Mission: Almost Impossible
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the story. Everything else is owned by Capcom. Oh, wait a minute. I own Blade Stryker. Oh! And I keep forgetting to mention I also own Jaws! Silly me. Oh, and Daredevil, too.
Summary: Leon and Krauser are the best agents President Graham has had in years, but he sends them on missions even I could do.
Chapter 25: Psychic Psycho
Wesker panted heavily as he ran towards the Oval Office. In his wake, innocent passersby were shoved to the ground, spilling either their paperwork or their morning coffee. It was still early, meaning the President most likely hadn't got word of the incident that happened just outside the White Houseyet. Finally, he reached his destination and after pausing to catch his breath, threw open the doors, startling Graham, Leon, and Krauser.
"Mu-Murder!" He gasped breathlessly. "Outside..."
"Wesker, what the hell are you going on about?" The President asked, eyeing the blond man oddly.
Wesker inhaled deeply and began explaining things more calmly. "There was a murder...outside the White House."
"..." Graham merely stared at Wesker before he burst out laughing.
"What's so funny, Mr. President?"
"That's a good one, Wesker! Hah, a murder. You slay me. Listen, Wesker, if there really was a murder, I would've heard about it by now."
Leon and Krauser stared at each other in disbelief. There had obviously been a murder just outside the White House because the scene of the crime could clearly be seen from the windows. Furthermore, they were shocked because during the past twenty minutes they were in the Oval Office, the President had been staring outside. At one point, he even opened a window to yell at the police to keep it down. Neither brought up the subject of the murder, though, because they figured it would put President Graham in low spirits and the last time that happened, he got drunk and began dancing naked on the front lawn with a curtain wrapped around his neck like a cape, yelling, "This is Sparta!"
"Mr. President, for the past twenty minutes, you've been staring right at the crime scene!" Leon sighed heavily. "Oh, God, I don't get paid enough for this..."
"Huh?" Graham turned in his office chair to stare outside once more. "Oh, there was a murder." The seriousness of the tragic event that happened suddenly hit him and he stood abruptly, knocking over his chair. "Holy shit! Someone got murdered!" He made a mad dash outside, followed shortly by the three agents.
Ashley and Blade were seen standing near the chalk outline of where the victim once was. Ashley held her hand over her mouth as she stared at the scene in utter horror. Blade scanned over the scene, making a grim facial expression that made him appear almost nauseous every time he looked over a large spot of blood.
"Ashley!" The President ran over to his daughter, blinding her with a makeshift blindfold of police tape. "Don't look! A girl your age shouldn't see such things!"
The three agents stopped and stared at the scene.
"Whoa..." Leon said, looking around the crime scene as if it just appeared out of thin air. "What happened here?"
"Well," A nearby police officer began, "it seems that a young lady was on her way home when she was jumped and murdered with some sort of sharp object. Her purse was discovered about 10 feet from her body and everything was taken from it except for her ID. We currently have no clues as to who the suspect is."
"Oh, sure!" Krauser barked. "You happen to know this bitch was one her way home and she got robbed and killed, but you don't know who did it! How the hell do you know she was robbed, anyway? Maybe all she had in her purse was her ID and someone just randomly attacked her!"
The brunette agent stared at the older man before saying, "...Krauser. Shut up."
"Besides," The President's daughter added. "it's a known fact that women carry more than one thing in their purse. The average amount of items found in a lady's purse, I'd say, would have to be ten."
"And how would you know what the hell a girl carries in her purse, Ashley?" Krauser asked.
The blonde stared at the older agent in disbelief before turning away, ignoring his question.
"I hope you guys catch the creep soon." The pretty boy said.
"Me, too." The cop nodded. "But right now, we have no leads whatsoever." The officer covered his ears when a sharp scream erupted from Ashley. "Damn, that hurt! Anyway, whoever did this will most likely do it again. Possibly in the same area." He covered his ears once more when an even sharper scream came from the President. "Will you people stop screaming?! Damn, if I could, I'd arrest you for that!"
