Part 8: Advertising Time

ONiON: Later, your faithful journalist discovered the final diary entry of the leader of Fingers's gang, the Cheshire Cats, penned on his deathbed.
ONiON: In this heart-wrenching journal, we found these words.
ONiON: The Last Confessions of a Gang Boss
Gang Boss: I know my body's failing me, breath by breath. As the cough gets worse, I take stock of my life.
Gang Boss: I came from the Diego family. The first fifty years, I fought just to stay alive. Here, I've found work that lets me live.
Gang Boss: On the streets, people fear me. They show me the respect I deserve. That's the kind of prestige I've earned.
Gang Boss: But when night falls and everything goes silent, I lie awake, feeling empty inside. The life I've lived makes it hard to love anyone, yet it's something I crave.
Gang Boss: Money gives you what you need to stay alive, but love—love gives you what you need to live.
Gang Boss: MacGuffin the Knife is the only thing in my life I've ever truly loved.
Gang Boss: I tell everyone I meet there's enough Rheingold in his belly to buy all of New York.
Gang Boss: But, it's not true, not really. I'm the only one who truly understands how this mutt's worth more than any Rheingold.
Gang Boss: I've taken many lives, but never has a single drop of that blood touched his fluffy coat.
...
ONiON: So ...
A sudden hush, an awkward group of people, two dogs, and a corpse yet to be dealt with.
AJ: ...
AJ gestures politely to Mercuria.
Panzo: He's saying his farewells, you strange little lady.
Pickles: Woof, woof! Woof, woof, woof? <You're leaving?>
"Doggie": The puppy seeks clarification.
Panzo: Yep. Turns out the mutt didn't have anything in him at all.
Panzo sounds exhausted, as though he has just faced the darkest night of his life.
ONiON: What's next for you? Will you keep up your crime spree? Are there plans to hit any more gas stations?
Panzo: Don't know. I'm ... tired.
AJ: ...? <What?>
Panzo: Goddamn it! Don't you get it yet?
Panzo: There's no Rheingold, no MacGuffin the Knife. It's just a mutt!
Pickles: Woof, woof—woof, woof.
Panzo: Screw this! I'm taking a break—a real one. You know, I've always wanted to leave this place behind.
Panzo: I'm heading to the shore, find a place where I can see the waves, enjoy some good food ...
AJ: ... <Hey! If we're talking dreams, I could go on for days!>
Mercuria and Pickles watch as they sign and whine as they walk off, still silently dreaming with one another as they squeeze back into their rundown car.
The door shuts with a solid "thud."
Still under Mercuria and Pickles' gaze, they drive off into the distance.
Pickles: Whuh-woof—? <Are they truly leaving, just like that?>
ONiON: So, what's the plan now? What do we do with this dog?
Pickles: Woof, woof? <Hmm?>
"Doggie": The puppy is concerned.
ONiON: Oh, Pickles, you know I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about the other one.
ONiON: MacGuffin the Knife.
ONiON: Maybe we ought to start with a new name? What do you think?
Mercuria takes out the picture of MacGuffin the Knife, and sets it ablaze with her lighter.
Pickles: Whuh-woof, woof ... woof, woof, woof, hrm?
The photo of MacGuffin the Knife burns away, its ash floating into the air before landing on Fingers's pale, lifeless face.
ONiON: Just imagine—if Fingers hadn't gone after MacGuffin the Knife, he might still be with us.
By the shore, at sunset. Pickles licks the ice cream in Mercuria's hand.
The gentle breeze lifts Mercuria's hair, while the journalist's intermittent analysis comes in via the communicator.
ONiON: This thing, which he thought would open the doors to a new world, instead set him on the path to his own ruin.
Half-melted ice cream drips onto the ground, each drop like a thought tapping out a rhythm.
The Chihuahua pokes its head out from Mercuria's arms.
She rises to her feet.
Mercuria: Let's go.
Pickles: Hrm? Woof, woof, woof, woof? <But if we leave, what will become of the dog?>
"Doggie": The puppy is concerned.
Mercuria: Oh, you mean this pup here?
Pickles: Woof, woof ... woof, woof, whuh-woof.
"Doggie": The puppy has a proposal.
Mercuria: You mean a shelter, right?
Mercuria sets the Chihuahua aside.
Pickles: Woof ...?
Mercuria: The shelter. I remember that place.
She blinks her eyes.
Mercuria: A bed soaked in the scent of mushrooms, morning dew dripping from dried leaves.
Mercuria: Clothes hung out to dry in the yard are only remembered once the rain starts. And so, we wore the rain.
Mercuria: Good times, friends arrive and leave, one by one. Like notes in a melody.
Mercuria: Summer comes, the fans break, everyone cries.
