Playing with the Big Boys
A Detective Conan Alterverse Fic
By
Deborah J. Brown
Detective Conan is copyright Aoyama Gosho.
Author's Notes: While not part of the Psychic Detective Heiji series, I'll probably end up putting it into the same universe to simplify my life. Icka is the master of multiple alternate universes, but I have trouble remembering where I put my shoes in the morning, much less which universe I'm supposed to be in. Please note, this fic is set during the current Japanese run of Detective Conan, not Case Closed. There will be spoilers for the series here and a character you won't have heard of if you're only watching/reading Case Closed.
Anyway, the idea started as a joke and ended up turning into something a bit more edgy and a bit more serious. This one's also more violent than some of my other DC fics but seeing who I chose for my main character that can't be helped. The mysteries in this series won't be as deep, either. I'll also note that the series explores a theory I have about Ai and her relationship with another important character. Gosho may have fooled me, though, which is why this is AU.
I'll be making further comments on the story in my Live Journal (http/www,livejournal,com/kosaginolegion/). Review here, if you would, but feel free to comment there as well, or respond to stuff there.
Have fun!
A NEW KID IN TOWN
PRESENT (Conan):
It was an unusual October morning. Winter
had come early to Tokyo, dumping tons of snow on the city the week before.
Within days, however, the clean-up crews had cleared the streets, allowing
everyone to return to their daily business – including thousands of
disappointed small children.
The students of class 1B were no exception to the disappointment. They sat in their places, tried not to fidget, but outside was where they longed to be and it showed. Ordinarily Sensei had no trouble controlling them, but today. She'd finally had to tell everyone to put their heads on their desks and sit quietly.
Even Conan, formerly seventeen year old amateur detective, Kudo Shin'ichi, now shrunk to the size of a seven year old, was feeling the strain. School was something of a torture for him anyway and the excitement and nervous energy of the students around him was enough to make even him long to run outside and just scream.
The sound of tap, of a door opening and closing, drew the small detective's attention and he couldn't help but twist his head enough to look. Sensei was leaving the room, stepping out into the hallway. He could hear murmurs outside, the principal's voice and the teacher's.
"Pssst. Conan. She said to keep our heads down!" That was Genta. The larger boy was eying Conan worriedly. "You'll get us in trouble."
"Not as much trouble as you'll get us into if you keep talking." Skinny, quickly growing Mitsuhiko protested, eliciting more sshhhhhhhh sounds from other students. Conan tried not to look too disgusted. It never failed. His young friends had a talent for getting themselves – and him – into trouble. He tried to ignore the fact that his own talent for stumbling onto murders and other violent crimes was just as much at fault.
Everyone went silent as the door opened again and Sensei entered. "Children? Please sit up straight and quietly. I have an announcement." Conan lifted his head and waited. There was a mildly concerned look on their teacher's face, but not – he thought – an upset one. Nothing terribly wrong then. Once she had everyone's attention, she continued, "We have a new student transferring in from America. He speaks very good Japanese, though, so you'll have no trouble understanding each other."
A boy was entering the room as the teacher spoke. Skinny, almost as skinny as Mitsuhiko, almost as tall as Genta. His left arm was in a cast, held close against a body dressed in blue slacks and a black turtleneck. Green eyes gazed impassively out from under a shock of thick black wavy hair. His face was angular, as if he hadn't been eating well – unexpected from an American – and his expression was grim and wary. Like a wild animal expecting to be attacked. Conan couldn't help but glance at Ai, remembering when that expression had been about the only one she knew.
The boy bowed, a sudden sharp jerk that reminded Conan of a Yakuza tough, or a punk street kid. "Scarlatti Shoji. Pleased to meet you."
EVENING, SIX DAYS EARLIER (Shoji):
He stared.
Somehow the world had grown.
No. Not grown. I've shrunk. He looked down at himself, at his sweater and pants, once tight-fitting and now so large that he considered it sheer luck that he wasn't giving his companion a free show. "Jodi. What th"
"Awww. How CUTE!" The slim blonde squatted in front of him and he glared, only to stumble back in shock as she pulled off her mask, revealing a well-known and much hated face. Vermouth. I'm dead. I am SO dead. To his surprise she simply reached over and pinched his cheek. "I'd forgotten what a darling six year old you were."
"You you bitch! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?" People were staring. Hurrying past the strange, foul-mouthed little boy, some shaking their head in sympathy for the poor mother.
