INTRO THEME : "BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN" By Brick and Mortar

I've seen a fair few things throughout my fairly short life. I've climbed mountains. I've punched a teacher in the gut. I've tamed and trained twenty bats. But nothing, nothing I have known has shaken me to my very foundations like the way I felt as I crept up that staircase. The darkness seemed tangible. It continued to only grow thicker, heavier. I knew Patrick had gone up here. Because where else would he have gone? I was at the bottom of the stairs, and I'd have seen him if he doubled back.

I felt that same feeling again.. A feeling of total and utter disgust. I felt like throwing up, it felt like I was getting closer to a rotting bog of shit and vomit, the feeling made me gag. But I kept myself under control to keep going up the stairs. It was horrible. Every step I took made an earsplitting creak, no matter how lightly I tried to step. I flinched each time, wincing in anticipation ; as if I'd be attacked and gored at any moment.

'Just like my landlady was.'

In no way did I believe she deserved it. But in some way, it meant I didn't have to worry about rent anymore! Besides, the jail cell they would inevitably be throwing me in was as rent-free as one could get.

Within a few agonising moments, I had arrived to the first floor landing. It was almost totally pitch black, and what didn't help that all about me floated shadows and figures my eyes and brain were tricking me into seeing, my own body conspiring against me to cause the most nail-biting, spine-chilling, gut-wrenching feelings a human could possibly feel which turned my stomach over and over.

Through the darkness there was one sole detail I could make out for certain - lying in wait a few feet ahead of me was a tall rectangular void. It was nothing as supranatural though. It was just an open doorframe. Cold air breezed from it in the least refreshing way, it stank of pure, unadulterated rot. It was musky, and it felt like it burnt the inside of my nostrils upon each breath, however it was not much better even if I switched to mouth-breathing. Because then it felt like I was eating it.

Then, two unblinking eyes opened right in front of me. I gasped, almost falling backwards down the stairs as my heart raced, and my head swirled.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs.." Came an all too familiar taunting voice from the miasma, like a pair of rocks scraping against one other, "you may be a little more sure of yourself... but you're nowhere near ready to meet me~"

I wanted to say something, anything, to show how confident I was in the hopes that I'd scare this thing off. But the words just weren't there.

"Not sure what to say..? Shame really."

There was a pained muffle from nearby. It had a slight echo to it, the kind of echo you might make if you were trapped inside a small wooden box.

"Patrick..?" I called out.

"You know that lug? Don't worry, I'm keeping him.. safe."

I tried to glare angrily at the eyes floating before me but upon any attempt to make eye contact, I felt a pain roll across my head. My mind reeled.

"Come with me. I want to show you the truth that you Jujutsu Sorcerers hide and fight against everyday of your lives..."

Whatever it was doing, wherever it was going, I felt compelled to follow.. And follow I did, my legs moving against my own will as the pair of eyes disappeared, and I wandered through the doorway, not even caring about each and every one of my senses which screamed at me from every direction. Screamed at me to turn away, to forget about this place, forget about this case. The floor made a kind of.. crunch with every step.

But I just couldn't listen to any of those voices.

"Mr. Jones!" Yelled Patrick from somewhere in the room, "Don't worry about me, just get out of here! Get as far away as you can! You're no match-"

"Shhhhh!" It hissed.

"You're one of those Cursed Spirits, aren't you?" I asked.

"In a manner of speaking.. But you didn't have to say it like that.." It started, losing it's creepy tone to the tone of slight offence. "Well, I'm a Cursed Spirit of a different kind. Most are born from abstract concepts such as pain, hate, fear. Other boring crap like that," the voice whispered straight into both my ears, "however I was born from a womb, just like you, or him."

"There's no way something as horrible as you was once anything like me at any point in history."

"I wouldn't doubt it. Besides, have you smelled yourself? You're pretty horrible yourself."

Whilst it was true my hygeine wasn't quite.. up to scratch - However I suppose being called out on it by a surprisingly sociable japanese poltergeist should be seen as a wake up call of sorts. I shrugged.

"I'm not here to exchange insults with something I can barely even see," I replied, "If I can prove you committed the murder of my landlady, Laura Lillock, I shall have to arrest you... or cleanse you out with sage and crystals. Whichever gets the job done."

"You can't make a Cursed Spirit show up in court." Came the reply.

