Private Detective Frank Uture stepped out from behind his privacy screen with a bloody mouth and tremors in his steps like they'd installed all his bones upside down and the wrong way around. The corpse; my corpse, not my corpse but the one that I put there, lay on the brown-washed pavement not breathing — a sure sign that I'd done what needed to be done. As a junior detective, I didn't have much to do at the time. I hadn't worked a scene like this before. I didn't think I'd get assigned to it, but I had to show up for there to be any chance of my getting sleep without a lead suppository. As a general rule, the cybo-brass always call in private detectives when a cop has been found dead, since it's almost always another cop that's done it but I didn't realise they had staffers on the sidelines too. Frank opened his mouth, stuck out his mangled tongue with all the sharp little shards sticking out of it like he'd just sucked on the end of a fibreglass cigarette, and went "ahhhhhh!" to prove he had, in fact, swallowed a whole clock — hands and all. I was then instructed to wail on him with a big metal stick to, quote, "ring in the dang ol' new year." 💀 💀 💀 💀 WELCOME TO THE NEW STINK; THE BONE ZONE HALF HOUR - NIPPING AT YOUR CHEEKS ONCE A MONTH LIKE THE GHOST OF A FLEA! TWO STORIES AND A JOKE IN THIS ONE, AREN'T YOU A LUCKY LITTLE GUY? IF YOU LIKE THIS, SEND MY REGARDS TO YOUR MAMA AND THEN SEND ME MONEY ON PATREON.COM/SBDA STAY SAFE, OR DON'T! x

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“What did the council decide on item 42?” — answered with the speaker and the moment.

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