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mvshortcut · 10 hours ago

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My Reasoning/Rambling Behind My Whodunnit Guesses

Spoilers ahead! Many of them wrong!

Ok, first of all, I think Flo and Pumpkin threw me off the most. I have a very specific idea of what their art styles look like, and they were both very tricky! None of the art immediately grabbed me as theirs, or it was so close but I wasn't sure ... anyways, kudos to you both! I definitely think my confidence was thrown and I started making silly guesses hehehe

Through the Window - @oflightningandstars

I was very unsure on this one! The details in the background reminded me of Moth, and the windows looked similar to other art they've made. But the people don't look like Moth's! Then again, he's been studying anatomy recently, so maybe his style has changed ...

Secondary Guesses: floressr

Brief(case Related Injuries) - @sophieswundergarten

This just Felt like a Sophie fic. Reminded me a lot of Sparks, which I have read enough to memorize. Sophie writes excellent whump but often focuses on the aftermath! I think of that as her signature. There was no actual fighting, only the kids taking care of Kate.

I'll admit, I might have accused Sophie of writing Average, but I didn't think it was hers. The subject matter seemed like something she'd write to be tricky, but the writing style is very different than Sophie's!

Secondary Guesses: kaslynspeaks (last time we were in a voice call we discussed sign language, and that's when you were finishing your fic!)

Like we did when we were children - @pumpkinthistle

This one was tricky! The faces didn’t look like Pumpkin’s work. However, the swirls on the tree were kinda wispy, like how she draws hair, and despite what she says I do love her backgrounds and landscapes whenever she draws one

Look at her header image, for example. That and several other pieces look like they’ve been washed in watercolor. Now this one was in black and white, but the tree has definitely been washed over with something!

Secondary guesses: floressr (but I decided against it because usually her faces seem a little rounder/softer? It was difficult though and could easily be either)

Messages and Meetings - @acollectionofcuriousreblogs

Well if I didn’t write the one with Milligan and his agents and the Ten Men, and you didn’t either …. then who is flying the plane???

Curio is flying the plane. I know because I’m not flying the plane and we haven’t crashed yet.

I’ll be honest, I questioned my sanity on this one. Did I write this and get brainswept? Amnesia? SAD disease? It sounds exactly like something I would write. It even has my OC, Spencer. Someone was impersonating me!

I even went and wailed “IT WASNT MEEEE I’M LOSING MY MINDDD” to a few friends. I don’t think they believed me.

Then I was delighted. Everyone thought they had me clocked with Criss Cross. This would create the perfect amount of confusion and second guessing. Much of my deception credit is nothing I did at all. That all goes to Curio <3

I also know it was her because she recently left some comments on Time and a Half and I also know what her favorite scenes and details are :)

Besides all of this, Curio writes great action scenes and is really great at grounding the characters in physical space. Also, she has been known to end things on a cliffhanger before. I don’t think anyone else would want to leave Milligan in a pickle without resolving the situation >:) I know I couldn’t

Curio if you want to write a Ten Man fic together sometime you know where to find me. We share a singular brain cell apparently

Secondary guesses: Me (with amnesia)

When the sky breaks softly - @mashpotatoequeen

This is one of the ones I wasn’t sure about! I know MQ writes about the Benedict sisters very beautifully, and the beginning was so viscerally descriptive that she was one of my prime suspects

I’ll admit I started looking at line spacing/breaks/divisions at this point. I’m losing my mind

Secondary guesses: either pumpkinthistle or defloress writing, fandomqueen13 (because she also writes the sisters wonderfully), and I thought for sure this was Curio until Messages and Meetings came out

Sail your sea… - @kaslynspeaks

I stalked your ao3 with mixed results.

This fic HURT me. When I went on your ao3, I saw you love mcyt, which tends to love angst and broken relationships. THEN I saw you’ve written Major Character Death before, and I was like wow, you’re brave.

I started looking at line spacing again. I am going to disappear into the forest

Secondary guesses: mashpotatoequeen, oflightningandstars (however I couldn’t bring myself to believe Moth would do this to me. Who knows though?)

Average - @threedaycharter

This one gave me a lot of trouble. This was one of the last few I couldn’t figure out, and I was mostly trying to make people fit!