I folded my arms and gave a small harumph, sitting down on the crusty, old carpet below me.

Well that makes things a bit more complicated.

"What are you DOING?" Hissed Patrick from somewhere in the room, "don't make conversation with the thing! Fight it and get me out of here! This bloody closet is all horrible and wet and smells of raw meat."

"Closet?" I stood up slowly, failing about a bit as I inched forward in the dark. My foot tapped against a solid object.

I could hear the cursed spirit and Patrick arguing like estranged siblings in the background, but I did not listen. I was too busy focusing on the loaded revolver I had just taken up from the ground. It felt greasy, like it had come right out of my refrigerator. I wouldn't have found it surprising.

I turned it over and over in my hands, and it made soft clunking sounds. The hammer was pulled back. It was ready to fire within a moment's notice.

"Spirit!" I yelled, "why don't we have a face to face so I can see how ugly you are?"

Suddenly, two white eyes snapped open right in front of me. They had irises and pupils.. I was sure of it. But they were unblinking, unerring, unflinching. Whatever kind of 'un' there was in the dictionary, these eyes were it.

Yet at the same time, they almost seemed as if they were taunting me. Beckoning me to try something, anything. The eyes of the kind of person... or demon... who thinks they're invincible.

But against lead, all beasts fall.

I gulped, ignoring the overwhelming wave of chills that assaulted my spine like a tsunami.

I aimed the weapon. Then I fired.

There was a blinding flash of light, married with an ear-splitting CRACK! which lit up the small flat for a split second. Time enough for me to see every detail. Every wall and floor was covered in browns and reds, strewn randomly about were body parts of all descriptions and conditions. I could see the bullet as it ploughed through the shadows. It was wreathed in a flame of its own, deep purple. The purple flame radiated from its metal core.

There was a beastly scream, and the shadows and sheer darkness seemed to retract into an abstract blob on the floor. The room was still dim, but I could see the vague outlines of walls and floors. I heard Patrick slamming his fist against a door somewhere near - a closet which was directly to my right.

Frantic to escape, I tore open the closet.

At that same moment, what assaulted my airways could only have been described as some kind of war crime on the senses. The kind of smell to make you throw up immediately and even I had to gag and hold back tears at the wave of pure and utter stench. The kind of stench that might cause a war in of itself. I couldn't really see inside the closet to tell what exactly was stashed in there - other than the spluttering Patrick who fell unceremoniously onto me - it seemed the thing was empty. Well besides the shadowy silhouettes of some kind of stacked object. The inside of the closet door felt warm, moist.

"We have to get out of here, Gibbs. Right away!"

"What do you mean? I shot the thing dead."

Suddenly I found myself being all but dragged back to the entrance of the flat.

"A Cursed Spirit cannot be killed."

"So how do you deal with the things then? Hey!"

And he had already dashed off. The immediate sound of whispering from right behind me made me think it was a smart decision to follow suit. And between that flat and running aimlessly through the streets of Peel, I'd rather be out in the fresh air. I had never exited from such a disgusting, stuffy room in my entire life.

Saving time on the complaints, I can tell you that I ran. And I ran hard. Almost twisted my ankle on those tight stairs, dashed right past the unceremoniously strewn corpse of Laura Lillock by the bottom of the flight, before flying out the door and into the open air of Michael Street.

I looked both ways. No sight of Patrick.

It was peaceful out here. My heart slammed in my chest. It wasn't a right kind of peacefulness, if you understand. It was out of place. Unnatural. Fragile.

Benjamin was stood besides Abraham, cups of tea in both their hands.

"Lookin fah your bloke?"

I nodded anxiously.

Abraham scratched his chin in the sort of lax, chilled out way that seemed a parody of my situation. My head snapped back and forth as I continuously checked the dark, open maw that was the front door to the Isle of Man Hospice shops, like some kind of chronically anxious owl, I didn't want to let my guard down for one second in case that thing found the confidence to come outside and chase me. And I think it probably had reason enough to do so. Enough people didn't like me enough as it was, so adding a vengeful ghost to that long list was probably long since overdue.

Perhaps I just had a way of making enemies.

Abraham lifted a finger, pointing it down a darkened alleyway just across the street. Signpost on the wall of the hair salon just at the corner read "Orry Lane"

"Nipped down there right quick, he did."

