Where are those kids? I think as I stride down the streets, looking for the kids who took my money. Time for Round Two.

I can see the dried-up blood stained on the cracked sidewalk as I glance down at my worn sneakers. The pain and anger I felt yesterday rushes back into my head. Snips and I had plans for the $150 that we “saved up”, and those damn kids took it and got away with it.

I turn right and scan the other street for the blond boy and his friends. The only thing in my sight is a silver-haired old hag walking a golden retriever and the delivery man struggling to carry a massive package into a jewelry store. My hands twitch and I suddenly have the temptation to forget about the kids and the money they stole from me and steal whatever jewels there are in that box.

I quickly discard that thought since I would need help and Snips would kill me if I didn’t let him join in on the fun.

Snips… That’s it! I think. I can get him to look for those thieves too.

I jog back to the old run-down apartment where Snips and I crash for the night.

I see Snips and my jaw drops. He is lying unconscious on the ground and blood dribbles down his right cheek. I run over to him and shake him awake.

“H-hood?” he barely whispers.

“What happened?!!” I frantically spurt out. His face, usually smiling, is now contorted with pain. His brown hair is ruffled in all directions and a purple ring of pain circles his left eye. Three red gashes are engraved into his cheek.

“Th-they came. One of them tackled me and h-held me down and the other one did this to me.” He points his trembling finger at his face. “He had a knife, man… I ain’t stronger than a blade…”

“Where did they go?!” I ask him. The words are just sputtering out of my mouth at this point, my thoughts needing to catch up.

“Down M-Main Street…” he utters as he slips out of consciousness.

After I’m sure he is unconscious, I move him near the cracked door and chipped staircase; no one’ll hurt him, we’re cool with the locals.

I start to sprint towards Main Street, but I hesitate. I run back and check his pockets. Nothing is in them, except a rusty piece of scrap metal.

I feel a pang of guilt as I dash towards Main Street. Snips is my best friend. How can I even think that he would betray me?

I see those kids at the park, panting for breath. I take a deep breath and flex my knuckles. It’s their fault I have to blame my best friend. Their fault for all of this. The dark haired one steals a glance at me, and hesitates. I can see the fear in his eyes. The sweet, sweet feeling of fear. His other friend, the blond one, can see this too, and motions something to him.

I approach them, and they stand there, frozen in fear. Fear they brought upon themselves.

“You lying sons of guns…” I say in extreme annoyance. I hope they can tell that I am; I hope they see what’s coming to them. I laugh sarcastically. “It’s pretty funny… You lie to me… then jump my friend…” At this point, I can’t control my menacing laughter. “You wanna know what’s funny?!” My blood is boiling, but I can picture it. In my head, vivid images of the two snots lying on the floor, covered in crimson.

The kid’s unfazed, which is unnerving. Why isn’t he trembling in fear? Instead he reaches into his bag, and pulls out something. What does he think he’s doing? But, it’s not a dollar bill he pulled out, or a cell phone, it’s much more terrifying. He points it towards my face, and his arms have begun to tremble. His fingers awkwardly pull the trigger, and I stand frozen in fear. The sharp, ringing noise sounds its way into my eardrums, and it feels as if they’re bleeding. Another sound, and my vision blurs until the only sight I can see is black.

Step 1: Investigate the scene. Is it safe? Is it cleared? Can you enter?

My name is Drac Youla. My parents had a mild sense of humor and thought it would be funny to name me in such a way. Unfortunately for them, I do not share their fun loving personality and enjoyment of petty things. All I care for is data and evidence. It is what the world revolves around, how it keeps spinning. Without science, math, and reason, we would all be pathetically stupid, diseased creatures with no sense for anything.

Step 2: Look for victims. Are they injured? Can they describe the event?

I am with the NYPD. I am considered one of their best detectives, and am treated with a reasonable amount of respect. Recently, there has been a murder identical to the one a man known as Marcus Dware has been convicted for. Right now, he is in prison on death row. So who has committed this murder? Exactly the reason I had been selected for this case. Right now, we are thinking, hoping, it is a copycat killer. It would make things much easier on us, but things could never go how they were supposed to.

Step 3: Look for additional Evidence. What clues have been left behind? Was there a trademark symbol left behind by the criminal?

