A knock wrapped against the door.
Karmen had spent almost thirty minutes pacing in front of the door. Its window emblazoned with Skry Investigations.
She thought it over and over again in her mind. Standing awkwardly in the train station, in the lobby of the dilapidated apartment block and now in the grimy graffiti covered hallway. Orcs in vests and tank-tops passed by, their arms swirling with red dags.
It had already taken her weeks to decide to make the trip to OrcTown. It was perfectly safe, mind you, just intimidating. A human woman was safer in OrcTown than any other District in the Underground.
Huge green brutes and monsters filled every corner. Many fighting, snapping at each other like bored and angry lions. Will this be worth it? Was she sure?
Maybe it was one big mistake.
Could it be true?
Karmen was married to Patrik Rakem. A high ranking CorpLord in District Three. A tyrant of the stock exchanges and Count of UpTown Galas.
Karmen hadn’t married him for his money and power. He was dashing, romantic and thoughtful. Karmen came with connections, but every sweet nothing, every gesture, every moment of extra consideration didn’t seem like a man who could do what she suspected…
She needed to find out.
Had she been so foolish to expect that level of sincerity to be genuine? Had it been real? Could it be true?
The suspected cheating was one thing, but there was something more, something darker, something far viler than she could even imagine. It happened in moments. A glance at his internet history, a leer at his files and phone calls. The odd clients he took on day by day.
Karmen needed help.
She needed someone to investigate her husband.
She stood in front of the door and heard a deep voice growl. “Come in.”
Karmen adjusted her clothes. She wore a black dress, cloak and a hat with a veil. It was better to appear innocuous down here. She entered the office.
It was Spartan. Clean, white walls and grey carpet. The back wall was filing cabinets and a colourful bookshelf. A small side table had a coffee maker and a radio that played an old jazz tune. The saxophone wailed.
Behind the desk, the private investigator filled the room with his wide shoulders. A burly brute with the eyes of a hunter. His nose flared as he already gathered her scent. In her nervousness she had worn a heavy layer of perfume.
The orc had scars on his jaw, a stud in one ear and around his collar was a ring of script tattooed to his green skin. His narrow face held in a neutral expression.
Kcaz Skry was, by reputation, a decisive, discreet and effective investigator.
Karmen was as scared of him as she was of the truths he may uncover.
The Monster looked her up and down, looking exhausted. “Oh God, what is it? Is it the husband? What this time, cheating or pedophilia? Its always one or the other.”