Noir Allen #1: The Big Ban

 
I flipped past another page of transcripts and reports. Profanity after profanity littered my view. Our suspect had clearly dedicated his time to crafting original insults: I had never even heard of the Occitanian people of France before, much less know four pages of racial slurs about them. The flaming from the transcripts was hot enough to light the cigarette in my mouth, as well as the two in my left hand and one in my shoe.

“Flaxxish appeal denied,” I scrawled before tossing the folder to one side.

“Sir, we have another batch,” my secretary said gently. “I’ll leave it right here.”

The files piled up on my table faster than I could deliver judgement. It looked like a miniature skyline, framed in the gloomy light of the office. Outside my window was the real skyline, dotted with the apartment lights of beautiful women and successful men. Cars nudged each other on their scramble home, like giraffes with wheels and no neck. Tonight, the beauty of the city almost fooled me.

But I knew the city for what it truly was. The pile of transcripts on my desk — that was the real skyline, the skyline that the city hides in dark closets and whispered secrets. I knew the black heart of men wearing masks, the cruelty of humanity, and how badly each teenager wanted to defecate on each other’s mother.

These toxic scum are like ants in a desert that was as wide as the ocean, I thought to myself. Good metaphor, Allen. I’ll use that one again.

A knock came on the closed and windowless office door. I gestured for the visitor to enter.

A dame walked in with long, unending legs that reached the floor. Her hat was the size of a small island, and she sensually looked at things with her shoulder.

“Please, sit,” I said as I drew the blinds and turned on the fan to create evocative shadows.

“My name is Gem,” she said in a voice that sounded like silk dipped in honey through a stain-glass window on a foggy day. “I have come here with a matter of urgency.”

“Tell me,” I said, lighting a cigarette and bridging my fingers.

“Oh,” she hesitated, “but I can’t.”

“Don’t worry. This is as safe as a foxtrot’s den in Arkansas.”

“Very well then.” She paused, and bit her lip. “Nearly two years ago, I was in love with a man. I knew him by his codename, XJ9. He was a beautiful man, but mysterious and dangerous. I was trapped in a violent relationship and stayed in it out of fear. He hurt me badly, detective, and he was punished for his crimes. I was told that he would be locked up for life.

“But just the other day, I found out from my cousin that he was freed and is on the streets again. Detective, I fear for my life! I don’t know where or how this man is, and I suspect he was let off by a rogue officer, possibly corrupt. He may be looking for me, and as much as he claims to have reformed, he must not be trusted. Detective Allen, you must find him and bring him to justice!” Gem sighed in one breath.

At this, the door opened to reveal a tall man in a trench coat and a fedora.

“Oh, detective, I apologize for interrupting,” he said, nervously twisting his bowtie.

“Nonsense, Lyte,” I smoked. “You came in at just the right time. This girl here, Gem, is in need of our help. She was in love with a man two years ago. She knew him by his codename, XJ9. He was a beautiful man, but mysterious and dangerous. XJ9 hurt her badly and he was punished for his crimes. He was sentenced to life imprisonment, but just the other day, he was freed and out on the streets. She fears for her life. He may have been let off by a rogue officer or he may have escaped himself, but one thing is certain, Lyte. No matter how much he may say he has changed, he remains a dangerous man and must be brought back to justice. Isn’t that right, Gem?”

Gem nodded, her hat causing butterflies far away to flap their wings.

She won’t tell me what XJ9 did to her, but I know exactly what that monster did. He took distasteful pictures of this fine woman here and ruined her dignity. Yes, reader, I know XJ9. We’d been hunting him down for a long time, but we were only able to nail him down about a year or so ago. He is the lego brick that appears right in the middle of the fucking kitchen when I’m frying shit. I will bring him to justice, if it is the last thing I do.

I took a puff of my cigarette and looked at Gem. “I will bring him to justice, ma’am, if it is the last thing I do.”

“Oh thank you, Detective,” Gem sighed.

“And I will see to this matter personally,” Lyte said, completely forgetting the original purpose for which he came into my office.

“There’s something you should know,” Gem said through lips that were as red as a firetruck screaming through the streets of this broken city. “There are those who say that I provoked him. I did a thing, a thing in service of my own desires… I played Lee Sin.”

The office was, for a moment, as silent as people at coffee shops get when the protagonist sees his long lost lover who he presumed to be dead walk up to his table. Slowly, I shook my head and lit another cigarette. My head was now obscured by a miniature smog front. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ve delivered justice to all sorts of leggy dames, whether they mained Teemo or Quinn. As long as your money is good, we’ll take the case.”

——

Loud orchestral music played as a man obscured by shadow raged at his computer screen. It continued to play as the camera zoomed in to the bold text of Reddit frontpage. “XJ9 BACK,” it read.

