OTT? Moi?

I don’t get ranty and sweary on this blog often. I do elsewhere, but not here largely because a) SL is fun for me therefore not rant-worthy 99% of the time, and b) I try to keep my potty-mouth to a minimum on this blog as people read it at work, etc. But every once in a while I like to let rip and the BBC’s crappy coverage of SL recently coincided with a period at work when some cock of stratospheric levels needed a kick in the teeth I could not provide. This irked me. I took that irkedness and poured it all over the BBC spooge-fest like bad gravy. I then moved on, my bile duct once more drained of essential juices, and forgot all about it.

Until now. A pingback from a blog about shrinks in SL sneering down on all that have the brass neck to get angry at something they hadn’t sanctioned as rage-worthy. Having failed to ensure I had my Anger (Acceptable Targets Of & Reasons For) 399c Form stamped by the relevant authorities I fear I may have compounded my heinous error by enjoying having a good old screaming session, bellowing like a wounded elk mooing into the abyss of a godless death. I imagine.

I agonised (well I considered it for a minute whilst looking for a biscuit) over whether to allow the pingback comment or just bin it, but as I’m in the mood for another rant (and, more importantly bloody short of anything write about at the moment – my scheduled posts section is emptier than a eunuch’s boxers) I thought I’d drop the offended article a comment and then copy it here to make up a post and buy me some time until I can write some real stuff up. Phew! That BBC story is paying dividends, I can tell you! I hope someone else slags off SL soon or I’m fucked.

Anyhow, here’s wot I, a mere non-shrink dumbo, said to the reet clever chappie apparently in charge of my thinking (give him his due though – it was a mental post. I must do more like that, twas most amusing to write):

HBA said
Your comment is awaiting moderation.
November 30, 2009 at 2:49 pm
Huh? A pingback? Go on then, I’ll take a looksee…

To answer your question why I went all foamy mouth Britney guy, well quite simply for the fun of it. I took a load of crappy crappola from work and transferred it to that instead. Oh, and I like swearing. Really like it. My post has no more depth than a puddle of water and the same amount of validity as your own.

So cheer up! Look on the bright side! Good old Aunty gave us both something to blog about and fill the emptiness of our lives with one more post. Although mine was, I’m sure you’ll agree, far more sweary. And funnier.

Oh, and I’ll bite at the end – who are you to say what I should get angry about. I’m guessing there’s a ton of stuff that wouldn’t make me blink but would push your buttons just how you like it. You seem a smart fella doing a clever-sounding post about whatever it is it’s about – don’t end on a dumb note like that. Or at least put some swearing in to drive home the point you’re sneering at me – come on, add some conviction to your sneers man!

 

Three Times The Fun!

Big time kudos to Holo, Mari and the others from Bay City for organising the first ever Tri-Cities parade (and to Osprey for her usual bang-up job on publicity) because the Halloween march through the cities and leap off Shermville bridge was a hoot! Everything happened on time and the party under the water afterwards was a blast!

Here I am (a zombie version of me) on my steampunk horse

The Nova Albion Parade off to meet the others on the bridge!

BAT!

The bat killed Lucy!

LisaHot plays a mean drum and fires a meaner cannon!

On the bridge a the sun came up…

Osprey looking teh sexeh!

Lucy needs a shave!

Kumi gets it oooonnnnnnn!

Holo leads the Bay City parade up the bridge…

Getting ready to jump…

Heere we all goooooooooooo!

Party with da fishes!

 

Goodunnit: Chapter 8 – Death Calls Twice!

“But not stabbed again?” Fuzz paced the room as I sat in front of his desk watching him. He reminded me of a little wooden figure going in and out of a clock, a really angry little wooden figure with claws and fangs.

“Nope. The hanging killed him for sure and he was beaten up pretty badly before that, but no stab wounds,” I replied. “Sit down Fuzz, you’re making me nervous.”

He waved my request aside and continued his pacing, “And apart from the leaflet about Dr Alter’s businesses, there was nothing to link the two deaths?” The swinging stiff had nothing on him apart from a dog-eared three-fold leaflet extolling the virtues of Dr A’s wares, all of them with innocent sounding descriptions dreamt up by some marketing type to distract from the fact that the “super powerful lighthouse beam alternative to normal bulbs” was actually a death ray capable of sinking several of O’Toole’s Ironclads in one go. The little cartoon logo of Dr Alter herself was mighty cute though…

“Er, I guess not…” I was halfway through a reply before I realised it wasn’t a question.

