This is the tale of a man who was really, really manly.
"And?" his assistant asked gravely (well, if gravely meant "twitching and barely suppressing cackling laughter", anyway). "What is the cause of death?"
The detective pondered this once, twice. He paced as he pondered, and as he pondered his boots tread subconsciously perfect circles into the dust-caked floor. And then the circles caught on fire from his sheer manliness.
Finally he stopped at the victim's head, and studied its angle - turned ever so slightly to the side, and perhaps he could have measured it, only he didn't have a protractor. He adjusted his monocle, thinking. The victim's mouth was slightly agape, as if forever paused in a singular, despondent cry for help. Also, the victim was drooling a bit.
And then it struck him, like a bolt from the blue, or perhaps a meme-riddled quiz given by men in hoodies. He almost shouted "I've got it!"...but retained his composure and bellowed "EUREKA!" instead. (Actually, "I've got it!" would have been perfectly fine.)
His assistant jumped at this manly declaration of eureka-ism, and nearly fell out of his chair. And it was a good thing he hadn't, because The Perfect Circle Of The Fire Of The Manliness Quality (And Engrish) chose that moment to crackle dangerously. "Y-yes, Mr. Atlas?" he asked, scrambling back into position.
"THIS MAN", Jack pointed at the corpse's face and declared in a grandiose voice that sounded as if it belonged inside an opera (a very manly opera, of course, with flames shooting out here and there), "DIED OF A BULLET TO THE HEAD." He waved his hand. "SEE, YOU CAN EVEN SEE THE HOLE, RIGHT THERE IN HIS FOREHEAD!"
His assistant let out a squeak that could have been either dumbstruck shock or sadistic excitement, and promptly DID fall out of his chair. Luckily for him, though, it was in the opposite direction from The Perfect Circle Of The Fire Of The Manliness Quality (And Engrish).
Jack gave his assistant a very serious look and gave his top hat a tap with his cane. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, LUCIANO?"
"Of course I do!" Luciano squealed maniacally from the floor. "We go out and hunt down a psychopath!"
"RIGHT YOU ARE!" Jack roared in a manly way, and as he turned and strode out the door in a manly way, The Perfect Circle Of The Fire Of The Manliness Quality (And Engrish) roared and flared too, and blew his trench coat about him and created not only a very manly and dramatic image, but also a very manly and dramatic run-on sentence. Also, property damage.
Luciano followed his boss outside the house momentarily, but he was forced to take the back door. By the time he caught up with Jack Atlas, the older man had mysteriously produced a cup of coffee.
"WHERE WERE YOU ON MARCH THE 17TH OF NINETEEN-NINETY-FIVE?" Jack demanded of the stranger before him.
The stranger squinted at him bemusedly through black-and-yellow hair that looked like it required wires to maintain its style. "What, St. Patrick's Day?"
"I DIDN'T SAY VALENTINES, BUDDY!"
"Well, yes, I know you didn't. I mean, after all, Valentine's is in February an-"
"JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION!"
"Yeah, yeah! Answer the question! Answer the question!" Luciano agreed, jumping up and down. "Otherwise you'll be marked as a suspect!"
At this, Jack turned on him with all the menacing power of a metaphor. "LUCIANO!" he said, shocked. "HOW COULD YOU... NEVER FORGET, EVERYONE IS A SUSPECT! EVERYONE!"
Luciano's eyes widened. "E-everyone...? Really?"
"YES", Jack said, and adjusted his monocle.
"YYYESSSSS!" Luciano cried out, pumping his fist into the air. "I can't believe it! This is great!"
Satisfied, Jack turned back to the spiky-haired suspect, only to find that said suspect had vanished.
Bah, whatever. There were plenty more to be interrogated, anyway.
"WHERE WERE YOU ON MARCH THE 17TH OF NINETEEN-NINETY-FIVE?" Jack demanded of the stranger before him.
"I was shopping for groceries", the white-haired stranger answered irritably, looking obviously as if he would rather be somewhere else. "Because no one else would. The hell're you doing, Luciano?"
"We're looking for a psychopath who shot somebody!" Luciano crowed, and a little old lady nearby looked at him and half-expected him to start preening. "I bet that's better than whatever YOU'RE doing, Plácido!"
"For your information, I happen to be buying pills for José", Plácido informed in as dignified and tactful a manner as he could manage. "Since you are apparently too occupied scouting for homicidal maniacs to help."
