𝐄𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐱 𝐩𝐨𝐞̀𝐭𝐞

As you finished your script, you nodded briefly to your colleagues, who were still waiting in a charmed and unanimous silence. It had been a while since you'd written for the club, so you couldn't help but imagine that your text had been a complete sucks. But you decided to preserve your dignity and simply accepted it silently when you finished.

A round of applause erupted as you silently walked to your place in the circle, hidden a few chairs behind the audience, feeling a little difficulty releasing the air trapped in your lungs.

"Amazing, we're so happy to have you here again, [Name]," the club organizer appeared behind your chair, touching your shoulder amicably, which made you look up and see a warm smile form on the woman's face. "We thought you had given up on the club, we were worried something might have happened to you."

"I just needed a moment to think," you looked away, feeling a shy smile form involuntarily, touched by the words of support, "but I'm back now, and that's what matters."

“You’re right, you’ll come to the next meeting, won’t you?” she said, clasping her hands together in a funny way like a small child.

“Absolutely,” you assured her.

“Great! We’ll be waiting for you!” She patted the top of your head and walked past you to chat with other writers.

The club was surprisingly full that day; some guests were waiting standing because there weren’t enough chairs. Luckily, a close friend had saved a seat for you before your presentation.

You were oblivious, observing a crowd with eyes clouded by a flood of vague thoughts. Oblivious to the world, and to the bastard perched in the chair beside you. When you returned to your senses, you shook your head for a second to regain your bearings, as if trying to test your reflexes, waves of silky hair trailed like a blur in the blind spot of your left eye, causing you to turn your head to see what it was. You came face to face with someone you hadn't seen in the last four weeks.

"Caines?" You arched an eyebrow, looking at the man as if expecting him to make a move, yet he simply stared back at you calmly.

Tamsy held your gaze with extreme ease; to be quite frank, you imagined he was amused. A straight line of tightly pressed lips adorned his face, as if they were silky enough to prevent a huge smile from breaking into place. His dimples probably ached from all the effort of maintaining a serene expression without bursting into laughter even once.

"Great performance," Tamsy complimented, to which you simply nodded in response. "I haven't seen you in the last few weeks, thinking you'd finally given up on your writing career."

You felt a sarcastic laugh escape your throat, wondering for a moment if the intention was indeed to try to offend you so blatantly - and yes, was the intention.

"Finally?" you retorted, feeling you'd spoken louder than necessary as heads turned to face both of two troublemakers at the back of the audience. You felt embarrassed, turning to Tamsy to whisper in his ear, somewhat irritated, "Finally?!"

“Forgive me if I was rude,” Tamsy corrected himself, dragging his chair closer. In the process, you felt his leg brush against yours, not that he seemed to mind. “I just felt your ideas had stopped bearing fruit. If it comforts you, your absence caused me irreparable distress.”

“Is that your way of saying you missed me?” you wondered indifferently, turning back to the presentation to ignore the feigned expressions on his face.

“I was just intrigued,” he admitted, crossing his legs and letting his hands rest in his lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him playing with a strand of his hair. “You know, when a farmer notices a sheep is missing from the pasture, you can’t just ignore the disappearance, can you? You have to investigate the cause. Not that I think you suffer from great unconvenience in your life to warrant a regretful disappearance, but still… Order must be maintained, right?”

“Was your confession supposed to scares me? I’m almost flattered, except for the sheep part,” you sighed, your eyes falling on Tamsy’s figure, who seemed unfazed by what had been said before.

“Don’t focus too much on the sheep itself, I’m just using a text I’ve been working on recently as a alegory.” Tamsy waved her hand in the air, dismissing your attention.

You continued whispering to Tamsy, trying not to let them notice that you were paying little attention to the presentation unfolding before the audience. Finally, you glanced at her sideways, ready to clear up your doubt.

“That text, about the sheep…” you stammered softly.

“Yes?” He didn’t look away from the presentation for a moment, making a point of leaning forward, rubbing the tip of his chin as if genuinely interested, although it was evident that the impatient finger tapping his temple said otherwise.

'What a two-faced guy…'

“Is this the one you’re going to read today?” you asked curiously, more than you imagined it would sound.

Tamsy replied animatedly, as if you had just told a joke.

“Of course not!”

“Not?”

