A week ago, before time itself twisted into this film noir discord, Acme Detective Agency was hosting a reunion of old colleagues. Strangely enough, Carmen had accepted the invitation, despite her henchmen’s warnings that it was likely a trap.
“That’s right up my alley. You boys know I love a challenge. Escaping nearly a hundred detectives? Sounds like a wonderful game,” she snickered, her eyes glinting with mischief.
The reunion was held at an exclusive tennis club on the wealthy outskirts of San Francisco, the last week of September. The perfect setting for a clash of wits, and Carmen wasn’t one to back down from a challenge—even when the stakes were high.
She braided her raven colored hair before securing it in a low ballerina bun secured with a beautiful blue spirally barret
A long sleeveless black dress with a small slit up her calf caressed her subtle curves. She adored her feet in the same blue of the butterfly in strappy shiny heels
Carmen had chosen blue deliberately; it wasn’t a color typically associated with her. The decision carried a hint of anxiety—if she wore red, her former friends would surely make haughty assumptions about her innocent reunion with old acquaintances.
In her sleek black gown and strappy blue heels, she felt a sense of calm, ready to navigate the evening without drawing unwanted attention. As she adjusted her butterfly barrette, she took in her reflection, appreciating the simplicity of her look as she stepped out into the night.
.Her personal chaperone had taken them in a brand-new black sedan with heavily tinted windows.
Carmen longingly looked out the window, her inner child sincerely wanting to apologize to Acme. Yet her ego and criminality would never let her voice those feelings. After all, an apology wouldn’t clean off the criminal records in the majority of countries she’d victimized and assaulted in her little game.
She fiddled with her simple silver necklace, a delicate chain that lay softly against her collarbone. Two small silver stud earrings adorned her only piercings, nestled neatly in her earlobes
.Carmen hoped that masquerading as the innocent partygoer would lend an air of sincerity to her presence among former colleagues, but there lurked a far more sinister motive behind her attendance at the reunion.
Her AI companion, Chief, had been a bit too loquacious, carelessly revealing that Acme had concocted a new smartwatch, outfitted with a built-in C-5 corridor and Chronoskimmer—devices she was all too familiar with. Yet this watch was different; it was a coveted key to untold power, and Carmen had every intention of filching one during the gala.
With its capabilities at her fingertips, she could forge her own villainous counterpart, unleashing chaos in ways her old comrades could scarcely fathom. The stage was set, the players were in motion, and the shadows whispered secrets of her audacious scheme, as the clock ticked toward the thrill of betrayal.
Another reason for her attendance was purely one of curiosity and nostalgia—a longing for home. It was a side of Carmen she loathed, finding the notion utterly maudlin and a messy distraction from her true purpose. As the car glided
along the winding country roads, anticipation prickled at her skin. The lush greenery and manicured hedges of the country club came into view, a world apart from the life she now led.
Memories of her past tugged at her heartstrings, yet she knew there was no chance of returning to the life she had cunningly outgrown. This place held echoes of laughter, whispered secrets, and the thrill of youth, now veiled in a bittersweet haze. The ghosts of her former self hovered at the edges of her mind, reminders of what had been and what she could never reclaim.
Yet, beneath the surface of this wistfulness, her resolve remained sharp, cloaked in the shadows of her ambition. As her private chauffeur navigated the final approach to the club, Carmen took a deep breath, preparing herself for the gathering ahead. She wouldn’t allow nostalgia to distract her; tonight, she would claim the power she sought, determined to leave the past behind.
.She could imagine her teenage detective self shaking her head in disgust at who she had become, muttering under her breath that she’d rather die than live like this.
Carmen stepped onto the pebble stone driveway, the soft crunch under her heels a quiet contrast to the fast-paced world of 2005. Technology was evolving at a breakneck speed, and though she would never say it aloud, she found herself fascinated by the innovations shaping the future.
Her mind wandered to ACME, once her employer and now a symbol of technological dominance. Their reach was vast, their expertise unmatched, and though she was about to rob them, a part of her respected their advancements. As the car door clicked shut behind her, Carmen straightened, her eyes scanning the scene. Every detail counted—this was a night for precision.
It had gone off too smoothly, almost unsettlingly so. This time, she didn’t have to pull a job on Acme; instead, they handed her one of those sleek watches like it was nothing.
For a split second, Carmen felt like a detective again. An unfamiliar crack appeared in her usually impassive expression, confusion crawling its way onto her face. "Thanks... but I’m not sure I should be accepting this," Carmen muttered, her voice unsteady, her cheeks flushing in a way that felt too vulnerable.
The Chief drifted closer, his voice low and calm. “I had one made for you. Why not, Carmen? Forgot how to accept a gift after all that time on the run?” His eyes studied her, curious but knowing.
“You really didn’t need to,” she replied, forcing a smile that should've been sharper, more dangerous. But the truth was, she felt exposed, like that recurring nightmare of being naked in front of a crowd, unable to hide.
Now, looking back, something must’ve shorted in those watches. Who got one? Who’s stuck here? Carmen’s mind scrambled through faces. For a moment, she thought of Lynne Thigpen—then shook her head. No. The late Lynne Thigpen had been dead for two years now, since '03. Carmen had gone to the funeral herself.
The memory tugged at her, the funeral blending into the haze of everything else she'd lost over the years. But the watches... they were a fresh problem. The question still hung in the air, heavy: *Who’s all stuck here?*
maybe one of the curators could dress up like him
