Disclaimer-I don't own Shaman King. If I did, I'd make it so that if someone in the manga dies, they stay dead and not resurrect like fifty times.

I'd like to thank my beta-reader Loving Monday for reading this and placing an "approved" stamp on it. So then, let's get this tea party started!


The time was 6:40 A.M. It had stopped snowing two hours ago, but winter's greeting had left a lasting mark on the city. The sky was dark gray, the air was cold, and Lyserg found himself yelling the words "I'm sorry, I just got here," over and over again as he gently pushed aside a large crowd of people blocking his path. He swore he would go blind as he was assaulted in camera flashes and was tempted more than once to punch incoming journalists and news reporters in their teeth. The inspector reached a line of policemen closing off one entrance of the Millennium Bridge and, in the distance, saw another group blocking the other half. One of them was about to speak before Lyserg pulled out his badge and displayed the insignia stitched on his uniform. They let him through and he walked briskly towards a man writing on a form attached to a clipboard.

"Ah, good morning, Inspector." The man greeted as he tipped his hat

"Good morning, Sergeant Aamir." Lyserg went under the police line. "I heard it's quite gruesome."

"The dead never look peaceful, Mr. Diethel. They never do."

"I suppose you're right."

The sergeant observed Lyserg for a moment. "Your cheek looks like it got scraped by a bullet."

"I nicked it while shaving this morning." Lyserg grinned at him as the sergeant bought the lie and continued to write in his crime scene journal. When Lyserg reached half of the bridge, he saw one of his colleagues arguing with a forensic specialist. The two were holding measuring tape and placing it over a cadaver whose figure was outlined in white chalk. "I'm just saying, everyone claims he fell out of the sky." The specialist said with an Indian accent placing the measuring tape into a box before withdrawing a camera and a tripod. "There are also people who claim that Russia landed on the moon first. Of course it's a lie, the sky does not rain human begins, Pasing." The other said in a gruff manner. "It rains liquid precipitation and in the case of last night, rained crystallized molecular ice-"

"You could just call it snow, Stephen." Lyserg interjected as he approached them with his hands in his pockets. "Good morning you two."

"Good morning, Lyserg." Pasing placed his tripod on one spot and mounted his camera. He began taking pictures of the body from different angles. "Well, look who's here." said Stephen with a smirk , looking at the cut on his coworker's cheek and his overall lethargic appearance. "Don't you look like hell. Had a rough night?"

"You could say that." Lyserg replied looking at the forensic specialist. "Pasing, once you've developed the photos, could I have some copies? And could you make me a crime scene graph as well?"

"No problem, sir." He kneeled down to look into his box and pulled out a sketchbook and pencil before walking towards the other end of the bridge. Lyserg pulled up his white sleeve and out dropped his crystal pendulum.

"Oh not that stupid thing aga-"

"This stupid thing has been in my family for generations." Lyserg responded calmly before closing his eyes and putting his arm forward as if he were looking at his watch. The crystal pointed to the dead man's face then lowered to his abdominal area. The two of them waited for a minute before Lyserg put down his sleeve and put his hand in his pocket again. "You're a brilliant man, Lyserg, but that brilliance isn't going to last if you keep relying on this….this…"

"Idiocy? Foolishness? Nonsense? Irrationality? Haven't we been over this before, Stephen?" The dowser said. His partner remained silent. "For one, I don't rely solely on dowsing and the sixth sense." Lyserg saw him roll his eyes.

"I too do not deny the facts and physical evidence….but…those are just supplements." Lyserg looked out towards the Thames River in the direction where the Big Ben was located. "Father used to say to me when I was little, that society was complex. Murders occur every day with no particular motive. Even if technology continues to evolve, technology cannot solve what goes on in the human soul." Lyserg turned to face Stephen with his arms crossed. "Whether you want to believe it or not, there are people who exist that do what technology never can." Stephen sighed, looking defeated. "Fine, what's the crystal say this time?"

"What was the cause of death?"

"We're guessing internal hemorrhaging. But that doesn't explain the eyes."