Vermouth laughed, patting him on the head. "Tut. Such language from such a little boy. Your parents must not have raised you right."
He growled and proceeded to demonstrate just how badly he'd been raised, eliciting a smug, highly amused smile. As he finally wore down she rose to her feet and grasped his hand, dragging him along. In this new form it was terrifyingly easy for her to do so. "WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?"
"Little boys belong in school," Vermouth laughed. "Where else?"
Somehow all his courage and certainty was draining away. He stared up at the woman he hated and had sworn to stop. "S" He cursed himself, cursed this new vulnerability. "LET GO OF ME!"
"Now, now. You don't want to get in any more trouble, do you, little one?" She considered him carefully. "You'll need some proper clothing, of course. We'll stop and get some, first. And don't swear like that, young man. You'll get yourself in trouble with the teachers."
He stammered. Stammered like the small boy he appeared to be. It was disgusting. "Wh.. why? You had a chance to kill me. Why didn't you?" He expected her usual answer. What other answer could she give but, 'A secret makes a woman, woman'?
Instead Vermouth smiled sweetly down at him. "I just like to have all my silver bullets where I can keep an eye on them."
His six year old body galvanized into action. Instinct combined with stark terror combined with what he considered plain good sense. No matter how you might be injured, you simply did not let your sworn enemy drag you off somewhere. He broke free and ran for it, out into the snow. Behind him he could hear her laughing.
PRESENT (Conan):
Within an hour of his arrival, most of the
class had decided that the new kid was scary and to be avoided. Gruff, laconic
and terminally disinterested in their games and toys, Shoji was as anti-social
as a child could be. Oh, he didn't threaten them, but his expression when they
tried to make friends, the cold icy glare when they got too loud around him,
his grim tone when he spoke. All combined to make him an unnerving presence in
a class that prided itself on its friendliness.
By the time recess was half-way over the only members of the class still showing any interest in Shoji were Genta and Mitsuhiko, and even Mitsuhiko was beginning to get tired of the effort. Conan was a bit surprised that Ayumi wasn't trying too, but realized that the gangly half-American boy intimidated her in a way that Genta did not. Probably because she grew up with Genta. Too, Genta had never acted like a barely tamed street kid. Oh, he was big and rough, but his natural gentleness shown thru, even so. There was nothing gentle about Shoji. If anything, there was an undertone of anger, of a rage so intense that it might explode into violent action any minute.
"And then Yaiba's friend threw him at the enemy. Like this! And Yaiba spun around and kicked, and punched and" Genta slipped and nearly fell on the ice as he attempted to demonstrate the moves for the new boy. He was oblivious to the fact that Shoji's stare was more of disbelief than interest.
Ai shook her head as she sipped at her juice. "You'd think by now he'd learn," she muttered. "Not everyone is a Yaiba maniac. Especially not an American."
Now that Conan considered patently unfair. Yaiba might be a kid's show, but "They like things like sentai in America," he pointed out. "Power Rangers, I think they call it there." It'd been a year or so since his last visit to America, but he'd been unable to avoid noticing that the last sentai series in Japan was now forming the nucleus of an Americanized version. He'd not been interested enough to watch it, though.
Surprisingly, his comment drew the new boy's attention. "Power Rangers. Feh. Give me the originals." It intrigued Conan a bit to notice that Shoji had startled himself by his reaction. As if he'd been drawn out despite himself. He stared at Conan, as if daring the smaller boy to say a word. When Conan just smiled, happily, back, he shrugged and added. "You can rent them at Japanese groceries in America, it's not like I'm completely ignorant."
Mitsuhiko's interest was piqued now. "Oh? Which one do you like best? Time Rangers? GoGo V?"
"Kyouruu Sentai Zyuranger," Shoji said after a moment. "I haven't had time to watch the newer ones. Kakuranger was good, too." He glanced at Conan and added, "They had a lot of really old tapes."
Conan shrugged. Though he rather enjoyed Yaiba – despite himself – he'd never quite gotten into the sentai craze the way Mitsuhiko and Genta had. Not surprisingly, Genta was nearly bouncing off the pavement at the realization that the new kid had actually seen a show he hadn't. "Do you have copies?" he demanded urgently. "You can't get those anymore, here. Not unless you got a lotta money and mom and dad won't get me something big like that so all I know about it is from magazines but they sounded like a lot of fun and I really really wish I could see them!"
