Third Act Problems: A Million Stories In The Naked Sphere

The Case Of The Cold Corpse, Part One

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By C. Mage

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April 23, 2014, 2:48 AM

"I hate this part of Traverse Town." Detective 2nd Grade James Mooney looked around. "It's too close to the Veil. You know the kinds of things that come out of there."

"Calm down." His partner, Detective 1st Grade Bryan Bowman said. He was driving the patrol car, much more relaxed than his junior partner. "There hasn't been an incident in over twelve years. Sure, we've had a few people crossover to the other side, but you know that's not our jurisdiction, that's up to the Park Rangers…"

"Wait a sec, stop the car!"

"What?" Bowman slammed on the brakes, the car skidding on the pavement for a second. "What is it?"

"I thought I saw somebody pushing something into the refuse container back there."

Bowman sighed. "Are you kidding me?"

"I know what I saw,"

Bowman sighed, shifted into reverse, then stopped the car. As they exited the car, they felt the first few drops of rain. Bowman checked his watch. "Right on schedule. You planned this, didn't you? You KNOW this was when they scheduled rainfall for this area."

"Bryan, trust me. I know what I saw," he repeated.

"Fine. But if this is some sort of prank, Jimmy, you're going to be filling out reports until the end of time. Now, WHERE did you see it?"

"Over here." Mooney led his partner to the large dumpster at the far end of the alley. He lifted up the lid. "There's something in here."

"Use the lantern, rookie, that's what it's for." Bowman sighed, brought up his lantern…and stopped. "…oh for the love of WALT…!"

"What?" Mooney looked in, stopped, then turned away from the dumpster, emptying the contents of a really good burger-and-fries all over the cobblestone street.

"Mooney, go back to the opening to the alley and DO NOT LET ANYONE WITHOUT A BADGE IN THERE. Do you understand me?!"

"I…"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"Yes…yessir."

Bowman looked back into the dumpster. In the container, resting on a bed of filth and refuse, lay a beautiful girl in a blue gown. She had blue eyes, platinum blond hair tied in a single braid…and a small red hole right in the middle of her forehead. He moved his hand to her neck to check her pulse. His hand was shaking as he felt for signs of life.

Nothing. She was as cold as he knew and feared she would be.

Bowman ran out to the car, his shoes splashing in puddles all the way. As he got to the car and reached in through the window to pick up the microphone, he cursed the Fates for stopping the car and looking. It would've been better if this had become someone else's mess. "Dispatch, this is Car Alpha-One-Zero. I've got a Code Zero-One. I repeat, CODE ZERO ONE." He took a deep breath, then let it out. "Victim has been identified as an Elsa, I repeat, an ELSA. Notify the Chief."

April 23, 2014, 6:00 AM

"This meeting will come to order."

The speaker opened up a file, looking at the other occupants of the room.

Michael Deckert, Park Rangers, in full uniform. He was an older man, but by no means willing to accept it. He was lean and tough, and everyone knew it. Not bad for a man who started out as a Cast Member playing one of the Indians in PETER PAN.

Melanie Thompson, cutting an impressive and attractive figure in a dark blue suit and knee-length skirt, was THE public relations troubleshooter. She's the one the higher-ups called when things went south…like "South Pole" south.

The third was Jacob Beckwith, an information broker who made his living off either unearthing secrets or burying so deep, he couldn't find them himself. He looked like someone's grandfather, plump and smiling, with a well-groomed beard and balding pate. Rumor has it he used to be Santa Claus, before he decided to put his knowledge of who was naughty or nice into more pragmatic use.

The fourth was none other than the second in command to MM himself. The Big G. Nobody truly realized how he used his appearance and adept use of comedy to make people underestimate his intelligence until after he'd become one of the most powerful individuals in the Sphere. But here he was. No one with an ounce of sense ever referred to him by his full name outside of the Experience, or used the word, "Gawrsh" under ANY context. The last executive who made that mistake found himself cast as the Bad Guy's stuntman in the movie UP…and required to attend every performance where the Antagonist fell from the zeppelin. Despite his odd appearance, no one questioned whether he should be at this table.

The final guests at this meeting were a pair, the Directors for the FROZEN Production, Lee and Buck. The horde of people needed to run the new marketing snowball, so to speak, and the two had been tested and came out sitting pretty with the new Intellectual Property. Unfortunately, they would likely be held responsible if things went wrong.

