Dusting the chalk off his fingers, he cast the chalk aside and stood, satisfied. As he stretched his tightly wrapped hands out, the shape of complex lines that he'd just finished drawing glowed dimly.

Then he cast the doll in the center of the design.

His cloak swirled as he sat again, crossing his legs. He reached to his right and pulled his pair of bongos in front of his lap and played a rhythm.

Bum tippy-tippy tip tltltl pip pip...

The design chimed, and the glowing intensified. Then, the man felt as if he was outside of his body, watching the events unfold. As the design on the floor glowed brighter and brighter, the doll lifted off the ground, with its arms limp.

Suddenly, he stopped playing, and everything was still for a moment. Then, slowly, the glowing dimmed, and the doll gently drifted to the floor.

The man crawled to the doll, careful not to touch the design, and lifted the doll from the center of it carefully as if it were alive.

Because in a sense, it was.

Cupped in his hands he stared at it with curiosity for awhile, shifting his head from leaning to his left and right.

But with a sudden sense of range, he threw the poppet to the ground, snatched a rusted nail, and plunged it into it's center.

Then he got up and left.

Chaos Control.

A plain member of the streets had vanished, recollecting himself from afar, yet not so distant rooftop. His eyes were not that of a normal persons, his perch left him in more than decent view of what he wanted to see. He gawked at the poor man like a vulture staring at prey. Whatever had gotten a hold of him, it looked to be an overkilling blow, quite strange from his perspective.

The chaos beast's liquid like skin was a deep ingo pool of blue, not quite his normal makeup. His head gazed at the surroundings of the scene of the crime, only to spot a certain red hedgehog. He laughed, hopes of the kid not gazing up to see a familiar, or somewhat familiar, face.

The Bird then begins to folow it's own advice, Shoving through the crowd and eminating surelyness in waves.

"Hold it a sec, bud!" Ryan stomped and planted his feet right in front of the eagle jabbing his index finger at its chest accusingly. "I've gotta couple of questions to ask you. What's this guy's name?"

As he had no pockets, Ryan seemingly pulled a pen and notebook out of no-where. Dabbing the tip of his pen against his tongue, the hedgehog tapped his foot impatiently waiting for the golden eagle to answer.

The blonde haired guy from before agreed. "Yeah!"

Ryan nodded in satisfaction. "Now, then... What's your name?"

Ryan cast his pen and paper aside and flared up. Flames engulfed his body, and his badge burned to a crisp. "Next question: How hot do you like your food?"

Sky couldn't help but silently laugh to himself. The humidity in the air around himself gathered together to solidify into a levitating, bulging sphere of water.
"Cool off, hedgehog," he smirked to himself. The water dropped down in a water balloon sized projectile straight onto Ryan's head. Direct hit!

"Ooookay, okay, fine. I guess it would make sense that Wind Bag," he indicated the eagle, "would eat someone. I'm sorry. It's just that I'm new at the job and all."

The hedgehog pushed through the crowd again, demanding that they go away. He gestured for both Sky and Broken Wing to help keep the lookie-loos off as he began inspecting the body.

"He was stabbed, that's for sure. Right in the stomach, too. It's like a big...round gaping hole. Like a spear jabbed him in the gut or something."

Witnesses, that was the key.

But if there were witnesses, then they'd have called in already. So obviously, there weren't any. Another question: What was Sam Wilson doing walking down the sidewalk in the early morning?

He voiced his reasoning out loud. "There probably weren't any witnesses. My bet is that he was killed in the early morning on his way to open up his store, 'cuz of how dry the blood is, now. I don't see any blood drops leading away from the scene, either. There's no weapon and actually, the wound goes straight through to his back."

Ryan tapped his finger on his lips, thinking critically. "Anyone want to go for his wallet?"

He broke his way past what remained of the crowd and called out to the hedgehog from a few feet. "You're thinking to physical. Sure, someone could have stabbed the guy with a huge weapon. And if it was a weapon, then your target must be large enough to wield such a thing. And if you get off that topic, you'll start to think powers. Just look at yourself, Ryan," he said, grabbing his right wrist and glancing to his badge debris. "Fire. A concentrated fireblast could have pierced skin to skin, burning what blood could have exited the wound besides what remained inside after he fell to the ground." He let go of Ryan's wrist. "Fire arms aren't probable to cause such a wound, not one that big and without no trace of a richochet or bullet part." He took a breath, and realized he had been perhaps been a little too talkative.

