The lioness groaned. That raccoon, Koupre, was even more of a nuisance in jail than out! She'd had to file dozens of past reports on the thief, criminal bios, records of stolen artifacts and valuables... and, because they were on a deadline to process him, she'd have to do it all before she left for New York again, in three days! Well, she didn't have to... but she was tired of D.C. Even with the close proximity of the two areas, she didn't want to take another trip to this city. She liked the history and all, but you could only hear about 'the grandeur of D.C.' so many times before it got old. That happened enough, back when she was climbing up in the ranks of Interpol, still a trainee.
She yawned loudly, stretching in the swivel chair that had been provided for her, and tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes. Sasha grabbed for her coffee mug, prepared to take another swig of the caffeinated drink to keep her coherent. Sighing when a few drops dribbled out of it, she plopped it back on the desk. She glanced down at her wrist: 12:44.
I'd better get overtime for this...
She gladly swiveled away from her desk, a ragged old thing that looked like it was dragged out of the 1800's (and not in the good way), and tried to stretch her stiff legs. Of course, there wasn't much room for her to do that in the cramped office.
With a fear of tight spaces that bordered on clinical definition, she always had a troubling time putting it out of her mind. Most times, she just tried to think about something else, which failed miserably. Except for this time, of course! Too bad for her, though, since it got her to thinking about another of her personal nightmares: How similar she was to that bruha, as she'd say, Carmelita Fox. There'd been so many comments about that back at NYC, she labled some days as Hea'day'ches. The "Uncatchable Criminal" with morals made to justify his thefts, and the Beautiful (she didn't mind comments like that) Inspector that always got this close to catching him. Almost on purpose, it seemed sometimes.
"Hrmph." Sasha mumbled. "Didn't take a huge giant-bird-leopard thing to get Koupre locked up. Shows how good of a cop she is."
She snatched up an old TV remote from a green lounge chair (how movers would have been able to get it through the thin door was a mystery), and trid to turn the thing on. After repeated slamming of the buttons, she finally gave up. Stupid faulty wiring...
"Ugh." she groaned. It was good that she hadn't been given a desk outside this office; she would have exploded a lot faster. If I get back and see Macrenny slacking off again...
Meanwhile...
Back in New York, the Sergeant was doing anything but slacking off. With their quintessential leader gone, their entire squadron had been in their very own chaos. And, somehow, it seemed like the whole of New York knew that; since that whole fiasco with the Cooper Gang's van crash, every pickpocket and purloiner came out. Sort of like a full moon, but for crooks.
Not unlike the mounds of paperwork Sasha had, he was faced with a veritable Mount Everest of papers. All of which had to be alphabetized, given a handwritten signature, and to be mailed out at the end of the month to DC. Fun, huh?
The beagle sighed as he worked through another typical case. Stereotypical, in fact. A Smuggling operation in New York, the NYPD get wind of the case, and they slap it right on Interpol's shoulders. Normally it wouldn't work this way, but the Interpol squadron stationed here didn't exactly get along with the NYPD on what you'd call 'Friendly Terms'.
"Carlson!" he barked. "Where's that coffee I asked for?"
Another dog, a small Labrador, stumbled in his office with a Caribou Coffee cup. "S-Sorry, sir." he said with a nervous laugh. "Big line at the shop."
Another sigh left him. "'s alright, Jack. I'm a bit wound up, I apologize."
The Labrador had pity in his eyes. He could see how sleep deprived his superior was, with the bags under his eyes and the unshaven stubble around his muzzle. "Don't you think you should call it a night, sir? Most of the other officers have already. Just my opinion, of course, it's just that..."
With a laugh at his attempt to be commending, he pushed away from the desk. "As usual, you're right. I'll be out in a minute. Oh, but before you go," He said after noticing the remote control beside the television, "could you grab the remote for me?"
"Sure," he said, snatching it up. Suddenly the television flicked on. A static picture came on the monitor.
Carlson had a sideways look on his face. "What's the matter? Don't like the show?" the sergeant asked.
"No, it's just... I didn't turn this on."