And any way you sliced it, a dead Primary Character didn't get much more wrong.

The speaker himself was none other than Commissioner Henry Barker, in charge of the police in the Disney Sphere, and he was no stranger to rough times. Even under fire, he was a consummate professional. "The recovery of the body was made at 3:41 AM. The crime scene was closed off, but due to the rainfall, collecting evidence was difficult. The street was cobblestone, no footprints. No identifying prints on the body or the area around that we could find. Whoever did this planned the disposal of the body at a time when recovering any trace evidence would've been impossible."

"Not the word I want to hear," the Big G said, frowning. "Who do you have that is an expert in homicide?"

"With practical experience?"

"That would be nice," the Big G said calmly.

"...none. We've never had a murder happen here. There's no one on the force with any real training in this field, because we've never had a reason to have someone with that training. We deal with intruders, theft, vandalism, a few fights, but this is beyond our scope. And they don't have enough practical knowledge to make this a quiet investigation."

"Then we need to find someone who can. Jacob?"

"As it happens," he said, with the kind of smile that suggested he better get some compensation for this later, "I do know someone who is qualified for the job. He's a private investigator, and he's not from here, though he resides here. I use him for...certain tasks, nothing that'd cause any blowback. He's good at what he does, and since he's not a native, if things go wrong, he makes for the perfect scapegoat. I can't say there's any real downside to employing him."

The Big G smiled for the first time since the meeting started. "Good. All of you, I expect full cooperation from all of you…"

"Pardon me, sir, but...there's something else I should point out."

All eyes turned to Jacob. "Yes?" Melanie asked icily

"He's not going to accept this kind of work unless we can provide assurances that this is a serious job from the start. I've deliberately kept him away from higher profile work because he doesn't exactly follow the normal protocols. He'll be wanting certain permissions. Access to certain areas. Police powers, including the use of firearms if it becomes necessary. He wants to know that if he solves the crime, this isn't going to be swept under the rug and forgotten."

The Big G nodded. "Sounds like a traditionalist. Very well. What would you suggest?"

Jacob smiled. "Sending someone he's not likely to overlook."

April 23, 2014, 10:42 AM

Mitchell Percy looked at the scene, the very personification of frustration. It was hopeless. Not a clue to be found. He'd checked every surface, turned over everything he could find. All of his deductive skills brought to bear, and all for sat down behind his desk.

He was forced to admit that he NO idea where his keys were.

He looked around his office. Except for a few files and brochures on his desk, the office was nearly immaculate, and not due to his usual fastidious nature alone. In this Sphere, even things that normally were supposed to be dirty weren't, which brought up its own problems when it came to investigations. Not only was physical evidence harder to collect, but the usual vices were harder to find as well. Not that they didn't happen. They were just covered by an almost magical set of rules that prevented most forms of surveillance. Opaque windows that were almost bulletproof (thanks to the infamous "The Rescuers Incident"), doors with better locks than Cinderella's Castle, natural obstructions that seemed to move to provide the best shelter from prying eyes. If it weren't for the Sphere's ban on people becoming destitute, he would've had to hock half his equipment by now just to keep food on the table.

Not that he minded being able to eat and afford rent no matter how poor business was. He just would've just really appreciated having to WORK instead of cooling his heels in his office, trying to find his keys.

He heard a scratching sound, then narrowed his eyes.

MICE.

He walked to the nearest wall and knocked on it. "All right, you little thieves, come on out. I don't think 'Cinderelly' needs the keys to my Packard to get to the ball." He tapped three more times. "Keys. NOW."

Nothing. Mitchell sighed. "Okay, okay, you win. I'll start putting out some cheese...as long as I have your word that you'll try to keep things from going missing."

There was a skittering sound of metal on wood and the keys slid out from under the couch. He picked up the keys and sighed. "I am the softest touch ever born."

There was a knock at the door to his office and Mitch looked up. Please, let it not be someone looking for directions to the dancing school on the fifth floor… " Be there in a second!" He checked himself out in the mirror, buttoning his top button on his shirt, tightening his tie, brushing off his jacket and buttoning it. He took one last look. Dark brown hair, combed back? Done. Blue eyes, not bloodshot eyes? Sort-of. Neat and clean clothes? Check...through sheer luck.

