"Ryme City has been named one of the worst places to live several different times. It's not for everyone. This city filled with Pokemon will either fill you or crush you. Really it's up to you whether you take it as the city of dreams that it is or you treat it the way the rest of the world does.

The place is always getting better, but even I cannot deny that criminals and mobsters still run everywhere. That plenty of cops turn their backs to the pettiest of crimes while the largest happen right under our noses.

I can't deny that I keep secrets myself. That there are some things better left unsaid."


Harry sat slumped on his couch. With the sun having set, the apartment was fairly dark, the only real light coming from the television, which was just opposite from where he sat, blaring an old detective film. Truthfully, it was one of his favorites, the acting, cinematography, editing and music all making for the perfect combination. Each detail collided with each other leading up to the climax:

"I spared you, and you're going to have remember that every time you look in the mirror at that nose on your face for the rest of your life. Or, I should say, for the rest of what life I've allowed you to have."

Harry shuddered at that monologue. It was the ramblings of a mad man, one who believed that he was bringing divine justice to Earth. One he prayed would never cross him in his thus far, eventful life. A hand filled with popcorn reached his mouth as he continued to watch, engrossed.

"It's just a package for this guy... David. Detective David Mills."

He watched as the befuddled and fearful delivery driver carefully placed the box on the ground, as his hands shook. And then as dread and realization set in.

"Because I envy your normal life. Envy is my sin."

His phone rang from elsewhere into the house and Harry groaned, pausing the movie and going to quickly answer it.

He moved quickly across the floor, practically gliding on his socks in the direction of his room.

"Hello, this is Harry Goodman, how can I help?"

"Hey Dad."

Harry immediately brightened up upon hearing Tim's voice. He took a seat on his bed and spoke anew, "Hey kiddo, how are things going over there?"

"Well, you know, Grandma can't get out of my ear, the moving guys are taking their sweet time, I've got a boatload of paperwork to deal with-turns out quitting insurance is a lot harder than just, you know, leaving."

"I feel ya kid. How is Grams doing by the way?"

"Pretty good, you're not getting out of coming next time though, she's pretty insistent."

"Yeah, yeah."

Harry had had every intention of accompanying his son back to the countryside, but unfortunately even his charm had not been enough to convince Lieutenant Yoshida to give him a week, or two of leave. "The department hasn't been the same without you," his boss had mildly put it and it had been difficult not to roll his eyes at that statement. It wasn't as if he had planned to get turned into an amnesiac Pikachu.

With no choice, but to head back to work, he had sent Tim off with Pikachu for company and now a week later was impatiently and restlessly waiting for their return.

The phone calls helped of course, reminded him that he once more had regular contact with his son. A stark contrast to the years before that in where neither of them had so much as seen each other. It still brought him both shivers and happiness when he thought of when he was first able to truly recognize Tim, right after his body and memories were restored by Mewtwo.


"Pika-Pika?"

He opened his glazed over eyes as slowly as humanly possible and even then the bright light of the Sun left him more or less blinded. Upon noticing his plight, his Pikachu leaned in closer, seeking to block out any intrusive light.

"At least you look like you and I look like me," Harry lifted his hands to where he could see them and a slow, happy groan escaped him. "That's better."

"Dad!"

He turned upon hearing Tim's voice and a smile crossed his face, "Yup, it's me alright kiddo."

He tried not to wince when Tim fell to his knees and wrapped both arms around him tightly.

"Well I gotta go, see you soon."

"You too kid."


Before he even had the chance to put his phone away, it rang again.

"Harry Goodman, how can I help?"

"Harry," Yoshida's hushed voice came through the other end. "How quick can you get to Avery Street?"


The victim lay on the floor, corpse bloody and beaten, face hammered in to the point of barely being comprehensible. Some of the other officers on the scene seemed reluctant to approach the body, let alone look at it. One even gagged and excused himself before leaving the room.

Harry on the other hand, immediately bent down to get a closer look, using the pen he kept in his pocket to gently poke and shift features of the victim without contaminating potential evidence.

"Any signs of a break-in?" Harry asked the officer behind him.

