L*st and Death

Unit 193. A homeless individual has been staying for an extended period in front of a luxury boutique on Clarion Avenue. Multiple complaints regarding the homeless presence have been filed by Linhart residential area residents. Please inspect the scene.

A dispatch message came through the vehicle speaker, assigning the mission to Anna’s [N O V E L I G H T] team—Unit 193. Her partner, Doug Huff, let out a long, burping sigh reeking of foul breath.

“Ah, fucking pain in the ass.”

“Ugh, smells like a sewer.”

Grimacing at the sour stench, Anna quickly rolled down the driver’s side window.

Doug Huff belonged in several categories within Anna’s mental classification of humans: “Misogynist,” “Chief’s Dog,” and “Person to Ignore.” His half-assed driving style and nonstop complaining were nothing new—but today, Anna’s patience was teetering dangerously close to its limit.

Just as the sun began to sink below the western horizon, they arrived at the high-end boutique. Between it and a construction site, a young man was sprawled out on the ground, asleep. Holding her breath against the stench of sweat stabbing at her nose, Anna swiftly pulled off the waterproof tarp covering him.

“I’m sorry, but you need to get up.”

The moment the homeless man lifted his face from his arm, Anna recognized him instantly. The prostitute she’d seen on the motel’s security footage. She almost spoke out loud before catching herself—Doug was still watching her from the car.

“This is Officer Anna McCarthy from the Linhart Police Department. We received a complaint. If it’s all right, could you come with me somewhere else?”

The prostitute blinked up at her, his eyes still foggy with sleep, and quietly stood. Anna helped him to his feet, gathered his belongings, and loaded him into the patrol car. His fingers trembled as he scratched at his skin, occasionally mumbling to himself like he was detached from reality.

“What’s your name?”

The man flinched at Anna’s question. After a long, strained pause, he replied:

“J-Joan Welch.”

“All right. Joan Welch. We’re heading to a homeless support center. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Goddamn disgusting smell.”

Doug rudely cut into their conversation, rolling down all the windows as he spoke with open disgust.

“Support center, my ass. The world’s gone to hell trying to protect the rights of people like that. Round them all up and force them into labor. That’ll set them straight.”

Joan shrank into himself at the insult. Anna also found the smell unbearable, but she held back her gag reflex and drove toward a familiar destination—Riverland Homeless Support Center, located about a kilometer south of the Nathan River and Curry King.

In recent years, the state of Helsota had faced a sharp rise in homelessness due to worsening drug issues and high unemployment. The volume of public complaints exceeded the government’s capacity to respond, and the police were forced to shoulder the burden. Their solution? Push the problem off onto support centers.

“Drop him off. Make sure he doesn’t run.”

As Anna pulled into the center’s parking lot and prepared to get out, Doug offered his lazy two cents.

“Pfft, I was going anyway.”

Anna shot him a glare and snapped back. She got out with the homeless man and carried all his belongings herself.

Once there was some distance between them and the patrol car, Anna glanced back. Doug had reclined his seat, ready to nap.

“Fucking bastard.”

Ever since she’d combed the database looking for Isaac Bazelli, the Chief’s surveillance had grown intense. And Doug was the Chief’s loyal mutt, reporting on Anna’s every move.

Once inside the building, Anna looked around, then led the man toward the emergency exit stairwell, checking to make sure no one was around.

“Hey.”

She spoke carefully, and the man stopped scratching his skin to lift his head. His eyes had a bit more focus than before, and he gave her a stupid smile.

“You visited the Luna Motel in the Mocho-Laca area on May 11th, right?”

Anna held a photo of the motel in front of his face. He stared at it blankly for a moment, then scratched his scarred cheek with blackened fingernails and grinned.

“Oh, this place? Yeah, I went there.”

Anna had prepared herself to handle the interrogation delicately, not to provoke him—but her caution proved unnecessary. Joan began to speak freely about what had happened.

He whispered as he slowly rubbed an inflamed area of skin.

“Had sex there. It was... unbelievably good.”

