. “Please, do go first.”

Seeing the detective call up each person who held the three suitcases shot panic throughout his body. Elysium’s sweat rolled from the back of their neck as he walked up to Dashiell, laying the case flat onto his hands. Elysium shot a quick, nervous look at Scaramouche.

“If I may, detective. I would like to clear Sir Villanueva and my name by showing you what’s inside the case.” He felt as if his voice was trembling in fear.

”Open it.” Dashiell nodded towards Elysium, waiting to see what was inside. To be completely honest, Dash didn’t know what was even inside Kenji’s case. Or any of the cases, actually. All they knew (and what Maeve told them from the anonymous call) was that inside the case had a very important item containing top secret information. If that were the case, any sort of gadget was possible. ’If only I knew what was inside specifically, then this would be easier.’ But nothing in life is easy, isn’t it?

He took one deep exhale before clicking the two metal locks, slowly pulling the case open. If all goes according to plan, and Scaramouche didn’t go against the deal, there should be the decoy items inside the case: A laptop, some files, and notebooks. Just like what he said. He’d be absolutely fucked if anything else other than those things were inside.

The case reveals to have..

“A laptop, files, and a notebook.”

Dashiell looks around to see anything unordinary or suspicious inside the case. Perhaps some hidden compartments, or some kind of symbol? Marks? Scratches?

But nothing could be seen.

“Alright. You.” Dashiell calls Lucien, swiftly walking towards him. Elysium breathes a sigh of relief once Dash turns their back, closing the case in his hands.

”Open it.”

Fucking hell. This purple-haired man must have it out to who’s searching for the hard drive. There must be nothing particularly suspicious in this suitcase, but the moment anyone sees the drive… hah. They’ll be on the hunt for me.

He watched as Elysium opened his case to reveal nothing suspicious. Lucien’s eyes drifted towards Scaramouche, then to the detective. That must mean if the culprit did hide the murder weapon within one of the cases, it’s either mine or… the harbinger’s.

The espionage smiled as the detective approached. “Always so assertive, detective. Feel free to check, I have nothing to hide.”

Lucien flipped the suitcase to face Dashiell, unlocking the case through the mini-padlock. It opened, the surface with the work-related things first. The Infernos had placed these ahead of time so it wouldn’t make the hard drive any more suspicious than it is. Similar to Scaramouche’s description, a Laptop, notebooks, and of course, files.

The hard drive was tucked in the middle of the case, somewhere hard to see. An inconspicuous place, if you will, but not exactly a hidden compartment.

He subtly leaned towards the detective, a voice quiet for the other suspects to not hear but loud enough for the individual in front of him to understand clearly. “This item is part of Atlas’ mission, DW. I can assure you, I did not hurt that man… but if they discover that I am the one holding the hard drive,” he enunciated, “My head might as well be the next on their list.”

“Care to humor me for now, Poirott?”

His brows furrowed upon looking inside Lucien’s case. The exact same items, just different variations, like the color of the laptop and notebooks. This doesn’t help at all. If it turns out the harbinger’s case contains the same laptop, files, and notebooks—Dash would be hit back to square one. The murder weapon hadn’t even been found yet, despite the numerous guards walking all around the museum and interrogating each guest from every floor.

“I’ve got my eye on you.” Dash shoved a finger onto Lucien’s chest with a slight amount of force, “And never call me that.”

That leaves Scaramouche’s case.

“Well then, you’re last.”

The harbinger’s heart raced slightly at the discovery from the two other suspect’s cases. Fuck. This wasn’t looking too good for him, wasn’t it? His eyes drifted off to Elysium. If he finds out he tampered with the cases, then… god, you’re so fucked. ‘I have to stop them from opening this case, where the fuck would that murderer have hidden it, huh? Inside?’

Scaramouche thought to himself, conjuring up a plan. “Actually, detective…” His hands left the handle of the suitcase and moved to its sides, holding it horizontally. The harbinger smiled a rather… menacing grin, as if threatening the true culprit the moment his Modus Operandi is found inside the case. “Open it for me, would you? I’m not too confident that this case is actually mine, so… if this does belong to the murderer, I’ll let the forensics handle it instead. You know, with fingerprints and all.”

‘Motherfucking culprit.’ he whispered into his head, his smile not wavering. ‘Do not fuck with me.’

Dashiell’s eyebrow furrowed in skepticism. “The two other case owners had no problem opening theirs. How can that not be yours if there aren’t any other cases here?”

The threatening grin plastered across Scaramouche’s face had made Dashiell extremely wary of him. But they’re wary of everyone, especially now. Maybe the same items were in this case for the third time, then Dash had to move on to the remaining three who were caseless.

Dashiell carefully unlocked the latches of the case, taking one quick glance at Scaramouche. As the case was lifted—

Fuck.

The smell was overwhelming. Dangerous. Deadly, even.

Dash had to quickly close the case shut and backed away. ”Put down the case, now.”

There was no doubt. That same smell matched the scent found on Kenji. A bitter, almost almond-like odor. Hydrogen cyanide. It’s colorless, and extremely fatal to the body’s major organs, as well as interferes with the body’s use of oxygen.

With a large amount of exposure, it can be fatal to a human. Approximately 10 to 60 minutes before the effects start to kick in—Which was also the amount of time the lights were closed.

Dashiell pulled out a portable respirator mask from a compartment inside their jacket (a detective has to be prepared), and made sure it was tightly secured onto their face.

“Everyone, step 6 feet away from this area. Guards, escort them.”

Dashiell had to ensure everyone’s safety, even the killer who was amongst them. They stared at the case, one hand on each side. They had to mentally prepare themselves. If Dash is right, then.. this could be the murder weapon.

The case creaked open.. and there it was.

A small, empty glass vial placed on top of the files, as well as a white cloth with a big wet stain in the middle that laid onto the laptop.

Bingo.

Scaramouche winces at the strong smell emitting from the suitcase. He takes a few steps back after placing it down on the ground as the detective had commanded. He tried to make sense of the situation, causing a chuckle to escape from his throat; his attention then drifted towards the tall, blonde-haired man. He was so, very fucking clearly pissed. “What fucking gives, Inferno imp?” he demanded, resisting the urge to grab onto the gun hidden within his suit. “This isn’t what we fucking agreed upon. Now you try to frame me for your murder, huh? Tough luck.”

As the harbinger was about to charge towards the bodyguard’s direction, an unfamiliar arm had extended itself—stopping Scaramouche from going on with his assault. “Stop, Balladeer.” The wine tycoon commanded, catching the violet-haired man off-guard as he mentioned his title. “Let the detective investigate on their own. You might accidentally tamper with vital evidence.”

Scaramouche scoffed at Diluc’s interference, choosing to listen to his words. After all… the harbinger hadn’t even approached him yet, though his clothes had already appeared haggard. If anything, that might be the Fatuus’ saving grace.

“Fine, then. Why don’t you proceed with the questioning, detective?” he irked. ‘If your Infernos won’t kill you after this, I fucking will.’

The scent had begun to make them dizzy—not good. Dash made sure to take pictures of the suitcases and the items inside each, before shutting all of them closed.

“Maeve. Can you hear me?” Dashiell wanted to inform their superior about their next course of action. It didn’t feel.. right. Scaramouche had the case that held the most vital evidence of this crime scene, which an impatient and irresponsible person would automatically deem him to be the perpetrator of this heinous offense. But some things weren’t adding up. It couldn’t be that easy, it can’t really be the balladeer. Maybe the truth lies with the ones who are empty handed.