"Thanks, mate." I said, motioning to pat him on the back, but then changing my mind halfway though - ending up giving him an awkwardly placed thumbs-up instead. Eager to escape the situation, I turned tail and sprinted across the street towards the entrance to Orry Lane, the cobbled street becoming rough asphalt and concrete below my feet.

"Is everyone we try t' investigate this bloody charity shop just gonna keep leggin' it on us?" I heard Abraham muttering to himself as I disappeared down the lane. No time to stop and gape at anything, all I needed to do was find Patrick. Benjamin was better off with the Police for now, I reasoned. Little did I know just how right I was.

[XXXX]

Soon enough, as the moonless skies grew darker still - clouded and shrouded with overcast fog - I had linked up with Patrick again. He seemed to have found the common courtesy to wait for me ; and there he was, leaning against a wall, gently panting and puffing. We were at a sort of 5-way crossroads between different alleyways and lanes, each leading to other deeper parts of the town. Old, tiny cottages were lined up besides rough stone-cut warehouses and concrete yards.

"Why'd you leave me behind like that?" I asked him, walking towards him as the glow of the old-timey streetlights flickered around us, attracting flies and moths. A bluebottle tried to use my forehead as a landing pad. I wafted it away.

"It's a technique for escaping Polar bears. As long as you're running faster than the person behind you, you'll be okay." He tapped the side of his nose knowingly.

Ignoring that rather obtuse statement, I looked around us.

"So what's the plan, smart guy?"

Patrick looked at me. I sought eye contact, expectantly waiting for him to reveal some kind of answer. Instead, he shrugged.

"Not sure. I guess we will just have to wait."

"Wait?"

He nodded.

"It'll be after us in no time.. I know it's not chasing us right now.. if it was, there'd be no chance of you standing here in front of me right now. It's waiting for something."

The streetlight flickered once more, buzzing as a rather large moth flew into it like a kamikaze plane, promptly falling to its death at our feet.

"Can you guess what it's waiting for?"

I looked up, blinking obtusely.

"The moth? I can't say it's waiting for anything. It's dead."

"No, you idiot," Patrick replied, looking at me as if I had comitted some kind of vernacular crime, his dark eyes filled with a perplexed outrage, "what killed that moth just now?"

The light.

We both looked up at the lamp silently. It's buzzing became ever more apparent, even louder so in the quiet. Or perhaps the buzzing was coming from the gaggle of bugs which continued to harass it. It's amber glow stained my retinas.

"Gibbs, can you check the time for us please?"

Without another word, I retrieved my serviceable phone from the depths of my coat pocket, it was not valuable enough for the hospital staff to snatch it it seemed.

The digital light of the lock screen lit my face up in harsh white as I squinted at the time it displayed.

It was 00:43.

"Wow, it's late. Quarter to one."

I clicked my phone off, stuffing it back into the mysterious depths of my coat pocket, my hand returning with a film of dust over it.

"I did some research into the town, particularly energy saving protocols at night. Among those, is that the majority of streetlights will be switched off automatically at a certain time of night, after midnight of course."

"I think I see where you're going. The streetlights, particularly in Michael Street, switch off automatically at one."

I shrugged, expecting a man like him to critisize my late nights.

"The Cursed Spirit is waiting for those lights to switch off."

I felt a chill travel down my back, my hairs standing on end as I was attacked with a sudden wave of paranoia. I looked all around me anxiously, as if the thing was lurking in the shadows waiting to grab my ankle like a cat if I walked by.

"What are you getting scared for? That's good."

"What part of it is good?" I asked, unable to keep the frightened waver out of my voice.

Patrick caressed his chin and jaw in deeo thought, as though he were solving one of life's great unanswered questions. He then smiled in a satisfied way, a eureka moment I could tell. But at the same time I could see the mischieviousness in his eyes, like he had some kind of hilarious inside joke he wouldn't let me in on.

"In its attack, it's revealing its greatest weakness to us, of course!" He announced before turning immediately, walking swiftly down a tight lane of cosy townhouses, the road built of cobbles and flagstones and the houses sporting short little doors, plates with fantastical names and wooden shutters on the windows. It was like a typical edwardian town street had been cut and stuck right in front of us from the fabric of time.

"Hey, where are you going? What weakness?"

