The detective game

[Birras]

Birras the super robot detective:I'm shamelessley ressurecting *removes sunglasses* my own thread
Onlooker:Why?
Birras:HADO*removes monocle*KEN! That's why. *loots onlooker's body*
Later, at Onlooker's mother's house
Mrs. Onlooker:Yes?
Birras:I'm afraid your son is *removed contacts* dead.
Mrs. Onlooker:Are you serious?
Birras:Yes, I belive it was *takes reading glasses out of coat, then takes them off in a dramatic fasion* murder. *puts glasses back in coat*

 

[Brett Alex]

The air tingled with ozone. Blackness seemed to pour across the scene. I felt like a penguin watching the large oil freighter founder on the rocks and knowing what would happen.

*Removes glasses*

The stench of the Dark Arts was thick. Thick like a corrupt spider as the rain fell down on the city, like a knife wound in my heart, the centre of its web stretching out, each droplet drowning cries of pain, as it slowly twisted leaving a black um... Sorry.. I genuinely forgot where that metaphor was going.

*Puts on two pairs of glasses*

I hoped the extra pair of glasses would make up for my lack of metaphor foresight. It didn't matter, the rain was coming down hard and-

No! Stop it!

I grabbed my hammer of +16 to Undead Hitting

*Removes one set of glasses*

"There's necromancy afoot!"

 

[Anarchemitis]

The air was thick with the bustle of the city, steam, coal soot and filth. The grit of the city could choke a dog, if one were not accustomed to it.
With a rebukative and repetitive chroff of the locomotive, the train pulled away from the platform, leaving Detective Simon Wolfram alone in the station, save for the conductor, retiring to the signal box and a porter, busy with some mail bags.
"Berlin. The Eternal City of Stones." he said in a clear admiring air, starkly against the industrialist contrastive atmosphere.
With a few steps forward, a Police car could be seen to his left, eagerly awaiting the two officers standing in front of it, who were obviously waiting patiently for the detective.

 

[Brett Alex]

Both the officers blew clouds of smoke into the sky, each doing their bit to keep the city in a perpetual smog.

"Hallo, Detective Volfram? I am Hans" one of the officers dropped his cigarette to the ground, twisting his foot left and right to snuff out its hazy glow.
"Ze are expecting you at ze station, if you vould come vis us." he gestured towards the car.
His clipped English was near perfect, but it was heavy with his native tones, something even years of lessons could never remove.

The taller one, the silent one, kept puffing away. As Hans shook Wolframs hand, he regarded the detective with a mix of curiosity and disdain.
Finally stamping out his own cigarette, he moved towards the visitor and said-