A note was slipped under my office door with the words "Manhattan Donut Stock in short supply" hovering above the organic plate.
After brief enquiries at the local bar, I swiftly ascertained that the answer lay just outside the docking rings of Manhattan.
Two cups of tea and a massage later, I jumped into my loaner Starflea and headed space-side where I was greeted by...
(Drumroll)
...
Nothing.
It was then that I noted a silent 'lolwut' wafting by, shrouded in a blanket of ominous silence. Despite my various attempts to pinpoint his whereabouts at the time of the alleged aforementioned Donut disappearances, he maintained a suspicious silence and diligently continued his wafting. Either the man is deaf or rude. One can only guess that his comms were faulty at the time. (Previously his incoherent babblings were broadcast with great abandon on open comms). Nevertheless I recorded the occurrence whilst giving him the hairy eyebrow.
It was not long before a fellow with the rank of 'General' came whizzing past in a loner Starflea (much like my own at the time). He too ignored my hails... one can only imagine that a General in a Starflier has bigger things on his mind than a dwindling donut supply. I let him to his business and bothered him no more.
It did occur to me that these silent types might have Donuts stuffed in their mouths in some greedy attempt to hide the evidence but I brushed this aside as petty paranoia and continued my crusade for clues..
It was about the time of the Starflea Steering General that a particularly peculiar person in a sleek sophisticated Hessian looking ship of some sort, (A Sabre I believe), came into full view of my scanners.
The hull had the insignia 'eXistenz' branded upon it. A thought crossed my mind and unfortunately rolled out of my mouth before I could close it in time! ''Thats a quaint name for a ship''; said the idiotic I; "Does it come in man size?"
My comms suddenly came alive with an "oops" and the next thing I knew I was floating outside Manhattan in my life pod.
Dammit... the rental people are gonna kill me!
A small glitch in my matrix, a slip of the tongue and the flick of a switch and ''oops''.
I tell you, these Manhattanites take their Donuts very seriously!
When my court Marshall pertaining to the mysteriously exploding Starflea is done, I shall once again convince the rental company to give me wings!
Until then I shall be watching all who surreptitiously sample the delightful donut displays!
This is the second day of my investigative efforts into the doughnutty debacle!
My mustache has been twitching like a two week old sandwich of late! Something serious is amiss... and I am referring to more than just some dough in oil, fried to perfection before being infused with Jelly and lightly dipped in glorious caramel or chocolate!
Nay... it seems the disappearing donut debacle is part of some carefully conceived caper of catastrophic concoction!
Apparently one Admiral John Altiair (presumably some bigwig with more than a rented starflea to his name) was perplexed at the missingness of said donuts... When one of those bigwigs misses their munchies, their might becomes manifest to magnanimity of majestic monstrositousness, heck, the planet stops spinning!
I sense I shall get manpower on this one! Possibly I shall get my Watson! Although... I'd like it if the first name were Emily.. a buxom, big eyed beauty with bountiful bosoms and freckles! Yes.. this shall make the job much easier! I shall put in my requisition immediately!
My clues are somewhat nothingy at present... I guess this would make me clueless, not in the psychological sense of course, but rather in the relevance to the case sense.
I haven't been this stumped since I found out that Wendy Pringlewood was a man! A shocker indeed!
I digress.
And besides, it doesn't count if you think it's a girl... does it? Erm... moving along!
My thoughts wonder frequently to a new sect of vermin that the denizens of Sirius are referring to as "Lolwutters".
A name that sends shivers down my spine. These "Lolwutters" appear to be attempting a coup of some sort. Perchance they plan to weaken our armed forces by the ciphering of our sacred snackie poohs? A tactically genius move...
To take the Donut is mess with the morale!
I shall take a closer look at these lolwutting cretins and follow the clues where they lead me!
Behold! I shall even brave the dreaded Brothels of Crete... God help us all!
My insurance appears to have paid out for the last 'spilt coffee on console' freak accident! A terrible happenstance whereby I unwittingly flew into one Admiral Sedgewick bla bla fishpaste bigwig extraordinaire. I am not quite sure what his justification was for such explosive expletives over the system comms, His dreadnought hardly felt the impact.. I on the other hand found myself tumbling in the opposite direction in my pod (once again) whilst the bits and pieces of my civvy light fighter pirouetted peacefull past my perplexing perch.
It turned out that the insurance had deemed me worthy of another civvy light fighter which I gladly headed to pick up at that horrid Penny base with the spaced Zoners. Strange folk.. They profess peace and harmony and such, yet profit from the boisterous relations betwixt the Corsairs and Outcasts.. very perculiar bunch indeed!
I digress.
Upon the collection of my sexy civvy (a babe magnet of note I might ever so subtly add), a distress signal brought to life my shiny new console which inspired me to head out one sector 5F where those inbreeding Xeno fools were once again up to no good! Upon my arrival, I noted that the source of the mayday was a farce! Drat! Damn Xenos!
