It was a morning in a messy apartment, books and markers strewn all over the place, and in the center, in front of a huge blackboard, was a detective, his hair disheveled, his mustache unruly, and his eyes red from lack of sleep and overconsumption of coffee. The blackboard was covered with photographs and text documents, linked to each other by a red thread. It was a mess that only this mind, perhaps too poor to afford a more suitable office, could understand in every corner.
"July 23, in the convenient Town of Western City, consisting of two rows of houses in a row, a gang of thugs attack the only bank in the Town but are stopped by a lone cowboy. This one will be himself arrested by Eris later that same night."
He took another thread and tied the photo of the cowboy to a photo of Eris, then pulled out another photo from a dusty scrapbook.
