Carmen Sandiego, The Queen of thieves ((1930s Gangster au))

[Laverna]

Chapter one: The stormy weather

It was supposed to be any other day. Carmen was busy catching up on tasks that kept VILE running smoothly, tucked away in a small boarded-up building in an abandoned ghost town—an ideal spot where no one would think to look for her. She tapped away on her keyboard, checking the status reports from her henchmen when suddenly the lights flickered and went out.

“Hmm?” she murmured, a hint of confusion creeping into her voice.

Moments later, the lights flickered back on, and she let out a sigh of relief, thinking it was just a temporary glitch. But just as she settled back into her work, darkness enveloped the room once more, plunging her into an unsettling blackout.

Carmen hadn't anticipated her entire system shutting down. The sudden loss of power made the seasoned thief tilt her head in confusion. Yet, her AI companion, Chief, remained active.

"Wow, you really invited me to stay in an empty building? That’s unforgivable," Chief complained, bobbing about.

"Isn't it boarded up because it's hurricane season?" Carmen inquired, her voice playful as she attempted to determine if Chief was being serious.

She averted her gaze from the talkative Chief; her thoughts were focused on her research when his display suddenly disappeared, making her turn back in surprise.

Carmen raised an eyebrow as Chief’s usual holographic head transformed into an automata doll
Dressed in a suit, purple bow tie, and fedora.

"I’m not even going to question this," Carmen muttered, catching the now-screaming Chief as he tumbled toward her.

“To be caught by a beautiful woman… to die in her embrace,” Chief sighed melodramatically as if facing his final moments.


Chief’s porcelain face, now cracked slightly from the fall, gave her a wistful look. “If this is the end, at least I went out in style,” he muttered, still stuck in his overdramatic tone.

Carmen, unfazed, placed him gently on a nearby desk. “You're not dying, Chief. But it looks like we've stepped into the past,” she said, glancing around at the outdated devices.

Carmen felt an odd sensation wash over her, a sudden shift in her clothing that was both jarring and uncomfortable. The undergarments she had been wearing transformed into a long-line girdle, constricting her waist in an unfamiliar way.

 

[Laverna]

Her cozy sweater morphed into a lovely gray dress that fell gracefully below her knees, its elegant fabric swirling around her as she moved. Back seam tights attached themselves seamlessly to garters, creating an alluring silhouette. The red heels she had been wearing vanished, replaced by leather kitten heels adorned with golden buckles that clicked softly against the floor.

Even her outerwear changed; her jacket transformed into a delicate, feminine wool coat that accentuated her figure. Silk driving gloves slipped onto her hands, adding an air of sophistication. Finally, her hair underwent a stunning transformation, shifting into neat pin curls tucked elegantly beneath a more refined fedora.

Carmen caught a glimpse of herself in a nearby mirror, taken aback by the vintage style that had overtaken her appearance. “Great,” she muttered, adjusting the fedora with a hint of irritation. “Just what I needed—an unexpected fashion makeover.”

The moment the scent hit her, Carmen’s nose twitched in irritation. It was an overwhelming blend of tobacco, spices, and vanilla that invaded her senses, a sudden sensory shift that felt more annoying than frightening. She glanced down at herself, noting the unexpected transformation. Her makeup had shifted to a more subdued palette, yet the red lipstick gleamed sharply against her delicate features, lending her an edge she hadn’t anticipated.

Everything around her felt jarring as if the world had suddenly taken a step back in time. Carmen shook her head, trying to dismiss the discomfort. Across from her, Chief stared in shock, his porcelain features locked in an expression of awe. If a doll could blush, he would have been bright pink, his wide eyes betraying a mixture of admiration and concern.

“Carmen, what just happened?” he stammered, his voice trembling with confusion.

Carmen took a deep breath, trying to adjust to the sudden changes around her. “I have no idea,” she replied, irritation creeping into her voice.

Carmen scooped Chief up, curiosity overtaking her as she inspected his new form. It had been decades since Chief had a physical body, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the changes. She tugged gently at his clothes, her fingers brushing against the soft mohair of his short, slightly curly blonde hair.

“Sorry, Chief. You’re just so cute,” she said with a playful grin before giving him a big snuggle, feeling the coldness of his porcelain body against her.

