Joker's Wild, Chapter 1: Comatose Girlfriends, Smug Bastards, and Soul-Sucking Sex Offenders

Tell me; have you ever experienced a year so strange, so bizarre, and so bat-shit insane crazy, that you question your very faith in whether or not the the human existence actually exists as we know it? I have! Or, at least I think I have. It depends on whether or not I've been doped up on LSD this entire time. Either that, or I'm dead. Which I might actually prefer, considering the list of... 'changes' that I've gone through. A breast implant of sorts being one of them. And I'm a guy.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I think. It all started a year ago, back during a cool May night. Actually, if you want to get technical, it all started with the creation of the very first molecule to ever come into existence, but I digress. I was standing outside a dim, narrow hallway, on the second-to-top floor of the most run down apartment imaginable. To give you a brief picture; half the windows were cracked in multiple places, there was a chance of falling through the floor if you weren't careful, (seriously, you could see the holes,) and the landlord spent half his time drinking his brains out, and the other half cutting out pink paper dolls and humming to himself 'I'm so pretty', thinking no-one could him when everyone could. How do I know this, you ask? Well, that would be because I ended spending an ungodly amount of time in this building over the next few years or so, but let's handle that when we get there, hm?

In any case, I was sitting in a chair in a hall inside this godforsaken establishment because I was waiting for an I said I was standing, wasn't I? To tell the truth, I was standing, but then a rather decent-yet-old chair dropped straight from the ceiling, from the floor above. Aside from a few select curses and obscenities, whoever owned the chair in the first place never bothered to come take it back. As I liked to say, when life turns you favors, you don't turn them away. Except when you do. Which happens more often then you'd think. Anyway, I was supposed to make contact with a group of individuals known only as 'Joker's Wild', because I heard from those in the know that they would be they best to take care of my particular problem. And just what is my problem, you might ask? Aside from the fact that I have extreme difficulties expressing my homosexual tendencies?

...That was a joke. You're supposed to laugh. Of course, without the proper context, I guess there isn't much point to the joke to begin with. But, who knows; you might get it eventually.

Anyway, my real problem, then and there, was my girlfriend. Or rather, the lack of one. I did have a girlfriend, a couple of weeks ago. Lovely little number by the name of Samantha Karolyn.

Lovely long hair the color of bright carrots, though her bod' was a bit underwhelming. But, after all my experience in the field of the sexual hunt, I've grown to learn that, more often then not, a woman's body isn't nearly as important as her personality. I mean, sure, if she's a pretty face, you can get together for a night or two, but what's in it for the both of you after that? A 6-pound bundle of despair and misery that'll cost one of you countless waking hours and a lost custody case? And the one who wins the case, they're still saddled with the abomination. Of course, if you actually have the thing willingly, then I'd imagine it's the best thing that could ever happen to you. But as for me, I can't ever see myself taking care of a kid. But I digress. Samantha may not have been the best looker, but she was still pretty, in a modest sort of way. But more then that, she was such a great woman. Funny, caring, tough when needed to be, but laid back when not, and was willing to put up with my constant meandering. In fact, I'm surprised you're still reading this crap. But, in any case, we had something. Something real, something special. Sure, her father was a bit of a creep, (more on him later,) but that didn't matter. We were going to get married, have a family of our own, a life...

And then they took it all away.

You want to know the 'they' I'm referring to? That would be... telling. But what I can tell you is how they did it. Or at least, part of it. She was completely fine the one night; we met up at a fancy restaraunt, had some laughs, some good food, lengthy discussions about the state of the world, some loving kisses, you name it. Might have even had some good times afterward too, but she said she had a rough night's sleep last night, and wouldn't be able to last if we were 'together' that night. That was fine with me; I'm open, I'm flexible, I'm understanding. But perhaps I should have insisted we be together that night. Then, maybe I would have been able to do something about it.