“It’s not finished yet,” he laughed finally, turning to you. “Do you really think that I, in the purest spirit of a beginner, am going to write something and read it without further ado? Who do you think I am?”

“Are you trying to insinuate something, Caines?” You arched an accusing eyebrow.

"If the shoe fits…" he looked away to fiddle with the ends of his hair, as if he knew what he himself had implied.

"Well, then I guess I'll have to wait until next weekend," you concluded. "Let's see if your writing is really so divine."

"My dear friend, I could make you cry rivers of water with just half a dozen words on a piece of paper," Tamsy assured you, without losing her small, serene smile.

"Don't be so arrogant," you felt a considerable swelling in your temple, completely caught up in Tamsy's provocation.

“Believe me, it’s perfectly convincing,” he assured her confidently, a serene smile adorning his lips, as if he had just savored a treat. “In fact, come see me finish tomorrow. I’d love to see your face when I’m done.”

“Go to the Cleaners just to see you pretending to be a poet?” you teased ironically.

“You’d be surprised how many things I’m capable of pretending to be,” he said in a mythical, almost suspicious tone, but you ignored this when an innocent smile formed on Tamsy’s face.

“Sure, show me your poetry,” you teased.

You startled as you felt the heavy rocking of the chair, turning to the man beside you. Instinctively, you stiffened as Tamsy closed the distance between him and your earlobe, realizing that he had one arm immobilizing the back of the chair and the other hand with a single index finger pointing upwards, the omen that Tamsy was about to begin his monologue:

"I promise your expectations will be exceeded."

“I heard a thing… Or two,” you shrugged, but did as you were asked, turning your gaze back to the dry dirt road. Finding only lifeless branches and dead, twisted trees on the horizon.

“Let's look for some tracks near the caretakers' lodgings, that's all,” Ghon complained beside you. To which you just hissed in reluctant agreement.

A few days ago, the Hell Guard identified suspicious movement under the dirt hills near the polluted zones, suspicious enough to put the Hell Guard on alert. With that, you and your squad mate were sent to assess the situation and report back to HQ, nothing more. But, unfortunately for Ghon, you weren't good at memorizing long pieces of information.

“Whatever. Do you care?” you snapped, unwilling to argue, throwing your feet on the glove compartment again, not caring about the dirty look your colleague gave you. “Let's just get this over with, I can't stand this place.”

“Just show a little professionalism, if you please,” Ghon asked with what little patience he had left, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “Don't let your ‘feelings’… or whatever they are, get in the way of the job.”

“If you're talking about that guy…” you muttered, feeling a tension in your temple, before massaging the area and sighing. “He means nothing to me, he's just a… pebble in my shoe.”

Your partner sighed with amusement, unconvinced by your statement.

“A pebble? It's more like a knife stabbing the sole of your shoe,” he scoffed, without even looking at you. Luckily for you, he didn't see the look of disapproval forming behind your sunglasses.

Ghon glanced sideways at you before letting out a whistle of recognition, though he wasn't entirely convinced by your words. You had a bad habit of faltering when it came to janitors. When it came to that guy.

“I hope so. Don't think I'm going to carry you on my back if you end up screwing up.”

“Huff,” you snorted, finally turning your neck to ignore your colleague's presence. Allowing yourself to meditate under an impartial facade.

When Zanka left the Kamuatari district to join the caretakers, something changed in you. You didn't recognize the feeling as sadness at the time, thinking that “betrayal” was more accurate to describe what you felt on that fateful day. Although you were willing to forgive him. You just didn't imagine that, from that day on, your relationship with the boy would be doomed to ruin.

On that ordinary Wednesday afternoon, you knew that the camaraderie between you would never be the same again. Any friendship that had been built was doomed to crumble. Crumble stone by stone. Until it became nothing more than a pile of memories under your muddy boots.

You felt this sensation more intensely as the day of your inevitable farewell approached. Like a prisoner sentenced to death, the day of your execution was gradually drawing nearer.

You couldn't help but feel angry at him.

“You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?” you asked him, leaning your shoulder against the door, your movements accompanied by an unusual stillness, a bitterness internalized only for yourself. Although you didn't recognize the pain inside him. Zanka looked at you for a second, on the one hand, an intense gaze occupied his handsome features, on the other, he seemed bewildered, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. He had a straight line on his lips, suppressing whatever he was thinking of saying.