"Fire, eh? So it was smoke I smelled!"

She rested her elbow casually on the chaos beast's shoulder, as one might do with an old friend.

"Duuuuuuh. I was just about to come to that conclusion myself," he retorted, clucking his tongue. He glanced at Kyra, taken back by her wardrobe. Isn't she cold?

Anyway, the hedgehog spread open the late Sam's wallet and rumaged through it. Couple of dollars, coins, receipts and a note.

A note.

Ryan discarded the wallet after slipping the note out of it. Unfolding it, his eyes scanned the note. "Downtown, wearhouse, midnight. You'll know which one."

He looked up, shrugged, and cast it aside as if it had no relevence.

He turned to Kyra. "It didn't have to be fire which dealt this blow, im only listing possibilities. Electricity, ice chards, someone could have even use PSI on a bowling ball and smashed it throught this guy. However, if you smelt fire..." his head nodded to Ryan. "Chances are it was pyro right here loosing his temper."

"Long time no see. It seems mystery always bring everyone back together." He said cheerfully. Then his expression changed to one of uneasiness. He looked at the former grocer and then looked away again.

"Something doesn't feel right here. Ever since i saw the body i've just had this strange feeling that this wasn't any normal murder. What could put a hole so cleanly in that man and leave no trace or tracks. You'd think if it were a blade it'd leave bloodtracks, and if it were a gun it'd leave casings and the wound wouldn't be so clean as it is here? It doesn't make sense!"

"It's the very beginning of a mystery. The first clue has already popped up," she gestured towards Sky's foot, where the paper was. "And the plot has thickened with the discovery that it isn't a normal murder. But things won't really make sense for a few chapters."

She lowered her voice a little bit.

"Besides, if you start guessing this early on who the culprit is, your head will be spinning when the real answer reveals itself."

She grinned, and leaned far back, making the vertabre in her back crackle.
"Unless, of course, you're Sherlock Holmes. Even his conclusions left poor Watson in the dust."

She leaned back against Sky's shoulder.

"As for the smoke, it may have just been from the apartments across the street. Someone over there's always cooking something or another up. But, the blood really blocks out whatever smells I'm missing. I'm not a dog, yanno?"

"Does that paper mean that Sam Wilson was on his way to the warehouse when he got killed, or is that note for us; the detectives?"

He paused a moment to give his last statement some effect. Then he directed his anger toward Wrench. "And it doesn't say specifically which warehouse it is. It just says, 'You'll know which one.'"

The young hedgehog began pacing, gesturing with his hands as he explained. "So if the dude planted the note for us, then there is probably going to be some sort of sign or clue that will tell us which warehouse it is, most likely around midnight. Obviously, it'll be somewhere downtown, in the slums. Less people will care what goes on.

"But if he didn't plant this note, and it was solely for Sam Wilson after all, then it's possible, though unlikely, that this note isn't connected to the murder at all. Either way, it explains why there were no witnesses: Mr. Wilson was out late at night heading toward the warehouse..."

He stopped, suddenly, and looked from left to right. Slowly, he extended his index finger. "There's only one thing we can do to narrow the possabilities. Meet here at eleven o' clock tonight and wait for a sign, if there's going to be one."

He said this with confidence, as if with out a doubt that everyone present wants to be involved with the case.

So the small detective party spread out and headed for downtown Savott City where poverty plagued the streets. Sky decided to check the western area, but there were little warehouses anyway.

Kyra, traveling by shadow as was her usual way, peaked around every corner and went so far as to check in every abandoned building just in case. But she didn't find anything of significance.

Wrench, with his monkey ways, decided to travel by rooftop, hanging over ledges and peering into windows. He couldn't help but offer a quarter to the occasional bagger, either.

Ryan and Broken Wing had a rough beginning, but after awhile (and threatening snaps of from Broken Wing's beak) Ryan decided to keep quiet lest he really ticks the bird off. The remainder of their search was kept in silence.