I went on your tumblr and your ao3. You’ve made some wonderful Reynie edits. Two conflicting options: you love Reynie, and this fic is almost about him but not quite; AND you know how to edit, so perhaps you made the zine. Much to think about…

I once again looked at line spacing and confused myself

The mbs fic on your ao3 is in first person in letter format, so I knew you weren’t afraid to play around with fics not in third person and in different formats. “Average” has the narrator directly address the audience as “you.” Coincidence???? (probably)

Looking back now I think you made the zine. Oh well

Secondary guesses: fandomqueen13 (kinda reads like a fairytale, which she has a series of, and has the narrator directly address the audience) and kaslynspeaks (angst, unhappy ending)

The Time He Missed - @lotsofsq

I wanted to run headfirst into a tree when there were no works about SQ or art in your style.

However I enjoy your WIP of SQ coming to work at the farmhouse … coincidence? I think NOT

I just remembered some of the discussions we’d had before about Moocho and Milligan and the vibes felt right

You are one of the only people I think would tag this as Moocho/Milligan

I’ll admit this was tricky though! I thought if you didn’t write about SQ then it would be about Garrison and Nathaniel mid-bitter divorce or something. This feels very sweet for you. Then I suspected you were trying to trick me and I put you down for this one anyway >:)

Secondary guesses: oflightningandstars

Lifeguard Duty - @mycatisholdingmehostage398

You have such a distinct artstyle! Great to have irl, probably puts you at a bit of a disadvantage for a mystery game (I’m so sorry …)

This was absolutely lovely though. You’re the only one I know with a currently running comic, and the watercolors (I think it’s watercolors)/ the way it was painted looks like you

I also know you’re a fan of Nathaniel, Jackson and Jillson, and their antics

You draw very expressive and silly poses and this had both of them!

Criss-cross - mvshortcut

This one was also very tricky.

Eventually I opened my laptop, opened my documents, and found a file called “criss-cross.” The text of the file matched the text of the fic.

I deduced I may have written this one

Nicholas and Company Destroy World Hunger - @mysteriouseggsbenedict

I was trying to create confusion with my accusations for funsies and see what people would believe. However, I knew this was Frances

I remember the whole prison industrial complex debacle and it’s a sequel to that wonderful fic

Even if I didn’t know that, I think I would have guessed you. It’s in your “crack fic voice” and features silly banter from the adults and Crawlings being just a bit ridiculous. Reminds me of the one where Milligan falls into a thorn bush turned crack, if that makes any sense.

Don’t Fear the Reaper - @floressr

Gonna be honest I was grasping at straws at this point

I had a feeling that Flo and Pumpkin didn’t both draw something for this challenge

Therefore, either one of you wrote something and I would have to guess what it was (scary), or one of you made visual art through an edited zine (still visual) (less scary)

Flo is very talented and I would not be surprised if you had revealed a secret hidden zine and editing talent

Out of the two I think Flo might have seen some of the show, but I wasn’t sure …

I no longer think you made this one but I can’t change my guess at this point!

Secondary guesses: threedaycharter (this would now be my primary guess if I had another chance due to your editing talent!)

The Violet on Your Desk - @nobodysdaydreams

I Remember That Post. you can’t fool me

I did start to second guess that you had let someone else borrow your headcanon

But honestly, it sounded too much like you, especially your book fics. I reread your Martina one and it was in the same voice

Yes, the length was a factor, but I wouldn’t have ruled a shorter one out that sounded more like you!

Aside from me remembering the violet post, it feels much like that joke you made about curtain (in disguise) telling Reynie to “remember the black rook.” Symbolism and parallels turned silly

We are now getting into the Vibes portion. The summary sounds like the SOS summary

Your Curtain voice sounded really familiar from whenever you make a joke about him. You always say SNAKES AND DOGS when you’re doing a bit as Book Curtain

You love evil backstories that are slightly ridiculous

I know Violet is an artist in canon but it’s really highlighted here just like in your fic

I don’t quite know how to explain it, but the ratio of dialogue to action and the descriptive dialogue tags and the way they are placed just sounds like you

Secondary guesses: lotsofsq (take a wild guess why. But honestly I only briefly considered it. I had you CLOCKED)

We’re All Alone - @heyitsthatonesmolgay

Video format! Gotcha!

Aside from that, the artstyle is a lot like you! The characters are very curvy/wavy in a really lovely way

You love angst and the second panel broke my heart

I had expected you to make something from the show to throw us off so I was a bit befuddled at first!

