INTRO: "OLD BOY" by Brick and Mortar

Number 2 Fuscia Avenue. The sky grew darker still, rain falling in buckets. And I'm telling you, these buckets were not insignificant in size.

I crossed the soggy street and rung the doorbell on the front porch door. I heard no stirring from within the house. So I waited.

While waiting for Joshua's mother to answer the door, I took in the sights of the outside of her home. It was a quaint two floor house, with wooden frames on the walls where vines creeped down to the ground. Flowers popped out from sporadic spots in the foilage - colours of red, pink, yellow and white. The lawn was mostly untrimmed, wildflowers such as dandelions and daisies beginning to grow in the midst of the unkempt grass, all matted down by the furious rain which punched the lawn into submission.

I felt a shiver creep up my spine and quickly turned around, expecting to see someone standing under the swaying trees. But nobody was there.

"What the-?" I exclaimed under my breath.

Warding off the shuddering idea that the events of the last few days had been the mere product of some kind of stupor, I turned back around, focussing on the task at hand - and that was to interrogate this woman about her weirdo son. I wasn't the stuporing kind of guy, after all.

The rain had by now begun to seep through my coat, soaking into my skin, dripping down my spine. I shivered a little vigorously as I felt the water soak progressively through my clothes and into my skin.

To take my mind off of this feeling, I'd begin to critically analyse the house wich stood before me.

It was cosy enough. But it seemed the style of all mothers and old ladies had yet to change their style even since I was a kid.

A windchime hung above the front door, swinging wildly in the clutches of the wind, the different silver rods discordantly ringing against each other, forgetting their rhyme and reason within the chaos of this storm.

I knocked on the door once again, but didn't get to rap more than three times before it was opened by a hunchbacked, white haired, pursed lipped old lady with a pair of circular spectacles - the lenses so thick you'd think they were double glazed. Her hair was locked in at least a dozen little curlers and she wore a white and pink dressing gown with slippers. She looked as though she were pushing her eighties..

Saying that, she could probably look about a decade younger without the heavy stoop she walked with. And that glare which scrunched up her face as she looked up at me.

I decided to introduce myself to clear up some of the tension which festered in the air.

"My name is Gibbs Jones. I'm a Private Detective. I'd like to share a few words concerning your son.. Joshua."

She lightened up immediately, bushy white eyebrows rising all the way to her hairline in a feat of facial acrobatics. She appeared to have de-aged about a decade.

But eighty minus ten is still.. Well, old.

"Oh! Of course. Come right in and hang up your coat. Make yourself comfortable, young man." She turned, half beckoning me to enter her house. I firmly shut the door behind me as I went, passing through the undecorated porch and into the main house, feeling like a half-drowned rat with all the water falling from my sodden, windswept clothes. It was quite surprising how instantly trusting she was of me, a kind of trust which was a gift for my investigation. That kind of thing would not slide in England, the only gift you'd be getting in that case, would be a knife stuck in your guts. If you managed to survive that somehow, you could even take it home and cut the carrots with it.

Well, the inside of the house was a welcome contrast to the rough weather outside. The wind was but a faint ambience against the tough exterior of this house. The hum of the radiators created a toasty warmth which hung in the quiet, still air which brought heat to my face and sweat to my skin. I took my dripping, wet through jacket and hung it on the row of coat hanging hooks right near the door.

The inside of the house smelled strongly of citrus, the wallpaper immaculately installed with a whimsical pattern all over with green trees and leaves and stuff. There was a light fixture in the ceiling above, wrapped by pretty crystalline lampshade, like a flower in bloom. There was a stairlift to my right, leading up the red carpeted staircase into the darkness above.

"Come along this way, dear," she said, before turning away and ambling steadily into the living room to the immediate left, "oh, I do hope my boy hasn't gone and put himself into too much trouble again..." She mumbled to herself as she disappeared through the doorframe.

I shrugged, discarding my shoes as well. To be respectful, of course.

Now, the shoeless man I was, I followed the lady into the lounge where she took a seat at a wooden rocking chair covered with blankets and cushions. I took a quick look around, noticing various knick knacks of all shapes and sizes had piled up within the room, on tiny tables, inside glass cabinets and on mantlepieces. An old fashioned looking radio clock hybrid sat on the mantlepiece and a large bookshelf filled to the brim with leatherbound volumes stood in front of the window. Two amber lamps stood on tables either side of the brown couch, which had a knitted blanket draped over it. I sat down slowly, sinking into the comfort of the seat which seemed to embrace me, my heavy eyes beckoning sleep to take me away.. That's one date I'd have to refuse, however.