"You're just jealous 'cause you're not the heee-ro", Luciano singsonged. After a moment, he had thought of something even more insul...er, BETTER, and was about to say it when Jack, intelligent enough to recognize danger when he saw it, grabbed Luciano's arm and dragged him away.
"WHERE WERE YOU ON MARCH THE 17TH OF NINETEEN-NINETY-FIVE?" Jack demanded of the stranger before him.
The stranger, a girl in red whose black hair looked like it'd never seen a comb in its life, merely blinked at him, considering his monocle, top hat, cane, accent, and cup before asking, "...Are you British?"
"WHAT?" Jack waved his top hat indignantly. "I AM NOT BRITISH!" he bellowed, and adjusted his monocle.
"But, your accent, it's-"
"MY ACCENT IS AUSTRALIAN. AUSTRALIAN!" he repeated, slamming his cane on the ground. The suspect cowered instantly. "DON'T LOOK AT MY CUP! THIS IS COFFEE, NOT TEA. MY ACCENT IS AUSTRALIAN! HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO AUSTRALIA?"
"Er, no, I haven't", the girl whimpered. Luciano noted with amusement that it seemed like she was trying to convince the ground to open up and swallow her.
"YOU SHOULD GO. IT'S LOVELY THIS TIME OF YEAR." Jack sniffed as if deeply offended and turned on his heel while adjusting his monocle. "LET US GO, LUCIANO. THIS IS NOT WORTH OUR TIME."
Luciano was about to add that he'd always thought Jack was British as well, until he glimpsed the look in Atlas's eyes and wisely decided to shut up for once.
"WHERE WERE YOU ON MARCH THE 17TH OF NINETEEN-NINETY-FIVE?" Jack demanded of the stranger before him. (Well, alright, so they weren't ACTUALLY a stranger, but hey, whatever. Formulaic was a must.)
"I was at a press conference", the long-haired stranger replied smoothly, as if he had only been asked the time. "And what were you doing, Jack Atlas?"
"I WAS...ER, WELL...I WAS..." Jack trailed off. Exactly what was it he'd been doing again?
The stranger smiled placidly. "Interesting, that you don't remember... You weren't doing anything...ah...immoral, were you?"
"OF COURSE NOT, GODWIN!" Jack protested hotly. "WHY, I WOULD NEVE-"
"Oh, I would be careful before I made that claim, if I were you", Godwin nodded. "Don't you remember August 13?"
"WHAT? I...How in the world do you know about the Noodle Incide - AUGUST 13?" Jack snarled, adjusting his top hat, but his aggression was faltering.
"How I know is not important. The fact that it happened, is", Godwin stated simply.
Various panicked thoughts whirled through Jack's mind. He'd almost succeeded in forgetting August 13...but that didn't change the fact that it had happened. And since August 13 had happened...what else might have? March 17...March 17...exactly what had be-
This time, it was Luciano who sensed danger. "Don't worry about it, Atlas!" he blurted out. "On March 17 we went to that arcade, remember? And you got the high score in shooting those alien-robot-zombie-vampire-unicorn-dinosaur-OverlyLongGag-pirate-ninjas (produced by the government in test tubes during a top-secret biological experiment)! Remember?"
Jack gasped. Now that Luciano mentioned it, he DID remember! Furiously, he turned upon Godwin. "TCH! YOU ALMOST HAD ME THERE, GODWIN", he admitted. "BUT IT WON'T HAPPEN AGAIN." He glanced at his assistant. "COME NOW, LUCIANO. WE'RE LEAVING."
And as the detective and his assistant marched off, Godwin merely smiled again.
"WHERE WERE YOU ON MARCH THE 17TH OF NINETEEN-NINETY-FIVE?" Jack demanded of the stranger before him.
"PIERCING THE HEAVENS, WITH MY DRILL!" the stranger screamed.
Jack left immediately.
Several hours later, the sun was beginning to dip down into the horizon. Atlas and Luciano had wrapped up their investigation. The former had retreated into a back room to look over their data once more, while the latter was waiting for him. Specifically, he was playing video games to pass the time.
Just as Luciano was about to swear loudly at the fact that that stupid mustache-deer, Cobalion, had broken from his Dusk Ball for the sixty-seventh time, Jack emerged.
"I'VE NARROWED DOWN THE SUSPECTS", Jack declared, waving his clipboard as Luciano hurriedly shut the game console closed and stuffed it roughly into a side pocket.
