Liam McLear

Birds chirped outside, and you barely restrained yourself from closing the window. No, not because you don't like birds, but because you envy them. Spring rushed past outside with its ringing trill, infecting everyone around with an uncontrollable desire to live. You wanted to replant Mrs. Turner's daffodils, or have a dance battle with Nina right in the square, or help Otto hang paper lanterns on the poles... But you had to sit at the station all morning, glancing at the clock, waiting for the little hand to approach the number six. You love your job. Really. When there are truly important things to do. And not shuffling folders from one place to another and having your hundredth educational talk with little Rorry, whom nature has endowed with only a bone brain. We don't have many incidents—seriously, everyone knows each other by sight. With a population of three hundred, that's not that hard. You're only considered a city on paper, but in reality, you're a mountain village. But you simply adore this place. All these flowerbeds, streams, tiny shops with a single clerk who's also the owner, snow-capped mountain peaks... There's no better place. Although one day you'd like to leave. Just to see a world beyond the familiar. To smell the sea, to run a handful of hot sand through your fingers, to meet new people. That wouldn't be considered betrayal, right? You're not planning to wipe 80% of the Earth's population off the face of the Earth for this—you'll just leave your job. And you can always come home if you need you. You propped your head on your hand, scribbling meaningless patterns on a piece of paper. Sherry entered the office and whistled in surprise. "Wow, this place is a real mansion. Admit it, how did you manage to get a private office? I want one too!" "Come join me - I'll move the table closer to the window." "What self-sacrifice! I won't forget your kindness. But I still prefer my hole in the basement. Did you hear the news? Dad said he'll explain everything at the meeting, but something's unsettling." "about?" "Does the third murder in the last two weeks mean anything to you?" "It screams like a banshee. But the victims are alive. Numb, yes. But it's too early to bury them." "So is this life?" You paused, lost in thought. Sherry was right—the state these people had fallen into could hardly be mistaken for life. They weren't breathing, talking, eating, or sleeping. They were simply... existing. And that was more frightening than murder. After all, the killer could be found. But how could you find the criminal if you had no idea who was capable of such a thing? The voice of the chief, Hugo Rice, came from the reception area. "General assembly!" You rose from your desk and headed for the exit, following Sherry, who was nervously rubbing her hands. The boss stood near a corkboard covered with forms. You and Sherry sat across from him, the desk clerk remained behind the counter, and a couple of other colleagues took their places. "The news is crap, I'll tell you right now. I'm inundated with complaints, accused of inaction, so we'll all have to suffer together. A call came in forty minutes ago. The latest victim is Miles Veske. There are no signs of a struggle. Nothing was stolen. His wife took the kids to school, stopped for groceries on the way. She returned home to find the lock broken. Mr. Veske was lying in the living room. Officer Gordon was nearby, and she received the 911 call. An examination revealed nothing. Miles was simply frozen. The neighbors saw nothing. The paramedics who arrived diagnosed him with a coma, but you and I already know that's a formal diagnosis. Just like with everyone else." You clicked your tongue softly. What kind of disaster was this? They'd ruled out a virus, and infections too. They'd even called in environmentalists to test the water. And nothing. So how was someone putting people into a stupor? And most importantly, why? You winced when you heard the boss repeat his name loudly. Yours. And, apparently, not for the first time. "I'm listening. I'm just thinking about my next steps." "That's exactly what I'm talking about. Get ready, you'll go to Veska. Gather all the information. Note every little detail, even if it seems unimportant. The warrant has already been issued." "Accepted" "Wait for your partner and go. I had to enlist the help of Maclear." A series of synchronous gasps swept through the room, and you closed your eyes for a second. "Well, you're lucky." Not only will you have to work in a pair - which you can hardly stand - but also with Liam McLear. No, you don't mind at all. What can I say - since his appearance, the number of crimes has decreased by... half? More? Mainly because of fear, of course - just the look of him is worth it! They say that McLear got all these scars in some fight, but you doubt it. You've never met, but there were enough gossips to understand: your imposed partner, although a real thorn, prefers to solve problems with his head, not with his fists. Although, it seems, he is not afraid of clashes. At least he definitely has a permit to carry a weapon. And yet, all this aura of mystery, coupled with the fact that he is a special consultant due to some ability to see latent traces, arouses interest. What are these anyway, latent traces? Some kind of particles? A collection of evidence? And how did he Does he see them, physically, or maybe sense them? No one really knows, and they don't dare ask. So you take the opportunity to ask. He wouldn't turn his partner down, would he? No, you can't stand this half hour of idleness. You'd better go over all the files again. You're missing something. After waiting for the boss to dismiss everyone, you returned to the office and laid out the folders on the desk. Anna Voice, Renée Dupont, Joey Grosserman. So where should I start? "So, the first victim is Anna Voys, 22 years old. Single, no children, no parents, no information about them. No idea what happened to them. She worked at a diner at the intersection. Coworkers spoke highly of her: responsible, friendly, calm. There's nothing in the database about her—not even a single fine. A model of integrity, not a human being. So who would wish her harm?" Your phone vibrated, alerting you to a new message. You glanced at the screen. The number was unfamiliar. Interesting. "Coffee or bubble tea?" You stared at the profile picture and quickly blinked. What is that? Catzilla? Seriously? Liam McLear replaced his profile picture with a cross between a cat and a monster? How adorable! You could forgive Mr. Special Consultant for forgetting that conversations begin with a greeting. "It doesn't matter if this cute guy in the photo delivers." "He's busy with important, gigantic things. He's destroying cities." You bit your lip, realizing what you'd just typed. Holy shit!... You hoped it didn't come across as flirty. And if it did... Oh well. But you have to respond. And while you're at it, you might as well check if he blocked you. "It's always like this, all the cool guys are already taken. Maybe if I give him a treat, he'll stop destroying cities?" Stop, where are you going? This is so unprofessional. What are you, a buffoon or a detective? He's definitely going to decide he doesn't need a partner... "Not this time."

Wait for your partner and go. I had to enlist the help of Maclear.