"Nothing obvious sir. The door was locked, the windows were shut and the curtains were closed." He briefly turned around to face Harry. "Only weird thing is that a witness next door says she heard some sort of a struggle, says she thinks that it might have been a robbery gone wrong. She's ready to talk when you're ready." He stole a quick glance at the corpse and immediately regretted it, turning away and swallowing heavily.

"Thanks Turner, you can get out of here if you want."

He nodded and slowly left the apartment, while Harry turned back to the body and tried to assess where most of the damage had been tolled out. There was only so much that could be done in that regard. He could only wonder how many bruises and cuts were being hidden by the woman's clothing.

*"Must be personal. A robbery gone wrong doesn't result in a victim covered in this many stab wounds. A jealous boyfriend, case of domestic violence, or perhaps..."* His mind drifted off, as he closed his eyes. Slowly he thought back to the similarly brutal crime from just a few days prior, his mind tried at connecting any possible dots. *"Perhaps, there's a much larger game afoot."*

When he looked up, he was surprised to have noticed for the first time, all the blood splatter that covered the apartment. There had most definitely been a struggle. *"Started in the kitchen, where the attack was first initiated, escalated into the living room, then the bathroom and finally ended up back in the living room where most of the brutality took place."*

He stood up, leaving the room and going to find Turner. He found his officer friend comforting who he guessed was the only witness in the case, a middle-aged woman who was completely hysterical.

"Mam, please, I need you to calm down. Just take a few deep breaths for me an-"

"Oh Detective!" She leapt up as soon as she saw him. "It was horrible, ourwallsaresothinandIheardfightingandItriedcallingforhelpbutIwassoscaredandtherewasshouting."

"Mam." Turner stopped her maddening and incomprehensible speech, "Please calm down, take a deep breath and explain nice and clearly what happened."

She seemed to take his advice, breathing in deeply and drying up her thick, blotted tears.

"Thin walls you say? You heard everything that happened?" Harry tilted his head curiously.

"Mhm...yes." She covered her face with her hands and exhaled, "It sounded like a fight and so I knocked on the wall, because sometimes we would talk through the walls and then I heard screaming and I got scared and hid."

Harry stood deep in thought, watching as the old woman shuddered and wept the last of her tears away. She blew her nose in an overused handkerchief.

"Did Miss Coleman have any enemies? Anyone who might want to harm her?"

She shook her head defiantly, "She was such a nice, young woman, no one who knew her would ever want to hurt her."

"Was she in any romantic relationships?"

"None that I'm aware of," she placed her hand in her chin. "Although there was someone, at some point, John was his name."

John. A man whose identity Harry couldn't be entirely sure about. Not when there were hundreds of Johns running around.

Smiling, Harry bent down and laid a reassuring hand on the old woman's shoulder. "Thank you Mam, I appreciate your help. And now, you should probably go home and rest, maybe try some sleep. If you hear anything else about these people, let us know okay?"

She nodded and headed for the door, looking back once more. Harry followed suit until she reached the stairs and climbed them slowly until they reached her door. She turned towards them once more, eyes glassy with fresh tears but her gaze determined.

"Sir, can I ask one more favor?"

"Of course, what is it?" He didn't think it likely, but she could always surprise him.

"Would you tell me what really happened today? It doesn't make sense why somebody would want to hurt a sweet girl like my Miss Coleman."

Harry considered for a moment, but decided honesty was the best policy.

"Some men just aren't fit for the world we want to live in."


It apparently never took long for news to spread.

Harry heard them before he saw them. The swarm of reporters outside the apartment.

Their cameras flashing and flashing, lighting up the street like a Christmas tree as they screamed questions and begged for details to what lay beyond the crime tape holding them back.

"Detective!"

"Detective!"

"Detective!"

They grew instantly louder as soon as he made himself known and before he could help it, several microphones were being shoved in his face.

"Detective what can you tell us about what's happened here tonight."

"Is it true that this crime and the one from last week may be related?"

"Could there possibly be a serial killer on the loose?"

"No comment," he pushed past all of them and headed straight for his car.

And amidst all the faces, he spotted her. Lucy Stevens. Up and coming reporter and one that had just recently made her big break in the news world. He had to remind himself not to get personal about things. No matter how much she meant to Tim.

"Detective," another reporter shoved their microphone into his face. "What is your take on the recent remarks made by the Mayor in regards to-"

"No comment."