The Sunset City Police Department was unable to find a scrap of detail on how she died. Well, at least how she wound up a vegetable. Her body's still completely intact. Nothing was done to it, aside from some small blunt tramau on the head, but as far as they could tell, that was caused by her body falling straight to the floor, as she just sort of... dropped. Oh, and without her clothes on; did I forget to mention that? Not a single scrap of even her undies. And it gets worse; I talked to the doctors, but as far as they could tell, there wasn't a touch of brain activity. None there at all. And her brain's still in her head; they checked, just to make sure; there's just nothing there. No thoughts, no ideas, not even the most basic thoughtwaves, nothing. It was as if her very being, her very soul, was sucked right out of her.

Now, as you know, I'm a flexible guy. Not a complete reed in the wind, but I can bend when I need to. And, if necessary, I'd believe anything if it meant bringing my girl back. Or, if that wasn't possible, or if there was someone or something responsible for making her like this, I could still make them pay. Of course, I'd have to find a means of doing that first.

And then it hit me. I'd been watching the Maltese Falcon - one my favorite movies, 'case you don't know - the other night, and it was after that, after my girl got 'murdered', that that ol' classic came to mind. That's when it got me; Private Investigators. Why not send in a good ol' PI? Someone who won't stop till the case is solved? Someone willing to go behind the law to get to the bottom of the case at hand? Someone who wouldn't nearly go along with an illegal, amoral scheme to find some old statue of a bird for a ton of cash? Alright, so Bogart wasn't exactly the best role model. But the idea still held up. And so, I talked to some guys I knew, looked up the local ads, got myself god-stinking drunk, somehow wound up in the bed of another man, (an experience that would come back to haunt me,) went back to the ads, did some searching online, and that's when I made my choice; 'Joker's Wild.' According what I'd heard about 'em, they dealt with all sorts of cases in the strange and unnatural. And in a way, that made a sort of sense. You see, Sunset City isn't exactly a normal place, at least from what I've heard. I've never experienced that sort of stuff myself, but I've heard ghost stories of all kinds. 'Things man was not meant know' and all that. Plus, more then once, there was some guy on the news that had his blood sucked drained, with holes on his neck. It's a wonder this sort of stuff never got around to the outside world, even considering the eternal hellhole that is the internet, but for one reason or another, the news never gets out of here. Makes you wonder what happens to people here who try to leave...

But in any case, Joker's Wild seemed like the place. Which brings us back to where we were; me sitting outside some old room, in one of the worst apartment's you could ever know. ...Or at least, of that I ever knew. Truth be told, this was the first apartment I'd ever set foot in, but it didn't exactly give me a sterling first impression. It was then, as I finally decided to 'Fuck it', that the door finally opened. And from that wide, empty doorway came four words that, at the moment, I honestly wasn't sure I wanted to hear:

'Please, do come in.'

Well, when some deep voice tells to enter into some strange room, with a rickety door that looks like it opened under it's own power, what else can you do? Run like hell.

Of course, that's what I'd have liked to do, but Samantha mattered more then my own life. ...Alright, alright; almost as much. Which is why I brought myself a handy-dandy revolver with me. Nothing cleans the sinus's in the morning like the smell of gunpowder. At least, I assume that's the case, since I'd never fired the thing myself. But, duty called. And so, holding up the revolver to the right side of my head, I slowly, ever so slowly, walked into the room...