”DW? What’s the matter?” Maeve felt a bit of worry.

“I found the murder weapon, it’s cyanide. The culprit must have forced Kenji to inhale it using a cloth. I’ll go on with interrogation.”

”Cyanide? How did you know—“

“Send poison control and forensics here with the police, please. I may have inhaled a fair amount, but i’ll be fine for a while. Trust me.”

”… Copy, detective.” Her voice cuts off.

Dash decided to keep their mask on for safety purposes. Now, where to start?

Dashiell eyed the three caseless suspects: Diluc, the old man, and the blue-haired person. ’Let’s start with one of them.’

Diluc cleared his throat, “I suppose I can go next, detective.” The red-haired man fixed his gloves, retracting his arm from blocking the harbinger after having calmed him down. “Prior to the murder, I had approached the group in hopes of having a nice chat with them, the unfortunate victim had even recognized me.” he sighed, “Anyhow… other than the conflict between the Fatuus and this… fine gentleman,” Diluc gestured to the old man. How polite of him, really. “There had been nothing else important to note.”

“On the other hand, during the murder, I attempted to calm the attendees that were around me during the time. Unfortunately… I wasn’t able to prevent the crime. I truly apologize,” he remarked, rather regrettably.

The spy crossed his arms, seeming somewhat relieved that his case hadn’t been the one switched. ‘I should’ve been more careful. If I hadn’t ended up with the right case, let alone… the one with the hard drive, I would’ve been fucked.’

Lucien turned to look at the detective, who still seemed to be awfully serious at their job. Upon further observation, his eyes squinted. ‘Are they fucking alright?’ he thought to himself, watching as they held the gas mask close to their person. Fuck, what kind of question is that? They’ve obviously inhaled some kind of toxic substance.

“Detective, don’t you think we should wait for back up before continuing further? You’ve been exposed to the poison, any further and you might not be in the right state.”

”I’m still capable of functioning well and I will not stop until I’ve solved this. I’m–“ Dashiell pauses a moment to breathe in the air away from the toxicity of the cyanide, “..used to this.”

Dashiell takes note of Diluc’s alibi. They.. couldn’t really understand why he’d feel so much regret in preventing the murder from happening. Even Dashiell couldn’t have prevented it, no thanks to the lack of clues or hints given. It was.. inevitable, in a way.

”Um, if I may speak now..” Aiden stepped up right after Dashiell and Lucien’s short conversation. “I was accompanying Kenji to this event. He had told me about how excited he was to attend, and invited me as his plus once since his sister was out of town. I stuck to him for almost the entire night. To be honest, I had no idea what or why Kenji was holding the case.”

They stared at his body, who was now a thing of the past. Their eyes were filled with sadness. They were the first to mourn the passing of his dear friend.

“..Then, that old guy suddenly kept insisting on holding the case for Kenji. I told him to back off, and the man went crazy! Almost punched me for no reason. I would’ve been the first to hit the floor if it wasn’t for that purple-haired guy. Then the lights went out, and I just felt that my friend left my side all of a sudden..”

Dash turned to the old man, who had calmed down quite a bit but was still squirming in the arms of the officers who held him back. “And what about you, sir? You seemed rather aggressive. Many even commented on your insistence with holding the case. Care to explain?”

A gruff growl emitted from the old man. “I was just trying to help the young man, that’s all! It’s these idiots who think they can get up all on me, callin’ me pathetic and entitled. I’ll have you know I play golf the mayor! ..Occasionally!”

The harbinger listened intently to the detective’s discussions, scoffing at the sheer ridiculousness of the old man’s excuse. “Help the young man? Ha! Oh, please. With your fist, maybe. Did you really think you can fool anyone just because of your so-called authority? Your connections? We saw it clear as day that you tried to punch the victim’s friend after the two had refused to hand you the suitcase. Don’t go trying to have us believe you otherwise, or I won’t hesitate finishing you off.”

The old man grumbled, Scaramouche reigniting the anger that formerly calmed down. He tried to shout and escape the guards’ hold, though he knew it’d run futile. “You…” he laughed, “You’re so infuriating. You should really be more careful with your words, ‘Fatui’ wannabe.” Pfft. Please, if only he knew who he was talking to. ‘Fatui wannabe’ my ass. Does he want me to get rid of him once and for all?

“Why don’t you tell them what you really did, hm?” the Balladeer demanded, earning a groan from the pretentious man.

“Fucking hell,” he scoffed. “During the murder, I was too busy trying to check if I had any injuries after that little bitch had tackled me. Couldn’t feel anything off, just a bit of shuffling from the victim’s direction, which is a given at this point. Got anything else to ask? If you want to know why I’d been looking for that damn suitcase, it’s because that shit contains a hard-drive everyone seems to get their hands on. Top-secret documents, information, everything,” the old man flashed a strange smile, “It seems only a few understand its true worth, detective. Though you’re gravely mistaken if you think others not from this list are looking for it, too.”

Despite some onlooker’s shocked expressions, he continued. “Villanueva’s organization is only the beginning. Think of it this way, if the strongest organization can’t have it, no one can. Why do you think someone’s willing to kill for this?”

“Stop your yapping already, it's fucking annoying,” the Harbinger glared. He made this so much harder than this had to be, with the information being released to other people just like that.

Lucien held the suitcase even tighter, a slight unease occupying his mind. The suitcases are held by two people: Elysium and him. Once Elysium gets found out to be the culprit, if he is… their eyes would draw towards him.

So much unnecessary trouble, and for what?

Fuck, Lucien. It’s better this way compared to the drive falling onto other people’s hands. Who knows what they’d do with it? That would mean more shit going downhill for everyone, it’s better that you’re the last to hold it.

“Asterion,” he called out to his earpiece, “Back-up. Please.”

“They’re already on their way, Lucien,” the voice responded, slight concern evident from their side. “Hold on a little longer and prove your innocence. Don’t let that hard drive out of your sight.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucien complied. If the Fatui are after it, too, all the more reason to treat it like his life depends on it. “Whatever it takes.”

Even with the old man’s rambling, the careless drop of what seems to be private information, and how his actions suddenly turned from aggressive uncharacteristically suspicious—

It wasn’t him.

Dashiell was sure of it.

If the old man were the culprit, seeing how hostile he could get, Kenji would’ve had some sort of visible marks from being tightly held close. To make someone forcefully inhale such a toxic substance, you’d need to keep them close and stop them from moving. If it were the old man, his desperation wouldn’t have kept the murder quiet. The murder would’ve been sloppy—but it wasn’t. It looked perfectly planned, orchestrated, practiced.

The culprit couldn’t have gone far if they weren’t a part of the 6 suspects. Kenji died at around 10 minutes, the minimum time a person could die after ingesting a large sum of cyanide. That would mean 5 minutes were left to grab the case, hide the evidence and the murder weapon, return the case in its original place, and make a run for it. They could have only gotten about 7 steps away from the crime scene before the lights came on, and someone would have surely seen them running.

’Ah, fuck. My head hurts. How long has it been?’

It wasn’t the alcohol hitting Dashiell’s system. Their tolerance was pretty high, something they’d worked on after.. well, that’s a story for another day. ’Definitely the poison, yeah.’

Dashiell persisted through the faint dizziness. They’d gone through many situations like this before, and they’ll go through more in the future if they’d hang on for a little while longer.

Back to analyzing. The answer was right there on the tip of his tongue. Dash tried to recall the observations they had made from Kenji’s body. Did the lights begin to pulse?