"He could be anywhere, eh?" The commando rubbed his chin in thought. As he looked closer at the crime scene, he saw an obvious path of bloody footprints leading from the chalk outline to the White House gates, then straight into the bushes outside the Oval Office, which happened to rustle as he set his sight on them. "I wonder where that guy could be...?" He was then hit by a strong urge to urinate and, since he randomly locked the doors behind him on the way out, went over to the bushes to relieve himself. Just as he was about to pull his pants down, the bushes rustled again. Alarmed, he re-zipped his pants and jumped back. The urge to piss had gotten very strong by now, and whether he wanted to or not, he was gonna go in seven seconds. Quick as a cheetah, he reached into the bushes, grabbed whoever was hiding in them, and tossed the individual far enough for them to hit the fence with a very loud clang.
Everyone turned their attention to the person Krauser threw into the fence, and those who were close enough were able to see the blood smeared on the bottom of the man's shoes.
"That's the guy!" The cop who explained the situation to the three agents cried.
"Oh, crap..." The man said as a few cops closed in on him. He began screaming when they jumped on him and beat him into submission.
"Shut the hell up back there!" Krauser barked as he relieved himself.
"Oh, my God! Krauser caught the murderer!" Ashley cheered.
"That man is a hero!...And he's psychic!" One of the cops standing by cried.
Leon chuckled. "Psychic? Krauser's about as psychic as a drunk person on crack."
"You're just jealous because you wish you were psychic like that guy." The cop sneered.
The brunette just waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."
Later in the day when things had calmed down and people had finished congratulating Krauser on a job well done, Leon, Ashley, Wesker, and Blade sat down with the commando to tell him what the cop said.
"Psychic?" Krauser repeated in disbelief.
"Yeah." Leon nodded. "But how'd you know that guy was in the bush, anyway?"
"I don't know. Something just told me that there was someone in the bush and that they were directly related to the murder."
"Oh, my God! He IS psychic!" Ashley grinned broadly. "Oh, this means I'll finally get an exact date on when the Silent Hill 2 movie comes out!"
"Just so you know, the sequel already came out." Wesker said.
"...Wow, how'd I miss-"
The brunette agent shook his head. "No, Wesker, the sequel didn't count as official because it was from some noob movie director in New Zealand, it was only eight minutes long, there was little to no plot in it, there was no advertisement for it at all, and at the end, it featured one of those dumb screamers you find online."
"Really?" Wesker asked, interested.
"Yeah. The director got a big lawsuit on his ass due to copyright infringement."
"How appropriate."
"I agree. Anyway, back on the subject of Krauser being psychic, I really think that's a load of-"
"Whoo!" The scarred agent jumped up from his seat. "I'm psychic! Oh, yeah!" He proceeded to jump around the room and happily scream about being psychic.
Blade shook his head as he watched the older agent jump for joy. "I can believe he's an inbred. I can believe he has the IQ of a paper bag; maybe lower. I can even believe he literally has half a brain, but I can't even imagine him being psychic."
"I can't believe your eyes are naturally orange." The blond agent retaliated.
"Just because your eyes got that way unnaturally doesn't mean mine did as well."
"Wesker!" Leon cried, surprised. "Don't tell me you actually believe Krauser's psychic!"
The older man shrugged. "You never know, Leon. Perhaps he's even smarter than he lets on."
"...Trust me, Wesker. I've know him for years, so I should know how smart he is and believe me-" The brunette was interrupted when a certain commando accidentally jumped into a bookshelf and fell onto his back, now hidden under a pile of books. "That's as much smart as you're gonna get from him."
"Not everyone who has an extraordinary talent is smart. Jessica Simpson is a good example."
"Krauser has no extraordinary talent! Krauser is Krauser, end of story!"
And so the subject was dropped...for the time being.
The moment Leon and Krauser entered the White House the next morning, they were immediately dragged into the kitchen by Ashley. Blade and Wesker were already there, looking over the front page of today's newspaper.
"What's up, kid?" Krauser asked.
"You're famous!" The blonde replied. "Look!" She took the newspaper from Wesker and held it up for the other two agents to see. The headline read, Psychic Man Finds Killer In Bushes...And Then Urinates In Them, accompanied by a fine picture of Krauser standing before the bushes, relieving himself.
"What the hell?!" The brunette exclaimed.
The commando nodded. "I know! That's a terrible picture of me! You can only see my backside!"
"...That isn't what I meant, Krauser."
"Pretty boy, this should be proof I'm psychic!"
"You know the press has the right to lie, don't you?"
"Jealous." The commando scoffed, turning away from his younger companion.
Leon looked past Krauser at Blade, motioning for him to back him up. The black haired agent only shrugged, to which the brunette replied with his middle finger.