“But then two deaths in two days is a mighty big coincidence.”

“Well the first guy had only been dead for twelve hours or so, this new one had been hanging at least a week. Different MO, different location, different times.”

“Which could be worse!” Fuzz said running his fingers through his hair. Or fur. I was never quite sure.

“How so?” I asked.

“Two killers instead of one. And if John Doe was killed whilst investigating smugglers then I doubt the general populace is in danger, whereas if we have a different killer on the loose then who knows? It ain’t good doc, that’s for sure.”

I pushed my chair away and got to my feet, “Well if I can do anything Fuzz, you know where I am, but I have to get back to the slums.”

“Hmmm,” he was distracted, “Oh yes, your patients. You get back to them, doc, they’ll be missing you.”

“It’s more than that Fuzz,” I replied.

He looked at me, concern evident on his face, “All ok over there? I know it’s a bit wild…”

“Ha! It’s more than wild Fuzz, as you and the Council know. But it ain’t the tong this time, some Chinese kids came to my place after your nun left this morning, seems there’s a fever spreading.”

“A fever? Is it dangerous? Should I let the Council know?” Fuzz knew as well as I that the slums were a breeding ground for all manner of nasties and it bordered on some of the finest real estate in the city.

“Worried about property prices, Fuzz? We can’t have the great and the good cancelling their balls due to projectile vomiting now, can we?” I shouldn’t have said it but I said it all the same. Sometimes my mouth opens wide enough to take both of my feet in at once and right now I was knee deep in gums.

“Hey! That’s not fair doc and you know it!” Fuzz looked hurt and I felt lower than a worm’s beard.

“Yeah, sorry Fuzz, but well you know what I think about the slums and the council…” I trailed off.

“I know doc, I know. Look, get back there and find out what’s going on. Let me know and if it needs to go to the council I’ll do my best for you, fair enough?” he said with a small smile.

I smiled back “Fair enough,” and began to head for the door leaving the city’s sheriff to solve two grizzly murders in my wake.

“Doc,” Fuzz’s voice stopped me as I grasped the handle, “stay out of the dens, eh?” My shoulders went rigid and I stood stock still for long seconds before I slowly opened the door and left without saying one more goddam lousy word.

****{}****

To be continued after a short break…
All the “Goodunnit? Murder in Steelhead!” posts can be read here.

*****{*}*****

Links to other blogs and stories:
1) The murders are discussed at the weekly town hall meeting here.
2) Dr Alter discovers she’s not only in the frame again, but seems to have a publicity department she was previously unaware of here.

 

Xstreet and me

This is where I stand.

Until Linden Lab reverse or modify their position on freebies, low-cost items and “stale” stock I will not buy one more goddam thing from Xstreet. I shall use it to find things I want and then contact the makers in-world and buy direct. As I can’t build or script I have spent a considerable amount in Xstreet over my three years in world but that stops now.

Greed is greed and I do not like it.

 

Goodunnit: Chapter 7 – In the arms of a Dragon…

“Ahh Doctor, come in come in.” The small Chinese guy at the door was paid not to know me and I shot him a glance to remind him of that fact, “So sorry, Mister Smith.” His wide, thin smile was as genuine as could be expected for a low paid goon in the drugs trade who thought he was worth more than being nice to the smoke-fiends. I’d let the Dragon Lady know, let’s see how he smiled after she’d booted him down to gutting fish in the cannery for a month. His smile twitched cruelly as he opened the door for me and I crossed the threshold between worlds.

I followed the curved path down to where a darkly translucent curtain divided me from my goal ahead. I could feel the tendrils of desire creeping around it, wafting towards me, and all the nuns in Steelhead couldn’t stop me now. I breathed the thick air in deep and pushed through the curtain to a room of cots and smoke and beautiful women.

They pamper you there. They guide you, help you, lose you and leave you.

I was in the smoke. With the Dragon lady. In the curls of her hair. Wrapped in the folds of her dress. I was far gone. I was with them again. Back with my family. Back with my wife.

**{}**

Through the darkness of impossible dreams hands found me. Strong hands. Cold hands, cold like metal. I was lifted up, borne aloft to fly safe from harm. Somewhere, in the night, someone was sawing a double bass in half. What a strange thing to do.