Right, so.. no marks. Wrinkles on the chest area and shoulders. No blood, no wounds, no injuries. Poison was ingested. Kenji smelt like the cyanide..

No marks visible and the amount of crinkles on specific parts of Kenji’s clothes meant that the person had strength, but didn’t exceed it to bruise. The person had also been prepared and practiced how this exact scene would go.

This can cross out Aiden. No offense, but they look like they hadn’t stepped foot in a gym or trained or even played sports. They seemed quite patient and well-composed, but hesitant and meek. Their alibi and feelings for the victim seemed genuine too.

The old man was off the list too. He’s sloppy, rude, arrogant, and idiotic to pull off such a crime with such precision.

As much as they hated to admit, but Lucien was off the list too. Maeve couldn’t stop stressing over Atlas recently, constantly mentioning them in meetings and even in their mundane conversations. And why would Lucien jeopardize his agency with a murder? Atlas hadn’t have any sort of records of instructed murder.. at least, not to Dashiell’s knowledge.

That leaves Dashiell with Diluc, Scaramouche, and Elysium.

Ah.. they felt lightheaded.

The dark-haired man observed the detective thoroughly a few minutes after having inhaled the poison. He glared, somewhat annoyed at his perseverance. It was a bold move to keep going despite having gone through a good part of the symptoms; dizziness was just the beginning. Lucien was now concerned about two things: whether more organizations would be coming after him due to him having the hard drive, or if Dashiell would survive the symptoms long enough until the proper authorities arrive.

He was sure the detective had gone through worse, but cyanide, really? Even a seasoned agent wouldn’t risk exposing themselves to that.

‘Detective Poirott,’ his mind urged him to call out, though hesitated. It’s only a little longer until the culprit gets caught, no? Him interfering might just cause them more harm than good. ‘You’ve inhaled too much of the substance, push yourself any further and you might —’ the words flooded his head yet couldn’t leave his mouth.

What’s the use? A detective like them wouldn’t listen. They’ve been far too caught up within their own zone to be wary of anything else, such as their health.

Hydrogen cyanide tends to be a common resort when it comes to silent yet lethal homicide. Short-term exposures to low levels of cyanide already leads to rapid breathing and heart rate, restlessness, dizziness, weakness, — so on and so forth. In summary, it’s really fucking dangerous. Fuck. At least sue the Museum for such carelessness. Who on Earth lets this shit in?

Screw you, Dashiell. I thought I’d be celebrating by now if this had happened. You really know damn well how to get into my nerves.

“You’re almost there, detective.” he stated, now, to narrow down the suspects. According to their statements, it comes down to three people.

Diluc Ragnvindr, who fits the criteria of possible culprits in terms of physical form. He has enough strength to hold down the victim and his connections make his knowledge of the item possible; though he wouldn’t have any means to hide the murder weapon in the suitcase whatsoever unless he took it from one of the suspects forcefully.

Scaramouche, a Fatuus. Really fucking suspicious with all those threats, but would he really shoot himself in the foot by hiding the murder weapon in his own suitcase? There are creases in his clothes due to the conflict with that old man, arguably it may seem like a struggle against the victim as well. The cyanide exposed cloth as well as the vial itself were both found in his suitcase, though it’s damn obvious he switched with Elysium’s with the way he described it.

Elysium, ah. The bodyguard. He stood right by Kenji Villanueva the whole night, even throughout the conflict. Prior to the power outage, he had given me the true suitcase thinking I was a member of the Fatui, then, the lights had gone out. Come to think of it, they didn’t mention a single word of what they were doing prior and during the murder throughout the whole investigation other than the time they had to open the suitcase.

The creases in his clothes… how strange. That didn’t seem to be there before, nor would they have been doing anything when the lights were on to cause that much disarrangement. Could this be it?

“Detective,” he approached. “Perhaps there would be more to the creases and possible marks in their clothes as an indication of struggling. Additionally… if the culprit had only poured the cyanide onto a cloth, it may still have left some residue on their hands or cuffs. Though, do try not to inhale it this time.”

’Residue.. residue.. Ah. Right.’

Shit, their brain was starting to function slower than a tortoise. The gas mask wasn’t helping anymore. If fucking creases and marks weren’t helping, then maybe.. just maybe..

The smell.

Of course. Dashiell’s lightheadedness hadn’t begun to take place right after they had opened the balladeer’s case. If his mind could recall.. they got a whiff of the cyanide’s scent when they bumped into someone quite tall during the blackout. A bittersweet smell.

’Do not try to inhale it’, my ass. Dashiell had to smell the clothes of the remaining suspects—the only way to know once and for all who is the true perpetrator.

They ripped off the gas mask, taking in all the air they could get. Their hair looked dishevelled, and had a slight crazed look in their eyes. Dizzy.. shit, I need to sit down.

With no warning whatsoever, Dashiell grabbed each suspects arm and sniffed for any sort of residue left on their hands. No one could remove the scent of cyanide right away—their hands should be the same scent as Kenji. A bitter-almond odor, only stronger.

Exclamations and confusion from the suspects were heard, yet Dashiell still couldn’t smell the scent they were looking for. Not until they got to Elysium.

“Y… you.” they were basically panting, sweating from the exhaustion.

Elysium looked down the detective from his height with a wary look. He hesitated to show his hands. It would be a dead giveaway now. He hadn’t accounted for the detective in his plans.

Time was ticking.

With a bit of force, Dashiell pulled Ely’s arm towards their face and—

Dashiell and Elysium shared a look.

A bittersweet, almond-like odor.

Elysium shoved the detective down with full force and grabbed the suitcase placed beside him. He shot himself through the hallway, through the crowd, and down the stairs.

It took quite a bit of strength to get Dashiell up, but they were determined. It was now their job to apprehend the - culprit, and they would rather die trying than to let him get away.

”You fucker, I’ll catch you!!”

Once they got on their feet, Dashiell quite literally dashed after Elysium—shoving aside people who got in their way and leaped on every hurdle and obstacle. ’I need to catch you, you murderous prick.’

The espionage stood astounded by the detective’s actions. ‘Fuck. Didn’t I tell them just not to do that?’ he stared, on his way to stop them, until—Shit.

Poirott had taken a closer look at the tall man’s wrist, causing him to throw them towards the ground and swiftly leave the scene. As if the situation at hand wasn’t already insane, the detective had quickly gotten up to chase them.

Fuck. Are you kidding me?

Without a second thought, Lucien ran after the target, the suitcase still in hand. “Stay there,” he shouted towards the former suspects, earning a questioning look from the Balladeer. “Nobody leaves the scene until the case is dealt with.”

He moved along the hallways, navigating himself towards areas with less people in order to reach the culprit faster—using his knowledge about the Museum’s layout to his advantage. As he tailed Elysium, Lucien drew a particular device from his suit’s inner pockets: a set of Atlas’ new optics Asterion had especially customized for him. He had always been stubborn when it came to utilizing things that came over his eyes, though through this, he saw the venue similarly as to how it looked in the mission’s blueprints.

‘This would’ve been useful during the blackout,’ he took in a sharp breath. I let such a stupid thing get in the way of my work. I should’ve used them sooner.’

He proceeded to pursue the target, with Lucien being a floor higher than the detective and the culprit.

The espionage went on ahead, ‘I’ll drop down and cut his route, DW is following him close behind. If we play this right, we can corner him.’ he thought, his sight drawing over to the Museum railing. Lucien clicked his earpiece twice, “Asterion. Any update?”

“Both Museum and Atlas undercover operators within the crowd, they’ll be closing in. 120 seconds,” he responded. “You ready?”

