Here's chapter 4 everybody! Sorry it took so long but school was killing me. I live in India and here, school is really tough!

This is mostly a filler chapter. Most of it was written by my amazing editor guntotengirly, even though I asked her not to. She's THAT Awesome!

I wrote the Snooper(you'll find out what that is) scenes but that's it. So any credit for the writing goes to my editor!

So here's the chapter!

CHAPTER 4

HAVEN CITY

Haven City was a metropolis bustling with tourists, civilians, and hard-working fairy. The concrete sidewalks were full to bursting with impatient crowds as they tried to hustle past each other. Sour faces twisted with exhaustion mingled on almost every person.

Among these bitter faces was a certain dwarf. It was difficult to see his face, but it was obvious who he was. Despite having a criminal-past, Mulch Diggums was now a renowned protector of Haven City.

Holly's 3-year absence had taken a toll on the business. In the beginning, Mulch was concerned that without the reputation of a professional-crime-fighting fairy to give their firm a boost that their business would drop. Who would want to rely on an ex-criminal? His fears were confirmed for the first couple of months, and in those months he had even juggled the idea of selling the PI firm. But the certain collection of fond feelings for the company had delayed the advertisement.

And lucky for him.

After the disappearance of his friend, Mulch—in an hour of desperation—had hired Doodah Day as his partner. Business skyrocketed after that. Lies and cheats were exposed to the surface, and though the job was stressful, it was rewarding in its own way. To see the relief on the people's faces as they finally learned the truth was worthwhile.

Foaly, grudgingly, had continued to lend the business his outdated equipment. When Mulch had subtly suggested a helmet to join the collection, Foaly had promptly hung up the phone. He knew the dwarf was legit now, but who was to say about the next 500 years? The centaur felt a tad guilty for not trusting Mulch, but a quick jog through his memory—i.e. all of Mulch's crimes—lifted his heart out of its slump.

Mulch sauntered up the small steps that led to the front door of his office. The brick was an adobe brown with a rounded wooden door. A small light was hooked beside the plaque—Diggums and Day Private Investigators— and a small, foggy window was nestled in the door. The security wasn't great on the outside, but the second you walked through the door without Mulch's or Doodah's permission a dozen face scanners would activate, a trip-wire would sound, ad an x-ray scanner would come into action. It wasn't uncommon to wear something over your face when commencing a robbery, so the x-ray scanner would see through any material worn.

Then again, the security wasn't as profound on the inside, either. Anyone would still be able to walk through, grab something, and walk out. But, they would be caught later, and that was the point.

Slamming the door behind him, Mulch whistled as he waddled through the front hallway and into the kitchen. A sigh and a shuffle of papers alerted him to the presence of his coworker.

"Mulch—Frond help me if you're in the kitchen. My hands might not be able to fit around your fat neck, but I can kill you in different ways."

Mulch snorted, a smirk growing on his face. "With what? The Giggle-Gun?"

'The Giggle-Gun', as Mulch dubbed it, was a patented device by Foaly, the technical consultant of the LEP. The centaur had created the idea a few years back, during the Paradizo-raid, as it happened. 'The Giggle-Gun' is actually named 'Sustainable Morphine Integrator with Liberated Endorphins', or abbreviated SMILE.

After having cleared the device, Foaly had slipped Mulch and Doodah one while subsequently throwing in a registration-paper. It wasn't as if the weapon was dangerous in any way, shape, or form. The authorities couldn't exactly jail them for having possession of a firearm and Foaly wasn't afraid of giving ex-convicts a harmless weapon.

The device was essentially a weapon, but it acted and resembled a human's TASER gun. Instead of two darts, a pad with 200-foot wires fastened to it and an extremely sticky substance would shoot out. The second the pad would attach itself to the suspect, a sensor would branch out and analyze what species of fairy had been registered, record their DNA signature, and how much electrical charges would be needed to trigger the Hypothalamus Neurons in the brain—or, more easily interpreted, to activate the spread of endorphins into the spinal cord and blood. Drops of morphine would be injected through the sticky-material and seep through any kind of fabric or skin-tissue to keep the person from struggling and allowing the endorphins to course through the body. The person was blissfully unaware of their surroundings and kept still and silent.

Needless to say, it was a vital part of their undercover-missions.

Doodah stayed silent. "You know what? Maybe I should! At least I could get some peace and quiet around here and you wouldn't be shoving food into your cheek-pockets."