It was when I finally got a glimpse of the room itself that I truly started to have second thoughts. The room itself was actually quite lovely. Or rather, it wasn't horrifying. There was a shelf on the right side of the room, filled with books, and there was also a narrow red door on the left. A small bedroom, perhaps? And right in the middle of this quaint little space was who I assumed to be the man I wanted to see. He was dressed in a fine suit, tie&all, with a fedora to top it off. The first thing you truly noticed though, was that it was all white. The suit, tie, shoes, even the fedora; you'd almost swear it was all bleached, but then you realize that the quality of the clothes are still too good for that. The second thing that strikes you is the eyepatch. The one thing that mixes up the overall bleached look of the man's attire; a pitch-black eyepatch on his right eye, dark as night. But perhaps what strikes you most of all his is attitude. He was laid back in a brown easy chair, his legs stretched out lazily atop a small desk, cluttered with various pens&pencils, scraps of paper, and even a coffee mug. His left arm sprawled across the chair's own left arm, and his rightmost&index fingers on his right hand were placed to the right side of his head. And then there was the man's face, or rather, scrutinizing his expression. His left eye actually wasn't of too much interest; it was looking at me, sure, but that seemed to be the extent it'd go. But his right eye; I couldn't see it of course, but I could swear; somehow, I could feel it; that under that eyepatch, it was staring right past me, into my very soul. Of course, there was always the chance that this was a bad case of indigestion on the man's part, but somehow, I doubted that. I guess you could call what happened next instinct; my eyes went wide, and I swiftly brought down the revolter, aiming it straight at the man in front of me. Now, you'd think most people that have their life threatened, they'd be a bit more careful.

Not this guy. Hell, he was downright laughing his assoff.

He gave a low chuckle, as if I was just some kid holding a watergun. "You realize of course," he began to say, "that if you kill me now, you'll never discover what happened to your lover."

He wasn't exactly helping his case. I'd never so much as stepped on this guy's dandruff before today; how could he know why I came to him? Of course, now I know. But I didn't know it then.

"What do you know?!", I yelled, rather hysterically as I remember.

The man simply gave off a deep chuckle. "I know," he then told me, "that your name is Mickey Chandlers, that you are 22 years old, that you work at Uncle Tuck's Convenience Store on 36th&Chicago, and that you still have idea what happened to... Samantha Karolyn, was it?"

"How-", I began to yell out, but then man simply raised his left hand; far as I could figure, he was subtly telling me to stop behaving like an insane lunatic. Mind you, I think that acting like an insane lunatic in that situation was perfectly justified; my name is Micky Chandlers, and I do work at Uncle Tuck's Convenience Store. Thanks to the name alone, I'm often embarrassed to work there, but that wasn't important right now. What was important was-

"'Is finding out how he knows all this', is that what you're thinking right now, Micky?" He caught me. Right in the middle of my thought. And that's when it hit me.

"You...", I began to say, albeit no longer scared. "You... fucking bastard!" I was honestly more angry then scared at this point. "You can read my mind, can't you?!", I said, now waving the gun around like a deranged the madman. In retrospective, I could have probably taped myself and wound up with a couple'a hundred dollars thanks to my particular display, but I wasn't exactly thinking too clearly at the time.

"Yes, ," said the man, still grinning to his ears, "I can. And before you ask, no; I can't turn it off. If you think it, then I will know it."

"...So," I said,quietly now, "do you know... you know, everything? Like, about the blimp and the 30 Chinamen?" And before you ask, that's a story for another day, thank you very much...

"No," said the man, raising up his right eyebrow, "but if it weren't for more pressing matters at hand, I'd certainly like to know more. But..."

"What 'pressing matters'?", I replied.

"Why," said the man again, "discovering the fate of young Samantha, of course. Please, do sit down." He held out his right hand towards a seat in the down-left corner of the room. Being a fine, upstanding gentlemen like myself, who most certainly did not behave like a deranged gun-toting lunatic, I took the seat, placed it in front of the desk with a large 'THUD', hastily loosened up the tie on my fine black suit, and sat the hell down.

The man, roughly lifting his feet off the table, sitting up straight in his chair, and folding his hands oh-so neatly together like some scheming supervillain, decided to introduce himself. "My name is Raymond Reynolds, and this," he declared, holding his hand out and motioning it across the room, is my... you know, I would have said 'humble abode', but another, far better place deserves that title. Perhaps you shall see it some day. But in any case, this is where I present myself to the adoring- no, not adoring - the mutually tolerative public, and where I accept my cases. Or should, I say, our cases."