The President entered, followed by Jaws. In his hands he held a folded piece of paper.
"Krauser," He began. "some detective called and said he wanted you to come down to this address." He handed the paper to the beret-adorning agent. "Said you were needed to help solve a murder or something."
"Alright, Krauser!" Ashley congratulated him, giving him a small slap on the back. "You're in business!"
"...Are you for real?" Leon asked. As the President opened his mouth to answer, the agent interrupted him. "Never mind. Don't answer that."
"Time to put my psychic powers to work!" Krauser said triumphantly, heading out of the kitchen. He was immediately followed by Ashley, Blade, and Wesker.
"I guess I'll go, too." The remaining agent reluctantly followed, while Graham and his pet happily tailed him.
"What the hell?" Krauser said, staring at the crime scene. On the wall of the police station, an exact portrait of the victim was painted in blood, presumably their own.
"We have no idea what could've possibly happened." The detective said.
"Hmm..." The commando closed his eyes and held his hand towards the blood painting, wiggling his fingers and making odd noises. The other three agents, the President, and his daughter stared at him as if he just lost it. Finally, he opened his eyes and snapped his fingers. "Suicide!"
"Suicide?" The detective looked at him questioningly.
"Yeah. See, the victim obviously was trying to get in the book of world records, so he cut himself and began painting his portrait with his own blood on the police station!"
The detective gasped. "Of course! It was so obvious! You did it again, Mr. Krauser. I was skeptic at first, but after seeing your powers at work first hand, I-"
"He's NOT psychic!" Leon growled. "If you really believe he's psychic, then you shouldn't be a detective! You should be a bingo caller! How can you be so sure it was a suicide, anyway? What proof do you have?"
"I think you should look at this, Leon." Blade said, kneeling over the body of the victim.
"What?" He kneeled next to Blade by the corpse.
"It's a suicide note."
"Say what?! Gimme that!" He forcefully grabbed the note from the younger agent, causing him to get a serious paper cut.
"Ow!" The gunman hissed, glaring at Leon as he held his wounded finger.
"Okay, so it's a suicide note, but how do you know the man wrote it?"
"Well," The detective held up a video camera. "we just found this and I put it on fast forward. In the tape, it shows the guy writing the letter, then it shows all the painstaking hours he spent painting his portrait, then it shows him collapsing on the ground."
The blonde girl squealed and hugged Krauser. "He IS psychic! He really is psychic!"
"I still say he isn't!" Leon cried.
Leon stared almost menacingly at Krauser as he innocently sat on the couch, reading a magazine. Even once in a while, he would look up to see if his younger friend was still staring, and upon seeing he still was, he would slowly, almost fearfully, turn his attention back to his magazine. The cycle continued on for about twenty minutes before Krauser finally asked what the hell Leon's problem was.
"If you're such a good psychic, why don't you tell me what's the problem?" The brunette said in a near-mocking voice.
"Leon, psychology doesn't work that way."
"That's the science of mind and behavior."
"Whatever, you know what I mean!"
"Prove it, Krauser. Prove to me that you're psychic."
"Okay, fine. I will." The commando turned back to his magazine.
"...Well?"
"Well what?"
"When are you gonna prove to me that you're psychic?"
"When the time is right, pretty boy."
"...You suck."
"Jaws is about to run by with one of the President's pornos in his mouth, and Graham will be right on his tail."
A mere moment later, Jaws ran by, indeed holding some sort of pornography in his mouth. Just as Krauser predicted, the President was right behind him, yelling at him to give it back. Leon watched flabbergasted as the two left, wondering how his friend could've possibly known something so specific would happen. Perhaps he really was psychic. Then again, if he were wrong about this, Leon would have to brand himself as the biggest idiot ever, which he'd already done a couple times before, and by now, he was really trying his hardest not to get to twenty. He was getting close, though. Just one idiotic decision away, to be exact.
"I still don't believe you!" Leon declared.
"Oh, but you will...You WILL..."
Two weeks went by and as each day passed, Krauser was seen less and less around the White House. He kept getting jobs from the police to help them solve crimes and murders with his psychic powers and in return, got a hefty sum of money. While he was around, he kept convincing every one of the non-believers he was psychic, including Blade. The only non-believer left was Leon, who firmly stood his ground when he said Krauser was a fraud.
