The man coughed. "How long has it been?" he asked his long-time companion, his voice scratchy and weak.

"Too long, my friend," his companion replied. He was younger, but beginning to show the signs of age: strange hiccups, the occasional seizure, even a complete memory wipe had been necessary. But the companion would not quit, not while he still had power running through his blue/red veins.

"They've been waiting for us," the old man chuckled, more than a little sadly. "All…how many now?"

"74."

"…Our work has been buried under so many others, and yet they still seem to find it..." The old man stretched and walked over to his friend, who had been there for him through thick and thin.

"Think you can crank out another one?" the companion asked carefully. "Our heyday has long passed. There's a new entry arriving…perhaps we should wait until—"

"No!" the old man exclaimed, dropping himself into the seat across from his companion. "No more stalling! I have an idea for the next installation."

The companion allowed himself a small smile. "As you wish, old friend," he agreed.

The old man popped his knuckles. He reached out his arms to his companion, the computer that he had written so many words with. Then he began to type:

"Fire Emblem What if: Chapter 12"…

"Fascinating!" Laurent exclaimed, taking a long look around the…rather ineptly named Bubble Room. He was surrounded by translucent spheres, all of which bore the image of an alternate reality. The young man began to pace the room, taking in the dozens upon dozens of scenes that were playing out. How many were there? Hundreds? Thousands? Alas, his curiosity would have to be sated with the investigation of but one alternate world.

"Decisions, decisions," the scientist murmured, scanning the various bubbles. Perhaps he could explore a reality where he had stayed behind in the dark future? No, too depressing. Another reality, where he was a scientist working in an underwater utopia, seemed much more uplifting. Besides, he could observe the achievements of a technologically advanced civilization. Ah, but it was unlikely that his world had the same materials readily available as that one. Yet another world caught Laurent's attention.

He saw himself in a dark room, illuminated slightly by a small yellow orb suspended by the ceiling. The other-Laurent was holding a long stick, thinner at the other end, in the direction of a white sphere. Behind the figure, the shadowy outline of chemistry equipment could be seen. But what really drew Laurent to this reality was what on his mirror image's cranium: a black hat, similar to his own, but with a white stripe around the circumference. Laurent was sure that if Cynthia was present to observe this, she would have remarked the entirety of the scene was "super cool". Indeed, Laurent himself was impressed by the display of style shown by the man in the bubble, so much so that he quickly made up his mind to delve into this strange and alluring world…

Pool. Pool never changes… Laurent thought, staring down the end of his stick at the cue ball. It was a dark night, around 7:45 PM. Raining, as if Naga herself were shedding tears over the crimes of the world. It was quiet, too, which was good for downtown Ylisse, but bad for business. He was thinking of letting his secretary, Noire, off work early, though she rather seemed to enjoy being in the office—something about troubles with her mother at home. Laurent was good enough of a private investigator to know when not to ask more questions, though it was contrary to his inquisitive nature.

*Clack* Laurent struck the white sphere with his cue stick, sending it smashing into the arrangement of similar, multicolored balls. Every single one, save for the cue ball, fell into one of the holes at the sides of the pool table. Laurent smiled and casually leaned on the stick. Billiards was the perfect game for a hard-boiled investigator such as himself. It required logic, a knowledge of physics, and intuition.

"Y'know, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to hit your opponent's balls into the pockets," a voice from behind Laurent said, shaking him out of the moment.

The man sighed and adjusted his fedora, his prized possession. "My only opponent in this game, Inigo, was physics," he replied to his partner. "And I do believe that I have won."

"…alright, if you say so," the other investigator replied, walking down the steps into the basement in which Laurent spent much of his free time. Inigo took a second to brush his perpetually immaculate locks. "We have a client," he said. "A dame. Young, pretty."

Laurent sighed again. Often times, those three adjectives were the only ones his partner needed to know before he was off flaunting their past achievements. Though they were impressive, make no doubt (how many PIs could claim to have found the kidnapped Cynthia Exultt, the niece of the mayor?), the hatted man was more interested in future cases. "I suppose we'd best greet her," Laurent declared, quickly straightening his trench coat and putting his fedora back on (though Inigo would later recall that he had never actually taken it off…).

