Chapter Text
Innocuous Doubling is a curious, unpredictable, yet incredibly useful science, provided one knows what they’re doing!
Standard doubles swapped between ordinary objects (hence innocuous), and deadly weapons. They were first developed during the alcohol and weaponry prohibition (see more in Chapter Five: Innocuous Smuggling). Early doubles were triggered by the wielder’s psychological state, typically tripped by fear and panic. Anyone threatened would suddenly have a way of a defending themselves. Doubling was soon tweaked to be triggered on anger, to initiate attacks rather than react to them, and shortly after the first thought-triggered doubles began to emerge in the market. As technology progressed and as laws were lifted, doubling spread to ordinary objects as well. Instead of hiding keys in flowerpots, keys became flowerpots! The possibilities of doubling are limitless!
In this chapter:
- Calibration times: Older weapons take some time to ‘adjust’ to their users, while modern doubles calibrate in minutes - some brands almost instantly. Finer calibration costs more, but is it worth it in the long run to avoid mishaps like mistriggering and glitched weapons?
- From weapons to other items: Doubles are typically dangerous or sensitive items in disguise, but other doubling combinations have been seen through time. What are uses are there for doubling, and where should the line be drawn?
- Trips and triggers: Which is a safer and more reliable trigger for doubling, thoughts or emotions? What situation would one be better over the other?
“Hey, look busy, kid, parcel’s coming.”
The younger half of the transport team groaned and shut his textbook, slumping in the passenger seat.
“Why did I ever agree to be on call?” he sighed as he slid his homework into the glove compartment. The driver shook his head.
“Because jobs are scarce and tuition don’t pay itself,” he grunted, “now quit complainin’ and go meet the client.”
The younger of the two looked out the windshield at the man he was going to meet. He had stepped out of a sleek silver car, was dressed finely, and looked completely confident and fearless until one saw how tightly he was clutching the little black case to his body.
The kid was about to open the door when a dark shape dropped to the hood of the silver car and launched itself at the courier. The courier was knocked to the ground, the case wrest from his hands, and the man did not get back up. The dark shape disappeared across the street.
The passenger door was locked and the kid was hiding under the dash, while the driver just gaped.
“The hell was - aw shit.”
Curious despite his absolute terror, the kid peeked above the dashboard just enough to catch the end of a pale coat leaving the range of their windshield. The driver shook his head.
“Goddammit, I’ve been sayin’ all night how we didn’t need him, and now look,” the driver waved at the windshield and sighed, “I ain’t gonna hear the end of this.”
-
The top problem sleuth in the city (so on top that it was his name and totally not self-appointed) was in hot pursuit of the thief. He had actually been hired to case the drop point and pre-emptively stop something like this from happening, but freelancing a retrieval was a footnote on the agreement.
Although, and he wouldn’t say it to either of them without throwing some gruff, hardboiled snark in there, Sleuth kind of wished he had the rest of his team there. But the assignment was very last second, and the only reason he got it at all was because his was one of the few offices open at this hour, and his name came up before Ace Dick and Pickle Inspector’s on their listing.
This assignment was one that was covert and very, very important, and if the client hadn’t made this clear when he hired Sleuth, he would have picked it up by the dead-of-night thing, the amount of security he had to talk to, and the silent and precise way everyone involved moved. However, despite his advice to the bodyguards, and despite the effort they put into clearing the drop point, one managed to slip through the net.
In the few seconds Sleuth had to observe the thief when they struck, he was able to note that he was a dersite dressed in black, which wasn’t unusual, but wearing a white mask, which was. Too bad he wasn’t running backwards, though, because then that highly visible target might have been useful for something.
Sleuth drew his gun anyway. While the client was emphasizing the importance of this work, there was just the slightest implication that failure would not be taken lightly. In fact, it would be taken darkly, probably in a backalley, then a trunk, then maybe a junkyard or the river, depending on the weather. Sleuth knew he was hardboiled enough to tango on the edge of legality like that, of course, though he hadn’t expected to have to make the ‘shoot or face shady vengeance’ call since everybody else had their shit together and he was the last one to be called in. Sheesh, some people’s secretive deliveries!
He went to aim his gun and then realized he was looking down the shaft of a key instead. Sleuth scowled and shook the ring of keys while thinking ‘I really need to shoot this guy’ thoughts. Said guy had led Sleuth to the older part of town, where the streets were narrow and the alleys were narrower, and the whole place was filled with sharp turns and poor lighting. Sleuth was doing an admirable job keeping up, if he said so himself, but had to admit that the thief was gaining distance and Sleuth was losing his breath.
