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+---- Thread: *Triceracop is on the case (/showthread.php?tid=47468)
*Triceracop is on the case - Triceracop - 09-15-2023
Bondi Beach.
A gilded city masking the seedy truth beneath. Glitz and glamor hiding a criminal underground that rivals any mob outfit the world has ever seen. People killed in the streets, bars blown up, women and children afraid to go out at night.
It's a hell of a place for a football team.
A hell of a place for a time traveling dinosaur to set up a private investigations office.
Without more games to play after that shit show in Kansas City, I decided to spend my off season trying to make this town a better place. Or at least find my place in it. Turns out there's always someone who needs something, and they're always willing to pay handsomely for someone who doesn't ask too many questions.
I was in my office that fateful evening. In a run down part of town above a diner that's open all night, working away at the case that has ruled my waking thoughts since I showed up in this time and place. What happened to Paul McLaughlin? Who is Ulysses Babineaux? Do we really live in a simulation designed around a football league?
It was about three in the morning when I heard my office door open. When I had rented the place I had gotten "Triceracop Investigations" stenciled on it in bold lettering, as it seemed an appropriate callback to a simpler time.
But now it only obscures my view of who decided to enter my office unannounced.
I whirl around, raising my snub nosed .38 special in one hand, the other holding a half full glass of bourbon. It is a plain weapon, no fancy adornments. A gift from my father when I had joined the force, the passing of a family heirloom. "I don't know who has a death wish, but I'm willing to grant it." I growl threateningly. I know the Men in Black are watching me, I've seen their cars all over the city. Wouldn't surprise me that they make their move after the regular season is over, when everyone else is occupied with playoffs and the draft.
"Woah woah, holy shit! Don't shoot!" The voice is a familiar once, and a flash of lightning from the stormy night reveals a similarly familiar face. Thomas Passarelli, projected first overall pick and one of the greatest tight ends to ever play the game. Provided, of course, the timeline doesn't get altered any further than it already has.
My eyes narrow as I look at the man I once called a friend before lowering the pistol. "Shouldn't you be in Virginia right about now? I saw you already cleared out your locker." The bitterness in my voice rivals that of the stale coffee sitting in a mug on my paper strewn desk. The trade had been leaked to the press before the season was over. Going to those damned Seawolves to try and turn their franchise around.
"Look, I know we've had our issues lately...but there's no one else I could turn to. You're the only one that can help me." The large man walks into the room and takes one of the chairs I keep for clients. Presumptuous of him, but that's Passarelli for you. Always thinking the world revolves around his wants and needs.
I snort and shake my head, one of my horns catching the edge of the bulletin board I've been using to map out the McLaughlin case. "If you were a teammate, I might help you. But it seems that ship has sailed. Or should I say...submarine?"
Thomas' hands go up in a pleading gesture, trying to use that bond we'd built on the field to sway me to his side. "Come on Triceracop, don't be like that. You and I are always gonna be boys. Remember when we beat the shit out of Minnesota? And besides, it's not about me."
"Isn't it always about you?" I sigh, leaning my back against the window that overlooks the street. The neon from the old movie theater filters through the half open blinds to illuminate my former teammate, and the falling rain is a comforting staccato in the silences that pass between us.
Passarelli's eyes don't meet mine for several minutes, the tight end becoming incredibly interested in the lines of his hands for the span of a few heartbeats before he looks back up. "It's Dangerson. He's gone. And I'm worried its the same shit that happened to Paul. And Zenzeroni and I, but I didn't say shit to you."
His eyes have that dark, worried look that comes only from the truly afraid. Like a rat cornered by a cat in the darkest corner of a warehouse he had thought himself safe in. I've reviewed the footage that Babineaux had gotten his hands on, I had seen what happened on Halloween night and it wasn't pretty. Those poor bastards looked terrified.
"What do you mean he's gone? He has a playoff game tomorrow. Shit, I think I saw him on the news this morning." Portland might be half the world away, but the news still gets here just as easily as anywhere else. Even with the primitive internet that exists at this stage of the timeline, I know enough to read good sports journalism.
A worried sigh comes from the other man and it makes me believe his story despite the festering wound of betrayal within me. We were going to lead the Buccaneers to an Ultimini next season, him an honorary member of The Armada and me its Admiral. But that trade had torn everything apart.
I glance at the board, specifically at the printouts detailing the events of Halloween night. Zenzeroni Xystartch II, Thomas Passarelli, and Paul McLaughlin all having a dust up with the Men in Black at the Buccaneers facility. Could the trade be related? Moving him as far away from the scene of the event as possible. A cushy GM gig to buy his silence? It certainly aligns with the way the Men in Black operate.
Buy who you can, disappear who you can't.
