Yorrick was ripped from dreaming of sliced processed cheese by a loud sharp rapping at his hotel room door.  Lifting his head he saw that it was still only 3:33am.  Wiping himself down, smoothing out creases, picking off looser flakes of crust, he withdrew the gun from beneath his pillow.  He walked quietly to the renewed rapping, holding the gun up to where he imagined a head might be.  Looking through the spyhole, "whatdoyouwant?"
   "It's Inspector Widget, Yorrick.  Let me in."
   "Why?" lowering the gun so that it was pointing at the Inspector's balls.
   "We think we've found the man who killed your partner."
   "Mitch?" getting ready to pull the trigger.
   "No, Giles."
   "Who?"
   "Rupert Giles.  Let me in, Yorrick."
   "Fuck." letting go of the gun, letting it fall to the floor.  Yorrick released the chain and let the Inspector in.

Giles walked through the door, into the shop.  "Where're the fucking Pringles, bitch?!" he muttered at the cashier, waving his shotgun in her vague direction, face twitching, manic grin fluctuating.
   "Over there, Bubba," pointing towards the shelves clearly marked Pringles Aisle, brains oozing from the hole in her forehead.
   "You sassing me, momma?"
   "Pardon moi?"
   "Fuck you."  Giles walked further into the aisle.  All around was tube upon tube of Pringles; Salt and Vinegar, Chives and Onion, Regular, Chicken, Skunk.  Hardly believing his eyes Giles began letting off round after round of shot into them.  Fragmented potato snacks drifted down about him and he opened his mouth wide, letting the dust collect on his tongue like snow before crunching down mightily.  "I'm home!"
   "Oh no you're not!"
   "Eh?  Who said that?  I am too!"
   "Oh no you're not!"
   "What?  Shut up!  I am home!  These are Pringles!"
   "Oh yeah.  Sorry."
   "I should think so.  Who are you, anyway?"
   "We're processed slices of cheese."
   "You are?"
   "Yes.  And you know what that means, right?"
   "I suppose so.  Bastards."
   "Moo-hoo-ha-ha."  The Pringles floating in the air melted into huge wet ping-pong balls, stinking of beer, never meant to be seen by mortal eye.  The Pringles Giles had already consumed also transformed and his stomach started to expand as if filled by huge fish eggs.  As he filled up the shop the cashier started singing "it's going to be a bright, bright, bright, bright sunshiny day."  His ears started speaking to him and his beak itched and wriggled to get free.  The sides of his torso split and a rain of bloody ping-pong balls, accompanied by thunder and lightning, filled the shop.

Inspector Widget walked into Yorrick's room, looked around, and sat in the comfortable leather armchair.  He wiped the rain from his face with a handkerchief, took a damp cigar from his pocket.  Placing it between his lips he looked at Yorrick questioningly.
   "Sorry, I don't anymore."
   "That's okay.  Have a seat."  Yorrick sat on the edge of the bed, the Inspector having taken the only chair in the room.  "I suppose you're wondering how I know about Giles."
   "Not really."
   "No?"
   "No."
   "Oh.  You mind if I explain anyway?  I have a really good presentation planned, with slides and everything..."
   "Yes."
   "Yay!  Let me just-"
   "No, I meant Yes, I do mind.  Look, just tell me what you want and get the hell out of here, okay?  I'm tired."
   "Oh, okay.  Right.  Rupert Giles.  Your old partner.  You remember him?"
   "Of course I do."  And the strange thing was that he did.  Just the day before he'd thought the name nothing more than a half-remembered dream.  But now he could recall it all; He and his partner, Rupert Giles, going undercover to infiltrate the Slayer's group...  They'd been FBI agents, deep cover.  And then something had gone terribly wrong; Giles had been killed.  Why had he been unable to remember that?  And why was he remembering now?
   "You're remembering all this now because you've been reactivated."
   "What do you mean?"
   "You killed Assistant Director Skinner yesterday."
   "So?"
   "He was the one blocking you.  According to my files he used to be the... office gimp?"
   Fond memories...

Assistant Gimpboy Skinner, dressed from head to toe in shiny tight electric-pink leather, could barely breathe.  Mascara smeared from tears, his beautiful long blonde hair lay at his feet.  A noose was tight around his neck, forcing him to stand on tiptoe in the middle of the room.  If he let himself relax he'd hang.  Detective Yorrick was standing in front of him, puffing on one of those huge cigars he favoured so much.
   "You enjoying this, gimp?"
   "Ymh Srr!" Skinner tried to shout through the gag.
   "Really?  You some sort of perv, Gimp?  You like all this sadomasochistic bullshit?"
   "Ymh Srr!"  No sir, he hated this.  But if he wanted to keep his job, and he did, he had to put up with these sick games Detectives Yorrick and Giles enjoyed indulging in.
   "Did you hear that, Detective Giles?  Our gimp here is a perv."
   "Tch.  They're getting everywhere ain't they."
   "I know, I know, a crying shame.  Well, since he says he enjoys this we might as well oblige him."
   "Too true.  I'll go and get the ferrets..."