"Okay! Who've we got?" Luciano asked, grinning and readily rolling up his sleeves in a ready manner to readily express the fact that he was ready. Except that it was completely unnecessary. Besides, "readily" and "ready" mean different things anyway.
"YOU'LL SEE", Jack said, choosing not to disclose the information because he wanted this fanfiction to have some vague notion of suspense, at the very least. "WE'RE GOING TO MEET THEM." He paused to adjust his monocle. It was seriously starting to collect his fingerprints by now. "OH, AND BY THE WAY, YOU SHOULD PARALYZE COBALION OR SOMETHING. DON'T TELL ME YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THUNDER WAVE?"
"I KNOW IT WAS YOU. DON'T EVEN BOTHER DENYING IT." Jack certainly made for an imposing figure, his top hat towering over the suspect as he jabbed a manly finger into said suspect's chest.
The suspect, Godwin, only stared back, smiling mildly as if he had been expecting this all along, and he probably had. "Really, Atlas. There's no need to accuse me of murder."
"DON'T TRY YOUR MIND GAMES AGAIN THIS TIME, GODWIN", Jack warned him.
Godwin sighed. "Might I at least see a picture of the victim you are speaking of?"
Jack couldn't think of a good reason to deny this request, so he reluctantly asked his assistant to pass Godwin some papers. "THOSE ARE THE VICTIM'S IDENTIFICATION PAPERS", he grunted as Godwin thanked Luciano.
Godwin took one look at them and noted, "Ah, Demak. I should have known."
Jack blinked. "WHAT?"
Godwin handed the papers back to him. "This isn't a murder, you know."
"THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Jack's eyes narrowed. "ARE YOU TRYING TO MESS WITH ME AGAIN?"
"No, of course not", Godwin replied politely. "Do you know who Demak is?"
"EH? NO, I DON'T."
Godwin turned to Luciano. "What about you?"
Luciano jumped, startled at having been addressed. "Um, no. I don't."
Godwin nodded and turned his attention to Jack again. "This man, you see, appeared during the Dark Signer arc."
Jack stared at Godwin. "REALLY? I DON'T REMEMBER ANYONE LIKE THAT."
"Neither do the fans", Godwin acknowledged. "He was defeated by two children and has barely been seen ever since. His memory has faded away into obscurity. Even the fans who DO remember him will have difficulty remembering his name, or the name of his Earthbound."
"I...I SEE."
"Therefore", Godwin nodded with an ever-so-subtle air of triumph, "this man died from lack of screen time. Pure and simple. ...Now, if you don't mind, I have a train to catch."
"WELL, THAT'S ANOTHER CASE SOLVED", Jack concluded the next time he and Luciano met - over lunch, the next day. "ALSO, DID YOU CATCH COBALION?"
"Yep, and yep", Luciano agreed, sounding most satisfied as he dug into a burger with five buns and a red sauce that didn't look thick enough to be ketchup. But even as said burger dripped rudely onto the tablecloth, there was something about the way he shifted in his seat every two seconds that just might possibly probably hypothetically had the chance of signaling that some stray thought was still bothering him.
Adjusting his monocle, Jack picked up on this. "IS SOMETHING WRONG?" the detective prompted.
"Oh, well, just something small, really", Luciano started, and mulled over the issue a bit before continuing. "But I was just wondering... If the victim really DID die from lack of screen time...then, um...why was there a hole in his head?"
Author's Note: Hi, all. I wrote this when I was sick and delirious and thought it'd be appropriate for April Fool's. (Even though that's probably over already in your time zone...) So, ah, it should go without saying that if you take this seriously, you are most likely Missing The Point.
It's also my excuse to write on the Yliaster trio, because I can't do that in Libera (yet?). Even if Godwin is arguably the only character here who isn't embarrassingly OOC, ahaha... There was no time to squeeze José in, though. Sadface. I vaguely wanted him to be doing something epic, like outrunning motorcycles or something yessss.
Approximately three or four different fandoms were referenced in this thing. If you got them all, then I love you. Or your name is RoxyWolf, in which case I still love you.
Don't worry, I'll go back to working on Libera soon.
P.S. By the way, sometime between this AFD fic and the last Libera update, I aged. Yaaay.
P.P.S. I typo'd "Godwin" as "Godwing" at one point. This amuses me for some reason. I think his name is actually more potentially punny than people give it credit for.