Secondary guesses: threedaycharter, fandomqueen13

The Waves of the Ocean … - @fandom-queen-13

Another tricky one!

This was narrowed down based on who had read Riddle of Ages (probably)

I remember a conversation about a year ago when someone suggested Samuel for Mr. Kazembe’s name. So the author would have had to be there for that or see that post

I know you love the Benedict sisters! The way the camera moves around also feels like you, if that makes any sense dfkjgh

I briefly considered Sophie but I thought she’d never make Constance say “freaking!” She would be much higher on the suspects list if not for that

I know you love constance and this fic focuses on her and her friendship with the others!

Secondary guesses: acollectionofcuriousreblogs, mashpotatoqueen, kaslynspeaks

#tmbs whodunnit 2025 #the mysterious benedict society #long post

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mvshortcut · 2 days ago

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TMBS Who Dunnit 2025 - Messages and Meetings

SUMMARY: Milligan gets invited to lunch.

Work Text:

Milligan tapped the card against the dashboard of his truck, thinking. He could feel the eyes of his fellow agents Hardy, who sat beside him in the driver’s seat, and Gristle, stretched out in the back row, watching him closely.

“We can always just leave,” Gristle suggested, “if you’ve changed your mind.”

Milligan hummed noncommittedly in response. He was fixated on the restaurant out the truck’s front window. It was a casual Americana joint, nothing special. He’d been here once before with Kate and found their B.L.T to be quite disappointing.

“Better safe than sorry, Milligan, no matter what Spencer says,” Hardy said in an undertone.

“I’m not doing this just because Spencer says I should.” Milligan flipped the card back and forth in his fingers taking great care to avoid the razor sharp corners.

“Of course you aren’t! What we're trying to say is...” Gristle shot a look at Hardy, hoping he’d have the words, but Hardy only shrugged. Gristle sighed. “Well, it’s clearly a trap,” he finally settled on.

“Clearly,” Milligan repeated.

“Of course,” Hardy said just a beat later. They’d had this discussion before. Many, many times before, and it always ended the same way. Milligan looked down at the business card and re-read the words that had been haunting him for two weeks. In elegant black ink, it read: “Pepper’s Grille, 12:30 PM, 21st this month, Come Alone.” Milligan had stared at the writing so often that he could see the swooping pen lines even when he shut his eyes. He’d unintentionally memorized the strokes, from the perfectly circular dot above the i to the sharp, elongated point at the the top of the A.

At least I’ll be able to recognize his handwriting now, Milligan thought bitterly. Not that Milligan ever expected that skill to come in handy, as this note’s author had never taken great pains to conceal his identity in the first place. Milligan flipped the card to its front side and stared at the typeface. Most of the information on it (phone number, email, address) led nowhere. Spencer had looked into all of it when Milligan first gave her the card. But in the center was a name: McCracken.

There was no first or middle name, but Milligan didn’t need one. Even without ever meeting him, Milligan knew that McCracken was the title of the Ten Men’s ringleader. Though the Ten Men threw his name around an awful lot, Milligan’s team had been hard pressed to find any more information on the man. McCracken was equally thorough in taking out both security footage and eyewitnesses whenever he joined his men out in the field. He was clever and strong, Milligan could deduce, but beyond that he might as well have been a ghost. But now he wanted to meet Milligan, presumably face-to-face. Why? Clearly something else was going on. Milligan began tapping the card against his knee now and thought back to when he first got it.

It had been a bad night. This time, Ledroptha’s henchmen had targeted a medical devices lab on the outskirts of town. Milligan had been in the middle of brushing his teeth when the call came. Luckily, Gristle had come to the farmhouse for dinner that night and hadn’t left yet, so the two were able to make the long drive out together.

From the moment they pulled in, Milligan knew they were too late. Although lights shone through the lab’s windows, the night was silent, meaning the building’s alarm had already run its full 60-minute cycle. The Ten Men didn’t dawdle, they would have left ages ago. Still, Milligan left one hand on his dart gun as they entered through the front door.

The reception area and neighboring hallways were empty at the late hour. Milligan felt a slow stirring of hope that perhaps the building had been completely empty. Easy pickings for the Ten Men, sure, but at least no one got hurt.