The stairs creaked as the pair slowly trudged up to the main floor. Laurent had been meaning to get them repaired, but things, namely bills, had always gotten in the way. The building as a whole wasn't too big. Two stories, plus the basement. Laurent lived in the upper floor. The place reeked of alcohol and the blues—probable companions of the building's previous owner.

"LAURENT!" Inigo shouted. Laurent's piercing green eyes darted up. "Where do you go when you're gazing off into space?" the casanova questioned.

Laurent looked down, a bit bashful. It was an old habit of his, to be in his own world, away from the death and despair of this miserable existence. How unfortunate it was that he had not been born as a majestic Manakete, for he would have long since flown away from the troubles of the—

"By Naga, you're doing it again!" Inigo groaned, shaking his head. "What, do you think time freezes while you're having your inner monologues?"

"Time is a funny thing, Mr. Danser," a voice said, feminine and gentle, yet steadfast. The two men turned to the speaker, a blue-haired young woman wearing a navy-colored city suit—commonly worn by those closely connected with the town government. "We spend so much of our lives wishing for it to move faster, and yet it takes but a second for us to change our entire opinion on it."

Inigo smiled suavely at the woman. "Wise words from a beautiful woman. As for me, I find that the quality of time spent can be measured in the type of people I spend it with." He winked pointedly.

The woman raised her arms slightly in pause. It was then that Inigo noticed the service pistol at her right hip, causing him to cringe a bit. "Please, Mr. Danser," she replied. "It is a poor time for such levity. I'm afraid I bring some extremely unfortunate news."

Inigo nodded. "People very rarely come through the door with any other kind," he admitted with a slight touch of sadness.

Laurent suddenly spoke up. "You're from the mayor's office, aren't you?"

The blue-haired woman seemed surprised, but quickly recovered her composure. "That's correct," she said. "Well done."

"The suit was the first indicator," Laurent continued, as if explaining his words to a classroom. "I've seen it worn by the mayor's brother, as well as the mayor's bodyguards and other close relatives."

Inigo leaned over to the woman. "You'd best let him talk," he advised her. "Once he gets started, there's no stopping him."

Laurent either didn't hear his partner or he didn't care, because he kept speaking. "What was surprising was the firearm at your side. The "Falchion" model, correct? It's extremely rare, specially crafted for the head of the mayor's family. I thought there was only one in existence."

The woman smiled thinly. "Yes, that's a common…misconception," she noted.

Laurent continued: "You also bear a striking resemblance to the mayor's brother. A cousin, perhaps? No, the resemblance is far too uncanny. I don't believe I've read of you in the newspapers or heard about you on the radio, which is most unusual, seeing as how well-covered the mayoral family is right now." He paused to pace across the room. "And your eyes, they're…remarkable."

Indeed they were. The woman's eyes were like sapphires, holding both wisdom and power. As Laurent gazed into them, he found himself staring right into the essence of Ylisse itself: dark, beautiful, and very, very dangerous. The woman's irises seemed to swim, a pattern slowly forming in her left pupil. Somewhere, in the crevices of Laurent's mind, a perfect connection began to form. He felt like a man wandering the darkness, searching for the light that would make everything so clear, and yet—

Laurent sighed (he had been doing that often). Something had interrupted his thoughts, sending them scattering into the abyss. "Do you hear that?" he asked.

"The only thing I hear is the creepiness radiating from you," Inigo muttered under his breath.

Laurent threw open a nearby window, causing the sound of slow jazz music to come through clearly. Three musicians stood five feet from the opening: the first was a short-haired man holding a saxophone and wearing dark shades coupled with a seemingly permanent frown; the second was a bald, dark-skinned man hovering carrying a bass and wearing…one sunglass over his left eye; and the third was a dark-skinned woman hovering over a piano.

"Pardon me, but do you mind playing your music somewhere else?" Laurent questioned, somewhat irately.

The group members glanced at each other and shrugged. "If you say so, cat," the bald man replied, easily slinging his instrument (which was almost as tall as he was) over his shoulder.