“Mhm. I’m dropping in.” Lucien positioned himself onto the marble railings of the Museum’s second floor. “Inform the medics too for Hydroxocobalamin, the antidote for Hydrogen cyanide poisoning or something.”

“Cyanide poisoning? Luci—” Asterion cut off, the espionage jumping down to the venue’s ground floor.

Fuck. Shit hurt like hell.

He stood up, dusting off and fixing the creases of his suit. Lucien watched as the culprit began to approach from a mere hallway’s distance; both his means of escape closed off.

Villaire’s eyes met with the detective, who determinedly followed the culprit from behind.

Not bad for uninformed teamwork, hm?

Dashiell had pulled out a 9mm Pistol Handgun from their gun holster attached to their waist, carefully pointing at Elysium who looked clueless as he tried to find another escape route. It didn’t take long until the detective and the agent closed the bodyguard off, trapping him in the middle of the two. Dash began closing in on Elysium, their gun steady at the perpetrator.

Accepting that he had nowhere to go, Elysium slowly placed the case down and knelt with his hands up in the air. Dashiell briskly walked to Elysium and pulled out metal handcuffs, grabbing his hands and finally apprehending the murderer.

“You are… under arrest..” Dash had to huff out every word to even try and get through their dizzy state. With one click signifying that Elysium was finally caught, their job was done.

“Maeve, it’s.. it’s done. The culprit has been apprehended.” Dashiell’s body felt heavy, having to lean onto the wall.

“DW, where are you? I’m at the scene—are you okay?” It sounded like she was running, police and ambulance sirens wailing in the background accompanied by overlapping voices and footsteps.

“I’m.. here..”

’I feel like I’m going to drop..’

Lucien watched as the detective had apprehended Elysium completely cornered without any other route to take, followed by the entrance of the Museum’s security. The short manhunt was over the moment the culprit had bolted out of the scene, it was simply impossible to escape a place such as this. He hid his devices away and tucked them back into his suit, walking towards the two in the middle.

“Hey. Detective Poirott!” Lucien approached exasperatedly, clearly prepared to question the detective’s stubbornness until his eyes surveyed their wavering state. “God, are you kidding me?” The espionage groaned, placing his hands over his waist as he considered his next decision. “You look like shit.”

The security had seemed to be preoccupied in arresting the culprit while the others interrogated the former suspects and key witnesses, taking over the case altogether. The medics then came rushing to the scene next, securing Kenji Villanueva and searching for the other harmed individual.

“Detective, your help is here now,” he stated, though unable to overlook the individual’s worsening condition. “...Fuck. Fine, come here.” Lucien offered his arm. “I’ll bring you there, just until they get to you.”

Damn it, Dashiell.

”I don’t.. I’m fine..”

Despite their protests, Dash found themselves reaching for Lucien’s arm. Their vision blurred, taking a few tries until they were able to steady themselves onto the agent.

“Tha.. nk..s..”

Dashiell’s eyes drooped, feeling a heavy weight overcome their body as their vision faded to black. Dash dropped to the floor with a soft ’thud’

Lucien allowed the detective onto his arm, almost successfully supporting them up, until…

‘thud.’ The espionage looked down, feeling the avid stare of onlookers boring daggers into his back as if he’d just killed someone.

“Oh, that’s not…” Lucien ran a hand through his hair, expelling a deep sigh before picking the individual up from the ground. He carried the detective in his arms, holding them securely as he swiftly walked towards a near medic.

“Excuse me, they need treatment—” The dark-haired man approached a medical responder, “Cyanide poisoning, approximately 18 minutes since exposure.”

He could swear he heard the person mutter a curse as he heard the damage before quickly gathering a stretcher, Lucien almost unwilling to let go of the one in his hands. They come to take the detective and place them down on the platform, calling out medical terms after another—those of which unfamiliar to him.

“...What a strange thing to feel helpless about,” he muttered to himself, activating his earpiece. “I should update Asterion, see if he can contact DW’s superior.”

“Asterion—”

“I’m on my way back, stay there,” he responded, the loud sound of wind in the background. “Right. Maeve is there, too. Maybe you’ll see her before I do.”

“What? Maeve?” Lucien looked around, clarifying with his superior if he had heard it correctly.

“Chief of the EIA. I’ll be there soon, make sure nothing bad happens,” Asterion spoke through a muffled signal. “Try to make a good impression.”

Fuck. Is he serious?

As if on cue, a red-haired woman burst through the doors. Her braided hair flipped as she looked around every corner to find the senior detective.

Maeve tucked back her EIA badge after getting through authorities that tried to prevent her from coming in the closed off area, the heels of her shoes hurriedly clacking in the hallway while looking for Dashiell.

“Oi, you haven’t seen a detective running around here, have you? Brown hair? Marks all over his body?” She’d ask the nearby medical staff, who pointed to Dashiell laying down the stretcher. The chief quickly walked to Dash’s side looking extremely worried about what happened. “DW? Dash. Dashiell!”

Maeve tried to get their attention, but it was no use. They were completely out of it.

“God, they’ve got to stop being such a gowl. I told ‘em to stop ingesting poison and such, but they never listen! ‘To build tolerance’, they say.” Maeve massaged the temple of her forehead, stressed with Dashiell’s stubbornness.

The agent’s eyes widened slightly at the new individual’s presence. A ginger-haired woman with red eyes, whose appearance fit exactly like the description in the file Asterion had given him a few meetings back. There was no mistake, this must be the Chief Maeve Asterion mentioned.

The chief detective approached the person on the stretcher, their mind still unconscious. Lucien had seen Dashiell mumbling to their earpiece quite a few times throughout the day, she must’ve been the one they were talking to.

‘Try to make a good impression,’ Asterion’s voice had repeated in his mind. Good impression? Does he not know the tense atmosphere between the two organizations? If the Chief had been listening to the detective’s earpiece the whole time, then…

‘Goddamn it, Dashiell. I’m so cooked. I should just bolt while I’m at it. You know, and use the suitcase as an excuse,’ Lucien contemplated, staring intently at the detective on the stretcher—not having yet made eye contact with the woman. Rather, he’s a little bit afraid to; the slight semblance to Astraea causing a shiver to run up his spine.

Alright. Let’s go. Count of three.

One,

Two,

Th—

“Um. Hello,” a stiff greeting escaped from his throat, looking directly at the woman. ‘Hello’? Lucien, what the fuck do you mean, ‘Hello’? What happened to running? Bolting? Deserting the scene? Protecting the suitcase? Fuck.

”Eh? Oh!”

Maeve whipped herself around to look at the mysterious person behind her. It didn’t take much for her to recognize the Atlas agent. “You’re.. Err.. Somethin’ ta do with L. Lu… Lucy… Lucien!”

Maeve’s eyes brightened upon remembering the agents name. “So you’re the one Aster keeps telling me about! Apologies I haven’t gotten ‘ere sooner, absolute state outside! Everyone’s been up to ninety dealing with those rich bastards.”

It wasn’t hard to notice the slight nervousness (and fear) Lucien had, she could almost see it in his eyes. “Don’t be too nervous! I dunno what yer boss Aster tells you, but I don’t bite!” Maeve patted Lucien’s back to try and get him to loosen up a bit. Her eyes wandered to Dashiell who was now being wheeled outside by the medical team to give them some treatments. Her face softened and furrowed with worry.

“Dash hasn’t given you trouble, have they? They’re a nice person, despite what people think. A big softie too!” Maeve giggles. Even she couldn’t believe that, but it’s pretty true.