"I think the Otters took him out. Or someone in their organization, at least. I'm not good at this shit, I don't know what you need to know. But Bamford was across the street, he saw Thor get lit up in a drive by." Thomas looks around anxiously, though I can't be certain what he's looking for. Listeners, perhaps? Eaves droppers? It isn't a terribly unusual form of paranoia in those who have only just barely brushed the deeper workings of our reality.
"If the Otters took him out in broad daylight, then who was that doing on the field interviews ahead of the conference championship game against Kansas City? A body double?" It wouldn't be the craziest thing to happen in the league this season, not by a long shot. But getting a body double in place that quickly would take a lot of resources. The operation would've had to have been put in place by someone high up in the Orange County organization to move that much money without attracting any notice.
Thomas shrugs, clearly at a loss. Despite his incredible athleticism on the field, the man was never the brightest crayon in the toolbox. "I don't know, Triceracop. I'm just here to ask you for your help. We were Aztecs together, and you're the only person in the world who could even hope to find out the truth."
"I don't help people who break the first rule of the Pirate's Code, Passarelli. You should've thought about that before you got traded." I snort in derision before turning my back on him to look out at the neon lit street below. The bright lights create deep shadows in their wake, a darkness that any man could get lost in.
Despite everything, I can feel my mind beginning to race. There are just enough clues, just enough shreds of evidence, to hint at some larger conspiracy. An ISFL team taking out a hit on one of the top prospects of the draft? A generational linebacker who could collapse the very fabric of reality with a sack on the wrong quarterback? I can feel the back of my frill beginning to itch, something that only happens when a case is on its way.
"Fuck it. I need to spend some time in the Northern Hemisphere before I get drafted anyway. I'll figure out what happened to him." I stand up off the wall and gesture for Thomas to follow me out. "I'll book a ticket for tomorrow afternoon and start digging into things in Orange County. Maybe I can find something out."
The tight end nods gratefully and gathers up his coat, hustling out the door and down the stairs. He heads out into the street without another word for his trusty friend Triceracop. Oddly reminiscent of when he had found out the trade had gone through, actually. Cleared out his damn locker without telling anyone.
I get down to the street level and start to lock the door behind me when I feel a hard blunt object pressing against my back. I may be relatively new to this hellish timeline, but I know when someone is jamming a gun in my back.
"You should leave this Dangerson shit alone, Triceracop. Just go home and eat your fucking lettuce or whatever it is that you do." The voice is low and unfamiliar. Tense. A man who isn't sure if he wants to pull the trigger but is one wrong move away from doing it.
Both of my hands go up with fingers splayed, showing that I'm not armed at the moment. "Let's not be hasty, friend. I'm sure we can figure things out. You don't want to shoot me, and I sure as shit don't want to get shot. All you have to do is walk away, and we'll go our separate ways, and that's all this has to be."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FREAK!" The man shouts, and that is when I make my move. Slamming my elbow backwards into his nose before spinning and wrenching the gun from his hand and pointing it in his face. It's a man who's had a hard life, a scarred face with a scraggly grey beard. He's visibly terrified at the gun being turned on him.
"Don't call me a freak. Now get the hell out of here." I gesture with the gun and the homeless man takes off at a sprint into the deep shadows created by the filtering neon light. Removing the magazine and popping the round from the chamber, I toss the gun in a nearby trash can before heading off towards my apartment.
This case has just gotten infinitely more interesting, and now I have a personal stake in it.
RE: Triceracop is on the case - UptownCord - 09-15-2023
Another Fireyheart instant classic!
Additionally, no comment.
RE: Triceracop is on the case - wizard_literal - 09-15-2023
(09-15-2023, 01:17 AM)UptownCord Wrote: Another Fireyheart instant classic!
Additionally, no comment.
@UptownCord Any comment on these allegations?
RE: Triceracop is on the case - 110radio - 09-15-2023
"Presumptuous of him, but that's Passarelli for you. Always thinking the world revolves around his wants and needs."
sensible chuckle.
this is fishing great
RE: Triceracop is on the case - Assistant to the POR GM - 09-15-2023
Damn. That felt like the beginning to a spy thriller
RE: Triceracop is on the case - UptownCord - 09-15-2023
(09-15-2023, 03:00 AM)wizard_literal Wrote: @UptownCord Any comment on these allegations?
As far as I'm concerned the idea that the Otters were involved is ludicrous.
RE: Triceracop is on the case - lemonoppy - 09-22-2023
(09-15-2023, 01:04 AM)fireyheart Wrote: Remember when we beat the shit out of Minnesota?
Graded at -20,000,000$
RE: *Triceracop is on the case - Triceracop - 09-22-2023
Oh no