He walked towards the door, wishing, and not for the first time that day, that he could afford to take on an assistant. "Coming!" he said as he was halfway there. A few more rapid steps and he opened the door quickly and…

He stopped. More to the point, his brain stopped. His mouth, freed from its leash, held by the brain, decided to proceed regardless. "Wait a second...aren't you…?"

Elsa smiled. "No, but everyone says I look JUST like her."

The brain grabbed the leash once more. "Uh, sorry….please come in."

"Thank you." Elsa wasn't dressed in her signature gown of ice particles. Not surprising, since all extra-human powers were a part of the Characters and stayed in the Experience. She was dressed in a bonnet and veil, with a simple grey-and-blue dress with matching shoes. However, while her glacial abilities had been left behind, her flawless appearance didn't lose a thing."Uh, if you're looking for the dance studio, it's…" It was at that point that his brain, clearly frustrated by temporarily losing control of the mouth, began to scream at him, demanding to know why he was in a hurry to get rid of her.

"I already know how to dance, Mr. Percy. I don't need a tutor, I need a detective."

Mitchell really did a great job of hiding his surprise. "Please, Elsa...is Elsa your real name?"

She smiled. "It is indeed."

"Huh. Elsa, please have a seat?"

"Thank you." She took the chair on the right and sat in it, removing the bonnet and veil. Mitch did his best not to stare. "Mr. Percy, I came here to ask for your help. I need you to solve a murder."

Mitchell stared at her. "Who's been murdered?"

She took a deep breath. "Well...me."

Mitchell took out a pad and a pencil. "I think you better start at the beginning, and this had better not be some sort of prank you Featured Characters play on us lesser folk."

"I wish it was something that trivial." She sighed, clasping her hands together. "You need to understand a few things, Mr. Percy. When a new Production is begun and the Feature Characters are selected, the System checks to see how popular it is on its Release. To continue the promotion of the Feature, it designates a minimum number of Alternates to be made, who might take part in other Productions or act as models for photoshoots, merchandise, everything needed to keep the Production going."

"Okay, I'm with you so far." He started taking notes.

"Yesterday, there were fifteen Elsas currently employed, including the original. Early this morning, one of them was found dead with a bullet in her brain. Alternate Elsa Number Twelve."

"Did they check the bullet?"

"I don't know. I came here to…"

"No."

Elsa blinked. "'No'?"

"No. You didn't come here. You were sent here, by someone high up, who apparently knows what I can do. You wouldn't have even known about the murder until much later, to prevent someone from panicking and hurting the Production. Whoever sent you knows about my history and knew that your presence here would influence me towards taking the case without haggling too much over the imagined price. Let me guess, you were instructed to bat your eyes and butter me up?"

She regarded him with a cool expression. "Not bad."

"Mind calling the others in so we can get all our cards on the table?"

The door opened and two people entered, Jacob Beckwith and Commissioner Barker. "You haven't lost your touch, Mitchell," Jacob smiled.

"Spare me the flattery. You know, you didn't need to send in a skirt to soften me up."

"Oh, Mitchell, we both know better than that. But we didn't come here just to make sure you were up for the work. Elsa was telling the truth, you know, and this is murder. All the more reason to make sure that you'll cross the finish line if you take the case."

Mitchell looked at them all. Jacob was smiling that slimy smile of his. Elsa was looking down slightly. Commissioner Barker didn't seem to care one way or the other whether Mitchell took the job or not. "When was the last time I gave up on a case, Jacob?"

"You haven't. Yet. So what'll it be?"

"Three hundred a day, three-day minimum, payment due up front. I get paid the remainder when I finish the job, a bonus if what I find ensures a conviction. I'll need police powers and I'll need my gun to work. I'll also need an assistant. Someone who's smart and will actually take direction." He smiled at Elsa. "She'll do."

Commissioner Barker's mouth dropped open. "Are you deranged?"

"You think she can't do the job?"

"But...but…she's a FEATURE ACTOR!"

"Oh, I get it. You think that, because she's an Actor, she's not capable of…"

"EXCUSE ME," Elsa said in a tone colder than anything her Character could whip up and turning to the men standing at her sides, "but has anyone even ASKED the Feature Actor in the room what SHE wants?"

That shut Jacob and Commissioner Barker up. She turned to Mitchell, who was grinning widely, leaning back in his chair and with his heels propped up on his desk. "Tell me, MISTER Percy, do strong, independent and intelligent women intimidate you?"

"I'll let you know if that ever happens. You going to take the job or not?"