Green eyes widened at the sheer number of words Mitsuhiko had managed to fit into one sentence. "Er I'm sorry. I didn't bring my tapes with me to Japan. I we traveled light." Shoji shrugged, then winced as if the movement hurt. "Shi I mean, damn I mean uhm Sorry." He rubbed at his arm, not looking nearly as sorry as a child ought to for swearing that way but he was glancing around as if half-expecting an adult to smack him one for his language.
It was Genta who salvaged the situation. "It's all right, Sho-chan. You shouldn't talk like that but you're American. We know you can't help it."
Shoji just sighed. "Great," he muttered in English. "I'm a stereotype."
EARLY MORNING, FIVE DAYS EARLIER (Shoji):
He'd been running
for hours now. Evading the police. Evading other adults. Evading Her.
His shrunken body was all wrong. He kept misjudging, kept slipping and falling
in the snow, kept running into things. He'd had to abandon his shoes and socks,
though he'd managed to roll his pants and sleeves up so that he didn't have to
go naked, his belt tightened as much as possible to keep the pants from
falling. He'd been rather tall as a child, the only good fortune he could find
in his situation.
A part of him was aware that he was being stupid. That part of him had been shocked into near stupor though and all that was left was blind panic. No one would believe the truth. No one would accept him as he was. Worse, he was as vulnerable as he could be to Her. A vulnerability that he knew she'd exploit.
Her laughter when he'd fled kept him running still. What if she knew how to find him? What if part of what she'd fed him had been a tracing device. The thought made him find a dark corner, to force the contents of his stomach out, but even that didn't satisfy him. She'd have thought of that. What was he going to do? The hunter was now the hunted and he understood only too well how his own prey must have felt with him on their trail.
His tangled thoughts were shocked out of their endless circling when an attempt to jump over an icy patch went wrong. He could feel it, halfway across and coming down far too soon. Once again he'd misjudged. His bare foot struck the ice, skidded, sent him flying. He crashed onto his butt, struggled to his feet and cartwheeled the other way.
At full size he would have managed to recover. At full size his body would have cooperated when he twisted to do a roll fall that would have saved him from injury. Instead he came down entirely wrong. He felt the snap as his arm broke, forced back a scream as he lay amid the trash in the alleyway.
Somehow he crawled further into the alley. Somehow he managed to pull himself to a sitting position, though it hurt terribly to do so. He clutched his broken arm, felt tears of pain slide down his cheeks, their heat the only warmth he felt in the chill evening air. He whimpered, trying to fight back the pain enough to think. Enough to act! He failed miserably and when he 'felt' the presence of another person in the alley, he didn't need her voice to tell him that – disguised as a man though she was – it was Vermouth.
"Poor baby. Diddums hurt himself?"
All he could do was whimper.
PRESENT (Conan):
Class was over and – as was usual for
Conan's small friends – the Detective Boys were on the case. Or at least
looking for a case to be on. Conan always had mixed feelings about the habit.
On one hand, his fascination for mysteries, his need to be involved was
satisfied. On the other, it sometimes put the others at risk.
Worse, now we have yet another one. He wasn't quite sure how Genta had convinced his new buddy to come along, or even how Genta had managed to become the new boy's best buddy in the first place. Admittedly, Conan still wasn't sure how he'd become their friend either, but Shoji wasn't the sort of kid to let himself get dragged into a game he obviously thought rather silly.
Glancing over his shoulder at the taller boy, Conan felt an odd moment of familiarity, as if he'd met Shoji somewhere before. Then Shoji demanded, gruffly, "What're you looking at?"
"Uhm. I was just wonderin'. How'd you break your arm?" Conan forced his eyes wide, made himself look as little and innocent as possible. Just a little boy. That's all I am.
The boy's expression shifted. For a moment it went cold, and a bit scary, causing Ayumi to move behind Conan a bit more. Then he snorted, an irritated sound. "Did a stupid move. Slipped on some ice, tried to roll fall out of it and misjudged. No big deal."
Ayumi breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh. I thought maybe you got in a fight." She looked up at the boy. "Did it hurt a lot?" Her natural niceness was coming out, Conan realized, even though Shoji made her nervous.
"I certainly wouldn't recommend it," Shoji answered dryly. Then a small smile curved his lips. "But I'm okay now. It just hurts when I move wrong." An odd expression crossed his face as if he was surprised at his own volubility. From what Conan had seen of the boy, he rather suspected Shoji was used to keeping his opinions to himself. Ayumi has a way of drawing people out, though.