Lucien paused for a moment in an attempt to process the newfound information. Huh, the Chief in front of him… wasn’t at all like he initially thought. Maybe she doesn’t know? Either way, this lifted a weight off of the spy’s shoulders.

“Yes, my name is Lucien,” he smiled politely. “Lucien Villaire, Atlas’ executive. Asterion told me I’d get to meet you soon, it’s an honor.” How odd of him to be so formal, but he thought it’s only right as he’s meeting a chief detective for the first time.

Aster, huh? So the two of them were close.. how come he hadn’t told us he had such connections with the Empyreans?

“Ah, about Detective Poirott—” he gradually looked away. Ahem, DW? Nice person? Big softie? Perhaps there was another detective in the EIA that had the same name?

Lucien contemplated for a bit, watching the stretcher leave the area. There was some sense of worry in his heart that he couldn’t shake off. “They’re… not so bad, I guess.” Don’t let Dashiell hear that. “I do think it’d still be a little farther for me to see the ‘big softie’ part of them that you talk about, though.”

That's something I think I'd only see in my nightmares or once in a blue moon.

“Their work ethic is kind of questionable, they’re a good detective but seriously… exposing yourself to cyanide not once, but twice, when the victim—may they rest in peace, had quite literally passed due to that very substance. It’s risky and dangerous,” he groaned, seeming somewhat frustrated; haven’t yet realizing that he had ranted towards the detective’s superior.

Oh, fuck.

“Though, if you look past that…” he sighed and held the back of their neck, “They pay great attention to detail. This case wouldn’t have gone this smoothly if not for them.” Don't let them hear that, either.

”Pfft—Hahahaha!!” Maeve bursts out laughing upon hearing the agent’s rant about her detective. They share the same frustrations about Dashiell. Lucien has no idea how many times she’d almost been murdered with worry over some weird thing Dash had done ‘for the sake of solving the case.’

“Oh, believe me. This isn’t the worse thing they’ve done. One time, they almost got hit by a moving train just to catch up with a runaway culprit. Dash, they’re.. they’re absolutely mental, I’ll tell you. They’d do anything for things they love. This job, their friends—which aren’t a lot, honestly.” Maeve crossed her arms, smiling at the thought of how kind and caring Dash actually was.

“Thank you, Lucien. If you hadn’t helped DW, they would’ve hit the floor before they could even grab a hair from the culprit.” The chief thanked the agent, flashing him a bright smile.

“This isn’t the worst? You mean to say…” Lucien paused, excuse me fucking what. “Almost hit by a moving train? That detective…? God, where do they get the courage?” he crossed his arms. At least now he knew that more than anything, there’s people around them that worry about the things they do.

“Oh, it’s no problem, really…” he shook his head, “It’s just a part of my job to make sure everything’s in check. I suppose I felt like I owed them a little something too after they trusted me with the suitcase. If they hadn’t, I probably would’ve been in big trouble,” he chuckled.

To Lucien, the atmosphere had warmed up a little, their company being a rather refreshing change. “It’s nice to see someone so passionate about their job, much less do whatever it takes for it. Truth be told, there’s not a lot of people like him in our industry… which makes it a little bit easier for things to go awry.”

Unbeknownst to the two, a black car had carefully swept up into the driveway. The driver inside had fixed the suit he wore before opening the door and stepping out of the vehicle.

His long, silver hair shone under the Museum’s lights, his tie falling off slightly due to the lack of time to prepare. This man had just arrived from a meeting in Greece, rushing to the scene in order to check on his agent and dearest friend.

Asterion, Atlas’ Chief Executive Officer, rather… ‘acting’ CEO.

“Ugh…” his nose scrunches as he fixes his tie. Asterion’s eyes survey the scene, looking for three familiar faces. He hands the chauffeur the keys to his car, allowing him to park at the nearest area.

‘Maeve, Lucien, Dashiell… Maeve, Luci—Ah! Heh. There they are.’

A familiar ginger hair amongst the crowd causes Aster’s expression to light up. He chuckles amongst himself, casually moving towards the two chattering freely.

“Maaaaaeve!” he appears suddenly, with every intention of surprising her from behind, “How’s my favorite detective? Ah, that's not right. You're your very own chief now. God, it's been awhile.”

A loud audible gasp escaped Maeve after hearing such a familiar voice from behind. She had no idea Asterion would come over, but she was more than happy to see the man.

“Aster? Howya! It has, hasn’t it? Gosh, yer too flattering. What fancy country have you come from this time?”

Maeve wrapped an arm around him, tightly hugging her old friend. If Dashiell were conscious, they’d definitely stare in absolute disbelief at the sight of his boss and their enemy agency’s acting CEO being all buddy-buddy with each other.

“Look at ya, all fancy lookin’! I was just having a chat with your agent here. He met with my detective—who had a bit too much cyanide to smell tonight.” She’d sigh. “I told ya they’d get along with each other! You wouldn’t believe me.”

The agent watched the two superiors, seemingly stunned from the sight before him. He wondered if it was an effect from getting a slight whiff of the cyanide, but a small pinch on the wrist proved otherwise.

For an individual who believed that these two organizations were at odds with each other to the point where their agents would rival and bicker, this situation was so… unreal.

Lucien suppressed the urge to ask Asterion what on Earth was going on, were they suddenly… ‘best friends’? Atlas and Empyrean? …Seriously? Something felt suspicious. The last time he’d seen his ever-so nonchalant superior Asterion this ‘buddy-buddy’ with someone was when Astraea had been there, and even then, she wasn’t so receptive.

Did hell suddenly freeze over?

“Oh please! Maeve, you make it sound like I travel the world frequently, I’m merely attending to Atlas’ affairs overseas,” he waved his hand, “My home country—Greece, Astraea’s been missing for awhile now, you know how she is.”

Asterion responded to her hug by returning it, letting out a sigh of relief. “Look at you! Barely changed from the last time we saw each other, it brings me back to our former days.”

“Ah you’re right! I watched the feedback from the cameras, though I could barely see a proper thing. Those suckers, they really know nothing about security… my agents can’t watch their every move in HD! Anyhow, it’s good the medics got here in time. Lucien, you took care of detective DW, did you?”

The silver-haired superior pulled back, a hand finding it’s way onto Lucien’s hair. “This one’s been pretty antsy, you know? Being so cautious about meeting your detective, EIA this, EIA that!” he sighed. “Reminds me of you and I, back in the day. Trust me, you’ll get along just fine.” Asterion turned his attention back to Maeve, smiling. “Speaking of, why don’t we go take a look at your detective’s condition? I might as well take this chance to meet them.”

”You make it sound like we’re ancient to yer agent talkin’ about the old days!” Maeve let out a loud laugh, earning a few stares from the people around them. She didn’t really care enough though. “Yeah, I suppose we should. Though knowing my DW, they’ll always find a way out of something—even when they’re unconscious. Unbelievable, I’ll tell ya! I doubt they’re even human, they’re pure crazy!”

Maeve began leading the way to Dashiell, using the chance to catch up with her old friend and get to know Lucien a bit more at the same time. It felt like the tense atmosphere from the murder mystery had cleared up, Maeve chatting away like it didn’t even happen.

A few steps lead the trio to a medical tent stationed onto the museum’s grass. It had been closed off to the public with a few police men stationed around its proximity. A quick flash of the EIA’s badge and their entrance to the tent went smoothly. It wasn’t hard to spot Dashiell as there weren’t many people inside.