"Just keep up!" Came the echoed response of my partner. I groaned and jogged after him, his walking pace a little too quick and sustained for me to keep up with. I ended up just about trailing behind him, beginning to feel more and more like I had been sidelined in my own story. Which is not a nice feeling I'll tell you.

We crossed the dim streets of the town, skirting around the central square overlooked by a church steeple, passing by white painted stone walls and tipped over green wheelie bins. Every now and then, flashing lights of red and blue flooded down the alley from the main roads and streets as a Police cruiser drove stealthily by..

Or it would have been stealthy if it weren't for those gas guzzling, grumbling engines.

Then as we began hearing the cry of a seagull, the trickling and lapping of water against concrete.. That was when it happened.

With a heavy Thunk! we were plunged swiftly and violently into darkness. Every street light simultaneously switched off instantly. Then there was silence. Sure there was silence before... but in the darkness I could barely adapt to it. It felt tenfold.

"The quayside's not too far away.. Just at the bottom of this alleyway."

Surely enough, as we emergrd from between silent, eerie buildings we found ourselves standing on the side of an even more silent yet no less eerie harbour, filled with dozens of boats, masts raised like spears which quietly clinked and tapped against each other in the currents of the waters they floated upon.

It was almost pitch black.. but peaceful at the same time. Peaceful as far as I could see - which wasn't a lot. I've never had good eyesight in the darkness. And this was about as dark as you'll get.

However, my heart quailed in my chest, brows permanently creased in an expression of stress. I knew we were being chased, and my fight or flight response had been activated. Logically, I had already tried to fight. So it seemed to me that flying was the only option.

Patrick seemed to have other ideas.

"You see that? Looks like a giant funnel. See there's still lights on?"

I nodded. He probably didn't see in the dark, and that he had already dashed off. I could see his shadow striding away into the night.

'Even if I could fly, I'd still not be fast enough to keep up with this man!'

I followed after him, trying my best to catch up.

The air filled with daunting whispers, growing louder in all directions, drilling into my ears like icy fingers of air chasing me. I heard footsteps but nothing was there upon turning back.

It seemed Patrick was feeling the effects of paranoia too - I only looked away for a couple seconds and he had already began running away.

I decided it was probably a smart idea to follow his example.

Now, I was not a runner by any means. But whatever was about to gore me to death, I preferred that It gores both of us, instead of just me alone.

The sight of two pin pricks of piercing white rushing smoothly towards me from the darkness was just the lovely cherry on top which spurred me forward.

My legs operated almost involuntarily, carrying me forth with power I hadn't seen from myself since my high school days. Adrenaline exploded throughout my entire body. It was like a tunnel vision took over me, all I could focus on was forward. I was lucky there were no people driving around at a time like this. I powered past the old harbour bridge at an unbroken pace, passing by the dark forms of eerily still boat masts leaning this way and that, rising from dilapidated vessels on the receding salt flat.

The darkness ahead was broken by light. A tower rose into the night sky, its base illuminated brilliantly by white floodlights, pure and bright. I heard footsteps. The footsteps could have been anyone. Or anything.

I rounded the corner towards a courtyard, right below the power station's front gates. My heart quailed as I saw a shadow move towards me from one of the buildings.

I very quickly threw my fist at it, aiming for the general area of its face.

"Ow!" Yelled Patrick after my fist made contact with his face with a dull slap.

"Oh, Patrick, there you are!" Somehow I could tell he was glaring at me.

"We have to get inside that power station." He said quickly, "the Cursed Spirit is close. We cannot waste a single second."

Well, I wasn't going to argue. The whispering was getting louder and the safety of the blaring white light was mere feet and inches away. I dashed forward, diving across the floor and into the light like a goalkeeper deflecting a critical strike. My body slid across the floor, kicking up dust and scrabbling rocks in all directions. Patrick did not even feign care, not sparing a single glance after my wellbeing as he studied the numberpad by the towering metal gates before us.

"They're mechanical gates. Sliding.."

I rose to my feet and ambled beside him.

"So what?"

"There's got to be a gearbox that controls the gates." He snapped back at me, "go and find it. The floodlights alone won't hold off the Curse for much longer."

Even as he spoke, I saw beyond the pool of peaceful light we found safety in, lingering midair were those pin pricks of white light. The Curse's eyes stared at us with an intense fury. And a hunger which transcended human feelings. It sent a cold shiver crawling down my spine. I felt it tangle me up inside.