That was a cause for alarm. "Ours?," I said, almost jumping up in my chair. "You don't mean-"

"Ah, no," said Raymond, putting out his hand like conductor at a traffic accident. "I mean my associates. Most are all out doing something or another, but be rest assured, they-"

Aaaaaaand as if right on cue, one of his 'associates' decided to inadvertently make her presence known. Slamming the red door on the left side of the room wide open, inside the doorway, you could see a cute little thing - uh, woman, I mean, with peach-colored skin, and long red hair that flowed right down over her ass. She didn't look too old; she looked my age, 22, come to think of it. She had bright eyes that went together with her hair quite nicely, I'd say. And only adding to the package was the fact that the the only pair of clothes she was wearing right now were her undies and a bra. Of course, it was still 9:30 in the morning, so I guess she just woke up, but did that mean she slept in there? At the time, I wondered just how she could sleep in what should be, by all rights, such a little&uncomfortable room, and I also wondered if she was sharing it with anyone. Say, the suave older gentlemen (seriously, he was in his early thirties at least,) in the nice white suit? But for now, that was neither here nor there.

She rubbed her eyes, yawning all the while, loud enough to wake up the herd. She then groaned, as she'd had just one too many drinks the other night. Which may well have been the case. "Raymond?", she said, still rubbing her eyes. "You talkin' to someone out he-" And it was then that she finally opened her eyes, and saw the two of sitting right across from each other, clear as day."

"And who might you be," she asked, still a bit tired.

"The name's Micky Chandlers," I said. "And aren't you a bit, um..."

"...What?", she asked, as if she was a living representative of the Nazi Party but had little idea that this was so.

"Uh, aren't you a bit...", I continued, "underdressed?"

To my surprise, but certainly not to my shock&dismay, she said, just straight up, "Yeah? So what?"

Honestly, I was a bit baffled at this. Aside from having spent the night together or at the beach you'd think that anyone finding themselves in the presence of the opposite sex practically half-naked might have something to say about that. And she did have something to say; it just wasn't quite honestly what I expected.

"And you have no problem with this," I asked her. "None at all?"

"Nope," the girl said, smiling now, and scratching the back of her head, though her eyelids were still only half-open. "So long as you can't see any of the goods, I'm not too worried."

"Uh-huh." I suppose that this young lass didn't have too much a problem with the sexual customs of the day. In fact, that might have proved quite... alluring to one such as myself, and perhaps, in some way, it did. But I was still too hung up on Samantha to give my full and honest opinion.

"Ahem, dear Fiona," said Raymond, raising his eyebrows, "while I do note - and respect - that you take certain... 'liberties' with your how you respect your religion of choice, I still find this conduct of behavior to be both inappropriate and unladylike when in the presence of guests."

"Oh," said Fiona, her expression turning to one of mild shock, as if she had forgotten something she shouldn't have. "Yeah, I guess. I guess I'd better go put some clothes on..."

"And see that you do," said Raymond, perhaps with a bit of force&authority to his voice. And so, back into the room she went, taking her beuaticious bod' with her. "That one of your 'associates'?", I told him. "Judging by her morning get-up, you two might be a bit more then just 'associates...'

"Oh, please!" Raymond laughed it off with a short, rapid chortle. "We are friends, yes, but not of the sort that you describe. In fact," the man went on, his eyes starting to lower, "I have not touched the slightest bit of flesh a woman for..."

And it was then I started to realize that there was more to this guy then he let on. For all his 'Unflappable Gentleman' bravado, the guy was hiding something. When he started to talking about not having touched the flesh of a woman, (which I really don't buy, but who knows, he might be legit,) he just... suddenly stopped. His grinning, the light in his eyes; it was just all replaced with a light frown and a distant gaze of uncertainty. Like he wasn't even sure of his own words.