"Ohhh. Look! The arcade's re-opened!" Mitsuhiko's voice interrupted the conversation and the others turned to look. "They're supposed to be putting in a new really cool game! Let's go!"
Conan sighed as the others ran forward. Here we go again, he sighed, and was surprised to hear a similar sigh from Shoji. Then the boy set off, long legs moving quickly. "C'mon, kid. Better catch up before they get in trouble."
Conan and Ai stared after him, identical expressions of suspicion forming on their faces.
LATE AFTERNOON, FIVE DAYS EARLIER (Shoji)
He was warm again.
It was an incredible feeling, after hours of cold. Wrapped in a blanket, the
pain in his arm receded to blissful fuzzies, he simply gazed at the white,
softly lit, ceiling and wondered at the terrible dream he'd had. Then a voice
spoke, very softly, in his ear. "Listen carefully, little one. You are
Scarlatti Shoji. You are my son, injured in an accident when you tried
to run away from home. Don't even think about telling anyone differently,
because I have the papers to prove it. Not to mention affidavits explaining
that you have been deeply troubled since the recent death of your mother. No
one will believe you if you try and tell them anything different."
He stared at the ceiling longer, not wanting to acknowledge the voice. Not wanting to accept that this wasn't just a nightmare. But his body was all wrong. He could feel the changes, feel the weakness in his limbs, the shortness of them. It had happened. It had all happened and now Vermouth had him in a bind. He already knew from experience that adults didn't listen to kids, especially kids who've been causing trouble. Vermouth was good. She'd have talked everyone into believing that he was just a messed up kid grieving for his mother. Besides, even if he somehow convinced them that he wasn't Vermouth's son, they wouldn't believe who he really was.
Slowly he managed a nod. He'd cooperate, for the moment, and wait for his next opportunity. Vermouth would be watching, of course, but if he could lull her into believing he was submitting, then he'd have at least a better chance of escape than he did now. Escape was absolutely necessary. He didn't know for certain what Vermouth intended for him, though his imagination was providing some very unpleasant possibilities, the best of which was death and the very worst was to be sold into slavery in a child prostitution ring. I'll get away before that. I'll have to.
It took an hour before the doctors in the hospital where Vermouth had brought him were satisfied that he could leave. Between the bruises and scrapes he'd achieved in the course of his panicked run and his broken arm they felt he needed some extra observation, in case there was something less obvious, like a concussion. He wouldn't have been surprised if there were, either, his head felt so fuzzy and out of it.
At last, however, Vermouth – disguised this time as an older Caucasian male – got him released and had strapped him into the back seat of her car. Only when they were on the road and moving at a good clip through the falling snow did she speak in the Sicilian of his childhood.
"Stupid. That was about the stupidest thing you've ever done in your life, boy, and you've pulled some real boners! I expected you to run. I didn't expect you to nearly kill yourself running blindly around Tokyo as if all hell were on your tail!" Her voice nearly broke him then and there. It wasn't the tone she usually used. It was an anger he'd heard before, the anger of a parent for a small child who'd scared the living daylights out of said parent. The fear of someone who had nearly lost something important. In his current vulnerable state, the idea that someone cared about what happened to him was nearly enough to unman him.
She's an actress, he reminded himself. She's probably just trying to make me think she cares. Another of her ways of screwing with your head. She'd done it before, fooled him before. If there was anything he hated her for most it was for having tricked him so many times into nearly believing in her, into nearly trusting her.
Vermouth continued. "I don't expect you to trust me, boy. But you will cooperate. You will do as I say. Or I'll hand you over to the Black Organization right now." In the rear view mirror, her eyes glanced back to meet his. "And believe me, you are one person they want very dead."
He knew that already. He'd come so close, so very close, so many times, to breaking the organization. To capturing its leader. Which begged the question, "Why? Why are you doing this? Why not hand me over to them now?" His voice sounded infuriatingly fragile to his ears. "And don't give me any crap about silver bullets."
There was silence for a moment. "That's a secret," she said finally. "Because you won't believe me if I tell you. But keep this in mind, little one. Right now the only ones who know who you really are, are you and me. You don't want to face your friends in your condition and you definitely don't want me to give you to my friends. So if you want to have even the slightest chance of regaining your true appearance again You. Will. Cooperate."