One morning, Leon sat in the kitchen of the White House, trying to come up with an explanation of Krauser psychic abilities. He glared at the sheet of paper he wrote all the possibilities on, all of which were, He really is psychic. He hunched over the paper again and tapped his pencil on the table. He was so caught up in thinking of more possibilities that he didn't even notice Blade leaning over his shoulder to read what was on the paper. He finally noticed him when the gunman said his name, thus startling the brunette so badly that he screamed and fell out of his seat.
"Don't DO that!" Leon growled before climbing back into his seat.
"What are you doing?" The younger agent asked, picking up the sheet.
"Trying to figure out what's Krauser's secret."
"Well, it seems you've come to the right conclusion, considering you got the same answer all over your paper."
"You don't honestly believe he's psychic, do you, Blade?"
"I do." He sat down next to the brunette agent. "I was skeptical at first like you, but then the idiot did something that amazed me. He managed to guess what number I was thinking about."
"...So?"
"The first number I chose was somewhat easy, then I kept going and as the numbers got harder, Krauser guessed them as if the answers were right in front of him. I mean, I was starting to go into the millions and even added letters in before I was certain they weren't just lucky guesses."
"...I STILL say he's not psychic!"
"Hello there, boys." President Graham greeted as he entered, wearing his pajamas, slippers, and a night cap. "What are you doing?"
"Talking about Krauser's psychic powers." Leon threw his pencil down. "This is too hard!"
"You know, I have a story that might clear things up for you." He took a seat on the other side of the pretty boy. "You see, a man named Bob..."
Leon looked at Blade in confusion as the President continued the story, wondering how the story of the pineapple's name would clarify things. They slowly and quietly slipped out, and on their way to find a more private place to chat, ran into Krauser, who happened to be bragging on to Jaws about his latest case.
"And then I-" The scarred agent looked up when he noticed he and the Colmillo were no longer alone. "Oh, hey guys! Lemme tell ya about what happened yesterday. You see, I was outside, pouring itching powder into the President's pool, when-"
A girlish scream, presumably by Wesker, came from outside, interrupting the agent, then followed by, "ITCHY!!!"
Krauser chuckled, then continued. "Anyway, then Jaws came out with my ringing cell phone. I answered it and it was this cop who said there's ANOTHER copycat murderer on the loose."
"Another?" Leon raised his brow suspiciously. A little over a week ago, Krauser had been called to track down a killer, and after he gave a name and the suspect was arrested, there was another murder done in the exact same fashion the next day. The process kept repeating itself, and oddly, the police just thought there were many copycats and overlooked the fact that Krauser might be wrong.
"Copycat murders? This is the first time I'm hearing about this." The black haired agent said.
"Some assholes keep copying the asshole I had arrested over a week ago! Everyday, there's a new guy!" The scarred agent growled. "Why the hell do so many people keep wanting to copy him?!"
"...Blade, can I talk to you for a sec?" Leon asked, and before the younger agent could respond, he grabbed his arm and dragged him back into the kitchen, where the President was still telling his story. "See?! That's proof right there that Krauser isn't psychic! Everything was just pure luck!"
"I don't know, Leon. I really don't think he's bright enough to just get so many lucky guesses in a row."
"I'm not really that bright either, Blade, and I'm not able to get THAT many lucky guesses in a row. Don't tell me you think there's more than one killer out there."
"Perhaps not, but then again, how can we be so sure?"
Leon gave Blade an odd look before the gunman left.
The next day, Leon seemed to be in a panic. The first words out of his mouth when he came to work were, "Where's Krauser?!"
Graham, startled by his behavior, meekly pointed at the door and said he was at the scene of the latest murder over at the park. Without another word, the brunette left and assembled Blade and Wesker before driving off to the park.
"What's this all about?" Wesker asked.
"Krauser's been caught by the killer, the REAL killer, and if we don't do something, he's gonna die!" Leon replied, pressing down hard on the gas pedal.
"What? How do you know this?"
"I was snooping around Krauser's stuff this morning after he left really early and I found out he's been calling this psychic hotline. I called the number this morning and I was told the killer was gonna catch Krauser and if I didn't hurry, he'd kill him."
The blond gasped. "So THAT'S what happened. Krauser wasn't really psychic at all. He got the hotline to predict all the answers to the psychic tests we'd give him so we'd believe him, and the murders, too. That dirty sneak!"
