It was a slow morning at Dead Wrong Investigations—which meant we were sitting in the office, broke, hungover, and waiting for a case that might actually pay for rent this month. The office smelled like whiskey, old coffee, and bad decisions.
Kaz was scrolling through his phone, probably looking for Tinder matches in a 3-mile radius. MJ was doing push-ups on the floor for no reason other than to remind us he had muscles. Kai was at his desk, tinkering with some illegal gadget that would definitely get us arrested if the cops ever raided this place.
And Crimson? Crimson was sitting in the corner, sharpening a machete. Just in case.
I, Leon—the only one in this group with an ounce of leadership—was nursing a cigar and pretending to do paperwork when the door slammed open.
In walked a woman. Blonde, white, wearing an expensive dress that said "Daddy funds my existence." She was crying.
"Oh god," Kai muttered under his breath. "Here we go."
Kaz sat up, suddenly interested. "Let's hear her out, guys. Maybe she needs… comfort."
MJ kicked his chair. "Sit down, you thirsty bastard."
The woman sniffled dramatically and clutched her purse like we were about to rob her. To be fair, the last client we had did get robbed—by us.
"Are… are you the detectives?" she asked, voice trembling.
"No, we're the janitors," I said. "But lucky for you, we moonlight as private investigators."
She ignored my sarcasm and pulled out her phone. "It's my sister. She's missing."
Kai leaned back in his chair. "And let me guess—she's white?"
"Excuse me?"
"I'm just saying," he shrugged. "We've had five missing person cases in the last month—two Black, one Hispanic, one Asian, and a Middle Eastern dude. You know how many the cops gave a shit about?"
The woman blinked. "…None?"
"Bingo."
She looked genuinely confused, like the concept of racial inequality had never been presented to her before. "But… she's really missing!"
Kaz, being the humanitarian he is, leaned forward with his best "concerned yet sexy" face. "Listen, sweetheart. We believe you. But missing people cases usually don't pay well. Got any cash?"
She nodded eagerly and pulled out a fat envelope. We all collectively sat up.
"Why didn't you start with that?" MJ said, snatching the envelope.
I took charge. "Alright, tell us about your sister."
"Her name is Tiffany," she sniffled. "She's an influencer."
Kai groaned. "Jesus Christ."
"Last night, she went to a club and never came home! This morning, I got this message." She handed me her phone.
It was a ransom note. Typed in Comic Sans.
"We have ur girl. Send 50K or she's gone 4ever. No cops. - The Kidnapperz."
I stared at it. "…These guys kidnapped someone but still had time to pick the worst font in history?"
Kaz frowned. "Are we sure she didn't just fake this for attention?"
"Why would she fake her own kidnapping?" the woman snapped.
"Clout."
"That's ridiculous!"
Kai pulled out his phone and typed "fake kidnapped for clout" into Google. A dozen news articles popped up.
MJ raised an eyebrow. "It is kinda a thing now."
The woman crossed her arms. "Well, I know my sister wouldn't do that!"
"Ma'am," I said, sighing, "your sister posts thirst traps for a living. You sure this isn't just an elaborate scheme to sell waist trainers?"
She didn't answer. Because deep down, she knew we had a point.
But money was money.
"Alright," I said, standing up. "We'll take the case. But if we find out she faked this, there's no refunds."
She nodded desperately. "Just find her."
Step 1: Investigate the ClubThat night, we rolled up to Eclipse, one of Blackburn's hottest clubs. The kind of place where Instagram models pretend they're rich, and guys spend their rent money trying to impress women who will never text back.
Kaz adjusted his jacket. "Alright, who's doing what?"
"I'm going inside," I said. "Kaz, you come with me. MJ, you check the alley. Kai, hack the security cameras. Crimson—"
I turned. Crimson was already inside the club.
…Somehow, he was now the DJ.
"What the—? How did—?"
"Just let him cook," Kai muttered.
Fine. Whatever.
Inside the ClubKaz and I approached the bartender, a tired-looking guy who had probably seen enough drunken mistakes to fill a novel.
"Hey, pal," I said, flashing a fake badge. "Private investigators. We're looking for this girl." I showed him a picture of Tiffany.
The bartender barely glanced at it. "Yeah, she was here."
"See anyone leave with her?"
"Yeah. Some dude in a ski mask."
Kaz frowned. "At a club? Was no one concerned?"
"Nah, people just thought he was a SoundCloud rapper."
Fair enough.
"Anything else?" I asked.
The bartender hesitated. "…Well, she was also yelling about how she 'had a plan' to go viral."
Kaz and I exchanged a look.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered.
Step 2: The "Ransom Drop"The next day, we set up the ransom drop in an abandoned warehouse. Standard protocol.
At exactly noon, a car pulled up. A guy in a ski mask stepped out.
Kaz smirked. "SoundCloud rapper?"
"Probably."
The guy approached and said in a distorted voice, "Put the money on the ground."
Instead, MJ stepped forward and decked him in the face.
The ski mask flew off, revealing—
"Tiffany?"
She groaned from the ground. "…Damn. That usually works."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "So you faked your own kidnapping."
"For the views!" she whined. "I was gonna do a dramatic escape video and—"
Kai cut in. "Lady, we just spent two days looking for you. Do you know how much time we wasted?"
Kaz crossed his arms. "You better double our fee for this."
Tiffany groaned, rubbing her jaw. "Fine. Whatever."
She Venmo'd us an extra 20K.
"Alright," I sighed. "Case closed. Let's get the hell outta here."
Crimson—who had been quiet the whole time—suddenly pulled out his flamethrower.
"…Can I still burn something?"
"No, Crimson."
"Just a little—"
"NO, CRIMSON."
And with that, we went home, case solved.
Just another day at Dead Wrong Investigations.