"You're on. Jacob, pay the man."

"Hold on…" Mitchell reached into his desk and pulled out a form. "Standard contract. Sign."

Elsa whipped one of the pens off his desk and signed it, looking Mitchell right in the eyes as she did so. "Let us hope that you are at least as half as good as you seem to think you are."

"Likewise...toots."

Jacob blinked. Wonderful. I don't know what's going to be worse, the murder he solves...or his OWN murder. "You better make sure everything's tied up in a nice little bow, Percy. You don't want to find out what's going to happen if you blow it."

"Are you still here? I, and my new assistant, have a lot of work to do."

Jacob and the Commissioner left as Mitchell filed the contract away in his safe. Elsa looked around the office. "You always this abrasive to your clients?"

"Hey, you had it coming." He went to a file cabinet and pulled out a shoulder holster and a long-barrelled revolver.

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe later. Admit it, you came in here, vamping it up, wanted to get my attention so I'd take the case. Tell me I'm wrong."

She glared at him, then said huffingly, "I was told that was the best way to make sure you'd take the case, under the circumstances."

"Of course you were. Well, don't feel too bad. I manipulated them into making you my assistant."

"Why? Am I wearing a sign over my head that reads, 'GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT'?"

"No. Listen, if this is what I think it might be, I'm going to have to get on the set for your Production in order to find out what happened. Someone went to a lot of trouble to cover up the crime, and they had help. In the absence of physical evidence, I'm going to need to get in there and get more circumstantial evidence. And that's where you come in."

She looked at him levelly. "Give me one good reason why I should allow someone with your reputation on a Production Site."

"Simple. Someone brought a gun into this Sphere in order to murder someone by shooting them in the forehead. That means three things. First, the very act of using a gun in a Sphere that restricts gun use means premeditation. Second, the victim knew the killer, otherwise she'd have been shot running away, which means an entry wound in the back of her head, not the front. It wouldn't surprise me if the autopsy reveals a close-range shot."

"And the third thing?"

Mitchell paused for a few moments, considering how much to tell her. "Third...it takes a lot of strong emotion to shoot someone in the face. Desperation, a head shot takes luck. So would fear. Lust is out, since a bullet hole would make a flaw in an object of desire...so that leaves hate. Hate makes people add insult to injury. Someone out there either hated this particular Elsa...or all Elsas. And I've got a feeling this won't be the last one."

"So you're saying that the killer…"

"...is someone you probably know. So you and I are making a stop at the Production Site. And on the way, you're going to clear up a few questions that I have."

"This is your car?"

Mitchell stopped as he approached the driver's-side door of the black car. "Yes, it is. Is there a problem?"

"It's...an antique."

"It's a 1940 Packard Super Eight One-Eight-Zero sedan, first one to have power windows and air-conditioning." He walked around the car to the passenger side, opening the door for her to the rear seat. "Just in case you're used to limos."

"Thanks, but I'm sitting in the front, not the back. I'm your assistant, after all."

"Is that something you want to advertise?"

Elsa looked at him, then got in the back seat. It was surprisingly comfortable, with supple and comfortable carpeting, leather and fabrics. "Is everything in the car original?"

"Except for a few things, yeah. Why?"

"I'm surprised you got such an old vehicle. Wouldn't you find a newer model better, faster?"

"Old don't mean useless. The old girl's got some miles, but she's still got moves." He got in and started the engine, which rumbled to life. He put the car into gear and it rolled forward faster than Elsa expected. "All right. Let's start at the beginning. Pretend I know nothing about your Production."

She smirked. "That won't be hard."

"Cute. Tell me about the Feature Characters. How do they look alike?"

She leaned back, slipping into more comfortable territory at last. "When a Production begins, a Casting Call is sent out to the Sphere. There are usually hundreds, even thousands of applicants. They get sorted and filtered based on their looks, acting talents, whether they can sing or not, things like that. Once a Feature Character is chosen he, or she, becomes the prototype for Characterization."

"What's that?"

"It's a machine that scans the Feature Character in every way, appearance, voice, hair, eyes, every physical detail." Elsa warmed to the subject, feeling more comfortable about describing the process. Or maybe it was just the back seat. "At first, during Production, the Characterization Machine can create models for dummy shots and stunts. Once the Production leaves Stage One, the machine is then used to change the stuntpeople back to how they looked before."

He stopped at a red light. "Then why do you still have doubles out there?"

