Klippy
L E G E N D of
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- Seen Dec 14, 2023
I had a bit of a writing bug randomly tonight and decided to churn this out. There's probably a few mistakes and inconsistencies, but I would love any feedback regardless! Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: The content in this work contains violent imagery and some language. It's nothing you wouldn't see on CSI or another show like it, but be advised.
Credit to I_am_a_Wumbologist on Reddit's Pixel Art subforum for cityscape pixel art. Other artwork used found online - sources unknown.
![Dod Files: The Sewer Slayer [16+]](https://www.pokecommunity.com/picture.php?albumid=9480&pictureid=77302 "Dod Files: The Sewer Slayer [16+]")
Detectives T. Dod & C. Bedraga
Department Case File No. 4531 - "The Sewer Slayer"
[1]
0300 hours, Saturday, October 21, 2034
I hate the cold. In sub-zero weather, there are few things worth freezing my balls off for.
Detective Dod stepped under the yellow caution tape at the entrance to the alleyway. The stench of homelessness mingled with the smell of sewage and rotten food in the nearby trash bins. It was a smell he was familiar with. I hate the smell. Several uniformed officers stood behind the yellow tape, nodding to Dod as he flashed his dull detective's badge. Sometimes he wished he was still wearing his blues, but detective work had its perks. And its downfalls. Like this effing cold. His partner, Bedraga, still hadn't shown up, despite the captain requesting the two of them specifically. Nothing pissed Dod off more than his lazy partner. Lazy prick.
Walking further into the alley, he was approached by a short, mustachioed man. What little hair he had left was gray like his mustache, though his bushy eyebrows had a hint of black left in them. He waddled like a penguin, but the permanent sour look on his face let you know not to screw with him. Especially tonight.
"Evening captain," Dod said, shaking hands with the man.
"Evening, Tyson," said the captain, shaking his head. "Some real grim business tonight."
"What do we have?"
"Woman. Early 20's. Found dead in the alleyway by the owner of one of the shops on Polk. Stabbed several times in the chest and one slash to her throat. And... it appears the poor girl was raped, Ty." The captain handed Dod a set of documents.
I hate when he calls me that. "Any suspects?" asked Dod, reviewing the case notes thus far. It appeared the uniformed officers that responded to the call had canvased the block looking for any lingering suspects, but at this hour, the streets were eerily quiet and witnesses were unlikely to appear.
"None," sighed the captain. "But there are a few promising leads already. We have her ID and address, but everything else appears to be missing. Typical robbery, I'd say."
This was no typical robbery. He helped himself to the girl before stabbing her. Sick bastard. "Well, let's take a look then and see if we can drudge up any more clues."
![Dod Files: The Sewer Slayer [16+]](https://www.pokecommunity.com/picture.php?albumid=9480&pictureid=77273 "Dod Files: The Sewer Slayer [16+]")
The alley crept up into a small backstreet underneath the city's aboveground subway line. The sounds of clattering subway cars above ringed in Dod's ears as he saw the poor girl's body behind a broken down car. The sight was bad, but he had seen worse in his twelve years on the force. The pool of blood had filled a small pothole beside her body, but her overall appearance was not as ghastly as he had feared. I hope she died quick. Poor girl.
"She had a name, I'm guessing," Dod said as he bent over to look closer at the body. Her skin was pale from blood loss, but there was no mistaking that she was white. Her clothes, though torn and bloody, looked expensive. What the hell were you doing in this part of town?
"Jamie. Jamie Burrows," said the captain. He handed Dod her ID in an evidence bag. It was covered in more blood, but there was no mistake that this was the poor dead girl in front of him.
"56 Franklin Terrace," pondered Dod. "This girl was too far from home. And too rich for this part of town." Dod normally worked the suburbs, near where the girl lived. Now he understood why the captain requested him. The media fallout from this murder would hit soon as families woke up to the news of a dead, raped white girl in the most dangerous district of the city. A district so deadly that the cops hardly patrolled the area, except when calls came in from it.
"This needs to be handled quickly, Dod." The captain began walking down the alley.
Dod lifted himself up and followed the captain, "Any particular reason why, sir?" I already know why.
The captain turned to face him, eyebrows and mustache helping to twist the face into one of sheer annoyance, "You know damn well why, Tyson. Elections are upon us and the only districts showing positive numbers don't fall under my jurisdiction. If this killer goes free any longer than he has already, my numbers will drop and you'll have to deal with Bedraga taking over."
I forgot that. Not only did his partner believe he was the best detective in the city, but he was running for captain under a banner of "justice to the masses". Rich white girls dying would stir up trouble for the captain, but Bedraga knew how to twist the story to win votes. As of last week's estimates, Bedraga and the captain were nearly neck-and-neck. "You can count on me, sir," Dod said with assurance, patting the captain on the back and giving him a brief nod. The captain nodded back and left the alley to confront the media hounds itching for news of what had occurred.