My first task is to visit the house of one of Dware’s good friends, Dr. Hans Accodix, and interrogate him – maybe even take him in – to see if he knows anything about the murder. As one of Dware’s friends, it makes sense that he knows a lot about the murder, and may want to get his friend out of jail. I remember that this man has a very suspicious criminal record and I need to be careful. On the other hand, interrogation is something I do very often, and I have learned the tips and tricks that work to get people to talk. There are very few people I cannot get to. This should be relatively easy.

Step 4: Draw conclusions and details about the scene. It is time to leave, report back to base. Mission complete.

As my cab pulls up to Dr. Accodix’s house, I jot down a few quick observations. Colonial house, age guessed to be around 30 years old. Heavily reinforced windows, tinted glass, and all doors wooden and uninviting. Sketchy. I pull out a fifty and change and hand it to the cab driver before exiting the vehicle. It had been a long day. I was given orders for this case, and told I must to take a taxi to get here. I still do not understand why I can not take a police cruiser. I then had to wait 2 uncomfortable hours for the overpriced cab to reach the suburbs on the outskirts of the city. I sigh. At least I have a nice home and family to return to after this. But something does not seem right. Why do I have to take a cab? It is far more suspicious than a police cruiser – this area is crime central, and there were very few taxis in this region. I could easily understand the minds of psychopaths, but I would never understand this. Then again, it is probably unimportant. As a detective, you develop a strange sense of paranoia for even the pettiest occurrences and awareness of the tiniest details. I poke my head inside the door and tell the driver to wait for my return. It will only take a few minutes and there aren't any other cabs in the area. I wa-

BOOM! A massive explosion shakes the ground and throws me off my feet. Smoke spirals from the blown open sides of the house, and fire billows everywhere. I jump up and unholster my Glock-a pistol I like to have handy. I am immediately swallowed up by ash and soot, but I need to go inside and inspect the damage, as well as find Accodix. To protect myself from the smoke, I tear off a part of my expensive white (Now black) Italian suit and hold it over my mouth. I understand it will not last long so I begin to run. Another smaller explosion rocks me and sends fourth more fire and smoke from the collapsing house. I know time is running out, so I push myself to the limits. It seems so wrong, with the bright summer day and this burning inferno mixing together. But there is no time for me to think about anything. I ram the door open and find myself in a kitchen area. Step 1: I must inspect and see if it is safe to enter. Hell no, it is certainly not. Not at all. But I do not care; I feel a need to see what has happened. The first room I enter from the front entrance is the kitchen. Pots and pans hang on the wall, untouched and clean, but some plates and silverware are broken and shattered on the ground. I take notice of one knife that seems to have blood on it, and move on to the next room through a hallway. There is a considerable amount of smoke, making it increasingly difficult to see.
Step 2: Look for victims. Ah, screw the steps. He is most likely dead, or he has run off for fear of being caught. I approach a room where the smoke seems heaviest, but a third explosion from inside warns me not to come closer. Even if I want to enter still I realize I cannot–there is too much smoke that is blocking my sight and therefore leaving me unable to explore further at the moment. I will have to come back later, after the smoke has cleared. I turn back the other way into the kitchen and find one last thing before I leave: a lone Chicken Parmesan burning to a crisp on the ground next to a shattered plate. Interesting. With all of these facts in mind, I race out of the burning mess.

Outside, I look around and see that the cab has disappeared. Figures. I use my cellular device to call 911 and sit down on the grass–far away from the scene, I might add. I bring up all of the things I had seen in there and try to draw a conclusion.

1. I conclude Dr. Accodix was eating a meal.
Yes, this makes sense. It explains the Chicken Parmesan and the silverware all over the floor. Still, it does not account for the pots and pans hanging on the wall. If he has cooked himself, should not there have been signs of so? A dirty pan, some ingredients left out, or even a washrag. The possibility he ordered in? Perhaps, but there had been no empty bag or container visible. Leftover food? Judging from the size of his house, Dr. Accodix has no need to eat leftover food. Besides, the bloody knife is still unexplained…something is not right…

Just then, my cell phone begins ringing. It is Police Chief Daniel Flemming. He is one of my few friends in the force, and one of the few good people that I trust.

“What the hell just happened, Youla? I just got about a dozen calls about an explosion from where you’re supposed to be. What’s going on over there?” He sounds flustered and overwhelmed.
“I’m not exactly sure,” I admit. I feel sheepish and unable to excuse myself for the mistakes. “Relax, though. This should be relatively easy to solve,”

Feelings of doubt overcome me, and I wish I can take those last words back.