The Admiral

1. January 29, 2022

The Admiral

Docs Detective Agency

291087 Crown Royal Street

Sector 9, Area 18, ArcTech

27.10.2951

File # 100011101

For Office Use Only

The Admiral

Doc sat in an expensive booth at a posh bar. It was quiet, as he liked it. The lighting was dim, the atmosphere was relaxed, and the drinks were good.

His companion, Lieutenant Unlucky, was sitting across from him nursing a pint. Doc and Lt. Unlucky were at a bar in Area 36 on ArcCorp, celebrating surviving another tour of duty with all there appendages intact, and in one piece. The bartender was a tall, thin, skinny man with a shiny bald head. He was very well dressed but his head reflected the shinny lights in a most disagreeable way. Doc could not help but notice that he had the same shiny bald head, and He was also wearing the same tacky clothes, and his shoes were polished to the same mirror finish as his old fleet Admiral.

“Jolly,” Lt. Unlucky said, nodding to the man. “How’s the beer?”

“Good.”

“What can I get you?”

“A large bottle of shmoltz,” he said smiling

Doc tried to figure out what the man was thinking.

“I was wondering if you were going to order anything or not,” he said.

“No.” Doc gulped.

He was not prepared to meet the Admiral”, He was a dastardly, Portly drinker with pointy legs and fluffy fingers. Doc noticed his eyes were red and puffy.

The Admiral was staring at him.

He was an unpredictable, vicious volcano as legend fortold.

As Doc stepped aside and the Admiral came closer, he could see the self destructive, gleeful glint in his eye.

Doc walked out of the bar to the sidewalk, lit a Lorvil light and reflected on his miserable surroundings.

The Admiral was right behind him. He was an old man, a terrible drunk, and the most unpleasant person Doc had ever met.

The drizzle rained like drinking aardvarks outside a Jumptown daycare. The street was empty, save for a few people on the sidewalks, walking aimlessly, like they were lost. There were not many people out and those that were around did not look their best either. Half baked leather smiles hidden beneath a layer of fermented kimchi. Doc studied the Admiral’s ruddy legs and ugly twitchy fingers. His face raw like a summer sausage. He took a deep breath.

Doc offered the Admiral a cigarette from his near empty pack that never seemed to run out.

“Thank you, sir,” the Admiral said, with a smile.

“You know, you look just her,” the admiral continued.

“She was a good person, a good officer, and a good friend,” the admiral said, in a voice of sorrow. “I’m sorry she’s dead. She was a great friend. I hope you understand.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Doc said, in a low voice, staring down at the ground.

“I’m sorry she died, I can’t bring her back. That Cats gone,” he explained, in pitying tones.

He looked up at Doc. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry.”

The Admiral stared, unmoving, un blinking. Like a hateful puppy who chewed the slippers to shreds on Sunday during the unending reruns of Prince Namor. They looked at each other with cross feelings, like two odd, old ostriches hopping at a very daring jig, which had indie flute jazz music playing in the background and several special Olympians shuffling to the beat of a zen-sunni, android drummer. The two old ostriches strolled out to the street under the full moon, tendrils of steam escaping the vents in the sidewalk curling over the scene. the stagnant fumes of asteroid mining tailings dissolving in the choking wind. As the two old soldiers looked at each other, one smiled, one shed a tear, lost in the haze of toxic plumes drifting by. A lone shot rang out. The shot could be heard over the deafening sound of metal scraping and the heavy clank of the armor plates hitting the pavement, like a school of tuna smacking a derelict shopping cart full of empty pilsner cans. Doc’s back teeth shook as the thought of the life he once had flashed before his face. He never thought he would hear a concert in his head emanating from his teeth, much less a heavy metal concert. The Admiral’s face shattered and exploded like a supernova, as if a vengeful, evil Santa Claus had used his magical elves to replace it with an ugly, red, plastic half melted candle with pop rocks candy ejecting from every open socket. A face of death and misery and terror, Fluffy fingers. Pointy legs. He had died in a flash….A flash that would haunt Docs dreams for all the nights that he would have of them.

Doc holstered the Coda pistol in his hand, wisps of cordite smoke lingering lazily in the recycled air. He lit a Lorvil light and walked back into the bar. A body tumbled over the side, into the cloud, over and over into nothingness….”It was the same song,” Doc said, as he sat down on a stool, “the same song.”

“What?”

“The song from the Coda. It was the same song.”

“I don’t get you,” Unlucky said, as he turned on the beer tap, “what does that even mean?”

what does that even mean?….

Coming Soon….

Doc Orion