Sleuth grit his teeth, raised his gun - and yes, it was a gun now! - and aimed it for around the thief’s general leg area. Surprise or - ha - actually hitting the guy at this distance would at least give him time to catch up.
He fired and, barely visible in the shadows, a dark shape fell. Deep down, Sleuth was a little surprised that had worked, but he’d congratulate himself when he was getting a juicy bonus for totally saving the day. Night. Cargo.
In the time it took for Sleuth to reach them, the thief hadn’t moved. Once he was beside him, he realized just how unmoving he was, except for the blood pooling on the pavement around his head. Sleuth winced - his aim was not that bad, no way, and nudged the neck a little. The weight of the head pushed the blade in the fresh murder victim’s throat out the other side of his neck. Oh.
“That’s a problem,” Sleuth said, stepping back.
It was right when he was thinking about the case (the one the thief had, not the - well, okay, the case and this case were kind of the same) when he heard pretty much the last voice he wanted to hear.
“Aw, for fuck’s sake, I had a perfect line for when you said something stupid like ‘that’s not good’ and then you - no, wait wait shit-”
Spades Slick cleared his throat and stepped out of the darkness, his mechanical arm catching the slightest bit of light, and his horsehitcher resting against his shoulder. He grinned.
“Problem? Maybe for you, Sleuth, but not for me. Not at all, I think.”
It was clear by the look on his face that Slick was mentally high-fiving himself for the awesome one-liner, but Sleuth completely ignored him and raised his keys. Keys? Shit. Whatever, he raised them and toed the dead guy again.
“That’s your brilliant plan for tonight, Slick? Let some other asshole do the work and bump him off?”
Slick shrugged.
“Usually I let three assholes do the work, and I try really hard not kill ‘em. But this time I got a volunteer.”
He snickered, “Didn’t know it, of course, but I didn’t see the need to drag a ton of weight in for a one man job.”
Sleuth nodded. Slick normally liked bragging about his awesome accomplishments, but Sleuth got the feeling this was just stalling as they waited for someone to make the first move. Sleuth glanced to the body. The thief fell facing Slick, so the case was furthest from Sleuth. Still, he had to try.
Sleuth took a step towards the body, and Slick was suddenly two feet closer and swinging the hitcher. Sleuth evaded with a sleuth roll and barely caught the case as he did. He had to drop his ring of keys to do so, however, and when he stopped they were left between him and the body. Slick had stepped over it during his attack and was looking over his shoulder with a look halfway between surprised and furious. Sleuth tucked the case under his arm and made a grab for his keys, and just got his finger through the ring when Slick pounced on him. He’d ditched the hitcher to have two hands to try prying the case out of Sleuths grasp with. Sleuth kept the case close to his chest though, or as close as he could when fighting against a hydraulic arm. Slowly, Slick started to gain some distance, and Sleuth grimaced and attempted to kick him. The pair flopped over, and their struggle was less a hardboiled battle of stolen goods and more two grown men rolling around on the ground for a little black box.
“C’mon, numbnuts, I need the money,” Slick grunted, yanking the case closer to him.
“You robbed four banks last week,” Sleuth responded, pulling the case back.
“So? C’never have too much money.”
Sleuth rolled his eyes and pulled, however, that was right when Slick dug his fingers into the seam of the lid.
Suddenly, the case burst open and its precious pricey cargo flew free - it was a pair of silver rings with several clear, large, and expensive looking gems set in them.
Sleuth and Slick watched them bounce and roll along the pavement until they saw them bouncing and rolling towards a gutter drain. Immediately, they started scrambling over each other to intercept them - Slick broke away first by elbowing Sleuth in the jaw, and naturally dove for both rings at once, but Sleuth suddenly recovered and shoved him out of the way. The rings were quickly and dangerously rolling too far from them and too close to the drain to continue the childish fight, however, so they readjusted their priorities: Sleuth dove for one ring and managed to trap it with both hands, While Slick made a few grabs for the other one, until he finally swiped it off the ground with his left hand. They lay there, admiring their prize for a few seconds, before they remembered that the other was there and glared at him.
And then they were handcuffed to each other.
“The fuck?!” Slick shouted, yanking his hand away from Sleuth like freeing himself would be that easy.
Sleuth, caught off guard, was of course yanked forward, almost into Slick. His surprise switched to anger as well, and he pulled his hand back to himself. However, instead of berating Slick, he started studying the cuff. As he did that, Slick addressed another problem:
“What the hell happened to my rings?!” he snarled.
“If I had to guess, I’d say we’re wearing them,” Sleuth said in an even, barely controlled voice.
Slick stopped flailing and stared at Sleuth, then the cuffs, then back to Sleuth.