He stared grimly ahead of him, at the back of the seat in front of him. His head was spinning, making it hard to think clearly. Could he possibly make the right decision in his current state of mind? "Where are you taking me?" he asked finally, returning to Japanese.
"Our new home. You need a bath and bed."
PRESENT (Conan):
The video arcade had only just re-opened
and had not yet filled with customers. Those who were, there, though, were
crowded towards the back, watching a video game in action. The fifteen or so
customers were gathered tightly there, forcing the Detective Boys to squeeze
their way through to the rail. "Oh! Look! They have that new virtual reality
game! And it's RAN playing it!"
Conan and Ai halted at the edge of the arena where a long limbed girl was testing the game out. Sensors aimed at the center of the ring gathered information about her movements and translated them into the motions of a character on the video screen. She kicked, high and hard, and the character followed suit, sending the enemy it was fighting flying. Conan winced inwardly, having occasionally been on the receiving end of those kicks when he'd been Ran's size. This must be the job she was talking about for this afternoon. Ran wasn't into video games that much ordinarily, but her karate skills were well known in the neighborhood.
"Not bad," Shoji muttered admiringly. "Very good legs, in fact." Conan glanced the taller boy's way, not at all sure he liked someone, especially not a first grader, looking at Ran's legs that way. Then, as if guessing at Conan's thoughts, the boy added quickly, "The kick. She's a black belt, isn't she?"
"That's Ran! She's Sleeping Kogoro's daughter," Ayumi answered, watching Ran admiringly. Though small and rather delicate, the girl hero-worshipped Conan's childhood friend and hoped one day to be like her. Which was, Conan felt, more than the world really needed. He also knew better than to say so. "She's great!"
Ran's demonstration ended then and she noticed Conan and the others. "Oh! Hello everyone! I didn't know you'd come to watch!" She got down, allowing the first person in line to take her place. "Hi, Conan." She straightened his tie and his glasses. "Who's your new friend." She looked at Shoji, smiling. Before anyone could answer, though, someone started yelling at the front of the store.
Before Conan could stop them, Genta and Mitsuhiko were running towards the noise, Ayumi not far behind.
MIDNIGHT, FOUR DAYS EARLIER (Shoji):
He was running,
surrounded by black figures, shadows that shifted into each other. Hands
reached out, grabbed at him. He huddled in the cold, pain twisting through his
body. They were going to kill him. No, whatever they'd do would be worse than
death. As they pulled him down he screamed.
Then something warm was touching him, cradling him. A soft voice was murmuring his name, his real name, not the stupid, barely a disguise, one she had given him. It was a voice he knew, had once loved and had come to hate. Yet right in that moment it was the only kind voice he could hear, the only comfort he could find. He knew hostages often became friendly with their kidnappers, understood the psychology behind the reaction and was powerless to defy it. He struggled to force anger to the fore, to fight, but he was so very tired and it all hurt too damned much.
"Drink this, child. You need to sleep more than anything else right now."
He blinked at her, at the cup of warm milk she was holding for him. Ordinarily he would have smashed it out of her hand but his stomach – empty for hours now – demanded otherwise. He took it, tasted the faint medicine taste and glanced at her before drinking it up. It wasn't poison, he knew that much. A sedative of some sort, possibly something else, but she wouldn't be that obvious about it if it were harmful. For some reason she wanted him in good condition.
"Good boy. Tomorrow, if you feel up to it, we'll go shopping." She sighed, the feminine sound of her voice at odds with the very masculine appearance of her disguise. It occurred to him that she looked rather like a slightly younger version of his boss. No mustache and with his hair dyed brown, though. "I've gotten you a few things, of course, but I'd forgotten what a long drink of water you were at six, Sho-chan."
Feeling a bit better, head spinning a bit less, he glared at her. "Shopping. Now I know you're trying to torture me. That bath wasn't bad enough?" He had to maintain his poise, had to keep his cool through this insanity, or he would be lost.
Laughter relieved him of any fear that his attitude might push Vermouth in a direction he definitely didn't want her to take. That would have to be the trick. Keep her amused, keep her interested enough not to hurt him. Then, when he found a path out of the mess, make tracks as fast as he damned well could.
"Just one other question," he couldn't help adding. "What then?"
"I already told you. You get a few days rest. Then you get to go back to school. And if you think about it, you'll know exactly where I plan on putting you, with whom and – most importantly – why."
