Story is that Krimson City's name came from some uncreative founder who apparently was dazzled by how intense the sunset's red light stretched from the horizon. Thought that leaving it as simply "Crimson City" didn't quite capture the enchantment so he replaced the first letter for another.

A century and the Industrial Revolution later, there's an ever-increasing grey smog that hangs over the city like a choking blanket. Tourists are justified in wondering if the name "Krimson" came from the enormous amounts of bloodshed in the town rather than the now faded sun.

Every day there's at least two fires happening in the west side, a shooting at the south, and the occasional armed robbery of a rich college student a street away from her school campus. Sirens bounce off the skyscrapers, echoing, multiplying – an auditory tumor that doesn't pass and go as much as increases and decreases in size. The air is saturated with sewer stench and cigarette smoke on every block, and the ground groans every time the subway charges like an angry rat in a tight pipe. The city is a fat, tired man with a thousand problems and little to no treatment for his shitty circulation.

And Detective Sebastian Castellanos lives in the heart of it.

His insurance is going to last him twenty-one days maximum. If it gets serious, Sebastian will make it longer. Either way the single room apartment won't be missed.

He's told to pack clothing, toiletries, and any other essentials. He can bring a few personal items if he likes.

So he shuffles through the back of his closet, pushing away the hung up coats and uniforms, and pulls out a stale cardboard box with a partially crumpled duct tape hanging on a side. A few of Myra's clothes, packed tightly over Lily's old stuffed bunny with a baby blue sock for a ear and a photo album – not much inside given the size of the box.

Sebastian takes the photo album and pushes the box back inside the closet. Steps over his small suitcase and brings it to his too large, king sized bed where a small scissor and a manila folder lie.

His phone vibrates with a familiar caller ID on his pillow.

Putting it on speaker, Sebastian waits for the other man to speak, his callused hands cutting, folding and pressing Myra's reports that he reprinted out earlier in size font 7 on crappy thin paper.

There's a start then a pause, and finally a resigned sigh like minimum wage.

Finally it all comes in a rushed tidal wave. "Seb, I read it all. This is too big. Oath of Honor be damned - this is recklessly stupid and you're going to get yourself killed. If you're not killed and they find out, they'll keep you there. And if you get out, the KCPD won't take you back in. I don't see any good endings."

Sebastian snorts humorlessly. "Thanks for the support, partner. So I take it you're not going to visit me."

Joseph passes over the sarcasm. "They're going to notice. Myra was too close and Lily died. Then she got closer and she's gone. You go in and they'll suspect you of following her steps."

"You think I don't know that?"

"I'm emphasizing that this is a bad plan and you should reconsider. You don't know what they're hiding down there."

"And I'm going to find out. The least I can do is finish what she started. I have a feeling that even if I don't go prancing around in their radar like a clown they'll eventually drag me into this and slap a missing poster under my name. These guys are paranoid sons of bitches."

"So now you're a profiler?" comes a half-hearted mocking reply.

"Joseph, let's cut the bullshit. Are you going to visit me or not?"

Sebastian hears a distant crash outside on the streets and a man screaming profanities, but it's so, so quiet in the room.

"I'll…I'll visit you. I can't guarantee that I'll always cover for you, but I'll do what I can. Tell me what you want done."

"That's what I want to hear. Investigate the backgrounds of the doctors and the staff members, especially the ones who've been there the longest. Someone here has to be the in-between."

"Got it. Good night and good luck Seb."

"Good night."

Sebastian spends the rest of the night pressing the rest of Myra's notes on the back of memories sharp as scalpels in the album as Krimson City moans and cries all around him.

His head thuds, low and steady.