It wasn't hard to find the gearbox. For one, it was a huge black box by the edge of the gate. And it had a big label which clearly read 'GEARBOX'.

"Found it!" I yelled. Patrick gave it a solid kick and its metal cover fell off with a great clatter.

"Gibbs. Do me a favour would you?" He asked, getting down to his knees, observing the inner mechanisms within the gearbox.

"Of course!" I replied, "anything!"

"Keep that curse away whilst I give this a crack." My blood ran cold. I felt my face physically drop as I turned slowly, as if my body were stuck to a creaky axle. And there, surely enough as clearly as I could see. The cursed spirit was walking slowly through the light right towards us.

It had the form of pure shadow, like a figure conjured from the depths of imagination. It took the shape of a gangly wolf, its front and hind legs long and spindly like a spider's, raising its malformed body above the ground. Its head was flattened, not even lupine. Its torso simply stopped at the neck, and in the place of a face, only two piercing white eyes hovered there. A purple haze surrounded it, like an aura which stank of death.

"You can't keep running forever.." It hissed at me, voice puncturing my skull into my very being.

Patrick became frantic, fiddling at the gears and metal parts inside the box with increasing anxiety. The Cursed Spirit stepped forward once more. I pointed the gun at it, barrel trembling violently. Then I noticed my hands were shaking too.

"Do you think that puny little firearm can hurt me again? I'm above concepts like pain and fear. I am fear!"

I took a fearful step back. There was a loud crunch! sound from behind me. Then a metallic squealing as the metal gate slid open laboriously.

"We have to get inside, Gibbs, Now!" Patrick yelled.

We sprinted through the gate, across the courtyard, our thunderous footsteps slapping on the asphalt, echoing about us loudly. The power station towered above us, dozens of pipes, metal stairs and other machinery lay behind large panels of glass. The funnel rose up into the black skies, like a pillar to the heavens.

We skidded to a halt at the glass, staring through to the forbidden interior.

"Shoot the glass." Patrick ordered. I obeyed. As quickly as my arms would move, I brought the revolver up to the glass and pulled the trigger. The muzzle flashed, and there was a deafening CRACK!! And the whole window shattered into pieces before us. I felt a lash against my arm, my coat's sleeve cut to ribbons by a shard of falling glass as Patrick dragged me through.

Sirens began screaming above us, red lights spinning rapidly all around. It was even starting to make me feel dizzy.. it could have been the blood loss. My entire left torso was slick with red.

We stomped up the stairs and clattered through the corridors, racing past doorways to dark offices and deep halls filled with buzzing wires, valves, transformers and machines of all descriptions. There was a roaring sound which echoed through the halls, like a loud thumping heartbeat. Or it might have been the sound of my own pulse slamming through my body.

'GENERATOR HALL AHEAD' Yelled the signs on the walls.

'NO OPEN FLAME. NO UNAUTHORISED ACCESS. KEEP DOGS ON LEASH. DANGER OF DEATH!'

We burst into a bland hallway, the wheeling of the harsh red almost blinding me each time it flashed right into my eyes. The siren's screams echoed dimly from deep within the facility as we finally burst through a pair of double doors into a huge circular hall, like a great place for congregation. If it wasn't for the massive pillar which now took up most of its space. Steam drifted gently from grilles in the surface of this pillar, and catwalks surrounded it from the floor to the ceiling, a network scaffold of metal fourty feet high.

"Are you gonna let me in on your plan yet, or not?" I asked, exasperatedly, expecting no more than a finger wag.

"Light weakens it. Makes it vulnerable to regular attacks.. Must apart of some Binding Vow."

"Hm?"

"Nevermind that." He gnashed at me, "we've lured it here for one sole reason. I intend to blow this whole place sky high - with the Curse inside."

"Huh??"

"Now let's split up and cause some damage."

Without a second explanation, Patrick vaulted off the catwalk, cascading beyond the dim light of the sirens above and disappearing into the shadows where eminated a deep, mechanical hum.

I stood paralyzed from indecision on the metal grating. My breathing was sharp. The air was stuffy. The floor had a vibration to it, droning and gentle.

The first Crash! echoed about the walls. A flash exploded from below, white and bright. The ground rumbled.

"Your guardian's gone? What a shame.." I span around, coming face to face once more with those piercing eyes which stared at me with overwhelming intensity. My nose wrinkled at the stench.