When Dod returned to the body, he began to search for evidence. There wasn't much to go on, but anything could help out. The backstreet was filthy and it would be almost impossible to count on evidence from anywhere but the body, but he couldn't touch her until the coroner arrived. Dod began sifting through trash in the bins. Maybe the killer wasn't so smart. The knife could be in any of this filth. He didn't dig far, as many of the shops that used this backstreet were fish markets. Rotting and putrid fish guts filled the air every time he propped open a bin, but nothing stuck out to him as he scoured the top layers.
A tinkling sound echoed through the area and Dod immediately reached for his gun. The killer! The animal came back to watch. Or to collect some piece of evidence he missed. "Come out with your hands up now!" he shouted into the darkness. Moments passed and no one came out. Dod walked closer to the dense abyss and said firmly, "Come out in three seconds or I open fire."
A wrinkled, mud-covered man limped out of the darkness with his hands above his head. "P-please, d-don't shoot!" he clamored. The man appeared to be in his late-80's and shivered from head-to-toe. I don't blame him. He barely has shoes.
"Who are you?" asked Dod, gun still pointed at the man. He wasn't about to let his guard down. Not with a barely-dead corpse behind him.
"My name is C-Carter. Carter Luu," said the old man. "Not here for trouble. This is where I normally camp out. Not many of us come around this area lately, what with all the gangs and killings going on."
"Were you here a few hours ago?" asked Dod, lowering his weapon slightly.
"I was, sir," said Carter. "I saw that poor girl getting... well..."
Dod holstered his weapon. "Who did you see?"
"I saw... maybe two. Maybe one," pondered Carter. He scratched at his head and flakes of hair and dead skin floated softly down onto the already-disgusting concrete. Crime scene didn't look like it had any flakes like that. Then again, this guy couldn't overpower that girl. He's barely five feet tall. Dod made a mental note to collect the sample and see if it matched DNA in the victim.
"Was it one or two? I need you to be positive," Dod said.
"One. Definitely only one." Carter kept scratching his head. Snow's come early this year.
"Can you describe him at all? Was he wearing any gang colors?"
Carter quit scratching and stared blankly towards the girl's body. His breathing became louder and his face displayed nothing but fear.
"Carter. I need you to..." Dod began.
"Cop," said Carter. He looked directly at Dod and repeated it again.
"What about a cop?" Dod didn't like where this was going at all.
"He had a badge. Like yours. Dressed just like you."
Disclaimer: The content in this work contains violent imagery and some language. It's nothing you wouldn't see on CSI or another show like it, but be advised.
Credit to I_am_a_Wumbologist on Reddit's Pixel Art subforum for cityscape pixel art. Other artwork used found online - sources unknown.
Detectives T. Dod & C. Bedraga
Department Case File No. 4531 - "The Sewer Slayer"
[1]
0300 hours, Saturday, October 21, 2034
I hate the cold. In sub-zero weather, there are few things worth freezing my balls off for.
Detective Dod stepped under the yellow caution tape at the entrance to the alleyway. The stench of homelessness mingled with the smell of sewage and rotten food in the nearby trash bins. It was a smell he was familiar with. I hate the smell. Several uniformed officers stood behind the yellow tape, nodding to Dod as he flashed his dull detective's badge. Sometimes he wished he was still wearing his blues, but detective work had its perks. And its downfalls. Like this effing cold. His partner, Bedraga, still hadn't shown up, despite the captain requesting the two of them specifically. Nothing pissed Dod off more than his lazy partner. Lazy prick.
Walking further into the alley, he was approached by a short, mustachioed man. What little hair he had left was gray like his mustache, though his bushy eyebrows had a hint of black left in them. He waddled like a penguin, but the permanent sour look on his face let you know not to screw with him. Especially tonight.
"Evening captain," Dod said, shaking hands with the man.
"Evening, Tyson," said the captain, shaking his head. "Some real grim business tonight."
"What do we have?"
"Woman. Early 20's. Found dead in the alleyway by the owner of one of the shops on Polk. Stabbed several times in the chest and one slash to her throat. And... it appears the poor girl was raped, Ty." The captain handed Dod a set of documents.
I hate when he calls me that. "Any suspects?" asked Dod, reviewing the case notes thus far. It appeared the uniformed officers that responded to the call had canvased the block looking for any lingering suspects, but at this hour, the streets were eerily quiet and witnesses were unlikely to appear.
"None," sighed the captain. "But there are a few promising leads already. We have her ID and address, but everything else appears to be missing. Typical robbery, I'd say."