Mulch growled under his breath, slamming the refrigerator door shut and marching into the office. Doodah had recently been referring to Mulch as a chipmunk, as the dwarf was capable of shoving food into his mouth and it seemingly disappear.

"I'm not a chipmunk, you little rat." Mulch tossed—or more like chucked—a paper-holder at the pixie. Doodah ducked just in time, tutting at the former-convict.

"Throwing things at your coworkers doesn't improve an office-relationship. The article Foaly sent us said-so." Doodah snickered at the memory of the forwarded-email. He had been laughing the entire time while reading, and eventually he grudgingly sent it to Mulch. Of course, Mulch was irritated the entire time when reading it, claiming to have been friendly and agreeable with him during the course of their employment together.

"Article, my bum-flap," Mulch grumbled. "I didn't throw anything. There was a spider right behind your head and I decided to take a shortcut to kill it."

Doodah looked at him darkly. "And you took the course that would have more-than-likely knocked me unconscious?"

Mulch stared at the pixie as if he had grown a third-nostril. "I'd never knock you out on purpose. That's an insult that will haunt me until the day I die. And when that day comes I'll really knock you out on purpose, just for the hell of it."

Doodah opened his mouth to relay a snide remark, but a blip on his computer saved Mulch from having to inquire about different ways to murder a pixie with a stapler. And good thing, too, for Mulch was reaching for the aforementioned object and calculating how hard to throw it.

"Before I verbally assault you," Mulch snorted. "I'm going to have to tell you that we've just got a tip from the Snooper." The Snooper was a small, four wheeled machine that roamed around the rough parts of the city. It was a small robot that resembled the rovers that humans used to explore the surfaces of planets, although it had slightly higher artificial intelligence. It was black, stout and had a high definition digital camera planted onto it's front. Doodah the self proclaimed technical genius of the outfit would send the Snooper out of the office at 8:00 Am. It would automatically come back twenty four hours later. He would type in the coordinates of the locality that he wanted it to search everyday.

It would send the footage collected on it's camera to their computer as an email It could recognize any suspicious activity. It rated these activities based on the severity of the activity. Mugging, pick-pocketing and other petty crimes were rated 1. Smuggling and drug dealing were rated 2. If someone was found guilty of committing every crime on the list from 1 to 2 it would be rated 3. So far they've never had to deal with someone who was rated 3. If they did they would let Foaly know about it.

"The footage I'm getting is rated 2. It shows a really messed up dude smoking cigars, and taking other human drugs. He doesn't look like he'd put up a fight. Might be fun to nab him."

Mulch guffawed. "One of the few things I've heard from you that doesn't sound like it came out of a skinny, green frog."

Doodah retorted. "And I haven't heard anything come out of your mouth that didn't smell worse than all the sewers in the world put together. Anyways, think we should take this one? He's drugged-up and hasn't been seen in three days by friends and relatives."

"Suicidal, then. Send a message to the Rover to stay put." The bearded fairy mumbled. Doodah did as told.

The dwarf twirled a beard hair. If they took this mission on, and it turned out to be fluke, they would look like morons. But if they had the information, and that fairy was actually an addict, then they could be labeled criminals for withholding information. Then again, if they did take it, and it proved to be a good lead, than this capture alone would be enough to pay for groceries for the entire year.

His stomach gurgled at the thought.

"So?" Doodah's eye twitched. It was much too early to think rationally and to keep his facial tics under control. Irritation was a powerful thing.

"We probably should."

Doodah raised a dark eyebrow. "Now you're talkin'"

Mulch patted his pockets, not bothering to answer the pixie. "I don't have any money on me."

Doodah was nearly thrown by this. "Money? Why do we need money?"

The dwarf gave him a look that could only be described as 'duh'. "We're not seriously going to Police Plaza without money, are we? First, we'll need a cab, and that'll be about $20, and then we'll probably need to look like tourists—" Doodah threw his head back and groaned, "—so we'll have to buy a few things to keep the charade up."

Doodah lifted his head from the chair's headrest, pointed ears twitching. "Are we bringing the Giggle Gun?"

Mulch gave him a side-long glance. "What else are we going to bring? A rope to rein him in? Idiot."

Doodah withheld the urge to stick his tongue out. He could get the fat chipmunk later, when there wasn't a pixie waltzing around getting fairies high. He sighed and heaved himself from the chair. Zipping past Mulch to the closet, Doodah took a clothing box from the top shelf and threw it at the dwarf. Mulch glared at the pixie's head and opened the lid.

