I open my eyes groggily, wondering how late I slept in this time. I yawn, then hold my forehead, grimacing as pain shoots through it like a hot spear through a paper shield. I glance over at my rickety nightstand, and gulp down the water there greedily. The first sip indicates that it is, in fact, Cactus Juice Extract and my head gets fuzzy all over again.

Oh well, I think to myself. Not like I had anything planned today anyway.

I swing my legs over the side of my bed and settle my feet onto the wooden floorboards of my bedroom, yawning. I pad over to the bathroom tenderly and look at myself in the mirror. I can't exactly remember what happened last night, but I know it involved copious amounts of drinking; my red eyes and pounding hangover attest to that.

The tanned, black haired, golden eyed woman who stares at me looks foreign, almost. The scar that frames the left side of her face is starkly white in the flickering light of my bathroom, and the splotchy, painful-looking burn wound covering my right shoulder looks even worse in the darker light of my apartment. I guess I could open my blinds, but that would require effort, and that's just not something I'm looking to do right about now.

I rub my eyes, then run the rusted faucet, waiting for the tint in the water to dissipate before splashing myself with water, waking me up slightly.

Then, a slim pale-skinned girl comes into view in the mirror, scaring the daylights out of me.

"Rai? You okay?"

I look at the girl in abject confusion, having no recollection of who she is.

"Uhm… yeah. Sure. How… how are you?"

Damn. Not again.

The girl smiles, buttoning her shirt up again.

"I'm doing alright. I had a… well, it was a pleasant night."

I smile again, wondering if I pull off the expression alright or if it just looks like I'm a maniacal psycho who is grinning wildly.

"M-Me too."

The girl leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

"Look me up if you come back to Club Glacier again. I gotta go, I've got work in a few hours. See ya around, Rai."

I smile again, hoping it doesn't come off as too disingenuous. The girl slinks away, and I lean against the sink. After a few seconds, the door closes with an audible creak, and I resolve not to drink so much again. Not that this sort of experience is new, of course, but as I turn reluctantly, looking at the age-stained shower in distaste, I recall that this is about the tenth consecutive time I've woken up to an utter stranger in my bed.

Of course, I have enough confidence in myself that I'm sure there was no funny business going on. From reports, I'm even meaner drunk than I am sober, but all the same I like to remember my escapades.

Though at this point, I've committed to the drunkard role, so I might as well keep going.

I sigh. I like to think that I'll get out of this lifestyle sooner or later, but the fact that I haven't had a real job for the last month or so is more than a little discouraging for my prospects of wealth. If I have any prospects of wealth.

I shake my head, shedding my shirt and underwear, stepping into the shower and praying there aren't any more sea-beetles in the drain.

I step out into the refreshing coolness of a new day in Republic City. If I were a happier person, I'd probably grin foolishly and break into song like a bad musical or something, but I'm not, so I just grimace at the temperature and shove my hands deeper into my field-coat's pockets, gathering the warm coat closer.

I glance around. Tiger-Shark Alley, if it could even be considered an alley, is bustling with activity. Satomobiles honk obnoxiously as throngs of pedestrians shout, curse, and generally make it their life's mission to be loud and annoying as I take in my surroundings. I look for the usual; menacing figures in dark coats, flashy gangsters in tricked-out satomobiles, or cops in uniform with a less than pleasant expression. My gut tells me I won't see anything, but it never helps to be careful. In my twenty-nine years in this world, I've made more than my fair share of enemies.

I walk down the sidewalk, withdrawing the slightly wrinkled roll of smoking herbs I keep around as a habit from my days in the military. As I walk, I bend a small flame on the tip of my index finger, and inhale the pungent smoke, enjoying the tingling warmth that spreads through me. Cigarettes- that's what they called it in the military, if I remember right- are probably bad for my health, but so is putting myself in life-threatening danger and drinking, so that's kind of a moot point now.

I weave my way through the crowd before turning into Xianghai Express, my favorite Earth Kingdom Cuisine this side of Gyokai Borough. Xiaochou, the bearded and more than a little odd owner of the joint waves at me as I enter.

"Miss Osada! Miss Osada! Here, come sit at my best booth. You want usual? I give great prices, only five yuans for a bowl of noodles and fried rice!"

I smile, the hangover throbbing a little less intensely as I take the seat.

"Thanks, Xiao. Can I get some pomegranate juice? I had, uh, a little bit too much to drink last night."

Mr. Xiaochou puts on an exaggerated, almost paternal expression, wagging his finger as he jots down my order.