“Yes, I'll leave in the morning, at sunrise,” he said simply. His features betrayed him as he finished the sentence, as if he wanted to say more. Much more. "By nightfall, I should have reached the caretakers' headquarters.

“I thought you were bluffing when I heard the rumors,” you commented with a relaxed laugh. Fake.

In Zanka's eyes, you seemed unfazed, it was just another normal day that you wouldn't even remember. He assumed. In your eyes, Zanka was selfish, abandoning everything and everyone to walk alone on a path paved with optimism and good intentions. You thought he was a big idiot. The biggest of them all, in fact.

“You? Gossiping?” Zanka replied softly, suddenly good-humored, as if he didn't believe your statement. “That's not like you.”

Although he was interested in talking to you, Zanka was still more focused on finishing packing on time. You crossed your arms, watching him curiously, like a vulture.

“Well, gossip has never been my thing… But news travels fast, you should know that,” you replied, suddenly a little bitter. “You can't avoid the inevitable, can you?”

You tried to laugh sarcastically, but it sounded like a taunt.

The atmosphere was heavy, somewhat morbid. The heavy mass of apprehension that surrounded them weighed on your shoulders, forcing you to sigh deeply.

You wanted to ask. You wanted to get rid of that disgusting thing that rose up your throat, the burning sensation of expectation that culminated inside you. You gnawed at the sleeves of your kimono with your fingers, in nervous anticipation. You had never felt so miserable before.

“Are you coming back?” You tried to sound indifferent. Or rather, familiar. As if you were doing him a favor by asking, but your own voice betrayed you, revealing how anxious you were.

Ironic, the executioner trying to sound compassionate, when in fact he was more frightened than the condemned man himself.

“I…” Zanka hesitated, swallowing hard amid the tension, stopping his movements to finally look at you. He was confused, full of uncertainty. “No, probably not.”

Your jaw clenched. Not out of anger. But out of disappointment.

“I understand,” you said finally, trying not to press the issue more than necessary, or you would end up saying things you didn't mean to say. Determined to face Nijiku's decision with obedience and poorly concealed indifference. “I hope you get what you want with the Cleaners.”

A look of hurt appeared on Zanka's face. He always tried to hide his emotions, but now he seemed like an open book before your eyes. You were turning to leave and let him finish packing in peace, but his voice stopped you. It was hesitant, even vulnerable.

“Could you… You know,” Zanka faltered, trying to find the right words, feeling an unusual warmth rise to his ears. Your questioning gaze did nothing to calm your thoughts, which were falling apart as his sentence hung in the air without a coherent ending.

“What?” You sounded genuinely curious, raising both eyebrows, somewhat elated by Zanka's sudden stammer. If you said you weren't worried, you'd be lying through your teeth. “What could I?”

Zanka sighed in the other corner of the room, dropping the clothes he was holding just to turn to you, still standing at his door. Still waiting for him. He quickly marched toward you, a sudden movement that shocked you,you feel tempted to take a step back, but you remained fixed where your feet were planted.

Zanka grabbed your hands, your arms, previously crossed, now raised toward the euphoric young man, who held both his hands tightly. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure you were seeing and hearing him. So you would know he was still there.

“Come with me,” Zanka fired. You widened your eyes, trying to find the lie in his words, but found only veiled expectation in tenderness. He hardly seemed like the same Zanka you had always been competing with at the Academy.

“You should come with me, you're my closest friend, the only one I trust.” Zanka was in pure euphoria. You feared he would fall to his knees right there without even realizing it. A completely different person from the one you used to see every day. “We could have a better life.”

He was giving his all in his declaration. All these years repressing his true intentions, his feverish feelings, his incomplete sentences. He was letting it all out on you. You weren't sure if you were talking to your old pal, Zanka, or an impostor wearing his skin to satisfy your desires buried in years of frustration.

“That doesn't make any sense, I can't leave, I'd have nowhere to go!” you denied, looking away at the floor.

“I swear, we can…!”

“I can… I can't.” You broke free, holding him gently by the shoulders, your eyes trembling with fear. “I can't leave here, forgive me.”

From that day on, something broke, like a branch snapping and a fountain running dry. Zanka and you were never the same again. Contact was maintained during a tense period of mutual truce, but it was lost.