PRESENT (Conan):
It was inevitable, Conan thought, that his
companions would be unable to resist the commotion. Equally inevitable that he
would follow. He could hardly leave them to run headlong into danger, after
all. With a sigh, Conan raced after them, ignoring Ran's cry as he ran.
Rather to his relief, though, the only danger the kids had put themselves into was getting their heads thumped by a trio of teenage punks who he recognized as part of a local gang. Genta was clutching his nose and howling anguishedly, drips of blood coming from between his fingers. Mitsuhiko was sitting on the floor looking startled. Conan started forward, seeing that the third of the punks was about to deliver a similar lesson to a frozen Ayumi. Before he got more than two steps, though, a dark flash of movement passed his left side.
"Big man," Shoji said grimly, standing between the punk and Ayumi. "Picking on little girls."
The fist came down anyway, striking Shoji atop his head and causing Conan to wince. He'd gotten far too many of those kind of punches in the last year. Though Mouri pulls 'em a bit. That looked painful. Rather surprisingly, though, the American boy just continued gazing up at the teenager. "That the best you can do?"
Something about the boy's gaze must have given the punk pause. He had a startled look that Conan would have thought was fear if it weren't for the fact that it made no sense for a five and a half foot tall teenager to be intimidated by someone more than a foot shorter and less than half his age. Okay. I officially regard Scarlatti Shoji as a suspicious character. Not that he hadn't begun to already.
Before things could descend any further into violence a much needed interruption came in the shape of Ran Mouri. "Children. Leave those boys alone." She walked closer and Conan couldn't blame the punks for being intimidated now. They knew her. Knew her capacity for violent defense of those too weak to protect themselves. "As for you"
"Sorry. Just get 'em away." The punks backed off, an act of unusual wisdom on their part and Ran used the moment to pick Ayumi up and drag Mitsuhiko to his feet. Within seconds the Detective Boys, plus one, were moved away.
PRESENT (Shoji):
Well. Now I understand why someone has to keep
an eye on these kids. They're trouble magnets. Shoji rubbed the top of his
head ruefully. He wasn't having a very good week, between the broken arm and
the near concussion he'd just received at the hands of the punk. If long and
bitter experience hadn't taught him that acknowledging inflicted pain only gave
the enemy a weapon against you he'd be howling right alongside Genta right now.
That hurt.
His other reason for keeping his pain to himself knelt in front of him. He hated being mothered, hated being coddled, and Ran Mouri was very much the type to try and do both. She took his face in her hands and bent his head, peering at the growing knot. "That was very brave of you," she told him. "But"
"Not brave," he muttered, irritably. "Someone had to do it." He stepped away from her hands. "I'm okay." He glanced at Genta, who had recovered from his bloody nose with remarkable speed. A few sniffles into blood specked handkerchief, but in general, okay. Mitsuhiko had gotten shoved onto the floor and was rubbing his hind end unhappily. As for Conan, well he'd been smart enough not to run straight into a bunch of frustrated punks looking for someone to take that frustration out on. And Ai, of course, stayed back entirely. Good girl. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. He only wished Ayumi had that much sense.
Ran rose to her feet and stood shaking her head at the children. "You really do need to be more careful, kids. I know you're interested in mysteries, but it isn't a good idea to go running straight for a fight." She glanced up across the room, where the punks had returned to their argument with the store clerk, who was looking rather bored, despite the way the tallest of the group was screaming in his face. Shoji had to admire the teenage clerk's aplomb.
"BIG IDEA LETTING THE GAME GET BROKEN! YOU BEEN CLOSED A WHOLE WEEK! PLENTY OF TIME TO GET IT FIXED TOO!" The leader of the group was standing beside a game named "Ingram M11", one of the sort that used a fake weapon as its controller. Shoji rolled his eyes. Apparently they really enjoyed the game and took it very amiss that it wasn't available for play. A handwritten sign was taped over the coin slot, proclaiming it out of order. Enraged at this setback to his fun, the punk was waving the controller around as if it were the real thing.
"I keep telling you, the sign was here when I came in to work. I dunno what's up with it." Ask the boss when she comes in." The young man's bored tone just sent his accuser totally incandescent with fury as he raised the controller and aimed it at the clerk.
"Some people really take their games seriously," Ai muttered. "Such a fuss over nothing." She shook her head, turning away. Conan, however, was staring at the weapon in the punk's hand with a look of dawning horror.
Shoji looked closer and launched himself forward, yelling "NO!"
To Be Continued...