This was no typical robbery. He helped himself to the girl before stabbing her. Sick bastard. "Well, let's take a look then and see if we can drudge up any more clues."
The alley crept up into a small backstreet underneath the city's aboveground subway line. The sounds of clattering subway cars above ringed in Dod's ears as he saw the poor girl's body behind a broken down car. The sight was bad, but he had seen worse in his twelve years on the force. The pool of blood had filled a small pothole beside her body, but her overall appearance was not as ghastly as he had feared. I hope she died quick. Poor girl.
"She had a name, I'm guessing," Dod said as he bent over to look closer at the body. Her skin was pale from blood loss, but there was no mistaking that she was white. Her clothes, though torn and bloody, looked expensive. What the hell were you doing in this part of town?
"Jamie. Jamie Burrows," said the captain. He handed Dod her ID in an evidence bag. It was covered in more blood, but there was no mistake that this was the poor dead girl in front of him.
"56 Franklin Terrace," pondered Dod. "This girl was too far from home. And too rich for this part of town." Dod normally worked the suburbs, near where the girl lived. Now he understood why the captain requested him. The media fallout from this murder would hit soon as families woke up to the news of a dead, raped white girl in the most dangerous district of the city. A district so deadly that the cops hardly patrolled the area, except when calls came in from it.
"This needs to be handled quickly, Dod." The captain began walking down the alley.
Dod lifted himself up and followed the captain, "Any particular reason why, sir?" I already know why.
The captain turned to face him, eyebrows and mustache helping to twist the face into one of sheer annoyance, "You know damn well why, Tyson. Elections are upon us and the only districts showing positive numbers don't fall under my jurisdiction. If this killer goes free any longer than he has already, my numbers will drop and you'll have to deal with Bedraga taking over."
I forgot that. Not only did his partner believe he was the best detective in the city, but he was running for captain under a banner of "justice to the masses". Rich white girls dying would stir up trouble for the captain, but Bedraga knew how to twist the story to win votes. As of last week's estimates, Bedraga and the captain were nearly neck-and-neck. "You can count on me, sir," Dod said with assurance, patting the captain on the back and giving him a brief nod. The captain nodded back and left the alley to confront the media hounds itching for news of what had occurred.
When Dod returned to the body, he began to search for evidence. There wasn't much to go on, but anything could help out. The backstreet was filthy and it would be almost impossible to count on evidence from anywhere but the body, but he couldn't touch her until the coroner arrived. Dod began sifting through trash in the bins. Maybe the killer wasn't so smart. The knife could be in any of this filth. He didn't dig far, as many of the shops that used this backstreet were fish markets. Rotting and putrid fish guts filled the air every time he propped open a bin, but nothing stuck out to him as he scoured the top layers.
A tinkling sound echoed through the area and Dod immediately reached for his gun. The killer! The animal came back to watch. Or to collect some piece of evidence he missed. "Come out with your hands up now!" he shouted into the darkness. Moments passed and no one came out. Dod walked closer to the dense abyss and said firmly, "Come out in three seconds or I open fire."
A wrinkled, mud-covered man limped out of the darkness with his hands above his head. "P-please, d-don't shoot!" he clamored. The man appeared to be in his late-80's and shivered from head-to-toe. I don't blame him. He barely has shoes.
"Who are you?" asked Dod, gun still pointed at the man. He wasn't about to let his guard down. Not with a barely-dead corpse behind him.
"My name is C-Carter. Carter Luu," said the old man. "Not here for trouble. This is where I normally camp out. Not many of us come around this area lately, what with all the gangs and killings going on."
"Were you here a few hours ago?" asked Dod, lowering his weapon slightly.
"I was, sir," said Carter. "I saw that poor girl getting... well..."
Dod holstered his weapon. "Who did you see?"
"I saw... maybe two. Maybe one," pondered Carter. He scratched at his head and flakes of hair and dead skin floated softly down onto the already-disgusting concrete. Crime scene didn't look like it had any flakes like that. Then again, this guy couldn't overpower that girl. He's barely five feet tall. Dod made a mental note to collect the sample and see if it matched DNA in the victim.
"Was it one or two? I need you to be positive," Dod said.
"One. Definitely only one." Carter kept scratching his head. Snow's come early this year.
"Can you describe him at all? Was he wearing any gang colors?"
Carter quit scratching and stared blankly towards the girl's body. His breathing became louder and his face displayed nothing but fear.
"Carter. I need you to..." Dod began.
"Cop," said Carter. He looked directly at Dod and repeated it again.
"What about a cop?" Dod didn't like where this was going at all.
"He had a badge. Like yours. Dressed just like you."