A police station was looking for a particular villain who kidnapped one of the senior officers and they enlisted the help of a young detective to solve the case, who was the perspective I was viewing from (though sometimes I would be watching from the outside). He was tall, a bit pointy looking, and he had a grey suit and grey-brown hair with white streaks. He was friendly, but very professional, and he immediately set to work trying to find this guy. He had a partner, a young lady, on the case with him and they were talking about it. He started walking down the street and noted a short guy with brown hair and a paper bag that had some pokemon-related memorabilia inside it, which he found interesting. He pulled his pocketwatch out and checked the time before walking into a building and making his way upstairs.
Next scene there was a chase on the roof. There was a theme tune and intro playing? So this was a TV show. The guy with the paper bag had been a secret lackey for the villain, a guy in a blue suit, and he'd followed the detective up the stairs. It was basically detective chasing villain, lackey chasing detective. They reached the edge of the building and detective nearly managed to catch villain, but the lackey barrelled into the side of the detective ad they both went flying off ghe side of the building.
Both of them smacked their heads on the sandstone steps they landed on. The lackey died instantly but the detective was taking a bit longer, and he lurched up to grab the villain — who had come down to check who was dead — by his jacket and try to shout at him, though his mouth wasn't working due to his brain injury. The villain laughed at him and told him it was such a shame he didn't get to run him round in circles any longer, before shoving the detective to the floor and walking away. The detective was lying on his back choking on his nosebleed and he put his hand in his pocket to try to find his phone, but it found his pocketwatch instead, and he grabbed it tightly.
Suddenly his hand became olive green and translucent, and the pocketwatch went inside the palm of it. The back panel of it appeared to slip slightly loose, revealing a secondary face with a stopwatch. It slid back closed and his skin went back to normal as he balled his hand into a fist, groaned, and sat up.
It was the evening. The villain and the body of the lackey were both gone, but he was still lying on the steps. All the other blood had been mopped up but some of his was still there. His head was killing him, and he found he still had a heavy gash in the side of it where he splatted on the pavement, but he had no trouble thinking or doing anything. He got to his feet, wobbled only a little from the headache, and started walking down the street back towards the station.
As he walked, he saw much more people on the street than usual, and several of them were... Translucent. Mostly blues, greens and greys, a lot of them old people, but a fair few of them young people and even children. Keeping a straight face, he turned around a bit to see the whole space, and the lackey was standing there behind him, translucent green, still clutching the paper bag, blood seeping down the bridge of his nose. Detective couldn't hide his shock and started walking away, but the lackey overtook him, stood in front of him and allowed himself to phase through the other. The logical part of the detective's brain sighed in defeat and he was forced to admit that he was seeing ghosts. Dead people. Dead like he should be. He frowned and kept walking until he reached the station, where the rest of the people on the case were standing outside, as well as the chief.
They all reacted in surprise and horror when he walked up to them with the injury that killed him still dripping onto the floor. His partner rushed over to help him, and he realised that now he was near people he knew, his head hurt a lot worse. One of the officers ran inside to get first aid materials and the rest all asked him where the hell he'd been and what happened. Glancing over at the lackey, who was now standing right next to the detective's coworkers and raising his eyebrows, the detective ran through his options in his head and came to the conclusion that they wouldn't believe him whether he told the truth or not. So why not try to tell the truth?
"ok, so, none of you are going to believe me and I'm making a fool of myself trying to explain this, but I'm dead. I'm dead, and my murderer is standing riiiiight there, but none of you can see him for some reason." he gestured at the lackey who scoffed and looked around, while everyone else just kind of stared at the detective like he was nuts. His chief, who had been inspecting the detective's head injury, gave him a look.
"I think we should probably ask you after we've sorted out your noggin. there's nobody there, and you're right here talking to us." the detective seethed a little, not used to being dismissed like that, and kept talking.
"I have no idea why I'm alive but I know for sure I'm dead and our current target is the one who caused it. The guy he got to kill me is standing right there—" he pointed again at the lackey, who was now being fussed over by the blue ghost of an old lady, "and I'm not kidding. Both of us died. Don't look at me like that," the others were looking a mixture of forlorn and amused, "he pushed both of us off a building and we smashed our heads in on the floor. I came back, for some reason, and now I can see dead people. I WILL try and prove it."
The first aid kit was outside by this point, and another officer had come out with a chair, but the detective shook them off (even though his head was really, really starting to hurt, and his tongue felt wrong in his mouth) and walked over to the lackey. He started listing off how the guy looked, and what he had in his paper bag in his hands, but none of the others were believing him at all. He slumped his shoulders in exasperation and walked over to the chair to let them do whatever, because clearly none of this was working, and also he was starting to have trouble standing. He knew it wasn't just adrenaline, he knew he had died for certain, nobody would survive that, but nobody was taking him seriously. His chief put his hand on his shoulder and nodded at him solidly, telling him not to fall asleep and to wait for an ambulance, but the detective couldn't even bring himself to nod an affirmative.
He was dead, and nobody believed him. He put his hand in his pocket to pull out his watch, but found nothing there. He pulled back his hand, and he, his partner and his chief froze, staring at it, nestled in the centre of the palm of his translucent green hand.
This was a nap I had after a very long day of walking in the city.