"Oh, that's for Stage Two: Merchandising. If the Production becomes a success, and it becomes clear that the popularity of the Production reaches a certain level, then the Powers-That-Be dictate that the Production receive support from merchandising the Feature Characters on all sorts of products. Clothing, posters, toys, stuff like that. One Feature Character alone can't be available for all photoshoots, guest appearances or modeling, so a group of runners-up, Actors who can play the part, are run through Characterization on a semi-permanent basis. How many they make are based on demand. Then they're tested on how well they can mimic the original Character and assigned to tasks according to their ranks in certain abilities."

"Sounds like they're getting typecast." Mitchell shook his head.

"Not at all. They can choose to leave the Production at any time, get their original appearances and faces back. The time spent on the Production is added to their Resume, severance is decided, and that's it."

"And the doubles are completely identical?"

"Physically, yes. But how they move and talk can't be duplicated. Characterization doesn't alter their minds in any way, not even to get them used to how their new bodies move. They get a couple of weeks to get used to their new bodies."

"So...what's your real name?"

Elsa smiled. "Elsa, of course."

"No, I mean, before you were, well, Characterized."

"You haven't figured it out by now, shamus?" Elsa grinned. "I'M the prototype. All the others were modeled on me."

To his credit, Mitchell didn't slam on the brakes in the middle of traffic. "Are you sh...kidding me?"

Elsa started laughing. "Oh, if only I had my camera...the look on your face…! Oh, don't scowl like that at me. To use your own words, 'you had it coming'."

"Fine, okay, you win. But I want to see this Characterization at work."

"Oh, I can certainly take care of that for you."

Mitchell did not like the look of her smile.

April 23, 2014, 12:51 PM

They arrived at Studio 195, passing through the gate at ground level. They didn't have to worry too much about being stuck in traffic: most of the people going in and out used aircars, and there were enough towers to handle the traffic. Good thing, too, as they drove up, the sky over their heads looked like an air war, only without the gunfire.

The guard saw Elsa and immediately waved the car through, not even looking at Mitchell. He smiled. "Nobody looks at the help anymore, you notice that? Look around. See how many people look at you and not me. Just use your eyes, don't turn your head."

Elsa did so. As she shifted her eyes, she was rewarded with other Cast and Crew looking at the car, looking at her, but no one spared Mitchell anything more than a cursory glance. "Why is this important?" she asked.

"It means that if someone wants to sneak off the lot, it'd be easy if they were in the company of a Feature Character."

"Wait, take that road there. There's a place where you can park near the Characterization Center."

"They've got a whole building devoted to this contraption?"

"Part of the building is the Characterization device itself. The rest of it holds data banks that store all that information. Every square millimeter of skin, every hair strand, every detail is scanned. Believe me...I had to stay in that thing for four hours while it scanned me from every angle. Every angle." Elsa blushed slightly.

"What for?"

"The Characterization to complete, and I mean complete. The last thing a Character wants is to have to go to the Little Character's Room and find out certain parts aren't...'fully functional',,,"

"Nevermind, I get it." He stopped the car outside the building. "We're here." Mitchell turned to look at Elsa. "Don't worry, we'll only be here as long as we need to be."

She blinked. "What brought that on?"

"You don't like this place. I can tell." He got out of the car and opened the passenger's side door for her.

"You can tell that just from looking at me?" Elsa nodded. "Maybe you're better than I thought you were."

"Careful there, Elsa." Mitchell smiled. "You keep that up and some foolish bystander might get the crazy idea that you might like me."

"Elsa, DARLING, how good of you to come. I heard about what happened to Number 12 and I was HORRIFIED." A tall, slim man with Victorian clothes and a monocle walked over. His jacket and ascot were red, as were his shoes, and everything else was white. He took Elsa's hand and kissed the back of it, then looked at Mitchell. "And who is THIS man with the square jaw?"

"Francois, this is Mitchell Percy. He's a detective, a specialist in homicide cases."

Francois looked impressed. "Not an Actor? A REAL private detective? Oh, I MUST have you scanned for the records! Oh, the look you have, gravitas, verisimilitude!" He took Mitchell's hand and shook it vigorously.

"Mr. Percy, this is Francois, the director of this facility. Anything you could possibly want to ask about anything in this building, he would have the answer."

Mitchell cleared his throat. "Uh, Francois, can I have my hand back...before I strike oil?"