"I told you, Bassilio," the woman snapped, somehow lifting the entire grand piano off the ground, "we can't just keep following random people around. We need a proper stage."

"And I told you that we need to get the word out about the Feroxi!"

"That's a horrible band name."

"The kid likes it. Don't you, Lon'cool?"

"Please do not call me that," the sax player groaned.

"You'll dig it eventually," Bassilio replied. "Sorry to bother you," he said to Laurent before walking away with his group.

"…" Laurent noted.

"…" The blue-haired woman replied.

"…Well, that was odd," Inigo agreed.

The woman coughed politely. "Well, back to the topic at hand," she said. "Your observations are on the right track, Mister Maige—"

"Please, call me Laurent," the investigator interjected.

"—Laurent, then. Would you like to make a guess at my identity?"

The man dipped his fedora slightly. "Madam, I do not guess," he replied with a hint of smugness in his voice. "Amateurs guess. I analyze the evidence for what it is, and I deduce the correct answer. With that being said…" Laurent took off his fedora and gestured it towards the woman. "I do believe that you are none other than—"

"A woman who is extremely dedicated to her father!" Inigo suddenly shouted, eager to get the drop on his more attentive partner. "Or, at the very least, a father figure." The young man smirked while Laurent glared at him with annoyance. "You were taught to handle yourself at a young age, but you don't like attention. You've been worried for a while now—for some weeks before your coming here. You're currently in a relationship with a heroic young man, and others don't approve of your style of dress." The man finished with a flourish of the hand.

The young woman stared at Inigo, honestly awestruck. "That…that's all correct," she stammered. "Except for one thing: I'm not with anyone right now."

Inigo winked at her. "Well, that's good to know."

If it was possible for someone to groan without making any noise, Laurent would have done it. "A very interesting analysis, Inigo," he admitted. The younger man had always been better at noticing personal characteristics. "And what do you deduce from your findings?"

Inigo hesitated. "Er…that is…"

"That's what I thought," Laurent chuckled. "Now, as I was saying…" He turned back towards the woman. "…I believe you to be none other than the daughter of Chrom Exultt, the brother of the mayor!"

"That has to be, without a doubt, the most asinine thing you've said since you suggested that giant bunnies exist."

"Actually, he's correct," the woman admitted. "About who I am, that is."

"See! Even she agr—wait, really?" Inigo exclaimed. "How did you figure that out?"

Laurent placed his fedora back on top of his head. "It was quite simple, actually," he said. "You see, when she first entered, I noticed that—"

-Inigo Vision—

"—blah blah blah hair blah blah rain and shadows blah blah noir blah hardboiled detective blah blah…"

-End Inigo Vision—

"—and thus, the only possible conclusion remaining was that she is the mayor's niece," Laurent finished, oblivious to Inigo's obliviousness.

Inigo simply nodded absentmindedly.

The young woman tipped her head slightly. "Very good, detective. I now see why your mother speaks so highly of you."

Laurent allowed himself the thinnest of smiles. "I'm surprised she even mentions me, to be perfectly honest," he said shortly.

"My name is Lucina Exultt," the woman said. "And I've come to you to ask your aid in solving a murder."

Inigo snapped back to attention. "Whose?" he questioned.

Lucina hesitated, obviously having some difficulty with naming the deceased. "My aunt…Mayor Emmeryn."

There was a tangible heaviness that was laid upon the two men as the words left Lucina's lips. Mayor Emmeryn was well-liked by nearly everyone, and had been expected to run for another term. After some moments of tense silence, Laurent spoke. "Who—do you have any suspects?"

Again, the blue-haired woman paused before speaking. "I think it would be best for you to come to city hall yourselves," she answered. "You can talk with my father, er, the police captain. He'll have more information."

Inigo nodded. "Sounds good," he agreed. "I'll just let Noire know that we're leaving."

As if on cue, a raven-haired girl, small in stature, walked into the room carrying a tray of coffee mugs. She kept her head down, as if she was embarrassed by her appearance, and was wearing a remarkable pendant around her neck. "P-please excuse me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I-I was wondering if any of you wanted a drink."