"I am not going to be the stupid blonde this time," Mulch shoved the box into Doodah's face, side-stepping his co-worker and scrambling to find anything that would disguise himself while holding his dignity.

Doodah snickered, holding the short, bright yellow wig with two fingers. "Why do we even have this?"

Mulch grunted, using his flexible toes to add an extra few inches to his height and snagging a clear-tub from the same shelf. "It was before your sorry butt ever came here. Holly would wear it sometimes when her face wasn't all over billboards."

Doodah raised his eyebrows, a smirk forming on his lips. "Think we could ask her to go undercover for us?"

Mulch rolled his eyes, picking out a pair of Groucho Glasses and putting them on. "I don't think she'd like that too much. Her schedule's already packed, what with her being a Major and all." He grumbled, flicking the idiotic glasses back into the bin.

Doodah sighed, picking out a vial filled with colored contacts, a can of hairspray, a sticker, and a fake nose-ring.

"Guess I'm going as the Goth," he mumbled, slamming the bathroom door shut.

It would have been nice to own a hover car. To zip around Haven and arrive at the designated destination in a matter of minutes. The sleek, shiny paint job with blue flames bubbling out of the nitro-blaster and the specialized metal capable of withstanding any missile thrown at it was enough to have any fairy drooling.

Yes, it would have been nice to own one.

Instead, Doodah and Mulch had to walk to Police Plaza. The money they had combined wasn't enough to pay for a cab. It was a 10 minute trip that felt much longer, on account of Mulch's whining and complaining. Dwarves, he reasoned, weren't built for walking. Doodah, on the other hand, pointed out that if dwarves weren't built for walking, why did they have legs?

After arriving at Police Plaza, Mulch turned to Doodah, still sour after their argument. "Okay, what does the idiot look like?" He fingered a piece of cloth from a vendor, the owner currently conversing with a previous customer.

Doodah, playing his part, slouched on the booth and rolled his eyes. "Like, I don't know, man. Why are you asking me? Like, isn't everyone an idiot in their own way? Isn't the world an idiot?"

Mulch raised an eyebrow. Doodah's Gothic getup was a little annoying, but he had to hand it to the pixie. Acting was sure his forte. Now it was time to play his part. The dig-champion dwarf.

Which, of course, Mulch was.

The entire disguise was actually pretty ridiculous, and lucky for them tourists naturally thought citizens of Haven City were freaks. It was the only city plagued upon by evil pixies, it was the only city in which humans were brought underground, and it was the only city in which a female officer was ever enrolled in the LEPrecon!

But, a tightly-fitted t-shirt, a pair of lens-less glasses, and 'Diggorium 50-Meter Dash' cap was hardly going to arouse suspicion.

"Riiight. Like we can just find this dude with magic." Mulch rolled his eyes, stepping away from the booth and strutting towards Police Plaza steps. It was a little unnerving to think Holly was in there. After 3 long years it was almost impossible to remember how easy life was when Holly and him were the only members in their PI firm. Everyone seemed to trust her, even though she had been tried for murdering her commander.

"Okay," Doodah whispered. "You want to take Eastside and I take Westside?" He gestured at the road-signs, flipping his wig-hair over his shoulder.

Mulch nodded. "If one of us catches sight of this moron, we coordinate through these," Mulch slipped an earphone into Doodah's hand.

"Roger, roger," Doodah muttered, pressing the clear cone in his ear. They both headed off, Mulch with a little swagger in his step, and Doodah with a heavy slouch. All around the sidewalks they walked—swerving in-between people, passing sarcastic remarks to said-people, and all-the-while searching for a suspicious pixie.

Throngs of people were surreptitiously avoiding both of them. Doodah's costume was only slightly creepy, and Mulch smelt like a human's toilet-bowl that hadn't been sanitized in years.

Built in the Frond dynasty, plenty of the structures had crumbled and replaced by different-colored mud. Laundry hung across strings between apartments for the unfortunate who did not own a washing machine or enough money to go to the nearby Laundromat. The streets were swept clean by fairies employed as city-workers in the morning, and another shift would do a roundabout when the sun-strips would die down to replicate nighttime. Machines could be used, but after a vote in the Council, they concluded that hundreds would be put out of a job, and if a machine malfunctioned they couldn't fire it. Hiring a new fairy cost much less gold instead of repairing or purchasing a brand-new machine.

