Fillmore: Substring

Act Two: Not The Real Thing

Ingrid and Fillmore lounged by the water cooler under the still-broken television, recalling the investigation to date. It would be easier if FLSM didn't keep up the propaganda during recess and half of lunch. It would be harder if there had been much of an investigation. Following the poetry bombing, the usual suspects had been rattled for news. Augie didn't know anything. The cafeteria gossip was all flash and no substance. The wounded bard didn't know anything. It came down to forensics.

"What's the good word, Joe?" Ingrid followed Cornelius back into the ruined recital hall. "Sorry to say - not much. Here's what we got: One, the bomb was complicated. Much more so than anything we've seen before in the halls. We don't even know if it was set off by timer, remote control, what." "So, someone knows something. Can't be that many terrorist geniuses here, can there?" "Got that right, Ingrid. Anything else?"

"Not really. At least, nothing we think is serious." Tehama picked up on where Anza left off. "Two, we, uh, found some...". The island import blushed. Cornelius raised an eyebrow. "Some, uh, semen stains in the back alcove." As this nugget dropped, an impossibly fast, imperceptible glance was shared by the budding lovers, forcing the moment of silence to drag just beyond awkward. Ingrid found her voice first "Well, that, uh, can't possibly have anything to do with the investigation, right?"

Cornelius breathed out as Anza replied. Way too close. Way, way, way too close. For the millionth time, he gave thanks for Ingrid's cool. Though he had never been able to ditch the fact that she'd changed since that ordeal, and if the cool came through torture, he'd prefer the alternative, even if it was damn useful at times. This train of thought was just drawing to a close when his peripheral picked up hints of movement at the door - inside the police tape.

Usually I hate the chase, but right now, a distraction is a godsend. "Excuse me?" He took a step toward the door. The figure took one as well, and kept going. "Ingrid! Let's go!" Fillmore was first into the hallway, just quick enough to have his eyes triggered by a grease pencil rolling along the floor of the entrance to the stairs. "The third floor!" Vaulting up the stairs, Cornelius took in a slight, brown-haired kid sprinting down the hall.

Huh. He's slow. Fillmore closed most of the gap with relative ease before slowing his pace - he wanted to know where the errant fugitive was headed. Unfortunately for the investigation, the chase was a dead end - literally. Fillmore's run slowed to a walk, facing the back of his victim. "I won't ask why you chose this wing. Closed for renovations." He gestured at the fresh drywall that completely covered the end of the hallway.

The bolter paused for a second before slumping to his knees. Fillmore reached for his collar, hoisting him back to his feet. "Let's go, man."

Vallejo threw down some files on the table. "Here's what we got, people. David Shears. President of the physics society. Honour student. Full throttle nerd. Don't ask me why he was scoping out the crime scene, let alone running." Ingrid piped up. "But he could've built the bomb, right?" Vallejo's eyes scanned the record. "Lesse...pre-pre-MIT. Member of the all-state robotics team. Sure sounds like it, Third." "And how many others could do that?" The commissioner picked up on Cornelius' interjection. "Tehama is running it down as we speak. In the meantime, wanna have a chat?" He gestured at the holding cell.

"I'll rock-paper-scissors you to see who gets to check out the physics society." Fillmore chuckled. "I know better to take you on in that." Ingrid was already on her way out the door. "I'll catch you later, we can exchange notes." Fillmore nodded as he headed into the holding room, cracking his knuckles.

It was a short walk to the physics lab. The door was locked, but skills learned in Nepalese reform schools never go out of style. Ingrid slipped in, pausing just inside the threshold, listening. Nothing. I guess there's nobody here. Standing up, she groped the nearby wall for the light switch. Much better. The lab was fairly clean. Weights and magnets adorned one shelf, computers on most of the tables. A door at the back was boldly emblazoned with "Danger: Laser may be in operation." Typical middle school science.

After a quick walk around the room, Ingrid sat down at one of the computers, running a hand through her black hair. Can't think of a better place to start. Surprisingly, no password was required. She was just breaking out the command line when a scrape echoed through the room. Ingrid jumped to her feet. "Safety Patrol! Who's there?!" Another scrape...from above? Ingrid looked up. It was too late.

It was a rather large bucket. That would have been acceptable, if it had not been filled to the brim with a gooey white liquid, now drenching Ingrid to the bone. She sighed. "I don't even want to know why the physics lab has a vat of methylcellulose lying around." White gunk dripping down her body, she crouched beneath the desk. There! The tip of a shadow was inching along the far wall of the lab. Ingrid was one step into her sprint before she realized she was falling.

"Uh..." Ingrid moaned in pain, rolling around in the white goop, holding her head. One point for the tiled floor, zero for the skull. It was a few seconds before she clambered to her feet. Predictably, the fugitive was gone. Gingerly extracting herself from the extremely slippery puddle, she ruefully ran a hand through her hair, sluicing out great strings of the white liquid to cascade down her back. "I'll have to edit the Safety Patrol handbook to include a warning about the dangers of slipping after being assaulted with movie props."

About to step out of the room, Ingrid paused. Why she felt this way, she had no idea. Nevertheless, one delicate finger made it's way down to her chest, finding a particularly thick string, and slowly raising it do her mouth. She hesitated again, but then quickly sucked her finger clean and swallowed. With that, she slowly trudged out of the room, trailing sheets of translucent white down the hall. She needed a washroom.

Fillmore stomped back into the main office. "He's surprisingly stubborn for a high nerd." "I got- ". Silence fell as Ingrid pushed open the door. "I would've called, but well, yeah." She casually tossed her soaked walkie-talkie to the floor. She'd managed to clean up somewhat, but it was still rather obvious that someone had hit her with the methylcellulose. "Yeah, I got slimed in the lab. Kinda obvious, I guess." Vallejo tossed her a towel." Head to the gym, Third. They got showers. You're more than welcome to go home, but..." His voice trailed off. Ingrid nodded. "But we're busting these people."

Ingrid strolled out, and the normal buzz of activity resumed in headquarters. At least for about ninety seconds, when the TV suddenly started flashing brightly. "Wha...?" The assembled officers gathered round. Words started scrolling over the square cobweb pattern. "SAFETY PATROLLERS. RELEASE MR. SHEARS. OR ELSE. ~SUBSTRING." Vallejo gaped at the television. "Okay, we need to get a bit more serious on running this angle. Anza, you were running this down, right? I remember you said that the transmitter was being overpowered somehow, maybe you ought to call the local cable guys for assistance...". Vallejo's voice trailed off. "Anza? Anyone seen Anza?"

Locked in a bathroom stall two doors down from headquarters, eyes closed, picturing the slimed Ingrid, Joe Anza was furiously pleasuring himself - laptop balancing precariously on one knee, replaying the footage of Ingrid's brutal gangbang from the Sign of Four case. Release was almost instantaneous, as spurts splattered the stall's interior - usually kept sparkling by the Bathroom Steering Committee and X's itinerant army of janitors. As he ran out, neglecting the cleanup, he didn't even notice that in his lust-filled haze, he'd accidentally entered the girl's bathroom.

In the adjacent stall, Ingrid Third stood up. Nature had called before the shower. She couldn't help but investigate. Her eyes grew wide as she beheld the mess Anza had made. "I wonder who it was...", she murmured. Suddenly, she sank to her knees. What?! Why am I doing th-! Logical thought stopped.

Ingrid Third, the raven-haired lithe beauty, the smartest student at X, and the number two detective on the Safety Patrol, bent her mouth to the ground, and slowly licked the still-warm cum off the bathroom tiles.