"...In a long time," he finally continued, after getting his act together. "I have... abstained from sexual desires for as... as long as I can remember; smoking and drinking, I have forsaken as well. All three of these things weaken both the mind and the body, or at least have the potential to do so. Sexually transmitted diseases, liver poising, cancer; these are all things you can obtain from at least one of each of the three vices that I've listed. Though of course..." He brought out a batch of cigarettes, and with little-to-no real care involved, snatched out a cig' from the packet, and delicately placed it in his mouth, "they do have their appeal. I never, ever smoke these, but one cannot deny that they make you feel quite... what's the term the kids uses these days? 'Cool'? In other words, they quite help with the image."

"And what image would that be, huh?"

"Why," he calmly, even cheerfully countered back, "that of the daring, dashing, and insanely competent Private Detective, in which I very much fit the mold, if I do say myself."

"You don't say," I hammered back

"I do say, and I also say that it is that same Private Detective who is going to discover what peril befell your lady-love." He pulled open his top drawers, and after tossing out a rubber chicken and a rubber ducky, brought out a handful of pictures. "As things happen to be," said Raymond rather straightly and matter-of-fact, with no words, syllables, or extra sounds minced, "your Samantha isn't the first victim in this particular case."

And all I could do, honestly, is just sit there, sitting there with a completely straight face, for all of 10 seconds, which I guess is how long it took for what the man just told me to really sink in. 'Bwa-huh?'

"Yes," replied the man, who honestly looked like a smug bastard at the moment. "Yes, I figured you might say that." He then spread out the pictures neatly across the desk, so that they could be seen in full view. In every picture, either a man, or a woman, were sprawled out on some sort of floor or another, completely butt-naked. "We've been working on a particular case for the last two months," Raymond began to say. "The police - bless their hearts - have also been trying to look into it. The key word here being 'try.' Or rather, 'trying' but that is neither here nor there. In any case, for the last two months, there has been a either a man found in a similar state to your . Nothing seems wrong with their bodies, but they exhibit no true brainwaves; no active activity. Oh, and their clothes were completely gone. Now, we actually have a sort of tenuous relationship to the police -

"Wait a minute; you guys work with the police?"

"In a manner of speaking." The bastard then slowly, ever so slowly, started leaning over towards me, all while grinning' ear to ear, ever so slowly. " ," he said, a bit quiet-like, if I remember , "there are things in this world man was not meant to know. So I suppose you could call us the censors; making sure that the world at large doesn't know of them. And the same applies for the police. Or rather, more specially, the Sunset City Police Department of Supernatural Affairs."

"That... actually makes quite a bit of sense," I replied back." And that was true; you heard all sorts of rumors about strange events and occurrences within Sunset City; rumors about ancient structures and devices that couldn't possibly be built today being located somewhere within the deepest, darkest&grittiest parts of the city. And you wonder how none of that reaches the outside world. You don't even see it pop up on the Internet. It goes to show that someone would be taking care of this. And furthermore, it proves that there could actually turn out to be some weight to those rumors. Which, if you haven't guessed already, all turned out to be true. Go figure.

"I thought it would," said the Raymond. As I was saying, we have a relationship of sorts with the police. On a number of occasions in the past, we have been able to make headway into cases that leave the police rather baffled; for one reason another, they simply cannot figure certain cases out. However, we at Joker's Wild have quite the track record. And so, we often lend the Police a helping hand. Or rather, the SCPDSA. Supernatural Affairs. They deal with the cases involving the strange and supernatural, as Sunset City has... a rather dubious history. One that I suppose we could get more into later, but that's not important right now, is it? What's important here and now, is that we now know what happened to all of those people, Samantha included."

"...And what would that be, by chance?" I didn't want to be too optimistic, so I acted as though I truly wasn't ready to believe whatever they were about to tell me. But, if I can be honest, I was willing to accept anything by this point.

