I wanted to understandwhat the hell was wrong with me.
This... this thing I had going on—it wasn't some dramatic mental breakdown. No, I called it blind faith. A special brand of idiocy that clung to 'authority' like it was gospel.
Even now, even after everything, I remember that damn line in the dossier:
"The preliminary judgment is that some kind of 'Enigma' of a less serious nature is at work."
And like a brainless puppet, I bought into it. No questions. No doubts. Just nodded my head like a good little bureaucratic sheep.
I'm new here, okay? I get that.
Sure, I've... absorbed the feelings and memories of the one before me. The guy who used to be me. But even with that emotional inheritance, I still feel like a kid fumbling around in a dark room, surrounded by Beyonders and cryptic churches and these godforsaken 'Enigma'.
When I first looked at that dossier, my internal monologue basically screamed, "I used to be a doctor, not a damn detective! Let the professionals handle it!"
But even with that thought bouncing around, what did I do? I played along.
I stuck to the script.
And now, sitting here after a long night in the yard like some kind of raccoon guarding a trash can, I feel like a certified, diploma-wielding idiot.
The old me, back on Earth? He was smart. Cautious. Rational.
Me now? I'm pissed off. At the world. At the system. Mostly at myself.
That 'Initial judgment'? The more I think about it, the more it feels like no one gave it any real thought. Not the person who wrote it, not me for believing it.
They assumed an 'Enigma' wouldn't waste its time pulling pranks. That a Beyonder wouldn't be so... boring.
But seriously, how would any non-sentient anomaly manage to move Mrs. Stanton—who, let's be honest, probably weighed 90 pounds minimum—from one room to another without waking up the neighbors?
Enigma don't have advanced intelligence. That much is known.
Unless...
Unless it's one with space-manipulation capabilities.
But those are rare. Like, lightning-striking-a-unicorn rare. The kind of rare you don't bank theories on. So yeah, toss that idea out the window.
Yuda's handwriting in the report? Horrible.
Looked like it was scribbled by a drunk ogre in a moving carriage.
And the second I thought that, a certain face popped into my head.
Maud Georgen.
Big head. Bigger ego. Idiot in a tie.
If that "Initial judgment" was his work, then that made me even more of a fool for trusting it.
So.
If it's not a 'Enigma', it's a person. Someone deliberately doing this. Tricks. Games. Lies.
I think back to that cheap house sale. To those watching eyes from the night before.
This isn't random. It's calculated. Controlled.
I need evidence.
I need something real. No more leaping to conclusions.
"Jaden, go back and rest. I have something to do."
"You sure you don't need my help?"
I put my arm around his shoulder, tried to play it cool. "Brother, you've done more than enough. I'll come find you after."
He hesitated. Bit his lip. "Okay... well... at least sleep when you're done."
I nodded.
Empty promise.
He climbed into the carriage. I turned around and walked toward 5 Forest Avenue.
The Salt Tarvan.
It was early.
Real early.
Inside, the stink of booze and sweat was practically dripping from the walls. People who had gone too hard the night before were snoring on the floor.
I stepped over one particularly large body slumped in front of the door. Nearly tripped. Graceful.
Behind the bar, Miles turned his head when he heard the bell chime.
Raised an eyebrow.
"You're here early. Not looking for a drink, are you?"
"Morning, Miles. No, not today."
I slid into the chair at the bar. My legs felt like wet noodles. No sleep. No food. My whole body was ready to fall apart.
"You look like hell. Wine? Might perk you up."
"Can't afford it."
I had glanced at the wine list before. Anything on that menu would cost me a silver Narcs and change. Minimum.
He chuckled. "Shame."
I leaned in.
Lowered my voice.
"I'm working a case. I need information."
He glanced at the comatose bodies sprawled around the room.
"Come with me."
He led me to a back room I hadn't seen before. Files everywhere. Desks. A well-worn couch.
He motioned for me to sit.
"I want to know who owned the Stanton's villa before they did. Where they live now."
Miles raised an eyebrow.
He pulled a clean file from the shelf. Looked almost brand new.
"Used to belong to a guy named Derek Rose. Sausage merchant. From Hudew. Let's see... he lives at No. 19, Shang Yu Street now. Another villa."
"Sausage merchant? From Hudew?"
I remembered the flavor from Johnny's house the day before. Spiced just right. Hit my tastebuds like a punch.
"Yeah, he runs that kind. But Hudew is
full of sausage merchants. It's practically their economy. Derrick... middle class. Barely."
Still. Middle class folk don't usually sell houses cheap.
Especially villas.
Something doesn't add up.
I squinted at the address. Shang Yu Street...
"Is he a follower of Nigredessa?"
"He is."
Miles twisted his lips into a smirk.
"He probably saw something and told no one. Not even the goddess."
Figures.
Nothing in the file mentioned it. Of course.
I was stupid to think otherwise.
I wanted to rant. But what was the point? Miles wasn't the enemy.
"One more thing," I said before leaving.
"Who wrote the Stanton's report?"
Miles smiled. "Georgen. You've seen his work."
I sighed so hard it felt like my soul tried to leave my body.
Outside, the daylight stabbed at my eyes. I stumbled home. Showered. Crashed onto my bed without changing.
Final thought before the void took me?
So damn hungry...
I woke up sometime around noon. Or maybe later. No clock. No sunlight in this room. Who knows?
I washed up. Threw on clothes. My stomach felt like it was chewing itself.
I made it down the stairs before bumping into Alan.
"Mr. Mornez!"
Bright smile. No baby bears