When he left, the prince of Kamuatari did not say goodbye, and you did not show up to do so. Zanka was convinced that he would grow up with Cleaners, while you graduated from the academy and followed the Hell Guard to become one of Kyouka Nijiku's faithful dogs.

The location marked on the map was deserted—to be fair, the entire area was a vast desert—notable only for the huge rocks along the road, casting shadows where you and Ghon parked the car and began searching. The area was surrounded by an iron fence with barbed wire, and in the distance, there was a phone booth with broken glass. It was a remote location with little traffic, the perfect spot for campers, broke couples, and illicit business.

“You said a suspect was seen here?” you asked, casually crossing your hands behind your back and cautiously shuffling your feet across the terrain.

"There's very little traffic in this area… The informant just said he saw a black van coming this way, followed shortly after by the sound of a gunshot. The informant also said the gunshot attracted the attention of some local thugs, so he quickly left the scene."

“Do you know who the informant was?” You raised an eyebrow.

“We don't know, it was an anonymous tip,” Ghon sighed.

You crouched down to the level of a swirl of heavy footprints; the pattern was confusing, as if more than one pair of shoes had passed by frantically. Patterns of boots and dress shoes. Judging by the depth of the footprints, you assumed it was more than one adult, with heavy steps, leaving deep footprints in the earth, like stamps. Luckily, the wind hadn't swept them away completely.

"What guarantees that the informant wasn't the perpetrator himself?" You rested your hand on your chin. "It's quite common, you know? The culprit can use a pseudonym and make a report to confuse the police."

"Master Nijiku had a similar idea," Ghon pointed out, approaching the footprints you had found. "The witness said they were accompanying a group of friends in that area. Master Nijiku wasn't convinced and assigned a search team to find the location where the call was made to locate the person responsible for the report."

You absorbed the information.

"Those shoes…" you murmured, receiving a look from your colleague, who crossed his arms expectantly. "I'd like to know what model they are…"

“Are you suggesting we check everyone’s shoes in the nearest area?” He raised an eyebrow, incredulous. To which you merely responded with a cynical little smile.

“I’d like it,” you chirped.

“It would be simply impractical; it would take up valuable time.” Ghon sighed. “I suppose we should look for other clues; let’s split up and search individually.”

You shrugged. Getting up and brushing the dust off your uniform, you turned halfway around to go to the opposite side of your partner.

“That’s always how people end up dying in the movies,” you mused loudly enough to reach his ears. “It amazes me you haven’t learned that yet.”

I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself,” he replied rudely, to which you let out a bitter laugh.

Heading south, you found a lot of “fuck all”—according to your own vocabulary. You spent most of the search kicking the ground while staring at the same things you’d seen along the way. Dry vegetation and remnants of broken and trampled branches, probably. Assumptions led you to believe they might be the work of some camper or wild animal from the area.

Further on, looking behind the phone booth, you found an abandoned guard post; there, you fing gags and steel ropes you found on the ground, the metallic smell invading your nostrils like the perfume of death. The aroma was of dried blood, along with dead skin and tufts of hair.

You wondered: “Could these be the footprints of a criminal and a victim?”

It sounded conclusive, however, it only left you with more questions than answers. If that were indeed the case, and the target was with a victim and not an accomplice, where would the victim's remains be? Or was the victim merely a means to an end?

You tapped your index finger on your jaw, thoughtfully.

“[Name],” you startled slightly at the sound of your name, looking back to find Ghon with a hard look in his eyes. You noticed the unusual pallor in his face.

“Huh? What is it?” you prolonged your hiss, stopping when the man crossed his arms, glancing towards the north side of the area where he was conducting the search.

“You’ll want to see this.” Your partner had a slight frown of apprehension on his brow.

You blinked.

As you moved with Ghon to investigate the situation, you spotted the reason for the astonishment of the man beside you, to whom he had conveniently led you. Beyond some rusty iron roof tiles, you could identify what had once been a refrigerator, now resembling a bathtub, filled with ice packs – now melted – and bottles of water. Inside was the corpse of a young woman, probably in her twenties, thin and on the verge of malnutrition. Her skin had a purplish hue due to the terrible conditions to which her body had been exposed. Her features still showed surprisingly defined lines. Probably some friend could identify the corpse.