“Carmen, you’re going to break me!” he grumbled, his voice a mix of indignation and surprise.

Carmen gently placed Chief in the outer pocket of her coat, where he nestled comfortably. At just five inches tall and three inches wide, he resembled a ball-jointed doll, his porcelain form contrasting with the fabric around him. She pinched herself, hoping to wake from what felt like an absurd dream. The sharp pain that shot through her nerves confirmed her reality.

With Chief nestled safely in her pocket, she navigated the environment with purpose, keenly observing her surroundings. The world felt different yet familiar, each shadow and whisper beckoning her like clues in a case waiting to be solved. She relished the thrill of the hunt, channeling her youthful determination as she pieced together fragments of information, her instincts sharp and focused.

 

[Laverna]

As she moved through the space, she felt a sense of empowerment wash over her, as if the past had merged seamlessly with the present. This was more than just a bizarre situation; it was an opportunity to reclaim the thrill of being a master thief and a cunning detective all over again.


Carmen rubbed her temples,“Great, just what I needed,” she muttered, determined to push through the discomfort.

Carmen quickly grabbed a fountain pen from the desk and scribbled down some objectives on a scrap of blank paper, tearing it into a size that Chief could easily hold. She carefully noted his tasks, emphasizing the importance of staying in the room for now.

After writing it out, she folded the paper and handed it to Chief. “Here you go, Chief. Stick to these, and don’t wander off.”

Once she set him gently on the floor, Chief straightened up, ready to tackle his
chores
Chief hurried off, his small frame darting across the room and reminding Carmen of a mouse scurrying about in search of crumbs. She couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, even as she focused on her tasks
Carmen decided to look for the music box first, thinking it would likely be an easier find. The room was filled with shadows and antique furniture, but her keen eye scanned the area for any sign of the ornate box.

Carmen spotted a photo of herself, taken before she became a thief, resting atop a beautifully crafted wooden box adorned with golden details of a phoenix. The black-and-white image showed her as a teenager, dressed in early 1910s attire that made her look more like a scruffy newspaper boy than a lady.

The inscription on the box reads, "To Detective Carmen Sandiego, in honor of her fifteenth birthday." Confusion washed over her as she stared at the photo. She wasn’t alive in the 1910s—how could this image exist? The sight of it, along with the phoenix, which was the calling card of Devineaux, a former co-worker from her time at the Acme Detective Agency, left her puzzled. This bizarre twist only deepened the mystery of her current situation, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something extraordinary was at play.

Carmen tried to open the box, but it was locked with a mechanism that seemed almost childishly simple. Impatiently, she shook it, hoping to rattle it open, but it remained stubbornly shut. Annoyed, she huffed, realizing she’d have to wait for Chief to find the key. She glanced around the room, searching for any sign of him. "Come on, Chief," she muttered to herself, eager to move forward.

Carmen decided to pass the time by rummaging through the other boxes and trinkets scattered around the room. She opened a red tin box labeled "Mascara" and was surprised to find a black hard square and a tiny brush inside.

“Cake mascara—now that’s a relic,” she chuckled, holding it up for a closer look. “It’s like watercolor; you definitely shouldn’t cry with this on.”

The sudden ringing of a phone pierced the silence, echoing with a sharp "bring bring" that jolted Carmen to her feet. Instinct kicked in, and she hurriedly headed out of the room, knowing all too well that it was a house phone—whoever was calling could have vital information. Her heart raced as she dashed down the hall, her mind racing with possibilities. In her urgency, she left the door ajar, the faint sound of the ringing phone guiding her steps as she navigated the unfamiliar space, eager to uncover what awaited her on the other end of the line.

Chief suddenly emerged from under the couch, his expression a mix of confusion and excitement. "I found the key! A mouse had it, and I fought the mouse," he declared proudly, hanging a golden key adorned with swirling patterns and faux diamonds around his neck. "You can reward me with a kiss, Carmen. Wait, where are you?"

When he received no immediate response, his enthusiasm began to wane, replaced by a hint of sadness. “Carmen? Did you leave me again?” His small voice trembled slightly, reflecting his fear of abandonment as he remained in the room, anxiously scanning the surroundings. The joy of his discovery faded, overshadowed by the growing worry that she might not return.

