A snowy village at night under a full moon, lit by paper lanterns. Small animals in black hoods carve jack-o-lanterns at wooden tables, including a black cat and a raccoon with glowing red eyes, a husky, a deer, a bear cub, a mouse, a puppy, and a duck, along with a toy shark, a smiling peach, and one in a Darth Vader costume holding a red lightsaber. A panda sits calmly on a bench sipping tea. A glowing phoenix flies overhead. In the foreground a poster nailed to a post reads Missing, Greigh Fox, last seen September 25, reward.

UPDATE: NWO Does Not Have Greigh Fox. Panda Is Fine. The Fox Is Still at Lunch.

By Griff Harpoon · 2026-10-01

Six days ago Greigh Fox went to lunch and did not come back. He left an overturned chair, a pamphlet that smelled like jalapenos, and a note saying NWO had turned into something with teeth under a blood moon and that Panda was surrounded. He pointed at NWO on his way out, so NWO is where I went, and NWO does not have Greigh Fox.

I'd like to report that this took some doing, a kicked-in door or a confession, but it didn't. The blood moon was a full moon festival. It's over. They had a festival, the way anybody does, and a fox who has never once seen a thing and described it at its actual size looked up at it and wrote a warning to the state.

Panda is fine. Panda was last described as screaming and surrounded, and I'd say I was relieved, except Panda has been reported in mortal danger more times than I can count and has been fine after every one of them, so at this point I just write it down.

The animals are cute again. Whatever they were last week, with the teeth, they're small and pleasant now and nobody is swarming over any rooftops. They are still wearing the black hoods. I looked at the hoods for a while. It's October, and I've decided they're getting ready for Halloween, mostly because that's the answer that lets me close this part of the file.

So the cult didn't take him, and that's the bad news, because the cult was the only lead I had. A reporter who disappears into a cult is at least somewhere. Fox is just gone. His desk is the way he left it and nobody has picked up the chair.

He has now been at lunch for six days. Somebody ought to go look at his den. I've covered this fox for a long time and I'm not volunteering. —Griff Harpoon, actually reporting.