"The body looks pretty preserved, don't you think?" you commented, crossing your hands behind your back again. "There are cameras along this road; the killer knew it would be risky to take the body out of this area," you added.

"So the best decision was to leave it for the vultures to finish the job?" Ghon raised an eyebrow. – "It looks visceral."

"I don't want to jump to conclusions, but believe me, he planned to get rid of the body only when he got what he wanted" you concluded.

“I figured those bags were full of ice when she died,” the guard beside you supposed, covering his face with a cloth, trying to distract himself from the putrid smell.

“She was alive when the murderer filled the refrigerator,” you retorted.

“What?” Ghon blinked.

“She died of cold,” you observed, watching your companion choke on his own saliva before turning his attention back to the corpse. “Look, her body is covered in frostbite, it’s bluish, almost purple… and these burn scars are still here.”

“They’re third-degree burns; it would take a week or two for the swelling to go down and for them to heal, that is, assuming she was alive,” Ghon deliberately stepped forward, staring at the corpse, which you were merely observing with curiosity. “That means…”

“The crime happened recently,” you concluded. “My guess is she was still alive four days ago.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Why keep her alive in the cold?”

“Maybe she was a hostage, maybe the killer needed her alive. Her death was just an unfortunate incident that didn’t benefit her captor,” you replied immediately, your head spinning nonstop. “Or maybe us friend is just a bit eccentric, it’s hard to say.”

“Leaving someone marinating in an ice bath isn’t an efficient way to keep a prisoner.”

You hummed in contemplation.

“Pfft, I disagree. I believe our criminal got where he wanted,” you argued, receiving a sharp sideways glance. Then you continued: “She’s been dead for more than three days. He must be perfectly aware of that, and yet he abandoned her here.”

"Well, he might be one of those guys who feed pigeons bread," Ghon commented to himself.

"Feeding birds carrion is a new trend among lonely guys, then?" You wanted to laugh, but only felt disgust.

“And what’s the point of leaving her without cleaning up the traces of his crime?” Ghon finished, receiving a nod from you. “We’ve dealt with more careless offenders, and none of them abandoned the mess like this.”

“We have two viable options,” you declared, raising a finger, “our killer is very arrogant and underestimated our ability to get this far, or… He didn’t have enough time to go back and finish the job.”

Ghon hissed.

“And what’s your opinion?”

"Honestly? I think a bit of both," you shrugged.

After searching the entire perimeter, you and your partner found the corpse's identification documents, wrapped in ashes and burnt grass. The perpetrator burned the victim's documents—cards, checks, driver's license, and other loose papers—which you couldn't identify. However, the killer did a terrible job of not checking if the burning of the documents had been effective, because inside the pile of ashes, you and Ghon found an iron badge.

It was a small rectangular iron badge bearing the name Cristney Suo in square, capital letters. The badge didn't reveal much, however, as a precaution, you decided to enclose it and keep it.

Carefully inspecting the body, you found swollen perforations in the blood vessels of the victim's arm. A device to keep her drugged while the criminal carried out his other activities. With this, your final decision was to isolate the area before leaving to finally return to HQ. You decided to report the information to Captain Nijiku when you returned to the barracks. You remembered her words, still fresh in your mind:

‘Don't pass any information through the chokers, someone is watching our movements.’

The assumption is that someone was listening through the chokers, working in parallel with the criminal. Thus, Kyouka instructed all the guards to temporarily get rid of the device.

"I'm going to start a search," you said from the passager seat, now with your arms crossed. "We're going to look for everything we can find on Cristney Suo. Everything."

“I wouldn’t be surprised if our criminal has already disposed of everything on her,” the man at the wheel commented, cautiously shifting gears to avoid potholes in the road. “I photographed the area; I’ll assign a group of experts to investigate the body while everything is still in place. It’ll be terrible if she starts decomposing in all this sun.”

“That’s why we need to start as soon as possible,” you held your chin, absorbed in your thoughts, back to plotting possible ways to get to the killer.

They were descending a steep ravine, the path covered in occasional rocks that made the vehicle bounce on the road. Although he tried to avoid them, Ghon kept finding other rocks to damage the tires.