“That’s impossible. You were bleeding a lot.”

“That’s what anal sex is like. It’s an easy place to tear.”

Anna’s face hardened. Unless he’d been too drugged to feel it, there was no way he didn’t experience pain. Just like the motel owner had testified—he must’ve been high out of his mind.

“What kind of drug did you take that day?”

“Drug? ...Ah, Neopeak. The guy gave it to me.”

Joan answered dreamily, like he was still floating in the experience. According to him, Neopeak was a vivid cherry-colored drug that let you experience climax after climax from heightened sexual sensation. To lose all sense of pain due to overwhelming pleasure—it was no ordinary party drug. This was something on another level entirely.

“Did the man... lose control? Like an animal in heat?”

At that, Joan laughed like she’d just said something ridiculous.

“Animal in heat? Ha, come on.”

“Like he stayed hard too long, or lost his sense of reason...”

“There’s no such thing as sex like that. You’ve been watching too many movies.”

Anna’s brow twitched, veins rising on her forehead. If he was going to be rude, she’d meet him with rudeness of her own.

“Listen up. Even in prostitution, going beyond agreed terms is punishable by law.”

“Punishable? He was actually a nice guy. Seemed to like me. Even said he’d help me get a job.”

“Job?”

Intrigued, Anna pressed further, and Joan answered, defending the man.

“Said he’d find me a spot at a care facility. All I had to do was take a safety course. Said I wouldn’t even have to clean up shit and the pay was decent.”

Helping a prostitute he’d slept with for one night get a job at a care home? Was he a philanthropist? Impossible. A man so focused on satisfying his own lust he didn’t care if his drugged partner got hurt wouldn’t turn around and offer him employment out of pity.

“Do you know where the facility is? Or have the guy’s contact info?”

“Nope. Even when I kept waiting at Summers Park, he never showed again.”

Anna pulled a business card from her pocket and handed it to him.

“If you remember anything later, contact me. Promise.”

Joan looked at the card with indifference, then stuffed it into his bag and nodded absently.

In the end, Anna had solved nothing. No evidence of rape, no identity for the man who gave Joan the suspicious drug. And soon, Joan would leave Helsota.

According to the social worker at the support center, Joan was being released from the state and would be sent to San Diego, where his sister lived. “Homeless support” in Helsota basically meant giving people a free bus ticket to get out of the state.

Feeling hollow, Anna returned to the patrol car and climbed into the driver’s seat. Just as they were pulling out of the parking lot, another vehicle entered the support center. A white DoyoX Corolla sedan, early 1990s model.

The moment she saw it, Anna covered her face with one hand, pretending to scratch her cheek. She didn’t want the driver to recognize her—and she definitely didn’t want Doug to realize she was reacting to the car.

“What’re you covering your face for?”

Doug, suspicious of her odd behavior, looked back. His eyes landed on the old Corolla with a sticker on the rear door.

Burgus City Group Psychotherapy

〈People Who Overcame Grief〉

30X-786-21XX

“‘People Who Overcame Grief’?”

Doug leaned in, squinting at the sticker. Then he asked, strangely cautious for once:

“Is this... about your brother?”

“...What?”

Anna blinked, startled by the abrupt question.

“Are you getting therapy because of your brother?”

“Ha, what a load of crap.”

Her face twisted like he’d said something stupid, and she focused on the road—but Doug interpreted it differently. He thought she was just upset because he’d caught a glimpse of her vulnerable side.

Doug remembered hearing long ago that Anna’s younger brother had fallen into a coma after a car accident. But he never heard about a funeral. She never talked about her personal life—but the fact that her brother was an actor was well known.

The accident had made headlines. The tragedy was public knowledge in their workplace. It had even led to a quiet, collective pity for her.

If there’d been a funeral, the department would’ve heard. But since there was no word, he figured the brother was still alive, kept going on life support. Losing her promising brother after her parents—what a pitiful life.

She should really start a family. Though with that filthy temper, I wonder if anyone would marry her.

Doug let out another burp, full and loud, as the thought passed through his mind.

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