**{}**

The knock on the door was almost as unwelcome as the bright morning light assaulting my eyes. I stood, naked to the waist and with the face of a dead dog, and wobbled my way to the door. “Sister Sweetcheeks,” I growled at the shocked nun. Someone had replaced my throat with a bag of gravel and every word hurt like a punch in the tonsils, “to what do I owe this very great pleasure?”

The young nun tried to stop her eyes skiing down my chest and failed, she gulped hard and spun around to look out across the harbour, her face even prettier with some colour in it, “Another murder, doctor!”

Another? Once more she provided the slap I needed to wake up. When I had time, I’d like to think about that some more, but right now I had questions looking for answers, “Who? Where? Was it Dr Alter’s squid again?”

“No,” she replied not turning around but sneaking a sideways glance at me, “In the old tunnels, some poor wretch has been found hung! Sheriff Ortega has arranged for the body to be taken to your temporary morgue in the naval offices. He asks if you can get a report to him right away.”

“Does he now? Well tell him I’ll get on it right away, but I’ll be calling in these favours from the city soon enough.”

“Favours?” Sister Sweetcheeks looked round at me, her eyes alive with curiosity. God but they were beautiful eyes.

“You tell him Sis, the city owes Beck some overtime,” I smiled into her eyes, “and I intend to collect that cheque.”

****{}****

To be continued…
All the “Goodunnit? Murder in Steelhead!” posts can be read here.

*****{*}*****

Links to other blogs and stories:
1) The murders are discussed at the weekly town hall meeting here.
2) Dr Alter discovers she’s not only in the frame again, but seems to have a publicity department she was previously unaware of here.

 

Magellan Resurfaces!

I popped in-world to pick up a simple delivery and was immediately IMed by ever wonderful Marianne McCann who had the amazing news that her Magallen Detector Ring was going crazy… the great man was in-world!

[13:49:58] Marianne McCann: [13:49] Magellan Linden’s Status Item: Magellan is on the grid!

The Mag is back! I tweeted the news right away and asked the big guy for a signed photo for the Rodeo Explorer’s Base

 

Goodunnit: Chapter 6 – A Nasty Case of Death!

I tossed the report on the sheriff’s desk, “There’s your post mortem.”

The sheriff looked down at my scrawl and then back up at me, “And?”

“What? You can’t read now?” I snapped.

“Don’t get cute with me, doc.” His tone was calm but I heard the snarl behind the words.

“Okay, sorry Fuzz but it’s been a rough day and frankly I’d like to tie it in a sack and kick it into the ocean!” A nun shuffling past with coffee for us looked at me and raised an eyebrow, a perfectly curved eyebow above a eye of emerald green. I smiled a smile and hoped to hell no one could read my mind right. As she left, she bent over to pop a chunk of cheese in the cells for Willard and my gaze fell on her curves like honey over a spoon, “Still, it’s had its moments, I’ll admit,” I added, suddenly a little distracted.

“Thank you Sister Mattic,” Fuzz said with a wry smile, “I’m sure Willard can do without his treat for now.” She nodded and bustled off. “Doc, doc, doc, what is it with you and nuns?”

“A habit, Fuzz, a bad habit.”

He smiled a frown, which is a nice trick, “The report? What does it say? How did this guy die?”

“Bottom line he was stabbed, several times, looks like a sword.” I replied.

“A sword? What type of sword? Rapier? Broad?”

“From the wounds I’d say a cutlass. Large flat blade. He was stabbed three times in the abdomen and two in the chest and had defensive wounds to his arms, hands and thighs. I say he fought back but was probably unarmed at the time.”

“Nasty,” Fuzz muttered with a shake of his head.

“Well it was no prom dance, that’s for sure,” I replied.

“What about the green goo around him?” Fuzz asked.

“Hard to say, but my best guess is some form of mucus membrane produced by the squiddy thing to protect itself. Dr A thinks that her wee pet was deliberately mutated to a point where a human could be fed to it, although how she didn’t know.”

“So whoever mutated the goo-beast did so with the intention of getting rid of a body. Only the goo didn’t like what was on the menu, wrapped it up and waited for Mother Nature to work her magic,” Fuzz filled in.

“Sounds about right to me. So you know how he died, but not who he is, why he ended up like a pin cushion and who had a beef with him.”

“Actually I do know who he is,” Fuzz said in a matter of fact way.

I sat up, “You do? Who? How?” I asked like a turkey just being told about Christmas.

“Pinkertons. Came in, saw the body, IDed him as John Doe.” Fuzz stated with an odd expression.