“Shall we split up?” Gristle asked as they approached a fork, but Milligan didn’t respond. Something had caught his eye. The hallway on their right made a left turn into a corridor that was dimmer than the rest. Gristle followed his gaze and pulled his own tranquilizer gun out quietly. Slowly, the pair rounded the corner. Of the three overhead lights in the hallway, only one at the very end remained on. The other two were shattered and the first still had a pencil caught in the light’s metal base. Beneath the one working light lay a motionless, facedown figure. He was at the foot of a door just slightly ajar.

Milligan released a shaky breath, but Gristle was already moving. Keeping his gun level at the door, he pushed ahead while Milligan dropped to flip the man over. His eyes were closed, but with a slight press to the side of his neck, Milligan felt a heartbeat.

“Still alive,” he whispered. “Shock-watches, I’d bet.” He glanced up at Gristle who was removing a keycard from the lock beside the door. Attached to it was a laminated ID bearing the image of the incapacitated man.

“These are just teaching labs for that college we passed,” Gristle said with a frown. While Milligan had been violating local speed limits, Gristle had been pouring over a map of the building’s layout. “What could they possibly want in here?”

“Steal an exam test key, maybe?” Milligan gently propped the man against the wall and wrapped his canvas jacket around him. Goosebumps rose on Milligan’s now exposed arms as he felt the full blast of the AC.

Milligan lined up on the other side of the door, muscles tensed as Gristle pushed it open. The slightest creak escaped from its hinges, but there came no other sound. Milligan leaned around the frame and, seeing absolute stillness, stepped into the room. The lights were off in here too but not broken, for when Gristle flipped the switch, they came on blindingly and both of the agents winced.

“Oh god…” Gristle said. Scattered around the room were more figures, all of them prone on the ground. Some even had small pools of blood dripping from injuries.

“Call emergency services; tell them to hurry up.” Milligan strode over to an academic looking woman slumped against the side of a lab table. A long cut along her forehead had stained her face and glasses. Please don’t be dead, Millian thought to himself. He knew some first aid but he was far from having the credentials these people seemed to need.

“I’ve got some bandages in my truck, but not enough for everyone here. We need to get a count of who’s still alive and–”

A soft sound of rustling made Milligan stop mid-sentence. He looked up and made direct eye contact with a conscious, younger man tucked in the corner. He’d been hidden from their view by the lab tables. His face was pale with fright and although he was staring directly at Milligan, he didn’t say a word. Gristle came around the table, headed towards the phone on the wall, but stopped at the sight of the boy.

“Uh, hello,” Milligan said lamely. “You alright there, son?”

The man, who looked to be college aged, shook his head, eyes roving over the pair of them. One of his arms was tucked inside his jacket, unmoving, while the other fell limply at his side. His whole body was rigid. Milligan glanced at Gristle, confused, but his coworker had a dark look on his face.

“Bomb?” Gristle mouthed silently. Milligan’s blood went cold.

“Me and my friend are here to help, okay?” Gristle said gently. “We’re not with those men that came through earlier. We’d understand if you don’t trust us, but we need to know, are you in any immediate danger right now?”

Milligan was prepared for another silent response but the student actually began to talk in a hoarse voice.

“Is one of you, uh, Mulligan?” Now it was Gristle's turn to look at Milligan, confused.

“Milligan? That’d be me.” The student’s face went a bit pink.

“Oh yeah, Milligan, that’s it.” His voice shook. “I was told to…he told me not to do anything until, um, you got here and then…”

He began to withdraw his arm from within his jacket and Milligan jumped up in alarm. But he didn’t pull a calculator bomb from the fabric, or anything else that looked particularly dangerous. Instead, his fingers were grasping a sleek, ivory card. He stretched it out toward Milligan.

“I’m supposed to give you this.” His fingers were slightly bloody from where the card’s corners had cut them. Milligan reached out, and took it.

Back in the present, Milligan rubbed his finger over a small dot of blood from the student’s fingers that had dried in the corner of the card. The student had been fine, just quite shaken after his encounter. He, along with the others, had been rushed off to the hospital when the ambulance finally did arrive, and Milligan and Gristle left shortly afterwards, hoping to avoid police questioning. The story hadn’t made the news, and all of Spencer’s follow up attempts with the injured had been ignored.

Milligan tried to peer through the restaurant’s windows. Was that a bit of movement he saw? The telltale figure of a Ten Men prowling amongst the booths? No, the windows were too tinted. There was nothing to it; if he wanted answers, he’d have to go inside.

