[Grant Moore]

[attr="class","shinigami"]

On the case!

Grant had only been in Tokyo a few months now when he received the strangest case of his career.

On the force back in America, his small town hadn’t dealt with much crime. It was mostly just a bureaucratic slog; things like speeding tickets and stopping fights at dive bars.

As a private investigator, his career had mostly been tracking people down on behalf of jilted or jealous lovers. Occasionally, he’d get a call about a theft that the police weren’t taking seriously enough- which was exactly what had brought him out to this modest suburban home in the bay.

Nothing valuable had been stolen though. The only object that had been taken was the microwave and a few old power cables from a junk drawer.

With quirked up villains on the loose, the police only had so much time for something so trivial, apparently assigning minimum support to the case. And so he’d been contacted by the owner to get to the bottom of this.

As Grant arrived, he was greeted by a cantankerous old man who spent the first five minutes or so loudly complaining about police response and the state of society. Once he’d calmed down a little, Grant managed a few words.

”And you said nothing else was taken, correct?”

”Yes, none of my late wife’s jewelry was stolen. My lock box was untouched too. Just the goddamn microwave and a few random cables! Weren’t you listening?”

Grant put his hands up in a placating motion. ”Yes, I understand. Do you know of anyone who’d hold some sort of grudge? Perhaps an upset neighbor, or a child playing a prank?”

The older man only seemed to grow more frustrated. ”No!” He exclaimed. ”I don’t have any fucking problem with my neighbors. Are you gonna figure out who did it or not?”

Sighing in resignation, Grant put his fingers to the bridge of his nose. ”I’ll do everything I can. May I come inside and look around?”

The owner simply swung the door open and Grant stepped in, taking his boots off at the entrance before making his way towards the kitchen.

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[Tobias Murakami]

Sometimes, working for a public agency comes with confounding miscommunications. For example, Dispatch might elect to send one of their contracted employees (like Mr. Moore) to calls that “weren’t serious enough” to warrant actual police or hero response– only to neglect to remove the call from the board, and neglect to annotate that Mr. Moore had been sent. Such a scenario is what led Tobias Murakami to be dispatched to the call regarding the stolen microwave. It was his first official call as a member of the Ouros Agency, which came-through on his radio.

“A… microwave?” the redhead intoned, rising from his desk-chair as he retrieved the keys to his work-vehicle.

“Yes, Detective Murakami, a microwave. And some power cords. The RP was very distraught over their disappearance, and is requesting an investigation.”

“Understood,” Tobias said simply, breathing a sigh, “Murakami, en route to the RP’s location. Ten minute ETA.”

“10-4, en route.”

With a groan, Tobias donned his duty belt and trudged through the door of his office, holstering his work-phone and his radio as he went. He followed the familiar serpentine halls towards the parking lot, selecting a non-descript black sedan from a line of similar vehicles. The engine coughed to life, and the black car reversed from its spot before pulling away.

***

When Murakami arrived on-scene, he briefly alerted dispatch of his arrival before disembarking from the vehicle, straightening his tie and smoothing the front of his suit with the palms of his hands. An older gentleman stood at the front door, looking waspish. He thinned his eyes at the redhead as he approached.

“What do you want?!” the old man snapped.

“I’m Detective Murakami, I was sent from Ouros Agency regarding your call about the microwave?” the redheaded pro said simply, bowing at the waist.

“Does the Ouros Agency give its heroes pocket watches?! Your buddy got here a good twenty minutes ago.”

“I… beg your pardon, sir?”

“You’re late, Detective Layabout! Your partner’s been inside doing all the work.”

Partner…? Dispatch didn’t say anything about a partner… and he seriously doubted that they'd been there for twenty minutes.

“Oh, pardon me,” Tobias said with another bow, “I was tied-up on another call, sir. Let me confer with my partner and we’ll be certain to get this taken care of.”

Better to save face in front of the public with a little white lie than to flatly contradict them and look like an ass. Tobias toggled the bone-mic that was looped into one of his ears, giving a mild, “Dispatch, was another unit sent from a different agency?”

A pregnant silence fell. This afforded Tobias the time to lean down and place plastic covers over his shoes before stepping into the abode. Once out of the homeowner's line of vision, he called-out to the apparent "partner" within.

“Hello? Is there another detective on the premises?” Tobias called-out. What if it was a trap, and he had just blown his cover? What if it was a sting operation? A thrill of fear flooded Tobias’s chest, and the man put a steadying hand over his sternum. It was as if a spectral hand had clenched itself around his lungs, causing the corners of his vision to go momentarily dim.

It’s fine. It had to be some sort of departmental oversight. You aren’t in danger, Murakami.

