"Last call for Rhyme City! Last call for Rhyme City!"

The loudspeakers of the train station sounded above to warn passengers of the final boarding call for RhymeCity. Both humans and Moemon moved to and fro among a hustle and bustle of noise and chatter. It was for due reason that it was a time of merriment and joy, and to the eyes of many, why wouldn't it be? It was Rhyme City. Rhyme City, where humans and Moemon lived in harmony. Rhyme City, where the technological advancements of todays society, concocted by some of the truly greatest minds in history, the achievements of man today being the source and pride of it all.

For Tim Goodman, it was nothing but the fuel of his agony just awaiting him.

Tim stared blanklessly at the train, where a large congregation of those boarding and exiting to and from RhymeCity. The ticket held in his hands awaited like a butler to be stamped and processed. The ticket that held the bridge to where he would find the truth.

For a moment, he wanted to believe that his father was not dead, that last night had been simply a bad nightmare, that it was just a major injury his father suffered and nothing more. After all, Jack abruptly ended the call, and wasn't there a possibility of something else? There had to have been. Accidents did not always result in deaths.

But when he arrived home and saw his grandmother in tears, as she hugged him and wept, Tim knew that it was not a nightmare.

No. It was, but it was one that came true. One that Tim Goodman was forced to realize.

But his father wasn't dead. He couldn't be. They did not provide a corpse. They did not provide proof. Merely they were the words of a man who believed so. He called Yoshida back by tracing back the number on his phone.

"I'm sorry." His voice was somber, but Tim refused to believe it was the week prior. Hideo Yoshida did not answer the next calls, no matter how hard Tim tried, only ever hearing the

"Prove it then! Prove that he's dead! He's not! You're telling me without any of the details!" He wanted to scream into the phone, but the one who could hear him was not there to listen. "You lie, old man. You lie."

The week followed. His grandmother told him how his father had always been brave and never afraid to do the right thing, and he hated it; she had already believed it so. He hated the looks of pity when he was working the final day before he took the next few months off of work to RhymeCity, the words of sympathy cutting into him. Even Jack was giving him those, and Tim hated it.

They all fell easy to words. Tim would not. They said he was dead, and a part of Tim did believe iit so, but Tim wanted proof, and they had given none.

The week came and passed by like a drone, and Tim found himself in the train station for RhymeCity.

The voice on the loudspeaker spoke for RhymeCity once more, and Tim sneered.

A trip was for either business or for vacation. Not for one to find the truth of a accident.

It was a joke. It was a twisted joke.

The world had a cruel fucking sense of humor.

The week prior, he had been out with Jack capturing a Cubone and simply enjoying life as any other human being.

A blur of something rushed by and hit Tim's arm holding the ticket and his suitcase, forcing both flying as the former fluttered adrift in the air for a moment before slowly taken to the ground by gravity, while the suitcase plopped to the floor unceremoniously with a small thunk, while the object that forced it out of his hands bounced on the ground and rolled away.

"Ahh my ball! Sorry mister!" A young boy by the age of four blabbered as his small body scrambled for his ball, scooping it up around his arms.

"Jerry! Slow down! Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, sir!" A young woman came over as she scooped the young boy into her arms, scolding him for running off with his toy and abruptly barreling into someone's possessions without watching where he was going. That be it mainly Tim.

Tim barely turned to register, as he saw the boy gaze back innocently at him.

The woman set down the boy, Jerry, scolding him to stay where he was once more and not run off, before she picked up his ticket on the floor to return back to him. A flash of recognition marred her face as her face burst in excitement, and Tim could immediately guess what she was thinking as she saw the destination he was heading to.

"Oh, you're heading to RhymeCity! You're so lucky to be heading there! I heard it's brilliant! So many things to do and places to explore!" The woman gushed over as she stared at his ticket, her eyes glimmering, before she recognized how she was acting, and handed back his ticket to him in slight embarrassment. "I'm so sorry! I must be rambling! My son and I were planning to go to RhymeCity this time of the day but we couldn't!"

RhymeCity. A tourist site of interest with activities and entertainment to explore.

To Tim, it was just where his father lay.

Tim took back his ticket. He attempted to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. The next couple of words that he forced out were merely a facade like many others, that they could not wait to reach RhymeCity. To explore places, try food, and do activities.

The mask worked. It fooled her. She expressed her apologies for her son once more, and dragged him off to their own destination.

He pushed himself off to aboard the train. The conductor and staff greeted him with a smile. The mask still stayed on.

The mask remained glued even as the video introduction of RhymeCity played, showing the advancements of RhymeCity and the man who allowed it to happen: Howard Clifford, founder of Rhyme City. The clapping he joined in as other passengers of humans and Moemon cheered.

The mask still did not fall as a Lickingtung stared at him with interest, drool dipping from her tongue. His owner came by and dragged her away, expressing his apologies to him.

The mask fell as soon as they entered RhymeCity, as people surrounding him began to snap photos and pictures, and by then, he was already sick of the damned City.

Hideo Yoshida had seen many things over in the course of his career as a police detective for Ryme City. Within his career, he had caught multiple criminals within the city with no good intentions, stopped multiple drug trafficking and sex rings. While the type of crimes were still often seen today, and it was impossible to truly put an end to crime, Hideo still had faith in officers like himself to patrol and bring peace to the denizens of Ryme City.