I shook my head and blinked furiously to wake myself up. I then cleared my throat and nodded to the lady. She looked at me with a kind of polite anxiousness.

"It's nothing serious, ma'am," I lied, "just something we'll need a few answers for, that's all."

She sighed with relief, settling into her rocking chair as she began slowly rocking backwards and forwards.

"Go ahead then, young man, I'll answer whatever you shall want me to answer." Her voice held a strong, regal air around it, but the passage of time added a frail croak to her tone.

"So first, I'll need to know your name." A must have piece of information for my metaphorical toolbox.

"Ah.. yes, my name is Pearl Errant-More. Yours is.. Jones? Detective Jones I believe," She paused, looking at me expectantly. I replied with a nod. "very well. My memory is still serving me well even after all these years then.."

"But you met me less than five minutes ago." I replied curtly. She stammered at my response, restlessness apparent on her face.

I leaned forward, clasping my hands together.

"So, about you and your son.. I've become privy to some information that neither of you have lived here in Peel all your lives, right?"

Pearl took a nice deep breath, recollecting herself.

"..That is correct," she answered, "we lived in Ramsey, in a two bedroom residence, however a couple of years ago we came to a unanimous conclusion to moves houses in order to live here in Peel. Oh, the rent in this new estate was so much more affordable."

"I see, so you lived under the same roof until almost a year ago when you both moved here to Peel.." I noted it in my head. The dulled howling of the wind proved a fitting ambience for the interrogation, even the tremorous crashing of thunder from the heavens failed to penetrate the tough shell of this house fully. It was a mere dull rumbling within these steadfast walls.

"So what did your son do for a living when you lived in Ramsey? Did he have to change occupations at all?"

"Well, he always told me he was going to 'The Office' every day on weekdays. I assume he has the same place of work, he didn't tell me he quit anything when we moved out - quite the contrary, actually."

"So he never specified which office exactly that he worked at? Just saying 'The Office' as a vague term?"

"I don't think there's a single suspicious thing about that, Detective."

"Oh, but I think there is. Just because he's your son, doesn't mean he's incapable of being suspicious, you know," I stared her down with a hard expression, "did you ever see this 'Office' in person? Tell the truth. I have an investigation to conduct." She began stammering again.

"I- I-.. Yes. Once, I believe. It's hard to remember, but it must have been about five years ago now, when I was still able to drive. It was a rather tumbledown place in lower east Ramsey, and he wanted me to drop him off on the way to do my grocery shopping.. And as he entered, I noticed a Japanese man wearing some kind of robe welcome him in, before quickly slamming the door."

She really looked like she was scraping through all her memories, like looking for a needle in a swimming pool full of hay.

"You're doing great, ma'am. I have two questions left, and I'll leave you to return to what you were doing before I arrived."

"Of course," She tensed up, "I was listening to my favourite radio show."

"Sounds fun. Look. I need to know if Joshua hung around anyone in Ramsey, and if you ever remember seeing him around the same person here in Peel?"

Her eyes lit up like a spark of some memory was relit.

"Actually, I do remember him around a Japanese man quite a lot back in Ramsey, different from the one who answered the door at his office, but.. they absolutely must have been cousins at the least. They both had such high cheekbones, and they carry the same sense of mystery within my memories.. But I do remem-"

Suddenly, somewhere in the house, there came the loud sound of shattering glass. Poor Pearl jumped out of her skin, eyes darting around the room as she clutched the armrests of the rocking chair in a kind of panic.

"What was that!?" She exclaimed.

My eyes narrowed as I looked out into the hall, feeling a small draught begin to dance around me. It was clear that someone had broken into the house. Well, it was clear to me anyways. I felt some kind of strange presnce from down that hallway, like a faint negative energy was now flooding the house. It made my skin break out into goosebumps. It was just like what I had felt.. earlier this same day.

'the same as when that thing talked to me.'

it was the same feeling, but weaker. If that makes any sense.

"Don't worry, lady. I'll go deal with this." I stood up, walking slowly over to the doorway, cracking my knuckles like a badass before suddenly a shadow stepped out right in front of me.