This wasn’t a forbidden area, but it was still an area of trash ​​beasts, smaller and inconvenient monsters. The strength of these beasts came from their way of organizing themselves into packs to attack together. It would be a terrible idea to attract the attention of these beasts in such a steep place. It was the perfect setting for a tragedy.

And suddenly... The car stopped.

“What happened? Why did we stop?” You craned your neck toward Ghon, who was trying to start the car again.

“I don’t know, it just… died.” He snorted softly.

Ghon pulled the key, trying to put it back in and start the engine. The car shuddered, the engine groaning in response. Only to shut off again. The engine was dead.

“Damn it.” The man slammed his fist on the steering wheel, while his other hand massaged the space between his eyes.

“Want to try pushing it?” You offered, preparing to get out.

“You're crazy?! Did you see the slope of this downhill?” The guard declared, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

“Yeah, so what?” You said, your hands in a gesture of surrender.

“That was the dumbest thing you suggested today.” The man rolled his eyes. “I’m going to get out and take a look at the engine, and you, don’t do anything and don’t touch that handbrake.”

"Right, right, do you think I'm some kind of kid?" You threw the feets over the glove compartment in absolute resistance.

The guard stood there for almost thirty minutes, staring at the engine like someone trying to solve a crossword puzzle. After a while, you just deduced that he had no idea what he was doing, and to his misfortune, you also knew how to work on vehicles. Tired of waiting inside the car, you decided to get out and stretch your legs. At first, it was a great idea, leaning against the vehicle and enjoying the view while your colleague failed miserably to move the car from its stagnation; however, your worries began to surface as the sun set on the horizon. It was starting to get dark, and the drive back to HQ was a 3-hour drive straight through.

More time on the road and I ended up running into a herd of trash beast ready to play cat and mouse.

"I think I got it!" Ghon cheered.

"Really? Wow, finally!" – He squeezed himself into the vehicle.

"Let's see" he announced.

Both returned to their respective seats, eager to leave as soon as possible. You, especially. You couldn't stand spending another second in that place, knowing you could run into a member of the janitors at any moment. Ghon reconnected the wires – knowing he would have to explain about that mess in the wires himself to his superiors when he returned to HQ –, inserted the key in the ignition, and finally, the car was back on the road.

A moment of silence followed, truly comfortable, thinking that they were finally finishing another day of service to return and begin their investigations with the specialized search group, only to hear the alarm blaring miles away. The slope of the ravine was filled with the shrill sound of the car beeping incessantly like an fury ambulance.

Your eyes widened in bewilderment.

He didn't know how he had the strength to reach the Cleaners barracks on foot along the dirt road, meticulously dodging the trash beasts along the way. Everything that could have gone wrong, did, almost costing him your colleague's life in the process.

At the sound of the alarm, the beasts followed the sound madly, piling up into a herd large enough to overturn a truck. The group consisted of smaller beasts, but they were still relentless creatures. You was lucky to buy some time using your jinki, the Smooth Inspector. Although Ghon wasn't so fortunate.

Who was caught off guard during the beasts' attack, he had a fractured arm and a broken rib; on the other hand, you escaped with some scratches on face and arms, and the clothes were covered in dirt and mud. It was a miracle you managed to drag himself that far with such a heavy man supported on your shoulders.

As if the situation wasn't already pitiful enough, raindrops threatened to fall. Not immediately, but a fine drizzle sprinkled your eyelash, while damp earth clung to your boots. Felt the tip of his nose grow cold with the threat of rain.

As you approach the Cleaners HQ, a pang of anxiety hits your movements, something that stops you from advancing for a moment, but doesn't allow you to turn back. A full minute passes, and then Ghon's pained groan pulls you out of your indecision. To your displeasure, turning back is not an option.

You approach the main door, two large wooden doors, somewhat worn. It was dark now, but you can see the scratches on the doors, as if they had been sanded, the peeling paint also not going unnoticed. Without giving it much more importance, you raised your fist, and finally, knocked. Two sincere and loud knocks.

A moment of silence passed. You swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry, but it's past the curfew… " A tall woman, with glasses and platinum hair, opened both doors at once. Pausing mid-sentence, blinking her adjustments in surprise. She didn't seem startled, just had the expression of someone caught off guard.

“Good evening! Ma'am, I… I…” You boldly ventured a humorous introduction, though it was clear how forced you were acting, searching for words while dodging the woman’s analytical gaze “Forgive me for disturbing your beauty sleep, but my partner was injured during an… Attack.”