[Grant Moore]

[attr="class","shinigami"]

On the case!

As he entered the home, a few things became immediately apparent.

First, the old man clearly lived alone. Aside from Grant’s own shoes, there had been only one other pair. There was only one place set at the dinner table as well.

Second, his house was relatively unscathed. There weren’t any boot prints in the carpet or pieces of furniture moved out of place. None of the drawers had been scavenged through either, save for the junk drawer in the kitchen. As he said, the jewelry box on his wife’s shrine was untouched as well.

Third, there were no signs of forced entry. The locks on the windows weren’t broken, and there was no damage to either the front or back door, nor their hinges.

This meant that whoever had stolen his microwave was no angry neighbor or mischievous child menace. It was someone who clearly knew what they were doing and had no intentions of being caught. The question then became…

Why a microwave?

Sure enough, when he arrived at the kitchen, he could see first hand the lack of a microwave. There was also a clear delineation in where it had been prior to being stolen. Not that the resident was a particularly messy person, but the section of the counter where it had previously been sat was slightly cleaner than the rest of the counter, giving an idea of how large it was.

He’d hardly been here ten minutes when he heard a knock at the front door. Before he could investigate any further, he heard a voice call out to him.

”Yes, there is. Grant Moore, private investigator.” he called out, tucking away the moleskine journal he’d been taking notes on into his jacket.

Another?

He sighed. ”I assume the precinct forgot to check off a box when they outsourced the case to me. Apologies for the confusion, detective.” he offered, walking towards the voice and attempting to meet the new arrival.

Grant was just shy of six feet tall, wearing a tweed jacket and suit slacks over crimson skin. His long, brown hair was tied up in a ponytail- revealing his pointed ears and yellow, pupil-less eyes. His jaw jutted out to a degree, making him look somewhat like a neanderthal. His deep baritone voice rang clear as a bell.

”I’ve always said two heads are better than one, especially on an oddball case like this.” He said, holding out his hand.

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[Tobias Murakami]

Tobias was all but gasping for air when another voice replied to him from further into the house. An immediate answer, containing the other investigators full name, was given. The redhead moved cautiously towards the voice, and nearly bumped into the man he assumed it belonged to. The two were of a similar stature and dress– though this man’s appearance seemed rather like the oni of Japanese folklore. The only indication that Tobias was quirked was the rivulets of gold that twisted over every square inch of his body.

“Pardon me, Detective Moore,” Tobias said with a bow, “I’m Tobias Murakami, I’m with Ouros Agency. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Feeling rather awkward about the whole kerfuffle, the detective was reluctant to stay– someone was already assigned to the job, after all, and it wasn’t a very shrewd use of resources…

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Tobias was quick to reassure Mr. Moore, bowing again, “I apologize for intruding upon an investigation that was already underway…”

Even if it was just for a microwave.

The other man seemed to handle the mistake with grace, extending a hand towards Tobias as a sort of peace-offering. Well, what the hell– dispatch still hadn’t gotten back to him regarding the mess-up, and the cantankerous old man was likely still keeping watch just beyond the front door… Tobias might as well lend a hand, particularly if Mr. Moore was amicable to the help.

Tobias clasped Moore’s hand in his own, exchanging a resolute handshake with him.

“What have you found so far-?” Tobias asked, not wanting to overstep or be redundant. Steely grey eyes roved over the countertops of the kitchen, and over the ground, sweeping for any hints of mischief. It was... incredibly clean, spare the absence of an obvious microwave.

[Grant Moore]

[attr="class","shinigami"]

On the case!

Grant took the other man’s hand firmly. “A pleasure, Detective Murakami.”

An exhausted sigh escaped his lips. ”It seems nothing other than a microwave and a few cords were taken. Doesn’t seem like the thief was an amateur, either- so it probably wasn’t a disgruntled neighbor or prank from a kid. I just don’t understand why a microwave of all things..”

He ran a hand through his long hair, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before looking back up at Tobias. ”Maybe we can canvas the neighborhood? See if anyone else saw anything?”

If the crime weren’t so odd, Grant would have an easier time mapping out his gameplan. It was hard to think of a motive for why someone would steal a microwave and nothing else. If they literally just needed a microwave, it would’ve been less work to steal money or something valuable and pawn it. They took seemingly random cords from the junk drawer as well.

”Whoever our thief is, they’re focused on electronics. Maybe our caller isn’t the only victim.”

Grant craned his neck to look over his new companion’s shoulder, calling out to the old man. ”Has anyone else in the neighborhood complained about their electronics going missing? Cords? Batteries?”

”How the hell should I know?!” The older man snapped.

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