“John Doe? You have to be joking? Who the hell is called John Doe?” something about this case smelt worse than the Skylar child and I didn’t like it.

“Apparently he was. It’s a good ID, solid.” Fuzz said.

“But what the hell are the Pinkertons doing here? And how do they know him?” I asked.

“Turns out he was here investigating smuggling in those precious slums of yours. I’m guessing he found his way to something, or someone, he shouldn’t and was perforated for his troubles.”

The slums? My slums? “You’re thinking the Bing Kong aren’t you? So what next?” the Bing Kong were not just a thorn in my side, but as whole rose bush in my tush.

“Next? Next you go home doc. It’s police business now. Thanks for your help an’ all, but we can take it from here.”

Damn him, I knew he was right, but damn him.

“Look, I’ll let you know what happens, but you’ve done your part. You have patients that need you, and I’ve taken you away from them for a whole day. Get some sleep and get back to them doc.” Fuzz smiled warmly but he looked weary.

“Don’t worry about me, Sheriff,” I stood and picked up my bag, “you look tired enough for the both of us.” I said my goodbyes and cycled off. Sure I was tired, tired like Santi Claus on Boxing Day, but I was damned if I was going home. I cycled off along a shortcut through the hills behind Shanghai and headed for the hotel that rose high above the harbour, although what I was looking for lay deep below it…

****{}****

To be continued…
All the “Goodunnit? Murder in Steelhead!” posts can be read here.

*****{*}*****

Links to other blogs and stories:
1) Sheriif Ortega’s intial desk report is here and here
2) The murder is discussed for the second time at the weekly town hall meeting here.
3) Read more about the urchin Skylar in his tale about being lost in Steelhead’s wilderness here.

 

Hey! Journos! Bored of writing news? Kick SL instead.

Warning: This post contains a lot of swearing. Do not read if you don’t like that sort of stuff. Normal service from a once more calm Burro will be resumed soon.

Flicking through the BBC’s inline Magazine (something I never do – it’s about as interesting as Heat except minus the gossip and pictures of starlets with there norks flopping out) I saw a headline about Second Life, specifically “What happened to Second Life?” and I made the mistake of reading it (1).

Well, what a big old bag of toss that was. I’ll boil it down for you.

1) SL hit the headlines in 2006 and you suddenly couldn’t shit or have sex if you didn’t have an account.
2) Some businesses came in, riding the wave of hype and hoping to make money and not get left behind in something they knew nothing about.
3) They left after finding SL wasn’t the place for them to, oooo lemme think, sell cars.
4) SL is not facebook and is therefore doomed.
5) Oh, some stuff about new people joining still rising, bah, who cares – read 4) again!

There you go. That’s your lot. Some bored fuckface pretend journalist tippytypes that lot of piss on her airbook and shoves it up the ever hungry bunghole of the 24-hour news whore until the slutty she-beast vomits up pure shit and teeth for us to wallow in. News she-whore craps out some shinny pennies so pretend journalist can pay her rent for another week. The end.

Still, as I have just turned three and my love for my second life is still fresh and warm in my mind (like a French loaf, freshly baked, shoved betwixt my lugholes), I wanted to disagree with the piece in a nice grown up and constructive way and this is the comment I left – fek knows if they’ll use it, but I’d urge you to go along and leave your thoughts too – keep ‘em clean and constructive and don’t sink to the pretend jouro’s level of nonsense.

****************************
I’ve just had my third “birthday” in Second Life and fully intend to have many more there. I attribute my happiness there to four simple rules I follow, three DON’Ts and one DO:

1) I don’t run a business – I have enough of that in real life. Second Life is a hobby and I’m willing to pay for my hobby.

2) I don’t get into relationships – far too dangerous as I’m a happily married family man. My friends in Second Life are just that, friends, and not ‘friends with benefits’.

3) I don’t get involved in arguments and fighting – again, enough of that in real life. A hobby should be fun, not a slog.

4) I do have a reason to go there – like real life, Second Life is not Facebook, which is simply about keeping in touch with people in your network. Second Life is a world where you can do and create anything so going there expecting it to be a Facebook network won’t work. You have find something to do – explore, build, write, create. You’ll get back only as much as you put in. It’s very much like real life like that. I was lost at first, but quickly found new friends and new things to do. These days, amongst other things, I help run a travelling vaudeville theatre group and write & perform comedy acts – something I’d never have thought of doing in real life. In fact my second life is as busy and involved as my first.