The multi-mixers—Doodah remembered those quite well—that used to adorn street corners and sidewalks had disappeared. Replacing them were the hover cars that Doodah intensely wished the PI firm owned.

A cough of laughter caught Doodah's attention. Of course, coughs of laughter were unusual when walking past an alleyway. Had he been walking through a crowd, the laugh could have been a person telling a joke. Maybe in the human world there were people living in every alleyway in every city. But in Haven, any sort of noise originating in an alley was strange. Every fairy had a home. Every fairy had a job.

Doodah tossed a casual glance down the alley. It was difficult to act curious with his disguise—Goths could care less about life itself—but if the situation was dire, he would have to dump his act and earn his salary.

A small pixie—maybe a foot and a half tall—was sitting in a damp puddle. The shadows overlapped and shrouded the figure in darkness, but it was obvious that the fairy was a pixie by two standards. Firstly, the figure—even hunched—was too tiny to be any other sort of fairy. It couldn't be a child, considering the tiny laugh he had heard was too defined and deep to be a child. And secondly, even though the voice was deep, pixies had a tendency to have a naturally high-pitched voice. Adult males were slightly lower in pitch, and almost all pixies had the exact same tone. It was difficult to tell a pixie's voice from another. And this was most definitely a male pixie's voice.

He heard a sudden whirring and looked down and saw something that looked like a children's toy car rolling to him.

"Snooper! If you're here then he's gotta be the guy."

"Who's the guy?" said the drugged pixie.

Doodah turned around to lie to him but realized it was no use. The pixie had already started laughing.

The deep-cough-chuckles continued, obviously accentuating an insane mind in-the-making. Doodah, unconfused—he hadseen worse in 3 years with Mulch—carried his slouched-self past the alley. Safely out of view from the deranged pixie, Doodah searched for a street sign to direct Mulch to.

A bead of sweat ran down his temple. The black clothes weren't helping, either.

"Mulch, you there?"

A crackle in his earpiece. "No, I'm—" A tumbling of barrels and the sound of someone punching him in the gut crashed through Doodah's eardrum. A spark of concern flared inside of him, but was quickly extinguished. Mulch's gut would be plump enough to bounce anything off. A woman yelling was heard in the background. Mulch was mumbling something and trying to reassure the woman with a comforting tone to his voice.

It didn't sound like it was working.

Finally, after what seemed like half an hour—Doodah kept his trained eye on the alley-entrance—Mulch decided to hoof it.

"What did you do?" Doodah demanded. The alley was still wide open, though he was starting to get antsy. There are two ways to get out of an alley, after all.

"Nothing." Mulch huffed. "Now, what's the reason for annoying me?"

Doodah wanted to say something rude and equally as disrespecting. But, instead, Doodah opted to lean for the brighter side. A brighter, happier side that involved arresting a criminal who's taking drugs.

He could see a rainbow already.

"I think I found him." He muttered, ducking his head to give the appearance that he was just leaning on a wall as another crowd shimmied by.

There was some crackling as Mulch started to pick up his pace. "Where are you?"

Doodah looked up at the street sign and did a double-take. "Tigerlily,"

Mulch groaned. "Why can't they ever… Never mind, I'm on my—wait, where in Frond's name is that?"

Doodah ignored him and continued onward with their plan. "Look, he doesn't have much time. He's sitting in an alley mumbling Frond-knows-what to himself, so I'm going to take action."

"Alright. I'll be there as fast as possible. Wait… is he a pixie?" Mulch asked.

"Yeah… why?"

Mulch grumbled. "It's always the pixies that are crazy."

Doodah didn't elaborate on that subject. He knew of Mulch's past, and he also didn't want to hurt the dwarf's sensitive feelings. After all, it's always the fatties that are jolly, but there are such-things as sumo-wrestlers.

Mulch sighed, his guttural voice returning. "Look, just run the guy to Vlapearce Street. I'll meet you there."

Doodah's eye twitched. More then likely Mulch was standing at the very street sign. "Mulch, are you saying that because you don't want to walk any further?"

Mulch huffed. "It's a tactical decision, now do what you're told or you're fired!"

Doodah chuckled, coughing to disguise his laughter. The people walking past him gave him a wide-berth, not only because his bright yellow eyes chilled them to the bone, but because hacking in the middle of a sidewalk wasn't exactly normal.