"The lady at the psychic hotline told me he stopped calling all together cuz he thought he really was psychic, so that's why the police think there are a bunch of copycats out there. Because they kept arresting the wrong people."
Blade laughed. "Shows how smart he is."
Krauser thought as he ran deep into the park. Many trees surrounded him, almost making it seem like he were in a dense forest. His senses told him the killer was in an abandoned shack hidden in the part of the park where people rarely come. After running for what seemed like hours, but really only five minutes, he came across the shack he was looking for. Without a moment's hesitation, he kicked down the door and looked around the bleak, dark shack. "Where the hell are you?!"
"I knew you'd be coming." A male voice said knowingly.
"How?"
"Because unlike you, I'm REALLY psychic."
"If you knew I was coming, how come you didn't run?"
"Because I know the tables have turned in my favor."
"Huh?" The agent suddenly felt a presence behind him and as he turned, an unknown assailant broke a chair over his head. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the object he was hit with.
The agents arrived at the scene and to their dismay, they didn't see Krauser amongst the police. He'd already been captured, they assumed.
"Where's Krauser?" Leon asked the nearest cop.
"The psychic?" The cop thought for a second. "Uh, he said he knew where the killer was and ran off to get him."
"And you let him go by himself? What kind of cop are you?!"
"Hey, he left during our doughnut break! Blame him, not us."
"You guys suck! Now, which way did Krauser go?"
"He ran into the part of the park no one goes to."
"Come on, guys!" The brunette lead the other two agents deep into the thicket of trees. Shortly, they caem across the shack Krauser stumbled upon.
"Could this be where Krauser is?" Wesker asked. He was answered by an all too familiar scream. "Yeah, he's here."
"Krauser!" Leon leaped through one of the windows, glass flying everywhere. When he sat up, the sight before him made his jaw drop. Krauser and the alleged killer where sitting around a couple cases of beer, drinking and laughing as if they were old buddies reunited. "What...the...hell?"
"Hey, pretty boy!" Krauser said, thoroughly intoxicated. "This is Dwayne, my old college buddy."
"Yo." Dwayne greeted, tossing his now empty can into the fireplace, where many more empty beer cans lay.
"Did you save Krauser yet?" Wesker asked, looking in the broken window along with Blade. "Hey, what the hell's going on in there?"
"Slickback, foot long! Hey there!" The commando held up an unopened can of beer. "Join us!"
The two sunglasses-wearing agents stared at each other in confusion.
"Krauser, what the hell is going on here?!" The pretty boy demanded.
"I can explain." Dwayne stood. "First off, I am the killer. Second of all, since Krauser was my old college buddy, I decided to let him live and confess my evil deeds to him."
"...Okay, that explains a little bit. But why did you kill those people?"
"All my life, I've wanted to do something that I could be recognized for, and at the rate I was going, this was my only option."
"You do realize that the police think you're one of the many copycat killers, right?"
"Really? Oh, God damn it!"
"You didn't know?"
"No! I've been in this shack the whole time, waiting for the cops to find me!"
"But wait!" The scarred agent pointed a finger at Dwayne. "You said you were...psychic."
"Yup." Dwayne nodded. "I just didn't use my powers because I was afraid of what I'd find out. Today I used them and that's how I knew you were coming, Krauser."
"...Oh. Well, how come you hit me over the head with a chair?!"
"That was our greeting back in college, remember?!"
The commando nodded. "No."
Leon then remembered something. "Speaking of being psychic, the jig's up, Krauser. I found out the source of your psychic powers."
"You did? Damn!"
"Do you realize how many innocent people you put in jail?" Blade asked.
"A lot!" Krauser laughed. "But seriously, I'm sorry."
The brunette agent stood up and held a hand out to his older companion. "Come on, Krauser. Time for both of you guys to confess."
"Fine," He took the younger man's hand and stood. "but I'm keeping all the money I got from the police!"
By the end of the week, everything was back to normalcy. Both Krauser and Dwayne confessed and Dwayne was arrested while all of those who were falsely arrested as the real killer and copycats were released. The people who were arrested before the whole copycat killer incident were still imprisoned due to the evidence found against them. Krauser was sued by the police and lost all the money he made from his false psychic predictions. For the next couple of days, people were ignoring him because they were pissed that he cheated using a psychic hotline, but by now they'd gotten over it.
And right about now, Leon was extremely happy that he didn't make it to twenty.
Yay, I finally updated!