She stared deep into your eyes, finally caught under the scrutiny of her cat-like gaze. Then she glanced at your partner, almost unconscious on your shoulder.

“He needs treatment,” she announced, giving you space to enter and escape the rain. “Come in.”

Swallowing what little pride you had left, you cautiously stepped into the barracks, like someone entering a minefield. Your first instinct was to take a deep breath as the warm air heated your dripping limbs. The receptionist guided you to a small sofa, where you gently placed your partner in a position that wouldn’t strain his aching ribs. I instantly felt the break in his rigid shoulders.

You allowed yourself to slide down to the floor, leaning against the sofa with your neck stretched upwards, looking at a woman who now seemed to be talking to someone on the landline phone.

“Yes, yes, I managed to identify a broken rib, or two, a broken arm, I suppose, I’m not sure,” she answered whoever was on the other end of the line, leaning against the counter. “Come as soon as possible.”

She hung up the phone, and a moment of awkwardness filled the air. You glanced at the sparse furniture in the reception area, mostly located in the corners of the room, and on the woman’s counter, although, from your position, you could see with little precision. Magazines piled high, along with newspapers, a pencil holder, and the same phone the receptionist had been using just seconds before.

As if reading your thoughts, she glanced in your direction.

“I called for specialized help,” she relayed, crossing her arms, “she should arrive in a few minutes.”

“I don’t even know how to thank you,” you nodded.

“So…” she paused, clearing her throat, “You can start by explaining what happened here.” She gestured with her eyes, pointing to the motionless man on the sofa.

“I’m sorry, but I have a code of secrecy to uphold, nothing personal,” retorted you, somewhat defensively.

The woman seemed to want to laugh.

“Your friend is on the verge of death and you’re worried about maintaining confidentiality?” she adjusted her glasses. “You guards are truly cold, hm?”

“The mission shouldn’t be compromised by minor losses,” you argued indifferently.

It was an insensitive thought, but the guards of hell thought rigidly; you couldn’t swim against the tide.

“Even if it costs the life of a comrade?” the woman inquired curiously.

“Certainly.”

A heavy minute of silence followed, until suddenly medical help arrived to inspect the patient and take him to first aid urgently. A short, blonde girl with a comically large hat stumbled down the corridor, carrying a stretcher to move her comrade more quickly through HQ. You felt insecure about leaving your partner with someone who seemed so careless, but her behavior seemed correct, so you felt a little less apprehensive.

“Don’t worry, I can treat his wounds, it won’t be a problem,” Eishia, as she introduced herself, had a reassuring tone.

You helped move the man onto the stretcher, making her and your partner, Ghon, quickly disappear down the long corridor behind the counter.

“And then…?” the woman beside you crossed her arms, waiting patiently.

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” you wondered, now allowing yourself to sit on the unoccupied sofa.

“Good that you got it,” she nodded positively. “Look, the Hell Guard are associated with the Cleaners. You don’t need to be so suspicious, believe me.”

You stared at her for a few seconds, deciding whether you should share the information about your case. You looked at the woman’s jugular; she saw that you were observing attentively. A choker.

You sighed. Your Master's instructions were once again flashing through your mind. You would regret this later.

Reaching into your uniform pockets, you grabbed a pen and a notepad, the latter nearly soaked. Watching your movements, she saw you writing in her notepad, with some difficulty due to the fragile paper.

"Don't read it aloud," you warned, handing the notepad to the woman.

She promptly took it, reading the message with half-closed eyes:

"There was a murder on a hill near the Cleaner's HQ. I'm not holding them responsible for the incident, but believe me, whoever did it can hear us through the chokers right now."

The message was written in a scribbled, disastrous handwriting. Something worthy of a child learning to write. But the woman spared no comment.

Upon finishing reading the message, the woman had furrowed brows, as if she didn't want to know how to proceed with the information. So she just cleared her throat.

"Well, I think that'll do for now," she agreed. "We haven't introduced ourselves yet, call me Semiu. I'd like to proceed when the boss returns; he'll analyze your case better than I can."

"That seems fair" You just found yourself surrendering.

"For now, I'll let you rest; it seems your day was… fun."