"Oh, yes, terribly sorry." Francois let his hand go. "It's just so rare to have someone so, well, REAL here. Whatever I can do to help in this investigation, I am at your disposal."

"Can I see the machine?"

"Of course. It's being used right now, actually, so you may see it in action. This way." Francois walked past the reception desk.

As Mitchell and Elsa followed, Mitchell was astounded at how...WHITE everything was. The walls, the floors, the ceiling, the modular furniture, the uniforms, all the same shade of immaculate matte white. "There a reason why this place looks so sterile?"

"Yes. The color is made to be stark, helps put the Actors, as well as the intended Prototypes, in the right mindset to be scanned. The mind as well as the body must be relaxed for the scanning and the Characterizations to be without error."

They walked into a room large enough to hold the Cave Of Wonders from the ALADDIN Production. Right in the middle was a massive, bulbous machine with two main sections. The back was made up of several spherical objects intersecting with each other, a multitude of wires and cables sprouting from it like hair, stretching to the ceiling of the room. The front was a cylindrical chamber the size of a crosstown bus, laying on its side, suspended by some unseen force a foot above the floor. It was completely transparent, filled with a blue fluid, and wasn't physically connected to the rest of the machine. As they closed the door to the room, Francois gestured to the right, showing a door up some stairs. It wasn't that easy to see, since it was the same matte white as everything else in the building. "This is Observation. From here, we can keep an eye on the process, make sure there are no complications."

"And how often does that happen?" Mitchell asked idly.

Francois smiled. "Thanks to our efforts here...not once since the facility's opening. Not for over a hundred cycles."

As they walked into the smaller room, the cylinder lowered to the floor, a set of stairs growing out of the floor as the cylinder became opaque, the same shade of white as everything else, and a door appeared in the top, sliding open, ready for the next subject.

Inside the room were banks of consoles, all state-of-the-art and networked, with two dozen screens framing the window facing the cylinder. Each station was manned by a person in doctor's scrubs, wearing gloves and a mask over their mouths and nose. "Should we be wearing...?" Mitchell began, but Francois shook his head.

"You won't need to go out on the floor. So, detective...what would you like to know?"

"For starters, how drastic are the changes that can be made to a person to Characterize them?"

Francois smiled. "My dear detective, the machine could even change YOU into an Elsa. And it would be complete. You would be, for all intents and purposes, her, in every physical way. Of course, we couldn't do it unless you were a registered Actor. Are you?"

"No. Why is that important?"

"It's a safeguard against unauthorized use. We make this knowledge quite public among the Cast and Crew community to discourage the desperate from trying to sneak in and Characterize themselves in order to improve their appearances. Even the simplest of changes could be disastrous, even deadly. So no one, not even the Core Directors, can Characterize a non-Actor, even with a full support team. The system simply will not allow it….and no one has yet cracked the system," he added pride evident in his tone.

"Are the changes permanent? Would they survive age?"

"Hmmmmm...theoretically, they could. But we've never had anyone Characterized for longer than three cycles, so we cannot say for certain." Francois turned to one of the console techs. "Pull up the Irregulars on the screen here."

"Irregulars?"

"Every so often, we have Characters who do not return for de-Characterization. It doesn't happen very often, but when it does, an Actor becomes either too attached to their Role and tries to escape to the Underground, or they try to cross the Veil. In both cases, the Actors are put on Terminate status and simply allowed to leave. The Underground is far too chaotic for a serious search, and the Veil is simply too dangerous."

"So you write them off?"

"What other choice do we have?" The screen lit up with five very familiar faces. "Here we are. Ariel7, Charming3, Maleficent4, Esmerelda9 and Rapunzel2." He sighed. "That last one was particularly distressing. I keep asking for better background checks for our Actors, but does anyone listen?"

"What happened to them?"

"Ariel7, ran off, don't ask me how, to continue being a mermaid. I think she also wanted to be a marine biologist. Lost track of her in the Underground. Charming3, lost control, his old identity completely subsumed. Lost track of him when he entered the Veil, determined to 'win his kingdom back'. Poor fellow. Maleficent4...ohhhh, I know that case. Completely off the reservation, started hurting some of the animals between takes. Disappeared, but suspected of disappearing somewhere in the direction of the Veil. Esmerelda9. Sad, didn't want to go back to what she looked like before, headed for the Underground. One of our people claimed he saw her in some harem owned by a villain from another Sphere. The last one...she was a new Actor, couldn't handle the stress, fled to the Underground. One of our Agents found her in a state I don't even want to know about in detail. Strangled by her own hair when it was done."

