Disclaimer: The Big O is not my idea. It actually belongs to the ingenuity of Sunrise Studios, director Kazuyoshi Katayama and designer Keiichi Sato. I'm just a hopeless girl with a boring life with nothing to do. This is basically my interpretation of how this episode would be novelized.

Act 8: Missing Cat

Scene 1

Dastun

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The east side with its spacious, fully-manicured lawns was the wealthiest part of the city, and those who were fortunate enough to hold sufficient funds made home here. The term fortunate was synonymous with being the few social elite of Paradigm.

The rich clung together with the rich, as if all the other social classes possessed leprosy. The old and young likewise wasted their time lingering at the numerous extravagant social gatherings, choosing to juicily gossip about who bought the most shares of stock or who even allegedly slept with whom.

Despite the appearance of the neatly latticed-windows, castle-like manors, and the plastic-molded people who seemed to smile through their teeth, life within the east side wasn't nearly as perfect.

Most chose to burgeon their wealth by participating in shady business dealings at the expense of the lower class's suffering. Marriage vows and family relationships were often tainted, empty, and two-facedness and alcoholism was a must.

But there was no doubt that the home that I pulled up in front of was not too shabby, per say. It would've been the perfect home in fact, without the broken glass, cops milling about, dead body, and such.

Early morning I was called out from my townhouse to head out onto the prominent east side. Apparently, there had been a murder. As I pulled up the side of the road, I could see yellow tape being hung to prevent the nosy, also sleep-deprived witnesses from being too fascinated by the lights of the sirens.

I felt the Chinese food from last night rise up to my throat. In the middle of the living room, on the yellow suede-like carpet lay the victim, an elderly white woman. It was certainly a sight that would give me nightmares. Her neck had been broken and punctured, and her face was mauled literally. Virtually unrecognizable. You could see the bone underneath the tore-up flesh. Her amazingly unharmed spectacles, which must've fallen off during the attack, lay next to what was supposed to be her head.

Cause of death, I wasn't sure. A hard beating with some sort of weapon, maybe? But then where was the rest of her face?

Regardless, it was sure to be an interesting case, with one of the worst outcomes I've witnessed.

As Officer Miller zipped up the body I adjusted my cap. I examined the remainder of the room. "The DB was the owner of the mansion."

"Yes, sir. Jessica Wallace, age 52. She was a jeweler. She was one the wealthiest people on East Town," said young and eager Officer Wallace as he ran up next to me, holding the clipboard.

I didn't even need him to explain the latter part of his sentence

"Any family?" I asked as we sauntered into her nicely-furnished bedroom which had a nice pink floor.

"No, sir."

I heard a crunching noise. I looked down. She was a jeweler, hey? I saw a diamond, ruby, and emerald near my foot. Such things were priceless and rare today. Theft was out of the question, obviously; even the beckoning large safe in the corner remained perfectly untouched.

"I see. So I guess the only friend that she felt she had were these rocks," I said, kicking a string of loose pearls on a necklace so that the round opalescent objects dispersed. No doubt some of the cops would have their Christmas early.

"Anything else?" I asked.

Wallace looked down on his clipboard. "Well, she had a dog. Records say she had a golden retriever."

I pushed Wallace aside to take a closer look at the top of the fireplace, which was littered with photo frames. Most of them were her throughout the years, and there was one of which I assume was her long gone parents standing together with an unfamiliar bay and green statue in the background. And one was, of course, the dog lover picture. A privilege few had the opportunity to take. Miss Jessica, a woman without a neckline, was sitting on a couch, next to her loyal dog that was sitting on the floor and pretty much just as tall as she was.

"I bet that dog of hers was worth the same amount as our annual budget," I said, examining the picture. Trying to find any similarity between her then-healthy body and the fresh daunting memory of the corpse.

"Major, sir!" yelled another officer. I turned around, still holding the picture frame. "We've found something on the roof!"

I followed the officer up the stairs. And I must say the roof was gorgeous. Kind of reminded me of the Negotiator's roof-- 'cept instead this one had a nice pool.

It was still dark out. Some cops had already hauled in lamplights from the trunk and had already focused the beams on the corpse of the floating dog.

Our culprit, perhaps, in an unfortunate yet delightfully convenient drowning incident?

"Good work gentleman," I applauded above the soft sound of gurgling water.

Under close scrutiny, though, I realized that body didn't match the appearance of Scruffy the family friend. This floating corpse looked totally inhuman, totally un-animal, totally out-of-this-world. I sensed foul play. This thing was larger than any dog could be, larger than your average tall man. I couldn't even describe it. It just looked-- bloated beyond normalcy. From what I could see, there was what looked like two legs sticking out in a disturbing fashion out of its body. And, I swear, somewhere in there I saw horns.

Two officers flipped a broom and started to poke and prod it with the handle. It was a scene that appeared alien among a hardcore crime scene investigation. They resembled little kids on the beach who, in morbid fascination, never saw a jellyfish.

"What in the world?"

The grinning officers prodded too hard and the body submerged itself, bubbling as it disappeared underneath the monster-green water.