It looked like once again I had found myself as the bait. And I hadn't even picked up a fishing rod before in my life.

I was most unamused.

"Didn't you read the sign on the way in?" I asked, "Keep dogs on leash."

An arc of electricity exploded from nearby, arcing across the catwalk and hitting the base of the funnel. A metal plate fell off, crashing somewhere down below. Even more alarms began wailing. I found myself wishing that it was all a big dream and I'd wake up in my office chair at any moment, but unfortunately, as the Curse spoke once more, its voice didn't turn into the clanging of my alarm clock.

"Do you even know what your little friend is doing down there? He'll kill you both."

"If he's about to die, you're going with him!" I yelled back.

I felt an overwhelming pressure bearing down on me, shadows whipping at my body and head with vicious savagery. I was thrown across the platform, my body making a loud Clang! as the crosshatched metal flew up at me, scoring my cheek. Then I felt some kind of violating sensation within my very being, it was like a hand had reached down my throat and grabbed hold of my heart, leeching my blood directly from the source.

"A Cursed Technique..." The Spirit muttered, "it hasn't awoken in you yet.."

Then the horrible feeling retreated from me. I gagged and coughed and spluttered. Another shock rumbled the building.

"You've met with Kellin, haven't you?" The Curse whispered, voice filled with the tone of realisation. I took the chance to crawl away.

"How did you know?"

"He left a piece of his Cursed Energy signature with you.. He's marked you for something. Some reason."

The Spirit continued to stare down at me from the shadow. I flinched even though I knew it wasn't about to attack me.

"I have a good feeling about your new precense in Mr. K's plans to come. You certainly have potential, Mr. Jones~"

"What? Hold on-" But before I could continue, I already knew the Spirit was gone. Its stench and presence dissipating alongside it.

I got to my feet.

It seemed Patrick had been to work during my dialogue with the Curse. The entire place was trembling, quaking to its foundations. Deafening crashes and bangs reverberated through the space, like an orchestra of chaos.

The catwalk would fall at any second. I could feel it bouncing up and down with giddy energy. And I knew I had to leave, fast. Fires were already blooming to fruition all around me, the heat in the chamber rising and rising to no end. It was time to evacuate. The intercom told me as much.

My only concern was of escape. I sprinted across the catwalk, feeling the platforms rattling below me. There was a violent crash, a horrific cry of metal upon metal upon metal as I was suddenly enveloped in searing, acrid smoke. I managed to get out of the chamber, slamming the double doors behind me but I couldn't even stand back to exhaustedly admire my handiwork before they blew right back open again. An air blast flew through the doors, violently throwing me onto my back, knocking all the air from my lungs. I gasped, but no air went in.

Eventually, after clumsily navigating the labyrinth of hallways, locked and unlocked doors and glass offices, I finally burst out from the front doors of the power station. I sighed in relief, feeling the cool, midnight air breezing against my soot-covered face. I took a breath which actually consisted of oxygen instead of Billowing smoke followed me out the door, rising into the black and starry night sky above. Dust lay in piles everywhere, hanging in the air like a fine mist, alongside scattered pieces of scrap metal and burning debris.

The power station was no more. Now instead of a big funnel, there was a deflated lump of ruined metal and wonky fallen funnels. Floodlights extinguished entirely and the sound of firetruck sirens erupted from somewhere in the town.

I scarpered down the concrete steps, soared onto the gravel and scrambled up the footpath between wooden posts and rows of hedges and banks of nettles, disappearing into the night just as the flashing red and blue rounded the corner at the bottom of the drive.

My heart pounded in my chest as I bounded through the smouldering forest. Then all of a sudden I tripped over a speed bump in the mud, faceplanting on the floor.

"Ow!" Said the speed bump.

I coughed and spluttered mud and grass from my mouth, a dandelion hanging from between my teeth like a mad cow.

Suddenly, Patrick was stood over me, brushing bits of dead leaves from his charred, tattered suit. Half-dried blood covered half of his face, coming from below his hairline like a loose lid.

He looked at me with worn out eyes, face jaded and downcast.

"It's about time to clock out, don't you think?"

I nodded, he helped me up. The cut on my arm burned.

Cursed Spirit Vanquished? Detectives on the run! What's next?

ENDING THEME : "SAVAGES" by That Hansome Devil