"Did anyone investigate the crime?" Mitchell asked, not taking his eyes off the machine.

"Yes...and it was as successful as you'd expect it to be. The killer was never found." Francois sighed. "If you solve this, I have half a mind to hire you to investigate what happened to her."

Elsa felt sick. Francois noticed, adding apologetically, "I'm sorry, honey, if you're not up for this, I can…"

"No...I'm fine. I can handle it." She swallowed. "Someone killed someone that looked like me and I take that rather personally." Francois nodded.

"Francois, what can you tell me about the other Elsas?" Mitchell asked.

"I have their Resumes on file."

"I need every single one of them. Any one of these could be the next target."

Francois turned to Elsa, as if looking for permission. She nodded. "It's okay, Francois. He's got clearance."

Francois nodded back. "I shall return shortly."

As he left, Mitchell turned to Elsa. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Let's just get the information we need and leave. We've got other places to go."

"Sure you don't want to sit…?"

"I. AM. FINE." Elsa said firmly.

Francois came back in with a stack of file folders. "These are copies, so I don't need to tell you that these are for your eyes only. I assume you already know what will likely happen if these become public domain."

"Yeah, face the Wrath of The Big G. Don't worry. I like my body the way it is: not altered by non-surgical means."

"Good. Any other questions?"

"No, Francois, but I'd like to be able to call you back if I have any others."

Francois whipped out a business card. "Also, give me a call if you are interested in licensing your body out for Characterization. I'm sure we could come to some sort of agreement."

"I'll think about it. We'll find our own way out. Besides," he said, seeing a familiar brunette in a yellow dress entering the building, "it looks like you've got another appointment."

"Very gracious of you."

Mitchell and Elsa headed back the way they came. Elsa looking pale.

They managed to get out the door and over to a trash bin. Elsa held on long enough to confirm that the area around the building was clear, then couldn't hold back any more. Mitchell lifted the lid while Elsa got sick into the receptacle.

When she was done, she looked less pale, but still unwell. "Mr. Percy, please get me out of here before someone sees me like this…!"

"Right, car's this way." He walked her over to the Packard and helped her in, then got in himself. "Where's your place?"

"No...your office." Mitchell nodded, driving out smoothly, handing Elsa a handkerchief. She took it gratefully. "It's a good thing for that appointment, gave us an excuse to leave before I could defile that sterile place."

"Yeah, saved by the Belle."

"Indee...UGH," Elsa groaned. "Puns? Really? I'm not nauseated enough?"

"Don't you DARE puke in my car."

"I should just on general principles."

"I'm sorry, Elsa, what was that? I thought I heard you say, 'drop me off at the police station, I'll take my chances with the Keystone Kops'?"

"Just drive…" She leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to dispel the images of the fates of the Irregulars from her mind, and not having much success. "You probably saw a lot of dead bodies at your old job. When did you start getting used to it?"

"I'll let you know if that ever happens."

"How do you handle being close to that much...death?"

"Whiskey, mostly."

"Wait...you've got whiskey? I thought they stopped letting people bring it into the Sphere."

"Correct."

"And people aren't allowed to distill it."

"Correct again."

"Then how did you get it into the Sphere?"

"That….is a fascinating question."

April 23, 2014, 3:50 PM

When they got to the office, Elsa was sure to lock the doors behind them. "All right, Mr. Percy, spill."

"Wouldn't dream of denying a lady." He went to his desk, pulled out two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels that looked twenty years old. "See this? This was a trick."

"You have my attention, Mr. Percy."

"When I came here, because of my old status and my skills, I gained certain perks. I was promised three things: I would never go hungry, I would never go thirsty and I would never lose my home. Everything else, I was responsible for. As part of the deal, first day I came here, I got set up with a place to live, and was told to get groceries. Standard stuff, no prime rib, no expensive goods, no haute cuisine. I filled my pantry, filled my icebox, and waited for someone to come by, look over my food, make sure everything in there wasn't contraband or above what was considered 'normal food'. And believe me, they checked every container."

"Then how'd you get this past them?"

