Homocide Fifty || DNF

17. Sunglasses

"And then I slide the magazine up here, right?" Quackity asks, looking at the handgun resting in his hand.

"Exactly," Bad confirms with a reassuring smile. George stands next to them, Wilbur besides him.

"I'll be right back," George says with a rushed tone.

Before the others can react, George is long gone down the hallway and into the lab.

He'd done everything he remembered that Bad did a few months ago. He'd coated the note with a special oil, and then dusted fine powder onto it.

It had been approximately 30 minutes since he did the process, and now it's time to examine it.

George almost chuckles thinking about when Clay grabbed the note with no gloves.

He grabs the loupe magnifier which is in the drawer next to him, it also containing lots of chemicals he has to ruffle through before he finds it.

He grabs a ridge counter, starting to count the friction ridges. When he's done, he grabs an extra pair of gloves and heads over to Karl.

Karl is sitting at his computer, peacefully doing some online work when George taps his shoulder.

George looks at him with pleading eyes and Karl almost already knows what's next.

"Can you scan this and see if there's any potential matches?" George asks, his lip pursing.

Karl raises a brow, "okay. Who's it from? Did Ponk find a fingerprint? I thought there was nothing on this," he says, looking at the note in George's hands.

George passes him the white gloves, Karl putting them on with hurry.

George watches in anticipation as he scans the fingerprint. He watches Karl's computer try and work out potential matches.

"Oh." He simply says.

No matches found, it says.

So Clay doesn't have a criminal background. That makes George a bit less worried.

He picks up the note and walks away with disappointment. He thought he was slick, but apparently not.

George pockets the note, taking his gloves off as he approaches the others again. He sees Quackity aiming at a can.

Wilbur is talking to Bad.

A small thump makes George raise a brow, wondering if Quackity hit the can.

He did. George smiles at his friends accomplishment, turning his eyes to Bad and Wilbur.

"George?" Wilbur asks.

"Hm?"

"Do you want to go to my concert?" he questions nervously, picking on the fabric of his clothes.

George's eyes widen at the given information, his mouth turning upwards, "I didn't know you did concerts now! Is it like— a real one? Not the ones you do in those weird coffee shops?" George laughs, remembering one time where an old lady had almost spilled her coffee because she got such a big shock when Wilbur's band mate started playing the drums.

He rolls his eyes, answering with a proud smile, "it's a real one. I think about 500 people are coming. Probably because it's free of charge, though."

"What?"

He chuckles, "yeah—" George continues, "500 people! That's crazy! I'm so happy for you," he airs.

Then George stops. "It's free? Why?"

"Our audience is a bunch of broke college students. I just want my fans— okay, it sounds weird saying that but I want them to have the time of their life with no cost. I'll eventually upper the price, obviously, cos I also need the money."