Case 1: Strudel Oven Pt. 1 (P)

The night sky was a black shroud, speckled with small, glittering stars, like the night-gown of the gaudiest Betsy in New York. It was all pretty normal, except there was no goddamn moon. One day it had just decided to up sticks and leave. That was the thing with earth - it was a fucking shithole. The planet was like a disemboweled body on the sidewalk; given a wide berth. The city was full of giant, poorly-built skyscrapers, stretching upwards like reeds from a pond. It was like a dare between architects, to see how much shit they could get away with before the Building Standards Authority took notice. Got some piss-stained mahogany and rusted sheet metal? You’ve got yourself a skyscraper my friend! The buildings seemed to sway with the wind, though a notice from the city council dismissed this as an “illusion brought on by extreme heat.” You could assume that the nails and rivets lying on the sidewalk were just an illusion too. The street lamps on every corner were worn and rusted; some even had smashed bulbs. Perhaps people couldn’t stand seeing things clearly: the garbage that seemed to appear out of nowhere, blowing around the streets like candy-wrapper tumbleweeds; or the prostitutes that hung about on the curb all the time. When aliens visit in the year 3030, ol’ Jenny’ll still be doing her shifts, feeding that crack addiction.

I slowly pulled myself out of bed, almost tripping over. My eyes weren’t accustomed to the darkness yet, all I could see was a murky haze. There was a shadowy figure sitting on what was probably the couch.

“Mary H. Christ, why're you still here? I gave you the fucking money, now leave Cassandra!" The shadow figure sighed and then left, slamming the door behind her. Goddamnit were my standards dropping; it was probably best that she was in darkness, her face was horrific. Suppose that's what you get for being a PI in this crime-free city. Ha! Everyone here was crooked as a crocodile's smile. 

I suppose I should probably see if I can get a case – I’m struggling to pay rent for even this standard of accommodation, and the landlord has kidnapped the toaster as penalty. Next it’ll be the strudel oven. I’ve hidden it under the floorboards, but he has a nose for kitchen appliances. Is this any way for the leading light in sleuthing to be living - in fear of losing access to delicious pastries at any moment? Quietly seething, I tried to regain my composition. I could finally see in the darkness, catching a glimpse of myself in the wall-mounted mirror. It all became clear, why I was referred to as ‘The Druid.’ My beard had grown to master-wizard length, jet black and wispy, sloping halfway down my large stomach. Jesus, it looked like a furry chair. I decided that I should freshen up; what better place than the lovely communal bathroom? After surveying my apartment - a sparsely furnished misery-cube with torn grey wallpaper and rotting floorboards - I decided against locking the door, what was there to steal? The couch? I'd get a laugh out of that, it smelled like Satan's piss. 

Though my apartment was awful, the communal bathroom was even worse. It looked like the walls had been tiled by flinging cement and ceramics in every direction. Perhaps the walls were tiled by monkeys, flinging shit was all they knew. There were two toilets and two sinks in a block housing fifteen. Opportunist thugs charged people twenty cents a use. Smart bastards, probably earned more than me. However, the bathroom seemed strangely empty, apart from an addict shooting up heroin in the corner. He was known as 'Urinal' for whatever reason. Nice guy, aside from looking like an emaciated zombie. I splashed my face with tepid water from one of the sinks. Like a quick wash would make any difference. I stared into the cracked mirror - My hair was black; medium length but badly cut, done by myself one drunken night with a glass shard. Dark circles sat underneath dull green eyes. It looked like I had been punched in the face, and that's what I told people, to maintain my image as someone not to be trifled with. Urinal started mumbling, stirred from his drug-induced stupor,
"Uuuugh, hey, like I was going through the mail and I found something for ya'. Opened it and there was no cash. Take it man." There was no true kindness in this place. He flailed a bony arm out in front of him, vaguely in my direction. I grabbed the envelope, it was crumpled and stained. I pulled out the letter inside. My first case in ages.

"A body has been discovered under suspicious circumstances. You appear to be a private investigator, at least according to this Biro-scribbled pamphlet. Meet me at Leon subway station at 3am. There's good money in solving this case."