“Listen,” Milligan started, “If he is actually here–”

“Which I still doubt.” Gristle chimed in

“-but if he is, then this might be our best shot to get an actual idea of what Curtain is up to. We can’t keep chasing loose ends forever.”

“And what if they just take you out the second you cross that threshold?”

Milligan sighed. The thought had certainly occurred to him. But…

“Not their style,” he said, waving the business card in the air. “Whatever their plans are, they’ll want to have some fun with me first.”

Gristle snorted. “Fair enough. Just don’t have too much fun or me and Hardy will have to come crash the party.”

“And you know I hate parties.” Hardy raised his eyebrows as if he were actually pleading Milligan to let him skip the office’s Thanksgiving Social instead of active combat.

Milligan tucked the business card into his jacket, grabbed a walkie talkie, and opened up the truck door.

“How could I ever be worried when I have you two always watching over me?” And he gave them both a wink.

“Yeah yeah, just get in there. And don’t be shy about calling us in!” Gristle said as Milligan clipped the radio to his waistband and tucked it beneath his shirt.

Their bugging equipment had broken irreparably in an undercover mission last month and it took ages to get new tech. So, the team had been stuck using plastic radios Milligan had picked up from the dollar store. Their reception was spotty whenever they were more than 50 feet apart, but they did have a reliable emergency call button that he could use to ping Gristle and Hardy if things went south.

Milligan waved them off and shut the door. Instead of going towards the restaurant, he went to the back of the truck and out the other end of the alleyway. He walked a few blocks, cut back up to the main street, and began trodding along the sidewalk. All too soon he was at the restaurant’s front door. A small sign hung out front: “Closed on Sundays”. An anthropomorphic chili pepper stood next to these words with downcast eyes and a large, comical frown.

You and me both, Milligan thought grimly. He reached into his jacket to double check, yes, his tranquilizer gun was still there. He dared a glance behind him towards the truck, but it was well hidden within the alleyway. Nothing left to do but go in. If the Ten Men were watching him from inside, he didn’t want them to see him stalling. He gripped the handle, and despite the closed sign, pushed the door open.

A bell attached to the door chimed as he stepped in. The AC washed over him and his eyes took a moment to adjust to the darker interior of Pepper’s. A soft stream of country music drifted over the speakers. There was no one at the host stand or at any of the tables, but he could hear sounds of activity coming from the kitchen.

Milligan moved into the dining room, intending to head towards the restaurant’s pass, but as he came into the aisle of booths, he stopped. Sitting at the farthest booth was a large, besuited man. He waved at Milligan and grinned, revealing a row of perfect teeth.

“I didn’t make a reservation,” Milligan called. “Do you suppose they can accommodate a walk-in?”

The man laughed. “No need, Milligan, I got us a table for two.”

Milligan moved towards the table. The sharp, distinctive smell of the Ten Men’s cologne wafted over him as he got closer. McCracken, or he assumed this was McCracken, looked rather pleasant. Neat, gelled hair and hands folded patiently on the table. He took no effort, however, to hide his briefcase, which lay beside him on the bench.

“Sit, please.” McCracken gestured, noticing Milligan’s hesitation. Milligan slid into the opposing bench. On the table already was a basket of mozzarella sticks and marinara sauce.

“Got a bit peckish while I was waiting for you to show up,” the man said by way of explanation. “You’re late, you know.”

“Am I? Well, that's on me for never carrying a watch. Perhaps you could lend me one of yours?”

“Oh, these?” McCracken propped his elbows up on the table to show the watches off, giving them mock consideration. The immaculately polished silver glinted as he displayed them.

“No… I’m rather attached to them. Though I could always give you a closer look once our meal is over?” He shook his wrists playfully, but when Milligan didn’t flinch, he folded his arms once again.

Milligan didn’t appreciate how trapped he felt in this booth and cast about the room for possible exits. Above them was an orange light with little cowboy boot designs stamped into the metal fixture. Although it wasn’t particularly bright, the rest of the restaurant was so shaded that Milligan was having trouble making out the building’s finer details.

“You know,” he said as he gazed around, “I am a little surprised you picked here for lunch. I would have expected a more refined palate from you.”