Chief didn’t notice Carmen walking back into the room as his mind replayed flashes of the night she had abandoned the ACME detective agency over and over. The memories haunted him, each one amplifying his fear of being left behind again.

“Carmen? Did you leave me again?” he murmured, his small voice trembling with concern. He hung his head slightly, the golden key around his neck feeling heavier as doubt crept in, clouding the excitement of his earlier triumph.

.“Chief, are you alright?” Carmen asked, her voice unusually sympathetic as she scooped him up. A wave of worry washed over her; she hoped he hadn’t been damaged. Her eyes landed on the key around his neck, and a smile broke through her concern. “Great, you found it!”

His eyes widened as he snapped out of his thoughts. “Oh, you didn’t leave me again! You’ve got to stop ghosting me, you know that” Chief grumbled, annoyance lacing his tone. Carmen smirked at his reaction, relieved to see him back to his spirited self.

“Alright, I was just answering the phone,” Carmen continued with a playful tone in her voice. “Turned out to be some scruffy lacky asking how the house was holding up because of the storm.” She teased, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on Chief's forehead.

 

[Laverna]

In one smooth motion, she skillfully snuck the key off his neck, not bothering to ask for permission. It felt like a trivial formality; the key was hers to take, and she had little time for questions.

The wind howled heavily against the house, rattling the windows, but for the first time, Carmen felt an unsettling stillness to the storm. Everything around her—the decor, the clothing, even the flickering lights—seemed like a carefully crafted the aura of the 1930s, a stark contrast to the world she knew in the twenty-first century.

Yet, they had the key and the music box. Carmen’s energy crashed as she slumped into the loveseat. The weight of the day pressed down on her, and before she knew it, she fell into a deep sleep, the world around her fading away.

As the storm raged outside, silence enveloped the room, leaving everything in stillness.


Chief hated being alone, a sentiment most couldn't understand. After all, he was designed to assist, to be part of a team at the Acme Detective Agency. Carmen had been his first partner, and her absence during their separation had left a hollow space within him.

Now, he found her sprawled across the dark purple cushions of the loveseat, snoring softly in a peaceful slumber. The rhythmic sound of her breathing was comforting, yet he felt a sense of urgency creeping in as he teetered precariously close to the edge of the luxurious chair.

With a quick, clumsy maneuver, he nudged himself against her shoulder, seeking warmth and reassurance. For a moment, he allowed himself to pretend they were back in their old routine, the world outside forgotten, as he settled in for a cozy reprieve beside her. It felt good to be near her again, reminding him that they were together in this strange reality, even after all they had been through.

.The golden key swung gently on its tiny chain, dangling from Carmen's gloved hand, which hung limply off the side of the loveseat.

Cool air flowed up from the art deco floral vent in the floor, causing the key to spin gracefully in circles. Its reflective surface caught the light, creating sharp glimmers that danced across the room.

.In the depths of her slumber, Carmen dreamt of a gerbil trapped inside a plastic ball, rolling helplessly through a labyrinth of towering walls. The creature scurried back and forth, its tiny body bouncing against the barriers, each failed attempt to escape echoing in the silence of her mind. The maze seemed to shift, a chaotic puzzle that kept the little gerbil racing in circles, its frantic energy Wicked giggles escaped Carmen’s lips as the dream continued to unfold, her subconscious reveling in the absurdity of the situation. Perhaps she had simply forgotten, or perhaps she was hoping to forget the day’s bizarre time-warping events.

Chief, meanwhile, let his mind flicker through a montage of memories, recalling the cases they had solved together in the 1980s. Each image was a reminder of the bond they once shared, and he found comfort in those moments, happily living in the nostalgia of who they used to be.

The room gradually brightened as the warm orange sunlight streamed in, casting a soft glow across the furnishings. It was a new day, and with it came the stirrings of consciousness. For Chief, this moment marked a transition from automatic data filtering to the clarity of conscious thought. He sensed Carmen's awakening through the subtle changes in her breathing, her heartbeat quickening as she shifted beneath her fedora.