"Tell me, : have you ever heard of Succubi?"

"You mean those horny demons that like to have one-night stands with men? With the one-night stand happening specifically because the partners doing the 'inserting' aren't alive in the morning to continue the relationship?" The 'horny' pun was intentional. Just an FYI.

"That's certainly one way to put it," Raymond replied, chuckling just a bit. He must have found my description quite amusing. I do my best to keep 'em entertained. "As you may already know, Succubus have intercourse with an unlucky male recipient, who - after a fair night's worth of pleasure - proceed to steal away their souls; in fact the very act of intercourse steals away the soul bit by bit. And while you won't be reading this in your Mythological tests, if a Succubus steals away most of the soul, but leaves just the barest amount for their 'partner' to survive, that person will become an incubus. An incubus is exactly the same as a succubus, except they they work their magic on fine, fair ladies; and like Succubus can turn men into Incubus, Incubus can turn women into Succubus. It's how they create more of their kind."

Halfway through the explanation, I was wondering if this all meant Samantha was secretly a lesbian, but the introduction of Incubus' put a damperner on that; needless to say, I was very relieved. But I still had a couple of questions. "But, wait; if they were turned into Soul-sucking sexual deviants, then why were their bodies still there?"

"Because," said Raymond, as cool and unflappable as ever, "my fine sir, complete souls are what are truly profitable."

And then the pieces started to clicking together. Much to my shock, dismay, sense of mind, and internal discomfort. "You can't be saying these souls - my girl's soul - they're selling them for-"

And then I was interrupted, right then and there, by the smug bastard. Seriously, that ought to be his real name. Smug Bast Ard. Or maybe not. "Close," he said, chidingly waving a finger, 'but not quite. We thought this as well, but..." And then he reached into his top-drawers, bringing out an 'I'm With Stupid' sticky-note before getting another photo out of there, and dropping it on the desk. It looked to be... some sort of casino. The photo didn't have a very wide angle, but I could see a slot or two, and the left-most bit of a roulette. And standing next to the roulette table was a man with his back to the camera. He looked to be styling a classic 40's-era black suit; and while you couldn't be sure just from the back, he seemed to be... kinda' old. Not too old though; more like his late 50's, early 60's, as opposed to a real old geezer. "The man you see in the photo," Raymond continued, replacing the cigarette in his mouth with a new one, and yet still refusing to light it, "is called Erberno Rodriguez. Owner of a rather profitable underground casino in Sunset City. And by 'underground', I mean literally underground. Being where it is helps keep away those hearts who who don't truly appreciate the spirit of gambling to, as finding the place is a gamble to being with. But if you can find it..."

As the smug bastard - alright, the smug suave bastard - went on, a rather curious question popped my head empty little head. "Wait a minute; why would Succubi and Incubi need to work for this..."

"Rodriguez."

"Rodriguez." I was gonna' kill him on these days. Or so I thought at the time. "What do Succubui and Incubi need money for?"

Aaaaand it was there that Raymond actually dropped the politeness and grins, and gave this completely dumbfounded stare. "You gotta' be kiddin', right?" He then took a moment to compose himself, though I could swear he was seriously tempted to aim his palm directly at his face. I had a feeling he couldn't stand those who weren't as smart as them; he could tolerate them, sure, but there was always some sort of 'belittlement' for those he felt weren't in his league. And I think I just qualified for that 'honor.' "It may be true that Succubi&Incubi had no need for a food source, but what about living expenses? They still attempt to live otherwise normal lives, but because of their... urges towards their respective opposite sexes, they sometimes cannot hold a regular job. Which is when they see no choice but to 'contain' some of the souls they obtain, and have them be auctioned off to the highest bidder, as souls can either quite the trophy, depending on their value, or barring, a rather tasty snack. It's quite simple." I swear, I could almost hear the restrained sigh he wanted to give off, but probably felt shouldn't for the sake of his 'image.' Which I'm not sure would actually hurt said image, but what do I know? ...A fair bit, actually, come to think of it...