Mercuria: Winter, the bugs breed, and everyone waits for what is to come.
Mercuria: All of this—just a mere touch of this—is enough to captivate.
Mercuria: But I had to leave.
Mercuria: In the new world, there is always something waiting. Hunger, poverty, misery, strife, nights blend into days, danger, everywhere. They lie in wait, and we must face them.
Mercuria: A dog, a joke, or a few specks of dust shining in the sunlight—each is vital.
Mercuria: Don't be afraid.
Mercuria: He will live. He has a potent, healthy energy within, pushing him to grow and survive.
Mercuria: He will find a place to belong, one much better than we could ever give him.
The dog takes a moment to think, then nods his head.
Pickles: Grrr ...
ONiON: So, you lived in a shelter before?
A journalist always cuts to the heart of the matter.
But Mercuria offers no reply.
ONiON: Okay. Just a thought, we might be able to borrow an infrared positioning device with extended range from the suitcase. If you're worried, then we'll always be able to locate him.
ONiON: We can check in on him, and make sure he's safe wherever he goes in this big bad world.
At that moment, the Chihuahua twitches its little nose, pokes its head out, and its earring sparkles brightly in the sunlight.
Its sharp eyes catch a glimpse of red in the distance. It is a red balloon.
With a swift push of its front paws, the Chihuahua jumps from the stool.
Mercuria: Hey!
Pickles: Woof!
ONiON: What happened? What's going on?
The Chihuahua's quick, nimble steps propel it forward at speed, as it disappears into the crowd.
Pickles: Woof, woof! <Miss ONiON—>
Mercuria: It ran off.
Mercuria and Pickles watch in disbelief as the Chihuahua sprints off.
ONiON: ...
ONiON: Looks like all our worries were for nothing.
ONiON: He's off chasing his own "MacGuffin."
The red balloon drifts under the blue sky, and the world remains unchanged.
Pickles steals a quiet look at Mercuria.
Pickles: Woof, woof, woof ... woof, woof, woof. <During my abduction, I managed to finish reading Understanding Media.>
Pickles: ... Grrr ... Grrr, grrr. <I must admit, his dognapping approach was much milder than we expected.>
Pickles: Woof, woof. Woof, woof. <That being said, we must still deeply condemn any illegal conduct and support all appropriate punishments and corrective measures.>
ONiON: Well then, let's extend our thanks to Pickles for his insightful account. And with that, our in-depth investigation draws to a close. If any viewers have further contributions to offer, you can reach out to your humble journalist ONiON backstage.
ONiON: By the way, if there are any canine communication experts among our viewers, feel free to contact me urgently. We're hiring paid dog-speak translators.
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The TV shuts off with a loud "click." A towering figure in a police uniform blocks the screen.
Officer: Stop watching that crap, and listen up.
Officer: There's been an update in the Black Iron Forest shooting case. We've just received an anonymous tip pointing to the identities of the perps.
Officer: The victim was a former member of the Cheshire Cats, known within the gang as "Fingers."
Officer: The suspects are believed to be two retired contract killers, and gang violence may be a factor in the motive.
Officer: Alright, get to work, people.
WANTED
Wanted: Panzo and AJ.
Argus: Well, who's this now?
Unable to sleep, the night-blind bounty hunter stumbles into someone in the dark.
Mercuria: Oh, I'm making a call.
Mercuria lowers the phone receiver, the air around her filled with the scent of herbal incense.
Argus: Oh, Miss Mercuria. I didn't expect to find you 'round here so late.
Mercuria spins around, grabs a glass of water from the table, and offers it to Argus.
Mercuria: This should offer your eye some relief.
Argus: How did you know?
She doesn't answer, instead heading to the center of the common room and placing a circle of lit candles there.
Mercuria: This trip ...
Argus: Huh?
Smoke rises, the pendulum sways, and the ceremony is about to begin.
Mercuria: I see energy slipping into death, but I cannot intervene.
Mercuria: However, by placing candles on his body, I can help him tap into energy from another plane.
Mercuria: I hope he remains untouched by the chaotic spirits of that world.
Mercuria softly says the last of her words, then begins to dance. As she does, a quiet tenderness and sadness flow from her movements, barely perceptible to most.
Subtitles: This show is inspired by actual events. To protect the privacy of the individuals involved, their real names have been changed.
Subtitles: All other content has not been altered.
ONiON: In response to the overwhelming complaints alleging the content of this special to be illogical, irrational, or just plain false, let me take this moment to restate the end credits message.
ONiON: Whether this program is rooted in real events is yet to be determined, its authenticity is left to the interpretation of the audience. More importantly, this program does not claim to hold the final truth concerning all related incidents.