"Drinking too much is bad, you know. Make the mind go WILD. Drink juice instead; I have this new juice. Old friend, works in that metal city now, he make this drink with kale, walnuts and-"

I hold up my hand, smiling tiredly.

"That's alright, Mr. Xiaochou. Pomegranate juice is just fine. Unless you have Baiju for sale."

He giggles loudly, and walks away. I stare at his back, a bit perplexed by his odd personality, but I shrug it off soon enough. Xiaochou is a nice guy, and if that means he's a bit weird, then so be it. I'm not exactly one to judge.

I stare out of the window as the first drops of rain begin to fall. Pedestrians start running for the cover of shop overhangs, or withdraw straw umbrellas from bags. A police cruiser clanks by idly, driven by a bored-looking constable in a gray uniform.

At length, Xiaochou returns, and takes the seat across from me without an invitation. I look at him with an uncomfortable expression for a few seconds, but shrug and dig into the tasty noodles. I'm not what you would call a sociable person, but a little company here and there doesn't hurt.

"You have new case recently?"

I shake my head, slurping the noodles down hungrily.

"Not since that clothes shop robbery case I solved last month."

"Exciting," he says, dryly.

I sigh, looking at the old man.

"Yeah, I know, but it paid well. I'm on the lookout for other cases, so if you hear of anything…"

He nods with a beaming smile.

"I let you know if I get murdered. Then you can take over my noodle shop. Spirits know my son don't want to."

He makes his high-pitched, tittering laugh that he always does. Then, suddenly, his face falls.

"You best be careful, Miss Osada. Equalists are getting popular now. Soon, all benders will be in trouble with them."

I nod grimly. I try not to pay attention to politics, but the increasing frequency of Equalist flyers and speakers in the city is troubling, to say the least. It's not the first time anti-bender sentiment has risen, but it is more popular than the other movements. Amon's leering mask is more common than campaign posters for the municipal board elections these days, and that's never a good sign.

"Of course, I not like them. I no bender, but I have no trouble with you. Sure, there are bad benders, but there are bad nonbenders too. To me, just bad people. I don't discriminate."

I nod in thanks.

"On behalf of benders everywhere, I appreciate that," I say, sarcastically.

"Sure. You my favorite bender of them all. How else will I light my stove?" he asks, before devolving into giggles again.

My walk around the neighborhood is relatively quiet. I started the habit of taking walks when I first moved to the city; I wanted to familiarize myself with its streets and people first, but later it became more of a method to clear my head and stay in shape. Growing up in Fire Fountain City, things were a little bit more idyllic than Republic City, but not by much.

In truth, the cramped streets and blazing heat of Fire Fountain City harbored the same disease as Republic City; the curse of innate conflict arising from the wealthy rubbing shoulders with the poor every day. The same old tale that was apparent from the streets of Ba Sing Se to the rivers of the Southern Water Tribe.

I smile to myself with that thought. I'm beginning to sound a bit too much like the Equalists, I realize.

I sigh, breathing out a cloud of smoke, and I lay the cigarette butt in the palm of my hand. I crush the ashes between my fingers, and they float away in the chilly air like cherry blossoms falling from trees. Foul-smelling cherry blossoms, I guess, but the analogy works better in my head.

I look up at the tall, five story brick building that has been my home for the last six years. 30 Tiger Shark Alley, Apartment 11 C, Gyokai District, Republic City. A shabby, poorly-maintained apartment in a shabby, poorly maintained, more than a little shady part of town. A building that has been witness to my high and low moments all at once.

Spirits, maybe the building should be considered family. More family than my actual family, at least…

I push the thought from my mind. No use in dwelling over the past. Or so I like to tell myself; it's hard to resist sometimes.

I shoulder my way into the building, walking up the red-carpeted creaky stairs for two stories, and walk down the ill-lit hallway, pausing by my door to listen to my neighbors screaming at each other.

They're nice people, but they obviously hate each other's guts. The man, a janitor at the university on the north side, wants to sleep with me. He's not bad-looking, so I wouldn't really mind something like that, but I'd rather not move out, so I give him the cold shoulder whenever he tries. Ironically, I'm fairly sure his wife, the conservative schoolteacher at a local secondary school, views me in a similar way. Might be the cause of their troubles; not acknowledging who you are isn't exactly the greatest boon to a relationship.

Then again, they're still a couple and I move from lonely reject to lonely reject, so they're obviously doing something right.

I walk down the hallway again, and I tuck my hand in my sleeve and use it to wipe a smudge off of the tarnished plaque attached to my door.

RAI OSADA, PRIVATE INVESTIGATO, it reads, though the "R" in the title is obscured by a greenish stain that I really don't want to know the origin of. Yet that doesn't worry me as much as the fact that my door swings open as try to remove the blight.