Now in the light, I could see him clearly. It was a strange man with a pink mohawk, leather motorcycle jacket and pants, and huge black boots. He was roughly five feet and eight inches, but his boots must have added an extra six inches to his height, a balancing act with every step, yet it made me a full head and shoulders shorter than him. He looked down at me menacingly, smiling at me with those horrible teeth of his.. You wonder why some people become criminals in this world. Sometimes a 9-5 just doesn't cut the dental bills, because his mouth was lined with rows of bright yellow chompers. Slightly crooked and standing out on his face like a mouthful of neon signs.

"'Ello, sunshine," He cracked his own knuckles, and the sound of the joints popping almost echoed loudly through the house, he stepped forward menacingly.

I didn't know what I was expecting to happen, maybe for it to be a normal fight. But of course not. Nothing can be normal in my life it seems.

A mysterious blue fame burst from around the gentlemen's hands as he rhythmically clicked the bones in his fists into place. Despite apparently being set aflame, this man didn't seem to feel any pain at all. Not that I was looking at his expression. My eyes were locked on that undulating blue fire which wreathed him from his fingers to his forearms as they curled upwards, the tips of each tongue of flame ending in a deep black. He chuckled,

"Ah, so you can see my Cursed Energy? This'll be fun."

"What the hell are you-" But before I could continue that train of thought, I saw a fist flying right towards my face. On instinct, I began trying to duck under, but I was too slow. My entire vision flashed white as a great energy slammed through my head like a freight train. I felt gravity pull me down and a great pain flared both in my spine and my head as I crashed into something. There was a scream, from Pearl who was quivering on the rocking chair. It was a miracle she hadn't had a heart attack by now.

My eyes slowly opened, tears streaming down my face as I found myself embedded within the mantlepiece. With a modicum effort, I pulled myself free, shaking marble and wood debris from myself as I rose shakily from my feet.

"A tough one, eh? Just makes beatin' ya more enjoyable." He lumbered across the room before winding up an incredibly telegraphed haymaker. I ducked under as the flame encased fist screamed over my head and shattered the mantlepiece behind me. Taking this as an opportunity I immediately charged forwards, rugby tackling the attacker. I took him from the waist to try and drive him back.. but it was like running head first into a brick wall. There was no other sensation I had felt quite like it. Besides actually running right into a brick wall, of course.

"What the hell-!" I spluttered, as I felt a tough hand grasp me by the back of my shirt and haul me into the air. Now I was face to face with him, his aggressive eyes of light brown burning my face with their overwhelming intensity.

Without warning, he turned towards the door, and began rearing his arm back in a mechanical fashion before slugging me across the room like I was a baseball. All I knew was the flash of pain and the deafening ring in my ears as I collided with the door, breaking a few ribs as I crashed through the wood, and rolled into the hallway. Blood came forth from my mouth, and pain seared the inside of my throat as I gagged and choked on the floor.

"Not as tough as I thought. Shame... Minus Six ENDURANCE.. Plus Six AGILITY."

I couldn't even raise my head to wonder what the hell he was waffling on about before I saw him dart forward with a speed he couldn't have posessed at all beforehand. He grabbed me by the neck and started sprinting forwards, dragging me across the wall before throwing my limp body through the door leading into the kitchen.

This was starting to get bad. Real bad. I couldn't even muster the strength to stand up or look at my surroundings before he was upon me with that speed.. it took all I had to roll out of the way of his stomp, so strong that it fractured the tile floor beneath its impact.. It would've fractured my spine, too.

Pieces of the destroyed door were strewn all over the place, a few splinters had pierced my skin, poking my nerves and drawing more blood.

Moving caused pain to my whole body.

I could hardly breathe. Each inhalation was sharp, and each exhale raggedy and followed up with a spluttering of blood straight from the lung.

It was right then when I decided that I probably wasn't gonna beat this guy. It was time to get outta there.

As his fist flew towards me, I picked up a chair, hoping to use it as a shield.

One blow was enough to throw me backwards onto the dining table, destroying the chair and leaving me with only two chair legs to defend myself with.

After recoiling from the pain of almost crashing right through yet another thick wooden surface, pushing through the endlessly repeating waves of pain, I used both of my legs to kick forth, my shoes making a vicious crack as they slammed into his jaw. He was thrown off balance and stumbled back, spitting out blood and a white object.. a tooth he lost, which clattered to the floor.

He began talking again as I clumsily dismounted the table.