Mitchell smiled and poured. "They didn't check the ice. I had this bottle wrapped in loose white cloth, wrapped in plastic, and then suspended in a block of ice, then put it at the bottom. They did their little reality-warping trick, and made sure that no container would ever end up empty. When they left, I thawed out the block...and poured myself a cold one." He poured two fingers for her and two for him, then set the bottle on the desk. Elsa watched it carefully as it slowly refilled itself.

Mitchell raised his glass. "Here's to looking up your address."

"Don't you think it's a little early for that?"

"Gotta be five o'clock somewhere in this Sphere."

Elsa raised the glass and clinked it against his, then took a sip. Oh yeah, that was the good stuff. She coughed. "Any leads so far?"

"I've got a few ideas."

"Mind sharing?" She took another sip, not coughing this time.

"Three possibilities. One, we've got ourselves a serial killer."

"What's a 'serial killer'?"

"Someone who is compelled to kill people who all have something in common. In this case, could be someone who really doesn't like you very much, but doesn't want to kill you, so they settle for your doubles."

"That sounds….SICK."

"It is."

"Oh...lovely. And the other two?"

"Someone killed her not because she was an Elsa, but for another reason. The fact that she was an Elsa was incidental to the crime."

Elsa nodded. "Which means something else was going on. And the third?"

"The third is something...I haven't figured out yet."

Elsa frowned. "Nice to see you're on the ball." She frowned at her glass. It was empty for some reason. "Pour me another one. Something happened to mine."

Mitchell looked at her. "Uh, no, I'm cutting you off, lady." He poured himself another drink, then capped the bottle and put it away. "When was the last time you had a drink?"

"Uhm..."

"Yeah, you are definitely cut off. That's the problem with Disney Characters. Lightweights, every single one of them." Mitchell chuckled. "Sit back and let that process a bit."

"Oh? Well…what Sssphere did YOU come from?"

"The WildStorm Sphere."

"Oh...didn't they get shut down?"

"Yeah. Most of the assets were transferred to the DC Sphere. The rest of us had to find work where we could. The lucky ended up with Transfers to other Spheres. The not-so-lucky ended up eking out a living in the Underground."

"What were you...you know, before?"

"I was a Grifter. You know, military superhero, uses guns? True, that didn't exactly narrow things down in that Sphere, a lot of them had guns and superpowers, but yeah. I was an Actor."

Elsa felt some of the alcohol wearing off, her buzz dying down. "Was? But not anymore?"

"I quit. Couldn't take it anymore." He took another drink.

"Take what?"

He walked over to a recliner, leaving her to sit at the kitchen table. Only after he was more horizontal did he answer. "Having to draw a line between you and the Character. Waking up in the middle of the night because the drives that make your Character what he or she is make you think that you're them. I couldn't count how many times I woke up around two in the morning because of some vendetta or mission my Character was last thinking about. And the infighting, the sheer desperation."

"Why?" Elsa walked over to the sofa and took a seat.

"With you guys, the most you have to do is three or four Productions, maybe even a twenty-or-so-episode Series. Then you can move on to other projects. With the DC and Marvel Spheres, once you get a character, you're in for LIFE...or the life of the Publication, whichever lasts longer. After a while, it starts to infect you. A Character-cancer. You forget more about the Actor you were, spend days or weeks in the Experience at a time. There was an ongoing period where a supervillain group decided to take control on the OUTSIDE. They even tried to kidnap some Writer, cause damage outside the Experience. Then, one day, the Spheres shut down all Productions for three days and a few people just vanish completely. Those people tried to make what was going on on-stage affect what was going on back-stage. You Disney guys, you have it lucky. How many times has anything like that happened before the murder?"

"None to my knowledge. Listen, if the bar's closed, you got anything else to drink in here that won't peel paint?"

"Soda pop in the fridge."

She nodded and walked to the kitchen, opening the icebox. As she looked inside, she commented, "You know, someone who knows how to cook can really do a lot with what's in here."

"Yeah, well, I know just enough about cooking to not burn the place down doing it."

She found a root beer, popped the top and walked back in, taking a sip as she did so. "Mmmm, that's nice. So, shamus…"

"How long are you going to keep calling me that?"

Elsa grinned. "Only until you stop answering to it."

The phone rang and Mitchell picked it up. "Hello? What? Where? All right. We'll be there in ten minutes." He pushed the lever on the side of the chair forward and got up.

"What is it?"

"Drink on the way...they found another dead Elsa."

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TO BE CONTINUED...