"Okay, yeah, I'm sure it is," I nearly snapped back, before restraining myself to merely sound a bit agitated. "So, if you know this guy's behind it, why haven't you gone after him yet?"

"We were about to," Raymond calmly retorted. After several weeks worth of work, we at long last discovered that this," he went on, attacking the picture of Rodriguez with his index finger, "is the man responsible. We then spent a few hours devising our means of infiltrating his 'humble' casino, which also included discovering where the remaining souls are. Unfortunately, we were unable to obtain blueprints of the building, so we'll have to play it by ear somewhat..." He then started to take notice of me. I mean, really take notice of me. He started eyeing me over, up&down, slowly nodding and grinning as if saying to himself, 'Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh - huh!', which I, for reasons I was as-of-then unable to pin down, wasn't exactly comfortable with.

"Tell me," said the smug suave creepy bastard, "how far are you willing to go for this 'Samantha'?"

Did he really have to ask? I rose up and slammed my hand down on the desk Hard. "You listen here; this girl... she was my life. As far as I'm concerned, I didn't have a life before her. ...Well, okay, maybe, but when compared to her, not so much. I loved her, and still love her, and if there's a chance in..." Unfortunately, my family raised me to be religiously conscious, so 'in hell' was out of the question, at least when speaking it. 'If there's a chance that I can bring her back, I'm taking it!" And I meant it too. At the time, nothing mattered to me more then Samantha. Hell, I couldn't believe that, in the near future, I'd end up - certain ways - hating her...

"Even better than what I wanted to hear. Though perhaps a bit wordy. But I suppose I'm not one to talk...

"And what did you want me to say?!"

"'Yes, please, take me with you.' Didn't expect you to be such a bleeding heart, but I suppose I can't blame you. If only I remembered what it was like to be a bleeding heart..."

"Hm? What was that?", I asked. I only know what he said on that last part because he told me later. But it wouldn't be a for while yet. For now, I was quite in the dark.

"Uh, ahem, nothing." He tried to hide it, but even then, I knew he was keeping something back. Though I'd be surprised to learn what it actually was...

He put on a brave face, and continued on as though no-one was the wiser. "In any case, seeing as you're willing to go the ends of the earth for your girl, I have a proposition for you..."

"...Which is?" I was hoping this 'proposition' didn't involve getting down on one knee and asking to the spend the rest of our lives together, only to file for divorce 10 months later.

"I think, , that there is more to you then your perhaps realize. And that, if you're willing, I could very well have a place for you in the upcoming mission..."

Any other day, I probably would have said, 'Uh, sorry, but did you know you fucker's are nutsy-fufu?' Yes, I know that that 'word' - if you can call it that - I just brought up likely isn't a real word, but personally, but think it's pretty amusing. So deal with it. However, there was no need to deal with it; my Samantha's fucking soulwas on the line, and if there was a way to help save her soul, I'd take it. Little did I know that I may as well have signed a contract for lifetime membership...

It was then that this ' ', as I thought of her back then, came back in from the door. Her red hair was now tied up in a large bun, and she was wearing a dress-suit with a somewhat similar design to the smug suave bastard's. But not quite. She wore gloves, for starters; the gloves in question, as well as her shoes, belts, and cuffs, were also black, which gave some nice contrast to the rest of her get-up. Finally, there a small silver cross hanging off of a necklace from her neck; whenever enough of it was reflected in the sunlight, it shined oh so brightly, like the Fourth of July. If the Fourth of July had enough steroids to gain the power to blind. There was also a silver holster at each of her hips, each engraved with what looked like a golden cross, and each holster was carrying a silver revolver. In case you were wondering, yes; they also had golden cross engraved in them, specifically atop the part where you reload. As she walked into the room, with a smile brimming from ear to ear, she whipped out her guns, and twirled them about in the air with only one finger each, with each finger passing through the hole of a trigger. Wasn't long before she slipped 'em right back into their holsters. And if it wasn't for Samantha, I would have loved to get her into my holster...