Dashiell was laid down on a blue portable hospital bed, an IV injected into their veins. The clear liquid dripped quietly, the faint chatter of medical responders heard around them.

Maeve nervously approached Dashiell after a quick word with the on-site doctor. She looked at their chest–

They were breathing. They’re stable.

Maeve sighed in relief. She almost had a heart attack, worrying if Dashiell had survived or not. Despite what Dash keeps reassuring her, they couldn’t always be fine.

“Dash, you prick.” She lightly punched their leg.

Asterion observed the detective’s unconscious body, feeling somewhat pitiful of their situation. “Really, Maeve… this poor detective looks like they’d need a long break after this. Hydrogen cyanide? It’s risky. Even I wouldn’t meddle with that,” he sighed. He'd seen a few casualties from missions throughout his time at Atlas, though, each of them don't fail to send a significant impact.

“It’d take awhile for them to get back on the field, no? A few days or so, it’s not something we can rush. Dashiell Poirott, what a dedicated operative.” The silver-haired agent contemplated for a moment, before turning to look at Lucien, a smile forming from his lips. “Heeeey, Lucien!”

“Eugh… what?” The spy responded, no longer fazed by the CEO’s little plans. Though, this one… felt like trouble. “No, don’t tell me—” Lucien waved an X with his hand repeatedly, gesturing for Asterion to cut it out.

The latter let out a chuckle, "Oh, come on. You could learn a thing or two!" He pat the espionage’s back, “You’re still suspended, remember? You landed this mission our of pure luck! Now, Luci… how about you help take care of this little detective for me? Maybe you’d have a good time getting along.”

“Hey, I told you I’d deal with the suspension once the mission was over!” Lucien looked at him exasperatedly. “Not fair, nuh uh. I haven’t even returned the suitcase back to the base. The longer I spend here, the longer I put myself in danger, you know?” he reasoned.

Asterion merely stifled a laugh at his attempt, “Your mission is already over, Agent Lucien. The moment you surrender that suitcase to HQ, you’re suspended.”

“Doesn’t that mean you won’t put me on anymore missions? Isn’t looking after DW a mission?” he said a little quieter, hesitating to decline in front of EIA’s chief executive. “You know we don’t get along!”

“Trust me, you’ll be fine. It’s not like they bite, right, Maeve? Dashiell helped you get off easy, too. You were one of the suspects, weren’t you?”

What the hell. Is he rooting against me?

Lucien’s eyes gradually moved over to the detective’s unconscious body. ‘...Seriously? ‘doesn’t bite’? They’d bite my head off if they had the chance to!”

”I’m thinkin’ of putting ‘em on a little break fer a week. It might sound short, but to them? Basically a month. I swear, they’ve gone to my gaff and begged to get back on the field a million times even after they almost carked it!”

’This job’ll be the death of them..’ The chief detective sighed deeply. She’d always admired Dashiell’s courage and determination, but even she thought it was too excessive. Though Maeve sort of understood why they acted this way, not after.. what happened. They still wouldn’t accept Maeve’s offers to fully pay for their eye surgery.

”Aye, DW won’t bite that much! If yer lucky enough, they’ll spare you an arm.” Maeve’s loud cackle earned several glances from various nurses and doctors. She couldn’t wait for the day Dashiell wakes up and finds that Lucien of all people had been stuck to look after them. There was that one specific look she was hoping to see—the look of pure disgust and confusion combined in one.

“You two’ll have a grand old time, y’know? Get ‘ta know each other an’ ev’rything once DW’s awake.” The bright grin never left the red-head’s face, “After all, you two are gonna be stuck with one another a lot now. Ain’t that right, Aster?”

Maeve nudged the taller suited man beside her, implying about the agent and detective’s future partnership—which was beginning to happen rather sooner than later.

The unconscious detective began to toss and turn in their sleep. It seems like they could wake up a bit earlier than expected.

The long-haired man chuckled, “It seems these two are more alike than you’d think. Two sides of the same coin, you’d almost wonder what makes them bicker so much. It’s hard to get Lucien to let go of a case once he’s put his mind to it, he’s a little less risky, thankfully… until other people get involved. He’s a lot sappier than he’ll show.” Asterion smiled wistfully, as if remembering how the agent was in the past; receiving nothing more than a side-eye from Lucien. “Look at you, all grown up!”

“Come on, Asterion… that’s embarrassing,” he groaned, looking away from the two. Of all things, why did this have to feel like two parents meeting up and talking about their ‘kids’? Though, Asterion rather liked these kind of conversations. He prided himself in his executives, after all.

“It’ll only be a matter of time before these two get acquainted, no? Heh. You better get used to it now, Lucien. You’ll be seeing each other a lot more soon,” Asterion hummed, “Isn’t that great? I feel like these two would come to balance each other out, perhaps less suspensions and even lesser encounters with death. It’ll be like a dream come true for us, Maeve, it’s like they’re supervising themselves for us.”

…?

Wait, what?

“Hey, hold on! What do you mean by that, huh? See each other more often?” Lucien stared at the two superiors, feeling a shiver run up their spine. “No way. Trust me, Poirott would never agree to that!”

Hey. Hey Dashiell. Wake up. They're planning something without our knowledge. HEY. GET UP??

“Asterion..? Miss Maeve? What exactly is this about? You do know that the two of us are at odds, no..? They'd be more than willing to bite me than you'd think,” he pinched Dashiell's leg slightly. Wake up, DW. We're so fucked.
”About time they start working on their collaboration and teamwork, too! After they stop pointin’ knives at each other’s necks, they’ll both be good fellas in no time!”

Ghk.. fuck, my head..

Wait. Maeve? That’s her voice, right..? But then—where were they? Weren’t they just in the museum’s hallway? Where was the culprit? WHAT WAS HAPPENING??

The light seeped in their eyes, causing some annoyance to the detective. Dashiell’s consciousness had began to regain. They could hear faint conversations and—yep, definitely Maeve. Anyone could recognize that thick Irish accent even with their eyes closed. But who was that other voice? It sounded like a man. A sophisticated one? Lucien was there too. That’s why Dashiell felt annoyed.

Something was pinching their leg. Ow. They tried to kick it away. Dashiell groaned in their slightly stiff pillow. Man, this bed was not that comfortable. Wait—bed??

“Ughh…”

Dashiell felt like shit. Absolute, heavy, groggy shit. And there was an uncomfortable feeling in their arm. And the bed, this couldn’t even count as a bed. Actually, everything was uncomfortable. Could they be unconscious again? It was nice before they were aware of things.

“Ow,” the agent winced at Dashiell’s kick. How the fuck could an unconscious person hit that hard? ‘Dash. Dash. Dashiell. You’re awake now, right?’

Fuck. Only a crazy man would talk to his brain like that, it’s not like they’re telepathic. Though, a wave of relief coursed through him—he wouldn’t have to be the only one dealing with this… situation.

‘This had me more nervous than the interrogation. God, give me patience. I think I’ll have to desert my post if worse comes to worst.’

“Hm? Oh, they’re right on time. Maeve, it seems like your detective’s regaining their consciousness,” Asterion remarked, his arms crossed. “Gosh, if you knew how worried your Chief was about you.”

To the people within the tent, this must’ve looked like some crazy family gathering, yet it seemed like none of them quite cared of what the others thought of them as long as they weren’t bothering anyone doing their job.

“Maeve, let’s wait for them to gather their thoughts for now. It wouldn’t be so wise to worry a recovering patient this early on,” he smiled at the detective politely, knowing that their presence must be somewhat unfamiliar to them. “The name's Asterion Versailles, Atlas’ supervisor. I've heard a lot about you from your superior, Dashiell Poirott.”

