Bash wasn’t a detective; he wasn’t a police officer, a League operative, or a Ranger. But he was, unfortunately, in the wrong place at the right time for one desperate mother to grab his arm and beg for his help-- she was asking everyone, anyone-- in finding her child. He could still feel the claw marks her fingers made in his flesh.

He didn’t think he was a good person-- he wasn’t doing this out of any sense of moral superiority, or even duty, really-- but he was (again, unfortunately) burdened with empathy.

Low-lying branches scratched against the back of his neck as he pushed through them, following the white and green flashes of Striga as she wove through the canopy. A shrill whistle caught his attention, and he came to stand underneath her.

There, in the tossed, loamy soil, spotted by the owl’s sharp eyesight, was a footprint.

It was very small and had a pokeball imprint on the tread-- a child’s shoe, certainly.

Striga shrieked again, and Bash looked up, another human-- this one an adult-- coming through the underbrush.

Fletcher Hyland

☉

Bash freezes, eyes and recognition bouncing between man hand gun badge gun in quick succession-- his brain supplements hand hook car door, unhelpfully-- and he raises an eyebrow, half wondering if he was too chronically online and half in awe at the fact that the guy lived in a world of magic swords, giant blade-handed rodents, and electric sheep and thought a gun was going to be threatening.

Still, he doesn't make any sudden movements. He's not been shot before, but he can't imagine it feels great.

“My name’s Bash. I’m looking for a missing kid.” He points to the shoe print, and the handful like it that slowly disappear as the mud becomes thinner and the ground solidifies.

Fletcher Hyland

☉

Bash resists the urge to snort, thinking that laughing at the guy with the gun trained on him might not be the best idea.

“The mother is a friend of mine,” he says, amazed at the emotion in his voice, how real it sounds, “and she’s very distraught. Have you made any headway? Otherwise, I think the footprint trail might be our best bet.”

His knees are getting wet from the mud. He would like to stand up now. He would like to help this guy-- or have this guy help him, either way-- find the missing child. He could not believe there was something more important than that end goal.

Fletcher Hyland

☉