“Sweetheart, good morning! Time to rise and shine!” Chief declared with cheerful exuberance, pulling his knees to his chest as he turned to face her. His bright demeanor contrasted sharply with Carmen's sleepy attempt to conceal herself behind her hat.

“Chief, why are you always so chipper in the morning?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice. She had grown accustomed to his programmed enthusiasm, but it still puzzled her that his creators had decided mornings should be treated as a time of celebration rather than just another routine to endure.

 

[Laverna]

Carmen instinctively reached for her smartphone, expecting to find it resting on the nightstand beside her. Still caught in the fog of sleep, she half-hoped the 1930s world around her would vanish like a fleeting dream. But as her hands grasped at nothing—no nightstand, no familiar device—the memories of the previous day rushed back, stark and unyielding.

“Chief, could you be a dear and see if there's a clock in the room?” she asked, her voice laced with a sugary sweetness that masked her growing frustration. Unbeknownst to her, she had become alarmingly reliant on her smartphone,

“Happy to help! Let’s see,” Chief replied cheerfully, glancing around the room. From his vantage point, curled up on Carmen’s shoulder, his view was limited. He decided to stand up to get a better look.

Carmen bit her tongue, trying to stifle a yelp as she felt him shift and accidentally stood on her boob. The tiny leather soles of his feet, with their intricate clockwork design, pressed down painfully against her, but she held back her annoyance.

Chief searched the room for a clock but found none. As he looked around, his tiny hands instinctively reached into his vest pocket. To his surprise, he pulled out a shiny silver pocket watch.

“9:30 AM,” he declared, marveling at the Roman numerals engraved on the watch face. The discovery filled him with a sense of accomplishment, a small victory as he shared the time with Carmen.

“Chief, I never thought I would say this, but could you please move? You’re standing on my—well, you know,” Carmen exclaimed, a mix of annoyance and amusement in her voice as the tiny pressure of his feet began to pinch uncomfortably.

Chief quickly replied, clearly embarrassed, "Ahh, sorry, Carmen." He jumped off her chest, landing lightly by her side, his small frame shifting with a mechanical whir. Carmen exhaled, shaking her head with a smirk.

.Carmen gently patted Chief’s head to reassure him as she pulled herself into a sitting position. She wasn’t mad—just tired. “9:30? I wonder what time I went to sleep then,” she murmured, fighting back a yawn. Her voice was groggy, and the lingering taste of morning breath made her wrinkle her nose slightly.

Carmen curiously examined the key, surprised she hadn’t dropped it in her sleep. Her pale blue-gray eyes narrowed as she studied its intricate details. The delicate swirls and fake diamonds glimmered in the morning light, catching her eye. It was just a key to the music box, nothing more, yet her natural curiosity had her appreciating its design, turning it over thoughtfully in her hand.

 

[Laverna]

She didn’t want to rush as her brain was reeling, So she allowed the chief to finish his other self appointed goals such as finding a makeshift weapon and a thimble.
Carmen gently helped Chief onto the nearby vanity, his tiny feet landing with a soft clink against the pristine collection of trinkets. The vanity stood proudly between a polished dresser and an immaculate writing desk. Once settled, Carmen returned to the loveseat, sinking into its plush cushions, her mind racing with frustration.

She rubbed her temples, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Why can’t I wake up?” she exclaimed, her voice echoing in the stillness of the room. The sudden outburst startled Chief, who nearly lost his balance

“Carmen’s temporarily useless,” he muttered to himself, concern etched on his tiny face. He began to search the vanity, his little gears whirring as he looked for a straight pin and thimble.

.He opened the beautiful, exotic boxes, surprised by how his automaton doll body was functioning. “Carmen, I found a jade and gold brooch. I’m going to pin it on you,” he chuckled as he lifted it from the box.

“Chief, we don’t need it,” Carmen snapped, reminding him of her knack for keeping everyone under her command running like a well-oiled machine.

“I’m still pinning it on you,” he replied, tired of being controlled. For the moment, he was free from ACME’s grasp, as well as Carmen’s.

He wasn’t leaving her side by choice, but he refused to be her plaything, even if he resembled a child's toy.

.
“Well, why do you want to do that?” Carmen asked. Despite being an exceptional thief and detective, these small, mediocre details often slipped past her finely-tuned problem-solving brain.

