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II - Sector 315

Whenever Wolfcrown approached the coat rack to put on his hat and overcoat, he would already feel annoyed before even leaving the apartment, due to the sound of dripping water coming from the ceiling of the hallway on the thirtieth floor of the building where he lived. The cursed and stubborn leak never ceased to form a huge, dirty puddle of water right in front of his door. A liquid and polluted puddle of water that only scratched the surface of the depth of problems that had accumulated since he began his search for S.N.

Nevertheless, something was different that day, as the symphony of the perfect and pertinent rhythm of drips could not be heard by his acute hearing. If Wolfcrown was going to start that day on the right foot by discovering that at last, that water leak had been solved, he would not wait any longer to open the door and embrace a universe that was finally acting in his favor.

Not everything is flowers

It didn't take him long to discover the simple reason why the drip no longer sang, as a cardboard box had been left perfectly vertical where the drips traced the path from the ceiling to the floor. The cardboard box was soaked with water as a consequence of poor disposal. "A delivery. It's my lucky day," thought Wolfcrown as he bent down only to discover that inside that box lay a .44 millimeter bullet with his initials etched in the metal alloy. A little further down, and already with the ink worn away due to the perfect liquefaction from a good job done by the efficient and determined drip, a note on paper conveyed a message to the detective.

MOST OF THE TIME, LOSING TEACHES US THE VALUE OF THINGS.

S.N.

With a good laugh, Wolfcrown crumpled that paper and threw it to the ground while he kept the bullet in his pocket and thought out loud, "He doesn’t imagine that a bullet like this in my skull would not only be a tremendous favor for me but also a distinct favor for all humanity." He picked up the box and took it with him.

Planned Obsolescence.

Sector 315 was known for being in one of the most precarious and violent suburbs of the city, an oppressive set of buildings populated by tens of thousands of cubicles that suffocated people in cramped square meters that in the end were the only solution capable of supporting an immense population density in an implacable stone jungle built on a massive foundation of the coldest and most solid concrete.

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The elevator in the building where he lived was perhaps the only thing that Wolfcrown liked about that decadent place, as it was located at one end of the building and had a huge glass wall on one of its sides that made it possible to glimpse the view of thirty floors while he descended towards the hostile world that he investigated so much. There was something about that view, particularly at night, for an unknown reason, it was able to assume the residue of beauty, perhaps because it represented a sea of synthetic lights that to the right eyes could be seen as the simulacrum of a starry sky where organic life struggled incessantly to survive another day. Each of those dwellings was like an isolated city, with a strong commerce and a vital fair that functioned without intervals from Monday to Sunday. Dozens of shops selling all kinds of cheap goods and food populated the external area that led to the street. Wolfcrown particularly liked a stall that sold some oriental dishes, and it was Mr. Chang's robata skewers that usually lined his stomach during the nights. Before heading there, he left the waterlogged box near the elevator exit, where two malnourished stray cats competed to drink faster.

— You can't keep a good person down, detective. The usual one?

— Make sure to make your cat skewer perfect, Chang. Said Wolfcrown as he sat on a rotating stool with no support for his already worn-out back from all the time spent researching at his desk.

— You're smart enough to know that my culture doesn't feed on felines, detective. Let alone domestic animals.

— There are controversies.

— That's what the media sells, detective, fear, and controversies. You're less square than that and I'm sure you have some good immaculate knowledge in your brain.

— Chang. The mainstream media is the most perfect human invention, the pillar of modern communication! I don't think criticizing something so immaculate is the ideal thing to do in front of a meal with your delicious dishes.

— Stop talking nonsense to me, detective. Have you seen what happened in the neighboring sector? The police dismantled a huge operation of illegal cryptocurrency mining, limited access to four floors of a residence, and arrested fifteen suspects. A capacity of 100 megawatts per hour, can you imagine?

— And who said that? The local newspaper? A faithful representation of our productive and impartial national media?

— Of course not, detective. I know this because one of the suspects was my client, that guy ate more skewers than a hungry army. A big loss for my business.

— Chang, this is the kind of information that I only believe when I see it with my own eyes. If I find out that you're spreading false rumors, I'll come back here to stick this delicious skewer in your right ear, with peppers and all. Said Wolfcrown with a fixed look and a morbid tone as if he wasn't being ironic.

— What's that, detective? I wouldn't have any reason to lie to my favorite client. It wouldn't be good for business. Take this and as a bonus, here's another skewer. You'll need the sustenance. Feeling a little uneasy, Chang quickly wrote down the address of the incident on a piece of paper and placed it next to another skewer on the counter near Wolfcrown's plate.