Dash couldn’t ignore their surroundings anymore. They slowly rose from their laid-down state, one arm holding their forehead and the other helping them push their body upwards. Dashiell tried to regain their thoughts.

’All I can remember… I caught that bodyguard, and was reaching for… oh god, I was reaching out for Lucien.. This cyanide poisoning is probably getting worse if I did that

Dashiell’s face scrunched up in frustration. Their eyes finally opened up to look at their new surroundings. An averagely brightly lit medical tent littered with a few nurses, doctors, and policemen. Next to Dash was a tall, silver, IV drip that was injected into their veins. ’Ah, that was the uncomfortable feeling.’

The blue bed they sat on was stiff as hell now that they’ve noticed. ’This is an embarrassment to all the beds in the world.’

Now, the blurry figures standing beside them…

One of them was Maeve, that was sure. The other tall one… introduced themselves as Asterion Versailles. Fuck—are they still delirious or did he say that he was Atlas’ supervisor?

The last one.. Dashiell had to take a good look. Their good eye had a hard time focusing.. wait a minute..

“What the fuck. Why are you here.”

Lucien crossed his arms, “Wooow, that’s offensive. Not even a ‘thx p’? Or better yet, ‘Thank you for not letting me rot on the ground, Lucien!’? Gosh, you really are a joy to be around. You’re welcome, though,” he humphed.

He observed the detective’s state, seeming a lot less worse than they previously did back in the Museum.

They weren’t… fully recovered, but it seems the nausea was no longer that prominent, if they could bring themselves to curse the agent out, then they’re close to being as good as new. ‘Got me all concerned and for what?’

“You’re up already, still feeling dizzy? It seems you’re having a hard time trying to recognize my face, what a shame for you,” he grinned, remembering how they were the moment before they passed out.

If that was embarrassing for Lucien, then that must mean it’s all the more for them—which was completely worth it.

A silver-haired man right beside the executive cleared his throat, nudging Lucien. “Come on, don’t pester the detective this early, let them adjust to their surroundings.”

“Eugh… right,” the agent shrugged. “Well then, how are you feeling, detective? If you're feeling alright, maybe we can arrange to move you some place better.”

Oh, to see the look on Dashiell's face once they find out what kind of shit we've dug for ourselves later on.

They weren’t sure if it was the cyanide, the hydroxycobalamin being injected in their veins, or if Dashiell was truly on the brink of death.. but was Lucien acting nice..?

“What’s going on. Why are you talking like that. Maeve—“ Dashiell turned to their boss, who looked like they’ve been holding back a big fat laugh the entire time, “What the hell is happening. Why is Atlas’ supervisor here? Is the mission done? Am I in heaven? Did I actually die?”

A million questions flooded Dashiell’s mind. The main one being: “What the actual fuck is going on??”

“Well.. Lucien, do ya wanna break the news to yer.. pfft.. ‘new partner’?” Maeve’s laugh escaped her as she prompted the agent to reveal the wonderful news to the poor, clueless detective.

WHAT. WHAT ??????? WHATTTTTTT????

“Hold—Hold on!” Lucien’s eyes widened, indicating his shock as clear as day. “You didn’t say anything about ‘partner’! I thought I’d just be watching over them for a few days until they completely recover? I think you forgot to catch me up on a few steps there, Miss Maeve!”

My world is actually crumbling. It’s over. I’m so cooked. I should start writing down my will and donate whatever I have to my favorite non-profits.

“Asterion, help me clear this up. I’m ‘supervising’ Poirott during my suspension, no? It should only be a few days, not even enough for a whole week. That’s all, yeah? Yeah. Okay, so detective—” The operative tried to explain, though finding himself cut off at Asterion’s muffled laugh.

He covered his chuckling mouth with a hand, the two supervisors seeing this wretched situation as amusing. Is this how it feels? To be mere puppets in the big picture? To be played by those in authority?

‘Jeez, how over dramatic,’ is what Astraea would probably say, but no! There was nothing over dramatic about this. To him, this event would likely mark the beginning of the end of his life.

‘I should write a letter: To anyone that reads this note, if I happen to mysteriously disappear or die all of a sudden, the individual Dashiell Wyatt Poirott is likely the one responsible for my murder, you should look into him.’ That sounds about right.

“Maeve, it seems they don’t quite get the gist of it yet,” Asterion finally spoke up, “You two will become partners starting today, exciting, yes? It’s the start of a majestic partnership between our two agencies, and we have chosen the two of you to test the waters.”

Pinch me. This is just one horrible dream. My past is finally catching up to me, I should’ve never grabbed the case file from that desk and ran.

What a curse you are, Poirott.

There it was. That look on their face. The look of absolute confusion, disbelief, and disgust. Dashiell blankly blinked at Maeve, then at Asterion, and then at Lucien.

No.

No way.

There’s absolutely no fucking way this was actually happening.

This was just unbelievable. So unbelievable, in fact, that Dashiell burst out laughing.

“Haha.. Hahahaha.. Ahahahahahaha!!!” Dashiell’s laugh sounded.. well, it didn’t sound happy for starters. Like a crazed villain laughing at their nemesis’ demise. Which is what Dashiell probably preferred at the moment instead of what they just heard.

“Oh, sir. You—you’re funny, you know that? Haha.. talking about partnership. That’s.. that’s a joke!.. Right?” Dashiell desperately turned to Maeve for confirmation, reassurance—just a simple nod will do. Just to clarify that this was indeed a prank and not actually real—

“It’s real, Dashie. Not kidding ‘ya or anything. Me an’ Aster over ‘ere have been talkin’ bout this partnership between Empyre and Atlas for some time. We thought why not use you two as our little guinea pigs in this experiment?”

Wow. Guinea pigs. We’ve been reduced to guinea pigs. See, this is what happens when people have power. They abuse it. They use innocent people to do whatever sick plans the superiors have. This is literally what’s wrong with society.

“Can we bring the cyanide back? Yeah, I think it’s my time. My time to die. I think dying is good now.”

Asterion sighed, shaking his head. “Oh, you two, there’s no need to react like that. We suspected you’d act this way, notorious for being the ‘lone operators’ in your respectives agencies and all, but that’s precisely why the two of you need to work together,” he explained.

“The two best yet most uncooperative agents in the Atlas Intelligence Service and Empyrean Investigative Agency, the two of you are perfect if the variable we wish to measure is the compatibility of our two organizations, it makes sense.

Of course, I’ll explain the entirety of the arrangement in a later date once Detective Poirott is in a much better condition, but that is the gist. You can opt out, though… the two of you are the only operatives we’d be considering.”

For a special reason, of course.

“If you decline, the deal’s completely void. Got it?” Asterion smiled, an innocent expression plastered across his face as if he didn’t just threaten the entirety of the deal going into ruin if they don’t put up with it.

He contemplated for a bit, an eye meeting with Maeve’s in an attempt to figure out a way to convince the two to actually work together.

‘Maeve,’ he spoke a little quieter, having only the lady hear his words. ‘Shall we give them another condition or settle with this for now? If the former… we can always give them a time limit. A false one, of course, but we’d have to gamble on their partnership.’

The silver-haired man cleared his throat as he waited for a response. “Ahem, in any case, the two of you will be compensated fairly, so there’s really not much to lose, is there? Only your pride’s on the line, I’d say grab the opportunity while you can.”