It was out of the glare of a star that they came, a swarm of noisily hooting hooligans! Firing their weapons, luanching all manner of projectile and expletive as they descended upon my brand new babe magnet... fools!
Ha!
Unbenownst to these Xeno armpit sniffers, I had sneakily snuck a devestating projectile known to normal humans as 'a torpedo' into my insurance claim. It was only after they noted the two 'perdy lights' headed towards their tightly formed mass that the inbreeders realized they had lost the game before the start whistle even blew.
I sat for a while enjoying the light show before heading over to the debris for a close inspection.. EGAD! DONUTS!
There, floating amongst the plad shirts, cheap wine and false teeth, was what I can only desribe as a MASS of Donuts... there must have been a couple of hundred of those delicious things floating there...
A quick tractoring of aforementioned delicacies and one or two oily weapons and I was on my way home.
My brain awash with wonderings and ponderings about the source of the Xeno Culinary accumulation, I set the civvy to autopilot and began piecing together the beginnings of my case!
The Zestful Xenos incident has left me thinking. Who would supply a pack of pilfering pests with our doughnutty delights?
As I dictate this message to my holo hottie, my thoughts unwilfully awash with wanderlust, it occurs to me that these terribly terrifying terrorists would usually have no interest in our sanctified edibles!
..unless..
I recall a history lesson on a certain 'whiskey to the Indians' tactic deployed by our very distant ancestors upon unsuspecting tribes in a clever but underhanded ploy to take from the unsuspecting Indians lands and goods for a mere paltry pittance!
Could it be that some Libertonian louse has audaciously addicted the Xenos to our pastries of perfection and become a supplier of our Glorious donuts in exchange for weaponry or some other Sirius knows what commodity?
I can only begin to speculate.
Xeno women are not known for their hygiene...
mmm...
Let us begin at the beginning.
Let us start with the origin.
We know that our bakers are the bakers of our Doungnutty marvels which are then supplied to retailers who supply that particular brand to our LPI.
The LPI is incorruptible?
mmm... I shall look closer at my brethren than I previously have.
I once heard of an LPI officer who had a fetish for dirty women... I was under the impression the word 'dirty' was not literal.
It appears I might have found motive!
It was upon the trail of a pack of Xenos that I stumbled upon a pack of Outcasts, who, upon my mentioning the word 'Donut', proceeded to destroy my shiny new ship with great gusto!
Luckily for me they tired of shooting at my pod after a while and left me floating there with my spilt Late' until a benevolent trader took pity upon my plight and tractored me to the safety of his hold.
Just my luck, oit was one of those Synth traders with some kind of fish extract onboard! It will take weeks to wash the smell out of my flight suit! I do believe the stench is that of old Crayfish or some other disgusting bottom feeder!
Back to the case:
As I sit here filling in application forms to Special Branch for a bigger vessel, it occurs to me that the aforementioned Outcasts appeared very twitchy indeed. Could it be that they are going cold turkey off Cardimine and replacing their first love with Caramel centred Dougnuttyness?
I speculate, it is a mere theory I alledge in some hope of a fluke! But far off the mark I imagine.
I shall log more of my findings shortly after my experiences in my new craft! Something worthy of my formidable Inspecting skills!
Well, well... today a clue sprung upon me like a Cretian lady of the night!
My training for special branch has me out in Colorado more than I care to mention, a perilous place with self perpetuating pestilence!
I am now the proud pilot of a Liberty Gunboat, a tub well suited to the training of a special branch inspector! At first i was curious as to the purpose of the vessel, but after the thirtieth Xeno was tractored into my volumous hold it occurred to me that these inbreeding ingrates were ignorant to the concept of contraception!
Besides it's lack of use in a fight against bigger ships, the Light fighter simply did not have the space for vast families of Xeno expansionism! This shiny new Gunboat is the ultimate humanitarian cure. Culling is no longer required.
I digress.
Twas upon one of my aforementioned training missions that I ran into one 'Polaris', a nefarious nutjob intent on the destruction of all things lawful!
I must admit that I was, at the time, running from a pack of howling Xenos (temporary Xenophobia). I noted his ship in passing (and kept running) yet simultaneously hit the 'scan' button.
Egad!
Donut trace!
It is not often that these nefarious types enjoy our doughnutty delights, this must be a clue!
I shall be on the lookout for this fellow! Perchance he has information pertaining to the source of the debacle!
Amidst the light shows of missile explosions I watch the zestful Xenos break into a beautiful dance with my powerful projectiles chasing their tumultuous tails!
Poetry was never this fun!
Ha! Whats more, this particular model from Special Branch comes with built in Cafe' Late' dispenser!
Solving cases will be a great pleasure indeed! The title of 'Special' Inspector comes with great perks!
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