Second Life will never be for every one – hell, I have no interest in Facebook and can’t stand football, yet no one predicts their demise because I don’t like them. Second Life has a healthy and growing population that doesn’t need hype and counter-hype to continue to grow and enjoy it.
****************************

Oh, and by the way, don’t you just love Social Media Marketers, whatever it is they are? (2) Here’s an extract from one such poor, lost, scared soul who is hurt and confused by the whole thing, despite having a totally made up job title that means he’s a brave soldier battling the darkness of “selling stuff to people”, only without actually selling the stuff. Or making it. Or handling it. Basically he tells people that things exist they don’t understand but other people do and therefore they must fear them unless he is paid to use them to allow them to sell their stuff to the other people. Like I say, brave lad and lasses all. Go the future.

“[Mr X], a 23-year-old freelance social media marketer, believed the hype in 2007. He signed on, created an avatar with a shock of red hair that vaguely resembled him, and jumped into what he found to be a lacklustre experience. “It was a real pain. You have to learn how to control things and read manuals on how to get to islands and get off. Half the time you’re just wandering around talking to weirdos.” After three months [Mr X] became bored and left.”

Fuck me! You have to learn a new skill? A whole new skill? You don’t just turn on the PC and know how to do it like you do with every other bit of software ever invented? And you say there’s a manual to read? No fucker gave me a manual to read! I want my manual! Especially if it tells you how to get off – something I was pretty sure the media thought we Second Lifers could do quite well anyway. Now, for a 23 year old self-proclaimed social media marketer (3) to admit he spent three months in SL and couldn’t use it where I, a mere mortal with no social media skills or powers, picked it up in a few hours would lead me to think twice about ever employing him to do whatever the fuck it is he does. You don’t hire a dog to guard your house if all it does it is wank over pictures of iPhone apps and complain the house isn’t the type of house it normally guards and therefore is can’t possible be expected to guard it. No, that’s the kind of dog you take to an Eastern European bear fight and throw in the ring for a laugh.

Hell, after 3 months *I* was bored, but I simply put in the time and effort to find something to make me not bored. But then that would mean ‘doing’ somthing and ‘doing’ might not be Mr X’s strong point given his *cough* ‘job’.

Anyway, fuck it. Fuck the article and fuck something else as well. SL isn’t Facebook and if you can’t handle and understand that then frankly I’m glad you fucked off. Don’t come back.

Yours with hugs n love,
HeadBurro Antfarm.
*******************

(1) Dio, if the piece about the Web killing reading made you piss blood, this will cause you to shit your spine out.

(2) Me either. I’m sure some are lovely and useful but I’ll bet they are the ones we never hear about – instead the whining pissbags who can’t be arsed to do a real job float to the surface like week-dead corpses farting their vapid guts out for all to hear. The good ones should form a posse and shoot the others in their stupid flapping mouths. For fuck’s sake, get a real job if you can’t handle a made up one you twats.

(3) I like the mouseketeers better – at least they were useful and I’ll bet they could kick the limp little arses of Mr X and his Marketeering Posse of Doom.

(4) I know I don’t swear a lot in this blog, but I’d say the above is a fair representation of my normal speech. I do swear like a fucker.

 

I Is Three…

Three years ago today I logged in to my first ever virtual world of any sort. I have been one and then I was two, but now I am three.

At one I wrote a lot about how my life had changed and I had a big old party. At two I did neither. At three I think I shall only do the former.

I came in as the Boy Next Door av and was lost. I enjoyed flying, but kept myself to myself and found the world cold and sort of unfriendly. I camped. I wanted a better skin. I gave up camping and put some money into my life. I ended up at Murray. I made some poor choices. I wasted so much time pissing about fighting silly griefers when I could have been doing something worthwhile. Still, I made friends and laughed a lot. I remember looking like an extra from The Matrix for a while *shakes head*. I was like a child growing up, distracted by what my more eloquent friends would call ephemera but in reality was just crap. I didn’t take photos for the first six months because I didn’t realise they could be free – hell, at first I didn’t know you even had a camera. The only shots I have of me at this time are after the Murray & griefer fighting stage. I was no longer a Neo-clone but back to being the boy next door, just with some spending money…

I continued to grow up. I bought land, began to explore, began to learn about the history of the world. I wanted more. I was hungry for something. I found I had few friends left, people leaving or partnering up or getting on with their lives. I started to travel, to write and I began to suspect I had found a purpose. I began a process of remoulding myself. I stripped away what I was and had been. I became abstracted. I changed. I became the gazelle. My form solidified.

