[8] parents are crazy.

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Detective J wore a black jacket, combat boots, and fingerless gloves

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Detective J wore a black jacket, combat boots, and fingerless gloves. Under the jacket, he had on a black sleeveless shirt with a gold collar and buckle, along with close-fitting black pants. A belt crossed his chest, with straps attached to it and around his thigh, holding a gun holster on his waist with a neutralizer inside.

He arrived in Sector Zero, the most populated area on Goldhand. Thousands of apartments filled the four-sided metallic structure, with hundreds of thousands of residents stacked together like boxes. Graffiti coated the walls and floor, accompanied by dust, cobwebs, liquid stains, and broken toys.

J muttered as he passed a man, woman, and child sleeping on the floor with needles stuck in their arms. A heavy stench came from them, with the child's white part of their eyes showing, mouth wide open, and saliva streaming down their chin.

This is no place for a child.

No one cared about Sector Zero, not even the residents. Things like hygiene and shelter played second fiddle to food and drugs, leaving a lot of the apartments empty because most couldn't afford them. Politicians only showed interest in their living situations during elections and forgot about them afterward. A never-ending cycle.

Detective J knocked on Apartment 155's metallic door.

"Who is it?" a masculine voice asked from inside.

A ghost. "Detective J. I have questions for you regarding a missing person's case. That's if you don't mind."

The door slid to the side, revealing Paulson David behind it, dressed in a red shirt and grey shorts. He looked older than in the pictures, the wrinkles on his face more visible, aging him up by ten years. "Who's missin'?" His violet eyes moved up and down, taking in J's appearance.

A lot of people. "Can we talk inside?"

Paulson looked into his apartment then turned to J and shrugged. "Sure." He stepped aside, leaving enough space for the detective to enter before closing the door.

The apartment's walls were covered with rosaries, crosses, and holo-images of Jesus standing between three nuns. Alongside them were family photos of Paulson, Florence, and Victoria smiling.

"Whut kinda answers are yew lookin' fer, detective?" Paulson asked while leading J into the living room. One maroon and one blue couch stood opposite each other with a bear-rug between them, and an internet cube with large speakers beside it sat on a small table at the corner of the room. The Davids were doing better than most Sector Zero residents.

J turned to Pauly with his hands behind his back. "Do you know Monica Pauly?"

"No." His dilated pupils, heavy breaths, and biting of the lips were common traits among liars. A few had adapted, but the rest could be read like a book.

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