I stood in the rain in a dark alleyway outside a bar. I knew a friend, who knew another friend, who left a note in the crevice of a manhole cover that directed me to leave a briefcase of skin codes at a nearby train station in exchange for information that led to clue after clue, all of which pointed to this one bar on this one night. The man who let XJ9 go free would be here, and he would answer to his crimes.

I entered the bar through the dilapidated wooden front door. The bar was lit by red neon lighting and a muted trumpet was playing in the background, so I knew it was a seedy establishment. I took a seat next to the player support specialist. He had a face that could knight an ordinary peanut on the fourth of July. He ordered a whiskey. I also ordered a whiskey. We drank.

“I tried contacting you earlier with a support ticket,” I mentioned, “but an automated message told me that, given the average human life expectancy, I wouldn’t ever get to see a reply in person.”

“Yeah, we’ve been pretty backlogged since Riven was released,” the specialist apologized. “You want a cigarette, Allen?”

“I’m already smoking one,” I replied, revealing the cigarette that I had on the inside of my teeth. I spun around on the bar stool and pointed a gun at the man. “Just like I’ll smoke you.”

“A-Allen, just give me a second to explain,” he stammered. “This man has changed. I’ve run all sorts of tests, and XJ9 has flipped a new leaf. He’s not a threat to the community anymore!”

“The leopard can’t change his stripes,” I snarled. “Not without paying 590 RP, at least. This man is still a danger to the entire League community, no matter what your stupid tests say. XJ9 is going back to prison, and as for you, you’d be lucky if you’re still employed by the end of the week. Your little project has failed, buddy.”

The last comment only served to enrage the specialist. Ignoring the pistol, he grabbed me by the collar and pinned me against the counter. He breathed cheap beer and sweat down my neck. “Look at you, waving your gun around and screaming about how people never change. You haven’t even read any of my fucking casefiles!” He pulled out a dossier from his coat and shoved it in my face. “I’ve spent months organizing this project, and you have the gall to tell me that I’ve failed? Tell me: do you think you’re the final judge of the human soul? Do you think you’re fucking Osiris? Did you weigh XJ9’s soul on a fucking scale?”

I shot him. The bullet hit his shoulder: a life of medical bills, shoulder pain, and tinnitus, but he’ll live. I stood up and left him writhing on the ground. I didn’t really need anything from him anyways; someone else would deal with him.

He’s wrong. I’m not Osiris or Saint Peter or Xenu. But I answer to a higher duty — Justice. I am the caretaker of these people. I cleanse the ink from the sea. I am the Grim Reaper of Rotten Fruit, the Merciless Stonecold Killer of Negative Attitudes, the Shamwow of Shittalk. I am to the playerbase what cereal is to Ashton Kutcher. This man could never understand the weight that rests on my shoulders. If the toxic players were baseballs, I would be the bat man.

Earlier, I had ordered Lyte to use any means necessary to bring XJ9 to justice. And though I didn’t “know” what I meant when I said that, I knew that he knew what I meant when I said I didn’t want to “know.” Sometimes, morality got in the way of justice.

We e-stalked the location of XJ9.

——

Back at his home, XJ9 queues up for another game. The door behind him creaks open. He freezes, then turns around slowly to come face to face with Lyte.

XJ9 jumps out of his seat, but Lyte motions for him to sit back down.

“Do you have anything to drink?” Lyte asks. “I need to kill some brain cells after reading the OCE transcripts.”

XJ9 is frozen for a few moments. “N-no,” he manages to whisper. “Alcohol is dangerous for ponies, so–”

“I’ve always wondered: why?” Lyte interrupts. “Why did you leak her nudes? She seemed like a nice gal.”

There is a brief silence. XJ9 looks away, in shame.

“I just wanted her to do the right thing,” XJ9 grimaces. “When people don’t do the right thing, it hurts me.”

“The more you know about women, the less you know about women,” Lyte say, smiling wryly. There is a subtle click as he slowly raises a gun.

“W-wait, what are you doing?” XJ9 stuttered. “I passed the tests! I’ve changed! The man said so. This isn’t fair! There was a deal!”

“Do you think I care about ‘fair’? Do you think I care about your ‘deal’? I don’t even work in player support; I don’t have to listen to anything they do,” taunts Lyte. “The truth is, I don’t even care about good and bad. I don’t even care about Justice, unlike Detective Lawful Neutral. No, the only thing that I care about is the feeling I get when I smite every last one of you bastards from existence.”

XJ9’s face does not change, until, accompanied by a flash of white and the sound of a gunshot, it does.

—-

“I heard shots,” I yell, running in. “What the hell happened?”

“He had a weapon,” Lyte said to no one in particular, perhaps to the reader. He lights a cigarette.

I looked at the deceased XJ9 and frowned. He wasn’t a good person by any means, but he didn’t deserve to die.

“Another good day’s work, I guess.”
 
 
–End Issue #1–
 
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