She never admitted this part of her personality to anyone, but Chief knew it better than anyone. She couldn’t push him away with verbal lashings; instead, she would try to run all over the world and hide when backed into a corner.

“It’s a gesture of kindness among old partners, Carmie,” he replied sweetly as Carmen finally stood up, attempting to be nice to Chief. However, she found the situation overwhelming and fought the urge to have a full-blown sensory meltdown.

She knelt on her knees, allowing him access to her. “Go ahead, I’m just in a cranky mood.” She muttered as she watched her reflection in the mirror.
It appeared slightly pixelated but she brushed the notion off as her senses being overworked.

She half expected him to stab her in the chest, recalling how he had stood on her earlier. But he skillfully avoided any mishaps, only grazing her cranberry red coat as he pinned the brooch.

“Great job. Thank you,” Carmen said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. Her attempts at gratitude often came out awkwardly, as if she were trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. It was a quirk of hers—no matter the situation, expressing thanks usually turned into a comedy of errors.

 

[Laverna]

“That's my girl,” Chief chuckled before asking Carmen to help him look for the needle and thimble.

“Since when did I belong to you, tin man?” Carmen replied, faking anger but finding Chief’s attempt to claim her hilarious.

“Since 1985. But if you truly love someone, you don’t control them; you watch from afar and hope they return safely.” He laughed as he opened another box. This one was cardboard and contained a cigar. Neither of them needed it, so they quickly closed it.

“Hmm, I guess I love you too,” Carmen mumbled, her breath brushing against his neck. In that moment, she felt completely at ease, fully in her element as she playfully toyed with everyone’s emotions.


Carmen's heart raced as she frantically searched for the lock set, determined not to let Chief get the better of her. Every moment felt like an eternity as she rifled through the clutter, her mind racing with thoughts of defeat. Just when she was about to lose hope, her eyes fell upon a pink and purple striped hat box tucked away in the corner. With a surge of excitement, she knelt and pulled it aside, revealing the lock set hidden beneath. She picked it up, a triumphant smile creeping across her face. All that was left was to locate the elusive hidden passage that led to the cellar. During the strange time warp, Carmen had forgotten its location.

This was right up Carmen’s alley. Every movement she made was deliberate, her eyes sharp as she scanned the room, then the hallway, and finally the small nook where the phone was mounted to the wall. She worked methodically, her instincts guiding her as she subtly shifted objects, searching for something hidden just out of sight.

Chief was tucked safely into her coat pocket, nestled against her chest. She’d felt he needed the extra security while she worked her magic.

Her fingers drifted over the spines of books lining the shelf beneath the phone, when suddenly—there. Her fingertips grazed something strange. The surface wasn’t quite right, smooth like plywood, but cleverly painted to look like an ordinary book.

A quiet smile tugged at her lips. "Eureka," she whispered.

Carefully, Carmen lifted the false book, revealing a concealed metal hinge. With a soft groan, the bookcase shifted, sliding open to reveal a hidden passage. The dim light barely reached beyond the threshold, where a staircase spiraled down into a shadowy, forgotten cellar.

“Hold on, Chief.” Carmen whispered with a chuckle, her fingers brushing against the smooth, polished railing in the dark.

The stairwell was pristine, the banister cool and solid beneath her hand. Carefully, she stepped onto the first wooden stair, which creaked ever so slightly under her weight. Though new, the steps had a subtle give, and she shifted her weight cautiously onto her right foot.

In most heists, Carmen moved with reckless elegance, gliding through danger without a second thought, as if dancing through her choreographed crime. But not this time. When someone or something else was tugging the strings, like a twisted puppet master hidden in the shadows, she knew better than to leap blindly into the rhythm. This game demanded caution. Here, mistakes were more than just missteps—they could be fatal.

And she wasn’t ready for the final curtain just yet.


As they descended the steps, each creak echoed through the silence, but the stairs held firm, sturdy enough to keep them from plunging into the unknown below.