I continued to grow up. I mourned – and still mourn – the loss of so many friends, but I met so many new ones. I had left home, left my family and was now in the world on my own. It had taken a year but I had done it. I found new outlets for my creative purpose. I joined the show, I explored, I wrote tales, I took photographs.

And now, three years into my second life, I continue to grow up. I am still in the show, but my explorations and photography have given way to an increased desire to roleplay and write. In the last few months I have created and written more than I had done in the entire preceding two and a half years. After years of looking without realising it, I have found a community for the first time. I am making new friends – this time though, my old friends aren’t leaving and vanishing, indeed one or two of my oldest friends may even be on their way back which makes me very happy indeed (come back Anni – I miss you!). I am on the cusp of a new phase of my second life – although it ceased being my second life a long time ago and is simply my life, as real as my house, family and work.

I’m a lucky Burro. I continue to grow up. I look forward to the next twelve months with excitement.

I is three.

 

Goodunnit: Chapter 5 – Looking a little flushed…

Cuter than Christmas yet deadlier than Death itself, Dr Malegatto Alter was a tiny kitty with brains, brawn and seriously big ballistics. Not that I’d ever tell her she was cute, hell there’s only one man brave enough to do that and rumour has it she’d burnt his house down as a thank you. No, when you find yourself knee-deep in a piranha pool it’s not a good idea to cut yourself shaving as my old mum always said, “The sheriff knows I’m here,” I blurted hoping the edge of fear wouldn’t show through my voice.

The green eyes bore through me, her metal claw (a drunk once told me that she’d lost her arm pulling Satan’s heart out through his stomach and I was tempted to believe him) twitched a little as she regarded me with the level of loathing normally reserved for cockroaches, slugs and unexpected houseguests. “Well bully for you,” she said after a pause so long it could only be measured in lifetimes or games of Monopoly, “but that hardly answers the twin questions of who the devil is in my Squiddy Thing and why, now does it?”

“I guess not, I need to get him out before I can try. Any ideas?” I tried to sound a whole heap braver than I felt and I was under no illusions about my failure in the matter.

“Ideas? Ideas? Of course I have some ideas you blithering fool! Right at this moment the idea I’m giving quite a lot of time to involves you, some rope and the quay if you ask any more stupid questions!”

Her whiskers quivered in rage and I found myself thinking how adorable it was. I even contemplated reaching out to scratch behind here ears, but the thought of my hand being torn off and rammed down my throat brought me to my senses. “I mean about how to get the stiff out of your little pet here, assuming you don’t want me to slice it open…” it wasn’t a great comeback as comebacks go, but hand-tear-throat-ram you know.

“I most certainly do NOT want my sqiddy thing cutting up! I have prepared a solution that will cause a metabolic reaction within the creature that should expel the foreign body in a safe, natural manner.”

“You mean…”

“That’s right, I’ve created a squid laxative!” she let out a peel of evil laughter that would have given Satan the willies, were he not dead due to having a heart-shaped hole in his abdomen. “Ahem,” she stopped laughing with a slight cough, “sorry, force of habit and all that.”

“Some habit,” I said, “must make playing Trivial Pursuit a real pain in the keister.”

“You have no idea,” she muttered darkly.

I tactfully changed the subject “So, this squiddy exlax, how do we administer it? Some form of injection?” I walked towards the green column, wondering at the best place for a needle. There was no answer and when I turned I saw Dr Alter struggling into what looked like a deep sea diving suit. She twisted the helmet on and looked up at me. I could see her mouth moving but couldn’t make out a word. I make the universal pointing at my ears sign and mouthed “What?”

She flipped out the glass “I said, I already have.”

Behind me was a loud, low rumble followed by a slow ripping sound.

“Oh sh…” was all I managed to say before a torrent of liquefied squid innards and dead John Doe crashed into my back and I washed past Dr Alter in a stinking waves of green slime. I’d swear she was smiling inside her helmet as I passed her.

****{}****

To be continued…
All the “Goodunnit? Murder in Steelhead!” posts can be read here.

*****{*}*****

Links to other blogs and stories:
1) Sheriif Ortega’s intial desk report is here and here
2) Dr Alter notices the body here and here.
3) Elle reports that the issue was raised at the town hall meeting here.
4) The murder is discussed at the weekly town hall meeting here.