"So you take one and give one.. Me too! ... Minus Two ENDURANCE-"

I had no clue what he was doing, announcing satistics like some kind of videogame.. But all I knew, even though my body was battered from this sudden battle, the adrenaline had already begun muting the pain. And with that, I could begin thinking straight.

'Whenever he announces a stat change.. it's like it actually happens..'

Before he could even finish his sentence, I charged forward, table leg in hand and plunged it towards his stomach. He didn't even percieve the attack as it ran right through him, blood splattering all over the floor and counters.

He slowly looked down at the wound. But he did not cry. He did not wince. He did not yelp or resign. He smiled.

He's a damn madman! I needed to get away as soon as possible! I noticed a door behind me, a glass door which had been shattered to allow entry. A cool draught floated through.. This door leads closer to the outside, and to my escape.

He seemed to have noticed, "tisk tisk. Not so fast, Detective. Say, wouldn't it be even more fun to fight on even playing fields?"

The man closed his eyes in concentration.

"Minus Ten STRENGTH, Minus Two ENDURANCE, Minus Six AGILITY - Plus Five to ALL S.P.E.C.I.A.L.S Statistics!"

I watched, dumbfounded as he proceeded to pick up a nearby rolling pin, decorated with an acryllic decal of kittens and flowers ; brandishing it like one would hold a fencing rapier.

"Let's dance!" He declared, before lunging right at me. I brought up the remaining chair leg, deflecting his blow with the rolling pin off to the side. It was a heavy blow, and I struggled to retain my grip on the stick of wood in my hand. I quickly sidestepped his return swing.

'yeah..! I'm really doing this!'

However, before I could celebrate that small victory, I saw the sole of his boot rise up quickly as he kicked me backwards through the glass door, I acquired several new lacerations as I fell backwards through the remaining shards of glass still within the doorframe, landing on the tough floor within the room. A burning heat consumed my skin as the adrenaline slowly began to wear off, allowing my pain to grow further in intensity.

I lay there on the floor of the conservatory, almost paralysed by my pain and fatigue which welled up to my very extremities as though concrete was being poured into the muscles of my body, and rapidly setting.

It was very dim in here, but my eyes quickly adjusted to it. I looked up through the glass ceiling, watching as the clouds rushed by overhead. The grey skies during this storm were so dark that they might as well be totally black. However, as lightning flashed in the distance, the thunder which followed took ten full seconds to echo in about the heavens. The rain seemed to have lightened up to, now a mere pattering on the roof of this glass conservatory. I struggled to my feet, feeling the metallic taste of blood on my lips as I licked them. A fell wind whipped my hair about my face, a wind coming from the sliding door to the outside world which was now wide open. I began limping towards it, feeling the weight of my injuries begin to crash down on me, I felt it was now time to retire from this one.

I had almost made it, the wooden fence bordering the garden off was in sight.. I had taken a single feeble footstep out onto the concrete. I didn't even get to feel the water soak into my sock as something slammed into the back of my head. I fell like a sack of potatoes.

Standing back up? Something like that was out of the equation by now. It was taking every inch of willpower I had just to stay awake, watching that man grab my body with relative ease, dashing towards the fence and slamming me right through it like it was some flimsy cardboard.. and not fifteen centimetres of concrete foundation hardwood fence panels.

I was then thrown down onto the grass outside, rolling over the wet and muddy field. Though my field of vision wasn't great with this concussion, I knew this was the field opposite to Magher Drive and Mace's.

If I could talk, or even whisper, I'd have called for help.

'Somebody help me! Please! I'm being beaten to death here!' It was silly. It's not like anyone would've heard my mental cries of anguish.. But as I felt myself get thrown once again into the middle of the field, my vision became blurry and water began soaking through my clothes and into my skin from the boggy grass. I saw that metal gate nearby, and the road just beyond it.

All I needed to do was just.. crawl there.. I'd live. But despite how much I ordered my muscles to move or my lungs to draw breath, it was no use.

I noticed someone hop the metal gate - A familiar presence. The person began sprinting across the field towards us.

"looks like company.. .. no fun... ...skipping this one out.." Was all I caught from my attacker, before he disappeared from my sight.

I had no idea what had just happened.. A rather frightening trend as of late- But I knew someone had come to save me. I allowed unconsciousness to have its way with me, and the last thing I saw before the curtains drew was the flash of light ginger hair.

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The hero's ass - kicked. What next? Catch chapter 5 next week!

OUTRO THEME : "CRAZY MY BEAT" By CODA