Carmen was taken aback to find the location filled with barrels of speakeasy moonshine and other contraband items. "Where's Al Capone when there's inventory to move?" she mused as she filled a glass for herself.
She nearly extended an invitation for the chief to share a sip but quickly thought better of it. He couldn't indulge even if he were inclined to. The moonshine had a sweet taste with a hint of cinnamon, and its golden hue danced in the slightly chipped glass she used.
Promptly, she ascended the stairs again and settled at the vanity.


Carmen reached into her pocket and pulled out the golden, diamond-encrusted key. With a swift motion, she inserted it into the lock of the music box. The mechanism clicked gently, and the lid sprang open on automatic hinges.

Inside, a tiny ballerina dressed in black and red twirled to life, spinning gracefully as the haunting melody of "Habanera" from *Carmen* filled the air. The familiar song grated on Carmen’s nerves immediately. She grimaced and covered her ears, her distaste for the tune evident.

"Of course it had to be *that* song," she muttered, eyes narrowing at the tiny dancer, knowing this was no mere coincidence. Every piece of this puzzle was deliberate, and she was determined to decipher it.

"There was absolutely nothing in the box," she sighed.

 

[Laverna]

Somehow, Chief managed to persuade Carmen to take her time and not rush as they endeavored to unravel the peculiar mystery they found themselves entangled in. She reluctantly agreed to reconsider what they had discovered up to that point.
They sprawled out on the light yellow hardwood floor, surrounded by freshly crisp papers and a few slightly worn pencils. Carmen lay on her stomach, her feet crossed at the ankles, knees bent, swaying her feet back and forth in thought.
Chief nodded with enthusiasm, genuinely pleased to be collaborating with Carmen Sandiego again. He had missed the thrill of detective work alongside her. Secretly, he hoped she wouldn't rush to find a resolution; he longed to momentarily set aside their opposing positions and savor her company for as long as possible.
However, despite her promise to her quirky automaton companion to unwind, Carmen was metaphorically dissecting every detail she encountered.

 

[Laverna]

A couple of days had passed since Carmen and Chief crash-landed in the past, and they figured it was finally calm enough to step outside and see what this town had to offer.

Jackrabbit Burrow, Texas—tucked away near the state lines of Texas, Arkansas, and Louisiana—wasn’t a place Carmen had ever heard of before. Considering how much she’d traveled, that said something. Still, she wasn’t expecting much.

It had all the signs of a dying farm town, which wasn’t surprising given the times. The 1920s and ’30s had forced plenty of small family farms to shut down, leaving people no choice but to flee to bigger cities. Dallas, Houston—Carmen could name a few off the top of her head. People always seemed to pack up their lives when things got rough. America was built by folks who moved for a better shot, but that same instinct came with a heavy price.

The manor she’d taken refuge in, just before time itself seemed to go haywire, stood in surprisingly good condition—too good, considering nobody seemed to live there. Six bedrooms, two stories, and even a cellar. Whoever left this place either did it in a hurry, or they were dragged away without a chance to look back.

Carmen smirked. The barrels of moonshine down in the cellar weren’t her handiwork. Nine barrels of cinnamon apple cider
moonshine—whoever brewed that probably ended up in a dusty cell or fled the town, hoping to stay a step ahead of the law.

 

[Laverna]

Carmen stepped onto the porch, her sharp eyes catching the porch swing, hung on heavy metal chains that creaked with the breeze.

The manor stood out against the barren landscape, its walls painted a soft cream with brown accents trimming the edges. For a place so isolated, with no other building in sight for miles, it carried a strange air of elegance—fancier than she expected out here in the middle of nowhere.

She had picked this place out in the 21st century when it was nothing more than a boarded-up relic, its windows shattered and forgotten. Back then, she hadn’t given much thought to the hidden passageways or the manor’s isolated location—it had just seemed like the perfect hideout.

Now, standing here in its heyday, she could see it for what it really was: the home of a former bootlegger, maybe a moonshiner, too. In the cellar, nine barrels of moonshine were waiting, fresh and ready for sale, a testament to the former owner’s ambitions.

“I just adore a lawless land,” Carmen drawled, her tone dripping with confidence. “There’s nothing quite like the thrill of having the guts to survive at any cost. Don’t you agree, Chief?” She stepped into the muddy yard with the poise of a woman who knew how to navigate the shadows of a world gone rogue.