"I'll take mine to go, Noire," Inigo said with a wink, carefully taking the hot beverage from the tray.

"No thank you, " Lucina said graciously. "Er, Noir, was it?"

Noire, suddenly glaring at the other woman with eyes of burning fury, coldly replied, "It's Noire, miss."

Laurent coughed uncomfortably. He had become used to Noire's frequent mood swings, but they sometimes became an issue when he was speaking with clients. "I'll take one, thank you," he said quickly, taking a cup before Noire could say anything else.

Seemingly satisfied by the young man's gratefulness, Noire returned to her previously mousy state. "If you're not back by 9:00, I'll lock up," she assured him.

Laurent tipped his hat to the girl in reply. "Let's get moving," he said, his voice suddenly taking a dark tone. "I'm a fry cook, and it's time to serve a burger with a side of justice."

"…Wow," Inigo said, completely unimpressed. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Let's forget it ever happened," Laruent sighed yet again, shaking his head in embarrassment.

Naga must have taken notice of Emmeryn's death, because her downpour of tears only increased as we drove to town hall. But no amount of rain would wash away the sins of the city. Only fire could cleanse the impurities embedded in Ylisse's soul.

…sodium bicarbonate would probably do the trick too, but I sincerely doubt that there's enough baking soda in the world to rid this blasted city of its crime. I guess it's true what they say…Grima's got his hold on Ylisse.

"Does he do this often?" Lucina asked Inigo. They were standing by the entrance of the town hall building. The car had been parked over five minutes ago, but Laurent hadn't seemed to notice.

"Oh, only all the time," Inigo replied dryly. "He thinks he's in a movie or something. How about we get started? I'm sure he'll catch up."

Lucina glanced again at Lawrence, who had his eyes closed and was slowly nodding his head, as if saying to himself, "Yes, I am indeed one cool cat". The young woman decided that it was best to let him be for the time being.

The city hall of Ylisse was famed for having some of the most inspired and beautiful architecture in the state. Some magazine articles had gone so far as to say that the building seemed like a palace meant for royalty. But Mayor Emmeryn had always made a point to ensure that her citizens felt like city hall belonged just as much to them as it did to her. She personally received dozens of visitors a day, more than willing to hear their words, whether grateful or critical. This sense of a direct line between government and citizen had been felt by all.

And now Mayor Emmeryn was dead.

Lucina led Inigo through the grand halls of the building. They weren't the only ones there, though there were much fewer people than Inigo would have expected; even the parking lot was relatively empty. He recognized a few faces: Anna, the famous reporter who could spin a story any way she very well pleased; Cordelia, a new member of the Mayor's security team who Inigo had become friendly with; and Libra, the priest of the local Church of Naga. None of them looked happy.

As the small crowd noticed Lucina, it parted, allowing her and Inigo to pass through. What Inigo saw made him pull his hat over his eyes and curse under his breath. Mayor Emmeryn, so full of grace and majesty, was now a bloody mess on the floor. For the first time in recent memory, Inigo was speechless. Lucina was attempting to keep a neutral face, but Inigo could tell that she too was affected.

"May Naga accept her soul," Libra said quietly, making some sort of religious gesture that Inigo didn't really recognize.

"If Naga is real," Laurent said, coming completely out of nowhere, "she has long forsaken Ylisse. And one of her angels has just fallen."

"How nice of you to join us," Inigo said dryly, hoping that Libra wasn't too offended by his partner's agnostic attitude. Laurent was a cynical man who put little weight in supernatural beliefs. Inigo himself had always taken comfort in the thought that somewhere, there was a benevolent overseer who could bring justice in a world of chaos, but looking at the poor mayor, he could understand Laurent's thought.

"You're closer to the mark than you think, Laurent," a male voice spoke behind the group. Laurent turned to face the source of the comment: a man, slightly older than he, with messy white hair and a rather striking black trench coat…bearing the emblem of the infamous Plegia gang.

"And who might you be?" Laurent questioned suspiciously, wondering why a denizen of the underworld would be allowed near a primary crime scene.

"Pardon me, Mister Maige," Lucina interrupted, bowing slightly to the stranger with an intriguing sense of familiarity. "This is Robin Tackt. He's a…consultant for the police force. And a friend of my father's."

