The rain in New Seattle didn't fall; it plummeted, like it had a personal vendetta against the pavement.
Elara Vance stood behind the counter of the Meow & Bow. The cafe had changed overnight. The warm mahogany wood was now stark, high-contrast grey. The espresso machine hissed steam that curled into shapes resembling suspicious dames. A lonely saxophone was playing a mournful solo from somewhere near the ceiling fan.
"Why is the world grayscale?" Ignis asked. The dragon-man was sitting on a stool, staring at a plate of muffins. "I cannot tell if these are blueberry or bran. It is a flavor roulette."
"It's the Crossover Event," Elara sighed, wiping a glass with a rag. She looked down at her outfit. Her pizza vest was gone, replaced by a slinky sequined dress that looked itchy. "Barry switched the genre filters. We're in a Noir Procedural."
"I love it," Aldren Vance declared from the shadows.
The Vampire Lord stepped forward. He was wearing a trench coat over his cape and a fedora over his tricorn hat. He lit a cigarette (which was actually a candy stick).
"The angst," Aldren whispered, blowing imaginary smoke. "The shadows. The crushing weight of existential dread. Finally, a genre that understands my soul."
"It's depressing," Li Wusheng complained. The Monk was wearing a detective's badge clipped to his robes. "And this saxophone player... he has been playing the same four notes for an hour. It is looping. I suspect he is a low-budget audio asset."
Suddenly, the front door kicked open.
A man walked in. He looked like he had been carved out of granite and bad decisions. He wore a trench coat that was wetter than the ocean outside. His jaw was so square you could use it to calibrate a carpenter's level.
Detective Jack Gritt.
He didn't speak to them. He looked around the room, his eyes narrowing. Then, a gravelly voiceover echoed through the room—even though his lips didn't move.
(I walked into the gin joint. It smelled of cheap coffee and broken dreams. The dame behind the counter had eyes like trouble, and the guy in the hat looked like he slept in a coffin. This city... it's a sewer, and I'm the plumber.)
"Excuse me?" Elara asked. "We can hear your inner monologue."
Jack Gritt blinked. He looked at Elara. "You can hear that?"
"You're projecting it," Elara said. "Also, we don't serve gin. We serve lattes."
(She was feisty. I hate feisty. Reminds me of my ex-wife. Or my car. Both broke down on me.)
"Stop doing that!" Elara yelled.
Jack Gritt pulled a badge from his pocket. "I'm Detective Gritt. From The Gritty Detective Hour. I'm here because we have a body."
"A body?" Jen asked, walking out of the back room (wearing a police uniform). "In the cafe?"
"Out back," Gritt grunted. "In the alley. It's grisly. It's gruesome. It's... ratings gold."
Barry Bannington popped out from under a table.
"And... ACTION!" Barry screamed. "The Murder Mystery begins! Who did it? Was it the Vampire? The Dragon? The mysterious Dame? Tune in to find out!"
"Barry," Elara growled. "Did you kill someone for a plot point?"
"No!" Barry promised. "It's a Guest Corpse! A Public Domain victim! Come see!"
The Scene of the Crime
They gathered in the alleyway behind the Meow & Bow. The rain poured down, turning the cobblestones slick.
Lying in a puddle, outlined in white chalk, was the victim.
It was a Mime.
He was wearing the classic striped shirt, black beret, and white face paint. He lay perfectly still, his hands frozen in the act of pressing against an invisible wall.
"Dead," Detective Gritt spat, kneeling by the body. "Cold as yesterday's oatmeal."
(The Mime. Silent Steve. He never hurt nobody. Except the people who hate street performance, which is everybody. He died doing what he loved: pretending to be trapped in a box.)
"Is he actually dead?" Ignis asked, poking the Mime with a stick. "Or is he just... acting?"
"He's dead!" Gritt snapped. "Look at the evidence!"
He pointed to the ground. There was a shattered pie plate, a rubber chicken, and a single, red clown nose.
"This was a hit," Gritt deduced. "Professional. Clean. They took him out before he could talk."
"He's a Mime," Li pointed out. "He physically cannot talk."
"That's what makes it tragic!" Gritt yelled. "He took his secrets to the grave! Now... who are the suspects?"
Gritt turned his steely gaze to the team.
(I looked at the motley crew. The Vampire looked guilty. Vampires are always guilty. The Dragon looked hungry. The Monk looked... serene. Too serene. Psychopath serene.)
"I am not a psychopath!" Li shouted. "I am a Pacifist! Mostly!"
"I'm taking lead on this," Gritt announced. "You lot are my deputies. Don't touch anything. Don't use magic. I solve crimes with logic, grit, and bourbon."
"We don't have bourbon," Jen said. "We have Void-Fizz."
"I'll take it neat," Gritt grunted.
"Elara," Barry whispered into his headset. "The network says the Mime is boring. We need to spice up the investigation. Elara, be the Femme Fatale. Seduce the detective to get information!"
"I am not seducing him!" Elara hissed. "He smells like wet dog and cigarettes!"
"Do it for the ratings!"
Elara groaned. She stepped forward, leaning against the damp brick wall. She tried to look mysterious.
"So, Detective," Elara said, trying to lower her voice an octave. "You think you can handle this town?"
Gritt looked at her.
(She was playing games. I don't play games. Unless it's poker. And I cheat at poker.)
"Listen, sweetheart," Gritt growled, stepping into her personal space. "I'm looking for a killer. I don't have time for... sexual tension."
"Good," Elara dropped the act immediately. "Because you're blocking the evidence."
She pointed past him.
Ignis was currently licking the chalk outline.
"Ignis!" Elara yelled. "Stop eating the crime scene!"
"It tastes like limestone," Ignis reported. "And... regret."
