text: The channel was a mess. Scattered snippets of conversation lay in heaps of gibberish, mixed with shattered emotes and glitching gifs. The place reeked of smoke and ozone. *Another Chat Kill*, had been the word from Nobody’s informant among the Chan Ops - the squirrely fellow had neglected to mention it was damn near a Chat Massacre. The place looked like someone had set off a bomb in the middle of a sentence. After a cursory examination for anything obvious the Moderators might have missed, Nobody retreated to a secluded corner, out of sight from the street. He crouched low and eased his trench-coat open, carefully withdrawing the tool he’d *borrowed* from the Word God’s vault. He brushed a few pinions over the object’s smooth, light pinkish glass surface, the touch answered with a soft flicker of light deep within. He shook the glass orb gently. “Come on, wake up. We’ve got work to do.” The dim light grew brighter, revealing the curled form of a tiny, transparent dragon. It wore a sleeping mask that said *‘Do Not Disturb’*, and showed no sign of wakefulness. Nobody raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I know you’re awake, Ghost. Come out, I need you to have a sniff around the scene. Check for tracks, tropes, and talking-points. Anything that could point us in the right direction.” Ghost huffed and ripped off his sleeping mask. “Ugh, *fine*. Come on then, pour me out so we can get this over with.” Nobody nodded, and tipped the orb on its side. The little dragon slithered out as though flowing through an unstoppered bottle, phasing straight through the polished glass and landing on the floor with a small puff of dust. In a city of Words, the *intent* behind your verbs meant more than the verbs themselves. Ghost trotted in a circle, his glowing, transparent body brightening and lighting the devastated room. He grimaced, nose twitching, and began to carefully pick his way through the debris. “Oh, wow, this place *reeks*. This isn’t your average Chat Kill, this is a Conversation Slaughter.” “So I’d guessed,” Nobody answered. “What do you think? Out of control Campfire? Insane Iron Chef? Loose Serial Worm?” “Oh no, boss, this was done by hand. Knives or swords, would be my guess.” “What? How do you figure, with all the scorch marks and soot?” “Simple,” Ghost answered, holding up an irregularly triangular piece of debris. “These edges, while burnt, are far too smooth and straight to be anything but cuts.” He ran a claw over one straight edge for emphasis. “Sliced so fast the friction cauterised the cuts. That’s why we’re not standing waist-deep in ink, too.” Nobody’s eyes widened, and he felt his feathers stand on end as a chill ran down his long neck and along his spine. Ghost blinked at him. “What?” “I only know one writer who can chop like that - and I put that monster Six Feet Down Unda’ ten years ago.” “Well, they must’ve been the Antagonist to your Protagonist then, boss. Judging by this mess... They didn’t stay Down Unda’.” He paused. “Now what?” Nobody knelt down and held out the orb to let Ghost slither back inside. “His story ended a decade ago. This time, I’ll make it stick - and write him out.” He put Ghost’s orb back inside his coat pocket, turned to leave- And nearly lost his head as a massive claw swept at his face, taking a chunk out of his beak. He honked with pain and alarm and staggered backwards, narrowly dodging another strike that tore his coat open and sent Ghost’s orb tumbling over the floor, the little dragon shrieking with shock. “Leaving so soon, Detective Goose? After all the trouble I had, making my case?” “Not Much,” Nobody hissed, through his blooded beak. “Back to your chopping ways, I see.” The crazed cassowary leered at him. “Only briefly, Detective - long enough to chop *you!*” Nobody was driven back by the lethal barrage of chopping claws, feathers flying with every nick and scrape. “Boss!” Ghost cried, “Say something! Something good!” Another claw nearly clipped a wing. “Like what!?” Nobody gasped. “Like what dragons do, dammit!” A ducked kick punched clean through a wall. “Burn!?” Nobody heard a deep breath and saw the orb glow white-hot out of the corner of his eye. He leapt back with a honk of alarm and hit the deck as a torrent of flame passed overhead, the heat curling his feathers and engulfing Not Much where he stood. The cassowary shrieked and cackled as he was consumed in an instant - leaving only a smoking pile of blackened bones. “Well,” Ghost piped up. “I guess his goose got-” “Don’t you dare, Ghost!” “-Cooked.” *** This was my story for 's delightful Secret Santa story exchange! I wrote for u/gurgilewis, who provided the following constraints: >**Location:** Takes place in the seedy underbelly of a city that is the real-life version of the WP discord server. > >**Plot/Action:** Investigating a chat kill. > >**Uses:** Some of the server roles.