“You’re right!” McCracken said cheerfully. “I typically don’t step foot in these sorts of places, but I figured you’d be more comfortable here.”

Milligan frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” McCracken smiled mockingly, his eyes dropping to Milligan’s stained cargo jacket and T-shirt, “the restaurants I go to have a dress code.”

For some reason, Milligan actually felt offended at this. He instinctively reached to pull his jacket closed before realizing how silly it was.

He’s just trying to get under your skin, Milligan reminded himself. But he was still thrown by the early direction this meeting had taken. Discussing Milligan’s fashion choices was not a conversation topic he had even remotely considered coming up. But if this is what kept McCracken entertained, so be it.

“Oh, did you want me dressed up? You should have mentioned it on your invitation.” Milligan pulled out the card and slid it over to the Ten Man with his pointer finger. “There are easier ways to contact me, you know.”

“But none other that would grab your attention so effectively! I wanted to make sure you’d find this.” McCracken picked up the card and scanned his own writing.

“Of course,” he purred, “I did hope you would follow the instructions a bit more closely. I believe I told you—yes I wrote it right here— to come alone.”

Milligan opened his mouth to aver his compliance, but a sudden abrasive sound interrupted him. It was an alarm coming from somewhere nearby. It only took him a second after the initial shock to identify the source. Milligan dropped a hand to the walkie talkie on his waist.

The emergency call button. He hadn’t even considered his agents needing to call him. Milligan was supposed to be the one risking his neck.

Milligan jumped up from the bench, prepared to dash out the door but when he turned to the front, he saw another Ten Men through the columns. This one was familiar to Milligan with glasses and dark hair. He was dangling Hardy and Gristle’s navy blue radio between his thumb and pointer finger, and with a light push of the button, he stopped the alarm. Milligan was too late.

“Sharpe!” McCracken called, “Thank you for joining us. No trouble with our guest’s friends, I presume?”

Sharpe moved smoothly towards them, adjusting his tie with one hand while the other grasped his briefcase.

“Not at all! We got the jump on them as they were trying to peep through the windows. Oh–don’t look like that Milligan. They’re not dead! Just out for a nap.”

At this, Sharpe looped an arm around Milligan and winked, as if the two of them were old friends. With his other free hand, he plucked Milligan’s walkie talkie and held it up to the light appraisingly.

“Tsk, cheap stuff. And here I thought Benedict actually cared about his agents’ safety! Oh well, you stay put now.”

Sharpe gave Milligan a gentle push back towards the bench, and Milligan obliged. It seemed the wisest thing to do. We, Sharpe had said. So McCracken had not come alone either. Not that he had ever promised to, of course, but Milligan had been banking on all of the Ten Men’s attention falling on himself. How many of them were there? McCracken, Sharpe, who else? Even if Milligan could get a dart on them both, there could be a small army of others waiting to swoop in, just as Hardy and Gristle had for Milligan. Yes, better to play along for now and do as they wished.

“You two have met before, am I right?” McCracken said, wagging his finger between them. Sharpe had dropped into a booth on the other side of the aisle to give the pair some personal space. He sat diagonally, legs outstretched underneath the table, eyes locked steady on the pair of them.

“Oh yes,” he drawled, “Don’t you remember Milligan? Or is that brain of yours still scrambled?”

Ignoring the jab at his brainswept years, Milligan did recall that day. In a bout of up-close combat, Sharpe had restrained him while another Ten Man—Hertz, if he wasn't mistaken— had tried to force a handkerchief onto his nose. In retaliation, Milligan had jabbed his elbow into Sharpe’s glasses and snapped their frame. He smiled at the memory.

“If I could forget your face, Sharpe, I would. It would save me from feeling ill every time you come to mind."

Milligan turned instead towards McCracken. “I think it's the two of us who need an introduction. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“Likewise! But spare me the details, I already know everything about you, Milligan.”

Milligan laughed. “Is that so?”

“Oh yes! I know you keep two darts in your hand when you reload your gun and that you almost always look left before right when scanning a room. I know you take your coffee with two creams, no sugar, and that you have a particular weakness for peanut butter ice cream. I know you’ve been helping your dear daughter Kate build a new fence on your farm and that you had to get surgery on your knee after falling off a ladder six months ago. I know your truck is due for an oil change and, especially, I know that you keep your tranquilizer gun in an inner pocket on the left breast side of. your. jacket.” He reached over and poked Milligan’s chest, right where he kept his weapon.

