CHAPTER 1: To Set the Scene

As twilight wrought purple shadows over everything it touched, and as some people began to settle down and others got ready to do whatever they did, a silhouette slipped silently between the buildings of London. The hooded figure had a large sack swung over its shoulder, which gave a quiet clatter every so often. The figure made its way to a dead-end alley, stopping only once they reached the far wall. There was silence as they glanced over their shoulder. Nobody seemed to be there, at least. Unfortunately, that assumption was dead wrong.

All at once, a group of shady-looking thugs surrounded the figure, grinning widely as they circled like sharks. Not a word was spoken, as everyone seemed to know what was going to occur. And without further warning, the thugs attacked.

There were dangerous criminals everywhere the hooded shadow tried to run. Some even had knives, which made the figure even more frightened, for some odd reason. They struck out with fists and blades, blow after blow landing on their victim. There were too many to even land a proper hit back in self-defense. Finally, the cloaked being slumped to their knees. The group dispersed, leaving the helpless victim for dead in the streets. An agonized groan escaped the being's lips as everything went black…

~((0))~

Several sheets of paper fluttered to the ground as several more were slammed into the 'finished' pile on the gnarled wooden desk. There was the sound of someone scrambling to collect the fallen forms and then a loud smack, followed by several minutes of muffled swearing and grumbling. Then Inspector Clamp Grosky pulled the papers up and placed them in the finished pile, only to find more papers had fallen when he'd bumped his head on his desk.

"Blast it! Razza-frazzin' forms… supposed to be simple…" he muttered irritably. Stooping to pick up the other fallen papers, he sighed. Finally, he'd gotten them all fixed. He sat in his chair and glanced at the clock. Soon his shift would end, and he could go home. That got Grosky thinking a little bit about his situation.

It had been a while since he'd gotten to do much actual investigating, despite the crime rate being so high nowadays. He never got assigned to any cases that were major now, not since a certain intellectual solved the mystery of the Azran and saved the world. At least, the newspapers raved about that. It just seemed strange to him. The weekdays were so monotonous now.

Ah well, at least he could go home soon. Then he'd get to comb his chest hair. That would be nice. And then he could have some coffee. Surprisingly enough, he wasn't too crazy about tea. But coffee was good. It smelled better than tea, in his opinion. It reminded him of the soap his mother used to use, on the horses. Ah yes, the hor-

BRIIIIINNG! BRIIIIINNG!

"Yah!" he yelped, startled by the cacophonous chatter of the telephone. "Just a minute!" he called to nobody in particular. He ran his hands along his pompadour to make sure it was upright, then picked up the receiver.

"Grosky!" The voice of the guv'nor made the lower-ranked officer's knees tremble imperceptibly. "You've got an assignment!"

"I do...?" Grosky said with a curious tone.

"Yes! Report to Winston Street at once. There's been an incident at SubTerrific Apartments and we need your help!"

"Yes, sir." Grosky said, his back straight. He hung up and speedily got ready to go. There was a sudden pause, however, as a thought dawned on him.

"SubTerrific Apartments? That's the place mentioned in the rumors," he gasped, recalling the bit of gossip he'd heard out on the street.

"The entrance is hidden. Nobody can go there unless they're invited!"

"I heard that it's a housing project underground for people who are rejected from society!"

"People? I heard monsters live there! Grotesque creatures that we thought were fiction!"

"Uch, that sounds disgusting! I'll tell my children to keep away from there."

Oh boy. He knew that something had to have been up with that area, hearing that gossip, even if it wasn't what they described. But he wasn't sure it was criminal activity… well, there was only one way to find out.

~((0))~

"Our readers will want to know what happened to the ship."

"The ship? You mean the Crown Petone?"

"Yes, how much did it cost to build that?"

"I wouldn't know, I didn't see the receipts."

"Oh, I suppose not. Well, what about the audience? From what you described, there must've been massive casualties."

Professor Layton pulled his hat over his eyes, struggling to remain polite. He had to be the perfect gentleman, after all. "Er, no, I did say they were all sent onto lifeboats… didn't I?"

"You did, you did. Well, that's all the questions I have for you today. Thank you for your time."

The professor nearly heaved a sigh of relief at the notion that these inane questions were ending. He'd had quite enough of this reporter getting his story so miserably wrong. "You are most welcome, sir," he said as he left the room.

Strolling down towards the end of the hallway, he walked from the conference room of Gressenheller University to his office. As he passed the bench in the hallway, he gave a small nod to a child sitting on it, though the young one appeared to be asleep. Thoughts of getting to his office and his tea kept him preoccupied as he continued on. Not even a single puzzle was on his mind. He got to the door and was about to insert his key when he felt a small tug on his coat.

"Hello?… Oh!" The professor couldn't help but smile as he saw who was trying to get his attention. It was the sleepy child from mere moments ago, eyes still squinted shut. Layton supposed this was just how they appeared, but it made him wonder how they could see. "What is it, dear?"

The child shuffled their feet, staying silent for a bit. The professor supposed it was as good a time as any to observe their appearance. They wore a striped sweater and blue shorts, as well as a heart-shaped locket. Their skin was tan, and they had straight brown hair. They also looked quite young, only around eight or nine years old. What could they be doing here, alone in the university so late?

"Excuse me…" the little one's soft voice snapped Layton out of his thoughts. "You wouldn't happen to, um, be Hershel Layton, would you?"

"That I am, my dear. Why do you ask?" Hershel said with a polite nod.

"Oh, I've been looking for you all over the building! I'm Frisk Dreemurr. I kind of, um, need your help."

Frisk Dreemurr… Where have I heard that name before? the professor pondered. "Need my help? May I ask what for?"

Frisk lowered their head slightly, looking quite nervous. "I'm kinda lost. And I also have a letter for you. It's not signed, but I'm just the messenger! I didn't write the letter or anything." They seemed earnest in their denial. How odd. Perhaps they had been mistaken to have written a letter before? Whatever the case may have been, the child had procured the letter from somewhere, which was strange as they had no bag on them.

Taking the letter from Frisk, Layton frowned. "Well, I suppose I could assist you while you're here. A true gentleman should offer help to those in need, after all."

Frisk giggled behind their hand. "Thank you, Mr. Layton!" they chirped, rocking back and forth on their heels. The child was simply adorable, and Hershel was easily falling for their innocent charm.

"Ha ha. You're very welcome, dear! Come, let's take you where you need to go. Which is where, exactly?"

"Well, hm. The approximate area of SubTerrific Apartments is what I'm aiming for," Frisk said, putting a hand to their chin in thought.

"I believe I know where that is. Are you ready to go?" Layton said.

"Mhm! C'mon!" Frisk said, grabbing Layton's hand. The top-hatted professor couldn't suppress his grin as he was tugged along. What a darling child.

[[Dear reader; Perhaps you might have stumbled over the use of the word 'they' as a singular pronoun. This is simply to keep gender out of the picture, as the child is of ambiguous/indeterminate gender in this story. There is only one child. Then again, there may be more to it than that…]]