The door clunks against the wall of my living room- office, I suppose, now- and I am on alert.

For a moment, a memory flashes through my mind with all the unpleasantness of a flaming fever. A man in a red jacket, laughing cruelly through a shaggy beard as flames spring to life around me.

Another life. Another time.

I shake my head, and bend a flame in the middle of my palm, creeping into my entry hallway tenderly. I check in the closet, and see that nothing is amiss there. My ears strain to hear something- anything, but nothing comes. I turn the corner, cautious and primed for a scrap, before seeing the woman lounging in one of the armchairs I set aside my office desk for clients.

The woman is beautiful. That's my first observation. I am, after all, a detective. Dark, coppery skin is framed by glistening black hair, tied into a braid. Her eyes are green- a shining green that penetrates the soul- and her mouth curls into an amused, sensual expression.

I'm either completely smitten or hypnotized. The flames coalesce over my knuckles as I ball my right hand into a fist. Pretty dame or not, she's intruding in my house.

"Miss Osada, I presume?" she says. Her voice is rich.

"You presume correctly. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my apartment?"

The woman smiles knowingly.

"I'm not here to start trouble. I have… well, I've got a case for you."

I extinguish the flame reluctantly. I cross over, looking at her distrustfully, before shrugging off my coat and sitting in my chair, crossing my legs and regarding her.

"Well?" I ask, perhaps too harshly.

"The case is my boyfriend," she says.

She lifts her left eyebrow, as if to say I'm taken, so you can stop ogling me.

"Alright," I say, trying to make sure I don't look too disappointed.

"My boyfriend and I came here two years ago. We grew up in the Si Wong Desert."

"Sandbenders?" I say, testing her.

The woman's eye twitches, a carefully hidden gesture of annoyance.

"I'm not a bender. But yes, we're from a sandbender tribe. I don't know if you've lived in the desert, Miss Osada, but life in the desert isn't exactly an ideal life. Republic City seemed like an infinitely better choice than the tribal life."

"I'd imagine not. You do seem too good for a rustic life," I reply wryly.

She smirks again.

"I suppose."

"Why not go to Ba Sing Se? Much closer, and immigration is a lot easier."

"Have you been to Ba Sing Se?"

"A few times. Doesn't seem much different to the dregs of Republic City."

"You may be right. I wanted a change of scenery."

I nod somberly.

"Anyways. Why do you want me to investigate your boyfriend? An affair, hopefully," I venture daringly.

She makes no response, her head dipping in sadness.

"Nothing like that. It's… well, his name is Vinh. Two weeks ago, he told me he was going to a nightclub with some friends- the Darklight, in Chadu Heights. I didn't hear from him for a while, which is normal. His job keeps him busy for days at a time. After the first week, though, I got worried. I checked with his friends, with people who had seen him, and turned up nothing. I haven't heard anything from him; neither have his parents. I'm… well, I'm worried. I want you to find him. People say you're one of the best."

I light a smoke, breathing out a cloud as I scribble notes in my notebook.

"Some people. Have any leads?"

She looks taken aback.

"No. Just the nightclub."

I simply nod. Typical.

"My rate is 50 yuans an hour. I'll need a number or an address so I can give you updates. If you want me to do anything outside of normal investigation, that's going to be extra. I'll also need 500 yuans upfront."

Jasha nods in return.

"Just find him, Miss Osada," she says, pulling out her purse.

She hands over the bills in a nice, tidy stack. I count them quickly, then open the locked drawer beneath my desk, dropping the cash in.

"I can start tomorrow," I say with a genuine smile.

Something about her rubs me the wrong way, but for now, I'm just happy. It's good to be back.

I'm back! So this project is kind of related to my Memoirs of a Metalbender. As I was writing that series, I really realized I kind of wanted to explore the noir feel of Republic City, and the story's theme made that a bit difficult to capture, not to mention it was beginning to feel a lot like my previous story The Story of Qin Lee. This new series is my attempt to write in the typical noir style, and is very much inspired by things like Jessica Jones, L.A. Noire, Chinatown, and other staples in the noir genre.

I figure that Korra Season 1 and 2 gave us such great noir moments (say what you will about "The Sting") that I'd try my hand at it myself.

As for why I've been gone so long (for anyone who's interested, and I don't blame you if you're not), I've been working a full time job, helping out with the Probending Competition community, and working on my own independent novel. I'm starting to burn out on the latter though, so I'm taking a break to return to my favorite hobby.

Enjoy, and feel free to provide feedback!

IGdude117