"Nothin' like givin' the ol' fingers a workout, eh?", she said, smiling still. Over time, I'd learn that she had a smile on pretty much all the time. Except when she didn't. Except now wasn't 'didn't.' ...That doesn't make much sense, does it? Anyway, after twirling her guns just a bit more, she forced them back in their holsters, and with one hand at her hip, asked Raymond what was going on.

"What's goin' on?"

"We are what is going on," said Raymond, his hands and fingers now folded together like 'The Church and the Steeple'.

"How so?", she replied.

"I think it's time to finally give a visit. And what's more, we have ourselves a volunteer."

Fiona, after giving Raymond a look of incredulity, noticed the man sitting across from Raymond. Namely, yours truly. After sizing me up for just a bit, her green eyes widened, and her smile stretched across her face. She quickly extended me a hand. "Hi! I'm Fiona Finnegan! And you are?"

"Uh, ahem...", said Raymond, looking kind of dissatisfied, "Fiona; I appreciate wanting to get to know who you're working with, but you don't know his situation, and you're just extending your hand? What if we were in the field, and someone just introduced themselves as Rogers? Would you be so trusting then?"

"Uh, no, I guess, but..."

"Nevermind. Just something to keep in mind, Fiona. Don't always be so trusting. But in this case, you have my word that you can trust this fellow."

"Oh. Well, okay! Well," she said, turning back to men, "my name's Fiona! What's yours?"

She was still extending her hand out in invitation; I took her up on the offer. I reached out my hand, and shook her's. "Name's Chandlers. Micky Chandlers."

"Oh," she said. "Nice came. So, what'cha doin' here?"

"That's... that's a funny story... except, no... it's not funny. Kind of sad, really... And not in the funny way..."

And so I told her my sad tale; of meeting Samantha, of how we fell in love, and of how it was taken away by a demonic perve' who gets off on sucking in a completely offbeat way. That is, sucking souls, 'case you couldn't tell.

"Oh," she said again. For the first time I saw her, she wasn't wearing that priceless smile. No; at first, she looked rather sad. And then that sadness turned to annoyance. And that turned into what I think was mix of determination and a touch of anger. "We were sure they were stealin' souls, but... to actually meet someone who knew someone who... Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry! Except, Raymond keeps telling me not to say 'sorry' when I've nothing to be sorry for, and I think he might have a point but - Anyway! Don't worry. We'll get her back. Or at least take down the monster who took her in the first place. Oh, but from what Raymond just said, you'll be coming with us right?"

"I guess," I replied, dumbfounded-ly. To be honest, working at a convenience store, and only 22, doesn't exactly get you much experience for detective work, but this was Samantha we were talkin' about. If they were giving me a chance to help get her back, then I'd get her back. Of course, that's if we got her back. I'm something of a realist; I figured that, while her soul might still be intact, there was every possibility that it'd already be sold and gone. And maybe already used. But hey; if there was so much as a smidgen of a chance she was alive, I was gonna' take it. And if I could personally help in the rescue attempt, all the better. Though again; I didn't really see how he could have a use for me. Later, sure, after some... unfortunate circumstances, but not then. Little did I know that there may have been more to myself then even I could see then..

"He guesses," said Raymond, slightly chuckling, "but I know. First off, however," he went on, slowly rising up out of his chair, "we need to have a chat with the people who commissioned this case in the first place."

"And that would be...?" Yeah, who, exactly? Some random schmuck? Bill Gates? The Spanish Inquisition? (I certainly wouldn't be expecting them, that's for sure.) Or maybe, just maybe-

"The Sunset City Police Department-"

Which I had already went to, by the-

"-of Magical and Supernatural Affairs."

Ah. Them again. Of course...