“No,” he said, nearly gasped, but then his scowl came right back.
“No! Fuck! Why would you double fucking RINGS?!” he shouted, rattling the cuff.
Sleuth shook his head, but closed his eyes and thought about his assignment.
“The client mentioned the rings were of great importance... I think he called them heirlooms at some point, and the recipient of these rings were a couple in high standing--”
He looked terrified all of a sudden, and Slick took that opportunity to cut in:
“Yeah, so? What does that matter?”
“Slick, I... I think these are wedding rings.”
Slick’s jaw dropped when he stared this time. He looked at the metal loops and links binding him to Sleuth, watching them for a good long moment.
“Well, fuck this,” he sighed, and drew his sabre.
“Woah!” Sleuth yelped, attempting by reflex to jump out of the way and serving to only pull himself and Slick off balance, “What’re you doing?!”
Slick just looked annoyed as he steadied himself and glared at Sleuth.
“Cutting your hand off,” he said like it was obvious, and raised the sword, “now hold still, dumbass-”
Sleuth stopped looking shocked to just in time to shout “No! Cut off your own hand!” and get to his feet- or try to, as Slick was still half-kneeling on the ground, and didn’t bother moving with Sleuth. Again, they pulled themselves off-balance, ending with Sleuth half-bent over and Slick wobbling on his knees.
Growling, Slick steadied himself and raised his robot hand.
“Been there, done that, it’s someone else’s turn now so gimmie your fucking hand already!”
Slick made a lunge for Sleuth’s hand, but when Sleuth tried to dodge again, Slick just grabbed the chain of the cuffs and pulled their hands to the ground. Sleuth caught himself on one knee, and mightily forced his hand out of Slick’s grasp. Slick’s eyebrows shot up and he only just stopped himself from cutting his own wrist. He glared up at Sleuth, and Sleuth realized this was his chance to make his case.
“I said hold the fuck sti--”
“What if that doesn’t turn them back?!”
Slick stopped talking, but narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Sleuth. Opening seized, Sleuth continued:
“We don’t know what triggered the switch, right? So what’ll you do when-” Sleuth made a face, but bravely forged ahead, “you cut my hand off and you’re still wearing cuffs? You gonna just live with that tacky steel bracelet for the rest of your life?”
Slick frowned, but shrugged, unconcerned.
“I’ll just saw ‘em off. Maybe pick the locks if I have to.”
Sleuth’s eye twitched, and he struck his palm against his forehead.
“Okay, good, could we perhaps explore that option before jumping to mutilation please?”
“Oh, yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you, flatfoot? Just leading you right to our hideout,” Slick sneered.
“You have like ten hideouts, just pick one you don’t use a lot and take me there, okay?”
“No, fuck you,” Slick said, “I’m not ratting myself out just because some dumbass handcuffed himself to me. I mean shit, if it was that easy to catch the founder of the fucking Midnight Crew, the cops would’ve been lining up to try this stunt ages ago!”
In the silence where Sleuth tried to decide if he was going to comment on how unbelievably stupid that statement was or attempt to continue persuading Slick not to relieve him of body parts, the faint sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance, as if merely speaking their name had summoned them. A look of panic flashed across Slick’s face, before it turned into a determined (and angry) scowl.
“Fuck!” Slick shouted and started running.
Sleuth, however, didn’t move at all, except for the few inches he stumbled forward when Slick hit the end of the his very short chain.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he growled, pulling his arm harder. Sleuth leaned a little Slick’s way, but braced himself.
“It’s just the cops,” he said.
Slick stared.
“Yeah it’s the fucking cops, and maybe it’s slipped your mind a little, but, I’m a wanted criminal you fucking moron!”
Sleuth nodded slowly, and suddenly Slick got the idea that maybe Sleuth was just playing dumb.
“Yeah... Well, see, I’m not, so I don’t see why I should run?” he said, tilting his head a little. Slick glowered.
“You fucking dick,” he spat. Sleuth only shrugged.
“I don’t see why I should listen to you. A moment ago you were going to chop my hand off.”
“That ain’t outta the picture yet, y’know.”
“Mmmhmm,” Sleuth said, nodding again. Nodding, and not moving.
Slick snarled and threw his hands - oops, hand - up in the air.
“What? What the fuck do you w - fine. Fine, I won’t cut your fucking hand off at all if you just let me not get arrested for getting handcuffed to a do-gooder shithead, all right?!”
Sleuth made a show of considering it, but he smiled and held out his other hand.
“Sounds like a deal.”
Slick just curled his lip and turned away, pulling Sleuth along.