Semiu seemed hesitant at first, however, when she saw his guard uniform and his injuries, she decided to overlook his situation.

The receptionist allowed you to wait in a warmer place, although she admitted it was irritating that you refused to eat anything and change out of your soaked uniform. In Semiu's eyes, you were nothing more than a neglected dog, dejected and seeking a warm place to hide. A stubborn and demanding dog, it must be said.

"Your comrade is stable, you should try to rest too," she advised, approaching the table in the cafeteria. "And clean those cuts."

You were the only living soul occupying the long cafeteria table. Semiu handed you a plate of hot, appealing food. A complete meal with vegetables, proteins, and carbohydrates. And yet, you didn't even touch the food she offered. You were starting to test her patience, but she avoided bringing it up. Semiu wasn't going to kick a dead dog in the second half of the game.

You huffed, resting your arms on the iron table.

“I’m fine, I plan to leave as soon as possible, so you don’t need to worry about being considerate,” You warned.

“Yeah, but…” Semiu rubbed her eyes under her glasses, “how long do you plan to keep wetting my floor while you walk around?”

You blinked in surprise.

"It was a Friday night, I had gone to a bar with some friends, it was around 9 p.m., it was very cold, and the place had no indoor heating, so we were shivering!

Anyway, I was drinking a non-alcoholic cocktail, I didn't want to get drunk right away, so I decided to enjoy the atmosphere and the music calmly.

That's when.... it happened!

That guy! He came up to me and offered to buy me a drink, just like that other post by @/SmilingDolphin!

I couldn't believe it, I had found the urban legend of the pub!"

SNIP-SNIP commented: I didn't think it was for real, but all his attempts are exactly the same! Whoever created this forum is a genius! LOL!

The comment was accompanied by several scissors emojis repeated several times.

CAT-GLASS replied: This place has become my entertainment. Whenever I'm bored, I open the page while I'm at work. My boss can't find out about this under any circumstances.

Below, some witty comments flooded the anonymous post, either with laughter or questions about the encounter with the caricatured man.

You scrolled through the comments with an amused smile on your face, moving the mouse across the screen and scrolling down when you finished reading a series of new attacks on the man, something that made you laugh. Nothing really worrisome, just observations, such as saying that he had cigarette breath and slurred his words, as if he were sleepy.

Scrolling a little further, you found a comment that caught your attention, something that made a light bulb go off above your head. The comment read as follows:

TOMM-NOTES commented: I just got here a little while ago, can someone explain what this legend is? It's a creepypasta? I'm out of the loop.

You meditated for a second, tempted to laugh when you heard the term “Creepypasta,” then tried to answer the question, typing quickly.

SMILING-DOLPHIN replied: Are you new here? If so, let me explain who we're talking about. SMILING-DOLPHIN commented: Do you know a dude called “Enjin”?

The stranger texted back quickly, leaving you quite impressed.

TOMM-NOTES replied: Enjin? Sure!

For some time now, this guy they call Enjin has been frequenting this night pub, a place affectionately nicknamed The Mermaid's Lament. According to the bar's founder, he was out of ideas for the name of the establishment, so he asked his eldest daughter what kind of name she thought would be appropriate for a bar full of young alcoholics trying to give up their sobriety. So, the name stuck, and later, it became one of the most popular bars among the bohemian young adults of Canvas Town.

The Mermaid's Lament became popular mainly for its navy blue and oceanic theme, bringing a dark and mythical air that youngers liked to appropriate. As such, the pub was a real success. And like any respectable establishment, it needed three crucial elements to function:

No. 1 was good service. No. 2 was quality food and attractive drinks. No. 3, but no less important, was a urban legend to attract new customers.

You, on the other hand, were nobody important, just an employee trying to hit your monthly target in a job you hated with all your might, so you ended up appropriating the image of that cheeky man to make your work a little less annoying.

And… It worked! Congratulations! The girls on the forum found it hilarious, in a pathetic and annoying way.

He always approached the girls with the same conversations, the same jokes and pick-up lines he had used before. How did you know that, anyway? Well, you were there the whole time, it was impossible to pretend to be deaf when everything was happening right in front of you.

With that, you noticed a pattern. And it ended up becoming comical to those who used the online forum. You just hoped that it wouldn't reach the ears of Enjin, the ghost of the Mermaid's Lament.