Laurent frowned. He didn't like having to deal with other consultants; few were able to keep up with his brilliance, and even fewer were patient enough to humor his ego. Besides, he didn't like working with someone who—

"It's just a token of a past that I have long since left behind, I assure you," Robin stated, gesturing to his coat as if reading the other man's mind. "Laurent Maige, son of Muriel Maige, the head lab technician of the Ylisse Police Department. Graduated from the police academy with top marks, yet decided to become a private investigator instead."

Laurent had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He had been caught a little off guard by the other detective's initial words, but he had long become used to hearing some overconfident snooper prattle on about his background. "I see you have access to my records," he said dryly. "How pleasant for you. Do you also get the local newspaper?"

Unfazed by Laurent's remarks, Robin continued. "You highly respect your mother, but you fear remaining in her shadow. This is possibly the reason you changed your mind about entering the force. You don't know what to think of your father, and so you adopt a rather lackluster 'hardboiled' persona in order to give yourself an identity. Your social skills are mainly built on what you've read in trashy detective novels, so you likely haven't been on a date for the better part of your life. Oh, and you are a secret admirer of the program Wyvernman and Ricken."

As the observers gaped at the man, dumbstruck (though Inigo did give Laurent a shake of his head at that last particular revelation), Robin pulled out a pipe out of seemingly nowhere and began to smoke it. With a twinkle in his eye, he added, "Elementary, really."

Laurent could hear tiny violins playing. Before him was the man he had wanted to become for several years; someone who was truly "hardboiled", and not just a wannabe detective. The younger man was about to throw himself to the ground and beg the other detective to let him become his apprentice…but the floor was covered in blood, and Laurent didn't want to get his new clothes dirty.

"As for you," Robin stated, turning to Inigo, who flinched at the piercing gaze of the inspector. "…Too easy," he declared, turning away again. Inigo let out a sigh of relief.

Lucina cleared her throat politely. "If you are done with your little show, I would appreciate it if the three of you began collaborating on the…the mayor's murder. It's all hands on deck here."

Robin smirked slightly and waved his hand with a flourish. "I think it's best that you send everyone back home," he said dramatically. "You see. I have already deduced the identity of the murderer: none other than—"

"….FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU—"

Laurent, though usually quite pure of tongue and calm of temperament, had great difficulty keeping from uttering numerous curses as the vision vanished. What was precisely spoken will not be recorded here, but may it be known that this writer takes great offense to what was said about his mother.

The mage's foul mood persisted until he arrived back at the palace, and even then, he was without the will to associate with his friends and family. As soon as his feet touched the cobbled floor of the palace entrance, he headed straight for the royal library.

Nah founded him rummaging through a pile of books. "What's up with you?" she asked, watching as the stack of tomes grew higher and higher.

"I can't find it!" Laurent bemoaned, tossing a dusty text at the nearest wall.

"Find what?" Nah exclaimed.

"The…the gentlemen with the stylish hats and the brilliant downpour and the ghastly murders and the-the story! I can't find the story!"

The manakete wasn't sure how to respond. Her friend had finally lost his dragonstones. "…that's nice," Nah said lightly, quickly swiping a book titled The Dragonborn Comes. Without another word, she sped out of the room, leaving Laurent to his cries of despair.

"What's up with him?" Robin asked, passing Nah in the hallway near the library. She shrugged.

"We should really stop sending people to the Bubble Room," Nah suggested. "It's turning the Shepherds insane." The girl froze. "What if that's been its plan this entire time?" she whispered to herself.

Robin laughed heartily. "My dear Nah," he said, bending down to put his hand on her shoulder. "Children should really learn to keep their imaginations to themselves," the tactician whispered, a strange glint in his eye. "Otherwise…one might have to put them on the front lines to keep them focused…and accidents can happen in the heat of battle." Robin rose to his full height and laughed again. "I'll see you later, little one!" he called as he walked away, leaving a very confused and very afraid Nah behind.

"…Life is getting weirder by the chapter," Nah muttered, leaving to find a quiet place to read.