"You can't fire me, we're partners."

Mulch sighed. How could he have employed such an idiotic, smart-mouthed…?

He restrained himself. Exploding at the pixie would only result in bowel-disorder, thus reducing the amount of… gas needed to complete the mission. And if the mission went according to plan, he would need his gas to capture the deranged pixie. He always needed his gas for something, it seemed.

Doodah slipped from his place on the wall and slid back down the sidewalk towards the alleyway entrance. Before he could even see the shadow in which the fairy was hiding he could hear the laughter. It was slightly louder than before, and had a slight lilt of a drunken gnome.

This was bad. Scientists had predicted what human-drugs would do to a fairy's anatomy. They hypothesized that the cannabis—the main ingredient in human narcotics—would slowly eat away at their lungs, much faster than which a human would experience.

More than likely, a human could smoke narcotics for their entire lifespan and have, at the very least, only a few years stripped of their life.

If a fairy, on the other hand, were to begin smoking, their life would be reduced by half. Pixies generally lived until they were at least 720 years old. If narcotics are involved, their life would be reduced to 360 years. This pixie had to be at least 200 if he were able to withstand such strong drugs, which would mean he had 160 good years in him. If any other drugs were involved, then his lifespan could be reduced drastically.

Doodah stood in front of the alley, blocking the sun strips from reaching anything within. Because of the sudden darkness, he was able to make out a strong silhouette of the suspect. Spiked hair, strong features, and a thin, tiny body.

Not at all the appearance of a diabolical drug-abuser.

"You're under arrest for smuggling, and smoking, human drugs. Retard." He drew the Giggle Gun and cocked it. He didn't need to chase the guy to Vlapearce Street—what was Mulch thinking?—he just needed to fire and…

And…

Where did the guy go?

Doodah looked down the alley. Running in the darkness was a small fairy; dodging dirty boxes, knocking down trash and skipping over puddles. Doodah holstered the Giggle Gun and gave chase. There was no way this pixie could outrun Doodah Day—the one pixie who had competed, and won, in the Haven City 500 Meter Dash.

Jumping over the tumbled boxes, Doodah pressed his earpiece into his ear. It was easier to listen if all he could hear in one ear was Mulch's voice.

"I'm in pursuit," he said, his voice free of stressed breathing. This was where Doodah loved it most—chasing a criminal at full speed. He had thought smuggling was his passion, but now that he gave crime-fighting a chance, he was shocked at how thrilling it was to be the pursuer instead of being the pursue-y, so to say.

He rounded the end of the alley and shot to the right. Now that the pixie was in the light, it was easy to note his appearance. Doodah listed them to Mulch, giving the dwarf an easier target to spot.

"Short, thin, dyed-spiked hair, pale with a white t-shirt with black writing on it." Mulch could hear his companion's voice break as he ran. But, throughout the entire chase, Mulch didn't hear Doodah start to pant or lose his breath at all.

He crouched into the shadow of the building he was at. He believed it to be a flower-shop—fake flowers, of course—but he wasn't sure. The rose on the stained-glass could also mean it was a beauty salon.

Women… he rolled his eyes. So complicated. He thought back to when that lady had been yelling at him. He had to admit, it was his fault for not paying attention to where he was going. But who puts a stack of crates in the middle of the sidewalk? He could feel a bruise coming on from where the crate had dug into his gut. The woman—he noticed, with interest—was elfin, with dark auburn and dark brown eyes. He shook his head, and prepared his bum-flap for the pixie.

Doodah was gaining speed. He could see the length of concrete between him and the pixie growing smaller. His vision was marred and blurred from pounding on the sidewalk. His breathing was regulated through his nose, and he could feel his legs working as fast as possible. The pixie in front of him was no doubt going to be detained…

The pixie turned left, much to Doodah's relief, and crossed the intersection without stopping for traffic. Just around the corner was Mulch, where he would no doubt release his surprise on the suspect. Doodah, just as a precaution, pulled out the Giggle Gun and aimed it at the retreating figure.

"What do you think you're doing, civilian?" Came a demanding voice behind him. An unconscious smile spread across Doodah's face when he heard the command.

"Catching a criminal, Major Short." He replied, and shot the pads from the Giggle Gun.

Author's note: I hope you liked it! Please review! If I get at least 6 reviews then I'll update by Wednesday. I promise.

Once again review,review,review!