Serrif kept his senses alert, cautiously searching suspicious buildings. By 10:45pm, Serrif was on his fifth wearhouse. Just when he decided that nothing important was in the warehouse, the wolf stumbled upon a mess of chalk in the middle of the room. He cautiously tip-toed up to examine it. A chill ran down his back. In the center of the strange design lay a doll with a nail peircing its stomach.

His arm moved in an ark and lightly slapped the eagle's arm. Ryan frowned. "Spasm," he said, sheepishly

Ryan and Broken stood on the ledge of the last warehouse they just examined. He gave a warning glance for his partner to step back. A flame engulfed his body, lighting up the night sky.

While the Hog posed, and acted like bursting into flame was something special, Broken simply thought, and looked around.... Hard.

"Okay," Ryan started, pacing. "Beak and I didn't find a thing. But you four: Did you find anything?"

" I had that feeling when i was in the warehouse that i was being watched. I think whoever made that doll might still be there. If they were, then it's a good bet they know about us."

Against the youngster's better judgement, Ryan knew that they had to continue to investigate. "Seriff, show us the way."

"It's this way, follow me." Serrif ordered quietly.

As was the ritual, the man discontinued playing the bongos, waited a moment, and then grabbed the doll delicately after it drifted to the ground.

This doll made him even more happy. This one was special.

Suddenly, he began playing with it, making odd sounds. He moved the poppet in such as if to make it walk, and then suddenly, he swiped his hands under its legs, and let it fall to the ground.

He left the poppet there as he jumped to his feet, clutching his stomach and snickering. Then, as if suddenly realizing something, the cloaked figure dashed to a stack of boxes, climbed to the top, and peered out the window. His eyes narrowed in a slight smirk.

Then, he jumped down and left.

"Here. This looks like the warehouse i found the doll in." Serrif said, looking around to make sure he was in the right place. Once he was sure, he walked inside cautiously, checking his surroundings all the time.

However, he felt an odd connection with the ragdoll. A connection that he couldn't place. It did resemble him, though.

"Serrif, was this here when you found the other one?"

"What do we do now? At least we've got the doll. Just don't drop it."

Then, everyone heard an echoing, childish giggle.

In the door way of what would be the storage room stood a cloaked child, face clouded by an inky black fog. The child giggle again. "Wanna play wif me?" it said, innocently.

"What do you want to play?" Serrif asked, playing along for now.

He dug into his cloak and pulled out another doll; plain white with no details. "Does somebody want to be this one?"

The neko walked towards the little boy's back, shuffling her feet as to not startle him with a sudden appearance. She squatted down slightly to the side of the kid, and observed his work with her charcoal eyes.

"What skill for such a young-looking one to have. Marvelous craftsmanship...* she mused over it a bit more in a nonchalant manner, and her presence didn't seem all that threatening to the boy.

Ryan was speechless throughout the whole thing. He feared Kyra would ignite some anger in the boy. He felt his chest being squeezed and his ribs being crushed. Was that from fear alone?

He looked down and found that he had been crushing his doll. Instantly, he loosened his hold, and breathed in deep.

The boy looked away from Kyra and seemed to acknowledge Wrench, but then back to his work. He sighed, and showed Wrench his finished work. His eyes were sewn with two simple, small black buttons, a red string for his mouth, a green stocking cap and his clothes where less detailed then in real life. "Do you like it?"

Tippl-tippl tip! Tippl-tippl tip! Tippl-tippl-tip-tip!

The Wrench doll rose and fell during the ritual and the chalk glowed a curious purple. As the boy finished, the poppet dropped to its side. The boy picked it up and walked to Ryan, holding out his hand.

"Can I play with your doll, please?" The hedgehog gulped, and as he staired into the boy's clouded face, he found that he surrendered his doll without much of a fight. "Thank you."

The boy sat down, Ryan's doll in his right hand, and Wrench's in his left. Wrench, the real Wrench, could feel that he was being tugged by someone, pulling him up to his feet.

Ryan couldn't keep from squaring off as if readying for a battle.

The boy giggled and glass cases trapped Kyra and Serrif in a translucent box five meters high and one square meter to move. He readied Wrench's doll, and in he let his immagination take him away. To him, the dolls were toys, and he was about make the two clash in a battle.

Who would win was up to the boy.