“As an AI created by a detective agency, I can’t agree or discuss illegal activities like that,” Chief grumbled, his tone making it clear he didn’t share her enthusiasm for a lawless society.

 

[Laverna]

Perched on Carmen’s shoulder, he snuggled into the crook of her neck as she moved gracefully through the muddy yard, her heels sinking slightly into the soft earth. She made her way to the mailbox, a quarter mile away, hoping the mail would shed some light on whose house they were borrowing and If they needed to scram too.

“And I regret to inform you that our Acme detective agency in the twenty-first century likely hasn’t caught up with the fact that we’ve vanished into thin air,” Carmen said, her voice dripping with a mix of irony and charm. “Once they do, I imagine our darling detectives, Zack and Ivy, will come barreling in with a chronoskimmer to whisk us back to the 2000s.”

She opened the mailbox, set against a wall of striking red brick, its warm tones a vivid contrast to the dust and decay surrounding them.

Chief fiddled with the back of Carmen's earring, his tiny fingers toying with the delicate piece. She raised an eyebrow as he inadvertently jostled the golden needle, a sharp pang of pain shooting through her.

“Quit it,” she commanded, her tone firm as if Chief were a misbehaving toddler.

It was hard to believe that this tiny automata doll had once been a curious robot in the '80s, then a hologram in the '90s and 2000s. Now, here he was, perched on her shoulder in the 1930s. Time travel really had a knack for turning life upside down, and the absurdity of it all made her shake her head, stifling a laugh.

“Ouch! Stop that! That’s my earring; it’s embedded in my earlobe!” she groaned, wincing as Chief didn’t take the hint.

With an exasperated sigh, she yanked the mail from the mailbox, her brow furrowing as she examined the contents. A newspaper, a letter, and a postcard—three pieces of correspondence that had better hold some valuable information about the house they had taken over and the previous tenants.

.As she walked back to the manor, Carmen glanced up to survey the house from a distance. It stood out like a beacon, a strikingly rich estate amid the desolation of a poor time period. Its cream-colored walls and elegant features seemed almost out of place, a remnant of prosperity in a world where small towns were withering and fortunes were fading.

 

[Laverna]

By the time they entered the manor, Chief had stopped playing with her earring, much to Carmen's relief. She could finally concentrate on the task at hand without his distractions. The grandeur of the house enveloped her, a stark contrast to the decay outside

Carmen quickly flipped open the newspaper, relieved to find the date: October 3rd, 1931. The headline told of a fire that had burned down a nearby barn. "Sounds like arson," she muttered, her eyes skimming the rest of the articles—predictions about the future, updates on the state of the country, and the usual chatter from a mid-sized town.





She flipped over the postcard. It was addressed to Aunt Ermine from someone named Patsy West, the cover showing a tropical island getaway with a beautiful sunset.





The letter, however, was more intriguing. Addressed to "Madame Ermine," it felt like an alias, a cover-up name. Curiosity getting the better of her, Carmen found a letter opener on the mirrored desk in the foyer and carefully sliced it open.





Yet, the name at the top of the letter was her own. Carmen’s heart skipped a beat—this couldn’t be right. She hadn’t been born until the 1960s. Something was terribly wrong.





She unfolded the letter, her eyes narrowing as she read:





*Dear Carmen Sandiego,*





*A little birdie tells me you left the Acme Detective Agency years ago, chasing after your old selfish ambitions. The world will burn in your wake. In good conscience, we cannot offer any aid in these trying times. Regretfully, we are unable to supplement your livelihood, and you will need to find your own way to survive.*





*Signed, Lynn Thigpen.*





Carmen stared at the signature, her mind racing. How could this letter exist in 1931? And from Lynn Thigpen, no less—the Chief from her teenage years, long before she raised hell and left Acme in her wake. The familiarity of the name brought a rush of memories, but none of them explained how this could be possible. Time was playing tricks again, and Carmen didn’t like being on the wrong side of the mystery.





.Carmen smirked, despite the unsettling message. Even in this twisted version of time, Acme still had a hard time telling her "no." The letter might have been meant to cut her off, but the defiance in its tone only fueled her resolve. They always underestimated her, no matter the decade