Milligan’s mouth went dry. Some of these points would have been easy enough for McCracken to determine through security footage, but what about Kate’s fence? His surgery? His coffee? If he got back home—no, when he got back home—he would be cleaning out every room of the farm for cameras.

McCracken grinned at his silence.

“Now don’t feel insulted, Milligan. You are a good spy, one of the best I’ve encountered in a long time! That’s why I’ve been so excited to meet you.”

McCracken lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “I won’t lie, Milligan, I have been trying to show off a bit lately. I hope you’ve been impressed.”

More like horrified, Milligan thought as memories of the Ten Men’s carnage swam to mind. Still, he figured it would be unwise to say this aloud.

“I have…” he said carefully “gained an understanding of your capabilities.”

A snort came from Sharpe at the neighboring booth. McCracken chuckled as well.

“Have you? Well, that should make this conversation much easier. Ah, here we are.”

Milligan followed McCracken’s gaze and saw a man coming towards them, carrying two plates. He set them down on the table with a shaky smile, one chicken salad sandwich for each of them, before walking back towards the kitchen.

“Let’s hope this is better than the B.L.T, ay?” McCracken raised one half of his sandwich, toasting, and began to eat. Milligan didn’t move an inch. He still couldn’t piece together where this all was going, and at the same time didn’t dare ask. McCracken finished the first half of his sandwich.

“It’s perfectly safe, you know.” McCracken gestured at Milligan’s food. “The chef’s an old friend of Garrote’s. He thinks we’re just having a business meeting.”

Milligan still didn’t reach for his plate. “Right, but I’m actually here for…what exactly?”

“To talk,” McCracken said vaguely, starting on the second half of his sandwich. “It’s a bit rude, you know, to not eat when someone buys for you.”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word that it’s not poisoned?”

“Yes, you should get used to that. Believing me at my word, I mean. For example, let’s start with this:” McCracken set down his sandwich and placed a hand over his heart sincerely, “I have no intention of hurting you, kidnapping you, or otherwise inconveniencing you, Milligan. Not unless you make me change my mind.”

Milligan raised an eyebrow. “Surely you can understand why I’m having a hard time trusting you on that.”

“Wetherall,” he sighed, the first sign of frustration creeping into his voice, “There would be no point! What use could you possibly bring me as a captive? There’s nothing I want from you or Benedict. No, holding you would just be far too much trouble for no visible reward.”

“So you brought me here to kill me. Keep me from interfering with your plans.”

McCracken rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Blondie. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t need all of this to do it.” He waved his hands around the room.

“In fact,” he continued, his voice dropping, “this conversation could have been far more uncomfortable for you. When Mr. Curtain gave me these instructions, he actually recommended I pass you the information in an alleyway with some extra help from my briefcase. I, however, thought a bit of respect would go much farther with you. Maybe I was wrong.” He began to drum his fingers on the case beside him.

So this was Curtain’s bidding then, Milligan thought. Although his nerves had begun to spike, Milligan felt encouraged. He might actually get some good intel out of this conversation after all, if he played his cards right.

“I didn’t know you were Ledroptha’s messenger bird.” He was pushing his luck, he knew that. But if he could unsettle McCracken a bit, get him to let something, anything, slip…

“Ah ah ah,” McCracken tutted. “Careful now, Milligan. You don’t want to pick fights you can’t win. And I can promise, my men are just chomping at the bit to get their hands on you. So, can we have a nice, polite chat? Or do I need to call my friends in?”

Wrong choice.

“Uh, no, that won’t be necessary,” Milligan corrected. Sharpe gave another short laugh from his seat. It took every ounce of strength within Milligan not to look his way.

“Good,” McCracken said, and he did seem to relax a bit. He leaned back against the booth and removed his hand from his case.

“So, my dear Milligan, here’s the warning. As proud as your little society must be after all that business on Nomansen Island, Mr. Curtain would like you to know that this is far from over. He has ambitions and he has connections. If you are under the impression that you have weakened him, you would be wrong. And to continue to interfere with his plans will only bring great pain down on your remarkably unprotected family members. So, leave it alone.”

Milligan didn’t say anything immediately, meaning the only sounds between them was that drone of country music and the muffled clattering of dishes being cleaned in the kitchen.