Quickly, a black emblem came on-screen: A calligraphic A, set behind a... a black bird claw. All the color in Macrenny's face melted away.
"HELLO, New York City!" a warbling voice said once the emblem faded into darkness. The screen wasn't black, but the picture from the camera was from a terribly dim-lighted area. Two shadows could be seen, one that looked like a massive, broad-shouldered person, the other a small creature in some sort of cage.
"Oh, and hello to the rest of America too, I suppose. I forgot for a moment how far this broadcasts. " he said with a malicious, warbling laugh.
"Anyhoo. I'm sure you're all wondering why your Full House and Shark Week re-runs have been so rudely interrupted. Don't worry, you'll see what mess Uncle Jesse's gotten himself into soon enough. In the meantime, though... allow me to filibuster for a moment, if you will."
"My name... is Arpeggio." The lights in the scene turned on with an electronic whir. Most of the viewers would have wished to be kept in the dark, though: the hideous amalgamation of metal implanted to the small parrot's body was unnerving, to say it kindly. He was attached to wires through various parts of his wings and skull, which could be seen in his dramatic movements.
"To those of you know may know of me, I congratulate you. And to those who are seeing my face for the first time, I envy you. It is a privilege, I am sure. To see the face of a King for the first time must be purely overwhelming... But, believe it or not, I," he continued to rant, "King among Kings... was once discarded among civilization. Betrayed by you, treated as trash. By all of you. You mocked my diminutive size, casting me astray like an unwanted fly in a picnic. An insect."
He laughed to himself. "You all... you do not know what such can do to you. What rage that can amass within your soul. What hate." The parrot's beak curved into a disturbing smile. "Hate is a powerful weapon, New York. Many of you know its power, in some form or bland shade. The streets themselves, they are a hub of racing and raging emotions that clash every day, every minute of your lives. This fact leads me to my point."
A pair of bellows-like pumps hissed in the background. "To lesser beings such as yourselves, hate is merely described as anger. As cold, harsh, unrelenting anger toward a person or thing. Well, you are right. But it is so much more. It can be bent. Or, more accurately, those who experience it can be bent. And, of course, I mean YOU, citizens."
"...This isn't possible..." Macrenny uttered, in shock. He'd remembered tell of something like this happening, in Paris... it was happening. He was back.
"Now that I've finally gotten your attention, allow me to explain. Within the next 24 hours, every last one of you will become fueled with hate. No exceptions, just that. Pure, unrelenting, hate. I will MAKE. You hate." He said calmly.
"Find this impossible? Then, by all means, disregard this message completely. But know that this operation is merely a test. An example of what power I possess."
The beagle smashed the power button furiously, but the parrot's monologue wouldn't cease.
"Oh... And do you want to know the best part?" he said in a happy, and scary, tone. "There's nothing you can do to stop me. Delightful thought... isn't it?"
The parrot grinned one last time. The Klaww Emblem flashed again, and the screen went back to black.
Immediately, Macrenny slammed down on the phone. Punching in a number, the dial tone came to his ears. "Carlson, emergency briefing. NOW."
Without a word, the agent rushed out of the office. Almost as immediately, phones started to ring in the office, one after another. All of them were obviously scared citizens, who'd just seen that broadcast.
Finally, a voice came on the other end. "Hello, DC Interpol?...I DON'T CARE what you're really called!" He shouted into the reciever. "This is Sergeant Macrenny, New York. Get Inspector Lionne on the line, NOW!"
First of all, thank you to all the people out there that keep reading this. I'm still relatively new to the whole society (and still rather crappy in updating), and I'm still a bit inexperienced in my writing abilities, but you all give me amazing support to keep on writing. You, guests or member, are making it so easy to have fun writing this. You're kind with your reviews, you enjoy the story, and for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Second of all... this chapter was different than I originally planned. It's been on the drawing board for a couple weeks, and got stuffed behind it for a couple more, so it has some clashing ideas from different points in inspiration. If you liked it, and like how the story's going, then tell me in a review! And if you see a mistake, tell me in a review too. I'm writing this for YOU guys, remember. I want it to be the best it can be.
Anyway, stay tuned for the next chapter! And thanks for reading! :)
