This thing we all follow, this great rotting empire. The bloodiest and cruelest regime imaginable. It's dying. It's dying, and I know it.

The factory worker only sees the work of their hands and barely a glimpse of the world immediately around them. The police only see the next battle they'll fight against the furious masses. The next private disturbance they'll have to break up for some oligarchical conglomerate. The politicians only see the lands they lord over, and what will line their pockets. Even the fabled state security officials only see a wounded beast that must, that can be saved. But guys like me? We see everything.

I know the truth. The great empire is nothing but a fading light, flickering in the darkness. Yet, I play my part. I dance like a puppet held up by strings while the people of this empire toil and die in uncounted numbers with not even their families to mourn them. And for what? For what...

I never finish the thought. I just have to keep dancing. I don't want to know the answer, not really.

It's my curse and my strength. An utterly realistic view of the true value of everything. Along with a great, mute empathy for the downtrodden masses and the rich pricks all the same. No one likes to be reminded how small they truly are, but even that can get you somewhere. And so I dance, because what else can I do? The world ends in darkness, all lives end in darkness. When I stop dancing, I'll go dark too, and that'll be it.

The smoke from my cheap cigarette mixed with the smoke of the popcorn burning next door. I didn't know which smell was worse. Despite my skills and record of cases a mile long, the best I could manage was a lousy one room office on 6th avenue. Still, with a murphy bed in the wall, a guy could do worse. Although the strained relationship I had with a couple collection agencies did dampen things a bit.

My hat hung over my eyes as I swirled the whiskey in my glass. As I gripped it, I could feel the cold chill of the ice spreading out to my hand. But before I could enjoy my drink I was interrupted. It seems I was always interrupted these days.

"Is this the office of Mr. Cide?"

Her voice was trembling almost as much as she was. Typical. Fear was plastered in her every expression. As her eyes darted around, i couldn't help but picture her as a scared rabbit cornered by a hungry wolf. So, I guess it was time for me to bare my teeth.

That's what the door says, sweetheart.

I didn't even look up at her. There was no point. She needed something, and if she was here, then she was all out of options. And, worst for me, probably out of money too.

"Actually...it just says room four dash three"

Montanya. That prick. It must have been him. He hated my guts after I outed his affair to his wife. He's made hounding me a personal hobby of his. The worst part was the wife stiffed me on the bill and got out of town once she knew the truth. A whole lot of trouble, and nothing good to show for it.

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Four dash three. AKA Mr. Cide. You were looking for him, and you've found him. Now what exactly does a girl like you want with a guy like me?

She fidgeted back and forth. It was obvious she didn't want to be here, and my blunt attitude only seemed to make it worse. But, like I said, I didn't care how she felt. She needed me more than I needed her. Nicety wouldn't change that.

"It's just. My son he..."

I gripped my glass of whiskey. My white skull reflected in the brown liquid. I tilted my head back and opened my jaw as I poured the harsh liquid down my throat in one fell swoop. For the first time, I truly looked at her.

Plain. That's the best word to describe her. Her hair was shoulder length and perfectly straight. Almost annoyingly so.

Her arms were pale and slender, but there was slight bruising and cuts all over her hands. Strange.

She had a low hanging skirt, but I could just make out her ankles. She had black stockings on to cover them up though, and the few streaks I could see in them made it clear these were one of her only pairs.

Her shoes were flat, and seemed to be in good condition, but it was clear that was just some superficial work. Chip that off, and it'd be obvious those things have been beaten to hell and back.

Her shirt, or was it blouse? I never really understood woman's clothing. Not really. Well, anyway, it was probably a vibrant yellow at some point, but after so many cycles in the wash, the color had all but disappeared.

She had a little makeup on, only so much as to make her respectable, but even that couldn't completely cover up the bags under her eyes.

Her eyes. Those actually surprised me. Where the rest of her was timid, plain, and oh so frail, her eyes were those of a killer. I'd only seen eyes like that once before, when I had the misfortune of running into a state security official while I was on the Ozwald case.

Nasty business. His mangled body is not a sight I will soon forget.

I couldn't get over it. Those eyes on that body, on her. It had definitely piqued my curiosity. A pushed my hat up with my thumb to let the light shine over my face. With this she would have a good look at who I really was.

I had no skin, no muscles, no ligaments, blood, eyes, cartilage, nothing. A simple, weathered skull hilariously set atop a wrinkled suit. A cruel joke fate had played on me, but even my disfigurement had its advantages.

Your son what? Disappeared? Was killed? I'm a P.I. not a psychic. What do you want? Spit it out.

She wasn't the least bit shocked, or she hid it exceptionally well. Then again, she was looking for me, maybe she'd heard about my disfigurement and prepared herself.

"He...yes. He's...here, this will explain it better." she paused as she fidgeted with the hem of her skirt.

She seemed to have a bit of paper crammed into the skirt's waist and she pulled it out. Slowly, she unfolded the paper. It was like she was dreading whatever was inside. Like a monster would pop out as soon as she had completely opened it up.

I held out my hand. And as she reached the final fold, she paused. Instead of finishing it, she placed the paper in my hand.

I pulled it back carefully, and with a flick of my wrist opened it the last bit.

I audibly scoffed, which only seemed to upset the woman more.

I looked up at her with my hollow eye sockets and clicked my tongue as I held up the paper and motioned towards it with an empty hand.

Not exactly sure what I'm supposed to glean from a blank paper here, doll.

Her eyes popped open as she stumbled back a step.

"But...but it was...the note...I swear, I...I..."

I slapped the paper down onto my desk. Secret message only you could read? And only when you first saw it, huh?

I couldn't help it. As she looked at me terrified, I felt a rush I'd been missing for months. I slammed the paper onto my table, and smiled as best as I could without any lips.

Seems we've already run into the first snag. But no worries, I'm not the best P.I. in this dump for nothing. I'll take the case.

I lived for this kind of puzzle. The mystery. Some would say the look of relief and joy on her face, despite staring at a living skeleton would help. But not really. Now, the money I was going to pry from her purse. Now that's the thing that really got me motivated.

I stood up and walked towards her with an open arm as I started to rattle off what all she'd have to do.

So, tell me all about what this note had said, and where you found it. Every detail is important here. Even something that seems insignificant could be what I need to solve this thing.

Oh, and as for my fee. I need a tenth of the pay upfront, put in a refundable security of course. I'll also need a daily stipend while I'm on the job, a bonus for each clue solved, a small surcharge for my morning coffee, of course another bonus for every time I...