"-excuse me!"
   "Hmm?"
   "You drifted off for a moment there, Detective."
   "Oh, sorry.  Nostalgia.  What were you talking about?"
   "Assistant Director Skinner.  You remember how he used to be the office gimp?"
   "I sure do.  Those were good times."
   "Yes...  well apparently Skinner didn't think so."
   "No?"
   "No.  After you and Detective Giles went undercover to infiltrate the Slayer's group he rose through the ranks of the FBI.  He vowed he would have his revenge on you, that his sole aim in life was to see you two suffer the way in which you made him suffer all those years ago."
   "Really?"
   "Really."
   "Nice to know the old boy still remembered us.  That was when we used to play dress-up in first school, after all."
   "Hmm.  Would you like your old body back, by the way?"
   "What?"
   "You're still a vest.  From when you were undercover?  Do you know even what I'm talking about?"
   "No..."
   "Never mind then."
   "Quite.  Anyway, you said Skinner was the one blocking me?"
   "Yes.  He used his influence as Assistant Director to have some memory blocks placed upon you."
   "Why?"
   "I don't know."
   "You don't?"
   "No."
   "Oh."
   "You killed him."
   "Yes."
   "Why?"
   "I don't know."
   "You don't?"
   "No."
   "Oh."
   "Do you ever get a sense of deja vu, Inspector?"
   "Sometimes.  Why?"
   "Just interested."
   "Right.  I can't help but think I've forgotten something..."
   "Yeah.  You said you'd found the man who killed Giles?"
   "No."
   "No?"
   "No.  I said we think we've found the man who killed him."
   "And?"
   "And he ordered me to come here and tell you that."
   "He what?"
   "And then take you to him."
   "Right now?"
   "Right now."
   "I see.  Let me get a few things?"
   "Sure."
   Yorrick got off the bed, went to the wardrobe and took out his handkerchief.  He put the gun and his toothbrush inside of it, folded it up, and put it in his pocket.
   "You ready?"
   "Yes."
   "Then let's go."

On the way out of the hotel Yorrick stopped at the main desk.  It was 3:49am but Bobby was there.
   "Bobby?"
   "Yes Mac?"
   "Any messages, Bobby?"
   "Plenty, Mac."
   "Any messages for me, Bobby?"
   "Not a one, Mac."
   "Thanks, Bobby."
   "You're welcome, Mac."

"What was that, Detective?" asked the Inspector.
   "I'm not quite sure, Inspector." replied the Detective.

"Where am I?" asked Giles.
   "You're in my beak." replied the Purple Pelican.
   "Did I kill anyone?"
   "Plenty."
   "For real?"
   "In your dreams."
   "Oh."
   "Better luck next time."
   "Thanks."

Yorrick climbed into the car.  Inspector Widget walked around to the other side and got in too.  They started to drive.
   "This has been a pretty crappy, dialogue-heavy chapter, hasn't it, Detective?" asked the Inspector, showing yet another crack in the story's edge.
   "It has at that." replied Yorrick, doing much the same.
   "Shall we go in for some mindless action?"
   "I think we'd better."

The car pulled away from the hotel, previously FBI headquarters, and started down a cliff-edge road, heading North.  A heavy thunder storm blew in from the East and the road turned to a dirt track.  A bright white light filled the inside of the car.
   "What the fuck?"
   A huge lorry was bearing down on the Inspector's car, painted red, belching smoke, headlights blazing angrily.
   "What's that idiot doing?"
   The lorry increased its speed until it bumped into the back of the car, nearly pushing it off the road, over the cliff.
   "Go faster!"
   Inspector Widget stepped as hard as he could upon the accelerator, the car shot forward, nearly going over the edge several more times.
   "Lose the fucker!"
   The lorry sped up as well, blaring its horn, crashing into the back of the car yet again.
   "This is getting tedious."
   "Fuck it."  The Inspector turned left at the next off-ramp, without signalling, and the lorry sped by right behind them.
   "Stupid women drivers."
   "Yeah."
   The off-ramp they'd taken had turned into an even smaller dirt-track, winding through a dark and spooky forest.
   "Where are we?"
   "A few miles from the man who may have killed your partner.  You ready to meet him?"
   "As I'll ever be."
   "Sorted."

Giles stepped out of the pelican's beak and looked around.  He was in a dark and spooky forest, a few metres from a small wooden shack.  Green light shone from its window and white smoke billowed from its chimney.
   "Rocking.  How long, Mr Pelican?"
   "A couple days, Mac."
   "See you."
   "Later."
   The Purple Pelican flew off and Giles walked towards the shack.  He knocked on the door, heard no answer and promptly turned the knob and walked inside.

"This it?"
   "It is."
   "A small wooden shack in the middle of a dark and spooky forest?"
   "Yup."
   "You coming in?"
   "Nup."
   "I don't like this, Widget."
   "I don't think you're meant to, Yorrick.  Bye."  Inspector Widget and his car vanished.
   "Fuck."  Yorrick walked towards the shack.  He knocked on the door.