Prologue

The annoying sound of a gunshot in the depths of Chicago’s nights is something I’ve reluctantly grown used to. It’s a recurring theme that plagues this city constantly and I’ve gotten just about numb to it. The frequent “breaking” news of children caught up in gang activity, dying by familiar hands of other kids caught in gang activity, is just so mundane now. I can’t feel any form of sympathy or empathy for anyone anymore, hell, even for my own family. This place just reeks of short comings and unfortunate events. You would think becoming a detective would help solve these ridiculous problems and ease the pain but no…it doesn’t. I hear the most outrageous stories around my office. Like a prominent serial killer supposedly going from house to house clubbing people to death with a wooden bat, and somehow vanishing from sight when authorities show up. Or girls being found mutilated in alley ways as if a walking shark is on the loose. It’s all most likely the works of a deranged murderer who knows how to stay the fuck out of our sites when the time comes…but it’s all so strange.

Sadly, I’m surrounded by people that just don’t seem to really care about what’s happening outside this rundown building. I generally disassociate myself with them but I always forget I have to work with idiots. In many cases, I’ve gotten this feeling that they probably don’t care for themselves all that much either. All of their demeanor just shouts self-wallowing and pity with a hint of alcohol. These aren’t the kind of folks the people should put their trust in when it comes to solving problems. Hell, I don’t even trust myself half the time. It just angers me that these sad, lonely, closet pessimists can get into a position of power with no concrete speck of empathy, and just half-ass their way with their work. This world could do without these kinds of people.