The silver lights of the bridge illuminated on the body of a middle-aged man. Lyserg kneeled down and looked at the corpse up close. This man was rather fat, his arms and legs were spread out in an X and he wore an Italian business suit. His eyes seemed to roll back into his head, blood dripped from his mouth with his tongue hanging out and onto his gray beard. Lyserg wondered why this face looked so familiar.

"What's his name?"

"Alan Moore," responded Stephen.

Lyserg thought for a moment and stared intensely at the dead man's face. "Wasn't he the judge for the Lark case?"

"That's the one."

Lyserg stood abruptly, took out a notepad and a pen from his pocket, and wrote down some notes. "Definitely premeditated." The shaman thought about last night. Apparently his plea for justice had been answered. Alan Moore, the racist judge who had approved the jury's decision to let rapist Thomas Lark loose now lay dead in front of him. Still, even death was too harsh of a punishment to Lyserg.

"How exactly did someone get away with murdering a man on a bridge nearly ten thousand people walk on every day?

"That's the big question. We can't come up with any logical theories."

"Did you interview the witnesses yet?"

"A couple. Most said that they were walking on the bridge when some guy's body fell smack down in the middle and started coughing a lot of blood up before he died. Some say a black shadow ran on the bridge holding Alan and placed him here. Others say they heard howling. I left some people for you, by the way." Lyserg looked at him with dull eyes.

"You know how I hate interviewing people, Lyserg."

"Why's that?"

"Good morning, gentlemen" greeted a large, bald man in a trench coat as he walked by the two detectives. "Good morning, Superintendent." said both of them simultaneously. Something felt off about his superior, he looked different. Lyserg looked at him before realizing it, though he debated with himself whether to say it or not. It seemed like such a stupid question and didn't fit the situation at all, but curiosity got the better of him. "You shaved off your mustache, Superintendent?" It was a well known fact around headquarters that Superintendent C. Lestrade had taken several months to grow a very imposing walrus mustache. Much like the ones his imperialist forefathers had. "Um, well not shaved. It...got caught in a bus door." Lestrade walked away very quickly looking nervous. The two detectives did nothing but stare in his direction.

"That's funny, he told me that mustache was on rent at a community play. He had to give it back because the play ended the other day." said Pasing approaching the two once more with a bundle of papers in his hands. Stephen looked at Lyserg and calmly stated, "I hate interviews, because I hate people. And I hate people because people lie. And lying really makes my job harder than it's supposed to be." He pointed at the now running Lestrade. "Here are the photos you requested, Mr. Diethel." Pasing handed the graph and the photos to Lyserg and began to pack up his forensic equipment. "Do you two have enough information to make a report? We're about to put the body in a bag and send it to the medical examiner's office."

"Thank you. And yes, yes I do," said Lyserg as he turned around. "Oh, and Pasing, tell the coroner to pay special attention the abdomen and throat." The forensic specialist looked at him with hesitation. "Well, sure thing Mr. Diethel…but why?"

"Just trust dowser boy and his magic diamond of wonders," spat Stephen, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he followed Lyserg to the entrance of the bridge were the witnesses were being held. "If only you could see what I see, Gradgrind." Lyserg replied bluntly before jamming his freezing hands into his pockets.

Looks like someone's decided to play God today.


The chapter title is a reference to the Greek Alphabet and a chapter in the New Testament called Revelations. Alpha is the first letter of the Greek Alphabet and signifies the beginning of a series of events in Revelations. And the whole mustache thing is based off one of my old teachers who used to make up a different excuse each time we asked him about why he shaved off his mustache.

I'd like to thank the reviewers who gave me hope that this idea wasn't too weird to actually work. The first chapter seemed long and now this chapter seems too short, haha. Anyway, this is more like a set-up, an intro, than a real chapter. Meet Detective Lyserg and his coworkers, blah, blah, blah. Chapter three will be a tad more satisfying. For me at least. I was going to put in a meeting between two people and was considering putting in the visit to the coroner's office, but if I put those in, I'd have to add in other stuff, which would make the chapter way too long. Slow and steady win the race…right?

If you spot room for improvement or something that needs a fixing, please leave your criticisms in a review or PM and I shall take them to heart and make any future reading of this story more enjoyable.

There's a little reference for you Sherlock Holmes, Shooting an Elephant, and Hard Times fans. :)

Adieu!