’I say we give ‘em the false time limit.’ Maeve nodded her head in agreement. ’I know my detective, they’ll come around. More later than sooner, but they can handle it. I can’t speak for yer man o’er there, but my gut tells me they’ll become good fellas with each other. And you know ‘ma gut is never wrong, Aster.’

The freckled woman patted her arm onto Dashiell’s shoulder, staring into their purple and grey eyes. “C’mon, DW. Trust me on this, eh? This’ll do wonders for you!”

”No fucking way, Red. I would rather lose my job than work with him.” Dash’s face scrunched up in pure hatred at the thought of them working together. Maeve could feel a vein in her forehead twitch from the pettiness and bitterness Dashiell exhibited.

“Dash. I know you two don’t get along, but this predicament yer in won’t be such a holy show. Stop yer whinin’ now, you langer.” Maeve flicked her fingers on Dashiell’s forehead, earning a small ‘hiss’ from the man.

”Maeve, please—“

”You need to start trusting people again, Poirott.” She quickly interrupted Dashiell.

Those words seemingly woke up Dash from their frustration with the situation and grogginess from the meds. Dashiell’s eyes widened, their brows wrinkled with hidden sadness.

“I know why you don’t work with anyone else, but please. This is for yer own good. Why not give it a shot, yeah? Tell me, when have I ever let ya down?” Her face softened upon seeing the flicker of guilt and regret shining in Dashiell’s eyes.

These were the rare moments Dashiell’s vulnerability showed. No one else was able to get them to be like this—except Maeve. This is what she meant when she referred to Dashiell as ‘a big softie’. Outside of being their boss, she truly was their only friend.

Dashiell bit their lip trying to decide their future fate. Accepting the deal would cost them their pride, but rejecting it would cost the partnership between two rival agencies (and probably Maeve’s friendship with Asterion and -themself.

Ugh, it’s all so annoying.

Their head hurts. Can’t everything go away for just a moment?

…

…………..

”I accept the deal.” Dash had to force that cursed sentence out of their clenched teeth, avoiding eye contact with everyone, including Maeve. Oh, how their pride took immense damage. Could they just sink into the ground now? Please and thank you.

“You heard them, Lucien. You know you can’t keep living within your own skin all of the time. It’s about time you try to get along with other operatives. You need to explore beyond your own horizons.” Asterion placed a hand on the agent’s shoulder. “A little change of pace wouldn’t be so bad, you might even learn a thing or two.”

“Asterion! That’s not what I need!” The dark-haired man contested, his unwillingness getting the better of him. His voice had called the attention of a few passersby within and outside the tent, forcing him to simmer down.

Lucien swept his superior’s hand off of his shoulder, “Why can’t you just get another spy, Aster? Someone better equipped than me. If you’d just take a moment’s time to observe your own organization, there’s hundreds of your men fighting over your command.”

“That’s not how it works, Luci,” Asterion frowned, freezing at his agent’s aggression. He knew of his reluctance to offer himself to others, but the longer Lucien disconnects himself from reality, the easier he’d be to self-destruct. He couldn’t let that possibility foster. “It has to be you.”

“Why are you always so against me?” his eyes widened, a pained voice as he spoke. “You don’t listen, you’re always gone! Ever since we lost Astra—” Lucien groaned, stopping himself from going on. He felt frustrated, yet couldn’t help but be ashamed for almost losing himself in front of the two Empyreans.

The executive looked away, his eyes dropping to the floor. His hand covered by black leather gloves clasped the suitcase tightly, almost turning white out of disbelief. Lucien raised the case and propped it to Asterion’s torso, prompting him to hold it. “Fine, I accept. Do whatever you want. You’ve always had.”

Then, Lucien spared no moment to leave the tent—excusing himself from the three.

Asterion ran his hands through his hair, groaning as no other traces of his agent remained in the area. He quickly adjusted his demeanor, flashing a smile despite his exasperation. “My, I’m really sorry you had to see that. Astraea knew him a lot better than I do, and as you can see… I have a few misgivings myself. I still have a lot to learn.”

“He’s a good man, despite his unwillingness… You could say he’s equally stubborn when it comes to collaborations like these, more than anything—he likely just needs a moment to breathe. It takes him awhile to open up to others. I hope this doesn’t disrelish your opinion of him any further, Dashiell.”

Lucien found himself at a farther distance from the tent and the Museum itself, kicking rocks in the side of the street. He frowned, adjusting his tie to make his suit feel a little less… suffocating.

‘Oh, shit.’ He paused. ‘I fucked up.’

God, Lucien! Throwing tantrums at your age? Ugh… Uuuuugh… Fucking hell. It's not like I said anything that wasn't true, but damn it. I feel like shit.

Dashiell couldn’t do anything other than watch Lucien stomp his way out of the tent like a little kid. They groaned as they made themselves sit on the edge of the bed to face Asterion and Maeve. Their rough hands gripping the IV stand to better support them. Dashiell had begun to feel significantly better than what they felt moments ago, but the feeling of falling back on the floor still remained.

“Thank you, sir. Lucien’s.. honestly, he’s pretty annoying. And I think he’s stubborn and too confident.” Dash had to pause themselves from continuing talking bad about the agent in front of their boss. “…But I think I see what you mean.“

Dashiell felt… unsure about this whole thing. There was this overwhelming feeling deep inside them—the guilt had settled back in their lungs. They didn’t feel ready to get back in the field with a partner, not again.

Asterion let out a slight chuckle, “Stubborn and too confident, huh? I apologize, he got that from me back in the day. Even Maeve could tell at first glance that we were practically cut from the same cloth.”

Likewise, since Lucien’s gone and Dashiell’s still recovering, the official meeting will be postponed as of now, though the agreement will likely be going ahead.

We’ve planned for every possible outcome, after all.

“Though… in the event that the two of you truly can’t get along for a valid reason, we won’t intend to force you any further. You can choose to back out, but this is an opportunity that doesn’t come very often. This decision will be a turning point for our two agencies, perhaps even us as people—and hopefully for the better.”

The head executive couldn’t hide the look of concern in his face despite his smile, his attention turning to the ginger-haired lady next to him.

“Speaking of… Maeve, let's get the detective moved to a better facility, as this place must've been quite uncomfortable. I’ll need to talk to you about something afterwards as well, over a drink, maybe? My treat. We’ll go to the bar we’ve always gone to.”

‘Right.’

Whatever happens, we only hope for the best for our people.

It has been high time for the sea and the sky to join arms, after all, even more as we go against a common enemy.

Atlas and Empyrean, where will your journey take you?’

.

..

…

The man tried to keep a steady hold of his phone, clicking the contacts of whoever would dare answer. As the device rang, Lucien spoke in between small, shallow breaths, his heart racing as he tried to cut off whoever had been tailing him. “Hey, this is Executive Villaire—”

Tut. Sent to voicemail. Fuck.

He tried calling another, the footsteps of the second individual moving faster—and so did he. The next call rang once before the call dropped, and Lucien began feeling desperate. For someone with 27 years into his biography, you’d think he’d have more contacts in his phone, or better yet, people that’d answer.

Lucien froze as he saw the one route he his path had lead to, none other than a dead end. He could swear he heard the individual behind him mutter a laugh to themselves.

He stood his ground, facing the aggressor with his back facing the wall. The spy chose a random contact on his phone and hoped desperately that they would answer.

‘Dialing: “Crazy EIA Detective” (Dashiell Poirott)’

Ring… ring…

The phone clicked, and for a moment he felt relief. Though, unfortunately to Lucien… so, too, did his opponent’s gun.

[END OF CHAPTER 1.]