"Wait," Li Wusheng said, crouching near the body. "Look at the rubber chicken. It is not a standard prop. It has a serial number."
Li picked up the chicken. He activated his Streamer Vision (which highlighted loot).
"It is a Class-4 Gag Item," Li analyzed. "Manufactured by the Acme Corporation."
"Acme?" Gritt frowned. "That's cartoon jurisdiction. This is a Noir show! Cartoons don't cross over!"
"Unless..." Aldren gasped. "The killer is a Toon!"
(A Toon? In my city? I hate Toons. They drop anvils. They defy physics. They never pay their tab.)
"We have a lead," Elara said. "We need to find out who sold this chicken."
"I know a guy," Gritt said darkly. "A snitch. He operates out of the sewers. A rat."
"A metaphorical rat?" Jen asked.
"No," Gritt said. "A literal rat. A giant, jazz-singing rat."
The Jazz Rat's Lair
They descended into the sewers of New Seattle (which were remarkably clean since the Void Piracy incident).
Sitting on a crate, playing a double bass, was a six-foot-tall rat wearing sunglasses.
"Scoubidou-bop-bop," the Rat sang.
"Talk to me, Squeaky," Gritt said, flashing his badge. "Who bought the chicken?"
The Rat stopped playing. "The chicken? That's heavy, man. That's a heavy bird."
"Spill it," Gritt grabbed the Rat by his whiskers. "Or I call the exterminator."
"Okay, okay! Cool your jets, daddy-o!" Squeaky raised his paws. "It was The Sound Guy!"
"The Sound Guy?" Elara asked.
"Yeah! The guy with the boom mic! He's been complaining all week!" Squeaky explained. "He said the Mime was too quiet. Said he couldn't get good audio levels! Said if the Mime didn't make a noise... he'd make him scream!"
"A motive," Gritt realized. "Professional frustration."
(It all made sense. The silence. The rubber chicken. It was a setup to force a sound effect.)
"We have to catch him," Aldren said, drawing his sword (which was now a black-and-white umbrella). "Before he strikes again!"
Suddenly, a shadow fell over them.
A massive, fuzzy grey cylinder lowered from the sky.
"Look out!" Li shouted.
It was a Boom Mic. A giant microphone on a pole, swinging like a wrecking ball.
WHAM.
It hit Gritt, sending the detective flying into a pile of sludge.
"My trench coat!" Gritt yelled. "It's stained! Now I look like a hobo instead of a detective!"
"It's him!" Barry screamed from the sidelines. "The Killer is breaking the Fourth Wall! He's attacking from the Production Crew!"
High above them, floating on a camera crane, was The Sound Guy. He wore headphones and a utility belt full of XLR cables.
"SILENCE!" The Sound Guy roared. "I NEED CLEAR AUDIO! STOP BREATHING SO LOUDLY!"
He swung the boom mic again.
"Ignis! Catch it!" Elara yelled.
Ignis leaped. He grabbed the giant fuzzy microphone in his jaws.
MMPH!
"He's eating the mic!" The Sound Guy shrieked. "That's a Sennheiser! It's expensive!"
"Pull him down!" Jen ordered.
Ignis yanked his head back. The Sound Guy was dragged off his crane. He fell into the sewer water with a splash.
"Got him!" Li cheered. "Iron Palm Arrest!"
Li slapped cuffs on the Sound Guy.
"I just wanted a sound check!" The Sound Guy sobbed. "Just one word! 'Hello'! 'Ouch'! Anything! The silence... it was haunting me!"
"Book him," Gritt said, climbing out of the sludge. "Audio homicide. Assault with a deadly peripheral."
(The case was closed. The bad guy was in cuffs. The rat was playing jazz. Just another rainy night in the void.)
The Twist
Back at the Meow & Bow, the rain had stopped. The grayscale filter was fading, returning to the usual chaotic colors of the cafe.
Detective Gritt stood by the door, wringing out his hat.
"You kids did good," Gritt grunted. "For a bunch of magic weirdos."
"Thank you, Detective," Elara said. "Sorry about your coat."
"It adds character," Gritt said. "I'm heading back to my own show. I got a case involving a dame and a missing Maltese Falcon."
"Is it a real falcon?" Ignis asked. "Is it edible?"
"Goodbye," Gritt said, walking out the door.
Barry Bannington ran in, checking his tablet.
"Great numbers!" Barry cheered. "The Noir crossover was a smash! The demographic loved the Jazz Rat! We sold 50,000 plushies of Silent Steve the Dead Mime!"
"That is morbid," Aldren noted.
"Wait," Li said. "Where is the body?"
"Oh, Steve?" Barry laughed. "He wasn't dead. He's a Mime. He was acting dead."
Outside the window, Silent Steve the Mime walked by. He waved at them. He pointed to his throat, then gave a thumbs up.
"He was just committed to the bit!" Barry said. "That's showbiz, baby!"
Elara stared at the Mime. "We investigated a murder... for a performance art piece?"
"And for the ratings!" Barry winked. "Now, pack your bags, team! The network is thrilled. They want to send you to a new location for Sweeps Week."
"Please tell me it's not a haunted house," Aldren begged. "I cannot deal with ghosts. They are so clingy."
"Nope!" Barry grinned. "We're going to The Tournament of Champions!"
Li's eyes lit up. "A Tournament Arc? With brackets? And power levels?"
"Exactly!" Barry said. "Every great show has a Tournament Arc! You're going to fight the strongest warriors in the Multiverse! For a trophy! And a cash prize!"
"I am ready," Li said, bowing. "I have trained my whole life for this trope."
"I just hope there's a concession stand," Ignis said.
"Get ready," Barry warned. "Because your first opponent is... The Shonen Protagonist."
Elara groaned. "Great. Someone who screams for twenty minutes to power up."
"Cut!" Barry yelled.