That’s it? Milligan thought. That's all he has to say? It was disappointing, to say the least. Milligan could now see why Mr. Curtain thought it the kind of message better suited for a beatdown in the street instead of a formal gathering. McCracken was watching Milligan closely as if he knew exactly what Milligan was thinking.

“So…” Milligan tried after the silence had stretched on for a bit, “He wants us to just stop trying? And let him get on with his new world domination plans?”

McCracken gave a tight smile. “I think his purpose was more to inform you and Mr. Benedict that he still holds a great deal of power and threat over your lives.”

“Right,” Milligan said tentatively. “Well, you can tell him that we are not doubting his power in the slightest and, in fact, find him to be very dangerous.”

McCracken gave a short nod. Milligan thought for a moment that that might be his dismissal, and he was about to stand when McCracken began to speak again.

“I think it’s a pointless sentiment, to tell you the truth, Milligan. I know that you and your little friends will keep on fighting and causing problems no matter what we say. And yet, I feel there is another important point to be made. This is from me, Milligan, not Curtain.”

“You’re taking an awful lot of creative liberties with this assignment,” Milligan said, but McCracken ignored him.

“Think about the kids, Milligan.”

Milligan froze and McCracken smiled.

“Yes, I thought that might get your attention. Lovely bunch of chickies they are, or so I’ve heard. Reynie and George, yes? Constance Contraire, and of course—” his voice softened, “—dear Katie."

He paused for a second waiting to see if Milligan would rise, but then moved on.

“Curtain gave us the full briefing. He hasn’t forgotten them, not at all. And while I can admire your own defensive capabilities, the children are much more, well, squishy, aren't they?”

“Your point?” Milligan spat out.

“I know you have protections in place for the dearies, and like yourself, we currently don’t have much use for them. However, while I see no point in trying to dissuade you from acting, do try to keep in mind that you can’t protect all of them forever.”

At this, McCracken stood and began to gather his things.

“That’s all, really. It was wonderful getting to meet you, Milligan! I’m sure we’ll see each other again sometime, and perhaps on that day I’ll be able to actually open this up.” He shook his briefcase gently and laughed in anticipation. Sharpe was now standing too and Milligan realized the end had come.

Maybe it was McCracken naming the kids, maybe it was some desire to end the meeting on his own terms, or maybe it was simply Milligan’s desperation to get something of value out of all this, but for whatever reason, Milligan opened his mouth.

“Why were you at those labs outside of town?”

The two Ten Men stopped and looked at him curiously.

“Now Milligan,” said McCracken with a small laugh, “The time for questions is over, I’m afraid.”

But Milligan didn’t stop.

“What is Curtain planning? Why attack all these different places? What are you looking for? Why duskwort?”

McCracken seemed prepared to brush him off again but froze at this last question. He and Sharpe shared a glance and Milligan instantly knew that he had once again said the wrong thing. Oh so slowly, McCracken spoke.

“You know what duskwort is? Does Benedict know?”

Milligan didn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes jumped to the kitchen pass. Through it, he could see an exit sign and a door. McCracken opened his mouth to ask again, but in a flash, Milligan’s hand shot up to grab his tranquilizer gun. He got it fully out of the pocket and pointed towards the pair when the electricity hit him.

It was pure pain, coursing through his whole body. Milligan had felt the Ten Men’s shock watches before, but that gave him no advantage now. He didn’t even notice falling to the ground, his weapon slipping from his hand. At some point, the onslaught stopped, but the residual pain made it difficult to pinpoint when exactly that was.

All he knew was that one moment after it ended, he became fully aware of his surroundings again. McCracken was laughing, harder and more joyously than he had the whole meal.

“So sorry, Milligan,” he said, unconcealed delight dripping through his every word, “but I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind! You’ll be coming with us.”

A shadow fell over Milligan and he suddenly felt rough hands grabbing his arms and pulling them back to be restrained. Milligan tried to jerk them away, to kick out, but another jolt of electricity hit him. More laughter, Sharpe’s voice had joined.

“Looks like you are going to be useful, dear. And here we were, about to let you walk on out. Shame you didn’t eat your lunch. It’s going to be a very, very long drive.”

There was one more surge of electricity, and then Milligan was out cold.

#I respect Milligan for trying to speedrun as many bad decisions as possible in the span of an hour so he can get on with the rest of his day #tmbs whodunnit 2025

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