Officers however, like himself, would face a sense of danger. While they tried to maintain the peace and truly encompass the security of Rhyme City, there were still dangers officers themselves had to face. Including but not limited to prostitution, gangs, underground illegal battle rings, and various other nefarious activities, there was no shortage of crimes committed around Ryme City.

Rubbing his eyes, he glanced down at the picture frame that contained the photo of him and Harry Goodman. Harry was considered one of the best agents for Ryme City. When a crime was called or reported, Harry did not hesitate to take the case, even no matter how busy he seemingly was. He was also kind, patient, and helpful to other officers, and that made him somewhat recognized across Ryme City among the denizens and a favorite of both people and fellow officers alike. Along with his experience, it had inadvertently made him the face of Ryme City Police Department.

A sigh escaped his lips. It had been any other day. He had barely gotten himself out of bed to begin a new day when his phone rang.

He wished it was just any other day, except it wasn't.

His attendant and other officers gave him the news just as he turned his TV on to watch it himself, and he could only see the words blaring on the news channel.

Cause Unknown. Harry Goodman: Dead at 36

Car Accident or Something More?

Hideo did not want to believe it. But as they showed photos of the burning wreckage that was undoubtedly the patrol car of Harry, and the license plate that he knew was Harry.

Hideo had only made himself to turn in at the department for nothing more than to maintain the peace of Ryme City and his duty to protect and serve above all else.

He knew if Harry was here now, he would have done the same.

When he arrived, the entire department was somber. What used to be chatter between the officers and their Moemons now was silence. A few who did not receive the news yet found out soon on their phones. No one spoke.

Hideo wasn't a stranger to talks about himself. He had received it all his life. But when he arrived, all gazes fell on him, and followed him as he went into his office. Partnerships were often, and Hideo, if he was embarrassed to admit it, was the most comfortable with Harry. Harry was the driving force of their team, taking the reigns of most cases, while Hideo made sure that Harry did not get overconfident and reckless in his approach by going over details and information that Harry would forget to look over before departing.

Now, Hideo Yoshida could only stare at the ruined wreckage of the car, and desired nothing more than to see his friend alive. He wanted to believe that his friend was injured, even if it was severe, it would have been more preferable. As he and the other officers came to inspect the ruined vehicle, he knew by then, the news had not been lying.

He had been making excuses himself to deny the truth.

The office remained the somber mood. Only until one of his liutenants, Anthony, had ordered most of the officers to get back to work. But the normalcy and usual chatter was gone. He knew. All of them knew. Harry had taken it to his grave. The quieter, smaller conversation that unfolded was just nothing but a false image presented to make it seem all right.

It was not.

Hideo could only stare at the photo of the smiling Harry, the non moving man in the frame. He wanted to ask him. Curse and demand his old friend from beyond the grave. But all the questions that festered and bubbled in his head amounted to nothing more than to…

Why?

Harry did not answer him back.

Eventually, Anthony, one of his lieutenants, told him of Harry's son, Tim, he felt his soul rip in two as he forgotten about those who were his deceased friend's relative.

Now he would have to share the news with the son.

Hideo felt like a coward. His explanation was pathetic as he could barely speak and explain to the confused young man. The only motivation that pushed him forward was that Tim needed closure and that it was Harry's son, his own flesh and blood, and he needed it more than he did. He needed comfort.

But as the day that he was called out to the front, that Tim had arrived, Hideo exited his office, and knew by the hollow, cold look on his face as soon as he saw it, knew that the young man was not fine, and possibly never would be.

"That's all we could find so far about the incident. We are still working on it, but the case seems like an open dead end."

Tim's eyes abruptly flashed up to him, then quickly looked away, not deigning him a response. Tim knew it was rude, but he did not care anymore.

Suddenly, he was sick of it. They too thought his father dead, and a part of Tim screamed at him that the other part that refused it so was in denial, but Tim was sick of it all and they allowed his father to die, and they didn't capture the perpetrator because he knew his father did not drink on duty and could not be killed by something retarded by an accident and he was sickened by it.

The happiness he was forced to put on was disgusting. All the smiles… He hated it all.

"So you're not going to do a damn thing about it?"

"What?" The question took Hideo aback.

"Why aren't you doing a damn thing about it?" Tim snarled. He knew it was not Rhyme City nor Hideo Yoshida's fault, but he didn't care.

Everything that Tim Goodman held up, from receiving the news, from work, from Jack to arriving at the train station, to then taking it to Rhyme City. Tim resented it all. It was cheap.

"Tim. We…" The man spoke once more. "There were no perpetrators. There was no evidence at the scene of the crime so we cannot-"

Tim knew, but he didn't care. "So you believed that my father was suicidal then? That he offed himself because he had some fucking problems? Where's the suicide note then?"

Hideo Yoshida opened his mouth. He wanted to explain himself to the young man. Yet nothing came out.

Tim walked away as he snatched the keys to the apartment of his father. Hideo nor did any of the other officers stop him. They just watched as the now orphaned young man slam the door behind him.

"Tim, I…"

For a moment, Hideo Yoshida stared at the orphaned young man, then sighed as he lit a cigarette, inhaling before exhaling, shuffling his papers as he could do nothing but simply get to work.